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luminitewrites · 2 years

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In a Different Light: Scene Two

Back with part two of the Sleuth Jesters!actor AU! AO3 link is above, but the entire chapter will also be included below, as usual. And of course, many thanks to @naffeclipse for these characters who have lived rent free in my head for months now hehe <3

Hope you all enjoy! It's time for those other kisses.

Rating: T Word Count: ~23,300 Content Warnings: Very mildly suggestive content Summary: The animatronic sighs heavily.

“Yes, I know I should have gone with the handcuffs instead. But why else am I supposed to wear suspenders if not to seductively slide them off for you one at a time?”

As he says this, he reaches up and hooks a finger underneath one of the straps. His air is nothing short of coy, like an idea has just taken shape in his devious mind, and he slowly eases the fabric across his shoulder, flirting with slipping it over the edge. A curled metal digit suggestively rubs the suspender. It would probably have a much greater effect on you if his little show wasn’t currently being backed by cheery elevator music, and that alone has your lips spasmodically twitching.

Sun gives the impression of waggling his brows, rife with an emotion you refuse to label.

“Are you seduced yet?” he croons.

~~~

The city streets on New Year’s Eve paint a scene of winter white awash in the pale yellow shine from stores and lampposts. Strings of warm lights keep the sidewalks appearing deceptively cozy, but you know that just beyond the cold glass of the car window is an even brutally colder world. The temperature at last dipped to the single digits today, and with the sun having just disappeared below the horizon, casting the sky in a dark blue and gray mix, everything will freeze over tonight.

Craning your neck so that you can see the sky better, you know that the heavy darkness that greets you from above holds layers of clouds thick with snow. The forecast you caught a glimpse of on the TV before Moon had ushered you out of your home stated that the snowfall accumulation was anticipated to reach an extra five inches.

Probable reason to stay indoors. That hasn’t stopped your work party from staying on schedule at some ritzy, swanky hotel the city is known for, and nothing short of a disaster will impede the event. The show must go on, or so the producer had said. Attendance isn’t mandatory, as today is a company-observed holiday, but it is heavily encouraged since the one previously planned earlier had to be postponed to tonight. Maybe you’re the fool for going to this one, but you’ve actually been really looking forward to it. It’s a chance to celebrate with everyone all the hard work they’ve put into each scene. When the final episode of your team’s triumphant efforts airs, another party will be due, but this one feels extra special despite filming not being done yet. You’re welcoming in the new year together, and after all the time you’ve spent getting to know your coworkers, not going to the party held tonight would feel like you’re missing out immensely. You need this reprieve just as much as everyone else does.

And… well. The present company attending the party certainly factors into your desire to go. One-third of your favorite attendees sits next to you now, and you pull away from the window of the car to peer at Moon instead.

The beloved hat from his detective costume remains firm on his head—the sole piece he seems to have grown a deep attachment to. It suits him well and almost makes you feel like you’re still in the middle of a shoot, acting out a scene with Detective Moon in his patrol car as you scour the city together.

His gloved hands rest on the wheel, and his eyes remain fixated on the road ahead. A very good thing, given his typical driving habits and the fact that you’re sure he knows most of the city police by name now. Not by choice either. That’s exactly why you didn’t relay to Sun or Eclipse how you were getting to the party until you’d fastened your seatbelt. For one, when Moon had offered to come pick you up and escort you to the hotel, how could you have possibly said no to that? It sure beats paying for an expensive lift to the event. For another, the texts you’ve since received are nothing short of concerned. After the string of praying emojis Sun had posted in the group chat, you’d decided to just put away your phone for the time being.

You’ll be fine. Moon hasn’t hit any obstacles yet, literal or figurative, though that was a bit of a close brush with a tree he had on that last turn.

As he often does, he senses your eyes on him without needing to check.

“I can feel your stare digging into my faceplate. What is it?” His voice starts out in that soft grumble you’ve come to adore, but then his low pitch lifts to a little more lilting—a tease. “See something you like, maybe?”

The instinctive response that wants to clamber out of your throat is quickly choked down. Even though he’s the one who’s mentioned it, you suspect he has no idea. You’ve long since soared past “liking” him. That conversation you had with Eclipse weeks ago has not left your thoughts since. Every day at work, every night in bed, you’ve thought about what he’d said. What he’d done. You now know that the attraction you feel for the others is not just in your head. That part is indisputable. Having a relationship with Sun, Moon, and Eclipse is appealing to you in no small amount. You just needed the time to realize that on your own and make sure that this attraction wasn’t only a passing fancy.

Judging by how every single one of your waking thoughts has been centered on them for countless hours, you’re pretty sure you have your answer.

In a rare burst of what’s either bravery or stupidity, you decide to throw caution to wind. Your fingers wiggle as they sneak over Moon’s arm that’s closest to you and then dip around his wrist. There is a flash of red as he briefly glances away from the snowy roads, but he has to snap his attention back to the traffic around him. A car honks not too far away.

Honey couldn’t be sweeter than the smile that curls up your face.

Buoyantly, like you haven’t spent hours agonizing over how to approach your feelings for him, you say in a singsong, airy tone, “I might.”

Moon chuffs. His dry amusement at your antics never fails in elevating your mood, though you couldn’t be happier as it is. You squeeze his wrist playfully, and his hand clenches around the steering wheel. Only a matter of time now.

The swish of the windshield wipers fills the quiet, broken only by the clicking of the turning signal as Moon takes a harrowing left. You’re honestly surprised he remembered to signal at all. His fingers drum atop the wheel while his processor tries to determine if this is a game worth playing. He knows as well as you just how risky diverting any of his fleeting attention from driving is, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t against having a fun time.

Your fingers skirt along the edge of his glove, cheekily dipping in just an inch, and Moon shakes his head.

“You’re betting your life, piccolina.”

You wrinkle your nose at the pet name.

“I’m not that small.”

Moon, contrary to his trepidation, lifts the hand you’ve been toying with off of the steering wheel just to give you a so-so gesture. You snatch the opportunity to claim your prize, but you get the impression that Moon purposely lets you take his hand. His glove creaks as leather intertwines with your own fingers, lacing together and squeezing.

You beam proudly at your catch, and Moon rubs his thumb across your knuckles. He thankfully doesn’t look away from the streets, so you take full advantage of smiling at him and enjoying the moment with your friend. Moon’s presence always embodies a sort of calm that lulls you. He’s someone you can sit with in quiet and not worry about filling the space with words. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up from snoozing on his shoulder. Whenever that happens, you always apologize profusely, but for some reason, it just keeps repeating itself, and Moon thoroughly basks in it—both in getting you to relax that much and also being able to razz you relentlessly about it when you wake up.

You suppose it’s a small price to pay.

“Comfortable?” your companion’s voicebox thrums.

Yes. Very much so. Incredibly so, in fact. But you can’t say that because you don’t want to drop the teasing nature that Moon evokes. The kindness in the simple question wraps around you like a warm hug.

“I suppose,” you trail off with a shrug, and though Moon isn’t even peeking at you, he can certainly see the movement in his peripheral.

He flicks the signal again when he reaches his next turn. You don’t have the heart to tell him he’s signaling in the wrong direction though because at least he remembered to do it, and that’s what counts. As he slowly twists the wheel with only one hand, you hold your breath and hope some of the praying emojis Sun spammed in the group chat have a good effect. The tires skid a little in the slush of the road, but Moon miraculously doesn’t lose control, and he navigates onto the next street without further incident.

You breathe again.

“You suppose?” Moon drawls now that he’s not intensely focused on not crashing into a pedestrian or oncoming traffic. Or not as focused, you should say.

“Mhm.” You tap your free hand on your thigh and assess the current arrangement that begs to be malleable and crafted to your liking. An idea begins to form.

You glance at the time on the dash. The party started a half-hour ago, which means you and Moon are already late. It’s fifty-fifty on who’s to blame for that one, so you don’t really feel too bad. What’s a few more minutes? Granted, his brothers will probably begin a search party if you don’t show up soon, but you’ll take that gamble.

“So I was thinking,” you cautiously open with, and the words roll across your tongue as you draw them out.

Moon groans.

With a dour metaphorical tongue, he drones, “Here we go.”

He’s already clued in on what you’re doing, and you have to bite your own tongue to stop the laugh that wants to come out when he tightens his grip on your hand. Depending on his mood and how charitable he’s feeling, the lunar animatronic can be swayed by your charm into going along with some scheme or another as long as it’s legal. Often, he’s one-half of the voices of reason in keeping you in line while another brother backs him up (the third being more easily swayed by your wily ways, and you’re not going to name names, but it’s Sun). However, Moon is overlooking one important fact: He’s currently alone with you. You don’t need much more than that.

The seconds drag on as Moon waits for you to lay out your clearly devilish scheme befitting only the worst of criminals. When it becomes apparent that you won’t, he gives another synthetic groan that is entirely disproportionate to the situation at hand, and at the next red light, he comes to a full stop only a little past the white line. Then, he turns to you.

“What is it you want?” he gruffly demands, like you’re about to ask him to commit petty crimes with you again.

Honestly. You’d only asked him that once, and that was just because you’d wanted to see if the vigilante style would suit you in this life too. Moon had acted like you’d offered to start a mob instead, the very opposite of what you were going for, and you think that maybe playing detective has gotten a little too into his head because he’d threatened to turn you over to the cops he apparently knows so well if he caught you doing anything nefarious.

Maybe you should have approached Sun first about that. He seems more like the type to let you do some shady Robin Hood-esque business while covering for you.

But a little vigilantism isn’t on your plate tonight. Instead, you flutter your eyelashes at Moon, teeth peeking past your lips as you lose the fight in controlling your smile.

“I’d like a coffee please.”

A few more seconds of silence. His eyes don’t leave you for any of it, but you can practically see the mathematical formulas floating past him as he tries to parse for anything illegal in your request.

Slowly, like he’s defusing a bomb, he says, “I’m sure they’ll have that at the party.”

To that, you then amend, “Yes, but I’d like a specialty coffee.”

“…And this coffee would be special how?”

“Because you’ll stop at that really good café a few blocks from the hotel to get it for me?”

It comes out as a question, but your hopefulness is tinged well throughout. You’d clasp your hands in front of your chest if you weren’t already holding his.

Moon is sometimes difficult to get a read on, and even with no distractions around you, you can’t quite discern if he’s on your side this time. He searches your face like he’s studying some ancient script, committing lines to memory. His thumb still hasn’t stopped the soothing paths it follows across your hand.

Two quick presses to a car horn from behind jolt you and Moon. He resumes driving again, focusing back on the snowy road, and you reluctantly accept that you won’t get your way this time. That’s okay. Disappointing, but you can’t win them all. You’ll finagle things into your favor next—

“Tell me where to go,” comes the defeated exhale from your beloved companion.

You resist the wild urge to cheer and instead gleefully direct him to your new destination. It doesn’t take long to find it at all since the shop is directly along your current route. Incredibly, it’s still open even this evening—just what you were hoping for. Since the storm has begun to worsen, few people are out and about, which means rare street parking is open. Moon pulls into a space that is just a little ahead of the café, and you give his parallel parking the compliment that is due.

He’s actually really far from the curb in a way that would have not flown if he were taking his driver’s test, but there’s enough room for other cars to squeeze past his if need be. So you’re still proud of him. He gives you a sort of suspicious, sideways frown, but you can tell from the bashful hunch of his shoulders that he’s preening at the attention nonetheless.

Whoever approved his driver’s license is either an angel or an advocate for causing trouble.

You offer to go into the café alone, but he quickly shuts that down and tells you to give him your drink order instead. You reluctantly do, and as you’re rummaging in your coat pocket to give him money for the drink, he’s already out the door and telling you to stay put. The door then slams shut, and Moon hurries through whirling snow to the well-lit doors of the café.

Slumping in your heated seat with an exasperated sigh, you watch him with fondness budding in your chest. He left the car running so you wouldn’t be left in the cold—just another gesture that makes you feel odd inside. Like you’re restless and full of energy that you don’t know what to do with. You’re overflowing with affection for someone you hadn’t known until just months ago, and now, you consider him to be one of your best friends.

For some reason, your head is spinning with emotion.

In the cozy interior of the car, you watch through the snowflakes dotting the passenger window as Moon’s dark silhouette flutters about in the store. The edge of his thick overcoat sweeps around the back of his knees, and the hat he stole from set casts most of his head in shadow. You don’t think he ever intends to part with it. Maybe you should take a page from his book and nab some spare ribbon and bells when all is said and done. The character you play isn’t you, but you can’t help the connection you’ve developed with the vigilante over time. Parting from the show without taking a memento seems wrong. After all, it’s this role that led you to meeting some truly amazing people.

Moon wraps up with the order in little to no time and hustles back to the car as fast as his spindly legs will carry him. The winter wind whooshes inside the car when he opens the door and scurries inside. Just as quickly, the door shuts behind him, and he whistles from the cold shock.

“Might become a block of ice if it gets any chillier out there,” he hisses in a fizzle of static. “I can feel the snow getting in my joints.”

“Don’t worry, mon clair de lune,” you reassure, cranking up the heat to full blast for him. “I’ll be sure to warm you up before you become an icicle.”

“Believe that is my job,” Moon drawls, and he passes you a deliciously smelling to-go cup. “Here.”

He presses the hot cup of coffee into your waiting hands, and you greedily latch onto it while wholeheartedly extending your gratitude.

The aromatic sweetness hits your nostrils fully as you take a deep breath. Pure delight runs through your blood, and you hastily take a very long drag from the wonderful drink, swishing the steaming liquid around on your tongue before swallowing.

“Oh, I could kiss you right now,” you whisper into the lid of your coffee.

Thoroughly savoring the taste of your next sip, your eyelids flutter closed as the heat penetrates that frosty layer that had been persistently clinging fast. This is exactly what you needed. After another deep breath to relish in the richness, you glimpse over to find Moon’s pleased optics on you, soft and as warm as your drink. His smile is small, like he isn’t aware of it. But it changes before you can get a good look, and a familiar slyness overtakes all else.

“What’s stopping you?” he brazenly needles. He’s just playing around again, a harmless prod, but his innocuous question makes you pause like a deer in headlights.

Your hands are warmed by your to-go cup, the wind is whipping at a brisk pace outside the car, and your heart is abruptly thump, thump, thumping away in your chest at a breakneck speed that rivals the December gust.

Such a small, simple, harmless question makes something apparent to you then. There’s no one here but you and him, nothing else to demand your attention. Nothing to hold you back or make you doubt yourself or put you on the spot. It’s just you and the sweet lunar animatronic you hold very dear to your heart.

In this brief ounce of privacy between you and him, you feel a touch braver than usual.

“You know…” your voice mumbles, more to yourself than him, “I can’t really think of anything that is.”

The kiss—correction: two kisses—from Eclipse a few short weeks ago flashes in your mind. He hasn’t pushed once since giving you time to think about it, about how you feel about him. His brothers. A relationship with all three. You’ve been given time to consider fostering that with each of them if your heart yearns for your friends as much as you now know they yearn for you. It hadn’t quite clicked before the reveal that they wanted you. Since Eclipse’s confession, it’s never felt more real, and the way each of them act around you should have clued you in much sooner.

At least you know better now. There’s no writing off the lingering looks or touches or the words that sometimes carry a heavy tint to them. No, they all have meaning finally, and it’s felt like agony forcing yourself to slow down and think things through in the events leading up tonight.

The only one who’s pumping the breaks is you. Nothing is keeping you from just… letting go. No one is here to be a voice of reason as Moon sits beside you, closer than he’s been in weeks. Eclipse said he’d let his brothers speak for themselves about their feelings, but they’ve seemed to avoid the topic out of courtesy to you. No doubt their big brother told them about the moment he’d shared with you in that small alcove under a snowy night, much like tonight. Ball’s in your court now, and you have the chance to play.

You know what your heart wants. You’re sure of it.

So it’s a natural, easy choice for you to give in to the temptation whispering in your ear to stop resisting and just close the distance.

Moon doesn’t move an inch as you lower your drink in one hand and near, the only indication of him realizing what’s coming shown in the widening of his eyes.

With a small sweep of your fingers, you tip back your detective’s hat, hesitating only a moment to wait for any signs of discomfort from either you or him. Finding none but only the giddy anticipation coiling in your stomach and the inviting, subtle lean Moon makes in your direction, you slowly lid your gaze shut, tune out the pounding in your ears, and brush your lips against the cold metal of his cheek.

They demurely curl upward at the crackling gasp he emits. The sound has you wanting to stay, wanting to hear it again. You settle for trailing a ghost of another kiss just along that delicate swirl of metal. Before he can have a chance to react beyond that and before you can start second-guessing your actions, you pull away. Your heart won’t stop racing. It feels like your body is hardly contained to your seat at all and that you’ll glide away if you breathe too hard.

Moon’s dark pupils are blown incredibly large and round. His reaction is exactly what you were hoping for, and a small burst of pride wells behind your sternum. You did that. You made him react that way. You.

It’s a small tick in your confidence category, but even greater is the joy that grows wings and takes flight with you on its back. Moon gapes at you like you’re from the stars above, and you’ve never seen him stare at you like that before, but it’s already strengthening the heat in your cheeks.

You give him a moment to process and then delicately clear your throat.

“Shall we get going?” you ask your silent companion in an attempt to play coy. Internally, you’re a fumbling mess of a human who’s running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. The coffee cup trembles in your hand.

Even with your little prodding, he doesn’t seem to quite come out of whatever spell you’ve accidentally tossed him under. Well. Not entirely on accident. You very much kissed him on purpose.

Moon releases a thin hiss of air, like his cooling components are working overtime. He blinks once. Twice.

“What was that for?” he finally utters with tangible awe, but it’s little more than a breath. His voice could melt you into a puddle right in your seat.

You think back to what Eclipse said to you that night at the start of the month. A helpless shrug lifts your shoulders.

“Oh, you know. Just felt like getting a head start on the new year’s tradition.” Then, to make sure he’s on the same page as you, you add, “I take it Eclipse told you what happened a few weeks ago. About… testing the waters.”

Instead of scoffing, Moon softens almost imperceptibly. You’re starting to think he has no intentions of ever looking away. He lifts a hand towards you but then hesitates. Searches you for something you aren’t sure of. You lean your head to the side in invitation, and his hand cups your face much like Eclipse’s had.

In a sotto voce tone that crawls into your bones and makes its home there, he murmurs, “Clip asked us to give you time. That you wanted to think about it first. That’s why I—why we haven’t said anything. But I also don’t want you to feel like I’m not interested. Because I am. Interested, that is. Very much. In a way that’s probably more eloquent than I am when I’m around you.”

He gives an adorable little giggle that betrays his nervousness, and you titter alongside him.

Unable to not rib him just a little, you say, “Why, Detective Moon, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were feeling shy.”

“Funny. Don’t get used to it,” he warns, but he’s smiling as he does.

It feels good to know that you’re not the only one off your game at this. Makes it more lighthearted. No perfect lines or filtered dialogue like in front of the camera. The mask is off, and the sight you’re seeing beneath it is even more precious to you.

Moon takes a moment to process his next words, and you can tell by the thin whine stemming from his chassis that he’s heavily considering them. You stay quiet as you wait, and when his brow furrows, you know he’s settled whatever internal debate he was warring with.

The chilled hand is slowly warming at your cheek. The emotion on his face runs parallel to what’s been burning in your heart all this time.

“Would you mind if I got a head start too?” he tentatively asks.

There’s no ignoring the knot in your throat. Your stomach is flooded with antsy excitement, and you try to tuck away an errant strand of hair that keeps falling out of place. You feel like you’re shaking from nerves and eagerness. Imagining this exact moment playing out in your head for the past few weeks is very different from suddenly living it now.

You do your best to hide the thrilled tremor in your voice.

“I don’t see why not.”

The words probably don’t come across as confident or unaffected as you’d like, but then Moon is swiping away that loose bit of hair just as easily as he does so your thoughts. You feel him tuck it behind your ear, his fingers brushing back against your cheek a second time before sneaking around to the back of your scalp.

No resistance is offered when he pulls you close. You let your eyelids fall shut again just in time to shiver at the effervescent tap of his permanent grin to the very small corner of your lips, once again surprising you with the location of the kiss, though you won’t complain one bit about that. He doesn’t keep you for very long, but it’s enough that you have to let out a ragged breath that’s been building up ever since he teased you. His kiss leaves you spinning. That’s two for two that you’ve been caught off guard by a romantic display of affection. Well-played.

He shifts back some so that you can make eye contact—a simple task that you are now failing miserably at with impeccable odds.

You feel faint from the swell of emotion that this animatronic manages to pull to the surface with just a single kiss.

A flighty exhale precedes your shaky voice.

“Would it be cliché if I said ‘wow’ after that?”

Moon’s answering smile shines with elation. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the often stoic animatronic so profusely happy.

But before you can dwell on that, something else then catches your notice from his proximity. You scoot back in a little closer, safely preserving in your memory the tiny noise of shock Moon makes so that you can reflect on it later.

You take a deep breath in, and your curiosity momentarily beats out your fidgety nerves.

“Hang on. Is that… cologne?” you mutter, inhaling another whiff to confirm before leaning back, stunned at your findings. “Did you put on cologne tonight?”

Moon shifts again. Seems you’re not the only one feeling fidgety.

“Why do you ask?” he hedges cautiously, black pupils shifting, and you almost think he sounds defensive until his hand leaves your cheek. His fingers disappear into the insides of his coat, rummaging for something out of your view until he then pulls out—to your complete and incredulous astonishment—a can of WD-40.

He gives it a tiny shake.

“Did you want to use some too?”

In all your daydreams, there were a few things you had imagined happening right after you kissed Moon. Some gentle words. A hug, maybe. In the more risqué scenarios, an inability to breathe as he kissed you senseless again and again. All of those had seemed like viable options on the table of your secret hypotheses.

This, though. This was definitely not one of them, and you are baffled. You refuse to believe he just happened to have that can on him out of complete coincidence. It’s purely inconceivable.

You have to tell him as much.

“You have not been carrying that around all day just for the sake of making that joke.”

Moon’s faceplate rotates several degrees. He squints at you suspiciously. Contemplates the deep meaning of the universe, judging by how long he stays silent. Then, he casually hits you with a bombshell.

“You seem like you could use it.”

Your jaw scrapes the floor.

“Excuse me?! Are you implying that I smell?”

“…‘Implying’ is a rather interesting word choice.”

“Moon!”

Any reservations you might have had are banished by the lurching urge to snatch his beloved little hat from his bald little head and chuck it outside. His self-satisifed aura tells you he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

Before you can think of some wisecrack to put the cretin back in his place, Moon smoothly clarifies, “You smell nice. You always do, actually. It’s light and sweet. Pleasant.” He gently pokes the can’s nozzle against your shoulder. “Just like you.”

You’re left speechless for the second time in as many seconds. Your brain is struggling to keep up with the rapid-fire changes, so you sit there useless for a few moments while trying to think of what to say.

It’s a little unexpected, is all.

Moon appears to be none the worse for wear. He enjoys your surprise for a bit more and then continues on.

“That’s why I put on something nice-smelling too. Or at least what seems to be popular among you humans. Just wanted to put in a little extra effort. For you. Not the WD-40 though, sorry. That’s only for emergencies.”

While still very unexpected, the reasoning is enough to somewhat loosen your twisted tongue.

“Emergencies,” you parrot, deadpan.

Moon nods. He surreptitiously sets the can behind you on the floor of the backseat.

After another extended beat, a snort escapes you, your face falls into your hand, and your nostrils flare with your amused exhale. Moon’s fans whir a little louder at the sound, and you sigh again before peeking at him through your fingers.

“You’re a dork, you know that? A buffoon.”

The gremlin is practically vibrating in his seat.

“One might even say I’m a jester.” He waggles his brows. “A sleuth jester.”

“Yeah, one might not.”

Your hand falls from your head. You point an accusatory finger at him.

“Clown behavior. That was terrible and unfunny.”

“Wanna see a magic trick?” he asks with glee.

“No,” you bark out around a loud laugh, and he snickers happily.

You sit together in the warm comfort of the car, and the sense of longing draws you into a contemplative quiet while you watch him, and he does much the same. Your smile is going to wear out from all this use it’s been getting, but you don’t mind at all how effortlessly Moon summons it. He has to do very little to tug that giddiness to the surface. A fact that you’ve taken special notice of more so lately.

His attentiveness is apparent even in his actions, and you want to address that.

“For the record,” you say, more muted than earlier so that Moon hears the subdued seriousness in your voice, “I just want you to know that while you putting in extra effort is really sweet and appreciated, it’s also not strictly necessary. I don’t expect you to go out of your way for me. Getting to spend time with you is more than enough already. You don’t need to change anything about yourself to please me.”

The ruby glow dims a little, and Moon’s hands fiddle with the edge of his coat. You have the sneaking suspicion that if he could blush, his cheeks would be matching his optics right about now.

“I know,” he says back, equally gentle. “Actually, that is part of what endeared you to me. The fact that you don’t care that I’m—that any of us are animatronics and have different functions or needs or even lack of needs that humans do have. But I also know that it’s a custom to put in a little extra effort for someone you care about… someone you might be considering building a relationship with.”

His admission presses down like a leaden weight on your tongue.

“Moon…”

You’re not sure what to follow that with. You wish you could express everything that his heartfelt words are doing to you and how they threaten to stop your heart in its tracks if it keeps missing a beat.

What you do manage to say, gingerly, is much smaller in comparison than everything you want to express, but it’s a start.

“Thank you for being patient with me.” You swallow the nervous lump in your throat and try to focus past that. Moon waits for you to continue with a silent understanding in his demeanor that speaks volumes. A bit meekly, you say, “I doubt it’s much of a secret anymore how I feel about pursuing that with you, Sun, and Eclipse, huh?”

His hands stop playing with his coat. The crescent splitting the dark sapphire blue and lustrous silver of his faceplate curves an elegant sweep along the metal craftsmanship, and you are reminded not for the first time that Moon is beautiful. In your mind’s eye, you trace an imaginary line around the smooth curls and hidden divots, every slight highlight and blemish and silver scratch. With your imagination taking flight, you are met with a fantasy not unlike the one you’d had of Sun weeks ago. In this one, you sit in Moon’s lap, cradling the lower half of his faceplate in your hands, and your lips find those intricacies to lay a kiss on, to bestow your affection. His own hands paint a delicate dance that rides up the back of your shirt while he flirts with the edges of it.

It’s just as intimate and gripping, and it leaves you shuddering in your seat. As you blink, and the scene dissipates.

You want that. You want it a lot. There’s not a shadow of a doubt in you about that. No shying from the truth now.

All you have to do is take the next step forward into the others’ waiting arms.

Moon doesn’t reply, which you think you appreciate more than a verbal confirmation. He leans away from you back into his seat much to your disappointment and blinks slowly, a languid relaxation to his serene expression. As far as he’s concerned, there’s seemingly no one else in the world now but you and him.

You're tempted. You doubt he’d say no to letting you test the waters with more than just the tips of your toes. But the snow is falling, and you have a party to get to, and you can’t remain frozen forever in this moment. It’s hard to remember your other obligations, but you manage to peel your gaze away.

“We should—” you swallow around your voice crack and clear your throat. “We should probably get going. To the party and all that.”

A rumbling respiration stems from Moon’s metal chassis. The lunar brother reluctantly shakes off his daze, muttering some indiscernible words to himself, and he sets the car back into motion down the street. The hotel isn’t far now, just up ahead and poking through the cloud of dark gray and white whirling outside. Even still, it surprises you when there’s a subtle tug on your wrist.

Moon’s fingers curl around you, slipping one hand free of your cup so that he can grasp it. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you, but you don’t need to. His fierce focus on the wet and slushy roads tells you all.

When he pulls up to the hotel’s overhang, the valet draws up to his side to discuss parking. You tune them out in favor of enjoying the two points of warmth in your hands, one around your coffee and the other ensnared in leather. All too soon, Moon lets go and gets out to let the valet take over.

You gather your things and tighten your coat around your waist. In that very short time frame, your door is then swung open, and Moon gives a debonair dip to hold out a hand to you, his other arm behind his back.

“I believe I offered to escort you in,” he remarks with a tinge of coyness. It seems he’s getting a little of that spark back after your moment together.

Your surprised sound at the unexpected gesture threatens to oust you, but you do your best to keep your cool.

“Such a gentleman,” you croon.

His low brush of laughter makes the cold feel not as strong on your cheeks as he helps you out of the car, the heels of your shoes wobbling on the cobblestone until you find your balance. His eyes reflect the twinkling golden ambience of the city lights around you, warm and delighted. They brighten even more when he offers you his arm and you take it happily, shivering from the cold that cuts through the tailored fabric of your suit pants.

Together, you and Moon enter the skyscraper hotel, and after showing your identification to the personnel and each being given some sort of pass, you are fast directed to the second floor where the holiday party is being held. In the elevator, you can’t seem to bring yourself to let go of Moon’s arm. He doesn’t seem too keen on letting you go either. His other gloved hand rests smoothly atop your own as if to keep you there.

As soon as the elevator doors slide open, a symphony of music and conversation greets you. The noise would normally grate against your ears, but with the calm presence of your friend guiding you into the chaos, your shoulders stay relaxed and your steps sure. Several coworkers take notice of your entrance and nod or raise their glasses in celebratory welcome. You wave to your colleagues, but you search for someone else. Technically two someones, but in this crowd, you know you won’t have to look long.

Moon steers you towards the left of the floor where open double doors lead into the main hub of activity. There’s another check-in desk there, but you and Moon only have to flash your name badges to be waved on in. The room echoes the same noise and bustling activity just outside it, with more of the film and production crew milling about and enjoying themselves. Lifting your head, you get a waft of what can only be delicious food, and you absentmindedly let out a pitiful whine as your stomach grumbles.

Soft snickering from above pulls your attention, and you glare at Moon. His merriment shines wide in his teeth.

“Do we need to take a quick detour?” he asks, reading you in a heartbeat.

You release a pained sigh.

“No, I can wait. Let’s find your brothers first.”

“Already done.” Moon points to a table off in the corner, and sure enough, twin sets of rays, one yellow and the other blue and purple, peek out from the chairs. Both are facing away from you since they’re sitting beside each other, so they haven’t noticed your arrival yet, something your feet seem keen on remedying as they hasten over to your friends. You end up dragging Moon along for the ride, but he’s quick to catch himself and match your speed.

Sun and Eclipse appear in deep conversation, the former chattering enthusiastically while the latter answers more slowly, slouched against the wall next to his chair and a hand shadowing his optics. You can’t help but admire how the sharp suits and ties they wear fit them both very attractively, though Sun’s already discarded his coat on the back of his chair. Eclipse catches sight of you and Moon first, and he gives a little wave that makes you accidentally clench Moon’s hand and causes Sun to spin to see you as well just as you reach them.

“It’s about time you got here!” he exclaims. “We were just about to start dinner without you.”

You tut in skeptical disbelief, saying, “A likely story. You can’t even eat, which… makes me wonder. Why are you holding a glass?”

Sun looks at the flute in his hand then back at you.

“What, this? It’s champagne. One of the waitstaff gave it to me, so now I’m trying to blend in. Is it working?”

From over your shoulder, Moon says, “Considering that you start to act tipsy whenever a certain special someone is around, I’d say you fit right in.”

You dutifully ignore Sun’s indignant squeak because your attention is quickly arrested elsewhere. In one chivalrous motion, Moon slips away from your side to pull out a chair for you. Your head ducks as the temperature of the room inches up a couple of degrees, and it only grows stronger when he helps you shed your heavy coat to drape it over the back of the chair. You murmur your thanks and slide into a seat across from Eclipse, Moon pushing your chair back in. He answers with a hum of acknowledgement and takes the one next to you.

Clearing your throat, you attempt to focus on what he’d just said.

“So who’s the special someone?”

Eclipse snorts loudly, and you tilt your head at him, confused. Sun rubs a hand over his optics with a groan. You can hear his internal fans kick on from over here.

The brother sitting next to you is the only one to take pity on you, but his amusement could be classified as tangible.

“I was referring to you, sweetness.”

“Oh.” Your mouth might be hanging a little open, but you can’t be blamed for it. That wasn’t the answer you were expecting. Actually, there are a lot of things happening tonight that you weren’t expecting, and you have a sneaking suspicion they’d be obvious to literally anyone else. “I hadn’t, ah, noticed.”

“Really?” Moon’s voice is dry, intoning more of a statement than a question.

“Don’t be rude,” Sun chastises Moon, but you think that might be because he’s just still embarrassed from his brother’s remark. “They haven’t eaten yet. You can’t be mean to someone with an empty stomach. It’s bad manners.”

Eclipse squints at him.

“How is that considered bad manners, but not the whole being mean part in general?”

“Because I don’t want to exempt myself from being allowed to get on the nerves of my big brother.” Sun turns back to Moon. “Stop kicking me under the table.”

“Move your damn big feet then,” Moon fires back, slumping deliberately in his seat.

The table shudders with a jarring bang, and you carefully tuck your legs close to your chair to avoid catching any crossfire of the sudden battle happening under the white tablecloth. You share a knowing look with Eclipse, and the dazed tiredness in his gaze makes you smile.

He sighs.

“Did you have a safe drive here?”

Was Moon a safe driver for once, is what he’s really asking. You rest your chin in your hand and lean forward.

“It was a nice, smooth ride,” you muse, fingers curling around your coffee cup. “My chauffeur knew some tricks that made the trip seem to go by so much faster. Feels like we got here in no time at all.”

Eclipse sighs and briefly closes his eyes as if calling upon divine intervention. You think if he had an actual nose, he’d be pinching the bridge of it.

“How many red lights did he run?”

“None,” Moon says, rejoining the conversation as if he and Sun weren’t just engaged in a slapdash battle of footsie. “I take care of my passengers and ensure their safety at all costs.”

“Past experience and numerous police tickets say otherwise,” Eclipse returns wryly.

Moon’s grin sharpens.

“Performance is based on tips.”

Pupils as black as midnight peer out once more, flicking between you and Moon in confusion before settling on you.

“And did you… tip him?”

You give Eclipse a conspiratorial wink.

“I held his hand while he drove us here.”

“Mercy.” Sun recoils, absolutely appalled. “You risked him driving with only one hand on the wheel, and in this weather? Are you perhaps feeling unwell?”

“If you try to suggest putting your fingers in my mouth again, we’re gonna have a problem, and that’s a threat.” You point at Sun for emphasis, and he pretends you’re holding him at gunpoint, his hands flying up in a pacifying manner. One of your eyes squeezes shut, and you mime shooting, which makes him slump back dramatically in his seat like you got him square in the chest. You shake your head, lips twitching upward while Sun straightens again. “I’m not sick, but I am hungry. Actually, I think I’m gonna go grab some food before it’s all gone.”

“Allow me,” Eclipse says, and it’s not a question. He rises to his feet.

You consider getting up anyways just for the principle of the matter, but a single finger pointing at you to sit back down is enough to have you settling in your chair with a fake pout.

While buttoning his suit coat with one hand, he asks, “Anything you’re particularly in the mood for?”

You consider for a moment.

“Mm, no, I trust your judgment. You probably know my tastebuds better than I do at this point.”

An emotion passes across Eclipse’s dark faceplate, something that makes your skin prickle at the sudden knifelike quality to it. Instead of voicing whatever he’s thinking, he just spins his rays and returns your wink from earlier.

“I’ll be back with a plate.”

He saunters away, politely dodging groups of people and conversations as he makes his way towards the mouthwatering smell of food. You track him for a little while as you nurse your coffee until you’re brought back to the present at your table. Sun and Moon are being unusually quiet, and both are staring at you.

“What?” you say after a pause.

Sun’s smile normally warms you to the soul, but there are times when it sends you into fight or flight mode, just like Eclipse’s. In fact, all three of the brothers share that uncanny ability, and it’s no less disarming whenever it’s aimed at you. The meaning behind the near-predatory flash of teeth can operate anywhere on the scale of danger, and depending on Sun’s mood, it can quickly tip over into territory you want to avoid.

His rays blur in one direction then the other.

“You have a way with words, precious.”

“…Thanks. I think.”

You don’t know if that was meant to be a compliment, but you’ll take it as one anyways.

Sun doesn’t say either way, but the deep blue of his pupils are cutting. It’s offset by the rather distracting way he’s swirling his champagne around in the flute like it’s a glass of wine. You’re not exactly sure why he’s doing that, but you are impressed at how not a single drop of liquid spills over the top despite being full.

A couple of minutes tick by as you simply relax and chat with the brothers while sipping your drink. It’s not long until restlessness begins digging in, however, and you give a cursory glance around the room and tap your fingers on the table.

“So what’re your plans after this?”

The question is barely out in the open before Moon answers with a sarcastic, “Going home and getting absolutely plastered.”

Apathy ricochets off you and Sun.

“They should make a park for people like you.” Sun tips his glass at his brother. “An unamusement park.”

“Hilarious.”

“No, it’d be the opposite of that.”

“That’s just Wall Street, Sun,” you say around a yawn, and Sun somehow makes a noise like he’s clicking a tongue he doesn’t have. You don’t question it.

Moon hmphs and crosses his arms like a child. You decide it’s best not to tell him that it only endears him to you even more.

“You do have a bit of a dry personality when it comes to acting,” you say, reaching up to scratch your chin in contemplation. When Moon’s faceplate swivels at you, utterly dumbfounded, you quickly add, “Not that that’s a bad thing! It’s just different from what is more common nowadays. That’s probably why you and Sun complement each other so well too. In fact, I think you would have been great in a show like Dragnet, Detective Moon.”

“No, don’t get him started—” Sun begins in a petulant whine, but it’s too late.

Moon’s red optics widen a fraction, and he suddenly gets a gleam in them, like he just got hit with inspiration. His metal fingers tug the brim of his hat so low that only the light of crimson shines from the shadow. Then his hands make quick work of loosening the knot of his tie just enough that it sits slightly askew. He squints across the table at the wall, staring at nothing with such intensity that it’s like he’s scrutinizing something a great distance away. His shoulders pull back, while he mimes takes a heavy drag of a smoking cigar.

Finally, to tie the charade together into a neat bow, he says in a very husky, deadpan voice that cracks with static, “Just the facts, ma’am.”

Sun’s eyes roll so hard, they could fall out of his head. You grin wide. In your peripheral, you think you see dark rays approaching your table.

“It’s almost like he does it effortlessly,” you joke playfully.

“That’s because there is no effort put into it,” Sun says, exasperated. “He’s not acting. Monotone is his personality.”

A sneer breaks Moon’s act, and he spins his head around in a complete circle to taunt his brother. Defying all physics, his hat remains squarely on all the while.

“Sun’s jealous because he knows if this were a different show, he’d be relegated to sidekick status.”

As Moon’s speaking, Eclipse returns, full plate in hand. He sets it down in front of you, to which you thank him, picking up the silverware next to you. His rays give a little wiggle in return, and he melts back into his seat with a grunt, propping his elbow back on the table and resting his head on his hand.

“I think being a main character has gotten to your head,” Sun returns snippily. There’s an exaggeration to his voice and haughty head tilt that tells you he’s just as much bantering along with Moon. The swirling of his drink gets more aggressive. “We’ll see how well that works out for you. Maybe this will be the start of my villain arc, and I’ll secretly become the big bad of the story with a mafia to my name.”

“Ugh, please do,” Eclipse groans from where he lounges, dragging his hand down his faceplate. “I’m tired of having to be mean.”

That snags your attention. You shuffle a bite of what might be teriyaki chicken onto your tongue and chew thoughtfully.

Holding your hand in front of your mouth as you munch so that you don’t endure another lecture from Sun, you say, a bit muffled, “I really should find the time to sit in on one of your classes soon. I wanna hear all of your secrets to playing the big bad villain.”

Eclipse’s chuckle flows on a deep wave that buzzes in his chest and warms yours, making your own cheeks hurt, both from the large bite of food you’re chewing and from how you beam at fostering such a sound. His low-lidded black eyes slide over to you, peering out from under his hand.

“That’s easy,” he says. “Anytime I have to act angry, I just think about these two idiots and the shit they make me put up with.”

Sun’s visage turns affronted.

“Language! And what exactly do you mean by that anyways?”

“He certainly couldn’t be referring to all the times we’ve pranked him,” Moon retorts, pretending to examine his nonexistent nails.

You nod sagely in agreement.

“Or the times you’ve tried to sabotage his shoots by distracting him.”

“Or how often we customize his wardrobe for fun.”

“And there was also that time you hid his car keys in a jello mold.”

Moon brightens at that one like you’ve made him recall a fond memory.

Sun leans back in his seat and bends an arm over the back of it. His frown slants sideways.

“Well, when you say it like that, it makes us sound bad.”

You twirl your fork on your plate and share a look with the animatronic from across the table.

“I wonder why.”

Your group laughs then along with one supremely ragged sigh from Eclipse, stirring up a decent amount of noise in the already loud room. The conversation continues much the same, with the three brothers taking cracks at each other while you watch the show and scarf down your dinner. It’s by the time that your plate is scraped clean and you’re sipping on the cold leftovers of the coffee Moon got you that a new presence is drawn in by the chatter in your small corner. You don’t immediately notice them until they speak up.

“Why am I not surprised to see you four all cozying up together in your own little area?” a calm voice addresses your table.

You glance up and find a much too complacent smirk staring you down.

Sun takes a gander at your table’s new visitor and acquires an awfully mischievous glint.

“Uh oh. Security breach! Someone better let staff know that the Loch Ness Monster has gotten out of containment again.”

Like clockwork, Vanessa’s eyes narrow, and she places her hands on her hips, lips pursing.

“That nickname hasn’t been funny in all the ten other times you’ve used it.”

“Au contraire, little fish. It ages like a fine wine.”

Rolling her eyes at the lighthearted taunt from the jesting animatronic, she turns back to you.

“So when’s the wedding?” she presses, apparently deciding to return fire with fire.

A scoff trickles out, and you consider diving into a lengthy, not at all defensive rant about how the rumors your coworkers love circulating are just that: rumors. Just because you’ve decided you want to be with the celestial animatronics doesn’t mean you’ve all had a conversation about making that public yet, if ever.

But then Moon decides that now is apparently the best time to slide his arm behind you and tuck it over your shoulders, and you’re left choking down your own rebuttal because he just threw it in the mud in one shove.

Vanessa doesn’t smile often. She looks like a damn cat that caught a canary now.

On reflex, as if you can salvage your dying dignity, you say, “We’re not dating, Ness.”

Technically not yet since you still need to have a chat with Sun privately and then discuss with all three of them to make sure you’re on the same page. But you don’t need to clarify that.

“Yeah, Nessie,” Moon adds, dutifully ignoring Vanessa’s immediate grimace at her other equally despised nickname. Really, though, he needs to stop talking all at once. “Can’t you see we’re all just hanging out like a couple of buddy ol’ pals?”

“Not helping, Moon,” you half-heartedly lament, trying to formulate a protest, but the blonde-haired woman has already taken the bait.

She lifts a brow.

“If this is how you treat your ‘friends,’” she says, actually pausing to make the air quotes, “then I’m glad we never became more than associates.”

“Aw, there’s no need to be so pessimistic,” Sun drawls with a heavy inflection, sweet like molasses. He reclines in his chair, crossing his legs. “Just because we never had a spark between us doesn’t mean there aren't still plenty of fish in the sea. Or lake, I should say. The show’s not over yet.”

“It’s about to end prematurely if you keep talking like that,” Vanessa shoots back without dropping the flatness in her tone one iota.

Sun’s smirk is all dangerous edges, and his rays twirl flirtatiously.

The display and banter is nothing out of the ordinary between those three. Though she may deny they’re friends, Vanessa has always gotten along well with all of the brothers, which is probably another reason you’ve also gotten along well with her. She’s been in the acting business longer than you have, and instead of trying to show you how things are done, in the beginning, she watched and noted your own technique. Only after you asked her for her advice did she offer it. She’s brought a professionalism to the show that is greatly needed, yet she still keeps an open mind to how everyone else does their own work.

For that, she’s earned a lot of respect from you. It took only a little nudging to get her to warm up to your friend group. The feigned disinterest is now just part of the usual routine, and you know for a fact that no one except Moon and Sun have gotten her to laugh aloud.

You owe a lot to the show you’ve all worked on together for the friendships alone that you’ve gotten through it.

“Have you been enjoying the party?” You decide to reroute the conversation before an all out war can break out in the form of snappy comebacks.

Vanessa groans.

“I could be relaxing in bed with a hot cup of tea. In fact, I should be relaxing in bed with a hot cup of tea. But for some godforsaken reason, I made the poor choice to come here instead.”

“Because you like us,” Moon singsongs, circling a finger along the white tablecloth.

Vanessa deigns to ignore that. Everyone knows he’s right, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before she ever agrees with him.

She addresses you instead.

“I see they’ve been practicing their terrible pick-up lines. I’m sorry you had to be the unfortunate one and settle for scraping the bottom of the barrel, unlike the rest of us.”

“Wow,” Sun huffs, dry as sandpaper.

“Deserved,” Eclipse chips in, just as dry but no less entertained at the spectacle unfolding.

“Like I said,” you say, not concealing your amusement at Vanessa’s persistence, “we’re not an item yet, so stop trying to set us up.”

“Yeah, I really don’t think you need my help with that,” she returns far too smoothly.

Your jaw goes slack, but Vanessa steamrolls right over your scandalized shock as usual.

“Anyways, I came over to fetch you for a second if you can spare one from your boyfriends. Freddy is asking for you.”

“Oh!” At that, you glance around in search of the bear animatronic, purposefully ignoring that last small dig.

With his big, hulking frame, it doesn’t take long to spot Freddy. He’s chatting with a few others in a semi-circle. As expected, you catch the slightest glimpse of Gregory next to him, though the poor kid seems miserable in his suit and tie. You can more than relate and have to stifle a small chuckle at his pout.

You turn back to your table and ease out of your chair onto stiff heels and creaking joints. Oof, that’s definitely the sound of your knees going snap, crackle, and pop.

“I’ll be right back. Save my seat?”

Moon blinks at it. Then back at you.

“Why? Is it dying?”

Before you can give back a snarky reply, Sun tacks on with faux concern, “Hey, is your fridge running?”

You share a wordless, pointed look with Vanessa and decide it’s best to not indulge them before they can get on a roll because once they start egging each other on, there’s no stop in sight.

Eclipse nods at you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep them in line while you’re gone.”

The twin snide leers in response tell you otherwise, but you’ll let him deal with that. His problem now. As you turn, you get a glimpse of Moon hunkering in close to his brothers with an excited sharpness in his movement.

Vanessa doesn’t have to say a word while you walk beside her. You just take her exasperation in stride because you know you don’t have a good rebuttal ready. She ends up sticking with you all the way to Freddy’s group, giving you the tiny impression that she’s been requested to “chaperone” you from one side of the room to the next.

As you’re weaving around the many groups of friendly faces and cheery waves, greeting them back with as much enthusiasm, you catch sight of Vanessa’s tie and nearly do a double-take. On a simple black background is a tiny print of many rabbits, with a myriad of bow ties, hats, and ribbons. It’s so fitting, you can’t not say something.

“I like the tie,” you snicker.

She follows where you gesture with a hand. It could just be the light in the room, but you swear you see a hint of mirth from her at you noticing.

“I thought it would be funny,” she says in an unfazed tone that makes your breath hitch around another sharp snort.

A lot of your coworkers find Vanessa to be standoffish. They don’t know what they’re missing because at her heart, she is one of the funniest people you’ve come to know. It just took a little to get her to warm up to you, and now, you consider her a great friend. On top of that, she’s incredibly talented to boot. You’re beyond glad that she was cast for her role in the show. That final showdown between you and her still gives you shivers even with all of it being an act.

“It is pretty fitting,” you agree, trying your best to don your best blank façade and failing. “Since it’s the year of the rabbit, after all.”

“Ugh. Now I know you’ve been hanging out exclusively with those three idiots. And what’s worse is I’ve heard that joke at least a hundred times tonight.”

“A hundred and one now, and the night’s still young.” You elbow her tauntingly, and she shies away with a scowl.

Vanessa appears prepared to tell you exactly what she thinks of your terrible jokes, but before she can, your name is called out in a sonorous clap.

You find Freddy eagerly waving you forward, and without a second thought, you’re by his side and being swept into a ferocious hug.

“It’s so good to see you outside of work for a change! I never thought those rascals would let you out of their sights for the holidays.”

A terrible groan threatens to break your throat.

“Not you too, Freddy,” you bemoan.

“No worries, I’m just pulling your leg.” He lets you go and beams down at you, good mood infectious. “But all jokes aside, I am glad you decided to come out tonight. The party wouldn’t be the same without the star lead.”

You blow off his statements, a little frazzled and more than a little flustered.

“Oh, ease up on them, Frederick. You’ll make the poor thing blush,” joins yet another voice, deep yet muted.

William Afton’s figure is just as imposing even outside of the villainous character he portrays. You don’t know how you missed him in the small circle Freddy’s been chatting up, but his piercing observation of you has you straightening up. He isn’t someone you’ve had a chance to really get to know, but as a more senior actor in the group, he’s posed an intimidating factor in his wealth of experience alone. You’ve seen him in action; he’s incredible.

What’s even more of a delightful surprise is his present company—namely, the small child standing next to him, their hand in his and swinging the pair’s arms happily.

The child is none other than the actor that plays a much younger version of the vigilante, one whom you’ve found to be utterly adorable. They’ve easily won the hearts of the cast and crew, and judging by the way William holds their tiny hand so delicately, they’ve gotten him wrapped around their little finger too. And even if those two weren’t holding hands, you’d already know how close they’ve gotten in the time they’ve worked together because of all the little anecdotes that’ve been passed around the grapevine about them becoming an unlikely pair of friends. Their bond reminds you of a paternal relationship. William is the one who gave them the beloved nickname Ribbon, thanks to the bright spool of red they’ve taken to tying in their hair upon realizing it was also part of your costume. It’s a reminder that they look up to you, for whatever reason that makes you hyper aware of everything you say or do around them. You’re no role model, but you’ll do your best to be one for Ribbon if that’s what they need.

As for the nickname, you’re sure it was meant to be a silly, one-time thing. But then others caught wind of it, and now it’s just kind of stuck. The little child actor couldn’t be more thrilled at getting their own moniker and almost downright refuses to respond to anything else.

They catch you watching and give a jaunty wiggle of the fingers of their free hand—a wave you can’t help but return. The kid bounces on their toes, pleased.

“It’s about time you came over and said hello,” quips a sarcastic tone that you recognize in a heartbeat.

You peer around Freddy.

“Hey, kiddo. How’s tricks?”

Gregory pulls a sour grimace.

“Don’t call me that.”

“He doesn’t like being called a kid,” Ribbon helpfully explains. They light up impishly. “It’s a sore spot.”

“It’s not a—” Gregory stops and forces himself to simmer down, rolling his eyes. “I’m not that young.”

“And I’m sure they mean nothing by it,” Freddy smooths over, likely sensing the argument before it can begin. “But even still, there’s nothing wrong with being a child! Why, you have gotten to experience something that most other kids your age have only ever seen on TV. That’s something to be proud of.”

“My parents let me skip school,” Ribbon brags when Gregory just grumbles.

You click your tongue sharply at that.

“They’d better not be! Else I’m gonna have some very strong words with them, dumpling.”

That has the tot giggling, and William shakes his head.

“No need, I already checked. They’re not missing out on school. I actually had the chance to meet their parents sometime ago.” He pauses to subtly indicate to a couple who aren’t too far away, chatting with a few people you vaguely recognize. Vanessa is also talking with them, and you wonder when she snuck away from your side.

William continues, “They informed me that any education outside of school hours is being handled at home or with tutors. And in fact, this little one brought their math homework to the set last month and showed me just how quickly they’re learning.”

The two share a small glance. It’s easy to see the pride in William’s features.

Then Ribbon turns to you.

They cup a hand over their mouth and loudly whisper, “He didn’t know the answers to some of the questions, so I had to show him how.”

You share a conspiratorial gasp.

“No kidding? Then I guess it’s a good thing you’re here to help these grownups learn, huh?”

A toothy grin flashes, and they nod excitedly. It’s then you notice the giant red silk in their braid, tied like a bow. The ends curl and frame their face cutely. You think you might even hear the chime of a bell.

Guess they’re going all out on their outfit tonight. Seeing them mimic your vigilante costume even outside of work grants you a deep fulfillment that runs through your chest. You hope that wherever they end up afterwards, it’ll be overflowing with only good, kind people. And hopefully their parents will preserve their childhood as much as possible too.

Anyways,” you say, turning and regaining Gregory’s attention, “Sorry, bud. Freddy’s right that I didn’t mean anything by it, but I’ll make sure to not call you that from now on.”

Gregory shrugs, crosses his arms, then uncrosses them like he’s not sure how to react. More than likely, he just feels put on the spot.

He chews on a response for a bit before he goes with, “It’s fine if you do it, I guess. Just don’t make it a habit, or else I’ll start calling you old.”

You feign shocked betrayal.

“How dare you? I’ll have you know that I’m always at my prime.” But then, unable to resist playing along, you pretend to feebly sway on your feet and place a hand to your chest, while the other reaches behind and presses at your spine, and you hunch over. “Oh, but your words—they cut so deep! I can feel them, seeping into my poor mortal bones, cursing me with old age. Agh, my back! It’s breaking!”

Like you’d expected, Gregory can’t quite hide his amusement at your shenanigans, and though he gives a valiant effort, his smirk is strong across his face.

“You’re such a theater kid,” he mocks.

You straighten with a frown.

“Oh, that’s real rich coming from you, shorty. Them’s fightin’ words.”

The sardonic, gloating image of the other threatens to start a semi-hostile bickering match between you and him. Fortunately or unfortunately for Gregory, Freddy intervenes like the paternalistic figure he’s come to embody.

“Alright, that’s enough. No need to start verbally swinging. I swear, you’re like a couple of cats and dogs sniping at each other any chance you get.”

Very maturely, you jab an accusatory finger at Gregory and retort, “Don’t look at me. He started it.”

The bear animatronic gives you a heavily imploring look. Your aura of innocence doesn’t seem to be swaying him in the slightest. Pity.

“You’re just mad that I’m right,” the kid taunts.

“Gregory,” Freddy warns, rounding on him and sounding for all intents and purposes like a disappointed parent.

You puff up your cheeks, readying another witty comeback on your tongue, but Freddy must have some sort of sixth sense because he shoots you another damning look that halts the friendly fire in its tracks. A silent standoff occurs between you, him, and the spunky little brat who thinks he’s winning, judging by the proud uptilt of his chin and his haughtily lifted brow. Which, to be fair, he’s not wrong in believing that, but details.

“To completely change the subject,” Freddy says before you can research if it’s legal to throw hands with a kid in self-defense, “I called you over here because I wanted to tell you something while I have the chance. And to start with, I’m sure many others have said the same thing to you already, but I want you to know it’s been a pleasure getting to watch you work throughout filming.”

One of his hands settles on your shoulder and stills you entirely, though you certainly weren’t expecting that last remark either. He makes sure he has your full attention before he keeps talking.

“I think I can speak for everyone here when I say that you’ve brought a uniqueness to the show. There is something to be noted about the good nature you carry into every circumstance, and as such, I’m grateful our paths were able to cross because of it. You have heart, and that shines well in your role. I believe the success we’ve had would not have been so easily attainable without you as the vigilante.”

In just a few short sentences, Freddy manages to strike down your smile and hollow you out. You stare in dumbstruck fashion at the bear animatronic. The heartfelt honesty wasn’t something you were expecting or ready for, and it cuts through your defenses and threatens to crumple you like a napkin.

“Freddy,” you hesitantly start, growing uncomfortable, “that’s really sweet and all, but I’m not—”

He gently interrupts you by briefly holding up a hand. You fall quiet.

“Please, let me finish being sentimental and overbearing while I still have you here, and then I’ll let you get back to the party. Since we’ve begun working together, I haven’t quite had an opportunity to tell you this, but I think you are an extraordinary individual and a talented actor. More importantly, however, I know that some of our… shall we say chattier team members have been spreading rumors. You probably know exactly what I’m referring to, so I’ll refrain from going into any details in case there are other listening ears nearby.”

He pauses just long enough to seemingly collect his thoughts. The unexpected direction of this conversation has your heart immediately jolting in your chest and pounding erratically, fearful of what he might say after hearing all of the gossip. Despite the sudden urge to turn tail and run, you hold back the panic that looms just on the edges of your peripheral. It waits to descend, circling like a hawk, and you push it back with an obstinate force.

You will wait to hear him out first, though you pray that he hasn’t called you over to condemn your relationships with the celestial brothers.

Perhaps your stone-faced silence is a dead giveaway, or maybe the stiffness in your jaw is actually a trembling line that betrays your worry. Either way, Freddy takes a good, long look at you, and it’s then that his expression changes. Determination or certainty or something close straightens his shoulders and eases his trepidation away.

He continues in a much more private murmur, for your ears alone.

“My point is, in spite of those rumors, I can’t help but notice how increasingly happy you’ve become, even in this small timespan. You seem brighter than before. Lighter on your feet. I know I didn’t meet you prior to us working alongside each other, so I hope you’ll forgive me if I’m sounding presumptuous here because that truly isn’t my intent.” When his smile reappears, it’s like a ray of sunshine shining proudly upon you. His tone overflows with his benevolence as he finishes, softer still, “I just want to say that whatever that happiness is and whomever it might be with—if that is indeed the case—I hope it is something that works out for you. And I hope you pursue it if it does. Because like many others here, you deserve to have good things in your life too. So don’t ever let anyone convince you otherwise, no matter what they may say or believe.”

A friendly or perhaps comforting squeeze grips your shoulder. The following pause is loud.

Having said his piece, Freddy waits patiently for you to respond or maybe just to mull over what he said. Or to do anything at all instead of just gape at him.

Something slips into your eye. Both of them, funnily enough. You wait a moment too long to blink the odd sensation away, and it starts to burn.

Freddy notices, because of course he does, and his brow furrows.

“I’m sorry. It seems I’ve made you upset by what I said.”

You wave off his concern.

“No, no, I’m fine, really,” you lie very convincingly. “Don’t worry, it’s fine. It’s okay. I mean, I’m just—”

You bite your tongue to stop the immediate urge to deflect. You don’t like to think of yourself as overly emotional. Your soul lies in your work, and that’s where your emotions shine. You also know that while Freddy’s praise is flattering, it’s far from true. There are so many talented, gifted people working on this production. Anything you do is but a speck in the grand scheme of things, and a great deal of other people deserve credit far more than you do.

Still, it’s a palpable relief to hear what he said and to know that you have someone supportive in your corner. It touches you deeply because while it’s one thing to be recognized for your work by someone like him, it is a whole new matter to hear an outsider’s approval of the relationships you’ve been brewing over restlessly. Freddy is a role model—an inspiration—to the team. In many ways, he’s become a sort of parental figure that many look up to, you included. Having your silly human heart’s desires be acknowledged and embraced by him means a lot to you more than any kind of praise. A whole lot.

So much so that it stabs right to the center of all the inner turmoil that’s been burgeoning inside you without an outlet, and your ears feel hot and your throat tight.

You attempt to just laugh it off, sounding a bit uneven and watery.

“Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you to say that,” you say at last, and the easygoing tone you were shooting for kind of falls flat.

You’re exactly like he said: happier and lighter. Have been for weeks—months—now. But especially recently. Just took you a little longer than most to notice.

You’re certain though about what you want. You don’t feel like you need to test the waters anymore. Originally, you’d been alarmed at jumping into three relationships headfirst without any thought, but truth is, you were thinking of it long beforehand. You just refused to see it for what it was, the longing for something more than friendship. This isn’t your emotions getting confused from what you act out in front of a camera, like you’d originally feared.

The teasing and rumors are things you’ve gotten used to over time. But what Freddy said goes farther than that, and it’s beyond refreshing to hear someone else’s perspective confirm what your intuition has been shouting from the start.

As you wipe your eyes with a hand, you say only a little shakily, “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you. I think I needed to hear that more than you realize.” You take a moment to collect yourself, swallowing hard and letting the immense relief settle your nerves.

You’re here. It’s okay. It will be more than okay, but at least you know that you have people in your corner who genuinely care. You weren’t exactly ready for the emotional rollercoaster you just rode, but you’re thankful nonetheless. It feels good to not be alone like you’d once thought. It feels incredible.

As the racing in your chest calms back down, the levelheadedness returns. Freddy is still waiting like a worried spectator, so you decide to reassure him in the best way you know how.

Your smile is small but facetious.

“You know, it’s a good thing you approached me about this. Here I was, all worried you’d turn me down, but I’m so glad you finally saw the light and decided to confess your undying love for me before the clock strikes midnight.”

For an animatronic, Freddy does a fantastic job of blanching.

“Oh! No, that’s not… Ah, I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.”

He panics to the point his voicebox starts to stutter as he backtracks. William steps in to rescue him.

“They’re joking, Frederick. They know you’re not the one who’s madly fallen for them.” His eyes slide over to you. “Which those three have, by the way.”

You spread your arms in disbelief, neck burning.

“Geez, did everyone else figure out my love life before me or something?”

“Only a little.” The man smirks, something that is extremely hard not to react to when it’s so unlike him.

“What’s a love life?” Ribbon innocently pipes up.

Gregory replies, “Tch, don’t ask them because they clearly don’t know.”

Freddy pats the top of the boy’s head.

“None of that now. Be nice. They can work things out in their own time. There’s no rush.”

You don’t have the heart to tell Freddy that that is exactly what you’ve been worrying over. So you instead peer back over to your table, gnawing on your lip as you think.

There’s not a clear view of them, but you can see Sun’s rays spinning wide as he converses with his brothers and a few others who have swung by to chat, standing beside the table. You wonder what they’re all talking about and suffocate the desire to go back over there. Just because you want to be with them doesn’t mean you have to act like some lovesick puppy.

As you’re weighing the pros and cons of making up some very transparent excuse to slip away from your group and return to the boys, a discordant echo of feedback rings through the crowd, making everyone wince.

“Sorry!” a distant voice yells, and then there’s distinct tapping on a microphone. “Test, test, testing, is this thing on now? I guess it is after that little noise.”

Everyone turns to the source, and you see the executive producer on a raised platform with a mic, two large projector screens on the wall behind him. Once he’s got the mic in working order, he requests everyone to take their seats, and you try to hide your elation at being dismissed from social convention. You make sure to wish the others a farewell and happy new year in case you don’t get to see them again later that night, giving an especially grateful squeeze to Freddy’s arm, and then you hustle your way back to three shining faces.

In the end, Moon proves to have been a valiant defender of your chair after all, and you reclaim the spot next to him while the man who organized the event launches into a lengthy speech of thank yous and cheers to the future progress of the show.

The distraction allows you a private moment to reflect on what just transpired and ease back into a calmer state. However, when you wipe your eyes a final time to stop any meddlesome tears in their tracks, your actions do not go unnoticed like you’d hoped.

Moon turns to you and leans in close so that he can whisper.

“Are you alright?” His concern is a selfless gesture that touches you deeply, like he’s ready to jump at a moment’s notice for your sake.

Your eyes glisten a little more at the sweet thoughtfulness.

“I’m fine. Promise.” At his persisting worry, you gently clarify, “It’s nothing bad. I’m just… really, really happy.”

Your heart leaps with your words, confirming the veracity of them.

Surprise rounds off the lines of disquiet and inclines the edges of his mouth. Moon’s steady regard holds unmistakable compassion.

“Good, I’m glad. Still, let me know if you need anything, and I’ll take care of it.”

You’re not at your verbal best right now, so you nod, and he shifts back to the speaker. You think that’s that, but then one of his hands seeks out and rests on the top of your lap, palm up. An offering. The questioning flash of red is only just visible at this angle.

You try to not let your sentimentality show so plainly to the room from you beaming as you slip your hand into his. It feels like you’re shaking with relief and euphoria.

From there, it’s easier to focus on the speech. The speaker informs the party that they are welcome to stay till midnight to watch the fireworks that the city will be setting off across the harbor. The hotel is waterfront, meaning the room’s windows facing the harbor will provide an exceptional view of the night sky. After that, the hotel has requested that everyone vacate the event room no later than one in the morning if they don’t have a reservation to stay and to please abide by the quiet hours rule. The fact that your group is even being allowed to hang around that late makes you wonder just how much money was slipped under the table to cover that cost.

You critically eye the waitstaff still handing out glasses of alcohol. It will be a miracle if there isn’t a single incident resulting in someone getting kicked out, and you know you don’t want to be around when that happens.

After the speech, a video is played on the screens commemorating months’ worth of silly moments and fun memories filmed both during shoots and in the lulls between. You end up laughing along with the others at the antics and bloopers caught on video, and even one of Sun and Moon’s pranks makes it on the screen. It’s a heartwarming stroll down memory lane that is bittersweet and a reminder that the show is nearing its finale.

After the video ends, the executive producer steps down from his stage, once more thanking everyone for their hard work and encouraging them all to finish off the plentiful catering leftovers. The room explodes into applause and some whistles, and you join in with the ones sitting next to you. It’s been a hard journey with many late nights and abysmally early mornings, but you’re close to the end. You’ll miss the familiar people you’ve come to enjoy seeing every day and the kindness of the teams you got to work with. One thing is for certain: Your phone is positively bursting with contacts from many, many people you’ve met just through working on this show. You hope that your future job will connect you with some of them again face to face when all is said and done.

Mind abuzz with thoughts of where you’ll end up next, you whittle away the hours yet again with your favorite company. At one point, Sun hands off his flute of champagne to a passerby with superfluous reassurances that he’s done “absolutely nothing to it!” He doesn’t sound trustworthy at all, but when he gives you a universally austere wink, it becomes obvious he’s just pulling the other person’s leg.

At some point, someone pulls out an honest-to-God Clue board game from who knows where, and you end up on a three-person team with Moon and Sun—much to the chanting of your friends and coworkers—to solve the mystery and take down your competitors. Eclipse pairs with Gregory and an actor who played as one of his goons. Becker, you think his name is.

A mix of people from other departments, from the sound crew to the camera crew to the stunt performers and everyone in between, get involved too, whether it’s to team up or just spectate like this is the greatest new sport. In the end, the result is a truly raucous round that leads to your team’s victory. High fives and gloating abound, but that’s quickly stampeded when you, Moon, and Sun lose the next round. After that, you decide to let other people have a turn, and you mingle with those you haven’t had a chance to chat with in a long while. What makes it an even better experience is that throughout the socializing, you find yourself with a tail or two or three. They let you reach out first—a hand on their backs or elbows—which leads to them returning the favor so that you’re in constant contact with at least one. It doesn’t escape your notice that doing this means you’ll receive more raised eyebrows and probably stir up the pot of gossip.

But unlike before, that thought doesn’t really bother you as much.

You know why.

As the clock ticks closer to midnight, the party dwindles in size. Some depart to go celebrate the new year with family; others leave to follow the call of their beds. You catch one more quick interaction with Ribbon, and they give you a big hug that you return just as tightly. Their little arms threaten to bruise your bones, and it only makes your fondness for them soar. Their parents also bid you goodbye, sharing grateful waves at you, and you watch as they lead their kid to the hotel’s elevator, Ribbon squeezing both their hands and skipping between them.

Not an ounce of tiredness in that one. You wish you had their energy. The studio couldn’t have picked a better vigilante-in-the-making.

Feeling winded yourself, you return to your seat with a drawn-out groan. While you were away, Sun and Moon swapped places. Judging by the delighted tapping of Sun’s fingers on the table and Moon’s unhappy glower, it wasn’t a unanimous decision.

It’s a mere fifteen minutes to midnight now. And that’s when Eclipse returns to his seat and decides it’s high time to throw another curveball your way.

“I have a proposition for you,” he slyly says, which has you simultaneously uneasy and intrigued.

“Oh?”

“Yes, oh?” Sun parrots, with much more skepticism in his tone.

Eclipse grins wryly. In between one blink and the next, he snaps into view a solid black card between his middle and forefinger. The slender card has no meaning to you, at least not until he flicks it a certain way in the light. The embossed letters reflect the ambient glow just enough to be legible, and that’s when you gasp.

“You’re joking,” you breathe, and Eclipse chuckles.

“What? What am I missing?” Sun looks between you and Eclipse and then at the card, but Eclipse tucks it away just as fast.

You lean back in your seat, stunned.

“This hotel has to be booked solid all through the holiday,” you manage to say. “How on earth did you get a key? Did you book a room months ago?”

The eldest brother is obviously enjoying this, both your and Sun’s reactions, unlike Moon who is slowly becoming one with his chair the further he sinks into it, and you can’t find it in yourself to deprive Eclipse of his moment. You weren’t expecting that at all.

He shakes his head and keeps his voice low, like he’s sharing a secret.

“I don’t know if you’ve met him yet, but there’s a man here who I used to work with on a different set years ago. He’s a cameraman, and the bulk of his work is focused on taking candid pictures to be used for promotion. Back when we first met, we both were still graduating past being labeled as fresh blood in the industry, so we ended up hitting it off. He’s been a good friend of mine ever since.” Long fingers fold together, and Eclipse props his elbows on the table, shadowed metal almost ominous in the light. “That’s all to say that he was invited to tonight’s party as a plus one because his niece is one of the actresses for this series, and they’re rather close. He chose to book a room at this hotel months ago for the event out of convenience.”

Eclipse leans in closer as excitement in his voice builds, and like an infectious pull, you mirror his movement.

“Here’s where it gets interesting,” he simpers. “I overheard that this place has a pool and bar—more specifically, a rooftop pool and bar. Due to the cold weather, the outdoor half of the pool has been closed for winter, but the indoor half has been kept open. And currently, guests are allowed to use their keycards to enjoy a nice swim and some drinks from ten o’clock in the morning to ten o’clock at night. So naturally, when I expressed my interest in accessing the place, my friend gave me one of his spare keys with the exception that I don’t tell anyone where I got it from.”

You're astounded and can see how Eclipse relishes having such a captive audience.

“Kind of failed on that front already,” Moon tacks on blithely. He feigns disinterest, but his gaze is fixed on you as well, assessing.

You hope he isn’t readying to read you your Miranda rights if you so much as suggest an iota of interest in this.

Eclipse, however, only puffs out a synthetic breath at his little brother.

“Anyone who’s a snitch,” he clarifies.

“So what you’re saying is,” you say, still starry-eyed with wonder, “we can sneak up to the rooftop and watch the fireworks from there?”

“Among other things, yes.”

You pause.

“Other things?”

Eclipse doesn’t answer. But his shifty keek at Sun has you feeling on edge.

“Oh!”

You flinch as Sun violently shoots to his feet, chair scraping behind him, and he is just as wide-eyed as you.

“I’m suddenly fully on board with this plan without any dubious behavior whatsoever.” He holds a hand out to you. “Let’s go do some illicit activities.”

You side-eye Moon. Sun does much the same.

“By which I mean technically not illicit at all,” he hastily adds. He wiggles his fingertips at you. “Coming, doll?”

Your hand reaches for his.

“Nothing dubious, huh?”

Sun gently pulls you out of your seat. The animatronic picks up your coat too and drapes it over your shoulders before you can have time to think about it, and the warmth of your coat extends deeper than it normally would. He takes your hand with a stifled sound that is by definition just plain cute. Suspicious or not, you’ll go wherever he leads as long as it means staying by his side. Clearly, the brothers have something planned, especially since Moon hasn’t made a peep where he normally would about anything remotely smelling of unlawful, and you squirm with your own enthusiasm.

“Here.” Eclipse gives Sun the keycard, and while Sun pockets it, you frown in confusion.

“Wait, aren’t you two coming with us?”

At long last, Moon breaks his silence with a benign grin aimed up at you.

“In a minute, starling. Go on up before I change my mind.”

Eclipse tips his head at the elevators.

“We’ll catch up with you shortly. Sunny wants to share something with you first.”

Said animatronic is trembling like a live wire in his bundle of excitement.

“I hope that isn’t what you mean by illicit,” you snark, and you let Sun steer you out of the room with not a second to spare.

“No, no, you won’t find any sort of recreational things on me. I have clean pockets, promise!”

You almost lose your footing, but the other is quick to catch you.

“Thanks.” You pat him appreciatively. “ Also, I wasn’t thinking you had any dirty pockets there, Sunny. But now that you mentioned it… Hm, I might just need to check for myself and thoroughly investigate.”

You watch in bemusement as Sun repeatedly presses the elevator button to summon it. His head snaps to you with some wily scheme dancing inside, his blatant impatience subconsciously pulling you in so that you have to tilt your head back farther to keep him and his lovely rays in sight.

His inner mechanisms click and whir at your closeness. With the hand not holding yours, he taps you on the nose, making you wrinkle it.

“Let’s not get handsy just yet, dear. We haven’t even discussed marriage.”

That earns him a scoff.

“Then color me surprised, snookums, because it sure seems like we’re eloping.”

You lean your weight against his side, confident that he won’t mind, and Sun lets go of your hand to wrap an arm around your shoulders instead. As you’d suspected, he squeezes you like he plans to imprint you there.

One of the two elevators dings upon its arrival, and the second the doors swish open, Sun hustles you inside. His barely restrained frenetic energy has you snickering, to which he lightheartedly swats you. Once he’s pushed the button for the top floor with more aggressive tapping, he spins back around to give you his full attention. His boundless enthusiasm means a need to channel it somewhere, so it’s no surprise when his fingers continue to busy themselves by beginning to undo one of the buttons of his cuffs to roll his sleeve up to his elbow.

“Trust me, you will know when we’re eloping,” he remarks without thought as he’s focused on his task, neatly tucking away fabric and moving on to the next sleeve.

Oh, he makes it too easy for you sometimes. You brace against the wall while letting a flirtatious smirk emerge. It’s impossible not to tease him a little more, not when you’ve got him trapped like this.

“When we elope, detective?” you echo smugly, pulling a little of your character to the surface. You can’t help it when he walked right into that one.

Sun doesn’t say anything.

Not in the way you’d expected, however. He doesn’t freeze like it was a Freudian slip of the tongue or react with visible panic. No, he doesn’t utter a single word in the aftermath of that little taunt, but he needn’t do so in the way his eyes speak for himself.

Cerulean blue is piercing in low light, you realize. Unwavering as he doesn’t add anything more to confirm or deny your question. You’re playing a losing game of trying not to focus on the bare metal that is revealed as Sun finishes rolling up both his sleeves. Only a beat more of silence has to pass before you realize that you’re the one who’s prey to the sudden intensity of the solitude from the craziness of the night. It’s just you and Sun now and a weighty stillness in the shadow of what you’d thought was an ignorant exchange. Somehow, that has you more uncentered than probably any comeback he could have returned.

Sun’s not saying anything in defense because he doesn’t intend to deny it.

You swallow. Nothing but the vibration of the elevator and its lighthearted music disturbs whatever tension has begun to form. Not unwelcome or even necessarily uncomfortable. But it is noticeable, and you’re becoming extremely aware of everything in the small space, namely the animatronic who’s taking up most of it right in front of you.

Before the tension can get any thicker, the elevator comes to a halt somewhere in its ascent. You and Sun watch as someone, presumably a hotel guest, steps onto the elevator with you, reaches over, and taps a button for a few floors up.

You were wrong; the tension can get thicker, and it is compressing you.

The ride up is painfully silent, made worse by the fact that for whatever reason, Sun does not stop staring at you. You’re just an arm’s reach shy of being cornered against the wall, and apparently, Sun sees no issue with this and how it might look to the unexpected friend who’s joined the circus.

Hardly ten seconds pass, but it feels like an eternity before the other person’s floor is reached. They exit without a word or a glance in your direction, and that’s exactly how you prefer it. Without looking, Sun reaches over and nudges the button to close the doors. They slide shut, and your ride to the top is continued once more with only one animatronic to fill the space and your vision.

Funnily enough, this is the first chance all night that you really get a good view of his outfit, what with him being so close. Since you’re desperate to latch onto anything else, you concentrate on that instead. To your surprise, what you see has you in tickled disbelief.

Blinking, you nod in his direction and say, “Please tell me those suspenders are from your costume.”

Sun glances down at the thick loops of fabric on his person as if he’s seeing them for the first time. Then his grin flashes back up at you, twinkling.

“Do you like them?”

He already knows the answer, cheeky thing.

“As if you even need to ask.” You ignore how his amused leer makes your skin pleasantly tingly. You are, in fact, ignoring a lot of things that him being so close is doing to you. A shiver runs down your back. Which you also ignore. “What I’m more shocked by is how you and Moon seem to be sneaking off with pieces of your outfits and getting away with it.”

Sun shrugs and brushes imaginary lint off his shirt with a hum.

“I needed something special from my costume to wear tonight since I wanted to dress to impress. It was either wear these or my handcuffs.”

“…I think you and I might have different definitions of how to impress.”

The animatronic sighs heavily.

“Yes, I know I should have gone with the handcuffs instead. But why else am I supposed to wear suspenders if not to seductively slide them off for you one at a time?”

Sun gives the impression of waggling his brows, rife with an emotion you refuse to label.

“Are you seduced yet?” he croons.

You’re actually on the verge of hysterics after bouncing from that tense moment to now this highly entertaining version of a strip tease, but you’re doing your damndest to keep down the stunned laughter rattling inside your chest. You purse your lips to hold back the tide and then take a second to compose yourself.

“I don’t remember this scene ever being in the script,” you say instead, keenly aware that the elevator is not soundproof nor private. You suddenly wonder if there is a security camera in here and if some poor staff member is seeing all of this, and you almost burst into a guffaw right there.

Sun taps a coquettish finger like he’s shushing you. He can tell how close you are to losing it, and he has no problem chuckling at whatever face you’re making.

“That’s because it’ll be our little secret behind the scenes,” he chirps.

Before you have time to unpack that little remark, the lilting elevator voice declares you’ve reached your destination. You straighten back up when the doors slide apart, a deep exhale blowing past your lips to calm the fluttering in your chest, but Sun doesn’t move just yet.

His hand extends out to you, palm up. A light request and one you don’t have to ponder at all to accept. You’ve noticed that all of the brothers seem to enjoy holding your hand. That’s good, because you enjoy it too.

As the two of you traipse out onto the floor, you’re struck by an intense smell of chlorine. Your lungs expand with the joyous call of swimming pool water, and it’s a small shame that you don’t have a swimsuit on to take a quick dip.

Sun scouts the area with you at his side. Miraculously, the floor appears entirely vacant and ghostly quiet. Couldn’t be because the pool and bar hours have long since passed. Certainly not. There’s a gym up here too, secured off behind glass walls and an entrance that requires keycard access to get in. But that’s not what you’re here for.

“This way.” You lead Sun down a hallway, trusting your nose.

He’s quiet still, but his steps are no less eager than yours. You wonder what it is he wants to show you and why he needs to show it up here of all places and what on earth was that moment you shared in the elevator because it certainly felt like something. There’s no denying the thrill you get from sneaking in somewhere that’s technically meant only for actual hotel guests and only during certain hours. It makes you remember being a teenager, getting into trouble or always just dancing outside of it with someone you lo—

Someone you care about.

As you and Sun peruse the vacant floor, what you’re doing begins to catch up to you. It starts with a giggle from one or both of you—you’re not sure who, but it’s definitely you—like you’re misbehaving children getting into things you shouldn’t. Very quickly from there, the chortles you had tried to suppress from before begin to slip out with Sun not far behind, and you fall into a repetitive pattern of stifling your hitching breaths and hushing each other with no success.

“Sun, you’ve gotta—” you loudly snort and laugh even more. “You’ve gotta stop—”

“Ohoho, I’ve got to stop? Not this barrel of laughs right next to me?” he gibes, his free hand snaking out and poking you in your sensitive stomach.

“H-hey, no! You cut that out right now, mister!”

Sun’s fingers wriggle treacherously, and your squeal bounces off the walls. Another round of shushing does little to quell the jittering butterflies in your stomach that are making your chest heave with half-caught breaths. To your relief, Sun ceases the merciless assault on your ticklish side, but it’s only to then stop in place.

You stop as well when you realize he’s not budging, and you smile a little crookedly over your shoulder at the unreadable way he looks at you.

Standing there in the hall, Sun doesn’t move an inch aside from his rays that twirl in a leisurely circle. His hand is warm in yours, and his focus doesn’t stray to anywhere except you. He takes a long moment to just keep you at his side, quiet and contemplating.

Then, without preamble or any warning, he kindly says, “You have a pretty laugh.”

And wouldn’t you know it, there is now no air conditioning in the room whatsoever because you can feel yourself heating up all over.

“Oh,” you start, openly floundering like a fish out of water. “I’m… Thanks?”

An affectionate huff graces your ears.

“You don’t have to thank me for that, silly. All I mean to say is I enjoy hearing it. Seeing you happy makes me happy.”

Thump-thump.

Seems like all three of the brothers adore leaving you speechless too. You’re aware your mouth is parted, but you don’t even know what to say to that. Sun said it like it was another one of his simple observations he loves to make, like it’s as plain as the weather or the nose on your face.

Like it wasn’t a tease or anything meant to poke fun. Just mere fact.

The edges of your lips find their way back up your cheeks.

“Then I’m glad to hear that. Because you make me happy too,” you say quietly.

Yellow rays pick up speed.

After a subtle glance around, you add, “Not that I don’t appreciate the really sweet confession, but are there any other pressing things you need to admit right now, or do you mind if we get outside first before your brothers show up? You said there was something you wanted to show me.”

The whites behind his blue pupils catch an opalescent flash of light, like mother of pearl.

“I suppose I can wait to tell you about my outstanding arrest warrant,” he says. “Come along then. We don’t have much time left!”

“Wait, your what now? Sun!”

He tugs you after him, warbling giggles promising he’s up to no good, and that’s all the answer you get from the animatronic.

Thankfully, you make it down another hall without further incident as the walled-off pool comes into view. It’s surrounded by glass panes just like the gym. The lights are dim inside, signaling that it isn’t open. But that’s hardly a deterrent, and as you near the door that will let you inside, you can see through the room that on the other side of the pool is another door that leads out onto the rooftop.

In one swift swipe, Sun glides the key across the card reader, and the door unlocks with a beep. Like a true gentleman, he proudly opens the door for you. Or rather, he tries to.

You watch him jolt when the door doesn’t swing open. Grunting, he then grinds his heels into the floor and heaves and tries to yank on the door with all his might. The metal and glass obstacle refuses to budge.

Having some pity on him, you calmly say, “Honeybee, it’s push, not pull.”

He pauses. Stares. Gently, he nudges the door in the opposite direction. It swings open wide.

His grin is an even, flat line.

“I knew that.”

“Sure you did.”

Disregarding your mocking tone, he keeps the door propped open with a foot and bows low.

“After you, my dove.”

You shake your head at the endearment and step past him, waiting for him to quietly close the door behind you before you pipe up, voice echoing across the water.

“Are you just throwing out pet names now and seeing what sticks?”

His chassis purrs with his mirth, restlessness keeping him in motion. “I thought about calling you a chicken, but doing so seemed most fowl.”

“A ch— What did you just call me?!” Oh, you’re about to show him just how non-chicken you are, but you then cut yourself off as soon as his joke lands. Blowing out a loud breath, you give Sun the full scope of your unimpressed glower. His optics lift from his joviality.

“That was the worst pun I’ve ever heard.”

“Got you good though, didn’t I? Hmm?”

When he’s like this, very subtly swaying from one foot to the other like he’s listening to some silent tune and his endless delight needs to be used somewhere, you can’t hold onto a frown to save your life. You just can’t.

So you purse your lips and pout as hard as you can to show just how unamused you are. You’re so unamused. It’s almost funny how deep your lack of amusement runs, it’s so unamusing.

Your lips quiver at the edges. Sun sees it.

Without warning, he sidles up to you, humming some unknown tune, and then with his thumb and forefinger, he reaches up and pinches your lips together, making them even flatter.

“On second thought,” he remarks, completely ignoring your indignant, muffled protest, “a chicken or a dove isn’t accurate because what I’m clearly seeing now is a duck.”

He emphasizes his point with a squeeze, making you create the very unwanted impression of a duckbill, and he springs away from your enraged swat and squeak, delight carrying his voice loud across the pool.

“Sun!” you yell, rubbing your smarting mouth. “Don’t run away!”

“No offense, duckling,” he titters as he does the exact opposite of your demand, “but something tells me that would be to my detriment!”

“Yeah, that something is me! Come back here!”

You chase the fleeing animatronic around the pool and to the door leading outside. Sun slams into it first, sprinting out with you fast on his heels. The icy cold temperature shocks you from its severity, but you’re too lost in the chase to give it much thought. Sun skips all the way past the closed bar and outdoor pool, up a small flight of smooth cement stairs, and to an area overlooking the harbor.

Right into a corner.

Seemingly realizing his mistake, he turns back around, but you’re already there, closing in on him. What’s worse is he’s still cackling, and you don’t know how you’re going to get your payback, but you’ll figure it out somehow.

“Hoohoo, you’re looking a little frosty over there,” he says, hands lifting up in a placating motion as you near. “Perhaps this would be a wonderful time to go back inside where it’s nice and toasty!”

“Perhaps not,” you shoot back, ignoring how you’ve lost the war in maintaining a frown. The joy on Sun’s faceplate is just too contagious.

He drops the placating gesture in favor of hooking a finger in his collar and tugging on it like he’s nervous. What a drama queen.

“You know, I heard diplomacy is in currently! Super popular! All the cool cats are trying it, so I think we should give it a shot too to see what’s what.”

You’ve reached him at this point, and your hands land on your hips. “That’s funny to hear, Sunny, since just thirty seconds ago, you didn’t seem all that interested in it.”

The animatronic sputters at your very sound logic. His expression is not at all apologetic while he pulls an excuse out of thin air.

“Change of heart?” he says uncertainly.

“Yeah, how believable.” The desert has nothing on your arid tone.

You step forward and grasp one of Sun’s bottom rays, one of the few you can actually reach. Though he could very easily withstand your strength, Sun lets you pull him down until he’s eye-level with you. You have some long-winded speech waiting in the wings—pun not intended—about how this “duckling” can meet him step for step in weaponized terms of endearment, and you absolutely will use that to your advantage to drop the most unhinged pet names in front of others when he least expects it.

But then Sun speaks up before you get the chance.

“If we were to, say, hypothetically, continue the trend of listing things that are funny,” he begins, speaking lower now that he’s so close to you, “then I’d like to mention how this little predicament happens to have reminded me of what I wanted to show you.”

Your skepticism is unmatched.

“Does it involve pulling a sudden disappearing act?”

“Goodness, no! That’s the very opposite of what I want because that would mean putting distance between myself and you… little duck.”

Your eyes narrow.

“You’re pushing it.”

“Just moving the goalpost, darling. Let me finish before we run out of time.”

You can’t help cracking up at that, shaking his ray a little so that all of them swing side to side a few degrees.

“What, do you turn into a pumpkin at midnight or something?”

“Excuse you, I’m more akin to a Prince Charming than anything. But that’s beside the point because I have something very important I need to tell you.”

When he says your name then, the silliness ebbing away to make room for something more serious, you perk up, and your smile dims with concern.

But Sun eases away the wrinkles of worry with his thumb, soundlessly cupping your cheek and soothing you in a motion that makes your heart skip. You’ve noticed it doing that a lot lately. He takes the hand that’s listlessly clinging to his ray, curls his long fingers around it, and lifts it up to press a kiss to your knuckles. The wind is slow yet sharp, cutting into your bones. You instinctively huddle into your coat in a vain attempt to preserve some heat.

Sun tuts when you shiver and helps you slide your arms into the sleeves of your coat rather than just keep it around your shoulders.

“I should have brought my jacket up as well so you’d be at least a little warmer. Sorry about that.”

You snatch his hand back, which he gladly accepts.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine with you here. Just tell me what’s on your mind.”

Sun chuffs, shaking his head but minding his rays so that they don’t prod or scrape you. His mouth twitches.

“You’re always so sweet, honeydew. Silly pet names aside, I hope you know that I’m only ever teasing you with them. When I’m not trying to be a romantic, that is, which is actually always, but regardless—”

“Romantic?” you interrupt softly.

This time, Sun’s eyes do widen. His rays pop out wider, and it’s the first time tonight he actually looks rattled.

“Oh! Oh goodness, I did just say that, didn’t I? Not that that isn’t exactly why I brought you up here in the first place, but I had intended to at least drop that particular piece of information with a little more delicateness. I don’t want to go scaring you off so soon before I’ve even had the chance to reach the second bullet point in the speech I’ve rehearsed and scrapped at least a thousand times, and— Oh dear, this isn’t how I’d planned things to go.”

“Sun,” you say as soon as he pauses. His rays begin speeding at your voice, and you resist the sudden desire to close the infinitesimally small space between you. But you do have an inkling of why he brought you up here, why Eclipse and Moon hung back to give you time alone with him.

The math is starting to add up. Surprisingly, even with your rapid fluctuation of heart-pounding excitement, you feel a calmness that reassures you. This is where you’re meant to be, with him.

“Be honest with me,” you request, and Sun nods emphatically. Dork, you think with full affection. You take a deep breath in, hold his gaze and the stars within, and then let your breath out. There’s nowhere else to go, but your feet still try to inch you closer. “Did you bring me up here to kiss me?”

A lull. Out here, it’s a little harder to hear Sun’s mechanisms working overtime, but the fact that you can hear them at all tells you he’s processing quite a bit. That already is a big hint of an answer, but you want to hear him say so yourself.

With an artificial exhale that layers an inexplicable tenderness, he says, “Well, it wasn’t an expectation, but I certainly would be lying if I said I wouldn’t like that. More than that, though, I just wanted to confess how I feel about you and go from there. But I suppose I am that transparent, aren’t I?”

Your cheeks are stretching again from your happiness.

“Don’t feel too bad. It took me until a certain conversation with Eclipse a few weeks ago to realize any of you had feelings for me.”

Another puff, this one exasperated.

“Yes, I'm aware. Honestly, we all thought we weren’t being subtle in the slightest. Even our coworkers noticed, dear.”

You wince and protest, “Okay, well, I thought they were just joking around! You can’t blame me for that. Especially since I thought you all were just playing too.”

“Which remains a mystery to me! I even asked you months ago if you wanted to practice kissing so that we could get it right during filming.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens once more.

The moment he’s referring to is vivid in your memory, only because you’ve thought about it more times than you’d like to admit and had just sadly written it off as Sun being his usual playful self. Yes, he was flirting, but you hadn’t thought he was flirting-flirting. Just that it was the usual game you all play. But still… months ago? Just how long have these three been trying to get your attention?

“You were flirting with me then?” you say quizzically.

Sun chuckles, and one of his arms winds around your waist. He holds you like the daintiest flower, and even you feel a flash of embarrassment over just how much you like that.

“As I said, a mystery. But like any good sleuth, I have a feeling that with your help, we can put our heads together and solve this case.”

You brighten immediately. There he is.

“Ah, I see,” you play along. “Taking inspiration from a certain show, hm? So what are your deductions, Detective Sun?”

“I’m so glad you asked! Because I have quite a few, but for the sake of time and the fact that the fireworks are soon to start, I’ll give you the cliff notes version and do away with any alleged speech, rehearsed or not.”

His palm is so warm around your cheek, hiding you from the cold as much as he can. You hardly even notice it when he’s embracing you like this. Your eyes search his, your entire being ready to latch onto his every word to lock it inside your heart and never let it go.

In the strongest sincerity you’ve ever heard from him, he says, unspeakably gently, “I like you. Not just as a friend, though you are without a doubt one of the best and closest I’ve ever had. I like you in the sense that I have fallen for you. Complete head over heels, tumbling-down-the-staircase kind of mess. I'm absolutely sure you know that by now, but if you don’t, I am not above paying to have it written in the sky so that it gets through your thick but lovable head.” His warning comes with a wagging finger, and you snort despite the unexpected mistiness creeping behind your eyelids again when you blink.

Sun’s fake glower softens to an incandescent warmth, pulling you in like a flower.

“The point is, I want to pursue this feeling with you, as do my brothers. I’m sure they’ve already told you. Heaven knows if I have to listen to Moon brag for another minute about getting a kiss from you tonight, I will lose my sanity. But I also heard from a little birdie that my brothers requested a little, hmm, how did they put it? A head start on the new year?”

You bite your lip. His scrutiny falls lower, and your uneven breath is a cloud of white smoke between you and him.

“Something like that,” you softly say.

Sun’s servos whistle a delighted song.

“I hope you’ll excuse me for being so bold because I’m about to be like that regardless,” he says, “but it sounds like they didn’t do the tradition properly at all. They seem to have missed one very crucial factor, and I think you know exactly what I mean. So with that in mind, precious, may I steal a kiss from you to make sure it’s done right?”

After a confession like that? You wind your arms around his neck, lips parting, blood pounding in your ears. He needn’t have even asked.

It takes a moment to find your voice, but you make sure it reaches him even as a whisper.

“As long as you promise to give it back.” Your fingers toy with the back of his silk tie.

You don’t mistake the way his arms tremble like he’s afraid to hold you any tighter.

His words fall on a cadence weighted down by obvious want.

“If that’s the price for stealing such a lovely treasure,” he respires synthetically, “then I might just have to pay it over and over again.”

In the next second, his mouth finds yours, pressing headily to your lips and threatening to consume you whole. You gasp against him, clinging to the back of his shirt needily while his hand crawls to the back of your head and cups it in a gentle hold so that he can better angle the kiss. His arm doesn’t constrict your waist, but he keeps you there with the assuredness that he doesn’t want to let you go, and his deep groan at your insistence to hold him even tighter makes you lightheaded.

The snowing has stopped, and the temperature has continued to only drop, but you couldn’t feel hotter. The flame inside of you bursts to life with a rush of a powerful emotion that would have once scared you away. Now you only tiptoe around it, not ready to reveal it yet but knowing that it is there, waiting and growing steadily every moment you spend with Sun and his brothers.

You tilt your head with a ragged exhale while Sun twines some of your hair between his fingers, not yanking but prompting a delicious tension that sends a wonderful pleasure through your skull. You’re shivering again, and it’s all his doing.

He writes intimacy and sentiment on your lips with his teeth, capturing every micro-breath you try to take, and still you try to press closer to him. He breaks the kiss for a split second that allows you all of one heightened inhale before he’s stealing that too, and you’re burning together in an addictive passion that you never want to unlearn. For as long as he’ll allow it, you want to know only the smooth curve of his mouth and the hot metal of his chassis that is flush with your chest and the distracting digits dragging along the back of your head and the protective line of his arm that coils around your waist with an equally firm hand securing you there.

That’s all you need to know in the moment.

When Sun parts from you, moving away first because he probably correctly guessed that you’d keep kissing him until you passed out, his eyes slip open halfway, and his grin is askew like he’s swooning. You’re sure you have a similar goofy look too, concealed just barely by the clouds of white that spill out along every exhale while your lungs hurt delightfully. The cold snap strengthens when yellow rays spin at such a fast pace, they’re almost invisible.

The world is near-silent up here, city activity sounding so far away that it doesn’t disturb this perfect peace you’ve found. You don’t want to break the quiet and risk it all being a figment of your imagination once more. So you watch in wonder at how Sun peers at you intently, like he’s fascinated by whatever sight you make.

He braves cutting the silence first, albeit with a far-from-intrusive volume.

“Hmm, how was that? Do you think we got it right, or should we try again?”

You exhale long and slow. The white cloud of air billows.

“I don’t see how it could possibly be more perfect than that.” You adore the way Sun melts at your admission. “At this point, I’m just waiting to wake up.”

The solar animatronic pauses. His rays twist again, back and forth as if in uncertainty.

“From a dream or a nightmare?” he presses.

“A dream, silly.” You fondly shake your head. “Just seems like I’ve been imagining having this for so long, it doesn’t feel real. You, Moon, and Eclipse. I’m worried I’ll blink and be back in my own bed again, alone.”

The hand at your side taps a little rhythm. Sun’s nervousness vanishes as quick as a spring shower.

“I’m afraid to break the news to you,” he says, “but if those are the dreams you’re having, I won’t be waking you up anytime soon.”

You receive a quick kiss on the nose, which makes you twitch and Sun coo at that. You get him back with a kiss to the corner of his teeth. His wavering thrum of pleasure draws out until it morphs into a frustrated groan.

It’s your turn for concern.

“What’s wrong?”

Sun grunts, “Nothing, nothing. Just reminded that I am sadly not an only child.”

“What?”

He inclines his head at something behind you, and you turn in his arms to see what he’s looking at, much to his disheartened whine.

Just beyond the pool room next to the glass door that requires a key to enter, Moon stands there in the hallway, pressed to the glass and a dead grin on his face. His red pupils nearly take up the entirety of his optics. Eclipse is not too far off, but he’s at least giving you some sense of privacy by not staring your way.

Moon gives you a little wave.

You turn back to Sun.

“You know those videos people post of their pets watching them from the window?”

Sun releases a loud, rumbling hiss of static amusement.

“Oh, don’t let them hear you say that. I’m pretty sure at least one of those two in there bites.”

“But not you?” you quip, elbowing him.

Blue flickers against white.

“Only if you ask me to.”

Right then. Probably should have seen that one coming from a mile away.

“Raincheck,” you deflect. “Let’s let the others out first before they miss the fireworks.”

Sun dramatically releases you with a disappointed flair fitting for the stage, but he does as you request.

“I’ll go get the door. You wait right there, precious.”

You watch him skitter over back around the outdoor pool, through the door into the pool room, and then over to the door where his brothers wait. As soon as he tries to open it, a strange sort of tug of war begins where Sun attempts to pull one way, and Moon pulls just as hard on the other side. Judging by his expression, he’s doing it just for the sake of being a brat. The two engage in some back and forth, and though you can’t hear them, you can see Sun’s annoyance and Moon’s pure delight. It’s broken up finally by Eclipse grabbing the back of Moon’s coat and lifting him up like he’s scruffing a cat. Moon doesn’t even put up a fight, seemingly appeased that he sufficiently got under his other brother’s wires.

Once Eclipse sets him back down, Sun opens the door, and the three of them traipse through the pool room to the rooftop exit.

“I should have just left you in there!” Sun is saying as he throws open the door with a harrumph. “Honestly, you’re just so unnecessarily much sometimes!”

“Worth it,” Moon returns, unaffected by his sibling’s agitation. He lights up when he spies you.

“Moonie,” you tease as he approaches, “are you annoying your brother again on purpose?”

“No,” Moon says at the same time Sun gives an annoyed “yes.”

“It’s sibling tax,” he clarifies, coming to a stop next to you.

You tsk.

“I’d be careful if I were you. That sibling tax might come at a cost if Sun decides to do something like throw your hat off the building.”

You’ve barely finished the sentence before dark blue and silver digits are slamming onto the brim of Moon’s hat. He sends a dirty scowl at his brother who’s more than intrigued at the prospect by the sounds of it.

His voice is gruff and disapproving at you.

“Don’t give him ideas.”

Sun snips back, “Don’t be a varmint then.”

While the bickering continues, you find yourself mouthing varmint in confusion at Eclipse. He just shakes his head, equally bemused.

“Three minutes to midnight,” he announces over the sounds of ill-timed threats, probably to redirect his brothers’ focus.

You face the harbor. Sun stands sullenly at your side, and you startle in initial surprise when two arms slide over your shoulders from behind and loosely cross your chest. You sag against Eclipse, idly reaching up to rub one of his wrists as the approaching hour and year looms before you. It’s crazy to you how in such a short amount of time, you’ve grown so comfortable with the celestial brothers. Like something you’ve come to expect and especially welcome. The meaning and intent behind that comfort is the only part that’s shifted, and the change is one that leaves you undeniably giddy.

You’ve celebrated New Year’s Eve before, but never like this. Not with people who mean the world to you in ways you can’t even describe. It’s an entirely new course of life that you’re about to start with them, tentatively exploring this uncharted territory together, and the thought stirs up your curiosity.

What lies ahead? Not just relationship-wise, though that’s something you doubt you could really fathom with all the nuances you will surely find. The unknowing surrounding it actually gives you some relief. You don’t have to stress over and evaluate your every move. Whatever happens with them—with Sun, Moon, and Eclipse—will happen naturally. It’s cause for excitement, which has you shivering from more than just the cold now.

But you find your mind drifting to what will come after this show is finished. You’ve gotten so used to being with them at most hours of the day because you work together. What will it be like afterwards when the time you have with them will be reserved for coming home to a full apartment and making new memories in a much more intimate setting? Where will their talent take them next?

Before you can second-guess yourself, you broach the topic.

“Earlier tonight, I asked you what you’re doing after this,” you say, feeling the heavy weight of the attention from all three. You wet your dry lips. “And Moon was too busy being a gremlin to let me get a straight answer.”

The corners of Moon’s mouth scrunch up, but he doesn’t interrupt you.

“What I really meant back there was… what are you guys going to do after our show is over? Do you have any gigs lined up?”

“Not quite.” Sun clasps his hands together. “But our agent did tip us about a possible dual leviathan role that myself and Moon might consider. It’d mean a lot of CGI, but we would get to wear those funky motion capture suits with the little dots all over them! So who knows. We might just end up trying out for that.”

Your lips quirk in bemusement as you try to imagine it.

“Don’t you need to be, I don’t know, swimming in order to act out a big, scary leviathan?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Moon dismisses, and he leans back against the rooftop balcony. The gentle crimson glow when he studies you is like dying stars in this low light. “If anything, it will be a chance to challenge ourselves in not using our voices as much unless they decide to make the leviathans capable of speech. What Sun said does have its appeal, and we’d probably get to experience some wire acrobatics. But I also think we’d have fun trying our hands at something spooky. Maybe with cryptids or familiars or lifeguards. We’re great at being scary, you know.”

Your face wrinkles.

“One of those is not like the others.”

“You just haven’t seen me acting as a demon yet.”

“I see you act like that every day,” you say evenly to the tune of Sun’s and Eclipse’s ensuing chortles and Moon’s sharp squint. “Wouldn’t really call that one the outlier of the ideas you suggested.”

“Whatever the case, Clip hasn’t decided where he’ll go next either,” Sun adds, earning a noise of agreement from the animatronic behind you. “I heard there might be potential for a third role in the leviathan storyline, but it would be a prequel of sorts. Curious how they’re planning on pulling that one off.”

“They really do plan ahead, huh?” You tap a finger on your arm, and your gaze is pulled to the winter night sky once more. It is so beautiful up here.

“And what about you?” Eclipse chimes next. “Where will you go after this?”

A hum stirs from your throat.

You’re not sure yet. There is a realm of possibilities stretching out before you. The time to contact your acting agent is nearing, and you feel a strong curl of melancholy at the show you’ve put your heart and soul into coming to its end. It’s been a wild ride, and the memories you’ve gained from your experiences will follow you long after you’ve parted ways with the show. But as Sun said, who knows? Maybe one day you’ll find yourself slipping back into your vigilante costume again and playing a game of chase with a pair of handsome detectives.

You look to your boys, standing with you in the cold and enjoying the seclusion from the rest of the city.

“I haven’t quite figured that out yet,” you answer truthfully. You reach out, and without hesitation, Sun and Moon each take your offered hands, one after the other, large metal joints protecting your fragile fingers from the bitter chill. “But no matter where I end up, I’m sure that it won’t be the same without working next to you.”

Sun holds you tighter.

“True, it will be impossible to ever replace the amazing cohorts that we were. But that’s why you’ve got us to come home to now, yes?”

His happy expression reflects back onto you. He’s right. You have a lot to explore now, don’t you? And it all starts with them.

“Yeah. I shouldn’t worry about the future now. After all, I’ve only got two hands.”

Moon’s optics gleam dangerously with his ever-present grin.

“Don’t forget your third one,” he says, nodding surreptitiously behind you.

You start to turn, but before you can, Eclipse’s voice grazes your ear.

“Oh, they won’t.”

Cold metal just barely singes you as a large hand brushes under your chin and tilts your head up until you can see him hovering over you. His eyes are flames in the dark, shining upon you with the intensity of a celestial body. His rays have begun to whirl, and you think it might be because of the wind because it sorely reminds you of a pinwheel, and you have to choke back a laugh. It’s not hard to do when his fingertips caress your skin, snaring your focus and dragging a plume of air past your lips.

“No,” you agree warmly. “I won’t.”

Your inhale stutters right back out when the animatronic stoops down low enough to press a kiss to your forehead before letting your chin go. The sound of a piercing whistle and thunderous boom retrieves your attention, bringing it to the harbor as the first crackles of color light up the night.

The ensuing display is breathtaking. The subtle smell of smoke from the fireworks catches on the wind and carries over to your group as you watch in awe the dawning of a new year. It’s heralded by sparks of intricate designs and blooms that make you squeeze the hands you’re holding on to, savoring the twin pulses you receive in turn. The presence at your back is a solid wall shielding you from the cold as much as possible, heavy arms a comfort that drape loosely around your front.

As you enjoy the fireworks with Moon, Eclipse, and Sun, you can’t help but smirk at what your beloved vigilante would have to say to this. No doubt they’d believe it to be some fever dream, and honestly, up until tonight, you’d thought the same. You’re certain that the smooth operative nature of the brothers’ teamwork to subdue your heart is almost identical to a parallel universe of a different era and a different story—one you can imagine as surely as the ringing of bells in your hair.

Just, you know. Under very different circumstances and outcomes.

For the next half hour, you relish the colorful nighttime display with your boys, all the way up to and through the grand finale. By the time the show ends, you are shaking from the cold, but it’s worth it for the special moment you get to share with them. Everything melds together in a joyous night that follows you all the way back home with the three animatronics whom you adore. Perhaps one day, you might even have the courage to confess that you love them, even though you have a strong suspicion they already know that, confession or no. It’s a comfort to know that just like with everything else, they’ll wait for you first.

But that’s a story for another time.

#eclipse x reader #sun x reader #moon x reader #daycare attendant x reader #sleuth jesters actor au #fnaf sb #writing tag #hope you all enjoy sweet and kind Eclipse while he lasts #because after this I'm jumping back into the other AU where he lives and makes it everyone's problem lol

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lonelier-version-of-you · 3 years

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"You're just as bad as the rest of them." (s36e13)

#BBC Casualty #Dylan Keogh #Paula Kettering #my edits #my gifs #gif warning #ep: s36e13 Retribution #yes this scene is still living in my mind rent free over a month after this episode aired thanks for asking #i just can't get over the complexity and layers to these lines #and how heartbreaking they are #rosie jones and william beck are both such excellent actors too they make the whole scene so much sadder #but just like the whole theme of dylan trying to help another disabled person and ending up making things worse #and her telling him that in the end he's just another part of the biased ableist system #the look on his face when she says that just breaks me

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modx-reborn · 3 years

Text

Dream Brainrot

Green teletubbie lives rent free in here.

Implied Smut, Minors DNI

“What I want is simple…”

You.

I was expecting as such, the look on his face mixed with the need to be completely alone for this confrontation had already told me what he would have wanted from me. The silence was poisonous in its nothingness, like a gaping void, needing to be filled with sounds, words, anything and yet I cannot find any that would ease the tension.

Words have left me. I stared into those bright green eyes burning with something I would rather not address at this moment, and my heart fell silent. “Answer me, my dear,” a whisper tinged with a familiar smell of mint.

But I can’t will my lips to move.

As if stuck underwater, everything was slow and warbled as he moved, smooth hands against the chilled skin of my cheek.

“My patience is running thin,” yet my mind was blank and my eyes wide as I stared at him.

I can feel the fear in my chest waiting to take over. Perhaps it only wants to protect me, but there really is too much hanging on this one decision. It sits there like an angry ball propelling me towards anxiety I just don’t need. The air is dense, the ground chilling, and I can hear water dripping in the distance.

“It’s just one word…”

The warmth of Dream standing so close should have felt soothing through my shirt and yet akin to the heating vent embedded above us none of the heat met my skin. With dream caging me into this chair and with no room to maneuver my way out, I find myself admitting defeat and whispering a ‘yes’.

So softly I had hoped he would have missed it.

He did not.

I had thought with how he had pressed that his need for 'companionship’ would have been what followed an admittedly reluctant acceptance, yet after I had agreed, I was dismissed. A nod is all I got from him as he pulled away, no words or grasping hands, no small pulls or pushes towards or away from anything just that smiling mask watching me go.

I will admit that I took every chance I could to avoid dream and his attentions, I even made a move into technos mountains after a month of avoiding the main SMP like the plague, but it has been a time and a half since that day, and still, he has made no apparent move towards demanding anything from me. Well until today that is, it was winter’s last gasp, the first week of spring when the wind bites the hardest and the cold stings everyone’s cheeks.

'A rather cold night to spend alone…’

Making my way back to my old home near the SMP, after his short call over the com’s, and so here I stand before my own door hand lifted to knock. Breath held with the hope that he might not be inside. But hopes and wishes often don’t come true and today was no different I knocked, and he answered the same smiling mask he wears on his face as he looks down at me.

With that damn mask still on, I can’t tell if he is scowling or has taken to a smug smile, “So finally you’ve come home, who knew all I had to do was tempt you with some warmth against the cold.”

“You know damn well that not why I am here. What do you want?”

The movement is sharp and quick, lean strength against chilled nerves? I had no chance of avoiding his grasp, I am finally able to see his expression as he pushes his mask aside. If looks could drip from one’s face this room would flood.

But with what emotion, I am not sure.

“I could kill you right here and now. So, I would be softer with my words hmm?,” my wrist is dropped, but not before I feel the slight drag of a finger against the veins, two steps and I am left by the door “I would suggest being a little more co-operative little bird-”

“Little Bird?”

“-Yes little Bird, you flee like one. Now,” The steps taken from me are retracted, and I am pressed to the wall by the door, “Do you regret agreeing to me? Does it echo in your mind when you sit alone? Trying to hide away in the snow with Techno….” the drag of callused skin against my cheek draws my attention for a moment before the press of a belt, and something just as hard beneath, is felt through my clothes, an arm looped around my waist keeps me in place.

“Tell me to do you dream of me?”

I know I’m anxious when I feel the stillness of the room more keenly in my eyes; it’s that tearless stage when the eyes take on a sheen. My fingers wrap around Dream’s hand, feeling how cold his fingers are compared to the warmth of his chest pressed to mine.

Silence hung in the air like the suspended moment before a falling glass shatters on the ground, yet one whisper brings shivers like bare feet on ice. “Do you think the taste of my skin will haunt you?” A kiss that could only be tempered with shameful enjoyment. Shifting sideways, I know what is coming and look away his hand reaches, thumb caressing my cheek, leeching warmth from me.

His lips brush mine. Not innocently, a tease, yet demanding. His lips are chapped, and I can taste the sharp tang of mint, as he pulls away I can feel more than hear the growl that follows.

“Will I be a nightmare to plague you or will this just keep dragging you back to me?”

Dream pushed himself away, empty air filling the space between us followed by the thump as my back hits the door. A moment to gather himself or a moment for me to escape? I have little idea, but before I could make a move, either way, a hand snags my wrist dragging me forward and further up an into my old home.

Pushed and pulled upstairs and into a darkened room as the hardwood and metal of the door is replaced with odd bumps and crinkling paper as I am corralled towards my old desk.

His arms caged around me, pressing against the cold desk, stacks of paper falling over and empty pens rolling to the floor, clattering in the silent air of the room. The heat from his chest burned my skin, so close I couldn’t tell if he was touching me or not. Was he gonna kiss me? What is going on in his head? His eyes are dark with lust and something else that lurks just behind that.

He shoves himself back looming rather than pressed close. “So cute-” his hand brushes gentle against my cheek “-I am going to enjoy watching you cry as I ram my cock down your throat.”

The scene of my lips wrapped around tan skin, nose buried in wry hair, eyes watering with the effort to take it all. It’s the sharp vision of white teeth and the rumble of a deep laugh that had me lost, I blink and moments pass by.

Dream’s hand had slid under my shirt and dragged away the loose fabric, a hand smoothly flowed up and fell to my chest. Somewhere between the thoughts of wrapping my lips around him and the press of his body to mine, I had lost whatever was screaming for me to not do this for now all that I could hear was the shaking of my breath and the pounding of my heart in places it is not.

Heat exploded up my neck. My body slumped against him, drinking in the smooth slide of his skin on mine. Nipples hardened in the chill of the room, and his thumb flicked, scratching the sensitive tip and sending a quiver down my spine.

Lips parted, and a moan caught in my throat.

“What a sight little Bird, barely touched you, and yet you are choking back sounds,” a growled remark from a man that should not make me shiver as I did. My eyes had fallen closed when he began, breathing short and sharp the sound harsh in my ears I had gotten too carried away, too lost in the moment that such little touch had gotten me so worked up. But it is the sudden press of warm skin to my chilling flesh and the sudden tilting of the world as I am dragged from the desktop to wrap my leg around dream’s waist.

A wall presses cold against my back, unforgiving wood behind me and a relentless man keeping me pinned to it.

I feel hot breath on my neck, then the brush of lips burning as they make contact. A hand runs through my hair, as the kisses become harder and more urgent his other hand slides around my waist and pulls me close to him. His kisses are now along my shoulders and trailing downwards, I’m trying to be indifferent.

It doesn’t do to let someone with an ego like his know how much power he has.

#c: dream #k: light degradation #k: humiliation #k: dacryphilia #possessive #mxad #dsmp smut

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arieswonjin · 4 years

Text

open seams; full

pairings: ham wonjin x femme!reader

genre: fluff, angst, friends to lovers au

word count: 8.6k

navigation: teaser

warnings: alcohol and intoxication, use of sharp objects, minor injury

song inspo: all my love | playlist

a/n: this is for a fic exchange with @cravitywriters' first batch of members :> apologies this came a bit late >

masterlist | request here! | how to request |

it took close to forever to find the perfect spot for the shop of your dreams. in this city and in these times, it took a lot of guts to even decide to run one.

the rent uptown was crazy expensive and the high-fashion atmosphere dimmed the charm of your minimalist garments. the spots downtown were cheap, yes, but you had to deal with creaky and moldy floors, noisy air conditioning, and rude neighbors. it was a definite no-go. but after months and months, with pages of crossed-out vacancy lists and even deeper sighs, you found just the perfect home for your handmade pieces.

the small studio was a few minutes away from the main street and the subway station. the road it was on was lined with street art on both sides, there was decent foot-traffic, and a good number of cars passing by—a haven for independent brands. plus, the landlady who lived upstairs was a middle-aged woman who, as it seemed, made it a habit to bring you her homemade rice cakes almost daily. you liked to think that this, along with the reasonable rent, was a bonus from fate.

you found the place on a random walk with a close friend. it was his idea—wonjin said you needed some fresh air after only having fruitless searches for weeks. at least that’s what you thought he meant by “go home and shower, at least,” and “c’mon, let’s go on a walk before you start to have nightmares about landlords.” who would’ve thought you’d find this place when you weren’t even looking?

the meager amount you saved up from commissions and tips while you took up different part-time jobs and sold custom pieces was enough to pay for a few months as you got your new brand established. the place wasn’t much—just enough to hold five racks of clothes, a tiny storage room, a display area, a bit of walking space—and you had to rely on your old equipment for now, but you already loved the shop dearly because it was your own.

it took a lot of heart, a lot of meals consisting of just ramyeon, a lot of needle pricks…

and a very willing model.

“ow!” a cry of pain followed by a trail of childish laughter from the same person echoed off of the walls of your empty shop. it was almost evening and the clear glass door let in a ray of orange sunlight, shining over rolls of fabric, spools of thread, and several sketches that littered your shop’s floor. it was the typical scene: you with your eyebrows furrowed in focus and your noisy yet undoubtedly helpful friend wonjin with unsewn fabric and pins over his own clothes as he stood on a small platform. even your bickering was part of the routine you’ve established the past few weeks as you prepared for opening day. seven days left!

“i’m sorry!” you withdrew the hand holding the tiny culprit, looking closely at the spot on wonjin’s shoulder which you pricked. “i promise i’ll be done in a quick minute. maybe if you put your phone down for a while…” you muttered the last part, meaning for him to hear it anyway. inside, you were thankful that he has been patient with you as you did your thing, but you just couldn’t resist an opportunity to jab at ham wonjin with your remarks. after such, he was nearly impossible to shut up.

but that’s just wonjin being wonjin and that’s what always made you want him around.

“y/n, i came to be your volunteer model, not a pin cushion.” he jabbed back and teased you, waiting for the reaction he now memorized and repeatedly coaxed out of you just for kicks: a roll of the eyes followed by a swing of the hand aimed at him which you never followed through with. nonetheless, he fake-dodged on instinct and laughed, as you knew he would.

“stay still or i’ll prick you intentionally, wonjin.”

“‘young male found pricked to death by owner of up-and-coming clothing brand…’ imagine that headline.” he trailed off and now stayed still as he chatted you up. you appreciated this, the light and familiar company as you worked to enter the unfamiliar territory that is your new business. you shook your head at his nonsense and smiled to yourself.

it was only when you locked the final stitch that evening that you leaned back and realized just how long your day has been—your eyes and back were sore, your hands were all tight and in need of a break, and your head refused to recall your designs anymore. your body was telling you to wrap the day up.

“what do you want?” you sighed and opened one of your eyes after a satisfying stretch. wonjin was standing in front of you with his palms extended and an unreadable expression on his face. what did he want?

“your hands. hurry.” a momentary pause with your mind almost going blank. my hands? “i want to try that thing you do with your knuckles when you’re done with work.” he finally stepped forward and grabbed both of your hands, making you take a few seconds to comprehend what he meant. it must be the exhaustion that’s making your brain function slower than it usually does. or maybe it’s this proximity.

“you mean cracking them?” you asked as you looked up at him from your seat.

“mhmm.” wonjin started to crack your knuckles one by one, commenting on how loud the sound from each finger was. this was an absurd scene, really, but you couldn’t deny how amusing it was to watch him and how such a simple gesture relieved a good amount of your tiredness.

“tsk.” it was all you could say after he cracked the last pinky, his hands lingering on yours a few seconds after. “okay, that’s enough, you’re going to injure me,” you grunted as you stood up and walked past him towards the storage room, hiding a now pink face.

“opening day is in exactly a week.” wonjin thought aloud as he started to pick up the clutter on the floor. “that’s still a lot of time, you know. why don’t you take tomorrow off? go to a sauna or something.” he offered the idea even though he knew so, so well that you were going to be fast to turn it down. it was too bad that you had no plans of pausing until opening day. maybe then he would’ve found the time to show you a little something he was working on. it was worth a shot, he thought. i’ll give it a few more days.

“no can do. i still have to work on jungmo’s piece. you’re bringing him over tomorrow, right?”

“if the free barbecue for us is still up… then, yes.” wonjin beamed, proud that he landed a good deal after convincing one of your friends to model for you. honestly, you believed the effort he’s been exerting for you and your shop was worth far more than a barbecue treat, but he insisted that he would accept nothing more than that.

ham wonjin always had a knack for being thoughtful without being obvious about it and it has indeed grown on you although you were quite slow to admit it to yourself.

“i’ll tell him to brace for the pin pricks.”

“pft.” you rolled your eyes at him and started to help clear out the shop before both of you got ready to leave. “let’s get coffee before walking home? it’s on me.” with a casual ruffle of wonjin’s hair, a silent thanks from you to him, met with a subsequent shake of his head to rearrange it, you closed the shop up with an unexpectedly light heart.

it was just another one out of many nights you spent walking home to the same neighborhood and it went by as it always did—seeing the bold words and symbols spray-painted on the walls of the street you were in, hearing him tell you about how cool they looked at night to which you responded as enthusiastically, pointing out newer and smaller details every time you walked past them—yet it never got old or boring.

silently, you wished the next seven days would unfold perfectly, just like how things were then and there in that small city street.

help, he’s been talking about you since we sat down. come quickly.

a text message from jungmo pulled you out of your sleepy train of thought as you stood on the crowded subway, three stops away from your destination: to a breakfast cafe where you planned to meet with wonjin and jungmo before working on the piece for your new model.

from a face that was barely awake came a blush that’s been finding its way there quite often recently. you’ve been trying to send away your suspicions that you were growing fonder and fonder of wonjin and your attempts would usually be successful if not for text messages like this. a fraction of the blame for your confusion goes to your friends for their persistent hints and teases. they may as well be just that: meaningless hints and empty teases stemming from the constant bickering that your friends found cute and endearing. the fact that you and wonjin were almost joined at the hip for the past few months didn’t help. neither did his clinginess which you suddenly start to look for on days he was too busy with his own matters to drop by.

the casual offers to walk you home, the few seconds he spends wordless and silent when you get too close as you worked on his pieces, or the smallest gestures to help you out with the shop were all subjected to your overthinking. but nevermind all that. you didn’t have plans of telling anyone about this anyway. a short reply would suffice for now.

bleh. i’m almost there.

your face glowed as you got closer and closer to the cafe. no one would have been able to tell that you were stressing over a million little things about the imminent opening day. for reasons you couldn’t put a finger on, you wanted to at least overhear a hint of what wonjin was saying about you before you sat down and kept a straight face in front of him again. anything; the smallest compliment, the most mundane story about how you spent time together, anything that could fuel you up for the next few days knowing that thoughts of you lived in his head too. all that after denying to acknowledge any feelings. way to be fickle, y/n, you thought to yourself.

entering the packed and brightly-decorated cafe, you approached the two friends who’ve already ordered their meals. huh, thanks a lot. from behind the booth table they picked out, you slowed down, planning on intentionally not making your presence known until you were almost seated.

your face dropped the very second their conversation reached earshot.

“it’s beginning to become burdensome. i don’t think we even match. it’s never going to happen. just a few more days and i swear—i’m done,” you heard this in wonjin’s unmistakable voice, with a tone of annoyance that went straight through your chest.

“i see.” jungmo nodded and the two continued digging into their breakfast, still unaware of your arrival.

you took this as an opportunity to turn your heels and retrace your steps to the subway station, sending jungmo a quick text before you wallowed in your scattered thoughts. you felt the heat radiating from your face but now for a much different reason.

if there were two things you hated the most in the world, it was being lied to and unnecessarily troubling the people you cared about. it felt worse hearing both from wonjin’s mouth. this was the same person who’s been there for you for months while you built the shop from the ground up, the same person who’s seemingly been helping you unconditionally. you were at a loss about who to blame: yourself for not noticing how much your shop was demanding from him or wonjin for keeping all this pent-up annoyance behind your back.

last night, when you imagined how the rest of your week would pan out, you didn’t expect to see yourself inside a packed subway train, desperately keeping your tears from pouring.

“that’s weird. y/n just said she went directly to the shop instead. urgent.” jungmo perked up at your sudden message, eyes on his phone as he ate the last slice of his pancake.

“what? y/n didn’t text me anything after she said she was a station away. she would’ve told me.” wonjin looked around the cafe, sure that jungmo was mistaken and half-expecting to see you meters away from their table. “i already ordered for her though…”

“she’s asking me to come by quickly so she can finish fitting the pieces. it won’t take until lunch, right?” jungmo’s question went unnoticed as a now preoccupied wonjin kept his eyes on the untouched plate in front of him.

“so stubborn, tsk. really can’t get her hands off her work. one of these days she’s going to get sick. and you know she lives alone so—”

“dude. now that we’re back to y/n, you’re chattering again. just finish your food so i can go get fitted.”

wonjin sighed and furrowed his eyebrows, inwardly worried about your sudden change of plans and ready to nag at you for not giving yourself even the slightest break. what is she doing not giving herself even half an hour for breakfast? this fool.

there was barely any room for the sound of the shop’s door chimes, which signaled the two’s arrival, with wonjin’s trail of nags starting before he was even entirely inside. hearing all this from the storage room where you were distracting yourself by reorganizing your fabrics, you let out a deep sigh and hoped your eyes did not look too red and swollen before you stepped out. this is stupid, you thought. you had no time for delays but your emotions were getting the best of you. if you were going to finish your work, it had to be without him.

“y/n, at this rate you’re going to tire yourself out and get sick on opening day. we agreed last night you’d be at the cafe to at least stuff yourself with this before the long day,” wonjin took no breaths in between, placing the paper bag containing your forgotten breakfast on top of your work counter. “then suddenly you say you aren’t going anymore. did the racks arrive early? why did you suddenly—“

“thanks for coming, jungmo.” you greeted the older male, cutting off wonjin's monologue without even looking at him. jungmo just nodded and shrugged, obviously used to the dynamic between his two friends who were in front of him. he simply sat down on one of the wooden stools and started keeping himself busy with his phone. you felt bad that he had to be caught in the middle of this, but between confronting your feelings and doing what had to be done for the shop, you were sure you were much more ready to do the latter. “this won’t take that long, don’t worry.”

“did you hear me just now…? sit down and eat first, y/n.” wonjin started to sense that something was up with the way you paced around busily as you got your materials ready and purposely avoided his eyes.

“i thought i texted you not to come,” a muttered statement was finally sent his way—a weak acknowledgment of his presence—but you were still looking at anything but him. from your peripheral vision, you saw wonjin getting his phone out to check what you meant.

“huh… i didn’t see that…” his usual speaking volume started to drop, a sign that you knew meant he was genuinely puzzled.

“now that you have…” you kept a straight face and mustered the heart to look at him, trying to act as nonchalant as you could even though you knew that the next words out of your mouth were not you. “go home. or somewhere else, at least… spare yourself the burden of being stuck here again.”

“what are you talking about?” he started to laugh to try and lighten up the rising tension, a habit of his. is this some kind of prank? he thought to himself and searched your expression for some giveaways. “is jungmo replacing me?” when he saw that you weren’t laughing along, he paused.

“no time for questions, okay, wonjin? it’s time to go, i need to get to work and this isn’t helping. please go.” it took everything in you to keep yourself calm and collected and you didn’t know how many more questions you could dodge. why am i being so emotional, damn it.

“what do you mean ‘go?’” wonjin tried to laugh again, albeit a softer, less confident one. “this shop’s practically home... did something happen on the way here?”

“go as in...you don’t need to drop by anymore. i’m almost done with everything.” a total lie.

“i know you’ll do well by yourself, y/n, but you know i don’t mind helping. it’s not a big deal.” wonjin reassured, stepping forward as if this would prove his point. to your annoyance, he went on to bring your takeout breakfast out of its bag and proceeded to prepare the food on your work counter, all the while nagging at you for being the stubborn person you were. “it must be the hunger, y/n. come here and eat.”

you, on the other hand, kept your distance and contained a painful laugh. it was almost funny comparing what you heard earlier to the words he was saying right now. what was he playing at? “it must be tiring, huh? just go, okay? you don’t need to do all this. no one’s forcing you. i’ll be fine here.”

he sighed. “just tell me what’s going on. pushing me away like this when i don’t know what i’ve done? you’re being a bit hurtful right now,” wonjin’s last strands of patience were barely keeping him together, matching your slowly rising temper.

“trust me, i’ve heard worse. go.” your gaze pierced through him for a good few seconds until jungmo, who’s been slowly realizing that things were getting serious, pulled wonjin away before he blurted things out in frustration. the way wonjin looked right now was as if his questions were visibly jumping out of him. there’s never been an exchange this intense between the two of you no matter how much you bickered and everyone in the room knew it.

reaching his limit, wonjin shook free from jungmo and briskly walked out of the shop, leaving a strange silence after the chimes died down.

the next couple of days consisted of wonjin keeping himself from going back to the shop and you trying to dodge jungmo’s probing questions as you worked. even after countless attempts to rethink what he did that day, he was still clueless about what prompted you to deny any help or to avoid him entirely. the years of friendship you had meant that he knew you were not the type of person to dismiss others without any good reason.

but his pride went head to head with his worry and this led him to spend consecutive late nights with unsent messages, apologies written and deleted, calls not made, and questions not asked. after all, what was he going to apologize for? if anything, he believed he deserved an apology for being sent away without explanations. with this thought, wonjin would pull on his hair in frustration because of how childish he sounded in his head.

just when i thought things were going well between us. just when he was ready to tell you how, with your passion and perseverance and, he admitted, maybe a bit of your friends’ little remarks on how you two looked good together, you’ve slowly made a friend fall for you in the span of the past few months.

“okay, get this. there’ll be new collections every month and they’ll all be themed after the zodiacs. but i wonder if i can come up with pieces that fast? or how about i do quarterly collections? maybe that’ll be better, releasing three designs altogether…i just wonder if i can keep that up for the whole year. would anyone even show up to buy my stuff? what do you think? god, i don’t even have a name for my shop yet.”

several months ago, when the shop still seemed out of reach and it felt impossible to settle on a place to start your business, you would cheer yourself up by picturing the ideal: your shop all decked and ready, packed with people shopping for your new collections, appreciating the hours of hard work that went into each handmade piece. with every spurt of excitement, wonjin would just be the constant cheerleader and voice of reason, both supporting you and bringing you back down to reality.

“why are you looking at me like that, ham wonjin?” you turned to get a view of the boy seated beside you on the bus stop, an uncharacteristically wordless wonjin, his head slightly tilted away with a downward gaze at you, an amused look on his face. the day was almost coming to an end, a full day spent walking around town, lists of units for rent on hand.

“nothing. i think that’s a good idea.” he smiled and looked up to think. “but it sounds like you’ll be wearing yourself out. what about doing monthly collections when you find more help?”

“you’ve got a point.” you considered this but you were nonetheless excited about the potential this little shop holds. “anyway, let’s go. i still have a lot of open seams to sew.”

“open seams.” wonjin repeated.

“yeah, the unfinished pieces. remember? the shop? me? sewing? clothes?” you teased, acting out every word like a mime.

“no, dummy. open seams. the name of your shop. it sounds catchy doesn’t it?” it was wonjin’s turn to get excited and your turn to find amusement in his enthusiasm. “didn’t you say open seams look unfinished but that’s what gives them the edge?”

“wow, i can’t believe you actually listen to me blabber about seams.”

wonjin whined at this, defending himself and saying that he always listened. you said the new name, again and again, testing out how it felt to say and how it sounded. “open seams. it does sound great...”

that hug out of nowhere and the strong tug at his hand pulling him towards the bus that just stopped in front of the both of you was all he could remember as he walked home that night. the very next morning after that encounter, he set off to a certain street art-lined street with your shop in mind after finding an online listing for a vacancy that was just the perfect price, the perfect size, and on the perfect street that would soon be housing your pieces of art.

pulling his mind back to the present and attempting to keep it from wandering to you again, he made himself busy with the only other thing he had going on: the last few days of a low-paying multimedia job he impulsively committed to and is now regretting. he stretched in his chair, his phone kept in place with his cheek and shoulder.

“how’s that media job you were talking about the other day? still a burden?” jungmo’s calls have been the only thing keeping wonjin in touch with what’s going on in the shop. even if he didn’t ask, the reliable hyung kept him up to date with the last set of preps and your occasional breakdowns.

“it’s a definite no-match. i’ve got three days left and i just want to make a run for it.” wonjin looked at all the uninteresting piles of manuals haphazardly stacked on his home desk, a reflection of how much he despised working this job from home. truth be told, he would much rather be working with you downtown. “how are things?”

“you mean, how’s y/n?”

“you know what i mean.”

“she’s out to eat with yuna right now after refusing a hundred times. we’re staying with her until tonight, though, so don’t worry.”

“alright.” wonjin sighed, feeling powerless that he was of no help to ease your load yet still refusing to do anything about it.

“just talk to each other, for god’s sake! you both sound terrible-” jungmo shouted through the phone, pleading to his younger friend. “do you even know how many times i tried to ask y/n about what happened between you two? seventy-seven times, wonjin. seventy-seven times. yes, i counted-”

“i’m hanging up.” wonjin tossed the phone away making it land somewhere among the stack of items on his messy desk. a few seconds after he rudely ended the call, a text message from a persistent jungmo. dinner still on tonight. you have to come with us, dude.

you didn’t know what came over you. there were only three days left until your shop’s opening day. there were still several patterns to cut up, clothing pieces that needed to be sewn together, and more people to invite for your brand to gain traction, yet you were here at a nearby barbecue place, giving in to your friends’ requests for you to let loose for a few hours with a couple of shots of alcohol, good food, and conversations that held until several hours after midnight.

anyone would’ve noticed how tense you’ve become in a span of a few days—from the tired yet happy y/n who’s excited to get to work every morning despite the imminent deadline to an irritable, downcast y/n who wouldn’t keep their eyes and ears off of their work and nothing else.

and yes, everyone knew the reason behind this sudden change in work attitude. it was an open secret: the sudden and unexplainable drift between you and wonjin, previously an inseparable pair of friends, and both of your unwillingness to patch it up. your friends decided that mentioning it to either of you was just like nudging a rock on the side of a cliff, especially with an important occasion happening soon.

for wonjin, there was a mix of pride and confusion. why were you suddenly pushing him away when he was closer to you than he ever was? he never left your side as you built your shop from the ground up only for you to passive-aggressively refuse any further help a week before opening day. he deserved a proper explanation, but he would almost worry himself into sleep deprivation thinking about how important opening day was to you. it was either he asked you directly and tip the delicate mind balance you had as you got things in order or he could wait it out and almost go crazy at the mere thought of not hearing a peep from you.

for you, it was pure disappointment. in yourself or him, you were not sure. all you wanted was to stay sane for the time being and you told yourself that this was only possible if you didn’t see or hear him anywhere near you. you’ve heard how he truly felt, you heard it crystal clear, so there was nothing else to talk about. after all, if he saw you as a burden, why push any further?

so alas, there you were, with a small group of friends and a whole night to spend without any of your handmade pieces or clothed mannequins.

slow down? you repeated in your head once you heard jungmo and yuna’s invitation to tonight’s mini get-together. slowing down just made you remember how dull the days have been ever since you sent wonjin away that morning. stupid, talkative, playful wonjin who gave you the best, most comforting company. slowing down made you miss him, but you weren’t going to say that out loud.

this was probably what the sober you would have thought, but your slurred speech and buffering mind, now clouded with the two bottles of alcohol you’ve consumed that night, begged to differ. you were now in a state of zero filter and total unawareness of the faces swimming around you.

“burdensome? tsk. so i was burdensome to him, huh?” you laughed bitterly and roughly downed another shot of soju, using the back of your hand to trap any spills from your lips. “idiot. wonjin is an idiot. if you didn’t want to stay close to me, just tell me, damn it!” you shouted, repeatedly stomping your feet on the floor like a child.

your incoherent sentences, flushed cheeks, and unfocused eyes were what welcomed wonjin when he arrived at your table, half-jogging. jungmo, who has been carefully watching you since you asked for your second bottle, gave him an apologetic look and shrugged, gesturing to the empty bottles in front of you. “look, i know you refused to come and eat dinner with us but i had to call you. you live the closest to y/n.”

wonjin shook his head and laughed, half in disbelief and half in amusement. and here he thought he was going to spend his night cooped up with work to get you out of his head. “has she been calling me names all night?”

“you have no idea. good luck.” he patted wonjin’s back and watched as he pulled you up from your seat,

“let’s go, y/n. you can continue talking shit about me on the way home, okay?” wonjin’s tone was gentle as if he was testing the waters. the last thing he wanted was for you to lash out at him then and there. first, he needed to get you home. you two can talk some other time. hopefully.

“who’s this purple-haired clown? why is your hair purple like wonjin’s? are you his twin? is that idiot your twin?” it was a surprise you even managed to get those words out in between hiccups.

“idiot? you’re the idiot, getting drunk like this.” wonjin muttered under his breath. he still struggled to pull you up and support your body weight but what he found was that the best way to keep you conscious was to indulge you in conversation.

and that he did as he walked you to the usual bus stop where you two always sat and waited for the last trip.

“…if you see him around, tell him this for me.” you started, unknowingly leaning your head on his shoulder, giving into the heaviness you felt around your temples. in your drunken state, you genuinely thought you were talking to a pure stranger.

“hmm?” wonjin looked down at you, softening as he saw you with your eyes tightly shut as you repressed nausea. “what should i tell him?

“tell him—tell him i need to know how to forget him… he needs to tell me— how to do that…even for just a few days… okay? you’ll tell him?” there was no way you could have stopped your subconscious from pouring out. it was the truth told as it was: all you wanted was to get through the next few days without the hassle of whatever emptiness it was that you felt.

“why don’t you tell him yourself?” wonjin let his head lean against yours, sighing the millionth sigh between the both of you since a few days ago. “and what if he doesn’t know how to do that either, with you?”

“why do you have so many questions?!” you grabbed his arm and shook it non-stop, making him laugh at how ridiculous you looked and sounded with your unfocused eyes and the non-sense you were spouting. “don’t ask me questions because i don’t know, okay?! i just miss ham wonjin!”

wonjin froze for a few seconds, simply blinking at you and at the words you were saying over and over again. when he finally recovered, he calmed you down and leaned your head on his shoulder again. “he says he feels the same way.”

a head-splitting ache woke you up at ten in the morning the next day, only two days before the most awaited opening day. the last thing you remembered from last night was being halfway through your second bottle of soju and your friends jungmo, yuna, and serim telling you to slow down. it didn’t really take a lot to guess that you didn’t listen to them.

after a few slow minutes of debating whether or not you can get up and get on with your day in one piece, you eventually pulled your blankets off of you and figured that you'd live with the consequences of last night’s choices. besides, you couldn’t skip a crucial preparation day. after sending your three friends a quick thank-you message for getting you home safely, your phone lit up again with a message. you did a double-take at the new notification that just arrived; it was a text message from wonjin. are you up?

three days of silence and all he asks me is if i’m up? you grunted, refused to open the message in question, and, seeing no point in dwelling, went on with the rest of your routine. you didn’t know what else you wanted to read from that text, but you sure weren’t expecting to see such a casual question after literally not having heard a peep from each other for days. if you were being honest, you half-expected him to arrive at dinner last night.

but whatever that text meant, you didn’t want to use your head, which at the moment felt like it weighs a ton, to think about it.

your forehead in your hands as you navigate around your now-sunlit studio apartment, you hoped that the last-minute invitations, quality checks, and tidying up would keep you busy enough to forget the fact that, last night, you could’ve sworn you dreamt of wonjin and how he sat beside you on a bus ride home.

“and there she is, fighting through the aftermath of alcohol.” yuna greeted loudly and met you halfway as you approached your shop on foot. last night, the three offered to be your manpower for the next few days which is why she, jungmo, and serim were all waiting for you out on the sidewalk, eyes squinted because of the sunlight and their mild hangovers.

“do we get some kind of prize that we arrived earlier than you?” serim asked as the four of you entered.

“coffee, as always.” this was met by a cheer from jungmo who wasted no time in attending to the shop decor which was still packed in boxes. “don’t worry, guys. if my shop does well, it’s meat for everyone.”

“it’s settled then.” yuna clapped and got everyone’s attention. “okay, team. to your usual tasks. serim, light fixtures. jungmo, decor. me, storage. y/n, create.”

“jungmo’s taller, why do i get the light fixtures?”

you smiled sincerely for the first time in a few days, touched that they’re taking time off from their days to get the shop together, to get you together. “oh, and guys, sorry about last night. feel free to curse at me. i must’ve been so heavy.” you sat down in front of your work counter, fighting back a cringe. after numerous nights out, you just knew they had a treasure chest full of embarrassing stories to haunt you with. you were thankful no one else was there to see you wiped out.

“hmm, you must’ve.” a knowing smile from a mischievous serim to jungmo and yuna. “but we wouldn’t know. right, guys?”

“yeah, y/n. i don’t know, i brought serim to his home.” yuna shared, trying to sound innocent but failing as she shouted from the storage room.

“and i went home alone because i wasn’t drunk.” jungmo followed without missing a single beat. now you were utterly confused. did these three just call a cab on you or did you walk yourself home? you looked at the three of them one by one, their questionable smiling faces met with the most puzzled look on your face.

“all i know is…” jungmo started, keeping himself from breaking out in laughter before he could get his words out. “you called him a purple-haired idiot. that’s it.”

“what?!” you stood up abruptly, making your chair tumble back with a thud.

and just then, you started to recall bits and pieces of last night, starting from the vague bus ride that, until a few moments ago, you thought was just a dream. what in the world did i do now?

“y/n, i’ll help you up, okay? we’re almost at our stop.” wonjin pulled you up from your bus seat where you’ve been half-asleep on his shoulder. putting his arms around you as he guided you down the vehicle and onto the sidewalk, he repeatedly apologized to the bus driver for the delay. wonjin could only nod and laugh at the friendly reply from the middle-aged man who shouted ‘take your girlfriend home safely!’ he silently wondered how sober y/n would have reacted to such a remark.

just as the two of you stepped down, a splattering against the ground made both of you stop in your tracks.

“good heavens,” wonjin muttered as he rubbed your back and looked at the part of his shoes that was now covered in whatever it was you had for dinner a while ago. “you know, y/n, i wonder if you’d remember this once you pass by this mess tomorrow morning. looks like you enjoyed your barbecue too much.” wonjin joked, still not halting the backrubs as you were doubled over with your hands on your knees.

when you looked up at him after that spiel, all you could do was smile apologetically and giggle, eyes half-open. “let’s go home. i’m tired.”

“are you all done? you’re not going to throw up on my shirt or anything?” wonjin pulled you away from the side of the road, leading you to the direction of your apartment. “you have to tell me your apartment password so you can go in, okay?”

“you have to guess it. you’re never going to guess it!” you pulled away from his hold and ran around him in circles, getting a thrill from how light you started to feel after letting some of the alcohol out.

jogging to catch up with you, wonjin shouted, “y/n, slow down you’re gonna hurt yourself! aish. this child.”

“i threw up on him.” you said out loud to no one in particular. the text from this morning, your friend’s teasing smiles, and the blurry, dream-like memories on the bus meant that wonjin did make it to dinner last night just when you were in no state of mind to remember when exactly he arrived. “i threw up on him outside my home... jungmo, it was you who called him, wasn’t it?! guys?!”

the laughter that filled the room after that and the whines of a terrified jungmo who wanted none of your punches were muffled by the sound of the door chimes tingling, signaling someone’s arrival. you almost snapped your neck as you hurried to see who it was.

“hi, dear.” instead of a particular young male, you were met with the sight of the friendly landlady from upstairs, a plate of her usual handmade treats on hand, and a welcoming smile on her face. you mentally flicked yourself for involuntarily expecting someone else. “rice cakes?”

“oh, auntie. it’s you.” the relief in your tone made your friends snicker. “thank you, you didn’t have to...”

“why so surprised, dear? were you expecting someone?” she asked, waving at the set of friends bustling away inside the shop with the same annoying smiles on their faces. “oh that’s right. where’s that lovely boy, wonjin?”

“lovely boy,” serim whispered and bit back a laugh, earning him a glare from you.

“he can’t make it today, auntie,” you explained shortly, politely getting the plate of rice cakes from her hands.

“that’s too bad. it’s almost opening day.” she looked around the shop, satisfied by how it’s starting to look compared to the bare and boring unit she used to clean every day. “you worked your magic in this place. it feels just like yesterday when he was begging me to keep this small spot reserved for a day.”

“what do you mean?”

“wonjin, that boy! remember? he was here the day before both of you passed by to finally rent it? ”

“i- i didn’t know that, auntie.”

all this time, you thought you both found the place by chance and now here you were finding out that he was the one who made sure open seams happened. the walk you took that day wasn’t such a random one after all. what was up with the universe today and its not-so-subtle way of telling you to let wonjin back into your mind and your life? him taking you home last night and now this; whatever happened to the burdensome y/n he was talking about?

“aaaand, another secret’s out.” yuna walked out of the storage room, a box of spools in hand. she beamed at the landlady who took a few seconds to figure out what she just revealed.

“oh. oops.” the landlady sheepishly turned back and started to push the door open, ready to take her leave. “i think that’s my cue. see you around, dear.”

“see you around, auntie!” your three friends greeted her when she was out of the shop. they turned their heads back to you who had nothing but a blank stare and mouth agape, the gears almost visibly turning inside your head.

“so now will you tell us what’s been going on between you two? it’s just weird knowing about all that and seeing you guys refuse to make up. both of you aren’t looking so good either, you know?” serim asked after giving you a few seconds to think.

you sighed, leaning on the side of the table for support. “that day at the breakfast cafe, he said all this was getting kind of heavy and burdensome. that he couldn’t wait for it to end.” you decided to tell them once and for all about how you felt. “and that we were never going to happen.”

“y/n. you’re so stupid. ow!” jungmo concluded, earning him a smack to both shoulders by serim and yuna. “he was talking about that job he had! if you stayed longer and ate with us, you would’ve heard how smitten he was even if he wouldn’t admit it. i can see right through him.” jungmo explained in a high-pitched tone that reflected how frustrated he has been with the two of you. “now that i think about it, you’re both stupid.”

smitten? you took in everything jungmo just said and remembered every word you blurted out when you sent wonjin away that morning. finding out that he had another job all while helping you out with the shop for the past few months made you regret how you acted even more. it frustrated you that you’ve been too preoccupied to even ask about him. this is all on me. why did i act so rashly? “i’m so stupid.”

“are we just now finally finding out that this was all a big misunderstanding?” yuna piped up, breaking the silence.

“and are you telling me that it almost took a fallout for you to finally see the feelings you had for each other? these kids,” serim added, raising both hands in defeat.

different variations of ‘i knew it’ and ‘it’s about time’ as well as ‘idiots’ filled the shop as you were still frozen in place. you knew you had to apologize to wonjin, but where were you even going to start? with that encounter at the cafe? with how bad you felt for invalidating his heart to help you and rudely pushing him away? with everything you think you blurted out on that drunk night? or maybe how you actually felt for him?

can you meet me here in 30 minutes?

it took wonjin less than a heartbeat to reply to your message asking about where he was. even though you were the one who was out of it last night, he couldn’t help but worry over his own impulses. if you remembered everything he told you while he thought you were drunk and asleep, he had no choice but to explain it to you while you were fully-sober. and the thought of finally confronting you about everything made the usually-confident and talkative wonjin tongue-tied.

“hey.” you turned the corner of the small side-street where wonjin asked to meet and found him leaning against one of the street art-ridden walls, waiting for you. it was a spot near your shop but one that you didn’t pass by as frequently. an odd choice of a meeting place, but you figured he wanted to talk to you without your friends overhearing.

“here of all places?” you struck up a conversation albeit awkwardly, buying yourself time before the long apology.

he pointed to the wall behind him, looking at it up and down. “i was supposed to show you this sooner since they finished it early but…”

behind him was a small piece of street art. open seams, it said in the colors you usually used for your handmade pieces and in the style you designed for your simple logo. you softened not only at the thought that this shop was becoming a reality but also at how wonjin did this despite your missteps the past few days. at this point, you no longer knew if you were even worthy of him and his thoughtfulness.

“...you were supposed to show me this sooner but i was terrible to you, and i’m sorry. you didn’t deserve that. after everything... i don’t know if saying thank you would even be enough. that morning-”

“you look like you just lost a million won, y/n.” his reply cut you off, earning him a roll of your eyes to which he merely responded with a playful laugh. “auntie told you, huh? i knew i couldn’t trust her and her rice cakes.” wonjin joked again, now more relaxed than he was moments ago now that things are starting to look up between the both of you. if there was anything that he needed for comfort the past few days, it was the presence that he’s gotten so used to.

“i’ve had quite the morning, you know.” you told him as you eased into the conversation. “finding out you were the one who brought me home last night, finding out i wouldn’t have gotten the unit if not for you, and finding out i was mad at you over something i misunderstood. all this time.”

what proceeded was a detailed apology you practiced in your head beforehand. wonjin just laughed at how fast you were talking and he didn’t forget to give the occasional side comments to reassure you that he was still the old, talkative, and witty ham wonjin that you didn’t have to act differently around. you knew in yourself that this was one of the things you missed badly.

the weight you felt in your chest turned lighter as every bit of misunderstanding cleared out. “...all that because i didn’t even stop to think that one morning. i’m sorry…”

he delayed his response for a while, suddenly making you worry that he had more to be upset about. but he eventually nodded and waved away any remaining tension. “apology accepted.” wonjin ruffled your hair just like you always did with his. “we’re good. but do you remember anything else?”

“except for the fact that i threw up on your shoes, no, i don’t remember doing anything else.”

“the shoes were one thing.” he scratched his head and talked in such a low volume and such high speed you couldn’t even comprehend what he was saying just to tease you. “but not even me telling you i liked you while you were all leaning on my shoulder at the bus and that whole speech i said about falling for you after i tucked you in?”

“what? you said what when i was tucked in?!” you leaned in to hear him, only catching remnants of what you suspected was a confession.

“ah, too bad. it was a one-time subscription, so you’d have to pay to hear it again.” he shrugged.

“you little- just tell me! it’s not like it’ll be any more embarrassing than me pouring out my stomach contents on the sidewalk for everyone to see.” you stepped forward wanting to hear more from him but he shook his head and refused to tell you anything further. the mischievous smile on his face as he paced around to avoid your probing weirdly made your heart beat faster. “fine. i was planning to tell you about something important but i guess you don’t want to hear it-”

“i don’t need to. i already know your apartment password is my birthday.” he stopped pacing and expectantly searched your face for confirmation despite not needing it. “right, y/n? 032201?” he repeated the numbers again and again just to coax a reaction out of you, his favorite thing to do.

“wh- what are you talking about?” holy-. if there were any more of this kind of surprises today, you didn’t know how much more of the shock you could take, but it seems like wonjin was enjoying just watching you all flustered. “i opened it myself-”

“y/n, you were too drunk to even see the keypad last night. when i tried my luck, we got in. 032201? who else could that be?”

you were about to protest but as you were stuttering your poorly-made excuses, wonjin took your hand and slowly pulled you into a tight hug, all the while laughing at how ridiculous each of your statements was starting to sound. after the initial embarrassment passed, you realized there really was really nothing to hide anymore.

“are you done?” wonjin asked, still not letting go of his hold on you which you returned willingly, hugging him tightly and hiding your face in his chest. “because to put it simply, i like you.”

you sighed in content, feeling all the exhaustion from the past few days seep out of you with just those three words. “i like you, too, ham wonjin.”

“and one more thing…” you added. “jungmo told me you were smitten.”

it was wonjin’s turn to get flustered and defensive, you pulled your face away and leaned back to watch as he cursed at jungmo for describing him in such a way. wonjin trailed off in his usual rants while you looked up at him with no plans of stopping his lovable nonsense.

opening day

it was noontime on opening day: the ribbons have been cut, your mini-opening show went smoothly, friends have visited and selected their favorite pieces, and most of all, you have led the toast that officially marked the start of this journey. it felt utterly surreal.

“all i can say is…” wonjin put his arm around you as you stood beside the racks of clothing you spent months perfecting. “it was certainly worth the hundreds of pinpricks.”

“well, then. if you want more…” you pinched his side and laughed as he dodged you and made his way to your three other friends who were also admiring the work they did for the shop.

a few nights ago, on a nighttime walk home in this same neighborhood, you wished for a perfect week to unfold in front of you. and maybe it did; just not in the way you anticipated, but exactly the way you wished it would end.

#cravitywriters #cravity scenarios #cravity imagines #cravity fluff #cravity angst #wonjin angst #wonjin fluff #ham wonjin #wonjin scenarios #wonjin imagines #cravity #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines

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hopefullystillatheatrestudent · 4 years

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okay so i’ve been going crazy these past few days. all about cockles/jensmish and obsessively watching their panels or reading the transcripts BECAUSE. THEY ARE LOUD. LIKE. i saw some fancams on twt and i thought people were just exaggerating but noooooooooo!!!???? so, getting to the point. you said that how do we know that jensen is performing masculinity? because jared isn’t and THAT IS A BIG BRAIN MOMENT. ON POINT. I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH. a particular moment from gag reel that jumps out (which you’ve talked about) when jensen goes ‘cas, you are my baby daddy’ and misha goes, ‘i know i love you too’ and jensen goes, ‘i didn’t say i love you’ and misha goes, ‘i know you wanted to’ and jensen says, ‘i love you’ WHAT THE FUCK! that was NOT a joke. yes, people took it as a joke and had a good laugh BUT I HAVE WATCHED IT TOO MANY TIMES AND IT LIVES IN MY MIND RENT FREE BECAUSE IT WAS NOT A PERFORMANCE. THAT WAS JENSEN. THAT WAS MISHA. jensen has a had trouble with the pda and being all touch feely (the breakup theory) and he gradually grew into it, accepted it and misha was right there all along, never pushed it. it was like a deancas au but tbh, 99% of destiel is because of cockles and we all know it. i just. jensen has latched onto dean as an emotional support because he tunes with it. understands it. projects on to it. yeah, i just had to say it and get it off my chest. (and what about those poetry pages on instagram? alma? what is your opinion?) btw, you have a lovely blog and your analysis are right on target.

so there is a LOT i’m going to address here(how dare you bring up [gunshot] i HAVE to talk about it now) so again!!!! under a cut it goes but i hope you appreciate my rambles anon it seems like you do :,)

1. jared vs. jensen and performing masculinity. hell yeah man. jared and jensen are both just ‘guys from texas’ but they are still so vastly different. today i actually had a revelation that i’m pretty sure has to do with me being bi. and it’s that i have a group of straight friends(that i love dearly but they care too much about hockey and pitbull imo could not be me) and i have a group of queer friends(who are also batshit[affectionate]). and it’s like whichever group i hang out with a different side of me emerges? they’re both me, it’s just that certain aspects of who i am as a person only surface depending on who i am around. however, i will say i feel like i watch what i say around my straight friends more. i see that very clearly in jensen as well. around jared during panels and on set, he’s definitely putting on an air of machismo and engages in typical guy talk. i do think an element of it is performative, because he wants validation from jared that they’re still just two dudes from texas taking on the world together despite his sexual identity. does that make any sense??? i hope so. but when he’s with misha he is an entirely different person and his sense of humour becomes wildly different. the machismo fades away, he’s way less caught up in what people think about him, lets his guard down, etc. to go back to my original point which is how j2 are different in that regard....jared does not do this. he is a constant. he does not flip a switch between ‘performing masculinity’ and ‘not’ because he isn’t performing any part of who he is. he just IS. so yeah these two are similar in many regards but there’s somewhat of a dissonance between them when it comes to how they perform masculinity because one of them is putting on a show and the other is merely being.

2. that crypt scene blooper(here just in case you need to see it again. do it. as a treat.) when i tell you i have easily seen this over thirty times??? since it first came out??? i mean it. it is such an overlooked(r*mantic) moment and it means so much more than people think it does. i’ve talked about the context behind it, and i think that’s why this blooper was so meaningful, so i’ll mention it again. jensen and misha had a LOT of trouble with this scene. the reason is that jensen couldn’t wrap his head around why dean would be saying these things, if i remember correctly, and both of them sat down and scoured over how they should play it for a while before filming(teamwork ;) teammates *ahem*). [to be honest we all know why jensen had a hard time with that scene and it is because it is blatantly romantic. rip to him but i would simply give in to it at that point but oh well] so anyway, their heads were scattered going into shooting, which is NEVER a good headspace to be in for a scene, ESPECIALLY not a pivotal one. but they had each other to help them through said weird energy on set that couldn’t possibly have invoked the best feelings, especially considering jensen STILL doesn’t think he played that correctly(but he praised misha on his performance :,) ). and with that context every single part of that video hits haRD

-’stop pulling my face towards your crotch’ i think this is objectively hilarious because it really really looks like jensen is pulling HIMSELF towards misha’s crotch. again, you’re fooling no one, jensen. misha’s wheezing laugh and the way he wraps himself around jensen is also,,,sweet??? like i don’t know how else to describe how i see it but this moment really reads as jensen, in his weird ‘constructing elaborate rituals’ way is asking for security through a physical touch from misha and he happily obliges and gives jensen what he needs. because i mean...watch it again. jensen ‘fights back’, but not really at all, actually. pretty wimpy counterattack. he literally lets himself be smothered by misha, and i would literally describe what they end up doing as cuddling.

-’i need you, cas. you’re my baby daddy’ i love having an actor’s perspective on things bc i think i can explain what’s going on here. jensen just delivered what was(in his own mind) a rotten take of the lines he’s most scared of delivering. so the scene was already messed up. therefore; ensuing fuckery is warranted to help him feel better. but there’s also for sure more than meets the eye for what he says here because of misha’s reaction after??? like he seemed genuinely touched. first of all, he’s saying ‘you’re my baby daddy’ as half-jensen, but not necessarily dean either(because he didn’t say the previous lines as true to his character...you get it), to misha, not cas. i think i’ve made this point before, but every single innuendo in the gag reels is to misha specifically, never once cas. therefore; logical conclusion: ‘you’re my baby daddy’ was for misha and it meant something deeper than we think because of what follows it

-this part. jensen’s giddy ass smile after he sees misha crack and then misha says ‘yeah, i know’ (can i just say his voice when he says this is so intimate???? like am i intruding guys??? sorry i’ll let myself out) also he is smiling SO BIG

- ‘i know’ ‘why are you laughing?’ ‘no i know i love you too’ this analysis is already so long but i still want to get into what THAT whole exchange means. ‘why are you laughing?’ to me sounds like jensen’s pretending to be affronted by misha laughing at something that is serious. and it’s serious because he quite literally meant ‘i love you’. he did. misha knows it. misha’s really REALLY good at cutting the bs and just getting to what people are actually trying to say. he has an innate sharpness to his sense of humour. so yes, misha is being 100% accurate when he says ‘i know, but you wanted to say it.’ misha isn’t lying here. jensen did want and mean to say ‘i love you’. and then he actually does say it(in a jokey way but not really).

- so yeah. it is actually so romantic??? like in a weird way jensen was professing his love for misha here?????? and that’s why this clip will NEVER. ever. get old.

3. jensen having trouble with pda and projecting onto dean: we can all call ourselves dean coded cas girls but NO one deserves that title more than jensen ackles himself. he is dean winchester but marginally less repressed because he actually did admit he was in love with his best friend and let himself be happy, and pretty early on too. one year and two months as opposed to twelve years. so. happy deancas au is correct. and yes about the pda thing: one day i want to write my own post about both of their body language when it comes to each other, but all i can tell is jensen, even in the early days, couldn’t help himself from flirting with misha, but if misha ever crossed a line, jensen would not be happy. clearly he’s come around, however. what i find sweet is that misha always follows jensen’s lead when it comes to how much affection they’re allowed to show each other onstage. it touches my soul

4. destiel is cockles fault. yeah. and the thing is everyone knows it, too. even non-cockles shippers will explain early destiel as entirely dependant on jensen and misha’s wild chemistry. and that chemistry is easily explained by the fact that misha and jensen are literally just wildly horny bisexuals who were crazily attracted to one another and were falling in love on screen before our very eyes. and when you have THAT insider info(which sounds cray doesn’t it!!!! the destiel actors are in love irl??? huh???) everything really does click into place. why destiel got SO popular when the show and actors never ever intended for it to happen.(i know some people think misha was playing cas as gay the whole time for shits and giggles, and i won’t deny that[especially considering he found out early on that destiel was why he was staying on the show], but i don’t think he really wanted it to amount to anything, nor did he care??? i mean he has the real thing with jensen, for one, so their characters aren’t really as important. for two, he loves joking about destiel because it’s a cultural phenomenon and it’s fascinating, and i’m sure he did ship it because he’s unhinged, but i don’t think it was vastly important to him either way.) destiel got popular because everyone was and is unintentionally reading into the real deal. i could pull up countless gifs that people have used as destiel proof that is actually just jensen and misha being messy. mainly jensen. if i’m being honest. the symbiotic relationship between destiel and cockles is why i’ve stayed onboard the destielcule and shellerscape for three solid months now; because it is utterly fascinating to witness and kind of super beautiful, too.

5. alma(and others). so. i do NOT want to really REALLY get into this in its entirety here and now so i will just give you my opinion on if i think alma is misha or not. also; i don’t want to mention the other poetry accounts here bc i feel like that’s a bigger breach in privacy, but a lot of people do know about alma now. way too many, actually. this is why we can’t have nice things. anyway-to answer your question-there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that yes, misha is running that alma poetry account. i am 100% certain. some people think it’s actually three people and they’re all connected to misha in some way but that is so needlessly complicated. as it goes in psychology; the easiest explanation is probably the right one. it’s just one person running that account, and it is misha collins. i don’t know why it’s so hard to believe KNOWN POET misha collins(who is known to spend most of his free time writing poetry anyway) would have created a secret poetry account to write about his intense secret relationship under an alias and also get legitimate feedback since no one used to know it was him. oh and the handwriting is identical??? you are blind if you do not see that i am sorry. and a million other things prove it’s misha too but yeah all you need to know is yes. it’s him. it would take a literal livestream from a random woman on that account to convince me otherwise. and honestly not even that because a random woman could technically still log in if misha asked her too. so. it would take a hell of a lot to convince me otherwise, clearly. that said DO NOTTTTTTTTTTTT GO ONTO THAT ACCOUNT WITH A SUPERNATURAL RELATED USERNAME AND COMMENT THINGS THAT ARE COCKLES RELATED. ARE YOU BRAIN DEAD WHY WOULD YOU THINK THAT’S OKAY. sorry i got heated but god please just don’t be dumb so many people have already gone way too far

6. thank you for your lovely compliment on my analyses!!! i love doing them but i don’t know if people actually like reading them so i really appreciate it

#liz answers #cockles ask #mini analysis #spec #mine

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years

Text

Something Held | Feeding Habits Update #8

Hi all!

Not me not realizing it’s been 3 months since I posted a Feeding Habits update hahahahahaha. Today let’s chat chapter nine, SOMETHING HELD. This also marks the last chapter in Harrison’s POV so prepare to say goodbye to this icon! TW: body horror, mental illness, trauma

Just a reminder: This is my original work and plagiarism of any form will not be tolerated.

Scene outline, excerpts & a little reflection on making difficult decisions that my not particularly benefit the book but benefit you as the writer under the cut because this update is GIGANTIC.

General taglist (please ask to be added or removed):

@if-one-of-us-falls, @qatarcookie, @chloeswords, @alicewestwater, @laughtracksonata, @shylawrites, @ev–writes, @jaydewritesfiction, @jennawritesstories @eowynandfaramir, @august-iswriting, @aetherwrites

Scene Breakdown

Scene A:

It has been two weeks since Lonan found Harrison at his shared apartment with Suzanna and things are getting strange. Lonan and Suz are getting closer, Harrison is getting more distant and slowly losing it. One morning, Harrison wakes hearing Lonan and Suz’s laughter, and crawls to the kitchen to investigate. When he reaches them, Suz is evening out Lonan’s hacked haircut and they’re both sobbing.

Scene B:

Shortly after this bizarre encounter, Suzanna steps out of the apartment for a breather because her son is sort of terrifying her! So Lonan and Harrison double-team to clean up Lonan’s hair shavings. Harrison begins eating the hair while Lonan stares and they have a conversation about the state of their friendship.

Scene Ba:

This scene is gross and confusing! More hair is ingested. My god.

Scene Bb:

After the above ordeal, both boys rinse off because they’ve been rolling?? around?? in??? hair?? but also?? things don’t stop being a little gross

Scene C:

An air of calm finally settles over the apartment. Lonan brews earl grey tea for him and Harrison to share and Harrison asks if he abandoned Lonan in the final chapter of Moth Work. Lonan doesn’t really answer this question so Harrison continues on his confused, but finally lucid (one-sided) conversation, admitting he understands he burdens his mother, who still has not returned. They circle back to the question of abandonment and Lonan answers Harrison the way he wants to be answered (yes), and this is a moment of freeing, where he feels some sort of responsibility in this irresponsible new life he’s led in NYC. They sort of agree to be friends again.

Scene D:

The boys head into the city to find Suzanna, heading to a bakery near the Hudson River. Lonan drives in his used car, a strange experience since Harrison has not seen him drive in years. Taking the opportunity, he searches through the car and finds a map in the glove compartment. The map is erratically scribbled over and it takes him to moment to realize this is Lonan’s map and the first indication that Lonan, who he has assumed is this stable, perfect person, is not as unscathed as he seems.

The boys pass the waterfront and Lonan nearly crashes the car into an oncoming truck. Harrison regains control of the vehicle tucking them into a side street. Shaken, Lonan apologizes for the mess he’s created both physically from his nosebleed and between Harrison and his mother, which gets Harrison a little antsy because he doesn’t like the suggestion that he’s going to leave. Lonan clarifies, stating he won’t if that’s what Harrison wants.

Scene E:

Later, everyone is back at home and Harrison wakes up to a Lonan-less bed. He gets up to investigate the strange dripping coming from the bathroom and opens the door to find Lonan precariously teetering over a sink filled with water. Harrison, concerned, moves him away and tries to ask why Lonan is presumably going underwater, but doesn’t push. They both stand on opposite sides of the bathroom until the sun rises.

My process:

Honestly, writing this chapter was a huge up and down. The first half of it came much easier to me, but the rest was a literal hellfire to get through. I think I was incredibly fatigued with writing in Harrison’s POV as I’d been writing it since June (I finished this chapter in either December or January). This book has been a pain in the ass to write despite me liking what it is, and I really think it being the only place I’ve physically “gone” since the pandemic makes it even harder to write. I felt claustrophobic in Harrison’s POV since I’ve been writing it for half a year, and in a lil ~breakdown~ my beautiful sister reminded me of something she’d previously told me, “it's not about what works, it's about what you want”.

Let’s chat about this for a sec! I think I was watching a Harmony Nice video on her “hard-to-swallow” self-care, and she basically outline (I’m paraphrasing here) that it’s critical we care for ourselves in ways that might not necessarily be easy to do. Honestly, leaving Harrison’s POV is one of those hard-to-swallow self-care things I literally had to do because my mental health was not happy with me! Y’all know my boys are very close to me, and I’m not picking favourites but Lonan is 2500 times easier for me to write with at the moment. I think Harrison’s situation and how he deals with it is much too similar to mine but in a way that is difficult to place (Lonan and I are unfortunately similar but in a way that is easier for me to understand about myself!). From the beginning of writing his POV I’ve been in Struggleville, but kept pushing through hoping the next chapter would be “the one”. Not to burst my own bubble but there is no such thing in the state of mind I was in! I was pushing myself to find something that doesn’t exist because my brain was really not equipped to do what I needed it to do. I really, really did not want to quit on Harrison’s POV, but I had to, not because I don’t like him (he’s my baby) but because I needed a moment to myself. I felt way too seen in ways I don’t really know how to address in myself, so writing him was horribly frustrating at all times (my fault, not his).

My characters really do live in my head rent-free lol. They live in there! They take up space! They take up energy! They take up concentration, and resources I need for myself! Empathy is so integral to my process, that I give a little part of myself in everything I write. This is a blessing because I really get to dig my heels into the mind of another person, but a curse because I’m not a machine (and sometimes I forget that). It is a lot of emotional energy and labour to give everything you have to fictional people. I don’t think an artist needs to be tortured to create good art (this is not it!) but I never truly practiced this well? In my attempt to be empathetic, I was torturing myself a little bit, not going to lie!

So to combat this, I decided I needed a change. Hence, this chapter is imperfect and probably needs some stuff added to it, and while I’ve only written little of Lonan’s second POV, I’m feeling a lot better! It’s nice to get “outside” in a different place lmao this is so sad (pandemic writing things).

Excerpts:

I wrote the beginning of this in a livestream I hosted on my YouTube channel! There’s also a shoutout here to my dragon tree Lisa <3 miss u boo

Two weeks go by. Lonan sleeps on the couch. Harrison wakes up at dawn—no earlier, no later. Suzanna buys a plant: a Madagascar dragon tree she names Lisa. June grows into the collar. Lonan plays sudoku in the newspaper. Harrison learns to bake focaccia, gluten-free, whole wheat. Suzanna learns to palm read, tells Lonan he’s experienced great betrayal (they stop the reading immediately; Lonan goes back to the newspapers). Harrison begins burning incense at sunrise—frankincense. The dragon tree nearly dies (Lonan saves it). It rains every weekday that contains the letter T. Lonan shifts stacks of soggy newspapers onto the breakfast table, answers crosswords with the help of Suzanna (four across, nine letters, Something held). Harrison burns a baguette. Suzanna buys a hanging basket of pothos. The power goes out for two days and the icebox floods the kitchen tile (Lonan mops it with old newspapers, the ink running like jellyfish). June barks for the first time. Harrison eats a bundle of dried bay leaves. Suzanna waters the plants with rainwater, icewater, wrung into a coffee tin. Harrison leaves the stove on while sautéing shallots (he eats them whole). Lonan wakes up feverish and fills out four newspaper crosswords, then falls asleep on the coffee table. Suzanna moulds panna cotta in coffee mugs and shares the batch with Lonan when they won’t tip out. Lonan teaches her how to propagate the pothos and soon they have twenty empty cans of cuttings poking from the windowsills. They rearrange the furniture, the couch facing the kitchen instead of the TV, the dining table right outside the bathroom, then put it all back the next day. They birdwatch from the tiny window with binoculars and a magnifying glass. They sort coupons. Whittle soaps. Watch Norwegian films without the subtitles. Discuss cliff diving. Make matching anklets (blue beads, elastic string, the plastic clacking how Harrison knows they’re coming). All of this they do as Harrison lies on his bed for two weeks, counting the corners of his ceiling and trying to determine a way to multiply them telepathically.

This is the very next paragraph!

At first he assumes they’re laughing. The sun nearly rising between other high rises, blotting his room with dawn. This is not a surprise. They are probably making pancakes out of buckwheat and discussing the hilarity of whole grains. They are probably laughing at store-bought cherry preserves. Too sour. Their cheeks puckered. But then the laughs get louder, and the sun rises higher and it’s not laughing at all, but gasping.

Here’s Harrison crawling!! is this straight out of the exorcist probably!

Harrison’s instinct is to crawl. As if his smallness against the ground will stop anyone from hearing him, even before he unlocks his door. On hands and knees he shuffles from his bed to his doorframe, edges the door open with his shoulder. On hands and knees he hikes through the hallway, the gasping getting louder, shuffling until he sees them. Lonan sitting on one of the kitchen stools, a grocery bag wound around his throat. Suzanna clacking scissors in two hands so their blades ping in the sun. Her fingers loped around his hair, knuckle-deep, the blades snipping, the gasps growing, them both sobbing, the hair falling, the sun stalking, their bodies rocking. Harrison takes it in from his crawl. Experiences it all on his knees.

So this excerpt seems really you know, normal:

They clean up the hair. Harrison with the dustpan, Lonan with the broom. Harrison still kneels. Lonan still cries. The only thing that has changed since crawling into the kitchen is that Suzanna is taking a walk around the apartment complex. She needs air. Room. If she cries long enough, a cigarette. So Lonan sweeps. Harrison collects. This repeats.

The kitchen smells of nutmeg. Freshly grated from a whole club over espresso, Harrison imagines. He smells this as he tracks Lonan with the dustpan, hovering its open belly for clippings of hair. And Lonan is so compliant, brushes cuttings of himself onto the plastic surface so Harrison can trash it. As Harrison looks on from his knees, Lonan diffuses in sunlight, the window illuminating only his edges. A body so familiar Harrison knows exactly where it flares with light or absorbs it. A body with skin like mulberry silk. A body he could recreate in charcoal with his eyes closed. His archangel translucent and luminescing.

Skip this excerpt if you don’t want to read about Harrison eating hair!! i’m sorry!

Harrison picks a bundle of fallen hair from the dustpan. It’s airy from being recently shampooed, smells faintly of pear, maybe even ginger. This hair, touched by a woman, or a few women, and cut by one, or a few, in different contexts. Eliza’s hands deveining the roots, and then Suzanna’s, trying to fix them. So Harrison eats it. That bundle like a toothpicked cube of cheese. He puts it in his mouth and swallows.

Lonan watches like he’s unconcerned. He watches this feral animal—Harrison must be something feral, starved of something and ravaged by that hunger. Chewing mouthfuls of hair like that will quell of him of what is missing, if there even is anything missing, something unidentifiable in this bland circuit of New York City, this time-loop of sonhood, this fresh start a dousing of flatness. As Harrison eats, he understands he consumes that something like it’s holy communion, reuniting with that something by absorbing it. And still, that hunger moves him, from finishing the dustpan of hair, and closer to Lonan.

“Do you think I’m a bad friend?” Harrison asks, wringing the corner of his lips clean from loose hairs. From this perspective, Harrison on his knees collecting hair, Lonan’s eyes look bluer. Maybe their saturation has nothing to do with the angle, but Harrison feels this is true; his eyes are so crystalline, they are temptingly edible. Like two plump blueberries. Or a matching set of clear glass marbles. Harrison swallows. He repeats, “Do you think I’m a bad friend?”

Lonan swallows, adjusts his grip on the broom. “We’d have to be friends for me to answer that.”

“Aren’t we?”

And here’s the rest of this scene!

“You’re my mother’s friend,” Harrison says. “She trusts you.” He crawls closer to Lonan. “You’ve got secrets. Rituals. Tell me her favourite finger-food and who she wants to marry.”

“I don’t know your mother that well.”

Harrison wraps a handle around Lonan’s ankle. A muscle there jumps like a dolphin breaching the water. He’s memorized this plane of skin, could rebuild it from single grains of sand while blindfolded. He furls his hands across its surface, unfurls.

“You garden with her,” Harrison says. “You share a plate for dessert.”

“She’s kind to me.”

“You cook her breakfast.” Harrison tugs on Lonan’s ankle, knowing it won’t raze him, knowing he’ll come down anyway. “You know the exact temperature she drinks her coffee down to the last digit.”

“I’m trying to be hospitable.”

“You’re trying to be a son.”

Lonan kneels. Crouching so they’re huddled over each other, so it’s nearly impossible to distinguish one body from the other, which one sinks, which one rises.

“My mother’s only got one son to live with,” Harrison says, his voice thin from a clogged throat. He reaches for Lonan’s scalp, scrapes a line down the centre, now an even plane of cropped hair. “And it isn’t me.”

“You’re unstable,” Lonan says, burrowing his face either into a cabinet or Harrison’s shoulder—neither can tell. “You won’t let yourself have friends.”

Farther, toward the tile they go, a pile of hair scattering. “My mother wants me to forgive you by replacing me with you.”

“She’s grieving,” Lonan says.

Harrison loses his hands. He doesn’t know where they disappear to, if he touches skin or tile. “I haven’t died,” he says. Skin or tile. Skin or tile.

Here’s an excerpt from scene C ft. this memoir bit from the time I was shocked that this university I visited had real FANCY teabags:

Lonan brews tea. Earl grey, from a tin. Harrison doesn’t know why he expects it to come from a bag. An individual paper sachet, or if he’s lucky, one of those fancy ones woven from nylon. But it’s from a tin. Two teaspoons into the bottom of a single mug they pass back and forth, wordless at the kitchen table. Strung in the bathroom, Harrison’s t-shirt hang-dries, nearly figure-like, an unfilled phantom. He tugs a throw around his shoulders and stares at his hands. Each crest of cuticle. Each bulb of knuckle. Each maze of fingerprints.

He is material. This is fact. Not just outlines. He’s got skin that goes pinkish when pinched, a pulse that juts from his wrist, two eyes that burn at the scent of lavender, ten fingers. But as he holds his hands up, studying them in the faint moonlight, it is difficult to believe his tangibility. In the city, he has lived as a haze. Fogging over grocery stores, eateries, nondescript. Fresh start has always implied an air of zest, a zing that should have fueled him to plant roots in this restart. But Harrison is rotten, aphid infected, overwatered, underwatered, then not watered at all. He flexes his fingers. He pops the joints. He tries to press his pinkie to the back of his hand. But none of this brings him back to himself. His hands continue feeling like someone else’s. His body invisibly marred in some way he can’t reverse, disconnected in retaliation.

Harrison reflecting on his relationship with his mother:

Suzanna has never left him alone this long, and to her detriment. He imagines her now, living the life she always should’ve lived, the life she lived before he crosscut his way to her most important thing. She’s probably at a salon, having her hair twirled with a round brush, making dinner reservations at some place always too expensive for two (extra points if it has a French name, more if she has to wait a half hour before getting a table). When she talks to her stylist, she doesn’t mention a son, but plans to travel up the west coast, all the way into Canada if she’s feeling adventurous. She’ll buy crime novels she’ll never read at duty-free, reapply a lipstick that cost her a paycheck in the reflection of a hand-dryer. After the salon, she’ll meet a woman at a wine bar, converse about children, and still not mention a son. Suzanna’s singleness will be a celebration.

The boys finally trucing it out <3

When Harrison finally opens his eyes, Lonan is staring at him. His eyes two reels of the Pacific. They cycle in blue. So much of him has changed, and yet he is still the same. Beyond the haircut, Lonan isn’t that much different. He can’t be much different. But as Harrison searches, splaying his palm on the wet table, he knows this is untrue. Lonan is hollower than he was last summer. A little more haunted. They have this in common, then.

“Can we be friends?” Harrison asks. With his pinkie, he finds himself writing against the damp table just as he did Lonan’s scalp not too long ago. Lonan’s gaze follows each loop of each letter, Harrison’s steady left hand.

Lonan is consumed studying what Harrison has written, where each letter connects in near-cursive scrawl. After a moment, he nods, once, twice, and then reverts to staring at the table’s new inscription. On its surface are two words: something held.

The boys in the car like old times <3

Lonan drives. This is strange because Harrison has not seen Lonan drive a car in over a year. Usually, Harrison takes the wheel, but tonight he guides them through the city, in search of Suzanna. His car is clean. This isn’t unexpected. A cherry-coloured hatchback that rattles whenever he makes a left turn. It smells vaguely of cotton air-freshener and the undercurrent of cigarettes.

“You still smoke?” Harrison pokes at the plastic nob for the radio, and it crackles to life. Synth and electric guitar pulse in 4/4 time.

“I bought it used.”

They’ve agreed to get to know one another while they search for Suzanna. Another restart, some attempt at an honest hour. As Lonan changes lanes, Harrison pokes open the car’s glove compartment. A tin of nicotine gum falls on the mat. A hot pink feather pokes from underneath the driver’s manual. Harrison hauls out both, runs the feather along the gum tin, then the back of his hand, and then Lonan’s cheek. When that rouses nothing, he unlocks the tin and removes a slit of gum. Right as he’s about to pop it in his mouth, Lonan says, “I wouldn’t eat that.”

“Why?” Harrison asks. “Did you lace it?”

“Like I said, I bought the car used.”

Harrison puts the gum back, and then the feather. He sticks his hand farther into the glove compartment, feels around until he drags out a map of the state, bilgy and half torn. He unfolds it, careful to avoid the rips, and flattens it against the dashboard. Almost immediately, it wilts against the cold, faded from time in the sun. It’s been marked up. Half with pencil, half with a red ballpoint pen. After a few minutes, Harrison understands the previous owner’s route. Or at least he does at first. Following the red pen arrows, they started at Long Island, then reached Manhattan. Then a much longer arrow takes him from Manhattan to Geneva, and then Buffalo. And then the red pen circles, once, twice, three times, four times, and what is in the centre doesn’t even have a city name. What it does say is HELP, in all-caps, each letter then melting into an illegible scrawl. Harrison sees bits of words: Luke, woe, hands, clay, guard, stray, each wobbly and disappearing into the other, becoming cities of their own, destroying others. He tries to understand the route, but the farther he pours over the map, recircling each line with his finger, the more lost he gets in the ink.

“Is this your map?” Harrison asks. There is no proof that it is. Even the handwriting is all wrong. Ragged. Confused. Desperate. Not like Lonan’s careful, hesitant print.

“Like I said, I bought the car used.”

“But is it your map?” Harrison asks again. Gently, he creases the paper and then slots it back into the glove compartment. Outside, they pass three convenience stores in a row, a flock of couples emerging from a bowling alley, tipsy and cradling leftover deep dish pizzas and mozzarella sticks. They pass two more convenience stores before Lonan finally answers.

“I was confused,” he says.

“This is more than confused,” Harrison says. “It’s disturbed.”

“I’m not disturbed.”

“But something is wrong with you.”

Lonan slows at a crosswalk. A group of teenaged girls whisk by in glitter and lip gloss.

“Yes,” he says.

This is Harrison trying to stop Lonan’s nosebleed after their bizarre swerve which I think is kind of <3 tendy <3

Harrison reaches for him. One hand on the back of his neck, and the other reared toward the red stream. His touch is tactful, so faint his fingerprints wouldn’t even be left behind, but still, the dabbing with his jacket’s hem is enough to redirect the blood’s flow from Lonan’s upper lip to the cuff of leather. The radio is still on, garbled like an unmassing of crepe paper lanterns.

This is the final excerpt for this update that takes us to the very end of the chapter! Harrison has just found Lonan supposedly head-first in the sink and though he asks at first why he is doing that, takes an alternate approach as the chapter closes:

Harrison gets up, his knees popping like gnawed bubble gum. He decides he will handle Lonan at a distance, if he chooses to handle him at all. Like a timid pet owner trying to tame their suddenly-rabid yorkie. Like a friend not trying to tip the full glass. To let its contents film at its surface, but never spill.

Somewhere in the apartment, Suzanna probably listens to them. If Harrison didn’t know her better, he’d imagine her pressed neatly against the door, waiting to hear the shuffle of their bodies or the tang of an argument. Instead, he imagines her at the kitchen table, gripping a glass of water for so long, half of it evaporates.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Harrison says, stepping back until his spine hits the counter’s lip. He curls his fingers under the granite. Looks toward the window, now a faint periwinkle. Lonan heaves. His fingers caging his face, an animal restrained. They stand there until the sun rises.

So that’s it for this gigantic update! I have like four short stories to update you on so I hope to be back soon!

—Rachel

#writing #writerblr #amwriting #writeblr #fostered #mothwork #writingupdates #feedinghabits

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lilydalexf · 4 years

Photo

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Syntax6

Syntax6 has 17 stories at Gossamer, but you should visit her website for the complete collection of her fics and to see the cover art that comes with many of the stories (and to find her pro writing!). She's written some of the most beloved casefiles in the fandom. I've recced literally all of them here before. Twice. Big thanks to Syntax6 for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

I’m delighted but not surprised because I’ve written and read fanfic for shows even older than XF. Also, I joined the XF fandom relatively late, at the end of 1999, so there were already hundreds of “classic” fics out there, stories that were theoretically superseded or dated by canon developments that came after them, but which nonetheless remained compelling in their own right. That is the beauty of fanfic: it is inspired by its original creators but not bound by them. It’s a world of “what if” and each story gets to run in a new direction, irrespective of the canon and all the other stories spinning off in their own universes. In this way, fanfic becomes almost timeless.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it? What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

(I feel these are similar, at least for me, so I will combine them here.)

First and foremost, I found friends. There was a table full of XF fanfic writers at my wedding. Bugs was my maid of honor. I still talk to someone from XF fandom pretty much every day. Lysandra, Maybe Amanda, Michelle Kiefer, bugs…these are just some of the people who’ve been part of my life for half my existence now. Sometimes I get to have dinner with Audrey Roget or Anjou or MCA. Deb Wells and Sarah Ellen Parsons are part of my pro fic beta team. I have a similar list from the Hunter fandom, terrific people who have enriched my life in numerous ways and I am honored to count as friends.

Second, I learned a lot about writing during my years in XF fandom. I grew up there. Part of this growth experience was simply due to practice. I wrote about 1.2 million words of XF fanfic, which is the equivalent of 15 novels. I made mistakes and learned from them. But another essential part of learning is absorbing different kinds of well-told tales, and XF had these in spades. Some stories were funny. Others were lyrical. Some were short pieces with nary a word wasted while others were sprawling epics that took you on an adventure. The neat thing about XF is that it has space for many different kinds of stories, from hard-core sci-fi to historical romance. You can watch other authors executing these varied pieces and learn from them. You can form critique groups and ask for betas and get direct feedback on how to improve. It’s collaborative and fun, and this can’t be underestimated, generally supportive. The underlying shared love of the original product means that everyone comes into your work predisposed to enjoy it. I am grateful for all the encouragement and the critiques I received over my years in fandom.

Finally, I think a valuable lesson for writers that you can find in fandom, but not in your local author critique group, is how to handle yourself when your work goes public. Not everyone is going to like your work and they will make sure you know it. Some people will like it maybe too much, to the point where they cross boundaries. Learning to disengage yourself from public reaction to your work is a difficult but crucial aspect of being a writer. You control the story. You can’t control reaction to it. It’s frustrating at first, perhaps, but in the end, it’s freeing.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

I participated in ATXC, the Haven message boards, and the Scullyfic mailing list/news group. For a number of years, I also ran a fic discussion group with bugs called The Why Incision.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I started reading XF fanfic before I began watching the show. I had watched one season two episode (Soft Light) and then seen bits and pieces of a few others from season four. I’d seen Fight the Future. Basically, I’d seen enough to know which one was Mulder and which one was Scully, and which one believed in aliens. An acquaintance linked me to a rec site for XF fanfic (Gertie’s, maybe?) so that I could see how fic was formatted for the web. I clicked a fic, I think it was one by Lydia Bower dealing with Scully’s cancer arc, and basically did not stop reading. Soon I was printing off 300K of fic to take home with me each night. I could not believe the level of talent in the fandom, and that there were so many excellent writers just giving away their works for free. I wanted to play in this sandbox, too, so I started renting the VHS tapes to catch up on old episodes (see, I am An Old). After a few months, I began writing my own stuff.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I had to be dragged kicking and screaming to The X-Files. I’m not a sci-fi person by nature. I think my main objection is that, when done poorly, it feels lazy to me. Who did the thing? A ghost! Maybe an alien? I guess we’ll never know. You can always just shrug and play some spooky music and the “truth will always be out there…” somewhere beyond the story in front of you. You never have to commit to any kind of truth because you can invent some magical power or new kind of alien to change the story. I think, by the bitter end, the XF had devolved into this kind of storytelling. The mytharc made no kind of sense even in its own universe. But for years the XF achieved the best aspects of sci-fi storytelling—narrative flexibility and an apotheosis of our current fears dressed up as a super entertaining yarn.

What eventually sold me on the XF as a show is all of the smart storytelling and the sheer amount of ideas contained within its run. At its best, it’s a brilliant show. You have mediations on good versus evil, the role of government in a free society, is there a God, are we alone in the universe, and what are the elements that make us who we are? If Mulder and Morris Fletcher switch bodies, how do we know it’s really “them”? The tonal shifts from week to week were clever and engaging. For Vince Gilligan, truth was always found in fellow human beings. For Darin Morgan, humans were the biggest monster of all. The show was big enough to contain both these premises, and indeed, was stronger for it. The deep questions, the character quirks, the unsolved mysteries and all that went unsaid in the Mulder-Scully relationship left so much room for fanfic writers to do their own work. As such, the fandom attracted and continues to attract both dabbling writers and those who are serious craftspeople. People who like the mystery and those who like the sci-fi angle. Scientists and true believers. Like the show, it’s big enough for all.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

I look at it like an old friend I catch up with once in a while. We’ve been close for so long that there’s no awkwardness—we just get each other! I love seeing people post screen shots and commentary, and I think it’s wonderful that so many writers are still inventing new adventures for Mulder and Scully. That is how the characters live on, and indeed how any of us lives on, through the stories that others tell about us.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I ran the Hunter fandom for about five years, mostly because when I poked my head back in, I found the person in change was a bully who’d shut down everything due to her own waning interest. A person would try to start a topic for discussion, and she’d say, “We’ve already covered that.” Well, yes, in a 30-year-old show, there’s not a lot of new ground…

Most other shows, Hunter included, have smaller fandoms and thus don’t attract the depth of fan talent. I don’t just mean fanfic writers. I mean those who do visual art, fan vids, critiques, etc. The XF fandom has all these in droves, which makes it a rare and special place. But all fandoms have the particular joy of geeking out over favorite scenes and reveling in the meeting of shared minds. It will always look odd to those not contained within it, which brings me to the part of modern fandom I find somewhat uncomfortable…the creators are often in fan-space.

In Hunter, the female lead joins fan groups and participates. This is more common now in the age of social media, where writers, producers, actors, etc., are on the same platforms as the rest of us. Fan and creator interaction used to be highly circumscribed: fans wrote letters and maybe received a signed headshot in return. There were cons where show runners gave panels and took questions from the audience. You could stand in line to meet your favorite star. Now, you can @ your favorite star on Twitter, message her on Facebook or follow him on Instagram. In some ways, this is so fun! In other ways, it blurs in the lines in ways that make me uncomfortable. I think it’s rude, for example, if a fan were to go on a star’s social media and post fanfic there or say, “I thought the episode you wrote was terrible.” But what if it’s fan space and the actor is sitting right there, watching you? Is it rude to post fanfic in front of her, especially if she says it makes her uncomfortable? Is it mean to tell a writer his episode sucked right to his face?

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I own the first seven seasons on DVD and will pull them out from time to time to rewatch old faves. I’ve shown a few episodes over the spring and summer to my ten-year-old daughter, and it’s been fun to see the series through her eyes. We’ve mostly opted for the comedic episodes because there’s enough going on in the real world to give her nightmares. Her favorite so far is Je Souhaite.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I don’t have much bandwidth to read fanfic these days. My job as a mystery/thriller author means I have to keep up with the market so I do most of my reading there right now. I also beta read for some pro-fic friends and betaing a novel will keep you busy.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I read so much back in the day that this answer could go on for pages. Alas, it also hasn’t changed much over the past fifteen years because I haven’t read much since then. But, as we’re talking Golden Oldies today, here are a bunch:

All the Mulders, by Alloway I find this short story both hilarious and haunting. Scully embraces her power in the upside down post-apocalyptic world.

Strangers and the Strange Dead, by Kipler Taut prose and an intriguing 3rd party POV make this story a winner, and that’s before the kicker of an ending, which presaged 1013’s.

Cellphone, by Marasmus Talk about your killer twists! Also one of the cleverest titles coming or going.

Arizona Highways, by Fialka I think this is one of the best-crafted stories to come out of the XF. It’s majestic in scope, full of complex literary structure and theme, and yet the plot moves like a runaway freight train. Both the Mulder and Scully characterizations are handled with tender care.

So, We Kissed, by Alelou What I love about this one is how it grounds Mulder and Scully in the ordinary. Mulder’s terrible secret doesn’t involve a UFO or some CSM-conspiracy. Scully goes to therapy that actually looks like therapy. I guess what I’m saying is that I utterly believe this version of M & S in addition to just enjoying reading about them.

Sore Luck at the Luxor, by Anubis Hot, funny, atmospheric. What’s not to love?

Black Hole Season, by Penumbra Nobody does wordsmithing like Penumbra. I use her in arguments with professional writers when they try to tell me that adverbs and adjectives MUST GO. Just gorgeous, sly, insightful prose.

The Dreaming Sea, by Revely This one reads like a fairytale in all the best ways. Revely creates such loving, beautiful worlds for M & S to live in, and I wish they could stay there always.

Malus Genius, by Plausible Deniability and MaybeAmanda Funny and fun, with great original characters, a sly casefile and some clear-eyed musings on the perils of getting older. This one resonates more and more the older I get. ;)

Riding the Whirlpool, by Pufferdeux I look this one up periodically to prove to people that it exists. Scully gets off on a washing machine while Mulder helps. Yet it’s in character? And kinda works? This one has to be read to be believed.

Bone of Contention (part 1, part 2), by Michelle Kiefer and Kel People used to tell me all the time that casefiles are super easy to write while the poetic vignette is hard. Well, I can’t say which is harder but there much fewer well-done casefiles in the fandom than there are poetic vignettes. This is one of the great ones.

Antidote, by Rachel Howard A fic that manages to be both hot and cold as it imagines Mulder and Scully trying to stay alive in the frosty wilderness while a deadly virus is on the loose. This is an ooooold fic that holds up impressively well given everything that followed it!

Falling Down in Four Acts, by Anubis Anubis was actually a bunch of different writers sharing a single author name. This particular one paints an angry, vivid world for Our Heroes and their compatriots. There is no happy ending here, but I read this once and it stayed with me forever.

The Opposite of Impulse, by Maria Nicole A sweet slice of life on a sunny day. When I imagine a gentler universe for Mulder and Scully, this is the kind of place I’d put them.

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Bait and Switch is probably the most sophisticated and tightly plotted. It was late in my fanfic “career” and so it shows the benefits to all that learning. My favorite varies a lot, but I’ll say Universal Invariants because that one was nothing but fun.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I never say never! I don’t have any oldies sitting around, though. Everything I wrote, I posted.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I write casefiles…er, I mean mysteries, under my own name now, Joanna Schaffhausen. My main series with Reed and Ellery consists of a male-female crime solving team, so I get a little bit of my XF kick that way. Their first book, The Vanishing Season, started its life as an XF fanfic back in the day. I had to rewrite it from the ground up to get it published, but if you know both stories, you can spot the similarities.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

The answer any writer will tell you is “everywhere.” Ideas are cheap and they’re all around us—on the news, on the subway, in conversations with friends, from Twitter memes, on a walk through the woods. My mysteries are often rooted in true crime, often more than one of them.

Each idea is like a strand of colored thread, and you have to braid them together into a coherent story. This is the tricky part, determining which threads belong in which story. If the ideas enhance one another or if they just create an ugly tangent.

Mostly, though, stories begin by asking “what if?” What if Scully’s boyfriend Ethan had never been cut from the pilot? What if Scully had moved to Utah after Fight the Future? What if the Lone Gunmen financed their toys by writing a successful comic book starring a thinly veiled Mulder and Scully?

Growing up, I had a sweet old lady for a neighbor. Her name was Doris and she gave me coffee ice cream while we watched Wheel of Fortune together. Every time there was a snow storm, the snow melted in her backyard in a such way that suggested she had numerous bodies buried out there. How’s that for a “what if?”

What's the story behind your pen name?

I’ve had a few of them and honestly can’t tell you where they came from, it’s been so long ago. The “6” part of syntax6 is because I joke that 6 is my lucky number. In eighth grade, my algebra teacher would go around the room in order, asking each student their answer to the previous night’s homework problems. I realized quickly that I didn’t have to do all the problems, just the fifteenth one because my desk was 15th on her list. This worked well until the day she decided to call on kids in random order. When she got to me and asked me the answer to the problem I had not done, I just invented something on the spot. “Uh…six?”

Her: “You mean 0.6, don’t you?”

Me, nodding vigorously: “YES, I DO.”

Her: “Very good. Moving on…”

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

My close friends and family have always known, and reactions have varied from mild befuddlement to enthusiastic support. My father voted in the Spookies one year, and you can believe he read the nominated stories before casting his vote. I think the most common reaction was: Why are you doing this for free? Why aren’t you trying to be a paid writer?

Well, having done both now, I can tell you that each kind of writing brings its own rewards. Fanfic is freeing because there is no pressure to make money from it. You can take risks and try new things and not have to worry if it fits into your business plan.

(Posted by Lilydale on September 15, 2020)

#new post #old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fanfic author interviews #syntax6

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gwynbleiddyn · 3 years

Note

if you're asking about ships, i'd be remiss not to ask about eivor x vili?

[DEEP BREATH] HOW MUCH TIME DO YOU HAVE--

i don’t know where to start, honestly. i’ve definitely gotten heavily invested in ships before, but nothing quite to the extent of eivor/vili (at least, not since the days of OC/Canon in dragon age and mass effect,,,, lordt) and it continues to live in my mind rent free even months after i’ve finished the game, when most things are lucky to still be rattling around up here after a few DAYS

i do want to point out though that i specifically go feral over m!eivor/vili, as much as i appreciate f!eivor, and the reason for that is simply because the narrative around two men who have openly expressed (or can do so, in eivor’s case) attraction to more than one gender while living in a very tough and specific society just really gets to me. more specifically, i kind of fell in love with how each of them alone can easily be considered classic angry macho vikings or whatever, but the reality is they contain multitudes that are waaaaaay more complex and i EAT THAT SHIT UP BRO.

especially when part of those multitudes contains a whole fuckign slice of “i’ve loved you since before i knew what love was” and “whatever our souls are made of yours and mine are the same” and “in every lifetime i would find you and i would choose you” and holy shit bro. it fucking drives me crazy.

and then on a more canonical note, just seeing how easily they slip into conversation around each other despite not seeing each other for TEN YEARS. “it sometimes seemed you never left. maybe you never did.” ONE HIT KILL RIGHT THERE. imagine being so deeply bound to someone that a whole decade can be undone in a moment because you are so fundamentally in-tune with the person sitting across from you that time is fucking MEANINGLESS. like, they can look at each other and they know what they’re thinking (eivor knowing as soon as sunniva told him there were picts, vili would have gone after them) and how they’re feeling (the entire talk at kinder downfall, eivor knew what vili’s reservations were, but he also kind of figured vili needed tough love to say it out loud - so that’s what he gave him)

THE BANTER. the laughter. THEY SMILE SO MUCH AROUND EACH OTHER. and what’s that thing about you always look at the person you love when you say something funny because you want to make them laugh more than anyone??? THAT’S THEM. and i made a whole gifset about how eivor looks at vili because that shit ruined me, even without mocapped scenes, it was painfully obvious how much love eivor holds for this man.

AND THEN HEMMING. THE FACT HEMMING SIGNED A LETTER WITH VILI’S NAME BECAUSE HE THOUGHT EIVOR WOULD COME TO THEM FASTER IF HE SAW VILI’S NAME FIRST. BRO. “to see you both together again” while he’s on his fuckign DEATHBED. no i fully believe hemming knew he was running out of time and, yes, he wanted eivor’s help in choosing a new jarl, but he also wanted eivor to be there for vili when he’s gone. he didn’t trust anybody else to look after his son like eivor. bro. im gonna lose my mind.

OH AND IT ISNT JUST EIVOR KNOWING WHAT VILI NEEDS ITS VILI KNOWING EIVOR TOO -- well enough to understand that after the fucking mess of hamtunscire and cippenhamm, even when eivor goes to him with that soul-crushing question of “will there come a day where winning will not be enough?” instead of just piling on another pound of earth to the grave eivor seems to be digging himself into, vili’s just like “well you can always fight me if you want to lose” and eivor jokes back, however lamely, and once vili has gotten a smile from him only then does he tell him his thoughts - that he should enjoy this victory, whatever it brings to him. THEN QUOTES THE HAVAMAL BUT THATS ANOTHER TOPIC ENTIRELY--

yes. yes i do like this ship. just a little

send me a ship and i’ll give my honest opinion on it!

#winkyblinkyandstew

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yourfaceislikeabluemoon · 4 years

Text

You’re Gonna Be the Death of Me, I Swear

Words: 9.7k

Warning: A decent amount of language throughout with the majority in the last scene, kissing (starts out fairly innocent but gets raunchier as the fic progresses), teacher/student roleplay if you squint, Changbin calls Hyunjin pup/puppy, grinding but barely, brief mentions of jacking off, just a hint of angst, crying and apologies, marking/love bites, praise (they both clearly have praise kinks but it’s never explicitly mentioned), brief nipple play/licking/biting, blowjob, frottage (Changbin jerks them off at the same time), lots of dirty talk, Hyunjin has a filthy mouth but is also a whiny baby, cum play/eating, spanking, ass eating, fingering, very brief degradation, barebacking (practice safe sex y’all), cumming inside, and brief innuendos.

A/N: hey, I’m back with another member x member fic! this one is a lot dirtier than the last one oops 🤭 Changjin has been living in my mind rent free this entire comeback so I just had to write something and ‘Kissing Practice’ is one of my favorite tropes and so this filth was born! so yeah, my brain has actually been coming up with ideas lately, which is basically a miracle considering the wasteland it was for 6+ months straight. as always, I hope you enjoy this and please let me know what you think! it really motivates me to write more and I appreciate every single one of you that takes time out of their day to read what I write, thank you so so much! oki enjoy hehe ❤

“Forget it. It’s stupid, I know. Forget I even asked.”

“No, wait!” Changbin called after Hyunjin, who had stood up from his spot on the couch to head off to his room. Hyunjin sighed tiredly and turned back around to face his older groupmate. “Why me?”

Eyebrows knit together, Hyunjin returned to his space next to Changbin. “Why not you?”

Bin let out a broken noise, trying to formulate his words properly, “No, I mean why not Chan or Minho? Why was I the hyung you came to?” When Hyunjin’s expression morphed into that of an abandoned puppy, Changbin held up his hands, “Not that I don’t want to help you! You know I’ll always help you when you ask-- and, and I’m not trying to get out of it or anything. Just, why me? Wouldn’t Chan be better at this sort of thing? I don’t know, seniority or something.”

Hyunjin chuckled at Bin’s babbling, shaking his head as he looked down at his own lap. “First of all, I’m scared of Minho.” Changbin couldn’t hold back his laughter and Hyunjin shrugged but laughed along with him. “Second, everyone but Felix knows Chan’s been pining after Felix for years and I don’t want to feel like a homewrecker even though feelings aren’t attached, you know?”

“Good point. Chan needs to grow a pair, honestly. Like what’s the worst that could happen? Felix giggles at him?” Bin let a rush of air out of his nose at the image that popped into his head before turning back to a grinning Hyunjin who was nodding in agreement.

“Yeah,” the younger continued, “So as you can see, that leaves me with one hyung. You.”

Changbin gave him an unamused look, “So I’m a last resort.”

Hyunjin shook his head again, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks. “No, you’re really not. You’re the one that likes my lips so much. I figured you’d be the one who wouldn’t feel completely tortured if you went along with my proposal. Maybe you wouldn’t mind it. I was probably wrong in assuming that. I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t wrong,” Bin denied adamantly. Realizing how eager he sounded, he quickly calmed himself down and cleared his throat. “Everyone thinks you have nice lips, not just me.”

Leaning a bit closer, Hyunjin lowered his voice, “I think you like them more than the others do, though.”

Changbin gulped but tried to look casual, “Maybe I do.”

“Then, what do you say?” Hyunjin tilted his head and stared at the elder with interest, wide-eyed and waiting.

Bin couldn’t make eye contact. He stared at an empty soda can sitting on the coffee table as thoughts whirled around in his head like a tornado. Should he say ‘yes’? Would he be risking everything he had worked so hard to conceal? Was this bound to end in disaster if he went along with it?

He bit the bullet.

“OK.”

The thing is, Hyunjin’s ‘proposal’ wasn’t exactly expected, to say the least. Essentially, Hyunjin had sought out Changbin in order to ask him to be the one to teach the younger how to kiss. He claimed that he had no experience and didn’t know how; he didn’t want to be a total fuck up when the time came around where he needed this particular skill. So, he decided to ask one of his hyungs for help, to teach him, and to help him practice.

Changbin was, quite honestly, flabbergasted. The prettiest human being he had ever had the privilege of observing was telling him that they had no experience and was asking him for lessons in the form of basically making out. There was a teeny tiny red flag that shot up in the back of Changbin’s mind as he processed Hyunjin’s ‘proposal’, but apparently it wasn’t enough of a deterrent to keep his emotions from controlling his decision-making because he agreed to it without much persuasion. Changbin was determined that, in the end, Hyunjin would not be a total fuck up when it came to kissing, even if that meant he had to put himself through hell trying to keep his feelings out of the equation.

Hyunjin admittedly felt a little guilty when he plopped down on Changbin’s bed a couple days later and asked, “So, is it time for my first lesson yet?”

He had been wanting to kiss Changbin pretty much since the moment they met. Lying about not having experience and needing help was the strategy he had finally brainstormed to get his way. He had the smallest hint of feeling like he would regret this idea but he blamed Changbin and his doll lips for ultimately giving into temptation.

The older swiveled around in his desk chair to face Hyunjin. “I suppose. But are you sure you want me to be your first kiss?”

Hyunjin coughed and tripped over his own words, “It-it’s just p-practice! It doesn’t really c-count as the-the-as the real thing!”

Changbin gently smiled at him but Hyunjin couldn’t tell if the flash in his eyes was of pain or pity. He decided to ignore it since neither would make him feel any better. Changbin was about to push himself out of his chair but Hyunjin stopped him, “Um, I’ll-I’ll come over there.”

The sudden raise of his eyebrows gave away the fact that Changbin was somewhat startled by Hyunjin’s statement but he nodded curtly as permission, “Whatever you’re comfortable with.” He relaxed back into his chair as Hyunjin shyly made his way over. The younger stopped about a foot away from Changbin’s knees and gulped, genuinely nervous as hell.

“So, should I just…” Hyunjin didn’t know if he was supposed to wait for instruction or if he was meant to just dive in. Changbin raised a brow, challenging this time, and waited to see if Hyunjin really would make the first move. Sure enough, he stepped slightly closer, let out a quick breath, and leaned forward, placing a hand on each armrest before quickly pecking Changbin’s lips. “There. How was that?”

Changbin’s brain took a moment to process the question, eventually coming to the conclusion that teasing would prompt the most favorable outcome a.k.a. Hyunjin pouting in frustration. “How was what?”

Bingo. Hyunjin huffed angrily, brows knitted together and lips pushed out in the anticipated pout. He balled his fists at his sides and slowly unclenched them. Leaning back in, he placed a slightly longer peck on Changbin’s lips but retreated just as fast as the first time. He gestured sharply, “That.”

“That?” Changbin asked, pointing at his own lips. Hyunjin inclined his head and his expression could only read ‘duh’. “That wasn’t a kiss.”

A fire lit behind Hyunjin’s eyes and he snarled, “Then what, Seonsaengnim, is?”

Changbin smirked daringly and patted his thigh, “Take a seat, haksaeng.”

Hyunjin matched the older’s smirk and, licking his lips seductively, he eased himself into Changbin’s lap, one thick thigh on either side. It was a little awkward in the desk chair but something about squeezing in so close together made it all the more thrilling. Changbin’s hands immediately found the younger’s hips, earning a shiver when he gripped at them roughly.

The elder was completely calm, steely gaze wandering Hyunjin’s features while Hyunjin felt just as inexperienced as he was pretending to be, panting already. Bin slid his hand up Hyunjin’s side to rest his pointer finger under his chin. The pad of his thumb pressed into the younger’s plush lower lip as he gently guided him forward. Hyunjin obediently let himself be pulled closer, eyes slipping closed at the delicate touch.

When Changbin slotted their lips together, he felt Hyunjin instantly melt into him and he resisted the urge to grin at his silent victory. He pulled back with a soft smacking noise before pressing his lips to Hyunjin’s again. After a few careful, sweet kisses to start off, the older drew back and looked at the boy in his lap who was chasing his lips with his eyes still closed. Changbin let out a quiet chuckle, “Eager puppy.”

Hyunjin whined and pouted again, eyes finally opening to look at Changbin. “Feels nice,” he mumbled under his breath as he glanced off to the side, somewhat embarrassed to make too much eye contact.

Bin hummed, “That’s nothing. Wanted to start you off easy though. Didn’t want to rush you at the very start.” He caressed the side of his face, thumb running over the soft skin of Hyunjin’s cheekbone before something in his brain alerted him that he was letting his feelings bleed in and he jerked his hand back suddenly.

Hyunjin tilted his head, expression rather confused, but Changbin covered up the awkwardness by forcing a smile. “Your turn.” The younger looked even more confused and Bin chuckled, “It’s pop quiz time. Show me what you’ve learned so far.”

“Already?” Hyunjin asked, dumbfounded. A light blush began to tint his cheeks. “Kinda lost focus,” he admitted. “I don’t really remember what to do.”

Bin smiled genuinely, “Just do your best, pup.”

Hyunjin’s blush deepened at the nickname and he took a deep breath before hesitantly reaching up to rest his fingertips against Changbin’s jawline and leaned in. He fit their lips together just like Bin had done earlier, dragging away and pressing in again and again.

When he withdrew, Changbin was a little flushed and Hyunjin felt a jolt of happiness rush through him because that was from him. He grinned, “How was that?”

Bin scoffed jokingly, “‘Don’t really remember’, my ass!”

The younger blushed again and his gaze fell to his hands in his lap where he was picking at loose skin around his fingernail.

“It was much better, Jinnie. You did well.” Hyunjin glanced up at Changbin’s praise and smiled gratefully. “But I think that’s enough learning for today.”

Hyujin shook his head adamantly and pouted again, “Just one more lesson. Please, Binnie hyung?”

Changbin’s laugh was bright and teasing, “You like kissing that much already?”

The younger bit at his lip and glanced away before looking back at Bin and nodded shyly. He really, really, really liked it, especially if it was with Changbin; he wasn’t going to admit that out loud.

Changbin sighed, feigning reluctance, but he couldn’t help but grin, “Alright. You know I can’t say no to those puppy dog eyes of yours.”

Hyunjin lit up and bounced slightly in Bin’s lap, wrapping his arms around his neck as he settled comfortably. Changbin’s hands were back on his hips and he nodded at the younger, “C’mere.”

Giggling, Hyunjin leaned in once again and voluntarily initiated the kiss, letting Bin take the lead after he had left a few sweet pecks on his lips. Changbin fluidly moved their lips together and, without noticing in order to stop himself, Hyunjin ‘caught on’ rather quickly. He lost himself in Changbin’s pretty doll lips, his warmth, the scent of his skin, in Changbin. Hyunjin’s fingers found the hair at Bin’s nape and he tangled them in the soft strands while the older’s arms wound around his waist, drawing him in even closer.

Changbin didn’t let the kiss get too dirty or passionate but he knew it felt right, Hyunjin in his lap holding onto him for dear life, tugging at his hair, squeezing in as close as possible. The older pulled away begrudgingly and Hyunjin chased his lips again, causing Bin to chuckle at him despite his own labored breathing. “That’s enough, pup.” Hyunjin pouted once more and slouched in disappointment. “You’re a fast learner, aren’t you, Jinnie?”

The younger hummed appreciatively, “I’m learning from the best.”

Bin rolled his eyes and let out a huff of air in his amusement. “How do you know I’m the best, Mr. I Have No Experience?”

“Shh,” Hyunjin hushed him with a long, slender finger faintly resting against Changbin’s rose tinted lips. “I just know.” A glint of mischief flashed in his eyes and he bit at his bottom lip before giggling again. He tried as gracefully as he could to stand up but his legs were admittedly a little wobbly. Hyunjin just laughed at himself and shrugged, “Well, I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing before I bothered you.”

Changbin furrowed his brow. “You didn’t bother me, Hyunjin. I’m, uhh,” he cleared his throat, “I’m happy to help.”

Hyunjin smiled warmly and leaned down to press another kiss to his hyung’s lips. “Thank you, Binnie hyung,” he whispered against them before pulling away and leaving Changbin’s bedroom, softly shutting the door behind himself.

Bin sat staring after him for who knows how many minutes, lost in thought and missing the warmth of Hyunjin in his lap. He sighed deeply. He simply wanted what he just couldn’t have and he had to convince himself to bury those feelings. He was going to regret this, he could feel it in his bones.

The younger leaned his back against the door and stared off into space wondering why he even started this whole thing, why he didn’t just tell Changbin the truth and admit his feelings from the start. Guilt swam in his stomach like churning waves and he felt tears prick at his eyes. Hyunjin gulped and blinked them away, taking a deep breath before heading off to distract himself somehow.

“Is this ok?” Hyunjin asked tentatively as he eased down onto Changbin’s lap.

Bin chuckled, “This seems to be your favorite spot lately.” When the younger blushed and shied away, Changbin smiled warmly and rested his hands on Hyunjin’s hips, “As long as you're comfortable, I’m fine.”

Biting his lip, Hyunjin glanced at the couch cushion next to them and cleared his throat. “So what’s lesson three, or whatever number we’re on?”

The elder smirked, “I know you’ve been keeping track, pup. You can’t fool me.” Changbin swore he saw Hyunjin’s eye twitch and a flash of agony wash over his face and leave as quickly as it came, but he chose to ignore it and ghosted his hands up and down the sides of the boy in his lap. “Why don’t I just show you, hmm?”

“Should I expect a pop quiz after?” Hyunjin looked up through his lashes, teasing smile curving his pretty, plush lips.

Changbin scoffed jokingly, “It wouldn’t be a pop quiz if I warned you it was happening, Jinnie.”

The younger squinted suspiciously and shrugged his shoulders. “I thought I’d be able to read you. But I guess I’ll just have to pay really close attention and impress you if you do decide to test me.”

Nervousness peeked through Changbin’s calm facade and he gulped apprehensively before composing himself and grunting a noise of acknowledgement. He reached up to grab the back of Hyunjin’s neck and tugged him forward, slotting their lips together forcefully. Hyunjin’s breath hitched and the desire to ruin him clouded Changbin’s mind as he moved his lips against Hyunjin’s, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth before nipping at it aggressively. The younger let out a surprised but pleased sigh and Changbin felt him shiver in his hold.

He kissed back just as sharply, pulling back slightly with Changbin’s lower lip trapped in his teeth, tugging at the flesh before letting it bounce back. He opened his eyes to admire Bin’s features and when the olders eyes fluttered open, Hyunjin smirked at how dark and lustful his gaze had become. Without warning, Hyunjin dove back in and Changbin found himself panting into the others mouth, caught off guard and losing himself in the kiss.

Hyunjin kissed eagerly and feverishly, mouth moving forcibly against Changbin’s but somehow it wasn’t too much. In fact, Bin was craving more and he had to force himself not to take more than was acceptable at the time. He reluctantly withdrew, head falling back against the couch as he tried to catch his breath, eyes still closed.

“Fuck,” Changbin laughed airily, “I don’t think I have to test you after that.”

“Yeah?”

Bin let out another huff of air, “Yeah. It was almost too good.”

Hyunjin sucked his lips into his mouth and bit down, frowning skittishly and glad Changbin still had his eyes shut. “Sorry.”

“No!” Bin’s head shot up and he looked at the younger, perplexed. “Why are you apologizing, Jinnie?” He shook his head and chuckled gently, “I honestly didn’t want to stop.”

Lips shaped like a perfect ‘O’, Hyunjin gazed back at him, expression a little surprised as his cheeks reddened, “Oh.”

Changbin smiled at him fondly but embarrassment at his own admission started to creep up and he looked away shyly. “Don’t look at me like that! I can’t help it, I enjoyed it!”

Hyunjin giggled and leaned forward to whisper in Bin’s ear, “I liked it, too. Really, really liked it.” When he sat back, Changbin’s eyes had darkened again, pupils blown and faintly swollen lips parted.

“In that case,” the younger fidgeted in his lap as he took a deep, calming breath before continuing. “Move on to the next lesson?”

Eyes widening minutely, Hyunjin nodded slowly, glancing down at Changbin’s lips before flicking back up to hold his steady gaze. “Please,” he pleaded almost soundlessly.

“I think I’m gonna regret teaching you how to use tongue because you’ll pick it up really fast and you’re gonna be the death of me, I swear,” Changbin mumbled unintelligibly under his breath. Hyunjin managed to make out the last part of his sentence.

You’re gonna be the death of me, I swear.

Those words swam around in his foggy head as he stared into Changbin’s eyes, almost in a daze and Changbin thought he looked far too fucked out from just a kiss but he wasn’t complaining about the beauty sitting in his lap. The older lured Hyunjin again easily, moulding their lips together the second he was close enough. Hyunjin felt like he was floating and he was suddenly brought back to earth by a burning in the pit of his stomach when Changbin slid his tongue over his bottom lip. He gasped against the older’s mouth, granting him access and tightening his grip around his neck, chests pressed against each other.

Changbin cautiously licked around the outline of Hyunjin’s open mouth, urging a stunned moan to escape from the younger boy. Smiling into the kiss, Bin sucked at his lower lip before moving their lips together again. Hyunjin hesitantly poked his tongue out and Changbin took the opportunity to suck on it, earning a whimper as Hyunjin fisted the front of the elders shirt. Changbin kissed him deeply and, just as he expected, the younger caught on quickly, tongues gracefully dancing together amidst sloppy, open-mouthed kisses.

Pulling away for desperately needed oxygen, they rested their foreheads together as Changbin panted through a smile and Hyunjin stared at him, a hazy look in his eyes. Seconds later, Hyunjin pressed his lips to his hyung’s with new fervor, hands still tightly clutching at the material of Changbin’s shirt. He moaned wantonly when the elder squeezed at his waist.

Hyunjin felt the need to prove what he had learned despite not being asked this time around. He gave up trying to act like all this was new to him and just gave into kissing Changbin. Using his tongue like a hook, Hyunjin dragged Bin’s upper lip into his mouth and nipped at the flesh. The older groaned deeply and his hips canted upwards unintentionally. Pleased with himself, Hyunjin took to exploring Changbin’s mouth, earning moans and whimpers alike. When he finally pulled back, Changbin was the one dazed; kiss-bitten, swollen lips a deep, cherry red and eyes black and lecherous.

“Fuck,” he breathed, throwing his head back again. “Fuck! Why are you such a fast learner?”

The younger smirked, a sudden urge to kiss down Changbin’s exposed throat flashed in his mind but he quickly rid his brain of the thought, sure that that would be too far. At least for the moment.

Changbin laughed at the ceiling. It was almost lethargic. “I think the student has surpassed the teacher, fucking hell!”

Hyunjin couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up in his chest and he covered his mouth, eyes forming crescent moons above his hand.

“You can’t just look all cute after you did...that,” Bin mumbled when he glanced at the laughing boy in his lap. Suddenly reminded of the whole ‘canting of his hips’ thing and the very evident bulge in his pants underneath Hyunjin’s ass, Changbin flushed, mortified. Hyunjin took that exact moment to squirm in the olders lap and Bin groaned sheepishly. “That’s probably completely unwarranted since we were just kissing but uhh...fuck it! It’s your fault for being too good at kissing so thanks for that!”

Joy mixed with pride bloomed in Hyunjin and he bit his lip, giggling even more, before leaning in to whisper in Changbin’s ear once more. “It was my pleasure,” he taunted, taking Bin’s earring between his teeth and tugged at it gently; the older shivered under him. Then he was out of Changbin’s lap in a flash. As he made his way out of the living room, he called over his shoulder, “I’ll leave you to take care of that.”

“You little shit!” Changbin shouted after him, prompting Hyunjin to wiggle his fingers in a wave before rounding a corner. Bin dropped his head back on the couch, fancying a good old, frustrated scream, but he stayed quiet. He finally got off the couch and headed off to take care of his problem.

And if he imagined Hyunjin taking him apart bit by bit while he simultaneously took Hyunjin apart when he wrapped his hand around his aching, positively dripping cock, that was no one’s business.

He did.

He also chanted Hyunjin’s name in a whisper as he spurted white all over himself and his hand.

But again, no one’s business.

And if Hyunjin got off to the sounds his hyung was making in the other room while he imagined how good Changbin would look covered in his cum, just to reiterate, that was no one’s business.

He did.

He was also overcome with an overwhelming wave of guilt moments after he came to the thought of Changbin.

No one’s business.

It became a normal thing, secret kisses and immediate guilt and burying of feelings. Hyunjin was sick to his stomach quite often, to the point that Chan got concerned with how often he was saying he was sick and going to lay down. Changbin worried that it was his fault. Maybe the younger was sick of him. Maybe he hated kissing Bin and just kept going along with it so as not to make him feel bad. If only he hadn’t said yes, if only they didn’t keep this up, if only, if, if. Changbin worried himself sick but he didn’t let Chan notice because Chan definitely didn’t need anything else to worry about.

“I’m going to go check on him,” Changbin volunteered a few minutes after Hyunjin mentioned he was feeling off and went to lay down for the nth time that week. Chan gave him an appreciative look and nodded approvingly.

Bin headed for the kitchen to make some ginger tea to soothe Hyunjin’s upset stomach. Once it was brewed, he took the steaming mug and knocked lightly on Hyunjin’s bedroom door before quietly opening it and peeking his head in. “Jinnie, it’s me. I brought you some ginger tea. It might help your stomach.”

Hyunjin grunted and laid still, facing the wall as Changbin padded in and set the mug down on the bedside table. The older hesitated before sitting on the bed in the curve Hyunjin’s legs formed and rested a gentle hand on his arm. “Jinnie,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Changbin heard a sniffle and his heart immediately clenched in pain at the thought of Hyunjin crying. “Oh, Jinnie, baby. Don’t cry,” he pleaded selfishly, knowing just how much it hurt to see him cry.

Hyunjin let out a sob. “Why did you say you’re sorry? What for? I’m the one that’s sorry. I’m so sorry,” he babbled, voice cracking every other word. “I’m so sorry, hyung.”

“Jinnie,” Bin hesitated, on the brink of tears himself and he was sure they would spill when he saw the younger’s face but he asked anyway. “Can you look at me, please?” Hyunjin hiccuped and turned to face the older, unable to look him in the eye. “What are you apologizing for, baby? You have nothing to be sorry for!”

Throwing his hands up in the air, Hyunjin scoffed exasperatedly. “You couldn’t be more wrong, hyung!” He let his hands fall back to his sides and laughed sardonically through his tears.

Changbin couldn’t help the hurt expression that morphed his features. “I can’t know unless you tell me,” he tried, reaching for the younger’s hand to squeeze reassuringly. “You can tell me anything, Jinnie.” He could practically see the gears turning in Hyunjin’s head as he debated on whether or not to tell his hyung the truth. “I’m not sure if you think this or not, but I’m not mad at you. And I won’t be, no matter what you tell me. I just want to know what’s wrong because I’m worried sick about you and I want to fix whatever’s wrong if I can.”

Hyunjin’s bottom lip trembled as fresh tears spilled over his cheeks. He shot up and wrapped his arms around Changbin, weeping into his shoulder as the older took him into his arms and soothed a hand up and down his back. “Jinnie,” he whispered, burying his face in Hyunjin’s neck. But that’s all he said. He waited patiently for the younger to speak his mind.

“I lied to you,” Hyunjin mumbled into his t-shirt. “I lied about,” his body shook with the deep breath he took, “I lied about not having experience.” Hyunjin pulled away and sat hunched over, staring into his own lap and fiddled with a loose string on his pant leg. “I made it all up. All of it. The whole kissing practice thing was just an excuse. And I kept the lie going and I feel awful about it. I feel so sick over it because I never intended to hurt you or force you into it or anything like that. I feel sick over it because I’ve had feelings for you this whole time and I’ve been ignoring them so much when I’m with you that when I’m not with you, they all come crashing down on me and I feel like I’m going to throw up because I’m so overwhelmed with guilt. I can’t lie to you anymore, hyung. I never wanted to in the first place. But my stupid brain couldn’t figure out another way to make you see that I’m in love with you. So instead, I just hurt the both of us. Like an idiot. And I know I hurt you because you wouldn’t have apologized if I didn’t. You’re too sweet, saying you’re sorry for something that isn’t even remotely your fault and you know it. You’re too sweet and I love you for it. So much. And I’m so, so sorry.”

Changbin’s brain couldn’t process the entirety of the sudden influx of information that had just poured out of Hyunjin’s mouth. All he could process was three things, and he told Hyunjin so. “All I heard was ‘I lied’, ‘I’m sorry’, and ‘I’m in love with you’.” Hyunjin looked somewhat fearful, combined with embarrassment and regret. The older shook his head and took Hyunjin’s hands into his own. “And I’m telling you the exact same thing. I lied in the sense that I never told you I had feelings for you when I’ve had them since we first met. I’m sorry that I kept this thing going without telling you everything--I’m the hyung here, that’s on me. And I’m in love with you, too.”

“Y-you don’t hate me?” Hyunjin’s brows were scrunched together and he stared at the older in disbelief.

Reaching up to wipe away the new tears from the younger’s cheeks, Changbin shook his head adamantly. “Baby, no! I could never hate you! I mean, I can’t say I like the fact that you lied to me but I don’t blame you because I lied to you, too. We both didn’t know how to just come right out with our feelings. And besides, it got us this far, didn’t it?”

Hyunjin chuckled sadly, “I guess so. I’m still really sorry, hyung.”

“I know, Jinnie. Me too,” Changbin gently tugged him forward into another hug which Hyunjin gladly melted into. “I love you.”

Another sob slipped past Hyunjin’s lips and he laughed at himself, “Sorry, I didn’t know I would react like that hearing you say that for the first time.”

Changbin hummed and nuzzled into his neck, arms squeezing Hyunjin’s waist. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, hyung.”

“You said you don’t hate me but you’re spending awfully long amounts of time in your studio here lately.” Hyunjin’s teasing voice startled a very focused Changbin who was absorbed in whatever he was working on. He quickly spun around in his chair and his gaze found the younger standing in the doorway, his hip leant against the door frame and arms crossed over his chest, eyebrow raised, feigning suspicion.

Changbin whined, “You know I miss you like crazy. I’ve just had so much work to get done.”

Smirk curving his lips, Hyunjin sauntered into the room, closing the door behind him and turned the lock. “Why don’t you show me how much you miss me?” He taunted as he dropped onto the sofa in Changbin’s studio, clearly expecting the older to come to him.

Bin scoffed lightly before turning back around to fiddle with something while defeat and embarrassment crept up in Hyunjin; he genuinely thought Changbin was just ignoring him and finishing his work like the younger wasn’t even there. But soon, a sultry melody with heavy bass flooded through the speakers in the studio [Electric (R3hab Remix) (feat. Khalid) - Alina Baraz] and Changbin turned back around to face Hyunjin, smirking himself when he saw the expression on Hyunjin’s face. Pushing out of his chair, Bin stalked over to the couch, slipping his t-shirt over his head and tossed it behind himself carelessly as he watched Hyunjin rake his carnal gaze over the newly exposed skin, dark eyes hooded and full lips parted.

When he finally stood in front of the younger, he snickered wickedly and leaned in to ghost his lips over Hyunjin’s before gently guiding him to lay down on the sofa, body rolling fluidly as he climbed on top of him. “That was way too smooth,” Hyunjin whispered, impressed, causing Changbin’s smirk to widen if that was even possible.

“Kinda surprised myself there, honestly.” His smirk transformed into a genuine smile as he chuckled at himself and Hyunjin thought he looked positively beautiful in that moment. The feeling was mutual. Changbin stared at the boy below him -- long blond hair splayed out around his head, flush high on his cheeks, an enthralled fascination swirled deep in his inky eyes alongside pure admiration and want. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he rasped, mesmerized.

“Kiss me,” Hyunjin breathed. Changbin didn’t need to be told twice. He bent down and brushed their noses together ever so gently before capturing Hyunjin’s lips. Moving gracefully, Bin kissed him deeply, wanting to convey as much emotion as he possibly could, needing Hyunjin to know how much he loved him. He couldn’t help but say it, though.

“I love you, Jinnie.”

Hyunjin hummed against his mouth, “Mmm, love you, too, hyung. So much.” He threw his arms around Changbin, pulling him in even closer and arched into him when the older teased their tongues together.

“Want you,” Hyunjin gasped after moments of kissing the life out of each other. “Want you so bad.”

Changbin growled, kissing along Hyunjin’s jawline and down his neck as the younger boy bared his throat for him. Desperately wanting to leave marks, he knew he couldn’t leave anything in visible areas so he softly mouthed, kissed, and licked at the column of Hyunjin’s neck, earning constant whimpers and whines because of the sensitivity of the area. When Bin reached his clavicle, the urge won over and he sucked a deep plum-colored mark where he thought would be the perfect place. Sitting up to marvel at Hyunjin, Changbin let out a pleased hum at how divine the younger looked with his claim on him. The stylist noonas probably wouldn’t be too happy but Hyunjin looked plenty sexy when he was more covered up so Changbin didn’t think it would be too much of a problem. He didn’t care anyway. Hyunjin was his.

“Mine,” he murmured as he bent down again briefly to kiss at the pretty bruise. When he sat back up, he smiled in awe. “Always wanted to know what you’d look like underneath me like this.”

Hyunjin huffed out a chuckle, “And how do I look?”

“Impossibly perfect. Better than I ever dreamed,” Bin praised, eyes sparkling when he noticed Hyunjin’s cheeks redden. He shook his head and laughed breathily, “And I haven’t even ruined you yet!”

“Binnie hyung,” Hyunjin whined, pouting just how Changbin liked so much.

Bin smirked, “I know, baby,” he leaned down to kiss him again, “I’ve got you.” Hands trailing up Hyunjin’s sides and lifting his shirt in the process, Changbin sucked at his plush lips, fingertips delicately dancing over the other boy’s skin. Goosebumps rose under his touch and the younger arched into him again, moaning sweetly, so receptive and sensitive. “Off,” Changbin murmured against Hyunjin’s mouth.

Sitting up to lift his shirt over his head and toss it to the side, Hyunjin promptly fell back against the cushion, hair flooding out around him again. The dim, hazy light that filled the room lit up his blond strands and looked suspiciously like a halo to Changbin. But he knew better. This was no angel beneath him. This was a devil with a halo. Hyunjin had been shy and pliant but when he noticed how Changbin was staring at him, he couldn’t help but smirk as a wicked naughtiness shone behind his eyes and Changbin swore this boy would be the end of him.

Without warning, Bin leaned down to mouth at one of Hyunjin’s pert nipples and he grinned against his skin when the younger boy whimpered and canted his hips, the brief flash of power behind his eyes vanishing as quickly as it appeared. The older tugged gently with his teeth, earning a gasp and a roll of Hyunjin’s hips. Changbin hummed, “Bet I could make you cum from just your nipples, hmm? Would you like that, pup?”

Hyunjin shook his head fervently, “No! Want you, hyung!”

Chuckling, Changbin nodded as he pressed kisses over to Hyunjin’s other side. “Alright. Patience, baby. I told you I’d ruin you and I’m going to take my time. Understood?”

Sucking in a breath past his teeth, Hyunjin melted further into the sofa, “Yes, hyung.”

Changbin took his time toying with Hyunjin’s nipples before mouthing over the entirety of his chest, leaving burgundy flowers blooming in his wake, littering his skin with possessive marks. Whimpering and biting at his lips, Hyunjin craved more and Changbin could feel just how badly he needed him. He tugged at the waistband of the younger boy’s jeans, “I’m gonna take these off now. Is that ok?”

“Please,” Hyunjin begged simply. So Bin unfastened them slowly and slipped the material down his legs and threw it behind himself blindly before kneeling between his legs and bending down to mouth at his clothed cock. “Oh!” Hyunjin gasped, hands immediately flying to Changbin’s hair and tugging at the strands at the nape of his neck. The older smiled against him and hooked his fingers under the band, looking up for permission. When Hyunjin nodded, hooded eyes fluttering and lips bitten red, looking absolutely breathtaking, Bin removed them, wasting no time in mouthing at his leaking cock. The younger squirmed beneath him, mewling as he sucked at his balls. “Hyung, I-” A strangled moan cut off his words when Changbin wrapped his pretty doll lips around the head of his dick.

“Hmm?” Bin questioned wordlessly, suckling tenderly. But Hyunjin didn’t answer; he threw his head back and cursed under his breath when Changbin moved further down. Hollowing his cheeks, he bobbed his head, gradually taking more and more of Hyunjin. The younger writhed, wanton moans spilling from his lips.

Hyunjin had quite a bit of length but Changbin knew he could take it so he relaxed his throat and slid all the way down. “Hyung! Mouth- so good- I- Oh my god!” Hyunjin slurred, tightening his grasp on the hair in his fists. Bin’s chest warmed, proud of himself, knowing he was giving Hyunjin so much pleasure he could barely speak. The head of Hyunjin’s cock repeatedly hit the back of his throat before he stilled, swallowing around him, urging a weak scream from the boy under him.

Changbin loved how vocal Hyunjin was but in that moment, he was eternally grateful for the soundproof walls surrounding them. He lifted off Hyunjin’s cock, having decided it was sufficiently wet, and if not, the pre-cum would make the slide easier. Bin sat up on his knees and untucked himself, not even bothering to take off his sweats, just shoving them out of the way enough before leaning forward to hover over Hyunjin. Avoiding his hair, Changbin rested on his forearm against the cushion and slotted their hips together, hard, leaking cocks brushing each other as he watched the younger’s face morph in euphoria.

Spitting in his hand, just in case, Bin reached down between them and took both cocks in his hand, instantly dropping his head to Hyunjin’s neck and rolling his hips into his grasp. Hyunjin groaned and wrapped his arms around Changbin’s torso. “Yes,” he whispered in his ear, “You feel so good, hyung. Touch me just like that.”

Controlling nature fading in and out, Hyunjin vacilated between flustered, slurred words and heated, dirty talk like it was the easiest thing in the world and Changbin couldn’t help but be amused despite the tingle that shot up his spine at Hyunjin’s words. He smiled against Hyunjin’s fiery skin, placing small kisses on the junction where his neck met his shoulder.

Changbin continued to tug at their cocks until Hyunjin was whining in his ear and digging his nails into his back. “I’m so close, hyung. Please make me cum. Please,” he panted as he thrusted into Bin’s fist.

The older groaned in response, rhythm speeding up slightly and he stopped every once in a while to squeeze at the heads. “‘m close too, pup. Gonna make a mess of you. Gonna cum all over your pretty tummy. Bet you look gorgeous covered in my cum.”

Hyunjin suddenly stopped breathing, seizing up and arching into the older, chests pressing together as he spilled himself over Changbin’s hand and his own stomach. Bin leaned up just in time to see the ecstasy freeze up his beautiful features, hypnotized by the boy beneath him. “Wow,” he breathed, helping Hyunjin ride out his orgasm. Air returned to the younger boy’s lungs and he turned to lazily smile at Changbin.

He stopped stroking them together, letting Hyunjin’s cock fall into the mess on his stomach as he sat up and grasped his own length. Using the cum his hand was covered in to ease the slide even more, Bin fisted himself eagerly and seconds later, he streaked Hyunjin’s stomach with his own release. Changbin slouched as the energy evaporated from him.

Through heavy-lidded eyes, he watched Hyunjin trail his fingertips through the cum on his abdomen, swirling it around sloppily, mixing their releases before scooping up a decent amount. Changbin’s eyes widened and his dick twitched in renewed interest as Hyunjin brought his fingers to his mouth and wrapped his pillowy, kiss-bitten lips around them. Their eyes met as the younger boy cleaned his fingers of their cum, blown pupils swimming with desire and mischief.

“Fuck,” Changbin huffed, hovering over Hyunjin once more. “What a dirty baby!” Hyunjin smirked as he pulled his fingers from his mouth, a single strand of saliva connecting them. Bin broke it with the tip of his tongue before capturing the younger boy’s lips and dipping his tongue in to taste their cum on Hyunjin’s tongue.

He moaned at the older’s boldness and kissed him deeper. He teasingly mumbled against Changbin’s lips, “You’re dirty, too, hyung, aren’t you?” Bin just smiled and kissed him again.

After losing track of the time they spent kissing and giving himself enough of a refractory time period, Changbin pulled away and met Hyunjin’s eyes. “How about you flip over so I can taste you some more, hmm?” Hyunjin nodded quickly and reached for a t-shirt on the floor to rid his stomach of the rest of the mess. He was pretty sure it was his own shirt and in the back of his mind, he briefly hoped Bin had a spare or at least a hoodie so he wouldn’t have to return to the dorms suspiciously shirtless.

He cleaned himself off and turned over as requested and Changbin’s hands immediately gripped at his ass, kneading the flesh and spreading his cheeks. “Fuck, Jinnie! You’re too pretty, god!” Hyunjin looked over his shoulder at the older and scrunched his nose in a teasing manner while shaking his ass as best he could in Changbin’s grasp. Bin landed a slap against his right cheek, punishment for his playful taunting, and Hyunjin groaned deeply, dropping his head to the couch cushion and lifting his hips slightly, seemingly silently begging for more.

Changbin willingly obliged his unspoken request, his expression a nasty sneer as he smacked Hyunjin’s left cheek. “Wanna look in the mirror and see my handprints on your ass? My marks all over your pretty chest and thighs? Feel my lingering touch on your heated skin? Know you’re mine?” He demanded, spellbound by the way Hyunjin’s ass jiggled every time he laid a hard slap on the soft flesh.

Hyunjin wailed loudly at a particularly harsh spank and pushed his ass back towards Changbin. “Fuck, yes! More! Please, more! Make me yours, hyung!”

Bin growled unrestrainedly and ceased his attack on Hyunjin’s reddened skin, instead moving to lick a long stripe up his puckered hole. The younger boy let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a squeak and Changbin smiled against his skin at how oddly cute it was. He continued to lick and suck at his rim, urging the sweetest melodies to flow from his lover. When he poked his tongue inside, Hyunjin laughed deliriously, drunk with pleasure. Changbin thrusted his tongue in and out of Hyunjin’s pretty hole while the younger urged him on with frantic praise, “Oh, Binnie-hyung! Your filthy mouth feels so fucking good on me! You eat my ass so well! Fuck, just like that! Eat my ass just like that, yes! Yes!”

He pushed back again and Bin gripped at his ass and thighs, leaving prints and crescent-shaped indents as he massaged the flesh and buried his tongue in further, sucking at his rim. Adding a single finger, Changbin pushed the digit in alongside his tongue only to discover that it went in far too easily. He hummed suspiciously and sat up on his heels, sliding two fingers in place of one and Hyunjin whined at the feeling. “Tell me, pup,” he prompted, wiping the spit from his chin with the back of his hand and pumped his fingers slowly. “What have you been doing that’s got your slutty hole so loose, hmm?”

Hyunjin whimpered, burying his face further into his folded arms. Changbin slapped his ass again, “Answer me, pup.”

“F-fingered my-myself in the s-shower before I got here,” he admitted shamefully, stuttering as he dared to look back at the elder with his eyes wide and pleading. “Th-thought of you the wh-whole time, h-hyung.”

How the younger went from filthy, dirty talk to bashful stuttering in two seconds flat continued to bewilder Changbin but he was thoroughly enjoying the rollercoaster that was Hyunjin. He grunted in approval, “Good boy.”

Hyunjin’s eyes practically rolled to the back of his head and he couldn’t help but rut against the couch at the blatant praise. Changbin snickered at him, plunging his fingers in even further but still avoided his prostate. “You gonna cum from my fingers, baby?” He questioned, adding a third digit and urging a shaky groan from the boy beneath him.

“No!” Hyunjin shook his head adamantly as he rocked back onto Changbin’s fingers. “Wanna cum- I wanna cum on your cock. Please, hyung. Fuck me, please!”

Changbin hummed, “But, pup. I haven’t got any lube. Your hole may be loose from fingering yourself but I don’t want to hurt you stuffing my cock in your ass without lube. I don’t have a condom either.” His tone was disparaging, laced with overly-dramatic dissatisfaction even though he was genuinely dissapointed; he really did want to fuck Hyunjin but the last thing he wanted was to really hurt him.

Hyunjin shook his head again and gestured off towards another part of the room. “Back pocket,” he huffed. “Jeans back pocket. Brought lube.” He swallowed, still panting as Changbin spread his fingers wide inside him. “Don’t need a condom. Wanna feel you, hyung, please.”

Changbin stilled, “Are you sure, baby?”

“We’re clean. Don’t need it,” the younger boy mumbled, “Want you.”

Pressing kisses against the base of Hyunjin’s spine, Bin slowly pulled out his fingers, “Alright, baby. I’ll be right back.”

He rose from the couch to search for Hyunjin’s jeans that he had tossed god knows where, shucking off his own pants in the process -- why he hadn’t taken them off up until then, he had no clue, but he was glad to be rid of them. After coming up empty handed fishing through one pocket, he found a small bottle of lube tucked away in the opposite side and cheered internally before returning to the sofa where Hyunjin was rutting desperately against the cushion in his impatience. Bin was suddenly thankful that the material was easy to clean as he was sure Hyunjin was making a mess of it and they both would make even more of a mess not using a condom. He shrugged off his worries and resumed his place between Hyunjin’s thighs, uncapping the lube and squeezing a generous amount onto his fingers.

Warming it, Changbin hovered his hand over Hyunjin’s twitching hole, “I’m going to open you up a little more, OK, pup?”

“Hurry, please,” the younger boy begged, “Want you.”

Pressing in, Bin reminded him, “Patience, baby,” even though he was becoming desperate himself. He scissored his fingers around, searching for that spot that would make Hyunjin see stars and beg even more for Changbin’s cock.

He knew he found it when Hyunjin jolted forward and let out a choked, gurgled sounding moan and he couldn’t help but chuckle when the younger boy whipped his head over his shoulder and glared at him. Dropping the honorifics, it was Hyunjin’s turn to growl, “Now, Changbin! Fuck me now!”

Bin retracted his hand and lifted both up in surrender, still smiling, “As you wish.”

Lubing up his neglected cock, Changbin hissed in sensitivity as he gave himself a few good tugs. He lightly smacked Hyunjin’s hip, “Up.” The younger boy immediately lifted his hips, rising to his knees while still leaning his forearms and the side of his face into the sofa cushion. “Good boy,” Bin praised, lining himself up and teasing Hyunjin’s fluttering hole with the head of his cock. He carefully pressed in, Hyunjin’s breath hitching with the initial stretch, going slow so the younger had time to adjust. When he was about halfway in, Changbin rubbed a comforting hand over Hyunjin’s lower back, “You OK, baby?”

“Ngh, more, more, please more,” he wailed, pushing back against the elder.

Changbin chuckled fondly and slid in the rest of the way, hips pressed snugly against Hyunjin’s ass. “There,” he breathed, barely above a whisper.

Hyunjin gripped at the edge of the cushion, “Fuck, you’re big!” Usually, Changbin would absolutely preen at that kind of glorifying but for some reason, he just blushed and let out the tiniest of squeaks.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, dropping his head forward onto Hyunjin’s back, barely changing the angle but it was enough for the younger boy to feel it.

“Oh!” Hyunjin shivered, breathing heavy as he reached back with one hand to grip at Changbin. His hand landed somewhere between his thigh and ass; he couldn’t tell where but he wasn’t complaining and immediately squeezed a handful of his thick body. Bin grunted and the younger laughed breathily, “Don’t apologize! You’re perfect! Just let me- don’t move for a minute. I gotta-”

Changbin tenderly covered the boy with his own body and whispered in his ear to calm him, “Thank you, Jinnie. You’re perfect, too.” He pressed gentle kisses along Hyunjin’s shoulder, smiling into his skin as he spoke. “Just relax, baby. Take your time. You let me know if it’s too much, OK? We’ll stop!”

“No, I want this! I want you! I just- you’re so-” Hyunjin’s words trailed off into a moan as he rolled his own hips. “Big! Feels so good! You feel so good, hyung!”

The elder squeezed his eyes shut, willing the urge to just pound into him to go away, and took a shaky breath, “Does it hurt?”

Hyunjin shook his head. “Uh-uh,” he slurred, “‘s just a lot.” After another minute or two, the younger boy nodded, “‘s OK, hyung. You can move.”

Changbin kept his position, mouthing at Hyunjin’s neck and shoulder to distract him somewhat, but he started to roll his hips experimentally. Little grunts and whimpers passed Hyunjin’s plush lips and Bin pressed sweet kisses to the side of his face, whispering praises in his ear, “My baby. So good for me. Love you, Jinnie. You feel amazing. You’re so beautiful, my pretty baby.”

Tears streaked Hyunjin’s cheeks and Changbin kissed them away, “Love you, hyung.” He squeezed the flesh in his grip, “Harder, please.”

Bin drew back his hips a little further each time he thrusted, mild but still powerful. Hyunjin’s grasp on his side fell away and instead, he reached up behind himself to thread his fingers through Changbin’s hair, keeping him close as the elder peppered his skin with kisses. Changbin nuzzled into him, whispering ‘I love you’s.

Hyunjin loved the pure bliss that he felt in Changbin’s arms, being smothered in love and praises. But he wanted to cum again. And he wanted to get fucked. Hard. So he begged for it like a good boy. “Please, more. I need more. Please fuck me harder, hyung! I need it! Please, hyung!”

Changbin straightened up with a low growl, “Such a good boy for me, begging so sweetly. I’ll give you what you want, baby.” His hands found Hyunjin’s hips, his hold tight and sure to leave prints, and he drew back, leaving just the tip of his cock in the younger’s tight hole before plunging in.

Hyunjin let out a shaky groan, wiggling his ass against Changbin’s hips. The elder held him tighter and repeated his deep thrust, reveling in the wanton moan it punched out of the boy under him. “You’re still so tight, baby. Feel so good around me, sucking me back in every time I pull out. So good for me!” He was transfixed as he watched his cock slide past Hyunjin’s tight ring of muscles.

Wailing and grunting and meeting Changbin’s thrusts, Hyunjin pleaded again, “Please, hyung! Fuck me! Pound my tight ass! Fuck me harder, please!”

Growling again, Changbin quickened his pace before lifting one leg, changing the angle and abruptly causing the most beautiful sounds to pass Hyunjin’s pillowy lips. He reduced him to sobs and whines, mewling instead of forming complete words and clawing at the couch cushions. Bin smirked through his exertion, laughing lightly at how much he had succeeded in ruining the boy.

He was nearing his climax and breathed out one last question he hoped the younger could somehow form a coherent answer to. “I’m close, pup. Where do you want my cum?”

“Ngh, in me. In me, inside, please cum in me, hyung. I need your cum, need you to cum inside, please, need you to fill me up,” Hyunjin cried, plenty coherently, thighs trembling as he felt heat pool in his own belly.

Changbin leaned over Hyunjin once more, one hand steady on his hip while the other reached around to fist at his dripping cock. “Gonna cum, pup? Gonna cum for me like a good boy?” The elder mumbled in his ear, tone almost taunting, “Gonna make a filthy mess of yourself again?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Hyunjin sobbed, “Please can I cum, hyung?”

Burying his nose into the younger boy’s neck, he smirked against his skin and gave him permission. “Of course, baby! Go ahead, cum on my cock.”

Whispering ‘thank you’s over and over again, Hyunjin’s body began to shake from how close he was. Changbin straightened up once again, effortlessly lifting Hyunjin’s knees off the sofa and he tugged just right and thrusted against the perfect spot and Hyunjin was done. Legs spasming, still clawing at the cushion he could reach, Hyunjin cried out, “Changbin! God, fuck!”

Ribbons of white sprayed over the sofa cushion and the younger boy’s walls tightened around Bin, tipping him over the edge. He stroked Hyunjin through his orgasm while he pumped him full of his cum. Changbin collapsed back on his heels, Hyunjin awkwardly falling into his lap, still connected to each other.

Using the microscopic amount of energy he had left, Hyunjin leaned back into Changbin and turned to place a lazy kiss against his jawline, melting into him as he let his battery recharge enough to make it back to the dorms.

Speaking of making it back to the dorms, Hyunjin looked down at himself and the mess of the couch in front of him and groaned. “We gotta clean up.”

“Good thing this is a pleather couch or else that stain would be a real bitch to get out,” Changbin chuckled, glancing around the room at the strewn about clothes in search of something to wipe up the mess with. His eyes landed on the roll of paper towels he kept on his desk for the frequent times he ate in his studio and subsequently spilled multiple things.

Bin’s mind whirled with various things as he silently stared at the paper towels on the other side of the room -- Hyunjin needs a shirt of some kind since he wiped up cum with his. I should have a spare hoodie in that bag over there. Chan’s probably still up even if no one else is. How are we gonna get past him without looking incredibly suspicious? Oh god, I just came in Hyunjin’s ass! That’s gonna leak out before we can get in the shower at home! Fuck! “Really wish I had a butt plug right now.”

Hyunjin snorted and turned to look at him, “Excuse me?”

“What? I- oh. I said that out loud,” Changbin grinned sheepishly. “It’s just- OK I’m not saying this to be kinky or anything but a butt plug would be convenient right now since I just came in your ass and we have to somehow make it back to the dorms, you know?”

Throwing his head back, Hyunjin laughed warmly, “I think I’ve got that handled, thanks. I’ll be fine.” Changbin nodded, still trying to come up with solutions to his other dilemmas. “Do you have an extra shirt? Mine’s kinda…” Hyunjin trailed off, gesturing at it on the floor next to the couch.

It was Bin’s turn to laugh. “Yeah. Hoodie in the bag over there,” he pointed in its direction before inclining his head towards his desk. “We can use the paper towels to clean up what we can. I’m gonna go grab them so I have to pull out now, OK?”

Hyunjin braced himself and nodded, both boys wincing in oversensitivity as Changbin moved Hyunjin off his lap, soft dick falling to his hip. When Bin returned to the sofa with the paper towels, he couldn’t help but laugh at Hyunjin who was desperately trying not to kneel or put a hand in the mess. “Sorry, sorry!” He rushed to help when the younger boy glared at him.

Once the couch was no longer a disaster and the two were as clean as they could be given the circumstances, they pulled their clothes on and Changbin gathered up his stuff before they headed for the dorms.

“How much you wanna bet Chan ‘knows’ we did something?” Hyunjin joked as they were walking down a stairwell.

Changbin let out a playful, pained noise, “Let’s just hope he’s preoccupied since we both know he won’t be sleeping.” Hyunjin nodded in agreement. “And if he’s not, don’t act suspicious!”

“Easy for you to say!”

Bin spoke up again a few moments later. “Was,” he hesitated, “Was that OK? I mean, was it good for you? Umm…”

Hyunjin took one look at Changbin’s clearly stressed expression and burst out laughing, “Yes, hyung. 10/10 would fuck again.”

The elder tried to hold back his own laugh but ultimately failed, “Oh, uhh, yeah, same.” Hyunjin knocked his hip, still giggling as he hooked their arms together.

When they arrived back at the dorms, much to their chagrin, Chan was waiting in the living room like a dad that was pissed with his teenage children for coming home way past curfew. “I had a feeling you two were up to something,” he squinted at them skeptically. “What did you do?”

“Fuck!” Changbin breathed in annoyance but Hyunjin took it the wrong way.

“Hyung, I thought you said we weren’t going to tell him what we did!”

Changbin felt like he was dying inside.

Chan just stared at the floor, entirely unwilling to make eye contact with either boy.

Hyunjin just giggled, “Oops?”

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hotchley · 4 years

Text

the slave of duty: aaron and dave

Surprise guys, I started the conversations series! I have no idea how many there are going to be, but there are several living rent-free in my head, so... we shall see!

Anyways. This is what happened between Aaron and Dave after the end scene of 5x10. It’s mainly dialogue (cos you know, conversations) and there is very little point to it, however, I had fun writing it!

I think that’s everything....

read on ao3!

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, minor character death

“You were right,” Aaron said. They were alone again. Aaron’s hands had been shaking when they were leaving the graveyard. Dave had spotted the tremble before Aaron could hide it.

He tried not to think about the blood that had stained his hands when they had entered the building. He’d never been afraid of Aaron, not even in that moment, but now more than ever he was afraid for him.

Who was supposed to take his hands and convince him that he was alive and human and good and kind now? Haley was dead. Aaron wouldn’t let anyone else touch him. Not now.

Dave had offered to drive him back to the apartment. Hotch hadn’t even put up a fight. He had just shrugged and gotten into the passenger seat, jaw slightly clenched as he stared out the window.

Jessica and Jack were out. Hotch mumbled something about going to the shops and offered to make coffee. Dave had wanted to say no. He didn’t want to be there, noticing how the carpet didn’t quite fit in one space, or how, if you knew where to look, you could just about make out the bullet hole.

But he knew Aaron. Knew how he would bury his pain the moment his son came through the door. Knew that he would act like he was fine when he returned. If he returned. Rossi knew what Aaron had said just moments ago, but there was still time for him to change his mind.

Aaron did not trust easily. An invitation into his apartment- his apartment and not his home because this was not his home, had never been his home- was an invitation into his heart. His mind.

Dave was not going to let that get away from him. He had lost the love and trust of so many people in his life, Aaron’s name was not going on that list. So he said sure.

Which was how he find himself clasping a mug of too-hot coffee he didn’t really want as Aaron took a sip of water. One of the few things that would not destroy his stomach.

“Was I? What about?”

“You said that I had a family. And that when we got Foyet, I would have to make a decision, to make sure I didn’t let the purest thing that had ever happened to me get away. But I got so caught up in everything that I never stopped to think, and now...”

Rossi set his mug down. He knew he had always been a little bit dramatic, and the way he went about things was not always the way Aaron wanted them to happen, but this felt different to those occasions.

“Now what?” he prompted.

Aaron looked up, tears forming in his eyes, thumb drawing circles over his knuckles. He look both so much younger and older than he really was. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that Dave hadn’t seen since he first joined, but a heavy sadness that hadn’t been there before.

“I lost my family months ago. But that was a temporary thing. Now she’s not coming back- which is all my fault- and I’m so afraid of hurting my son that I’m going back to the same job that killed her.”

Dave sighed. He should have known that his dramatics would go completely over Aaron’s head. In his opinion, he lost Haley the moment the divorce papers came to the office instead of his house. Because the Haley he knew would never be that cruel. But anger changed people, and she was gone now. He’d like to remember her goodness.

“Aaron,” he said.

The other man looked down. “Dave. Not now.”

“Yes now. Because you didn’t kill Haley. That was Foyet’s decision. You did what you could. And you’re not going to hurt your son. Not in the way you fear you will. But when I said that, all those months ago, I wasn’t talking about Haley. Or Jack.”

“Dave, you said my family,” Aaron said. Even despite the water he was sipping, he had a headache. Dave and his stupid flare for dramatics wasn’t helping either.

"And I meant us. The team. I meant Spencer Reid, who you have always treated as a son. I meant Penelope Garcia, who remembers what your favourite cookies are. I was talking about Jennifer Jareau who reminds you that monsters can be defeated and Derek Morgan who has and always will trust you with his life. I meant Emily Prentiss, who would die before betraying you. I meant me, who has seen you angry and hurting and not flinched. We are the people that loved you unconditionally through everything."

"I-"

"We're your family Aaron. Even if you want to keep your distance because you're scared of hurting us, we love you. We're not walking away or going anywhere. And I know that terrifies you, but it's the truth. When I told you to not tell the purest thing in your life get away, I meant don't lose us."

"But I've already done that," Hotch said. He did not shout. And that, perhaps more than anything that had happened over the past few weeks, hurt David Rossi. Because Aaron wasn't even trying to fight. He had already given up. Already decided that the team could not and would not love him anymore.

"Have you?"

"Dave, I humiliated Reid for lying about his injuries when I had done the exact same thing. I put myself above the case, days after I made Morgan unit chief, which completely undermined him. I insulted Emily and our friendship, lashed out at Penelope and JJ. I've been a terrible person. Derek had to pull me off a dead man's body. Classic overkill." He laughed as he said the final two words, but there was no humour.

"You did do all of those things. That much is true, yes."

Aaron glared. "That's not exactly convincing me of anything good."

"Because you're not letting me finish. Yes, you fucked up and you did the wrong thing but that doesn't change anything. We still love you. I know what your childhood was like. I know that your parents loving you carried the price of perfection and silence. I know that towards the end, Haley's life carried the price of changing your nature. But we aren't them. One bad thing isn't going to make us run away."

"But it should. I killed a man with my bare hands. Nothing more. We've worked enough cases to know what happens after that. I'm a terrible person."

Dave did not know how to convince Aaron that he was not going to become a case file on their desk. Because the truth was, he was not sure himself. There was every chance that now Aaron had done it once, the urge to do it again would overpower him. He knew what Aaron needed to hear, but he would not lie to him. Not in this moment.

"You are not a terrible person Aaron," he settled on. Because every time he looked at him, he saw the wide-eyed rookie he met in Seattle who just wanted to save the world. But sometimes saving the world was impossible, and right now, the world was Aaron.

"Dave. I'm too much of a coward to be around my son so I'm going back to the same job that killed his mother. The only real parent he ever had."

It was too much. It was just far, far too much. Dave slammed his mug of coffee down on the table, feeling slightly guilty when Aaron flinched at the sound, but not guilty enough to apologise for it. He needed to speak before Hotch fell down the hole of despair.

"Have you been listening to me? Your job did not kill Haley. That was Foyet. And you are not going to hurt your son. Not in the way you think you will."

"How can you be sure?" Aaron asked.

"Because you are a good man. Because you have fought, every day of your life, to break that cycle of abuse. And you have never stopped fighting for what is good and what is right. Because even when you had just lost the love of your life, you sent your son away out of fear that he would realise what the blood was."

Aaron turned away and Dave knew what had to be said. What had to be done. Because Derek Morgan was an excellent leader, and one day, he would take over that role. But he would do it because it was Aaron Hotchner's time to step away and be with his son. He would not do it because Aaron was scared.

"Haley asked you to teach your son what love was," he said, each word carefully calculated. He needed to say your. Because Aaron still did not view himself as Jack's father, even though everybody else did. Because what Aaron did not understand was that it was not about being perfect. It was about being enough.

Aaron looked at him, mouth parted. He hadn't realised. In all the hurt, panic, emptiness, anger and grief it had never once occurred to him that the team would have heard that last conversation and final confession. It was stupid, but he just hadn't. "She did."

"The best way for you to teach your son about love is to show him what it does to people. It makes them happy. It makes them smile. And sometimes it makes them cry. I know you, Aaron. I know you think that coming back means that you're failing Jack but you won't be. You will be teaching him that family is much more than blood. That when you find your passion you hold onto it. And that love, for better or for worse, can and will be unconditional."

And Aaron shattered.

He slid from the couch to the floor, covering his mouth as sobs wracked his body. It was like all the pain he had been keep inside him since the day George Foyet broke into the same apartment they were sat in and stabbed him finally overwhelmed him. His body shook and his breathing started to sound more choked, but Dave was frozen.

It was only when the coughing started that he managed to force himself to act. He dropped to his knees and sat beside Aaron. He just hoped that he would recognise who was touching him and remember that he was safe.

"Hotch. It's Dave. Breathe with me. Yes, that's it. Okay. You're okay. It's all going to be okay."

Before he was aware of what was happening, Aaron's arms were wrapped around him in a tight and desperate hug. It was almost painful. Dave let it happen. Aaron needed something that was real, and genuine and grounding. The last person he'd held had been Haley, her perfume stained with the scent of blood and her body cold. Dave smelt like expensive aftershave and he was warm and his heartbeat was a comforting drum.

"I just don't get how people as good and kind as the team could love me unconditionally. Haley did her best, but that wasn't enough. I wasn't enough. I'm never enough. And I am so fucking terrified that one day, the team are going to realise that, and I will just be alone and broken, like my father always said I would."

There was not time for Dave to explain that it wasn't that his love for Haley wasn't enough, it just wasn't what she needed and that was okay. Because to Aaron, unless he was perfect, he was failing. And he knew that Aaron would not believe him. The only people he would believe about that would have been Haley, but was now Jessica.

"You are enough. You were enough then and you are enough now. The team are never going to think you're not enough because you are. You have given them a family and hope and a purpose. You have done more for them than you will ever understand and they love you. I love you. And on the days where you can't lead, one of them will step in. You've already seen it happen."

"What if I come back and I can't do it? Then what?" Aaron was searching for a reason now. Any reason that would mean the team would not love him the way Dave believed they would.

"Then we will support you. And we will miss you, but we will let you go because sometimes that is what love is. But we won't hate you. Or resent you. We'll stll just be a phone call away because we are your family. And it's not always pretty. Sometimes it's ugly."

"Do you promise you won't hate me?"

Dave had always been slightly different to the team. He had always been the one Aaron went to. The one that could talk him down and convince him that he had done the right thing. He had watched Aaron grow and harden and break. He had taught him that the palm pressed to his cheek was an action of love and given him the title of lead profiler. He'd been a coward after the Boston Reaper as he left Aaron to pick up the pieces. But he'd returned when Jason Gideon left without saying goodbye to the men that had held the team together. One through their ability as a leader, the other through their ability as a friend.

When Dave thought of the months between Jason's departure and his return, he thought of the toll it must have taken on Derek. He was the one that had provided the emotional comfort Aaron had been too closed off to give, even though he was battling his own anger at being left.

"I promise Aaron, on everything that I hold sacred."

Aaron relaxed against him, leaning back against the couch. Dave took the glass from the table and tilted his chin, forcing Aaron to take small sips. When half the glass was emptied, he took the glass and placed it on the table once more.

"Thank you," he whispered, voice still a little hoarse.

"You're welcome," was Dave's response. It was easier than having to explain that Aaron did not need to be grateful.

"By the way, I expect your paperwork from the most recent case on my desk by Monday," Aaron added, a slight grin on his face.

"I'd expect nothing less," Dave said, ruffling Aaron's hair slightly.

They were going to be okay.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #hotch #hurt aaron hotchner #sad aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner needs a hug #hotch whump #hotch angst #tw child abuse #david rossi #rossi #david rossi is a dad

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winetae · 5 years

Text

wall to wall (m.) 01

↳ in a pornographic movie, refers to a series of sex scenes with no plot.

⇁ female reader x hoseok

⇁ smut, porn star!au

⇁ sex work, insecurity, jealousy, slut shaming/objectification (not the sexy kind), role played scenario that includes: d/s dynamics - dom!hoseok, porn star level dirty talk, stuff that should never happen in a kitchen bc hygiene, daddy kink, impreg kink, rough sex, spanking, a lot of finger sucking, this fic is a poor attempt at social commentary

⇁ 22.5k

. . .

Temporary popularity is the biggest threat to your career right now. Without a solid core fan base you’re doomed to be forgotten. If not now, then in a month or two, and if not then, surely by the end of the year. That’s how quickly the adult film industry cycles through their actors, especially when you’re a woman. Your agent comes forward with a proposition to help put you back on the map.

↳ or, my contribution to the lights, camera, action collab : )

part 01 | part 02 | part 03

author’s note | inspired by the piece ‘slut-shaming: pornstars are humans too’ & the life after porn documentaries on netflix. thank u to jordan, eva, amy, venus, addie and lu for being a part of this collab !! *inserts a million heart emojis and a big fat NUT emoticon*

re:warnings, the slut shaming is done by others and can also be considered as internalized oppression. it’s something the reader struggles with and eventually works to overcome. this first part isn’t as smutty as the second but regardless i hope u can bear with me lol. ty, as always, for giving my writing a chance. i hope u enjoy it or at least take something from it !

wall2wall can be read as a sequel to my fic money shot. same disclaimer applies: this story does claim to accurately portray the world of adult entertainment

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

Today is just one of those days you wish you had slept straight through. Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t be dying from the sheer dullness of having nothing to do.

You huff out a sigh, bored out of your goddamn mind.

Head cradled in the crook of your left palm, you use your available hand to refresh your instagram feed. Much to your disappointment, nothing new shows up. The same video of a dog chasing its own tail plays on but you pay it no heed, the novelty having worn off after the first few times.

The next half hour passes by in a similar fashion, each result proving to be as unavailing as the last. You’d think that after a while you’d give up and find a new distraction to pass the time but whether out of habit or boredom-induced insanity, you persist with your fruitless attempts.

Today really fucking blows, you think glumly, the curve of your mouth thinning into a grimace. As the adorable corgie keeps the infernal cycle going, yapping and running around incessantly, you’re struck with a terrifying thought. Maybe this is how you will die - condemned to live your life stuck in the worst sort of monotony imaginable.

What you had expected to be a “quick and easy” shoot has turned into a tedious ordeal that you don’t see ending anytime soon. And whilst on-set complications and prolongations are frequent enough that they’re almost expected, today really takes the cake. Even during your rookie days, you can’t recall running into delays of this scale.

To top it off, the weather app announces a record-breaking heat - which in itself is bad enough. As luck would have it, it gets worse. The place rented out for today’s filming lacks proper air conditioning, equipped instead with electric fans that look like they’ve been around since the 1980s.

A quick glance into the vanity mirror confirms that you look as frazzled as you feel. Because of the humidity level that weighs down the air, your hair is in a right state. You fight a grimace off your face. The straggly hair coupled with the oily sheen on your face...it’s far from your best look, to say the least.

And to think thousands of people will get to see it up close in 1080p resolution... It’s a terrifying concept.

You’re already dreading the upcoming sex scenes that you’ve yet to film. It’s always a messy affair - fluids of all kind end up literally everywhere - but the sweltering heat undoubtedly makes it ten times worse. A shudder works its way down your spine.

Frankly speaking, the mere thought of having hot and wild sex in these less than ideal working conditions kills your libido. Under the glaring studio lights, surrounded by sweaty crewmen and pressed up an equally feverish body - it’s basically the porn equivalent of a fuckin’ barbecue party.

Yeah, no thanks. You’d rather be at home, with the air conditioner at full blast, nestled in the comfy cushions of your sofa as you marathon a series of your choice on netflix. Only the promised sum of money keeps you from bolting and calling it quits altogether.

“So when are you gonna drop the new boy toy?” a voice buzzes in your ear not unlike a pesky fly.

Tempting as it is to ignore it, you peel your eyes away from your reflection just in time to catch Seokjin shoot you the most unimpressed look in his repertoire, one perfectly groomed eyebrow arched in judgment.

In the background, an old ceiling fan whirs on but does nothing to cool you off. If anything, its constant rattling only exacerbates your growing headache.

“What are you talking about?" You flick a piece of imaginary lint off your dressing robe, your tone neutral.

Seokjin’s brown eyes see right through your feigned air of indifference. Months of working by your side have made him an expert at reading your body language, be it naked or clothed. A wolfish grin adorns his face as he swoops in for the kill.

“Oh come on. You know exactly who I’m talking about. Jongmin. He’s short - comes up to right about here.” Seokjin holds a hand up to his chest to illustrate his point, deliberately shaving off a few inches off your boyfriend’s height in order to antagonize you.

You bite the inside of your cheek, careful not to spit out the retort that’s perched on the tip of your tongue. It takes a great deal of effort to unclench the muscles in your jaw but you manage to school your features into an expression of polite confusion.

Seokjin frowns, dissatisfied with your lack of response. You don’t need to be a mind reader to know that he’s currently thinking of new ways to provoke you.

When the silence stretches on and he’s yet to riposte, you allow yourself to relax again, believing that he’s given up on being an asshole.

To your chagrin, you’re sorely mistaken. The last of your self-restraint is finally put to the test as his next words do nothing to quell your irritation.

“Jongmin.” He repeats slowly, like you need it spelled out for you. “He follows you around everywhere like a lap dog. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so, you know, pathetic.”

“His name is Jimin,” you correct for the nth time.

Instantly, you reprimand yourself for playing into his games and granting him the attention he so craves. Fulfilling his twisted desire is the last thing you hope to achieve. Staying silent would be the sensible thing to do but your brain completely bypasses the memo. The moment your mouth opens it’s impossible to quash the urge to justify yourself.

Maybe it’s your pride coming into play. Maybe it’s Seokjin’s uncanny ability to get under anyone’s skin at will. Whatever the case may be, you stammer out, on the defensive, “And he’s not my 'boy toy'. We - it’s not - we’re dating.” But the word feels like a weight on your tongue. You swallow.

The statement earns you a scoff of incredulity. “Dating? Him?”

You finally set your phone down and aim a glare his way, abandoning all pretense at being indifferent because—Jesus. Is the idea of you dating that unfathomable? He’s never been this worked up over any of your other relationships. Granted, none of them have ever lasted this long but is it really any of his business who you choose to see in your free time?

“I don’t get what your problem is. What’s so wrong with me dating?”

“Have you seen who you’re dating?”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?!”

While this isn’t the first time your agent lets a judgmental comment slip from between his pearly white teeth, it’s usually not laced with spite. Seokjin is never outright hostile, preferring sweet words of manipulation and thinly-veiled insults to shows of aggression. The attempt to get a rise out of you does not go by unnoticed. His anger, this time, feels personal.

You wrack your brain, quickly sifting through your recent memories to try and figure out why he’s chosen to be such an ass today. You’re certain that you’ve filled out all the necessary paperwork required to proceed with today’s filming, and yes, after thinking it over, you know that you went to the obligatory medical checkup last week. So there really is no reason for him to bitch at you unless—

The proverbial light bulb flickers on and it all suddenly makes sense.

You’re willing to bet a hefty sum of money that the high-paying gig you turned down two weekends ago is to blame for his abnormal crotchety behavior.

Yes, that would explain it.

Due to Seokjin's well-known propensity to hold a grudge for longer than average, the odds that he’s still hung up over the lost deal are pretty high. And as much as his disappointment and frustration are understandable from a business standpoint, you don’t appreciate being used as a verbal punching bag for him to expel all those pent-up feelings.

Seokjin hums, a knowing smirk pulling the sides of his mouth upwards. Fleetingly, and not for the first time, you find it a shame that his cockiness tarnishes his otherwise handsome face. “I give it another couple of days until you get bored. How long has this gone on for? A month? How are you not yanking out your hair from the sheer boredom of dating...that."

A muscle in your jaw ticks.

“He’s not Voldemort, you coward. Would it honestly kill you to say his name?” Seokjin’s expression begs to differ. You cut him off before he can add fuel to the fire. “And I won’t get bored. Jimin’s - he’s a perfectly nice guy. We’ve been seeing each other just fine—not that it’s any of your concern.”

“Yes, he’s nice,” Seokjin concedes easily, brushing off any attempts at putting an end to the conversation. He grins, wide and smug, like he knows you can’t refute what he’ll say next. “Perfectly nice and boring. The kind of guy you’d bring back home if your parents were straight-laced folks that wanted to marry you off to a choir boy. Seriously, how the fuck did a guy like him end up in the porn industry? He belongs in a church or, I dunno, maybe some neighborhood book club - not behind a camera filming you getting flogged by a daddy dom.”

You sniff. “Just because he tucks his shirts in doesn’t—”

“It’s not just the shirts, honey.” He leans over to pat your hand in a gesture of consolation. Used to his antics, his attempt is easily blocked by a swat of your hand.

You muster the dirtiest look you’re capable of, the kind of look that sends men to early graves, but he simply smiles in response, completely unfazed.

Any person with the minimum amount of tact would know to politely change the subject. It’s unfortunate that your agent does not belong to that pool of individuals, choosing instead to be selectively blind to overt social cues.

He continues on, unperturbed, like he has a point to prove. “Believe it or not, I know you. Sometimes, for whatever reason, perhaps a lapse in judgement but who the fuck knows, you like to venture out of your comfort zone and experiment. Like with the chickenshit gingerbread spice concoctions they come out with at Starbucks to celebrate turkey season and Christmas or the cream cheese makis they make for the white crowd who want to eat sushi but don’t like anything other than white rice and seaweed. And, trust me, while I’m all for diversity and broadening your personal experiences, don’t you think there’s a reason why you always go back to your preferred choice of an iced latte with two sugars?”

“Did you just compare Jimin to a gingerbread latte?”

Okay, so admittedly you’ve made some questionable food and beverage choices in the past, but the comparison is a fucking reach.

“You’re absolutely right." Seokjin gives a firm nod of his head, his expression serious. "Now that you mention it, he’s definitely a vanilla soy. Bland and boring. Targeted towards the middle-aged soccer moms that think veganism is a trend, not a lifestyle. Wants to be a people-pleaser but misses the mark.”

“I didn’t know it was Share Your Unwanted Opinion Time,” you grind out from behind a strained smile. “If I had, I would have said something about your receding hairline earlier.”

It’s a low blow but the way Seokjin’s plump lips curl in displeasure makes the dig worth it. One of his hands automatically shoot up to flatten the bangs that are usually slicked back with copious amounts of gel.

Offended, he spits, “It’s not receding! There’s a difference between premature balding and a bleach job gone wrong.”

"I'm not sure people care to differentiate. Looks like a receding hairline to me." You shrug while picking at your nails. “You’re nearing that age, too, so.”

“You just try looking this good at 30. Fucking try.”

He waits for a reply but your interest has already waned. You scroll through your phone, bored once more.

Seokjin makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat at the clear dismissal. You swear you hear him grumble under his breath - something along the lines of never going blonde again - but can’t find it in you to care, not when he’s finally ceased his nagging.

"Filming in twenty!" someone shouts from outside the door.

"They’re running behind schedule," Seokjin notes after glancing down at his gold wristwatch. "How can they take more than an hour to fix the lighting? Tch. Bunch of fuckin’ amateurs."

He aims a glare in your direction as if their incompetence is somehow your fault.

You have half a mind to glower back but miraculously withhold your sentiments. Admittedly, he isn’t wrong - the team you’re working with today keeps committing blunders even rookies wouldn’t dare perpetrate - but you’d rather get your driving license revoked forever than to acknowledge that Seokjin’s right and inflate his already unnaturally huge ego.

Something heavy plops into your lap. When you look down, the glossy surface of a magazine reflects the harsh lights suspended over the vanity table back at you.

“I didn’t want to resort to this but you leave me no choice,” he says in response to your look of confusion.

“What’s this?”

You hold up the magazine expecting the worst. It’s heavy in your hands, the pages thicker than the gossip rags you’d find in a dentist’s waiting room.

“’s the newest issue. Came out this morning. I’d actually like it back once you’re done because I haven’t finished reading it and God knows how hard it was to get my—hey, you can stop flicking aimlessly, I saved you the trouble and bookmarked the page,” Seokjin explains a bit impatiently.

When you shoot him a glance, his attention is trained on your face, not the magazine. He barely blinks. Like a snake honing in on its prey. And that kind of intense focus - that can’t be good. After all, you’ve known Seokjin long enough to suspect that whatever trick he has up his sleeve will give him the advantage he needs to deliver the killing blow.

Gingerly, you flip through the pages like you’re afraid the magazine might self-destruct in your hands. Which would be a waste, in your opinion, since Exquis is a damn good magazine - perhaps less intellectual than Playboy, but definitely classier than Hustler. Its reputation speaks for itself. Known for hiring the best photographers and carefully combing through their models, it’s selective, only picking the cream of the cr—

Everything around you stills.

Your eyes narrow at the spread because there, on the page Seokjin’s taken great care to bookmark, a model poses provocatively on a lounge chaise near a crystal clear pool. It’s similar to a shoot you’ve done in the past but you can tell right away that the quality of this is above and beyond anything you’ve ever done. The lighting is better, heck even the barely-there-swimsuit looks like it costs ten times more than whatever you had been told to throw on at the time.

The vexation you feel only worsens once it finally registers who the model is. Her youthful and pretty face carries a permanent haughtiness that not even makeup or acting can entirely mask.

The pages crease in your hold as you flick through the rest of the spread dedicated to the up and coming talents. With every new page that has her plastered on its glossy surface you feel your stomach sink.

2...3...4...

“Five pages,” you curse under your breath. For a magazine this renowned, it’s...a lot. Commendable, even. Your nose crinkles. “Well, fuck. me. sideways.”

Seokjin gloats, reveling in your outrage. “Hmph. I told you, didn’t I? Passing up the opportunity to work with Kim Namjoon would come and bite you in the ass.”

“Aha! So you have been a little bitch because I refused to shoot with Namjoon.” You whirl around in your chair and use the magazine to jab him in the chest. He easily steps aside, avoiding your attempt at wrinkling his trademark Armani button-down shirt.

“It was the chance of a lifetime and you knew it.” He turns his nose up and sniffs.

“That’s what you said about filming with Min Yoongi last month.” You roll your eyes. “I can’t take you seriously if you’re gonna say the same thing every time a new guy shows up.”

“Shooting with Agust D did help you gain some mainstream popularity. You’ve gotten love calls for catalog printings and your name is now automatically on the invite sheet for every C-list event in town. Namjoon would have given you another needed boost.” Seokjin folds his arms, lecturing mode switched on. You struggle with the instinctive urge to tune him out. “Sure, he’s got a niche audience, but he’s famous in his field and it would have helped expand your fa—“

“Not to kink shame or anything because we don’t do that, but Namjoon is a freak. And don’t deny it, I’ve seen his videos.”

“He’s specialized in particular—“

“You were the one telling me not to film all sorts of shit right off the bat,” you cut in, refusing to back down from your stance. There’s no way you’ll let him sweet-talk you out of this one, not after the multiple videos of Namjoon you’d binged one weekend. “Stick to one story.”

“Well, we’re not exactly ‘right off the bat’ anymore, are we? We’ve passed that stage. Right now is a crucial time in your career so you’ve got to make it count. Filming rehashed videos of the same pizza delivery guy scenario gets boring and fast. As pretty as you are, you’re not offering anything new to the table, are you?”

Fuck him. He’s right and you know it. Temporary popularity is the biggest threat to your career right now. Without a solid core fan base you’re doomed to be forgotten. If not now, then in a month or two, and if not then, surely by the end of the year. That’s how quickly the adult film industry cycles through their actors, especially when you’re a woman.

Still. “I refuse to work with a guy whose porn alias is Cock Monster.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Well I said no,” you insist stubbornly.

“Well if you had said yes, maybe it would be your ass cheeks getting their own two page spread in Exquis instead,” jabs Seokjin, hitting you where it hurts.

Ugh. The reminder that Joy’s bested you yet again riles you up even more. That, coupled with the likelihood of your career ending imminently, makes you stop and think.

Your agent goes on to say, “Don’t you want the AVN for best newcomer? Where did that competitive edge go? At the rate this is going, Joy’s going to steal it from right under your nose.”

“Like fucking hell,” you hiss. The magazine bends under the strength of your grip. “That one’s mine.”

You absolutely refuse to lose out to her. Every fiber of your being rejects the idea of letting her one-up you again.

“Not if you don’t start branching out. The last time you did anything substantial or interesting was about a month ago. It’s already old news. People are going to forget you shot that sequence altogether if you don’t do anything that puts you back on the map.”

A pause. “…I really don’t want to film with someone who willingly named himself Cock Mons—”

“Fine.” Seokjin heaves a resigned sigh. “You don’t have to fuck the monster willy. Willy monster? Hm. Wouldn’t it make more sense to name himself Monster Cock and not Cock Monster? Wonder why he does th—”

You suppress a snort. “Please spare me while you can. It’s amazing, that talent for making everything sound a lot worse than it already it is.”

“Why, thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“You trying to insult someone who’s willing to find you someone else to work with? I can always ask Monster Meatstick if he’s up for—”

“No! No, that’s - not necessary.” You force out a smile that wouldn’t fool anyone into thinking its genuine. “Why would I ever insult you? You’re the best agent one could ask for.”

“That’s what I thought.” He takes your compliment, forced or not. When he smiles, smugness rolls off of him in waves. “One day you’ll realize you’re taking my talent for granted. I’ll find you another onscreen partner even though you don’t know what you’re missing out.”

“Thank you.”

“But!” He interjects and this time you don’t bother swallowing down your groan, already dreading the stipulations he has in store for you. “You have to promise to hold up your end of the bargain and try your best.”

Indignation colors your face. Your mouth falls open, retort at the ready. “When do I ever slack off on the job?! I’ve never given a half-assed blowjob in my life - and trust me, the temptation was there. Do you have any idea how hard it is to stay focused when the guy can’t cum on command? I once had to get my jaw realigned.”

“I’m not saying you’re slacking off,” he backtracks, switching tactics. His expression is soon replaced by the business-like smile you’re used to seeing on the regular. Tone buttery and appeasing, he tries to convince you through flattery instead. “You work hard and do a good job… I wouldn’t have signed you on otherwise. The problem isn’t with the quality of your work but with - all the rest.”

“The rest?” you parrot back dumbly, trying and failing to comprehend.

Seokjin scowl returns, unable to keep his genuine emotions under wraps.

“D’you honestly think you’re at a point in your career where you can pick and choose your jobs like this? Ever since you started dating that - that thing - your workload has significantly decreased. And not because you lacked opportunities. You had them but you turned them all down.” Visibly getting worked up over the issue, his voice rises an octave, then two. “What should’ve been a good spring board, only brought you back to square one. I know I can’t force you to take jobs if you refuse to, but I can say that your potential is going to waste. I’ve never seen someone sabotage herself like this before and it’s driving me up the wall. While I get that you’re under the delusion that you’ve found true love or whatever Disney fantasy Jungmin has sold you, you can’t turn down projects over and over again without there being serious repercussions. You’re smart enough to know this. I shouldn’t have to remind you.”

Seokjin’s chest heaves as he takes in several big gulps of air, visibly out of breath after his monologue.

For him to explode like popcorn kennels in the microwave... You reckon he’d let his feelings pile up inside him for a while, silently stewing.

You’ve never seen your agent look so visibly distressed. He’s normally the picture-perfect image of composure so the sight that greets you is enough of a shock to render you speechless.

Deep down, Seokjin probably means well. There aren’t a lot of agents like him; you’re one of the lucky ones. Most girls are discarded by their agencies as quickly as used tissues once they get milked for all their worth.

Thankfully it’s never been that way with Seokjin. He claims that he’s in it for the long run. According to him the quick buck isn’t worth seeing the light die out in girl after girl. Perhaps that’s why he takes the task of ensuring your safety so seriously. How many times has he warned you to steer clear of this or that seedy director or ban you from attending drug-heavy parties? While his behavior can come off as overbearing on the worst days, at least he cares.

Sadly, it’s more than you can say for most.

In a way, he’s the only one in this business rooting for your success—if only because his paycheck depends on how well you perform. You like to pretend there’s more to it than that.

��I’m not - what’s Jimin got to do with any of this?” you splutter, still digesting the long tirade you’ve just been subjected to.

“Are you serious? That’s all you got from what I said?”

“Well, no, but I still fail to—”

“Do you think me a fool?” He crosses his arms tightly across his broad chest. “The only scenes you’re willing to shoot are when he’s on set. Are you a kid or something? Since when do you need supervision to shoot a sex scene?”

“N-no. It just worked out that way, okay?” In reply to his dubious expression, you force yourself to explain. “Okay, okay - I get it. Maybe I might’ve lessened my workload recently but it has nothing to do with Jimin, alright? My vagina needs rest from time to time. Just because it’s my job doesn’t mean I don’t need a break. I’m human too, not some blow-up doll.”

“You expect me to believe that he has nothing to do with it? You were perfectly fine before he entered the picture. And now that you’re all loved up you only pick—”

A knock, so timid you barely catch it, cuts off the rest of his sentence.

“Yeah? Come in, I’m decent!” you yell - not that you care whether someone sees you naked or not. The concept of modesty has long been lost on you. Some might call it shamelessness or vanity, but you take pride in how you look. And why wouldn’t you? Your body is your bread and butter. You spend hours in the gym every week so that your ass looks good no matter what camera angle.

“It’s me.”

The door opens a crack and the speaker tentatively sticks his mop of hair through the small opening. As soon as you recognize him, your heart leaps at the sight and you quickly tighten your robe together.

“Oh, speak of the devil,” Seokjin mutters under his breath.

You resist the urge to throttle him and plaster on your brightest smile instead.

“I wanted to see how you were doing. Sorry I took so long... I would’ve come earlier but they needed my help.” Jimin scratches a spot behind his ear, sheepish. “Someone tripped over the cables and smashed a camera lens so we had to find a replacement. The director threw a fit and wanted to call it quits so we’ve been trying to calm him down this entire time. He did - eventually, anyway, after he called his dealer on set.”

A disapproving frown tugs at his mouth corners and mars his otherwise perfect appearance.

You take a moment to swoon internally. You’ll never get tired of admiring your boyfriend. Unlike the majority of the on-set personnel, he doesn’t reek of weed or booze or stale cigarette smoke. His ironed clothes and immaculate appearance always make it easy to spot him amidst the hungover crew.

“That’s fine! I kept myself busy.”

Jimin returns your smile, his eyes creasing into beautiful half-moon crescents. You don’t know what kind of love-struck expression covers your face but next to you Seokjin makes a noise that sounds like a cross between a gag and a cough.

“Oh! Here, I brought snacks. I didn’t know what you liked so I just grabbed everything I could get my hands on.” He holds up a paper plate stacked with treats no doubt stolen from the catering service. “I know I kind of went overboard but I wanted to make sure you kept your sugar level up.”

“That’s sweet of you,” you coo, reaching to take the plate from him. He’s piled on the sweets so high that it’s a miracle nothing has toppled over yet. You aren’t especially hungry but take a bite out of a chocolate candy to show how much you appreciate the effort. Its gooey consistency melts on your tongue, the taste so sweet it sticks to your teeth.

“How adorable,” chimes in Seokjin, his hand grabbing a licorice stick from the mountain of candy before you can swat him away. “Thanks Jongmin.”

“Jimin,” he corrects good-naturedly, his smile not budging an inch. You think, privately, that’s what you like the most about him. Not many have the ability to block out Seokjin’s bullshit so effectively.

“Mmh,” your manager says around a mouthful of candy. “Seokjin. Pleasure.”

You elbow him while gritting your teeth. “Can you...give us a moment?”

Seokjin swallows down the treat and opens his mouth in protest. He has the audacity to look betrayed. “You’re kicking me out of our room so the two of you can get it on? Really?”

Jimin’s cheeks flush and you quickly cut in before your agent can make matters worse.

"I just want to talk without you breathing down my neck. Weren’t you going off earlier about how I didn’t need adult supervision anymore? Well?”

“Fine. Fine! But you owe me. Again.” He grabs his portable phone charger from the vanity table before making his exit. “And don’t forget what we talked about!”

What a fucking drama queen. You have no idea why he always insists on making a scene when you know for a fact that he would’ve left of his own volition in five minutes anyway. For reasons he has no trouble disclosing, he can’t stand Jimin’s presence.

“I won’t,” you grumble just so that you can get him out of your hair faster.

The door slams shut with more force than strictly necessary. Silence hangs in the air for a brief moment before Jimin turns his warm gaze towards you.

“What was that about?”

“Uh, nothing. You know how he is...” You play with the ends of your braided hair. “He can’t go very long without throwing a tantrum.’

“He seems very protective of you,” remarks Jimin, a thoughtful expression painting his angelic face. “I think that’s why he’s not that fond of me.”

“Nonsense,” you rebut immediately as you take his hands in yours. “Who could ever not like you?”

Jimin allows his lips to quirk into a small, self-deprecating smile that you promptly erase with a kiss. His lips feel pillow-soft against yours, and you let yoruself indulge in the feeling before pulling back.

You sigh, remembering the scene you’ve yet to film. “If only my co-star was you.”

He laughs at that. “Seokjin would probably throw a fit, huh?”

Jimin treats you to dinner that night.

He chooses the restaurant. It’s a small, quaint place, tucked into a hidden corner just minutes away from the bustling main street of the shopping district. It’s not the kind of place people stumble across by accident but judging by the occupied tables, business is doing fine by reputation alone.

The owner comes out to greet Jimin by name. They exchange warm greetings, the woman asking him how his brother’s been doing and whether he’ll stop by anytime soon.

“Ah - I’m not sure... You know how he is... I’ll let him know you said hi.”

“Tell him I’ll give him an extra serving of ribs. That was his favorite, right?”

When her eyes trail over Jimin’s shoulder and spot you, she grins so wide you’d think she won the lottery or something. “Park Jimin! You’ve gone and found a girlfriend! And so pretty, too. Ah, really...time sure flies by. I remember when you first started coming here - and now!”

You smile back, greeting her with a polite handshake. The owner is quick to usher you into a small booth in the back. She hands you the menus while patting Jimin on his shoulder. “I’ll get you drinks. It’s on the house.”

“You don’t have to do that!” protests Jimin, shaking his head. “Really. It’s not—”

“Nonsense.” She waves a hand at him. “You’ll get two more if you keep that up, Park Jimin.”

Once she knows she’s earned Jimin’s compliance, she leaves with a satisfied smile. You can tell by their genuine interactions that she’s close to Jimin. Family, perhaps? Either way, this isn’t a place Jimin tracked down on yelp. He flips through the menu with ease, like he’s done it hundreds of times before.

“Sorry about that,” he says once she’s out of earshot. “I used to come here all the time with my family when we all still lived here. They moved and live in a different town now so we haven’t had a meal together here in years, but. I still come here. The food is good, of course, but - I dunno. I have good memories here so I thought I’d share it with you. It sounds stupid now.”

He laughs quietly, cheeks flushed a pretty pink.

“I love it.” You can’t help but smile, cheeks hurting from the force of it. Invisible liquor runs through your bloodstream, a ball of warmth unfurling in your belly. “Thank you.”

A pause ensues. It’s one of those moments in which you’re unsure if you’ve said too much or not enough. Being here with Jimin means a lot. You’re not the most verbose person but you hope that Jimin can feel your sincerity.

Maybe your stare comes off as too intense because Jimin breaks the eye contact and clears his throat.

He fiddles with his earring and says, “The food is really good!”

Pink dots his cheeks as he attempts to change the subject. “I don’t know how long the place has been around for but the food is exactly the same. Apparently it’s the sauce they use? Auntie still won’t share the recipes with me and I’ve known her since I was a kid.”

He chatters on, gaining confidence when he notices you’re not put off or bored by his numerous anecdotes. As time passes by, he’s visibly more relaxed. His laugh is more natural, less restrained, like he’s using all the muscles in his face and not just the ones near his mouth.

It’s a stark difference from the first date, you think. Back then he had come off as quite shy, preferring to let you lead the conversation, only offering up tidbits from time to time. Now the conversation flows easily. Nothing feels forced or awkward and - it’s nice. The normalcy of it. Like a hot cup of tea before bed or the scent of the fabric softener your mother uses. It’s something you find comfort in, that you can see yourself coming back to and not growing tired of.

Seokjin can say what he wants - that Jimin’s too uninteresting, that you’re too mismatched of a couple - whatever.

Jimin likes you for you.

When you’re out on dates or when the two of you talk on the phone late into the evening, he rarely brings up your job. Instead, he asks you questions about your favorite TV shows, your dipping sauce preferences, the first album you purchased. These small details might seem inconsequential to others but to you, they’re a welcome breath of fresh air.

For all the talks of Jimin being too average and too normal, men like him are in reality surprisingly hard to come by.

Because what you haven’t failed to notice since you began your career as a porn star is that people love the idea of you. People who avidly watch you from their laptop screen in the comfort of their own home think that you’re some type of sex goddess - that you’re basically up for anything. In their minds, you’re a fun girl who loves sex, all kinds of sex, any kind of sex, and who doesn’t have any qualities or attributes other than making people cum until their limbs go numb.

Your feelings? Not really important. Feelings would make you human and being human would ruin their favorite fantasy.

That’s what takes you a while to learn - you don’t get paid to have sex, you get paid to sell dreams.

It doesn’t bother you at first. In a way, you think, it’s like acting. The porn star people jerk off to daily is a character you play, a mask you can take off at your leisure once the camera director yells ‘cut!’.

Very quickly, you learn people don’t share the same sentiment. To them, the line that distinguishes you from your job persona isn’t blurry - it simply doesn’t exist.

In the beginning, you’d stayed optimistic. Once people get to know you past the image they’ve built up in their heads, surely they’ll realize you’re not a sex-craved addict who only has dick on the brain, right? But with every new date you accept to go on, the reality of your situation only leaves room for disappointment and barely reigned in revulsion.

Even in non-romantic situations, people let you down. Old classmates, neighbors... It pisses you off that they assume you have no self-worth just because you’re a sex worker. Stevie from 308 down the hall once tried throwing crumpled bills at you, expecting you to crawl over to him for a fifty. The memory is enough to set your blood boiling. You can’t wait until you earn big enough bucks to move out of your shitty apartment into a nice high-rise penthouse, away and above all the scum of the Earth.

“You okay?” asks Jimin, noticing the crease that burrows your brow. “The food alright?”

You blink several times, belatedly realizing you had zoned out. Guilt and embarrassment well up within you.

“M’yeah,” you swallow down the spoonful of stew stuffed in your mouth. “Sorry.”

Jimin chews his bottom lip. Finally, he settles with, “Tell me if I’m boring you.”

“No, no! You’re not.” His evident doubt does nothing to alleviate the sudden nausea swarming your lower belly. “I’m serious, Jimin. I’m - Sorry if I gave off that impression. I just - I have a lot on my mind but you’re lovely. I’d tell you if you were - you know. Promise.”

“Would you? Sometimes I think you’re too nice.” It’s not delivered as an insult, but it doesn’t exactly sound like praise, either.

You force out a snort. “Heh. Wish you’d tell Seokjin that.”

“He’s not too cross with me, is he?” Jimin’s expression looks awkward, like he’s forcing his facial muscles to stay relaxed and mien nonchalant.

“Wh- oh, you mean because of earlier? He isn’t. That’s not him being angry. It’s not even you. It’s me. We just have - a slight difference in opinions, I suppose. If you can even call it that.”

“He doesn’t want you to date me,” concludes Jimin.

The frustrations you’d repressed earlier in the day come back. Why does Seokjin’s opinion matter? You huff, putting your spoon down.

“He’s not my dad. And even if he was, I’m grown. I can make my own decisions.” You roll your eyes. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll get over it... It’s not like it’s any of his business in the first place.”

“Still...” Jimin says, unsure. “He’s your agent. I wouldn’t want the relation between you to sour because of me.”

“Honestly, I’m convinced it’s not even you he has a problem with. We talked about it today and I think he’s getting antsy because, um, you know, I haven’t accepted any big offers lately. Like, I’m staying too much in my comfort zone or something. He says that in the long run that can be detrimental to my career.”

It’s a bit strange, discussing your work with Jimin. You both work in the same industry, Jimin as a second camera assistant and you as an adult entertainer, but outside of filming sets, you rarely acknowledge what the other person does for a living.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. He wants me to branch out and try new things.”

“What, you mean anal? Gangbangs?”

“Um, yeah. All that, probably...” You have to blink several times because of the shock of hearing Jimin say that so casually. “...Is that okay?”

“Huh?” Jimin in turn blinks at you, like your question doesn’t properly register. “Oh, yeah, sure. I’m fine with it. You said it’ll be good for your career?”

“Apparently.”

“Then, yeah.” He shrugs like he isn’t bothered by the news at all. “Of course that’s okay.”

A part of you wants to push the issue, ask him why he’d be fine with his girlfriend filming intense sex scenes with random men, but that inner voice is snuffed out before the poisonous thought has time to take root.

Isn’t this what you always wanted? A boyfriend who is accepting and understanding of your profession?

You wash down your worries with a gulp or two of soju, determined not to let your own insecurities ruin the rest of your night.

Less than 24 hours after you’ve agreed to work on a worthwhile project of Seokjin’s choosing, a slew of texts blow up your phone.

Unsurprisingly, it’s your agent. A quick scroll through your phone reveals that your agent has left you with no less than 15 messages, 1 voicemail, and 3 e-mails.

It’s...a lot. You’ve grown to expect that kind of fanfare with him. Like any man who deals with legally binding contracts on a daily basis, Seokjin ensures that you keep your word. He can be extremely persuasive when he sets his mind to it. You’ve seen men and women alike succumb to the force of his magnetism. Back when your filmography had solely consisted of amateur sex tapes shot in bad lighting with low-grade filming equipment, Seokjin's charms alone had been sufficient to win over lukewarm casting directors and book you jobs.

SEOKJIN : hey!!!!!!!!

SEOKJIN : ???

SEOKJIN : wow. you’re leaving me on read.........the audacity.

SEOKJIN : i raised you on my back and this is how you repay me?

SEOKJIN : do you not respect your elders in your household?

SEOKJIN : i swear if you’re blowing me off for jimmy instead of answering your calls .........

SEOKJIN : or blowing jimmy. either one.

SEOKJIN : ok it’s been 10 min. i’m chill but not that chill.

SEOKJIN : can you please stop sucking dick and read your emails. it’s important.

YOU : ever heard of multitasking? god gave us two hands for a reason

SEOKJIN : oh. nasty.

SEOKJIN : way to ruin my lunch.

SEOKJIN : well. suck down that nut sauce asap

SEOKJIN : cos what i sent you needs your undivided attention

YOU : i’m nasty?? me????

YOU : you don’t hear me saying nUT SAUCE you freak

SEOKJIN : nutté sauce

SEOKJIN : there. fixed it.

YOU : ...that’s not even a thing

SEOKJIN : well it should be!

SEOKJIN : adding accents makes it instantly classier, don’t you think? nutté sauce. has a nice ring to it.

SEOKJIN : honestly. sounds like some fancy four star french starter now.

YOU : ???? it absolutely doesn’t but ok

SEOKJIN : imagine. during a scene you just yell out

SEOKJIN : “i’d like a serving of your nutté sauce to go”

YOU : dicks would shrivel up on the spot

SEOKJIN : what? i think it’s brilliant!

SEOKJIN : my talent is wasted as an agent. should’ve been a scriptwriter instead.

YOU : yes i’m sure the oscars are weeping over the missed opportunity

He takes your sarcasm at face value, feeding you more ridiculous variants of faux french cum lingo—that which you very wisely choose not to reply to. Instead of humoring him, you open the .pdf file he’s sent your way, ignoring the near-constant buzzing of your phone as he’s no doubt pestering you for an immediate answer.

Had it not been necessary for business, you’d have blocked his number ages ago. In fact, after that nut sauce comment you’re seriously reconsidering, business obligations be damned.

To his credit, the film project he suggests you work on doesn't sound half-bad despite its questionable title. Why anyone would choose to name it THE SPERMINATOR is beyond you.

As you read through the proposition, you’re surprised to find it’s tamer than the initial imaginary scenario you’d played out in your head. Expecting to read through a long list of unnameable kinks and dicks, the scene description is rather domestic all things considered.

Your shoulders sag in relief. You enjoy sex as much as the next person, but even you have limits you’re not willing or eager to cross. You’re a human being, first and foremost, and, contrary to popular belief, not competing in the sex olympics.

From what you’ve read so far, nothing in Seokjin’s offer seems too strenuous or perverse. The scene in question is centered around a young, newly married couple trying to conceive for the first time and the sex acts are described as “romantic insemination” - whatever the fuck that means. The only complication you can think of is that you’ve never played the part of a married couple before. None of your previous films specifically target couples or women. Is romance something you can sell accordingly?

You’re quick to shake the concern off once you remember that no one cares if your acting is shit or not. All you probably have to do is yell out ‘Daddy’ a few times mid-thrust and call it a day.

Honestly, you’re a bit disappointed in Seokjin for choosing such a safe, no-risk project - especially since he constantly advocates the risk-return trade off as the way to live by. But you’re not about to start complaining. You’d rather shoot this type of innocuous scenario than ridiculous, hentai-like scenes involving freakish get-ups and toys of monster proportions not realistically made to fit in a vagina.

The deal is perfect. Almost too perfect.

Subconsciously, you must realize something is wrong. Maybe Seokjin’s many lessons have finally rubbed off on you because there’s a persistent voice in your ear warning you that the film proposition is a trap, one that you’ve unfortunately walked straight into.

Your wariness increases when he refuses to send you the script upon request. Alarm bells ring off but by then it’s too late.

“The thing is... Director Ryu wants to try a new type of project," Seokjin says over the phone once you call him up for answers. "He thinks he’s going to pioneer a new genre of porn and revolutionize the industry - his words, not mine.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“How do I explain this without you getting the wrong idea..."

“Is this meant to reassure me?!” Dread drips from your tone. You should’ve suspected something was off from the very moment Seokjin suggested to shoot vanilla porn as your next big project. What a joke.

“Calm down, it's not as bad as - whatever you're thinking.” Too bad that his attempts to calm you down have the opposite effect. “He’s been wanting to try out a new improvisation format for his porn movies.”

“Come again?”

A beat of uncomfortable quiet passes. Reluctantly, Seokjin explains, “Which means - there isn’t an actual script to go off of. That’s why I couldn’t send it to you - because there is none. He wants it to be as realistic and natural as possible so he’s looking for actors who can go with their gut and create their own scenario instead of ones who need to be directed.”

Your resounding silence speaks for itself.

Sure, sometimes they provide scripts to act as guidelines, roughly giving the actor an idea of how the scene will unfold, but no one is expected to follow it word for word. Most porn films rely on improvisation rather than scripts because of how notoriously bad porn stars are at acting and memorizing more than a few lines at a time, and the introduction scene never lasts very long anyway for it to make a noticeable difference. Besides, after filming a handful of movies, you’ve noticed the dialogue is more or less all the same.

What bothers you is that this director wants you to carry out a movie that relies heavily on improvised dialogue. Convincingly.

“C’mon,” Seokjin tries when you refuse to deign him with an answer. “It’ll be fun. You like acting, right?”

“Seokjin...” You pinch the bridge of your nose and try to keep your composure in check. “How do I break this down for you? I think you’re forgetting the most crucial detail here - I can’t act! The closest I've ever gotten to acting is faking an orgasm and I’m pretty certain that doesn’t count."

“And you do that very well!" says Seokjin encouragingly. "You'll be fine. Don’t stress over it. Your scenes with Min Yoongi last time were perfectly acceptable!”

“That’s the thing.” Stress makes your voice raise a half-step. “He did, like, 90% of the acting! Back then, all I had to do was moan and act like a slut! Which hardly counts - I was being myself. Whatever this - thing - you’re attempting to rope me into - I’m not qualified for it.”

“Sweetheart, we’re not aiming for the fucking Oscars here.” When he laughs, it’s practiced enough to sound sincere. “At the end of the day, it’s still porn. Nobody’s expecting you to be the next Meryl. And besides,” he presses on, clearly refusing to change his mind. “This is exactly what you need right now. Something fresh, something new. If you pull this off, you’ll gain exposure.”

“If I pull it off. Big if."

“I know it sounds like a gamble. I get it, I do. But remember what I always say? High risk—”

“Yes, yes. High reward. I get it.” Your frown deepens. “There’s no way to know this will work, though.”

“A good co-star already guarantees you half of the success. And luckily for you, the guy they signed on seems like the real deal. He’s hot, you’re hot. People will pay money to see you two fuck regardless of how good or bad the acting is.”

“Well. That’s reassuring,” you say, voice as flat as a board. “Although I suppose watching porn on mute is always an option if it comes to that.”

“It was a joke!” What worries you is that it doesn’t sound like it is. “You have nothing to worry about. I’ve seen some of your co-star’s tapes. He’s got a mouth on him, if you know what I mean. Just let him lead and it’ll go swimmingly.”

“It’s one thing to follow someone’s lead during sex but you want me to - to improvise for God knows how long! That’s just asking for a disaster to happen.”

“You said you were up for a challenge!” Seokjin throws your words back at you, his tone accusing.

“And you said this would be beneficial for my career! How is making a fool out of myself going to help me any? I don’t want to be remembered as the girl who can’t act to save her life.” You want to cry in frustration. If you had wanted to act you would’ve chosen that as your major in college. “I don’t - I can’t do this. I’m not - this isn’t what I signed up for! How do you expect me to convince viewers what they’re watching is real...”

“Just—” Exasperated, he takes a deep breath. Exhales. “Trust me. When have I ever been wrong about film projects.”

Is putting your career at risk really worth it? You’re not sure anymore.

On the bright side, it’ll finally get Seokjin off your back, you reason, trying to remain positive. That in itself is worth celebrating, right?

Fine. You’ll agree to it out of pettiness. Once Seokjin realizes what a terrible idea this entire ordeal is, you won’t hesitate to rub it back in his face. He’ll never hear the end of it.

"Who am I working with, anyway?”

"Ah, hm, well." Hesitation creeps up his voice for the first time, putting you instantly on edge. "...You won't know him. He's new to the scene - got started a month or two ago, I forget."

"Great. Not only am I being used as a lab rat for this director to experiment on but you're also pairing me with a fucking rookie. Jesus.”

"He’s not half bad! He’s not bad at all, actually. I wouldn't be insisting if I didn't trust him not to blow his load early."

"Aren’t I lucky,” you deadpan. “So I don't have to worry about him busting a nut before the director gives the signal?"

“All you’ll have to do is act like a married couple with baby fever,” he talks over you, ignoring your overflowing sarcasm. “And how hard can that be? You’ve been loved up with Jumin for a month now - that’s plenty enough practice if you ask me. I know you’ll be able to sell that romantic shit to the public without too much trouble.”

“It’s Jimin,” you correct from force of habit.

You’re promptly ignored — not that you expected anything less from him.

"Just give it a thought? And get back to me when you make up your mind. The sooner the better. The offer won't stay on the table forever." Even over the line, you can picture Seokjin raising his eyebrows at you, expectant. “If you’re serious about this job, you know what you have to do.”

You both know that you’ll accept the offer. Seokjin’s got you all figured out. As much as you don’t like being pushed around, the need to prove yourself is your main driving factor. The acquaintances who sneer at you, the family members who’ve shun you, the peers who expect you to burn out after the five month mark—you’d rather roll over and die than prove their misconceptions right.

It’s a matter of pride when you sniff and reply, “I’ll think about it.”

But the decision is already made before the call ends.

SCENE 02 - THE SPERMINATOR. TAKE 02. ROLL B.

Eight days later you find yourself squeezed into a brazenly short dress that zips in the front, more fit for a night out in a club than a dinner at home. It’s so ridiculously tight, you feel like a prey being swallowed down by a snake. There’s no room to breathe. You can’t wait for the scene to start, if only so you can dispose of the piece of fabric and never wear it again.

Unfortunately, your outfit gets worse because thrown over the clubbing attire is a frilly apron with small hearts embroidered along the hem. The mismatch is jarring. You’re not sure what look the stylist is going for but the end result is very...peculiar.

You comfort yourself with the knowledge that it could always be worse.

A quick glance at the digital clock on your phone confirms that you’re running on time. Good. After your last gig, the last thing you want is to spend hours waiting for the personnel to set up the cameras and sound equipment correctly.

Thankfully, today’s team works like a well-oiled machine. All that’s left are the last-minute preparations before the shoot begins.

Your false eyelashes are still drying when Seokjin elbows you sharply in the ribs. You crack open an eye to glare at him. “Ouch - ah, seriously? What is it now?”

“That’s him, that’s him!” Seokjin whispers under his breath, his gaze glued to a point somewhere beyond your shoulder. “Wooow. Aren’t you a lucky bitch? I’d gargle his nutté sauce for breakfast, if you get what I mean. He looks way better in person, damn.”

“Firstly - please never say that out loud again.” You fake a gag. “How do I buy myself a new set of ears?”

Seokjin ignores your dramatics. He shoots you a look. “You let that last guy draw a starfish on your face with his crème de la nut but did you hear me go sick?”

“That’s not the same and you know it!” Your jaw drops in indignation. “And can you stop trying to make nut cream a thing for the love of—”

“What’s this about nut cream?”

You whip your head around, mortification already etched onto your features. Your mouth opens, defense at the ready, only for your throat to clamp up.

“Oh.” You blink up in surprise because - well, Seokjin’s earlier assessment isn’t embellished. The guy is fit as fuck.

You’d seen photos in passing, had even googled his name out of curiosity, but the two-dimensional version of him pales to his real life physique. There’s a sharpness to his features that the camera fails to pick up on, a vibrancy that gets lost in the medium.

“Hey. I’m Hoseok.” His grip is firm, assertive, and your eyes naturally wander over his form. The loose muscle tee he’s thrown on puts his toned arms on display and makes it easier to admire the seemingly endless expanse of sun-kissed skin. He’s neither too thick nor too spindly, his muscles lean and firm instead of bulging. Strong but not intimidating. “I look forward to working with you.”

“Likewise.” You swallow, mouth dry.

You expect him to leave it at that like most of your past co-stars usually do. Or worse - for him to abandon all pretenses and cross lines that aren’t meant to be crossed. As someone who has experienced it all - from standoffish to creepy and vile - nothing surprises you anymore.

But unlike your, admittedly low, expectations, his gaze is warm and friendly. He speaks smoothly, leaving no time for an awkward silence to instill itself.

“Yeah, I know who you are! I saw a video or two of yours before - you were featured on the agency’s main page last month, right? Fuckin’ genius, by the way. Best stuff I’ve seen in a long ass time.” An easy grin sits on his face, nothing about it fake or contrived. “I hope we get along today. I haven’t done much work myself - yet anyway - but I hope this can be a good experience for the both of us.”

“You’ll be in good hands,” Seokjin assures, patting your shoulder like a proud parent. “_____ here is the best talent I’ve signed on.”

“That I can believe,” Hoseok chimes, his smile never waning. “I’ve heard good stuff about you. I won’t lie - it reassured me a fuck ton when I heard I’d be working with you. The stuff we’re doing is, well, it’s a bit of a gamble at this point, but I’m sure it’ll go well because I’ll be working with you.”

For a brief, embarrassing moment, you’re robbed of words, unable to respond to his flattery. From experience, you know to be wary of guys like him. Whenever someone lays it on thick they always have an ulterior motive. But what could possibly be his?

“Seokjin’s saying that because I’m the only one who can stand his nagging,” you finally say, your shoulders stiff. Maybe it’s because you’ve just met, but it’s hard to figure him out and it doesn’t help that you’re naturally wary of strangers.

“Oh hush. You love me.” Sensing how guarded you’ve become, Seokjin mercifully offers you an out. “It was nice meeting you, Hoseok. Wish we could stay and chat but she has to get ready to film the pre-interview portion.”

“Oh yeah, that’s cool. Catch you later.”

You offer a quick smile he returns tenfold, its brightness momentarily dazzling you.

Slightly dazed from the intensity of it, you stagger behind Seokjin, sun spots dotting your vision. Your surroundings blur together as your mind tries to recover from the interaction.

“Sooooooooo?” Seokjin sing-songs once you’ve walked far enough to be out of earshot. His brows are raised knowingly, an infuriating type of smugness clinging to his features. “What did I tell you! He’s hot enough to single-highhandedly melt a glacier, huh?”

You scoff, not willing to admit anything. “He’s okay.”

“Oh c’mon. He’s baby daddy material for sure. Which works out well for you since he’s gonna pump one into you later.”

For once the grimace that crosses your face isn’t exaggerated. “Please. Stop. Talking. I’m this close to heaving out my lunch.”

You’re not even joking with that one. Attractive as Hoseok may be, any talk of baby-making is enough to dissipate any smidgens of lust.

The reminder of what the upcoming scene entails and the expectations people carry crash down on you like a pile of bricks. Although you’ve done your best to ignore the fact you’ll be acting today, the meeting with Hoseok yanks you harshly back to reality.

You’re going to act. As a married couple. Trying to conceive a baby.

Three things that have never, ever been on your bucket list are now about to be crossed out in the span of the same afternoon. To that you can only say - what the fuck is my life.

Like a mounting wave before the inevitable crash, panic crests within you. You feel it gradually build and build, flooding your lungs and every crevice of your body with overwhelming anxiety.

Seokjin sighs. “How are you going to make it through today? The whole point of the sex scene is to get you pregnant. Or fake pregnant. You know what I mean.”

“Um...” You try to laugh but it comes out shaky. Seokjin shoots you a concerned look. “I’ll be fine! Really! I can do it. It’s just acting like you said, right? It’s not like he’s actually gonna knock me up in real life. So. Totally fine. It’s fine. Perfect.”

Seokjin’s concern grows. His eyebrows pinch together and his expression turns serious. He asks with no trace of mockery, “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay!” you reply. It’s too rushed of an answer to convince him. Your palms feel clammy and you wipe them off your damned apron. “Just. Nervous. Y’know.”

His steps slow to a halt and he places a warm, heavy hand on your shoulder. The weight, familiar and comforting, grounds you to reality. “Hey. What’s there to be nervous about? You got this.”

“Yeah.” You nod. Maybe if you say it enough times you’ll trick yourself into believing it. “I’ve got this.”

“Look. Let me be honest for a second. I’ve been an agent for eight years now and I’ve seen a lot of talents come and go. No pun intended.” You smile back at him weakly. “You’ve got something...extra a lot of them lacked. I knew the moment I saw you on film you’d go far. The energy you bring onscreen is insane. I know today might seem new and strange - but so was your first ever professionally shot film, right? And you got through that fine. You’ll do great. I know it. And, not to toot my own horn, but I’m always right.”

That earns him a laugh. The nerves are still there but thanks to his pep talk it’s easier to breathe.

Despite being a big pain in the ass, Seokjin is exemplary at his job. Without him, you’re acutely aware you wouldn’t have gotten half as far as you have. Having him by your side is a reassurance in itself.

Someone calls your name, pulling you from your thoughts. When you turn around, you’re face to face with the round, bespectacled face of Director Ryu. You reckon he’s in his early forties but he acts younger than his age. It’s your first time working with him but so far he’s been nice enough, if a little full of himself. Not that you’re unaccustomed with working alongside conceited colleagues.

“Oh good, you’re back. You can get seated for the interview bit.” He points over to a chair placed in front of a pale yellow wall. From close up, you can see a paint job is in order, the old coat chipping off in several places. “Alright, this won’t last long - just need you to answer some questions on tape and we’ll be good to go.”

“Sure thing.” You nod and follow his directions, sitting still while the hair and make-up artist steps up to give your lips a final touch-up.

Strictly speaking, the before and after interviews aren’t a necessity. In your experience, directors mostly film the short question-and-answer sequence when you’re set to film hardcore sex scenes as a way to show viewers everything is consensual and that you thoroughly enjoyed the experience despite whatever might have transpired on screen.

You reckon the director wants to film you today to document the process behind his “groundbreaking film project”. Cue roll of eyes.

Somebody needs to tell him he isn’t inventing anything, you think while watching him fiddle with the camera until he’s completely satisfied with the angle. All he’s done so far is add unnecessary pressure on you. You hope Hoseok is faring better because the amount of performance anxiety you’re experiencing is an instant boner killer.

“You nervous?” the director asks once he’s done adjusting the camera lens.

While by some standards you’re still considered a newbie in the industry, you’ve done this enough times to fall into a routine. Wake-up, breakfast, get ready, arrive before call time, fill out all the paperwork and get ready to shoot your solo stills. It’s familiar enough that you’ve long stopped getting pre-performance jitters.

Today’s rush of anxiety is as surprising as it is unwelcome. They don’t want to hear that particular truth though, so you keep your reply sweet and bubbly.

“Nah,” you grin, wide and easy. “I’m super excited to film today!”

“Oh yeah? Is it perhaps because of your co-star?”

Your smile freezes for a second. Somewhere over the director’s shoulder you can see Seokjin nodding enthusiastically while giving you the double thumbs up. “Hoseok? He’s hot, sure.”

“Ooh. Already on a first name basis?”

“Hm?” you let out a noise of polite confusion, only belatedly realizing that his viewers know him better as his porn alias, J-Hope. But there’s no way in hell you’re going to yell that out loud while he’s fucking an orgasm out of you. Not only does it sound ridiculous but it’ll shatter whatever carefully crafted illusion you manage to build. “Um, yes. We’re getting to know each other. He’s very friendly.”

“I’m sure he is.” And there’s an implication there that doesn’t sit too well with you but thankfully Director Ryu chooses to move on and put that particular subject to rest.

“You ever shoot an insemination scene before?”

“Not yet.” You make sure to keep the smile on your face even if your cheeks are beginning to hurt. “I can’t wait to get to it. It’s a fantasy I’ve always had but never tried out for myself. I’m excited to film a first on camera!”

The director has yet to call you out for your bullshit so you slowly start to relax. Acting is a bit like lying, isn’t it? Maybe you can get through today after all.

You breeze through the rest of the questions, forcing out practiced laughs here and there all whilst keeping your voice syrupy sweet. It’s quick work, especially when you know what to expect. Before you know it, it’s already time to film the pièce de résistance. Everyone that’s allowed on set during filming filters into the kitchen, conversations between crew members dying down as they use their last recreational moments to check their phones.

The director’s filming style exempts you from shooting the customary pre-shoot sex stills which are essentially promotional pictures of you and and your partner in every sex position that you’ll be filming for real later on. You’re thankful for that, at least. Even with all of your on-camera experience, staying perfectly silent and still with someone’s dick inside you is no easy feat. It’s worse when you have to keep eye contact with your co-star and fake sexual gratification because the shot calls for it.

Hoseok waves at you from the other side of the room, the hair and makeup artist dusting some powder across the slope of his nose.

How can he look so relaxed?! You’re barely holding your lunch down. Honestly, it’s a miracle you’re able to now tat the butterflies are back in full force, making a mess of your stomach.

You feel queasy but try not to make it too obvious even as Seokjin comes around to check up on you. The last thing you want to do is make a scene, especially when your onscreen counterpart's demeanor is making you look amateurish in comparison.

Maybe Hoseok is a better actor than you’re able to give most porn stars credit for because try as you might, you fail to detect any nervous undercurrent in his tone. For someone who is supposedly starring in his first major project, he doesn’t seem all too bothered about how it might play out.

How does he do it?! In all honesty, if Seokjin hadn’t informed you of his rookie status, you would be none the wiser.

There’s an ease with which he carries himself, a fluidity in his movements that belies no anxiety or awkwardness. Even from this distance you can tell that there’s never a hint of hesitation in his movements or speech; he doesn’t seem self-conscious in the least. He talks and moves with the assurance of someone who has been in the industry for months, not weeks.

In that moment you envy him. You’re so nervous about the upcoming scene that it’s hard to feign an air of professional detachment.

His boisterous laugh is loud enough to carry across the room and interrupt your line of thought. When you look over at him again, you find him folded in half, hands clutching his sides, and wearing a grin so bright it eclipses the entirety of his face.

“He seems nice.”

You jump, startled by Jimin’s sudden appearance. You hadn’t even heard him draw near. With a sheepish expression, you turn to look up at him only to find him already staring off into the distance. There’s a strange look painting his face, and a small crease in his brow that usually isn’t present. When you follow his line of sight, you’re met with the image of Hoseok talking animatedly to the the small crowd that’s flocked around him.

“Yeah.” You aren’t sure what else to say. Although there’s no sarcasm attached to his words, you can’t help but find Jimin unnaturally tense.

Which makes sense, you concede guiltily. A mere stranger is minutes away from dicking down his girlfriend. You’re not sure how you’d feel if you were to stand in his shoes.

You breathe in deep, silently willing away the knot of distress in your belly. There’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing. It’s just a job. A profession that Jimin has always been fully aware of, even before you’d begun dating.

Even as you remind yourself of the facts, it does little to dispel the lingering feelings of doubt and guilt.

“Hey.” Jimin frowns at you in concern. “You alright?”

“Yep!” you say then immediately sigh, knowing that lying to your boyfriend is pointless. “I’m just a bit nervous.”

“Nervous?” Jimin’s worry grows, the crease in his brow deepening. “What about?”

“Just—” You gesture around with your hands. “All of this.”

“Oh.” He looks genuinely surprised. “But you don’t usually get nervous... Is it the impregnation thing you’ll have to do? I know you’ve said you’re not a big fan of that. Or... Is it something else?”

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully. It’s a bit of everything yet at the same time nothing you can clearly pinpoint and put a finger on. In all logic, you know that you’re feeling disproportionately stressed out but you can’t stop yourself from feeling how you feel. “It’s not that I don’t want to film. I just - I’m worried I won’t do well.”

Jimin takes your hand between his, running a thumb in soothing circles across the surface of your skin. He repeats the motion several times until your heartbeat is completely synced to his touch.

“You’ll do great. You always do.” The lines of his mouth bend into a smile. “I’ll be on the sidelines cheering you on.”

“My very own cheerleader.” You allow yourself to relax and and smile back fondly.

As much as you worry about Jimin being upset with you filming sex scenes with other actors, he’s never been anything less than the supporting boyfriend you’ve always dreamed of. Seokjin calls Jimin’s constant presence on set maddening, but you’re thankful that your boyfriend sticks by your side while others might flee or shame you.

Suddenly, you’re overcome with emotion. Maybe it’s the stress, or maybe today you’re more hormonal than usual, but your eyes threaten to well up as you grip his palm tightly in your own. “Jimin, I—”

“Okay, lovebirds!” Seokjin claps his hands once, effectively ruining your moment. “Hand-holding time is over. We’re moving onto the more R-rated stuff.”

“Seokjin!” you hiss, upset over his horrible timing.

“It’s fine.” Jimin shakes his head. “He’s right, shoot’s about to start anytime soon. I need to get ready, too.”

“Right.”

Reluctantly, you let go of Jimin’s hand.

“Don’t pout.” He laughs and presses a quick, chaste kiss to your mouth. “I’ll wait for you after filming and we can go grab dinner. Italian sound fine?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” You bob your head eagerly. “I’m literally dying for carbs. Italian sounds more than perfect.”

“Good.”

You can’t resist sneaking in one last peck before Jimin retreats behind the cameras and you’re pulled to stand in front of a granite kitchen tabletop. Director Ryu is waiting for you, Hoseok already by his side.

From close-up, your co-star looks even more striking. The make-up artist’s work highlights his features without going overboard. The lines of his face are sharp, like every single one has been meticulously drawn. What usually would give someone a hostile and unapproachable impression is balanced out by the liveliness that lights up his eyes and his wide smile that looks almost too big for his face.

“It’ll start in the kitchen and then we’ll work out way to the bedroom.” Director Ryu points down the hallway. “I was thinking of keeping it all in the bedroom but nothing screams domesticity more than kitchen scenes, right?”

“Uh-huh.” You give a polite nod. Next to you, Hoseok coughs into his fist.

“Depending on how this goes we might have to take several takes - just keep that in mind.”

That’s nothing out of the ordinary. Sex scenes are never filmed in one take. There’s always one thing or another - a smoke break, a flaccid dick, a lighting fixture that needs to be changed. A 45 minute porn movie is the result of the editing team that painstakingly goes through, cuts and assembles hours of footage.

“Remember,” Director Ryu instructs, one hand cocked on his hips. “You’re still stuck in that honeymoon phase. All the two of you want to do is fuck like horny bunnies but your husband’s been away all day. Both of you have been waiting for this reunion for hours and hours. I want to feel that level of tension, got it?”

Hoseok nods like a dutiful student, his expression comically serious. You’d laugh if it wasn’t so inappropriate.

“Yep. Ok. Got it.”

You just want the director to stop talking so that you can get this over with quickly. The monologue is just delaying the inevitable.

Director Ryu spends extra minutes setting up the scene, emphasizing how in love and passionate the two of you should behave, describing how long you’ve been wanting to try for a baby, going into explicit detail about what the sex scenes should convey to the viewers. He just goes on and on and on with no end it sight.

At this point even Hoseok is growing restless. His feet refuse to stay still and his eyes dart around the room as if his attention is drawn elsewhere. It’s Hoseok’s constant fidgeting that draws Director Ryu out of his monologue. He finally senses that there’s a unanimous decision to start filming and retires behind the camera to settle himself in his appointed chair.

Hoseok shares a long look with you. “Is he always like that?”

“God, I hope not.” You lower your voice to whisper, “Seokjin - my agent - he says apparently Director Ryu wanted to make a career off of documentaries once he graduated from film school but quickly switched genres once he saw how little filming the mating habits of koalas was earning him.”

“Ah,” Hoseok nods conspiratorially before his features shift into something more serious. “Hey. Before we start, is there anything you’re not comfortable with? I know this scene is supposed to lean towards vanilla but you never know... I’d rather make sure. Just in case.”

You blink, taken aback. Hard limits aren’t really discussed outside of hardcore scenes. Sure, everyone is given a safeword before shoots begin but even screaming out “STOP!” or “Can we take a break from filming?” is enough to put the filmed scene on hold.

“Ah... No. I’m okay. But thanks for asking.” A moment passes and you add, “Is there - are there any words or kinks that bother you?”

Hoseok shakes his head. “Not for this one. Just - if there’s anything you’d rather me not say or do, don’t hesitate.”

You nod in reply, not sure of what else to say. Unfortunately your past experiences with men have made you suspicious of any form of flattery or kindness.

Soon, though, you relax. What reason is there for Hoseok to deceive you? Maybe he still has that rookie mindset. You can relate to the eagerness and the desire to do well you’d had in your early days of filming.

“Alright. Good luck, Hoseok.”

His smile is so bright that it erases your previous doubts. Surely someone with ill-intentions wouldn’t be able to smile like that, right? You return a tentative smile of your own. Something akin to understanding seems to pass between you. Although you don’t know Hoseok and he doesn’t know you, you trust him enough for this scene.

The moment is broken when Director Ryu directs Hoseok to wait outside the camera’s line of vision and you’re left alone in front of the kitchen stove.

Any moment now, you think. A telltale silence falls over the staff members as they all anticipate the director’s signal for the scene to start.

The first few seconds are always tricky. You’re no actress. There’s no switch inside of you that flips on and off as soon as the director commands “ACTION!” and “CUT!”. The world around you doesn’t fade out, your ‘porn star persona’ doesn’t claw its way out from within you and lunge for the nearest available dick. Sometimes, if you’re not attracted to your onscreen partner, you find your mind drifting off, making an inventory of your fridge and wondering what you’ll be able to cook up for dinner with two eggs and leftover rice.

When Director Ryu shouts “ACTION!” and slams down the plate, you freeze up. Usually you have an idea of what to say or do, but the words and actions won’t come to you this time.

Someone behind the cameras lets out a light cough. Oh right, you blink down at the simmering pot of water in front of you. The cameras are recording you making an utter fool out of yourself.

The spike of humiliation forces you into action. You’re more professional than this, damn it. You give the water a tentative stir, movements wooden and stiff. It’s hard to concentrate. All you can do is watch as the water simmers to a boil, the sound of bubbling water like a roaring current in your ears.

A door creaks open, signalling your onscreen husband’s return home.

To your horror, you find that you’re unable to move, as if your limbs had forgotten their primary function.

Before the scene had started, you had envisioned yourself throwing yourself into the arms of your loving husband and welcoming him home with a shower of kisses and words of affection. You had internally rehearsed it, had even thought of what you could say to him between pecks, but the reality is far removed from what you had practiced.

“Darling?” Hoseok’s voice is soft but loud enough for you to hear him over the angry sounds of boiling water. The vowels he uses are rounded, different from the bright pep in his tone from earlier.

You want to respond but your tongue feels like lead, too heavy in your mouth to articulate and form the proper reply. What are you supposed to call him, anyway? Honey? Hoseok? A nickname derived from his name? What do newlywed spouses call each other? Why couldn’t you give this more thought before the cameras began rolling?

Panic balloons inside you, threatening to burst. For a terrifying and mortifying second, you think that you’ve gone and ruined everything. The muscles in your shoulders bunch up and you half-expect the director to shout ‘CUT!’, give you a public scolding for missing your cue and berate you for your overall ineptitude.

Hoseok’s arms wrap around your middle before you have time to agonize any further. Just as you suspected, his arms are strong, the lean muscles flexing as he readjusts his hold around your waist. What you don’t expect, however, is the unadulterated warmth he radiates. His body burns hot; even through the layers of clothing separating the two of you, his warmth seeps through. But it’s strangely comfortable, not unlike basking in the afternoon sun during the last days of summer. You let yourself melt into his embrace.

“You’re not even going to say hi?”

With your back turned to him, you can’t be sure, but you imagine the pout playing at his lips. He tucks his chin in the crook of your shoulder. If he feels any awkwardness, he doesn’t let it show.

Miraculously, your mouth seems to be in working order again. It takes you a few seconds too long to find the appropriate answer, but it finally comes before the director can cut in to make any remarks.

“If I turn around right now, I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you,” you explain. “And - I don’t want to ruin our dinner.”

Just to keep up the pretense, you add a handful of spaghetti into the pot of water.

Hoseok lets out a hum from behind you. He’s standing close enough for you to feel the vibrations low in his throat.

“I hate it,” he says after a stretch of silence.

You pout. “What? My cooking? What’s wrong with it?”

“No, silly. I hate -” he sighs, buries his face in your neck before looking back up so the camera can capture his expression. “I hate not being with you. I missed this.”

He hugs you from behind before kissing your neck. It starts off innocuous - his lips pressing short, chaste kisses down the column of your throat. Quickly, however, his mouth lingers on your skin.

“Ah - don’t. I’m cooking!” you shriek when his teeth scrape over a sensitive spot under your jaw. Your protests are half-hearted and go by unacknowledged. The pot of pasta could overflow right now and no one would care, least of all you.

Hoseok noses your neck while he tightening his grip around your waist, the movement bringing his hips flush against your lower back. You give the pot in front of you a very unenthusiastic stir, attention focused instead on the way his lips tenderly skim the surface of your skin, testing and teasing. The sensation feels nice - and keeps your mind off of the several cameras directed your way.

“But I went all day missing my princess,” he sighs, open mouthed against your neck. “Spent all day thinking about you.”

“Y-you did?”

“Mhm.” He gives your exposed shoulder a peck. Then another. “Thought about your cute little laugh.”

His line catches you off guard. Your mouth opens but no sound comes out.

Porn is often crude and to the point. You’re used to men complimenting your body parts or praising your skills in bed. You’d never minded, either. But Hoseok’s choice of words make you eager in a different way.

“What else?”

“Well, your cooking, for sure. Without you I’d be eating out of ramyeon packets for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

You let out a snort.

“That’s true. Your cooking is so horrible it’s offensive.”

“Hey now. Don’t be mean.” He pokes your cheek before pinching your chin to turn your head towards him. “I can cook a decent omelet.”

Hoseok’s a good few inches taller than you so you have to strain your neck to be able to look him in the eyes. The slight discomfort barely registers. You’re too transfixed by the way he stares at you. It’s hard to place the expression because you’ve never seen it on a fellow actor before. Normally, the men you work with stare you down with hungry and lustful intent, but there’s none of that in Hoseok’s gaze.

The expression on his face cannot be described as innocent, either. He licks his lips, drawing your attention to the pretty lines of his mouth delicately curved into a smile.

“I missed the way you feel in my arms.” His voice sounds deeper, this time. “I missed holding you close to me. Kissing you. Reminding you how much I love you. I missed the look in your eyes when - “

“When?”

He smirks. “You sure you want to hear it? What if you can’t keep your hands off of me after? I don’t want to be held responsible for soggy pasta.”

“Hoseok,” you whine, one of your hands reaching down to slap at the hold around your stomach.

He tightens his hold around you and your breath hitches, suddenly all too aware of how firm his body feels behind you. The smirk on his face widens as he leans forward to confess his next words.

“I was thinking about how I miss the look on your face whenever I make your pussy sloppy with my cum.”

“Hoseok!”

One moment he’s crooning sweet words of affection, the next he’s spitting out filth. The quick back-and-forth gives you whiplash but you can’t say you dislike it. Unlike the tired and overused clichéd porn scenarios you’ve filmed in the past, Hoseok’s unpredictable behavior has the advantage of keeping you on your toes.

“You missed it too, hm?” He kisses your neck, lips soft and warm. “Kept thinking about how pretty you sound. So, so pretty. Especially when I give you what you want.”

“How would you know what I want?” You turn your head forwards so you can pretend to check up on the cooking pasta. “You were away all day.”

Hoseok’s eyes flash dangerously.

“How would I know?” he parrots back, his tone sweet and mocking. Something about it sends tingles down your spine and has you standing up straighter. “I always know what my pretty wife wants. I know because your body can’t lie to me.”

His hands wander, one of them inching up the material of your frilly apron to reach between your breasts. The movement is slow enough for a camera to zoom in and follow its trail. Hoseok rests his hand on your left breast and gives it a squeeze.

“See?” He repeats the action. “Your heart’s racing like crazy.”

You swallow audibly, finding it hard to come up with a witty riposte.

He continues with a chuckle, “You can’t deny it, can you? Your body’s too honest for your own good. It’s okay. You don’t have to say you missed me. I know.”

His self-assured way of talking makes it easier for you to react. This - the cockiness, the playfulness - you’re familiar with.

You roll your eyes and continue to give the pot in front of you a few additional stirs only for your breath to hitch when he starts to grind his hips against your lower back in time with your stirs.

Fuck is your only coherent thought. He rolls his hips so well it’s impossible not to imagine them doing something else. Your bottom lip grows numb from how hard you bite it.

“Of course I missed you.” You keep your tone as light as possible, determined not to show that his words and actions affect you.

Hoseok’s eyes narrow. He removes his hands from around you but keeps his front pressed against your back. He smiles again, dimples poking through.

“You don’t sound convinced... That’s fine.” It sounds like the beginning of a challenge and you soon learn why.

His nimble fingers play with the knot of your apron and you tense, expecting him to make quick work of your clothes and dive straight into dessert, so to speak. Once again, he surprises you by leaving the apron alone, hands falling to his sides.

His knees hit the floor, the noise startling you. Before you have the chance to truly react, he’s quick to pull your hips backwards until your back is arched. The sudden change in position forces you to adjust your stance so as to keep your balance.

“Hoseok?” you start to question but he cuts you off with a tut and light smack to your ass.

“You just keep your eye on dinner like you were doing before.” His fingers play with the hem of your short dress, stretching the fabric until it bunches up around your hips and leaves your lacy thong on display. “You can do that, right?”

Flustered by the position he’s maneuvered you into, with your hips thrust back obscenely, legs splayed wide and pussy on show, you grip the wooden spoon in your hand with more force than necessary. “It’s just pasta. I can manage.”

Maybe you sound less indifferent than intended because Hoseok seems more amused than offended by your feinted nonchalance. He barks out a laugh, his hands spreading the meat of your cheeks aside to get a better view of your lace-covered bits.

Privately, you wish you could witness his reaction. If there’s anything that turns you on, it’s knowing how much someone else wants you. If feels good to know that you’re wanted and desired. Even if fucking is part of your job description, the act needs to be mutually enjoyable for you to be completely satisfied.

“Sure.” The lilt in his voice is so sweet that it borders on condescending. “While you do that, I think I’ll have my appetizer.”

It’s corny, overused and a little degrading - exactly the type of one-liner you’d ordinarily find in porn - but he gives you no time to call him out for it. As soon as he’s done talking, he wags his tongue out and drags it across the red lace, and the repeated up and down motions quickly dampen your panties.

You notice with great frustration that he takes care to avoid your clit, focusing instead on licking broad stripes over slit and, to your surprise, around your rim. He doesn’t stop until your underwear drips with the accumulation of your essence and his saliva. The soaked lace rubs against you, the rough texture adding pressure to your most sensitive zones, until you can’t tell if the extra sensation is a blessing or a curse. Your hips jerk forward every so often, unsure if you’d rather lean into or escape his torturous games. Because as amazing as Hoseok’s tongue feels, you know your body well enough to be able to tell that this particular tempo won’t bring you to your peak.

An appetizer, he had called it. That’s exactly what the teasing ministrations feel like - a small sampling before the main course. It’s satisfying and maddening in its own way. Good, but not enough to satisfy your ravenous appetite.

He unearths himself from your dripping core, chin shiny with your juices.

“Keep focus,” he instructs as he slots two fingers inside of you. You’re wet enough that they slide in without too much difficulty, the stretch making your stomach clench. “I thought you said you knew how to cook pasta.”

Against your will, you force yourself to focus on the bubbling water in front of you. As much as you want to push your hips back and ride his fingers until you’re pushed over the edge, you can’t take the humiliation of messing up pasta - even if it is for the sake of a porn scenario.

It’s fucking pasta! You have to be seriously inept to mess up such a simple dish...

But what should have been an effortless task becomes more challenging than expected. Hoseok refuses to go easy on you. If anything, your stubborn silence is all the motivation he needs to thrust his fingers inside of you harder, curving them at an angle that makes your knees wobble. You struggle to keep any incriminating noises at bay but despite your best efforts, several muffled moans slip out one after the other.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, the logical side of you points out how dangerous all of this is. What if, during your impending orgasm, your body seizes up and knocks the boiling water everywhere during the process? You quickly switch off the gas stove at the thought. Better be safe than sorry.

Just then, Hoseok adds his tongue to the mix, his fingers relentless in their pursuit of your pleasure. You bite back a curse as the wooden spoon slips from your hold and clatters to the floor.

“Ah fu - Oh God,” you stutter, hands holding on to the edge of the counter for dear life.

You’ve been eaten out God knows how many times in your life, but not many have instinctively known what really gets you going. Hoseok laps at your core, tongue collecting the moisture that seeps through the fabric of your ruined panties, while his fingers scissor you open for his cock.

Your stomach clenches as you imagine how well he’d fill you up. Who the hell would ever want pasta for dinner when Hoseok could feed you his cock instead? Definitely not you, that’s for sure.

It’s easy to picture it. All he’d need to do is stand up, unzip his pants and spear you open with a practiced roll of his hips. Maybe he’d make you toss a salad while he fucks you from behind, slapping your ass whenever you forget to keep stirring the ingredients together. Or perhaps he’d let you ride his dick on the kitchen floor, too impatient to make it to a more comfortable surface.

Your imagination knows no bounds. Once you start, you can’t stop thinking of more lascivious scenarios, each one more daring and debauched than the last. The heat between your legs becomes unbearable and still, you ache for more.

Hoseok pulls away from the apex of your thighs and snorts, the sound pulling you out of your depraved thoughts. The pace of his thrusting slows down without stopping completely, his fingers still pressed deep within you. Your arms tremble as they try to keep you upright, knuckles white from the strength of your grip around the counter’s edge. You exhale shakily.

A whine works its way into your voice. “Why - why’d you stop?”

Ignoring your protests, he pops his fingers out of you and indulges in one last lick of your swollen pussy, before gathering to his feet. He rolls down your dress back over your bum and peers over your shoulder, acting as nothing had ever happened.

“Thought you said you’d take care of dinner, hm?” Hoseok has the gall to hum in disappointment.

Your mouth opens in outrage. “You!”

Hoseok pouts. “I thought we said you wouldn’t blame me for any soggy pasta.”

“You’re impossible,” you say without any real heat to your words.

“But you love me that way.”

He smiles as he leans in to kiss you, lips sticky and warm. You follow the pace he sets as best you can, unaccustomed to the way he takes his time - like you’re a delicacy that demands to be savored and not gulped down. On-screen kisses are usually rushed, messy, with too much tongue. They’re a scripted affair, more for show than out of real affection. When men tuck back your hair behind your ear or palm your cheek, it’s only to better angle your face for the camera.

There is something intimate about the way he holds you, the way he looks at you. Inwardly, you can't help but admire his acting skills. There’s something tender about the way he handles you that’s distinctly different from any of your previous onscreen partners. Sure, you’ve shot vanilla sex scenes before, but never of this variety. None of the male actors’ performances have made you wish, even fleetingly, foolishly, that the scene was real.

Hoseok pulls up for air before your mind can wander off completely, his panting mouth a hairsbreadth away. Lips touching but not quite.

Blearily, you blink your eyes open. You’re close enough that your noses brush against one another, your breaths mingling together. Hoseok’s eyes remain closed throughout, like he doesn’t want the moment to end. He looks so content that you can’t bring yourself to do anything else but melt further into his embrace, gaze drinking in the minute details of his face - like the tiny moles dotting his cheekbone and upper lip and the pretty curve of his eyes.

“And cut!”

You both jump away from each other, startled. For a second there, the storyline you’d been instructed to follow had slipped from your mind. You’re unsure if the lapse in judgement is good or bad but you don’t let the question linger in your thoughts. You’ll have plenty of time to dissect your performance at a later time.

“Good, good. That wasn’t what I was expecting but I don’t think anyone has any objections?” Director Ryu claps his hands. “Fifteen minute break sound good everyone? Then we’ll relocate to the bedroom to shoot the next part.”

There’s a general hum of agreement from the crew members. Chairs and various other equipment scrape the floor as the personnel prepare to migrate to the other room for filming. Jimin’s gaze meets yours briefly but all he can do is smile weakly in your direction before he’s ordered to help push some of the equipment down the hall.

Someone comes up to you with a bottle of water while another steps closer to blot the beads of sweat near your hairline and reapply a layer of lipstick. The make-up artist knits her brows in concentration until she’s satisfied with the touch-ups. She then moves on to Hoseok, make-up palette and brush at the ready, and grumbles loudly about the sticky residue covering his face. You hear Hoseok bellow a laugh, the sound so infectious that even the make-up artist joins in.

You sip your water through a straw, careful not to smudge your freshly applied lipstick, and check your phone for any missed messages.

“Was all of that okay?”

“Hm?” You look up and are surprised to see Hoseok stare at you expectantly. “I, uh, know some girls aren’t into ass play. I’m sorry. I should’ve asked before jumping the gun but I figured - since you said there wasn’t anything major you were adverse to filming...”

His voice trails off.

“I liked it.” The admission is an easy one. “It did take me by surprise, but - I don’t have any complaints.”

“Ah, really?” Hoseok’s mouth corners upturn in relief. “That’s good to know. I was thinking - for the next scene - what if - I mean, are you okay with calling me Daddy?”

You tilt your head as you mull over the proposition.

“Daddy?”

“It’s not - you don’t have to. But listening to Director Ryu go on earlier made me think of something we could do. I think it fits well with the general idea. What do you think?”

“I’m fine with it.” Using the title doesn’t make you squeamish so you shrug in compliance. It’s not the first you’ve had to incorporate a daddy kink into the scene and it likely won’t be the last. You don’t see why you wouldn’t or shouldn’t do it with Hoseok. “I’ll follow your lead like I’ve been doing.”

It’s only as you’re following him towards the bedroom that you recall that you’ve yet to get to the crux of the scene - the damned impregnation kink. Even though you’re considerably less nervous than you’d been an hour or two ago, the thought of begging someone you barely know for something so intimate makes your stomach flip-flop. You don’t even have unprotected sex with Jimin and he’s your boyfriend.

Speaking of Jimin, you try to sneak in a peck or two before filming but Director Ryu intercepts you before you can make a beeline to where Jimin’s stationed behind a camera.

“How are you feeling?” The overhead light reflects off his round glasses and makes it impossible to hold eye contact unless you want to become semi-permanently blind.

“Good---”

“Wonderful. Well, we’ve positioned cameras here, here, and over there. There’ll be another camera man who’ll film with a handheld camera for closeups. Just keep that in mind. I know we’re giving you free-range to do what you feel is best and most natural but I’d hate to ask you to re-shoot because the camera couldn’t capture the both of you properly.”

You nod and he continues, “Also - please remember that you’re acting as a horny young married couple. I remember at that age I was up for anything, you get what I’m saying? People think just because you put a ring on your finger the sex automatically becomes stale. Fuck that. Show people married couples are freaks in the sheet.”

“Uh... Alright. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He claps a hand over your shoulder. “That’s the spirit.”

Freaks in the sheet? What did he expect you to do? Try out all the sex positions in the Kama Sutra?

“What did he want now?” Hoseok leans over to whisper once you’re seated comfortably on the bed. You’re hoping the mics don’t pick up the conversation but would rather not take the risk of being overheard bad-mouthing the director.

Shrugging, you say, “Just that this scene should be spicier.”

Hoseok raises his brow, lips quirking into a smirk. “That so?”

The same cockiness you’d caught a glimpse of during your escapade in the kitchen is back and the memory you associate it with makes the back of your neck prickle with heat. You clear your throat and avert your eyes.

Thankfully Director Ryu interrupts before Hoseok has the chance to fluster you further. You follow each of the director’s voiced directives until you’re comfortably seated on Hoseok’s lap, dress hitched around your waist because of how far your knees are spread on either side of Hoseok’s thighs. There’s a quick, last minute adjustment as Director Ryu ensures that the camera in the left corner picks up on everything it’s supposed to.

Satisfied, he lets you take the reins from there, then gives the cameras the signal to begin rolling.

You don’t waste a moment, taking his earlier commentary to heart. It’s your turn to pepper kisses all over Hoseok’s golden skin, leaving faint traces of rouge behind like an artist signing their own painting. You stop a few times to admire your work. Lip prints and lavender bite marks color his skin and the sight awakens a possessive streak you didn’t know you had.

Your enthusiasm to mark him up gets a little out of hand.

"Mhm." Hoseok grunts when you lick over a sensitive spot under his jaw. "Slow down, princess. There's no rush. We have all night."

He cups his chin between his hands so you have no choice but to relent and direct your gaze up at him. You’re pleased to see that he’s not completely indifferent to your touch; despite his instructions to take it slow, the smoldering look in his eyes tell a different story.

He runs the pad of his thumb over your lower lip, the pink flesh no doubt swollen. You take the digit in your mouth, unprompted, and run your tongue against its underside, wishing that his cock could fill your mouth instead.

Hoseok makes a noise low in his throat, not quite a growl but close.

"And I intend to take my time with you." The look he levels you with promises a night full of mind-numbing pleasure. Ribbons of heat curl around the base of your spine. "Want to make you feel good."

"You do," you agree, words muffled around the thumb you refuse to let go of.

You take a hold of his wrist and free your mouth, only to quickly replace it with his forefinger and middle finger. The stretch of two digits makes you moan lewdly.

Hoseok’s eyes darken. He lets you play for a few more seconds before he takes back control, his fingers pushing deeper into your mouth until they hit the back of your throat. You swallow down a gag, but his fingers don’t let you rest for long. He drags them over the flat of your tongue, watching as spit dribbles down past the sides of your mouth, and repeats the motion, pumping into your mouth steadily like he would a cock.

As nice as it feels to be filled with his fingers, whether in your cunt or mouth, you’re ready for more. Subconsciously, your hips grind down in his lap, shifting this way and that until you’re perfectly seated over his hardened length.

Drool is pushed out of your mouth as Hoseok squeezes a third fingers in with the other two. You suck harder, hoping that all your efforts will spur Hoseok into finally fucking you. The knowledge that he has to, at one point or another, keeps you from whining and begging pathetically for his cock. You can exercise patience if you put your mind to it; you’re sure of it.

Your on-screen husband decides to test that resolve.

His other hand starts to wander south, his fingers toying with the short hem of your dress that’s been rucked up even higher with all your rocking and grinding. The movement of your hips slow, your brain unable to keep up with the stimuli coming in all directions.

A crack resounds in the room, the sharp sound startling you more than the sting that accompanies it. Hoseok’s palm rubs over the heated area, only inflaming it further.

“And who told you you could stop?”

The second slap is notably harsher than the first, and your hips automatically lurch forward hoping perhaps to lessen the impact of the sting.

You know he doesn’t expect a verbal answer; his second hand keeps your mouth plugged up, making any attempt at talking unintelligible. It doesn’t stop you from trying, only because you know the muffled protest are greatly appreciated amongst viewers. And if the way Hoseok’s digs his fingers into your smarting ass cheek is any indicator, you’re confident that he also enjoys your squirming and messy display.

“Keep moving, princess. I need both your holes nice and wet.”

The way his voice dips an octave makes your stomach twist in arousal. You long to tell him that you’re sufficiently wet enough for him to slide his cock inside right away but all you manage are pitiful garbled words.

He raises an eyebrow at your delayed response and your hips move before he can smack the globes of your ass for a third time. You have an inkling he’ll only hit harder with the intention of leaving marks of his own all over your skin.

It’s a careful balancing act, but you figure it out as you go. Bounce too fast and the fingers in your mouth will make you gag. Move too slowly for his liking and he won’t hesitate to add to the collection of handprints on your ass.

You lose track of how long he makes you play this game. Your mind focuses on sucking while keeping your jaw slack enough to accomadate the width of three digits. Drool pools down your chin, and you’re certain whatever the make-up artist had done to your lips is now ruined. Worse off are your panties. At the stage they’re at now, you’ll have no choice but to throw them out. Hoseok’s pants might need be as unsalveagable as your thong, you think inwardly, judging by the large, dark wet spot you’re currently sitting on.

“Mmh, good girl.”

He gently slides his fingers out, strings of saliva attached. He hums in satisfaction at the lewd sight and rubs his fingers across your swollen lips and shiny chin, spreading the fluids and what’s left of your lipstick over your mouth. You swallow, mouth sore from being used roughly for so long.

“This hole is sufficiently wet, I think,” he appraises, eyelashes fluttering before he casts a long look down your body until it reaches where you’re seated on his clothed erection. “Let’s check this one too.”

The way he smirks at you but makes no move to check himself lets you know that he expects you to do the work.

You let your hands trail down your body slowly, cupping your breasts as you do, enjoying his hooded gaze and the way his cock twitches beneath you a bit too much. When you reach the hem of your dress, you lift your hips up to pull the fabric up to your navel giving an unobstructed view of your lace-covered pussy.

Hoseok stare intensifies but you don’t feel any embarrassment from the scrutiny. “Well you certainly look ripe.”

His fingers toy with the delicate string of lace around your hips. He lets the material snap against your skin a few times before he grows bored or impatient with his own game and gives the lace a harsh yank. It tears easily and the leftover scraps fall into his lap.

“... But just to be sure -” His hands grip your waist and manhandle you onto your hands and knees. Your head spins from how suddenly he’s moved you around to his liking that your arms give out and you fall face first into the clean smelling bed sheets. “Gotta give my favorite hole of yours a better look.”

His hands hoist your hips at a higher angle so that your soaked center is visible for the cameras to pan onto. Hoseok slides in two fingers easily, then a third. Loud, obscene noises echo in the otherwise quiet room, noises that are quickly joined by your unabashed moans of pleasure.

Your core is on fire. Hoseok’s fingers are just as good as you remember them to be. No, better. The three fingers pump into you in measured strokes, the drag slow enough to keep you dangling over the edge without pushing you over.

Hoseok spanks your ass, hissing between his teeth as you clench around his fingers, no doubt imagining your inner walls hugging his cock instead.

“Christ. You’re always such a soft, wet little thing down here,” he croons in dulcet tones. “I could play with you all day.”

You thrust your hips back, shameless.

“Please! Please Daddy, I’ll be so good, I just - please - I nuh, need it. Need your cock fucking me full. I’ll take it so good, you know I will. Want you to - please! Daddy, I need your cum.”

“Shit.”

He fumbles in his haste to flip you onto your back. He crawls over your body, and you watch fascinated as he dives down to kiss you like a man starved. He looks almost feral, pupils so dilated the brown of his eyes is almost gone.

Heat blooms in your stomach as he kisses you deeply. The press of his lips against yours renders you a little less coherent as time ticks on, every brush of his tongue making you a little more dizzy with want.

Everything about him burns. It feels like being kissed by the sun itself. Every caress, every lick and nip leaves you feverish all over, like your drunk off his touch.

"Let me," he says, pinching the zipper of your dress between his thumb and index finger.

You wrap your hand around his and guide his movements. His gaze never leaves yours and it makes shivers run down your back. Even though you're the one controlling his movements for the time being, the look in his eyes makes it abundantly clear that the control you wield is only temporary.

When your dress finally falls open, you try not to preen too much under the reverent look that falls over Hoseok’s face. Your back arches a little off the bed, pert breasts thrust towards him - an appealing offer he doesn’t dare refuse.

Hoseok circles a thumb around your nipple, rubbing and flicking until it hardens into a stiff peak.

You wonder, distantly, how this looks like from the outside looking in. The man in front of you is a stranger in all senses of the word. Yet the way he touches you - like there are years of built-up affection behind every gesture - makes you second guess everything you know.

"Fuckin' love your tits.” He sighs, awe reflected in the dark of his eyes. "Love playing with them. Love how wet it gets you, how hungry your little pussy gets."

"Please,” you mewl, his words igniting a new wave of heat. It rolls over your body, leaving no extremity untouched. You burn from the inside out with raw desire.

You squeeze your own breasts in a bid to get him to touch you more. Hoseok merely chuckles, finding your desperation entertaining. One of his hands reach down between you to play with the wetness that clings to your core like a second skin and it takes everything inside of you not to rub yourself against him like a bitch in heat.

"What is it, princess?" His lips quirk into a smirk like he already knows the answer. "You're looking quite needy. How did you manage to hold it in all this time?"

“Stop teasing,” you growl, the lack of friction making you irritable. "I need your cock. And why - why do you have so many fucking clothes on?”

He chuckles, chest vibrating in amusement.

“Take them off,” you insist. Then, you grudgingly tack on a “Please” for good measure.

As hot as Hoseok looks like in his “work clothes”, he looks infinitely better naked, you decide as he chucks off his button-down shirt and gets started on his leather belt. With each new piece of clothing that gets discarded, the anticipation building inside of you skyrockets.

You take a moment to soak in his lithe figure, not bothering to hide how affected you are by the view. He’s nicely sculpted; you can tell right away that he takes care of himself. Swimming or dancing maybe? You hesitate between the two. His muscles are lean, nothing like the bulging biceps and thick forearms typical of the stereotypical gym rat.

Hoseok’s dick is, unsurprisingly, as pretty as the rest of him. It’s long and curved, a prominent vein running along its underside. The thatch of pubic hair that rests above his dick is neatly trimmed, the dark hair contrasting with the tan skin of his abdomen and the rosy hue of his erect length. Your eyes swoop down his thighs, licking your lips unwittingly at the alluring sight presented to you.

“Daddy,” you say, the whine in your voice unmistakable. “Want your cock.”

For a brief moment you’re tricked into believing he’s given in to your demand, but find yourself disappointed when he contents himself with rubbing his hardened member between your thighs, the glide slippery thanks to the copious amount of your essence that’s pooled there.

“Like this?” Hoseok asks, tone too sweet to be anything but mocking. The head of his cock bumps into your swollen bundle of nerves one, two, three times. You keen, your hips canting upwards in a bid to get more friction. “Want to rut against me until you get nice and creamy?”

He uses his right hand to spread your slick lower lips so that he can nestle his cock snuggly between them. He rolls his hips, the undulations fluid and dirty, and smirks at how you moan brokenly beneath him.

Your stomach clenches. “Need it in me."

"You'll get it," he promises after kissing you sloppily, lips sucking on your tongue. His breath is ragged but his voice steady, firm. "I'll give you everything you need. Make you cum so many times you know who owns this sweet pussy."

He speaks so surely, carries himself with so much confidence, that in the moment you can't help but believe him. The line between staged and reality blurs and you find yourself nodding eagerly, begging him as best you can to give you what you want.

The first tentative push of his dick wipes you clean of coherency. He slowly eases himself into you, reaching forward to lace his fingers with yours. It’s - more intimate than you expected. He squeezes your hand tightly in his when he finally manages to bury his entire length inside of you.

“Perfect.” He kisses the side of your temple before drawing back, his hard cock dragging deliciously against you. With a fluid hip thrust, he slides back in and you feel the stretch moreso this time around. The curvature of his cock has him pressing up against your walls in a way that robs you of breath.

"Daddy! Hh - ah, oh God. You're too b-big."

"Mhm, that's right. Daddy's fat cock is splitting you open. I'll plug you up with it later so none of my cum will leak out."

Every time he pulls back, your pussy clamps down tightly around him, unwilling to be empty even for a second.

Hoseok’s nostrils flare in arousal. He grabs your left tit and squeezes, using it as a hold to better fuck into you. With his body hovering above yours, his hand staking claim of your breast, and his cock drilling into you, you have nowhere to go. Pinned to the bed and unable to do anything but take everything he delivers, you wrap your legs around his waist and moan.

"Daddy's gonna fuck some babies into you,” he rasps, his eyes dark pools of lust. "Gonna breed your sweet pussy over and over. You'll be so full of my cum that you'll be pregnant with my babies for sure."

“Oh fuck. Yes, yes - oh my nhhg.” You sob as Hoseok drives his cock into you with more force. While the piston of his hips isn’t rushed, he pulls out to the tip only to slam back in to the hilt every time. The stretch burns in a good way and the sound of your moans are rivaled only by the wet, obscene sounds from your coupling.

"Fuck. Your cunt just - shit." He cracks down a hand against your ass and you shriek, not expecting it. "You're so tight, holy shit."

"Want it. Want you to fuck me good."

"I will," he says lowly, the promise reverberating deep in his chest. "I'll fuck you until you're begging me to stop. Fill you up so much, you'll be bloated with it."

And it should freak you out, the imagery he paints with his words, but the thought of laying there and him fucking you so well that you won't be able to feel your legs has you gushing out more wetness.

"Mmmh.” Maybe he can feel how soaked you are because he comments, “This is my favorite hole of yours, princess. Always so fuckin' drenched. I bet we’ll have to throw out the sheets again." He chuckles. "You must be hungry for it, right? I made you wait so long. No wonder your pussy is clenching like that. It needs a big, fat cock to milk dry."

“I missed it,” you cry, body skidding a little higher up the duvet each time he fucks into you. Your eyelashes flutter, lids heavy. It’s hard to concentrate, let alone form words, when your brain feels like complete mush. “I - I need your cum. Daddy, please.”

"Don't worry, gorgeous. I've got you. Daddy will feed your cute pussy his cock."

"Th-thank you, Daddy."

"Love you," he murmurs. It’s a quiet confession, lost somewhere in between the mattress creaks, the loud slaps of Hoseok’s hips slamming against yours, and the string of whimpers and groans pulled from your throat. It’s quiet but you hear it.

One of your hands reach up to pull him down by the neck so that your lips meet. He kisses you open-mouthed. It’s a filthy kiss, one that makes you moan into his mouth. You’re certain that if you had been standing your knees would have wobbled.

When you let up for air, Hoseok’s staring you down, his red-bitten lips plump and shiny.

"Love this pussy. So sweet and wet for me. Always for fucking swollen, like it's waiting to get a pounding. Love that. Love how eager you are to be bred by my thick cock."

The impregnation kink is - a bit much. You've never really imagined having kids, at least not anytime soon. You can’t even keep your plants alive for fuck’s sake.

But the way he suggests it is nothing like what you had imagined. His suggestions are - vulgar and primal. Like the urge to fuck you full of his cum is biological and he can’t smother it.

For a moment, you let yourself entertain the thought of being his breeding bitch - of laying on your back and letting him fuck load after load of cum inside you until your pussy physically can't accommodate any more. Of not having any other worries or thoughts but take his cock every moment of the day.

"You just got tighter.” He curses under his breath, voice thick with arousal. "Such a warm little hole. Taking everything I give it. You'd take anything if it meant getting bred by me, right?"

“Yes, yes,” you chant, pleasure coiling inside of you. “Give me more! I need it."

"Shit. You can't handle more, princess," he tries to reason. "Daddy needs to be gentle with you. Your hole is so small, it'll hurt if I go harder."

"Daddy promised to fuck me.” You whine, uncaring if you sound too bratty and demanding. "B- Breed my hole. It's yours. Puh-please use me."

"God." Hoseok groans, his features twisting in what looks to be pain or pleasure. With tremendous effort he pulls himself out of you and your eyes widen in panic.

“What? Daddy why? I thought—”

He shushes you, reaching somewhere overhead to grab a fluffy pillow. "Just wait a sec, okay? There you go.”

The pillow is placed underneath your hips, keeping them elevated. When Hoseok takes his glistening cock in hand and directs it back in, you both moan in unison.

"Oh fuck, I’m gonna, ah,” you gasp as your mind goes blank with pleasure. The new angle is heaven on earth. It’s almost too much, too quick, but Hoseok’s firm grip on your hips prevents you from alleviating the pressure.

"Take it." He grunts, brows knit together. Every powerful snap of his hips makes your breasts bounce, your breath hitch. Without his hands keeping you pinned down, your head would have collided with the headboard by now. "Be a good princess and take your fucking."

He gains momentum, the new angle facilitating the slide of his cock. He drags the flat of his palm down your thigh and takes a hold of your knee before hoisting it up over your shoulder. The stretch burns the back of your calves but you’re so fucked out, you can’t even find the words to complain.

When you glance up, it’s to fall upon the sight of Hoseok brushing his sweaty fringe out of his face. His cheeks are flushed pink, his skin dewy from the film of perspiration wrapped around his body. Beads of sweat trickle down his heaving chest but he chooses to forgo a quick break. On the contrary, he pushes in deeper like he’s determined to carve out a permanent space for his cock.

"Just gonna keep you here,” he huffs, his eyes the shade of cloudless night sky. “Everyday I'll fuck my cum back inside of you so that you'll always stay full. Want to fuck you forever. Don't want this to end."

"Want it too," you sob, orgasm hovering just on the periphery. "Want you to keep me full forever. Ugh - oh fuck! Hoseok- I'm—"

"You gonna cum around my cock, princess?" He angles his hips downwards, relishing in the wanton cry it elicits. "Gonna give me everything?"

"I'm yours," you profess, jaw slack with pleasure.

It doesn’t take much more for the orgasm to crash over you, Hoseok fucks you through it, groaning as your inner walls spasm around him. He breathes out curses, lip drawn tight between his lips, and doesn’t wait for the last waves of your orgasm to abate to chase after his own end.

In the throes of your pleasure, it doesn’t register then that Hoseok has been holding back all this time. If you thought he had been fucking you hard before, it’s nothing compared to now. He growls and bends forward, forcing your leg to stretch even more, and pushes in and out of you at a pace that makes you scream.

You don’t even have time to come down from your first high that you’re already thrown towards your second. Hoseok plugs your mouth up using two digits, his fingers a firm pressure against your tongue. Your eyes roll back, too overwhelmed from the feeling of being stuffed on both ends.

“God, I could fuck your holes all fucking day.” His rhythm begins to falter as the pressure inside of him grows, his movements frantic and less controlled than they’ve ever been. “How about that? I’ll fuck my princess’ mouth properly next time, stretch it out nicely. Then you’ll let me have your ass, hm?”

Shit, shit, you whimper around his fingers, spit bubbling down the sides on your mouth. It’s scary knowing you have no way to stop the oncoming destruction.

“Yeah, I can tell you love that. You’re gonna cream my dick again, aren’t you?” You can’t tell if the sound he makes is a laugh or a grunt. All you know is that you feel like you’re about to burst. “C’mon, be a good girl and milk my cum out. You better get every last drop.”

There’s an underlying threat in his command. You do your best to obey his words, not wanting to disappoint.

Hoseok pushes his cock in as deep as it can go and grinds his hips into yours. His cock reaches so deep that you swear he might hit your cervix. And considering the nature of the scene you’re portraying, maybe that’s what he intends.

He swipes his fingers through the mess of your cunt, zeroing in on your sensitive clit. He swirls some of your fluids over it before giving it a sharp pinch that makes you cry out. Your hips fly off the pillow but Hoseok is quick to pin you back down. The never-ending drag of his cock along your walls paired with the rough ministrations to your clit is all you need for the pressure inside you to snap.

Above you, Hoseok moans, low and throaty, as he finally dumps rope after rope of warm cum inside of you. He throws his head back, exposing the collar of purplish bruises you sucked onto his skin earlier. Something about the view satisfies you immensely - not that you’d dare voice these thoughts out loud.

Hoseok’s strength gives out and he sags onto your body, his breath warm against your skin. He feels hot, like a furnace, but strangely it’s not uncomfortable. It’s almost like having a personal heating pad; the soreness of your muscles melts away with each passing moment.

Much to your displeasure, your post-coital bliss doesn’t last forever. He's given the signal to pull out and obeys, careful to keep your hips propped up so that his load of cum won’t slosh out. He’s still got a role to play, after all, and the end goal is to get you pregnant.

A cameraman walks forward to zoom in on your swollen and used pussy - physical proof of your exploits. The haze lifts. You become more aware of the people standing on the outskirts of your vision, lighting or sound equipment in hand.

“And that’s a wrap!” Director Ryu calls, his cheeks stretched to accommodate the width of his grin. “Good job everybody!”

You breathe out a sigh, glad your day is finally over. Seokjin walks up to you with a robe for you to throw on and you nod in thanks, slipping the satin gown over your sweaty body.

Around you, the staff start milling about, putting the equipment away and gathering their belongings. You pay them no heed, your attention focused on getting changing into showering and changing into comfortable clothes. You’re in the middle of taming your messy hair when your stomach erupts into growls, reminding you of your hungry state. What you’d do for a big slice of piz—

You remember your date with Jimin and speed up, not wanting to make him wait around for you any longer. It’s not hard to spot him - he’s waiting outside of your dressing room, can of coke in hand.

Something about his smile feels off.

Maybe it’s the way his eye corners don’t crease or the slight strain the curve of his mouth that betray him.

Your expression falls. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing - it’s nothing, don’t worry,” he says after a short, tense moment of silence. The look on your face must have reflected your feelings of doubt because he proceeds by reaching out and pulling you tight against him. Pressed up against his shirt, you can smell the faintest trace of the fabric softener he uses and its scent, familiar and sweet, mollifies you somewhat. “You did amazing today, baby. As usual.”

The compliment you’ve been waiting for makes the sides of your lips rise automatically. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Almost too well.” He hums, one of his hands stroking the back of your head.

“Well, I can’t take all the credit, “ you admit. “The results wouldn’t have been half as good if Hoseok hadn’t been my partner. He’s new in the game but he doesn’t act like it, does he?”

“He doesn’t, no.” Jimin agrees. “He’s... he’s something, alright.”

Your grin widens. All your worrying had been for nothing, in the end. The shoot had gone without a hitch, all of the set members coming up to you with praises of a job well done. You can’t recall the last time any of your performances had elicited such a response post-filming. Even Director Ryu looks particularly pleased, a permanent grin etched onto his features as he reviews the tapes. The knowledge that you’ve done well fills you with a pleasant giddiness that warms your insides and makes your cheeks hurt from how wide your smile stretches.

“Oh good, you’re still here.” Hoseok beams. A damp towel hangs around his neck and the ends of his hair are wet like he’s just gone and doused his head under the bathroom faucet. “I was worried you had left. I just - thanks for earlier. I had a lot of fun! If the chance presents itself, I hope we can work together again.”

“Thank you.” You want to praise him too, know that his performance deserves it, but your next words are cut off before they have the chance to form. Jimin steps closer to you, his grip on your hip tightening suddenly.

When you glance up to check on your boyfriend, he’s sporting a serious expression that you’ve rarely seen before. He doesn’t look angry, but it’s clear as day that he isn’t too pleased with the present situation. His face is closed off, cold, unwelcoming - so drastically different from the usual cherubic sweetness you’re accustomed to seeing.

You’re at a loss for words, unsure of who to address first. What’s going on?

Hoseok senses the sudden change in atmosphere and chooses to tactfully retreat.

“Good work, man.” He nods at Jimin and then shoots you a wave. “See you around sometime, ______ !”

Your eyes follow his exit before you turn to face Jimin again, hoping the smile on your face masks the worry you feel bubbling on the inside.

“Jimin what - I mean, are you sure you're okay?”

Jimin returns a strained smile of his own. “I’m fine.”

Your gaze lands on his right hand that’s still squeezing your waist. It borders on uncomfortable but you try not to let it show. You must not do a very good job at schooling your features because Jimin quickly apologizes for his behavior.

“Sorry.” Jimin lets you go once he notices your discomfort. “I just - I don’t know. You’re right, I’m not acting like myself. I think...seeing you say that stuff and act that way just - I’m not sure why, I guess - Since usually the sex isn’t like that, it caught me off guard.”

“You didn’t like that I acted like I was in love with him.”

“Would anyone?” he shoots back, smile sardonic. “It just looked so convincing in the moment. I guess it got me worked up.”

Sure, Hoseok is hot. If you had to work with him again, you would in a heartbeat. It’s not often you land a colleague you’re so sexually compatible with, who also happens to be so well-mannered and good-looking. It’s like hitting the jackpot, really.

But - just because you’d fuck him again for professional reasons, doesn’t mean that you’re interested in him beyond that.

“Jimin. I don’t want to be with anybody else but you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” The muscles in his face relax. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

It’s not until later, as he fucks you uncharacteristically hard in the backseat of his car parked in the back lot of the film studio, that you begin to wonder if things really are as idyllic as you believe them to be.

#wow so this took a decade and a half to finish but it's finally here !#final part should be up by the end of the month : )#bts smut #hoseok smut #hoseok #also warning i didn't proofread the smut scene yet so rip if there are any mistakes

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hiimsociallyawkward · 4 years

Text

the darkest hour pt 2

i'm back with my bs. this is for my bestie @lady-ofmagic-andstars. basically, all of my dumb thoughts while i watched 'darkest hour pt 2', 04.02 of merlin. in case you weren't aware.. ✨spoilers✨

right off the bat i'm sad

ok when i first watched this i was really confused. i mean, you see others when they interact with the dorocha have that perpetual frost on their face right? all of them, every single one. so imagine my surprise when merlin has no frost on his face, and he's miserable yea- but he's not dead??

like tbh, watching this again, ik why but when i first watched this, i was SO confused.

arthur looks so worried slkdjfalskfsd

him being willing to abandon the mission to get merlin back to camelot to be treated 😔🤪😎🤤🤩 lots of emotions

LANCELOT. of course it's lancelot. santiago is perfect. actually.

merlin looks so SICKLY. it physically pains me to see him like that

okok hahaa. the scene where percival is carrying merlin. i have several notes on that.

1) ik it's supposed to be all 'noble' looking. yk? them walking in slow mo, percival carrying merlin like he's been slained in battle. knights looking knightly

ALL I CAN FOCUS ON IS THE LACK OF PROPER NECK SUPPORT FOR MERLIN. PLS TELL ME I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE.

like pls

second note, idk why this remind me of hagrid carrying harry back

idk maybe that's just me but it feels oddly reminiscent

colin is SO pale my heart is actually hurting for him what the heck

asf;lsdjfa;lsdfj 'take me with you' stop.

dude they ACTUALLY care about each other. i just love them. arthur is so worried rn and while i'm like 'alsjfalsdj i don't want arthur to be sad and worried' we can see just how MUCH arthur cares about merlin.

like yea, we KNOW that they care about each other. but arthur is the prince and merlin's a servant so arthur can't have friends, but they're friends, and they care, and it makes me happy

ok it's sad and everything that merlin's basically dying but is it bad of me that i chuckle at merlin SLUMPED over on his horse?? probably.

but i mean, merlin is already raising himself up so he can sit more comfortably on the horse. ik that doesn't mean that he's in the clear yet, but he's doing a LOT better than the other people who ran into the dorocha. idk where i'm going with this

to quote the destiny and chicken podcast (who i love btw, if you want an awesome merlin podcast, check them out), they stay on arthur's face for SO long after merlin and lancelot leave.

i feel EVERYTHING that arthur is feeling in this moment. he's so pretty

there's another beautiful landscape. i'm not even sorry i'm gonna attach them ALL.

tell me that's not gorgeous

LMAO WHAT IS GWAINE DOING IN THAT TREE.

gwaine is the EMBODIMENT of 'boys will be boys' when he sticks his hand into that tree and gets swarmed by bees.

he's adorable and i love him

ok but also, someone tell me why capes are so hot. someone TELL me.

separate from the episode but on the note of capes being hot, i want a cloak SO BADLY. like the whole gist. floor length, big hooded cloak. why?? it's not like i'm sneaking anywhere but still. ✨cloak✨

ok the line where leon goes 'if anyone can get merlin back to camelot, it's lancelot' and arthur's face?? idk what to make of it. someone help me pls.

ok actually this probably isn't the best reaction shot but someone please help

the only thing i can think of is that arthur momentarily forgot and was reminded that merlin was in danger bc of him?

another thought is that he thinks he should take merlin back instead of lancelot?

ik for a fact you guys are better at analysising this stuff than i am so pls, thoughts?

i love lancelot so much. first time i watched this, i was CRUSHED

him carrying merlin to the lake(?) pond(?) area and then covering him with his cape? i love it

ok idk why but i love the idea of merlin instinctively going towards the water

it makes me think back to how he's made of magic and basically everywhere, espeically nature, has magic and instinctively- he wants to connect with nature as much as he can so his body just puts his hand in the water

a dumber thought i had, his hand is ✨sparkly✨in the water HAHAH

omg when the water called lancelot i deadass thought it was freya. i'm actually dumb i have WATCHED this before and i STILL thought it was freya

'a future that has been written since the dawn of time' makes me so proud but also so sad at the same time

it's like, yes, merlin is going to 'save the world' but it's like he's there just to do that. anyways, i just want him to be happy

MORE SPARKLY

these water spirts are op but also MORE SPARKLY. hehe i thin kthat's so funny

also, i'm literally only like 7 mins in. buckle yourself in

l;askdjflskdjf arthur going into the tunnels with the wilderons?? i miss merlin ouch. AND THE GAJA BERRIES. arthur misses merlin.

ok percival tackling gwaine?? cuties ;))

heheheeh gwaine kicking a skull and then running directly behind arthur for protection?? pls stop. i already love you

HAHA OK. THEM WEARING THE GAJA BERRIES ON THEIR FACE REMINDS ME OF THIS FACE MASK . THAT'S LITERALLY HOW I LOOK WITH THAT THIS FACE MASK ON HAHAA

yes im dumb, but the 5 of them slowly peeking over the rock and then ducking back down?? i love that so much they're so cute

omg what's wrong with me. not these knights literally FEARING their lives and me going 'they're so cute'

ANYWAYS

gwaine you absolute dumbass. smh merlin just took it but you just HAD to stab it. #cancelled

FRICK. YOU. AGRAVAINE.

YES. i have a love hate relationship with gaius, but BUST into the council room. king energy right there

smh gaius you pUSH over.

I LOVE GWEN RIGHT HERE

YES

FIGHT FOR WHAT IS RIGHT

DON'T LET ALL THOSE SMELLY OLD COUNCILMEN PUSH YOU AROUND

THIS IS ACTUALLY QUEEN SH!T RIGHT HERE EVERYONE ELSE CAN LEAVE

stfu agravaine 'gueniviere'. ST F UP

ok gwen. pop OFF

you KNOW that arthur would've fought agravaine on this. GO GWEN for speaking her mind

oh look at me with anotehr fic rec. sort of, not really. ok but this scene with gwen talking about all the villagers remind of this fic called To Love, Honor, and Piss Off by @thenerdyindividual .

ok so it's basically a fic where basically merlin and arthur have this 'arranged marriage' type thing for 3 years, and merlin is arthur's 'common consort'. what that means is that arthur marries merlin as a show of good faith and to learn more about what it means to be a commoner- merlin giving arthur the tea about commoner life

anywAYS. check that our if you want, but i loved it

stfu 'i feel the pain as much as you' agravaine. hop off my dick

YES. GWEN. PLANT THAT SEED OF DOUBT THAT AGRAVAINE MIGHT NOT BE ALL THAT HE SEEMS. i love gwen :,)

wow when she's intellegent with her speaking so everyone HAS to side with her but also respectful so NO ONE can get mad at her?? i stan. i ACTUALLY stan

santiago is so pretty

the PANIC in his voice. i stan.

HAHA AND MERLIN'S SNARKY 'SHH'

merlin is ready to GO. he's like, sorry for almost dying. that was ill advised of me.

i'm actually soft for any displays of friendship ever. what does that mean about me 💀 KIDDING. anyways..

i love the *swing* *duck* 'yea, not as quick as arthur

sa;kfs;akdfj lancelot insisting that merlin go back to camelot and merlin just nOt

LADS

stop rn. lancelot's face when merlin turns away. i am in pAin. I AM SO SAD OVER LANCELOT. PLS LANCELOT.

this isn't exactly, but morgana's paleness from here on out reminded me of merlin when he was literally DYING.

anyways, that's my note on that

like, yes- i get it- morgana is evil now. but idk should i feel bad for her? she looks so pale and ghasty and just :(

aksfhaskdjfas;ldf morgana

HAHA MORGANA IS SO EDGY IN THIS MOMENT. 'I'D RATHER DROWN IN MY OWN BLOOD THAN SEE THAT DAY' SO DRAMATIC. WHY IS SHE SO EMO/GOTH. LIKE IK I SHOULD BE SCARED FOR WHAT THAT MEANS BUT I CAN'T STOP LAUGHING

stfu don't kill gwen i'll KiLl you

agravaine literally needs to die

stop. i am literally SCREAMING when agravaine is asking gwen to meet him in his chambers. PLS. STOP. STOP STOP STOP. I NEED A WHISLTE. I BITE MY THUMB AT AGRAVAINE. HE NEEDS TO SACK THE HATEFUL MANSION. BETTER YET I'LL BURN HIS MANSION

again, someone tell me why capes are so hot. especially these red ones?? i'm in love with them.

ok see this guy?? he just died with the forst on his face. not merlin?? he started getting better. surly that should've tipped them off that merlin was different

merlin's little head quirk when he does magic. ALSFJASLDFJAS MERLIN. NO ONE SAID YOU WERE USELESS. AND IF THEY DID I WOULD BEAT. THEM. UP. GIVE ME ADDRESS RN.

wow. seriously. i'm gonna attach all the pretty landscape pictures

morgana's like 'i'll cut a b!tch'. ok ik morgana's evil and everything, but morgana flinging that guard against the wall is bad ass

oh this is weird but gwen telling agravaine to 'show courage' but the whole room tinted green? ik this isn't harry potter or anything but idk i thought that was interesting. i'm not abt to go into if i think agravaine is a slytherin or what but still

STOP. GET. YOUR. HANDS. AWAY. FROM. HER. I ACTULALY HATE HIM. SHE'S SO UNCOMFORTABLE. BACK THE FRICK UP AGARAVINE.

morgana :( smh you can't deny that morgana and gwen carried for each other and morgana flinging gwen away is making me sad. don't touch me

asldjfasldasd 'you're never alone' elyan i love you

lancelot and merlins being lads. omg no them talking about gwen

lancelot is SO noble. stop this reminds me of Die for you in secret by @emrysofmagic so much right now. not gonna lie. your fic LITERALLY lives in my head rent free and sometimes i think of it and my heart just HURTS in those last few chapeters. PHYSICALLy. i am in pain. anyways.

stop the trope where it's like "i love them, but i just want them to be happy. it doesn't matter if they're with me or not. i just want them to be happy"

I WAS LITERALLY SCREECHING AS MERLIN WAS CALLING KILGHARRAH i'm not even capping

ok so it's been like a month ish since i've watched merlin bc i was waiting for @//f-f-podcast 's destiny and chicken podcast, so i don't exactly what terms kilgharrah and merlin are at right now

still i think it's very sweet of merlin to bow slightly when kilgharrah looks at him

'the bravest and most noble of them all' 🥺

aw. merlin is really saying good bye right now

ok this scene is weird bc like i said, i don't rlly remember how merlin and kilgharrah are right now but it still makes me sad

asldjfslakdjfasd merlin and kilgharrah are old friends now. that makes me happy but sad at the same time

ok the 'it will be an empty world without you, young warlock' kills me.

obviously, we know that even though they butt heads, kilgharrah and merlin both care about each other

not only is kilgharrah being forced to let merlin go right now, but he's making peace with the fact that he'll be alone

the last dragonlord is planning to die. and kilgharrah is going to be alone again, like he was in that cave.

another thing is that if merlin died rn then we would never have aithusia. i'm kinda going on a tangent now but idk this scene is sad

this forest is so pretty

literally just lancelot's face and lancelot in this whole episode.

that's my note

HAHA GWAINE BURNING IS SOCKS

LADS BEING LADS

I LOVE THEM

omg i always see posts about this.

like merlin and lancelot planned that lancelot was going to walk in first and trick them and THEN merlin walked in

that's so funny to me. they're SO dramatic HAHAH

merlin looks so happy

BRO

ARTHUR

JUST HUG

HIM

PLS

STO

JUST HUG HIM WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM

Tell me why they actually look MARRIED here. PLS

🥲🥲 SELF SACRIFICING IDIOTS I LOVE YOU BOTH YOURE BREAKING MY HEART

LADS I LOVE THEM

🤠🤠 arthur wanting Gwen to be happy is KILLING ME. He loves her so much

This is so pretty. Honestly like how

Who let merlin have this many pretty landscapes

HOENSTLY

Lajs;dlkfajd buds in a boat together.

This reminds me of going to amusement parks and there’s always that boat ride

They’re the cutest

Ok so they also have this picture. It’s actually 3 pictures spliced together because the episode pans down and it’s really badly spliced (sorry) but LOOk how pretty that is.

WTF

Omg not me literally copying merlin with his slow mo head flick at the wyverns to make them go away

;sldkfjasdlkjasd leon percival and elyan and my heart.

Ok i’m not even gonna try to lie. They all have my heart

Frick you cailleah

Omg i was like ‘gwaine you dumbass’ jK i love him. Pls don’t come for my neck

Asldjfasldjfka ‘i’m prepared to pay whatever price is necessary’

HAHA CAN YOU NOT. WHAT IS WITH THIS CREEPY ‘COME HITHER’ HAND MOTION MS CAILLEAH

Stopp rn. ‘It’s my density

STOP. I AM HOWLING. LANCELOT

WHY

COME BACK

NO NONO PLS. YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME.

stop rn merlin is all alone.

PAN TO ARTHUR WHO IS LITERALLY SURROUNDED BY EVERYONE.

Stop they all look so sad. I’m so sad.

merlin looks like he’s cried

I’m not sure abt arthur with his ‘no man is worth your tears’ type business but still

I am ✨sad✨

I screamed at this picture. I am depressed

Anyways

Gwen’s face is killing me

I’m so sad i don’t even want to write commentaries

Arthur realizing that lancelot only died because he loved gwen

Gwen standing in front of the fire

Aslkdfjasldjfa im so sad

HER STANDING IN FRONT OF THE FIRE ALL ALONE.

I. AM. SO. SAD.

STFU THAT THRONE IS NOT “RIGHTFULLY” YOURS MORGANA

STOP PLS GET AWAY

WHAT IS WITH THIS WEIRD TENSION

PLS DO NOT STAND WITHIN KISSING DISTANCE

IK YOU’RE NOT TECHNICALLY BLOOD RELATED BUT STILL.

PLEASE.

STOP.

I HATE AGRAVAINE

✨we hate agravaine in this house✨

😭😭 not merlin having ANOTHER secret. I’m so sorry bby

Anyways! I’ll be back next week to rant more about the wicked day so I’ll see you then! thanks I love you bye

22 notes · View notes

theunvanquishedzims · 3 years

Text

The Michigan Fleet authors posted their AUs so here are mine

theunvanquishedzims: I have SO MANY Boat Boy ideas but I'm sitting on them because I came up with a bunch halfway through the book and they got jossed by the end rollerskatinglizard: Hah! Uhhh, sorry? I think?? theunvanquishedzims: (i.e. Basil gets sad and weepy over Rich and Liam flirting at a party, Trimmer plays fairy godmother a la ripping half his shirt off, giving him a pep talk, and sending him back out there to Win Back His Man) rollerskatinglizard: *whooping* theunvanquishedzims: Jossed so hard rollerskatinglizard:Okay, that's DELIGHTFUL rollerskatinglizard: Trimmer is the most terrifying fairy godmother rollerskatinglizard: Anything else? :Dc theunvanquishedzims: Lemme get my notes rollerskatinglizard: *gleeful wiggling*

theunvanquishedzims: Okay so I stopped reading when the Sympatico grabbed Rich during the storm and it took me a month or so to get back and finish, so I was under the impression that the ship was still being fixed in drydock and not, y'know, actually being crewed and sailed. (Trimmer yelling "just let her sink" hits reeeeeaaaallly different when you know that) rollerskatinglizard: Ahaha oh dang theunvanquishedzims: So the big idea was the gangsters needing something from the Sympatico. Not the general thugs and delinquents crewing the Sympatico but the actual organized crime of the Fleet, who were getting pretty used to using ships like the Sympatico to run their dirty deeds through. Except it's basically impossible to get what they need out of it, even when they drag out one of the old IST guys. He finally tells them Rich was the one who did the heavy lifting for the past few years rollerskatinglizard: Ooooh! rollerskatinglizard: What an interesting idea! theunvanquishedzims: Hang on I need to restart rollerskatinglizard: Ah yes, computers theunvanquishedzims: Sorry, that turned into a dinner break and running errands During which I came up with a couple new AUs theunvanquishedzims: Okay, back to mafia: they track Rich down, probably snag him after he's been out boarding. Off work, not expected back on the ship, tired from all the exercise, etc. They're not overtly threatening, just pick up his skimmer and politely suggest that he comes help them, and he probably goes quietly because there's like, six of them. I'm thinking only one of whom was actually posted on the Sympatico theunvanquishedzims: So they get back to the Sympatico. She's been temporarily decommissioned until the Fleet can fix her broken processes, but that's also a cover story by the mob. They want to clear out all the smuggled goods and information, but she's basically a ghost ship, silent and empty, and even the other IST guy couldn't get more than a few blinking lights. She's sulking basically, she knows they're not there to fix her so she's digging in her heels and playing dead. Like a toddler going ragdoll when they don't want to go to bed. theunvanquishedzims: They explain to Rich that they can't get a response and want him to take a crack at it. "Has she said anything?" "Who?" "The Sympatico." "...we didn't talk to it." "Well that's half your problem right there." theunvanquishedzims: At this point you should watch Show Yourself from Frozen 2, and the crystal scene from Atlantis the Lost Empire. Stepping into the place you've been called, making your presence known, and having a greater power reach out for you. Shiny lights, chasing the spark of life to its source, and having the power consume and embody you. Rich is used to it but it's probably pretty freaky from the outside, and way less magical-looking than a Disney movie. Probably more like when Magneto activated the machine in the first X-Men movie. Step up, turn it on, and suddenly it's sucking the life out of you, making you a living battery theunvanquishedzims: In my head I am picturing the glowing blue eyes, lights cracking along the skin like lightning or circuit patterns, the implants glowing in his temples, standing at a terminal like a star trek deck, maybe a faint breeze-like movement of the hair and clothes to indicate the sheer power radiating off of him. In reality it's probably more like he falls down, gets up, stumbles along to a good spot out of the weather, and curls up in a secluded defensible spot to stare emptily at the wall for a few hours while lights randomly go on and off around the ship theunvanquishedzims: Just being trailed by six very wary mafia dudes who have probably never seen someone mind-meld a ship, and definitely not solo. He's like a zombie, and when he does talk it's very clear he's talking for the both of them theunvanquishedzims: If any of them are in sync with the ship they definitely feel the !!!Rich you're back!!! vibe theunvanquishedzims: No idea how that resolves, I guess it depends on how powerful the mafia is. If they're the kind of entrenched criminals who are ongoing characters, then they have Rich scrub out what they need then dump him back on his skimmer to face the fallout alone. He might report it to the spooks? Or at least try to tell Basil and Mitch theunvanquishedzims: If they're not recurring characters then they were definitely being tracked by the spooks, who move in once the Sympatico comes back online. Rich has to answer some very tough questions but he cooperates fully and winds up digging up a LOT of dirt out of the Sympatico, now that the mafia showed him where to look. It's another one of the super traumatizing moments that makes him look cool and heroic. Oh yeah, totally got kidnapped, single-handedly piloted a ship, and helped bust the mafia, please stop talking about it, I need a nap, and also someone to go with me next time I go boarding. theunvanquishedzims: (And then I finished reading the book and found out that the Sympatico had a new crew and was out on the water with her AI still fried and broken, how did no one notice that)

__________________________________________

theunvanquishedzims: Okay I don't have Trimmer's voice well enough to write this fic so I'm feeding it to you raw: Trucker AU theunvanquishedzims: Rich is a long-haul trucker, much to the disappointment of his elder sister Angela, who is in law enforcement and thought he had a decent future in it too. Athena is a pro wrestler and totally down to support her brother traveling the country (and hopefully being in the same city as him sometime, she wants him to see her kick ass!) Rich wants to pursue a degree in [tech or engineering] but college is expensive, and trucking is a good way to make money, on top of which you don't have to pay rent when you're on the road. So he's saving up for school, probably listening to a lot of audiobooks, podcasts, and training guides while chugging along. theunvanquishedzims: Not nearly as bad or sketchy as the Sympatico, but life on the road can get pretty sketch sometimes, especially when you're alone. Enter Trimmer. Or rather, enter Rich into the middle-of-nowhere trucker stopover bar where Trimmer is getting his ass kicked. theunvanquishedzims: (Gonna go ahead and say the bar is called the Sympatico, and this is a very bad night to be there, which is saying something because any night at the Sympatico is a bad night to be there.) theunvanquishedzims: Fortunately, Rich is not trapped there by the cold uncaring waters of Lake Michigan, he can just turn around and leave when he sees the nightly fight brewing. Unfortunately, he has a weakness for cute twinks, and no matter how much the guy is insulting their mothers four on one is really not fair, so he winds up wading in, scooping Trimmer up, and murder-stalking to the exit theunvanquishedzims: [At this point I pause to stare out the window and wonder wistfully what their canon meeting was like, who approached who, if Trimmer just straight-up used his lunch to hire a bodyguard or if Rich did the "are you gonna finish that" puppy-eyes and Trimmer realized how easily he could be bribed, etc etc] theunvanquishedzims: In the Trucker AU Trimmer waits until they're outside to go feral goblin on the arm that's holding him, Rich drops him, and negotiation commences theunvanquishedzims: I don't have Trimmer's backstory nailed down, the "teenage runaway" archetype doesn't really suit someone with a large loving family, but safe to say that whatever lead him to hitchhiking across the Midwest he is determined to see through out of sheer bullheaded stubbornness. The only thing worse than calling your parents to bail you out with bus money home is calling your grandma. It might have involved stabbing a college advisor when the guy got rapey, he's technically not on the run from the law, he DEFINITELY is not on track to getting his degree. Halfway between college dropout and missing person. If he was wealthy he'd be backpacking Europe for a semester, but he's not, so he's hitchhiking America. And getting molested by truckers, because Trimmer can't have nice things. theunvanquishedzims: He is really not interested in getting molested by Rich! But, as Rich points out, he did just save him from getting stabbed, Trimmer doesn't seem to have any exit options for this backwater town, and holy #&$^ the bar's on fire. (The Sympatico burns to the ground that night, to the betterment of the world at large.) rollerskatinglizard: You have no idea how much I'm enjoying this But you should totally post it Splick and Roach would both scream in glee theunvanquishedzims: Rich and Trimmer get out while the getting is good, and it's nearly dawn before they finally hash out details. Rich offers to drop him off at the next town, but they're still pretty close to the epicenter of the mass exodus so the next few hundred miles are probably not going to be safe for Trimmer. By this point Trimmer has found a bunch of the old textbooks Rich bought secondhand to study in his free time and come to the conclusion that [this nerd is a nerd] his story checks out. Just a college kid trying to scrape together the cash to get an education and make a decent living. Reminds Trimmer of Trimmer. (Reminds Trimmer of Joey.) rollerskatinglizard: ;u; <3 Beautiful theunvanquishedzims: So now Rich has a little traveling buddy! Helps him stay awake on the long hauls, lets him use the carpool lanes, even reads to him out of the textbooks sometimes, with commentary. Trimmer is really smart and surprisingly easy to get along with. They nap in the cab, eat in diners, and share motel rooms. Trimmer unclenches a little. Rich is good about not asking personal questions. They definitely watch Athena's fights on tv more than once, much to Rich's chagrin and Trimmer's loud encouragement. He started fanboying over it to annoy and embarrass Rich, but it is surprisingly cathartic to watch someone get trash-talked and respond by just BODYSLAMMING their opponent. ("Why are you rooting for her, you're the biggest trash-talker I know," Rich mutters into his beer, face bright red as Trimmer whoops and high-fives the waitress he got to change the channel in the sports bar.) theunvanquishedzims: ("She would wipe the floor with me," Trimmer responds with a smirk, watching smugly as Rich tries to figure out if Trimmer is having impure thoughts about his baby sister) theunvanquishedzims: (They have already established that Trimmer does not have impure thoughts about Rich, that Rich DOES have impure thoughts about Trimmer, but as long as he stays in his own motel bed that's fine.) (Trimmer still sleeps with a knife under his pillow but doesn't bother in the cab, where their co-naps occasionally verge on snuggling.) rollerskatinglizard: <3 <3 <3 *perfect* theunvanquishedzims: They finally reach their destination. It has been [days to drive a rig between NJ and CA] and they make it there slightly ahead of schedule. Rich drops off the delivery, Trimmer comes face-to-face with the reality of the trip ending. He'd been hitchhiking for months and felt like he was going nowhere, and now a few days and suddenly he's crossed the entire country, and almost kinda maybe had fun doing it! And California's as good a place as any to stay, at least he won't freeze to death if he doesn't find a place to crash for the night. theunvanquishedzims: Then Rich comes back and hands him a wad of cash, pocketing a stack of his own. "Got a cash bonus for finishing early! And since you're the reason I made it here this fast, I just figured part of it is your share..." he peters out, trying to explain his reasoning. They sit in silence for a while, both thinking about Trimmer in California, far away from anyone who would want to hurt him, with a few hundred dollars in his pocket. theunvanquishedzims: "...Let's get lunch," Trimmer finally decrees, and Rich can't keep the relieved smile off his face. They renegotiate some things over lunch, and then go to pick up the next load to haul cross-country. Together. rollerskatinglizard: AWWWWWW!!!! *YES,* I love it!!! theunvanquishedzims: And then eventually they go to college together, and get their degrees, and good jobs, and meet the families, and Trimmer absolutely drags Rich to as many of Athena's fights as they can manage on the road. It's just to save money, things are cheaper when you split the rent, Trimmer hollers on the phone. You put a ring on that boy's finger, y'hear?! Hellbender hollers back. I am so glad the word moirail exists rollerskatinglizard: YES God yes Also this AU pleases me greatly rollerskatinglizard: Blessings upon you for it theunvanquishedzims: ...technically the Michigan Fleet takes place in a post-Homestuck world, so theoretically it could have time to enter mainstream lexicon. It's better than "bromance" theunvanquishedzims: JUST THROWING THAT OUT THERE >.> rollerskatinglizard: Yeah, totally different feel than bromance!

_____________________________________

theunvanquishedzims: Speaking of Homestuck! Wanna hear the Helmsman AU? :3 rollerskatinglizard: YES PLEASE theunvanquishedzims: Okay gimme a minute to get my notes, it's not based on One of Our Submarines but I can't remember the fic title. Have you read the one where the kids redesign the helmsrig and use that to garner support for Feferi as Empress? Lots of political drama, Sollux-centric, [spoiler], and in the end they win *but at what cost* (((If someone knows what fic I'm talking about please link me, I can't find it.))) rollerskatinglizard: No, I haven't theunvanquishedzims: It's good, if you like the nitty-gritty of rebellions. The piece I'm cherry picking is the new Empress introducing a new way of helming that allows more freedom. Instead of a single enslaved lowblood being hung up in tentacle wires until they drop dead, it's something you can unplug from, allowing psionics to swap out, take shifts, etc. So Empress Clearwater (yay seadweller name) is dead, long live Empress Clearwater, and she shakes things up by introducing her new helmsrig and orders it implemented Fleet-wide theunvanquishedzims: I don't think this universe is as bad as canon but it's still pretty rough on the bad ships, and the Sympatico is a very bad ship theunvanquishedzims: Angie is still a security officer, probably fairly high-ranking as a greenblood. Athena is a pro wrestler. Sports are probably a bigger part of life in a Fleet that doesn't center around conquest. The three probably grew up in the same neighborhood, maybe dabbled in quadrants before settling on hatefriends. Oooh, or ash, Athena setting them up to talk out their issues over lunch and then heckle each other over their other quadrants could fit in that quadrant. theunvanquishedzims: Rich is, of course, a helmsman. It's rare for someone that close to jade to be so powerful, he was actually planning on a career in tech, but when he got called in for psionic testing he basically crushed it. Possibly literally. And olive is still technically a lowblood, so off to the helm with you. theunvanquishedzims: His first posting is the Sympatico, and it's a nightmare. The one bright spot (dark spot? How do trolls even. *insert rant about Kanaya being pastel goth not goth-goth*) theunvanquishedzims: The one bright spot is Trimmer, a technician whose survival method is to lock himself in the helm dock and stab anybody who tries to mess with Rich when he's piloting. It's basically how things work in the superstorms, but 75-90% of the time instead of a few times a year theunvanquishedzims: Rich can barely talk most days, they communicate via chat client, and even that requires a lot of brainpower so they can't do it when the Sympatico has to fight something or do difficult maneuvers in space, which is pretty frequently. But Rich keeps an eye out for Trimmer, directing him through the ship to help him avoid people and fights, and tweaking things like hall lights when things get hairy. I think at least once he turned off the gravity, it cost him but it got Trimmer out of a really bad situation and gave him an excuse to hole up in the helmsdeck for a few days until things cooled off theunvanquishedzims: But all that is in the past! There's a new Empress, a new crew, and a new way of helming! theunvanquishedzims: The Sympatico is one of the flagships to roll out the new helmsrig. The original crew was disbanded, culled, reassigned. Trimmer was allowed to stay (at Rich's request) to ease the transition. It's a big day, lots of media attention documenting the new helmsmen, and Rich is doing his best to keep calm. He had to do some physical therapy to stand upright and be able to walk from the big speech to his shiny new helmsrig, but as a fairly young recruit he's not nearly as bad off as some older helmsmen whose bodies have atrophied. He's still pretty skinny though, especially when compared to Angie and Athena, who he reunited with (for the cameras) #helmsmenaretrollstoo, #greenc3<green, #omgishipit, see things are much better now, people can reclaim their lives and quadrants, helming is something to be excited for not scared of, etc. Lots of propaganda, lots of attention, lots of pressure to get this right theunvanquishedzims: And then he walks into the helm and Trimmer is there. Rich would probably have had a meltdown if he hadn't been, but no one can tell because they're so calm and professional. They're both cleaned up and impeccably uniformed, the plugging in goes smoothly, and the Sympatico comes to life and lifts off into the sky into a sunset that would make a Hollywood director weep. The cameras turn off, great job everybody, and things return to normal. Except Rich and Trimmer have no idea how to handle normal. For the first 8 hours it's fine, it's good, it's a little weird that Trimmer looks so tidy and that Rich is sitting in a padded chair instead of being flesh-jacked by tentacles, but it's fine. They chat over text, a little stilted but plenty to catch up on theunvanquishedzims: Rich spies on the new crew and gossips about how boring they are and how weird the ship looks with everything cleared out and well-lit, and wow where did that section of storage come from? Oh right that used to be a hidden smuggling nook. Haha nook. See they're fine, they're laughing at the same old jokes. DEFINITELY weird that Rich is physically laughing. And then their relief shift comes on, with the new 2nd shift helmsman, and it's time for Rich to get unplugged for the day and go. Go to his room, which he has now, or to eat, which he can do now, or any one of a million things that normal trolls do, because he's a normal troll now. (This is turning out a little different from in my head but I like it.) He makes it about two hallways, walking silently side-by-side with Trimmer, before he breaks down. Or rather Trimmer breaks down. Or maybe they both simultaneously break, there is a lot of breaking happening, and it's not great that it's happening in the hall where anybody could walk by and where the new helmsman is almost certainly seeing them and possibly reporting them, and Trimmer's flight instincts are to run back to the helm where it's safe but Rich isn't there, RICH was the reason it was safe and he's not at the helm, he's right there in the hall. Rich, I know not how, picks up Trimmer and gets them to him room. It' close by, thank goodness, and it has a lock on the door, how weird, and Trimmer is there. He missed Trimmer so so much. rollerskatinglizard: ;u; <3<3<3<3 theunvanquishedzims: [The following scene contains content too graphic for wigglers under the age of seven sweeps] rollerskatinglizard: *laughing* Hardcore conciliation!!! theunvanquishedzims: From Trimmer's POV: Merrill requested him to remain a tech on the Sympatico. Makes sense, he was the only one who treated the guy like an actual troll and not a drooling mass of computational power. They got caught up, it's weird how clean and quiet the ship is, no fights to report beyond a spat in the cafeteria that turned out to be pitch flirtation. His shirtcuffs itch and he wants to roll them up but it's day one of the new empire and he doesn't want to get culled for being untidy on the Empress's pet project ship. There's so many other things to get culled for, anyway. And then shift is over. (Weird, he's used to working 16-hour days and sleeping in the helmdeck half the time.) And he has to unplug Merrill (double weird, he's not used to touching Merrill unless it's for a physical repair. Very aware of Rich as a physical person, especially when he's standing up and not obscured in a mass of tentacles.) And then they leave, together, which is WEIRD, because for sweeps Trimmer has been sneaking out of the helmdeck to go on a food run with Merrill texting him directions, and there's no Merrill on screen providing guidance to avoid fights, but there's not gonna BE any fights, and everything is the same but different and looks weird and shiny and there's a giant troll right next to him, stalking him, why didn't Merrill warn him?! rollerskatinglizard: Oh NO, ahaha, oh these poor doofuses theunvanquishedzims: From Rich's POV: he's been seeing these hallways for sweeps, but not from this angle, the ship is so familiar but so foreign to him, and he can't hear her, can't feel her, and he keeps reaching out for her even after all that training he did to get used to the new tech, there's still an absence and some part of his brain that says not being linked to the ship means something has gone catastrophically wrong and everyone onboard is going to die, TRIMMER is going to die, Trimmer is freaking out and hyperventilating next to him, Trimmer's running out of oxygen and the ship isn't responding to him to tell him what's wrong with the oxygen, and then Trimmer goes to bolt back to the helm but that's full of strange trolls and a new helmsman, and that knowledge is enough to shake him back to the situation at hand. He doesn't know where he finds the strength or the presence of mind, but he manages to grab up Trimmer and get them back to safety. It's just that safety is now his berth, not the helm. They're alone in his berth. And Trimmer is still freaking out. Sh-shoosh? Shoosh. Shooooooosh. theunvanquishedzims: Everything is diamonds and snow and beautiful shining crystals (in the movies that will someday be made about this day.) In the moment there's a lot more hyperventilating and snot. Basically, culmination behind the entire fic: do they actually have feelings for each other, or was it just about mutual survival the whole time? rollerskatinglizard: INCREDIBLY ADORABLE AND INTIMATE COMFORT, *YESSSS* Thank you yes, I'll have a dozen God that's splendid theunvanquishedzims: And they're both freaking out, Rich is hungry and physically tired and needs to do a lot of stretches, Trimmer is not used to Rich being huge and mobile and right next to him, and they both have crazy big trust issues, but...yeah, they're pale. They're so pale for each other, and it was so hard during the transition not seeing each other and not knowing how the other felt, not knowing how THEY felt, if they really had feelings or if it was all a bad situation. And now they know. They have feelings. And because they're trolls and not humans, they can flop on a pile and talk about those feelings in a non-platonic way, and Rich can pet Trimmer's hair and tell him how pretty he is and how Rich is glad that Trimmer got it properly cut instead of just hacking it too short for someone to grab, and how much he worried in the hall about not being able to see farther than his own field of vision to keep Trimmer out of harm's way, and how this whole thing is so weird and Rich is so scared but he's just really, really happy that Trimmer took the posting on the Sympatico, because he pities Trimmer and he wants him around and he was so glad that Trimmer wanted to still be around him too theunvanquishedzims: The media always depicts piling as either the traditional fairytale highblood freakout, or an extremely mellow ASMR-ish chillout with lots of hairpetting and horn polishing. Not two midbloods looting a mostly-empty room for enough junk to make a large enough pile to sit on, shrieking at each other about their feelings and how weird this is and why didn't you SAY something, me?! why didn't YOU say something?! Three SWEEPS we've been dancing around this! Well I didn't know if you felt the same way or if you just needed me to survive! Etc etc etc. Lots of getting up and stomping around , pacing the floor while ranting, trying to scavenge more stuff to throw on the pile. Rich owns basically nothing and it's the first time he's not judging Trimmer for keeping his room a garbage heap, even empty pizza boxes would be better than trying to make a pile out of two sweaters and a toothbrush. rollerskatinglizard: XDDD TuT aaaaah, YES theunvanquishedzims: Rich definitely rips off a wall panel and pulls out some wires, Trimmer doesn't even question it, they've lived and breathed this ship long enough to know what every wire does and which are nonessential to ship functioning. And with the wall panel crunched up they can pile stuff around it to make it seem less sparse, and wow it doesn't even matter that he pulled a panel down, this is HIS wall in HIS room now, he can "redecorate" as he sees fit, cue more yelling about how he doesn't know what to do with himself or his newfound freedom. The whole thing is just yelling and cussing and grabbing and shaking. It probably looks black from the outside, but they are swimming in palest cream. theunvanquishedzims: Eventually they give up on the pile. They go through Rich's entire perigee of snack rations to avoid having to go to the cafeteria, halfheartedly make fun of Rich's chewing, then crawl into the recuperacoon together. Thank goodness there was such a big push to show off how great helmsmen's lives will be, Rich scored a blueblood-huge 'coon and he's still skinny enough that they can both fit in it together. They sleep together, in sopor like proper trolls with proper lives as opposed to surrounded by pink tentacles and misery. Tomorrow they'll have to venture out for food, and do Rich's stretches and physical therapy, and head to their shift like the galaxy hasn't flipped upside-down, but they're handle that together. rollerskatinglizard: Oh help, my heart!! TuT It's SO CUTE, AAAAAAAH theunvanquishedzims: Okay my computer has been trying to shut down for the last three paragraphs so I think it's time to log off for the night, but I hope you enjoy the AUs, I will tell you more tomorrow rollerskatinglizard: Thank you so much!! Have a good night! theunvanquishedzims: (In the original version Rich and Trimmer came face-to-face for the first time since the Sympatico was busted up and Rich pulled out for rehab, and basically had a giant pale meltdown right there against the wall. There was purring, and crying, and confessions, all caught on film. Athena and Angie definitely saw. It had to be censored out of the broadcast. Someone uploaded it to Troll Pornhub and it won a Troll Pornhub Emmy for Truth in Journalism, which was not a category the Troll Pornhub Emmys had before, so congrats Merrill and Trimmer) rollerskatinglizard: *dying* oh my GOD Rich would blush so hard he'd keel over

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theunvanquishedzims: I woke up to the idea of Rich as Fezzik and Trimmer as Inigo Montoya (book version.) rollerskatinglizard: Hah! Oh man, delightful theunvanquishedzims: Soft-hearted giant and stabby little friend rollerskatinglizard: Yesss theunvanquishedzims: Only problem is Trimmer's grudge seems to be against the entire world, not any particular murderer theunvanquishedzims: But they could definitely take on the Zoo of Death together rollerskatinglizard: It could be both, in the AU! Specific grudge and also he hates everyone theunvanquishedzims: Instead of not being left-handed he pulls his feet out of his boots and surprise! More hands to stab you with Makes the acrobatics on top of the cliff more exciting rollerskatinglizard: *dying* YES Perfect! theunvanquishedzims: I don't know who the Man in Black of most beautiful woman in the world would be, but Rich catching them jumping out a window to whisk them away on horseback is lovely rollerskatinglizard: *strokes chin thoughtfully* If Rich is Fezzik, I think Basil might as well be the beautiful love interest, and Mitch is his farm boy turned dashing rogue theunvanquishedzims: Mitch and Trimmer sword fighting rollerskatinglizard: YES theunvanquishedzims: Mitch going through hell and back to save his lady love, then Rich shows up with the horses and says "hello pretty lady" and Basil is just swooning over him rollerskatinglizard: Mitch is pretty chill with Rich by then, he can handle sharing Rich didn't try *hard* to kill him, after all theunvanquishedzims: He even made it a fair fight instead of ambushing him He put down the rock and Mitch put down the sword and they tried to kill each other like civilized people rollerskatinglizard: *laughing* Yes, exactly theunvanquishedzims: Rich even helped bring him back from being mostly dead rollerskatinglizard: They're practically best buddies now! theunvanquishedzims: Which I imagine is 1000x funnier because Trimmer hates this guy and doesn't want to help him but he has info Trimmer needs rollerskatinglizard: Rich just being reprovingly like Come on, buddy, he's cool really I KNOW you bonded over your sword fight with him Don't lie Trimmer: HE'S STILL A DIPSHIT theunvanquishedzims: Trimmer: It was a little fun to take the boots off I guess, I don't get to do that often rollerskatinglizard: Hahaha yes theunvanquishedzims: Downside of being the best swordsman in the world, nobody can touch you. UNTIL NOW. Trimmer: I killed the guy but now I have nothing to live for. Mitch: Have you considered piracy? Stabbing people all day and all the rope ladders you can climb rollerskatinglizard: *dying* theunvanquishedzims: Now Trimmer's life goal is to reclaim his title of Best Swordsman, which means fighting Mitch a lot rollerskatinglizard: Which they both enjoy Sometimes Trimmer wins, sometimes Mitch does rollerskatinglizard: Roach points out that Liam would be Miracle Max theunvanquishedzims: I was just about to type that! rollerskatinglizard: Heee! Good brain wave theunvanquishedzims: You need a cure for death? Nope, sorry. You need to it humiliate my mortal enemy? Coming right up! rollerskatinglizard: YUP theunvanquishedzims: Slipping Rich the holocaust cloak "because it fits so nice" rollerskatinglizard: Pfff yes theunvanquishedzims: Which is said with a million more winky faces than the movie rollerskatinglizard: XDDD Naturally Liam is a much higher-libido mad scientist-substitute theunvanquishedzims: He doesn't have a wife he has like six boyfriend minions hanging around in various states of undress. He got fired for banging the king when he was the royal miracle man, he did a good job but the prince found it icky. rollerskatinglizard: *dying* YES theunvanquishedzims: Basil as Buttercup tho. Basil: Mitch is a good friend. :) Just a great buddy. :)) Kind of smelly but a nice boy. :))) Someone: *might possibly find Mitch attractive* Basil: What? Why. No. Why would she. I mean yeah he's smart and muscular and tan and broad-shouldered and has perfect teeth and his sweat glistens in the sun as he does his chores shirtless, but c'mon, he's not THAT much hotter than her middle-aged husband. No way. rollerskatinglizard: *snickering* rollerskatinglizard: My cowriters very enjoy this AU concept, btw, thank you theunvanquishedzims: Excellent theunvanquishedzims: Trimmer: I told him I was there to kill him and he just...ran away? Mitch: Who does that? rollerskatinglizard: *snickering* theunvanquishedzims: Basil being a slobby peasant until two minutes after Mitch leaves, then realizing he has to take care of himself if he wants to keep Mitch's attention, and only then starting to regularly bathe and brush his hair and work on his figure. rollerskatinglizard: Snirk! Sounds about right, doofus nerd that he is theunvanquishedzims: Then he becomes a princess and has two servants per limb to keep him clean and shining, so when Mitch sneaks into the wedding announcement crowd his first view of Basil is 1. clean 2. shiny hair 3. dressed like a queen

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General book chit-chat, no specific AU

theunvanquishedzims: I saw the post about the Sympatico crew having a very different view of Rich than his friends and now I am consumed with the idea of Rich being seen as scary by anyone who knows him for more than a single minute. Like, he flinches at the sight of a uniform, he can't stand to be in a room with more than one other person in it, and he's so busy working he doesn't really have time to go around carving out a territory rollerskatinglizard: Right? You'd think it'd be tricky, but apparently no theunvanquishedzims: And now there's video of him covered in kittens, and doing cool board tricks, and pretending a little barbel is too heavy to lift, and also he might be in the news for taking down a murderous conspiracy at the Mall. rollerskatinglizard: *laughing* Indeed theunvanquishedzims: Where did big scary monster Merrill go, who is this marshmallow rollerskatinglizard: What scam is he trying to run?!? theunvanquishedzims: Oooh, I pity the fool who is assigned to a boat with Officer Merrill. Double flinch response rollerskatinglizard: RIGHT? *OH SHIT, THERE'S ANOTHER ONE* And she's ARMED theunvanquishedzims: Try to blow off some steam by watching some wrestling, A THIRD ONE rollerskatinglizard: Some poor dumbass who sneered at Trimmer once ends up hiding out on a penny boat bc there's MERRILLS EVERYWHERE, IT'S NOT SAFE OUT THERE theunvanquishedzims: *dying laughing* I imagine a non-terrible Sympatico crew member meeting reformed Rich is like those Very Special Episodes where the hero's high school bully or childhood bad influence friend comes to town, and they're so nice and friendly and apologetic about what happened back in the day rollerskatinglizard: We actually have an encounter something like that planned! theunvanquishedzims: The hero's friends are all charmed and the hero can't convince anyone that it's all an act, he's secretly still terrible, look I'll prove it *does something that makes the hero look bad and the reformed guy look like a victim* Yaaaaaaaaay!!! Outside perspective is the BEST rollerskatinglizard: Rich and this random dude, both acting like the other one is a total menace Meanwhile, anyone who's known either of them since is like ....No?? He's a fine guy, perfectly reasonable Merrill, stop growling theunvanquishedzims: Two Spider-Men pointing at each other rollerskatinglizard: Hah! Yes theunvanquishedzims: Also the fact that Rich has gotten BIGGER since leaving the Sympatico is probably a shock rollerskatinglizard: OH yeah theunvanquishedzims: Richard "Cranky Because He's Slowly Starving To Death" Merrill rollerskatinglizard: I mean, it's a shock to Rich When he hits another growth spurt So it's definitely a shock to anyone else theunvanquishedzims: Oh yeah, he was like 17 when he was first assigned there, nowhere near done growing yet Richard "My Shirts Rip When I Flex Wrong" Merrill rollerskatinglizard: *snickering* He'd look so sheepish and disgruntled if someone gave him that "I flexed and the sleeves fell off" shirt theunvanquishedzims: I am so glad Trimmer got to him before, like, a gang could figure out he's easily bribed with food. Things could have gone so much worse, corruption-wise rollerskatinglizard: YUP theunvanquishedzims: I just finished Athena and the Midnight Chicken and WOW Rich was actually kind of close to giving in to peer pressure there, if Athena hadn't thrown herself towards the proverbial sword he might have let himself be talked into something he really didn't want to do. rollerskatinglizard: It's possible! Baby Rich is very weak to peer pressure theunvanquishedzims: If they had been smart and manipulative and laid the groundwork first it would have been even easier, not just "here's a knife let your ingrained killing instincts do the work" rollerskatinglizard: Yeah! It could've gone much worse theunvanquishedzims: In the wrong hands Rich would make a very good, very sad soldier But like, deep down inside sad where no one could see it. rollerskatinglizard: That was actually close to his original story when I came up with him

[I’ll check with Skates to see if it’s okay to post that bit]

theunvanquishedzims: I'm already nervous about those two Horrible Old Men rollerskatinglizard: Which two? theunvanquishedzims: My face went D: at the idea that there's more than two rollerskatinglizard: *pats u gently* theunvanquishedzims: The werewolf guy with the boys on leashes is the one that makes my instincts scream KILL IT WITH FIRE, but there's also the one with the scar on his face? I wanna say Arthur Carroway rollerskatinglizard: >u> Gosh, Zims, idk WHY you'd be worried about him Just bc my tablet keyboard knows how to spell Carraway That's no reason to be concerned! rollerskatinglizard: Maybe Splick made him the [tarot] Devil bc he's devilishly handsome! Did you think of that?? theunvanquishedzims: I am terrified of him showing up, I know I'll be cringing too hard to keep reading right away. Men who abuse positions of power are so squicky, I couldn't even stand to watch the Office and Michael Scott is like, the most benign example of the trope But yeah a guy like that getting to Rich as a younger more mallable person, fresh-faced and eager to please. Ugh. Such a bad ending. rollerskatinglizard: YUP theunvanquishedzims: William Sandgren is the other one, I think rollerskatinglizard: Fortunately Rich did get rescued originally! I don't do sad endings theunvanquishedzims: He looks cool, I don't immediately want him dead for my own safety rollerskatinglizard: <u< theunvanquishedzims: ...I will ignore that face and continue to think of him as the lesser of two evils for now rollerskatinglizard: Absolutely feel free! ^u^ theunvanquishedzims: When I thought about this earlier I imagined Liam actually being the one to start a pissing contest with Arthur. Rich guy vs criminal guy, my grandmother bedazzled the skulls of her enemies, your teeth would make a lovely necklace, etc etc "Well I'd love to get them around your throat" ;) rollerskatinglizard: You know Liam QUITE well theunvanquishedzims: I'm a visual learner, so all the illustrations are helping me flesh out characteristics. Liam smiling like a psycho while his face drips blood is very telling. rollerskatinglizard: Hah!!! Right? God, he's SUCH a little firebrand theunvanquishedzims: (Also, AU where Liam is the babydoll heir and Rich is the soldier mod bodyguard he climbs like a tree) rollerskatinglizard: We have definitely discussed that AU thoughtfully >u> It's good, v tasty theunvanquishedzims: Rich is all THIS GOES AGAINST THE RULES and Liam is all oh you like being told what to do hmm? >:3~ rollerskatinglizard: Rich: God this is SUCH a bad idea, I'm gonna get so fired Liam: Not if you're good enough at it! theunvanquishedzims: I imagine without a pregnancy they'd be able to keep it under wraps slightly longer than grandma Beaker rollerskatinglizard: True! theunvanquishedzims: "Under wraps" like everyone in the house can't hear them rollerskatinglizard: Pffff YUP theunvanquishedzims: Ugh now I'm remembering Trimmer being scared of Rich getting drunk and pushy and I'm sad again rollerskatinglizard: No one likes Rich's drinking except Rich rollerskatinglizard: It's okay tho, Trimmer trusts Rich more after that theunvanquishedzims:I think he'll figure it out given enough time. Rich: Well everyone drinks because work sucks. Basil and Mitch: Nope! Rich: Well I'm a soldier mod so it just LOOKS like I'm drinking a lot. Angie and Thena: Nope! Rich: Well I have trauma from the Sympatico so I need alcohol to deal with that. Trimmer: Nope! Rich: ...well I guess I have a problem then. :< Everyone: Yep! rollerskatinglizard: Indeed theunvanquishedzims: I am so curious about their origins, how the relationship developed, how apparently they had half a handjob between them and went NOPE NEVER AGAIN, how they wound up co-sleeping, if they ever cried on one another, etc etc rollerskatinglizard: I'm 100% certain that Rich cried on Trimmer at least once, while Trimmer awkwardly patted his hair and gently called him a wuss or something If Trimmer ever cried it would've been in the middle of the night, and none of them would ever mention it in the light of day theunvanquishedzims: Was that Trimmer's first posting? I know it was Rich's, so he kiiiind of didn't know any better, but Trimmer is older by a bit rollerskatinglizard: It definitely wasn't Trimmer's first, no, the latest in a long string of postings that went from okay to bad to worse theunvanquishedzims: Oh nooooooo No wonder he finally said screw it and got a solo boat rollerskatinglizard: Yep

#michigan fleet #boat boys #AUs are still my favorite thing #long post #richard merrill #joseph trimmer

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