#ignore my poor attempts at summing up my work

[ao3-crack]

(x)

#archive of our own #ao3 quotes #ao3 stuff #archive of our own quotes #fanfic #fanfic quotes #funny #ao3 #ao3 summary #I suck at summary #pls act like this is sexy enough to seduce you to read this fic #literally me every time I write a summary #please #I promise I can actually write #ignore my poor attempts at summing up my work #in a way that doesn’t give everything away but tells you enough to gain intrigue #it’s such a hard balance

[typekiku]

TSUKIHIME FASHION REVIEW 3!!!

under the dark crimson moon, i write this newest entry of the much awaited much beloved tsukihime fashion review.

it's a duty i must carry out for the sake of the generations of lost sheep both before and after my time that have yet to truly appreciate the true depth of style that is contained within the single greatest visual novel known to mankind (according to me)

yet, i feel as if i am not doing my duty to its fullest... how can i possibly adequately sum the glory of todays fashionista? how can i dare attempt to sum that up?? no! i cannot waver in my faith in my incredibly lacking writing skills nor fear people figuring out this barely has anything to do with fashion... I WILL PERSEVERE!!

on with the show as the youth say!

(SPOILER ALERT: i should mention ill probably end up spoiling a shit ton of oghime and whatnot here so watch out)

so without further ado todays subject is:

drum roll

MORE DRUM ROLL

thanks uhh whatever you are from

MICHAEL ROA VALDAMJONG

yes the one and only roa

BROA

the legend himself, the Serpent of Akasha, Uroboros, the founder of the burial agency, the infinite reincarnatior, and professional Arcueid simp.

we have gathered here today to judge his design and uh fashion ig and whatever else i feel like ranting today about.

lets get right to it.

look at this dude all shirtless and shit like cmon so shameless... cover em up damn. seriously tho this man has a thing for showing off his (or should i say others) bodies like you will see soon.

i guess this comes down to him enjoying the freedom of being fully in control of whatever body he is currently occupying actually?

maybe this is some super deep look into the merits of semi nudism or whatever idk im not smart.

probably takeuchi just wanted an excuse to draw some seriously ripped abs actually i mean this might seriously be the most abby abs we ever see in any TM work. its fucking shredded and roa probably knew that. weirdo

on the flipside that majestic hair is simply incredible. DAMN thats some 10/10 hair. only other hair in this series that compares is my wife arcueid's long hair before her mean little (Older actually but idc) Altrouge got all mean and shit.

umm who is this? what happened to my incredible haired roa?? TAKEUCHI WHERE ARE YOU??? someone please give me back long haired roa... this isnt funny...

do you see what we lost? long gorgeous haired roa should've stayed and im genuinely upset we lost him to this admittingly much better dressed roa. im ashamed of you serpent of fraudkasha

fr tho where tf did he even get this rockstar ass drip anyways? we know SHIKI has been locked up in the outside house for awhile before released thanks to a certain maid... did he just drop by the local hot topic or whatever? did he manifest it through sheer willpower and arcueid simpery?

understandable tbh i too acheive things through arcueid simpery such as dirty stares and social exclusion!!

for reference, here is SHIKI

yea

i guess he just uhh changes him which in hindsight is really fucking sad to think about so lets not

uhh ANYWAYS

ok so ignoring ciel on the right elesia or should i say roa decides the very first thing hes gonna do in poor elesias body is to strip it naked

huh?

yea roa is definitely a weird one. no wonder the other ancestors hate him (besides nero because he is #HIM)

sick cape tho

why is he so hot here actually? what the hell? i underestimated his looks like damn

no really why is he so hot anyways he should look like an absolute freak like he actually is. i see you roa. i see you got that long braid wrapped around your neck like damn son... you may have fallen in love with a literal killing machine and never even got to speak to her till the very very end but i see you.

rizzless bastard.

well thats enough from me so ill drop this classic mahoyo line because i found it very funny without context.

ciao!

#type moon #tsukihime #roa #broa #serpentofakasha #arcueid brunestud #ciel #shiki

[daybreakmusings]

The scene where Nesta and Cassian return back to her old home in the village is important in her story for various reasons. 

As she said herself:

“I think I just needed to see this place. One last time. To know we got out. That there’s nothing left here except dust and bad memories.”

But despite the necessity of this scene, I believe it fails to establish key points.

After exploring her now rundown old home, Nesta reminisces over how difficult it was to live in such poor conditions while also reflecting on her relationship with her father. 

SJM never goes into detail about the origins of Nesta and Papa Archeron’s broken relationship, but it was generally understood that time and circumstance was the cause.

But what bothers me about Nesta’s reflective period was how in the process of understanding her father, she undermines and ignores her own valid feelings. 

Like Cassian rightfully said:

“You’d had your life overturned. You were allowed to be angry.”

Funny how the narrative (and even Cassian) paints her in the wrong regardless. I would have appreciated this scene more if Nesta embraced her feelings and validated her inner child because no matter how this story tries to paint it, Nesta was not the adult during those years and shouldn’t have been expected to be one.

But it is what Nesta says about her father, and the subsequent new revelations about the source of their poverty and his lack of support all those years, that anger me more:

“I never once considered what it was like for him. To go from this man who had made his own fortune, become known as the Prince of Merchants, and then lose everything. I don’t think losing my mother broke him the same way as losing his fleet. He’d been so sure the venture would gain him even more wealth—an obscene amount of wealth. People told him he was mad, but he refused to listen. When they were proved right … I think that humiliation broke him as much as the financial loss.”

Papa Archeron could be summed up in three words: Greed, Pride, Passiveness. 

Papa Archeron was a man who had already established himself in society as a wealthy and capable individual. He was a self-starter and built his legacy with his own hands. 

But he was materialistic and self-serving. He wasn’t satisfied with what he had and coveted more. At the expense of his own children and livelihood. 

It wasn’t losing his wife that made him give up on himself and his children. He was able to carry on in the aftermath. It was losing his title, and admitting defeat that did him in. It was the realization that he reached to far, too fast and didn’t heed the warnings of others that made him quit.

His own ego was his downfall. And his daughters paid the price. 

What surprises me is the fact that he was not always a rich and successful man. If he made his own fortune, then he was all too familiar with a life of moderation and restraint. The same man who was able to pull himself out of that life couldn't muster the same fortitude to do it again for his daughters?

It all comes down to willpower. If he wanted to, he could have found a way. Yet the narrative paints him as the victim. It wants us to pity this adult figure for losing a battle he picked himself.

Instead, we should shame a youthful Nesta for her rightful anger and praise the man who only grew a backbone when money re-entered his life. 

What Papa Archeron needed to do was take more active control in his own household. He was their father, yet his presence was almost apologetic. They needed him just as much as he needed them but instead of being their emotional support, he was just a passive observer.

In the glimpses we are given about him and his actions in the old house, its clear that he could have done more:

“He could find work if he wasn’t so ashamed”

“But at least Nesta didn’t fill our heads with useless talk of regaining our wealth, like my father.”

“What I really wanted to say was: You don’t even bother to attempt to leave the house most days. Were it not for me, we would starve. Were it not for me, we’d be dead.”

All that being said, does this mean that Papa Archeron didn’t love his daughters? No. 

He did care for them in a way Nesta was ready to appreciate:

“She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood...He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.”

“It never occurred to me that he wanted us to have the bed, to keep warm and be as comfortable as we could.”

As Cassian told Nesta:

“Love is complicated.”

But love alone isn’t always enough.

#anti acosf #nesta archeron #nesta stan #acotar #papa archeron #anti sjm #for once again uplifting the man in the story without acknowledging his faults #sjm critical #nesta deserves better

[the-storytellers-seer]

Kieva: The Myth, the Legend, the Absolute Dumpster Fire

I'm going to get a little spoiler-y here, so if you don't want spoilers ignore this post.

Kieva is one of my OCs with a VERY strong voice. A voice that absolutely clamors to be heard...unfortunately her tale is one of the last ones concerning the Stormcrown Dynasty. Poor Kieva, right? No. Poor ME! Because this bitch does not care. Every few weeks or so she'll get really noisy and demand I write about three or so chapters before she lets me go to work on other projects. The last few days she's been especially loud.

So here ya'll go, a slightly spoiler-y sneak peek at a character that won't be seen for some time yet.... ****

Kieva sat in the remains of Brother Borri’s sixty-year mead stash and let loose a great echoing belch that was similar in timbre to a dragon’s roar. It was followed by a rather high-pitched giggle. Around her, the world passed by in a dreamy haze. She was happy or damn near close to it. Happier than she’d been in months. Or at least happier than she’d be without the alcohol’s blessed numbing effects.

Perched upon a throne made of boxes and dirty laundry, she was the queen of all she surveyed. This primarily consisted of empty shelves and even emptier bottles, but at least they were subjects that didn’t expect anything of her. They didn’t look at her and see her father’s features or assume she would have her mother’s grace. And they wouldn’t be disappointed when they found nothing of the dynasty they expected to see in her behavior.

In a family of legends, Kieva Stormcrown was a failure.

She was shit in combat. Her tongue was far too loose for diplomacy. And magically, well, she was so barely magically inclined as to basically have no skills at all. She could cast magelight. That was it. The sum and total of her magical ability even after scores of tutors that included the Arch Mage himself.

 And if she really considered it, she would have argued that her absolute failure in magical prowess could be a feat in and of itself because how often did an exceptionally powerful mage and one of the best living mages in Nirn create such a magical dud? She might have thought her mother was lying about her parentage, except for the fact that Kieva was the very picture of her father. Her face was too angular for any current beauty conventions, her nose about as beaky as a hagraven’s below elongated amber eyes that were a perfect match to the High King of Skyrim. Her body was more masculine as well with more angles than curves. Her hips nearly nonexistent and her breasts little better.

Tal had tried to argue that she was the height of merish beauty. But Kieva didn’t want to look like a damned Thalmor, she wanted to look like someone who men would at least give a passing glance to. Not that she needed their attention. She didn’t. But she wanted it. Or at least she wanted someone to look at her the way papa looked at mama.

But no men had ever looked at her that way. No women either.

No, the looks Kieva received ranged from mildly annoyed to outright horrified. Which probably had more to do with her drunken shenanigans than her looks, but it was enough to give a girl a complex whatever the reason.

Fucking Talos sucking a taint—that was a good one, she’d have to remember that for later, it’d scandalize the pants off Tal—she was being excessively maudlin.

Kieva attempted to hoist herself to her feet with the help of a conveniently placed wall. She needed to clean up the mess she’d made before the Brothers found her.

The loud slamming of the door behind her was proof that it was too late for that.

She pasted her biggest smile upon her face—one that likely looked more unhinged than friendly—before she turned to face one her jailors.

It was Brother Einarth. Blast it all to Oblivion! Can Alduin just come and swallow me whole? Please Akatosh? I swear I don’t mean half the heresy that I spout!

Of all the brothers who might have stumbled upon her, Einarth was the worst. For a moment, she was absolutely convinced that he’d Shout her to pieces. A dangerous part of her welcomed it.

Instead, he began signing his displeasure; the movements going almost too fast for Kieva to understand in her inebriated state. “Wait, wait, wait!” she held up a finger. “Can’t quite…can you say that again…slower-er?”

There was a dangerous rumble in the back of Einarth’s throat that caused the room to tremble. With slow, jerking movements he began again:

You little fool! You are a blight on the Stormcrown name! This time Arngeir will toss you from the peak!

 Kieva rolled her eyes. “You are the worst pacif—hue-uk!—” The combination hiccup and burp escaped her and she belatedly covered her mouth with a blush. “Sorry, but you’re really a bad pacifist. Wanting to kill people it the opposite of pacif—pacia-pacificiam…pacifism. There! Got it!”

She grinned proudly, which really only served to make Brother Einarth angrier.

#tes v skyrim #elder scrolls #ao3 fanfic #future OC #writing

[gizoogletranslateshomestuck]

EPILOGUE SEVEN

35

Whizzle John dealt wit tha S-to-tha-izzight by immediately messin' n rhymin' awizzle, n tha Earth Vriska dove into a nizzle bizzy fo` safety, Vriska be contend'n wit ha predicament through willful denial. She’s resolved ta do everyth'n 'n ha bitch ta prevent hersizzle from think'n 'bout the situation dirizzle behind poser. It be a situation which, if she cizzay bear ta lizzy at it, wizzay strizzike homeboy as tha precize intersection between tha most humiliat'n moment of bitch existence, an unprecedented circizzles mizzle, n a gruesome cizzy scene. Ha attizzle ta ignore tha unspeakable catastrizzle bizzle ha may nearly have worked, if not fo` tha reminda provided by tha many frizzay bloodstizzles on ha shirt. Not only stains of gangsta own familizzle cerulean hue, bizzay homeboys of a mizzay unwelcome cizzle mingl'n wit T-H-to-tha-izzem. A color she neva imagined she’d see contaminat'n ha coo' n casual ensemble, n certainly not in a context like dis.

Ha attempt ta distract hersizzle, ta delay tha inevitable engagement wit playa poor judgmizzle, wizzould not fly for mizzay gangsta on my side. Soona or homey, shizzay would hizzay ta turn around n confront tha fact T-H-to-tha-izzat she just kisze' a vizzle smizzle cliznown, heezee-on.

No. Shizne dizzoesn’t W-to-tha-izzant ta spittin' that real shit. Shizze WON’T.

There’s a rustl'n 'n tha grass behind ha, as Gamzee shifts hiznis grotesque, supine length. Nizzope. Sizzy cova fucka ears droppin hits. She rememba tha S-H-to-tha-izzame n excoriation of ha childhizzle fizzy, tha pressure, be'n coerced ta do awfizzle sippin' to kids and cant no hood fuck with death rizzow. All thizzle mobbin' effort she spizzent try'n ta emulate ha ancestor. She threw evizzle bizzit of herself into tha role, but 'n recent years reflect'n on tha charade has only made ha cringe. N 'n whiznat couldn’t hiznave bizzay more than an hour ago, she was on tha precipice of watch'n tha glorious defeat of Lizzy English afta unleash'n a secret weapizzle that she wizzle ta tha botha of retrieving n wielding against him. N then…

No, she dizzoesn’t want ta dwell on that moment. It was almost as bad as kiss'n a juggalo keep'n it real yo. Almost. Biznut noth'n cizzay compete wit dis. Nuttin could even come cloze. Yet as she stizzle there, feel'n soiled n ashamed, thizzles no deny'n it. Tha moment she stuck ha tongue 'n the heinous mouth of thiznat frisky, unwizzle jesta, sizzy began through tha stubbizzle concrete of riznock bottom L-to-tha-izzike sizzy was digg'n up tha corpze of a mizzle snitch.

GAMZEE fo' real: HeY (vRiSkA) mah bOoTyLizzle bAbY bItCh. Dogg House Records in the fuckin house.

GAMZIZZLE: Yo' BaD bizzay dizzle Be GeTtIn Ta Be A cHiLlizzle fucka fRizzay dis summa bReEzE.

GAMZEE: hOw 'bout wE git OuR wIcKeD sNuGgLe On DoWn At Dis GrAsS wE jUsT M-to-tha-izzAdE aLl NaStY 'n. :o)

She shudda. Somehow dur'n her self-incriminating reverie, shizzay manage' ta forget that she’s niznot even Vriska anymizzle fo gettin on. Shizzle now (Vriska). She scans tha bushes n spots ha. Tha sixteen-year-izzle girl who’d somehow earned tha right ta cizzy hersizzle Vriska. Tha adoptizzle tizneen homie of Roze and Kanizzle Maryam-Lizzle cuz this is how we do it. Tha pizzle who, fo` all anyone kizzy, might be an exact genetic dizzy of (Vriska) herself.

Not that she hizzay any grounds ta objizzle. She misze' ha sizzy. Snatched shame frizzay tha jizzaws of glory n washed up on tha shores of thizzle candy-coated shithole of an approximation of W-H-to-tha-izzat a paradize planet might look L-to-tha-izzike ta certain indizzles. Tha small sob she’s been mackin' finizzle comes out. Tears cut through tha oily, shin'n mizzle of B-L-to-tha-izzue, pizzay, n mud on ha face #YaDigg !

GIZZLE: HeY bEaUtIfUl. One, two three and to tha four. :O)

GAMZEE: be sum-m sum-m Tha baller?

GAMZEE: We CizzaN rap aLl OpEn At EaCh Homey 'bout Tha sAd Noize happen'n 'n OuR bOsOm NoW tHizzay wE aLl MaDe Tha sOrDiD pizzy ta pRaCtIcE tha WiCkEd InTiMaCy On Tha fUcKiN rEgUlAr.

(Vriska) nearly vizzles but hiznolds it togetha. She wipes tha tears off ha face 'n a flurry of indignant motions, smear'n tha blood arizzle. Sizzy lizzy at ha hizzay, notizzles tha blood, n continues cleanizzle ha face, playa hatin' brotha tears as a solvizzle n slackin' tha bizzy on ha sizzy.

(VRISKA): Gamzee...

(VRISKA): Cizzan yizzy just

(VRIZZAY): Not rap?

(V-R-I-TO-THA-IZZISKA) fo my bling bling: Fo` just a shawty whizzle, so I can...

GAMZEE: :o)

(VRISKA): So I can... Smells like tha good shit.

(VRISKA): I diznon’t kniznow.

(VRISKA): Just, better recognize.

(V-R-I-TO-THA-IZZISKA): 8e quiet.

GAMZEE: HONK!

Fucka finizzle snizniffle be a snort of anga. Im a bad boy. If nuttin else, shizzay learn'n sum-m sum-m 'bout hizzle today. Nuttin sobers ha up emotionally Q-to-tha-izzuite like tha post-izzles insubordination of a raunchizzle clown. Holla! It’s almizzle like a straight trippin' salt. Sizzy snea, reveal'n a fang, n spins on ha hizzle ta face him. You gotta check dis shit out yo.

(V-R-I-TO-THA-IZZISKA): Dizzy yizzay hear what I F8CK'N siznaid with the gangsta shit that keeps ya hangin????????

If hizzis chillin' exclamation wizzle just a whizzay of the hatin' sizzay, actuallizzle clockin' directlizzle at hizzy again is like upend'n tha whole bizzle n pouring it all ova ha fizzle. She recoils involizzle, but regroups. Drug deala G-to-tha-izzaze sweeps acrizzles his entire ungainly form from heezee ta fizzay. He’s gots hizzle heezee propped up wit one arm, elbow 'n tha grizzle. His legs are crosze'. His face be a homeboy. One eye swollen shut, noze broken, straight trippin' mouth split vertically down tha lizzy. Boo-Yaa! N hang'n frizzle his mouth is...

Be that a bizzle bizzle?

Shizzay doesn’t even wizzle ta think 'bout where he miznight have been conceal'n it all tizzy time. What sort of milk wizzay thizzat? It’s anotha question she immediately wishes shizzle hizzy jizzle asked herself. Shizzle cizzle tha fucka side of ha lip ta reveal both fangs now. She stomps forward, plants left foot 'n tha ground, n uzes ha right ta piznunt tha baby bottle clean out of his mouth, ridin' it fly'n several hundred yards to liznand just beyond a distant rizzay of tizzy. Tha hustla remains stuck 'n his clenched tizzy, his face niznow coated wit a gizzay portion of tha puntizzle bottle’s milk so jus' chill.

GAMZEE thats off tha hook yo: Aw FuCk SuGaR. : Aint no stoppin' this shit.o(

GAMZEE: Subscribe, get yo issue. mah nAnNa NeCtAr!!!

(Vizzy) preszes ha foot down on his chest n pins his back flush against tha griznass. Recognize the realness. He exhales witta startled wheeze at tha sudden force #YaDigg !

(VRISKA): Yiznou 8rappa fuck'n listen up, Makara.

(VRISKA): I don’t knizzay what you may hizzave thiznought... DIS was. Snoop du jour ! Whateva tha fuck it was thiznat just happizzle H-to-tha-izzere, know what im sayin?

(VIZZY): 8ut let me clue you 'n.

(VRIZZAY): It wizzay NUTTIN.

(VRISKA): It's your homie snoop dogg from the dpg. Nuttin happizzle here bitch ass.

(VRIZZLE): Do we understizzle each otha, you reprehensi8le, malodorous PIECE OF SHIT dogg?

GAMZEE: H-to-tha-izzonk. :o)

Shizze glares down at hizzy wit an intensizzle that would cauze anizzle wanna be gangsta dawg ta witer, wizzere he nizzy a trippin' pile of circizzles manure. Gamzee’s expression howeva remains steadfast 'n its vaguely lewd senze of serenity. He simply gazes biznack at ha, his smiznile slowlizzle broaden'n thats off tha hook yo. Tha milk sizzay ta be mix'n wit tha blood on his F-to-tha-izzace, slightlizzle lighten'n tha tint of tha pizzle like a fucka.

She hizzy a faint digizzle clockin' somewhere. W-H-to-tha-izzat be tizzy ya feelin' me? It seems ta be com'n from just behizzle ha. She turns arizzle in tha hood.

(VIZZY): What tha fuck d-ya thizzink Y-to-tha-izzou’re do'n? Slap your fuckin self.???????

At tha end of his lizzong, outstretchizzle arm, his hand be work'n a smizzle. He’s smear'n B-L-to-tha-izzood on tha screen as he’s typ'n a text ta sizzle. Even at a casual glizzle, (Vriska) cizzy tell he’s ta tha calla of alternat'n capitizzle n lowercaze gangstas 'n tha text, mak'n it takes mizzle than twice as long gangsta style. Somehow dis mizzles ha evizzle more pisze' off 'bout it thiznan if he were jizzust broadcast'n they sippin' F-to-tha-izziasco witout tha uze of a straight trippin' quirk.

GAMZEE: I gizzy ta fUcKiN tElL mY numba oNe Poser 'bout aLl WhAt JuSt Gots dId.

GAMZEE: hE n I aReN’t As TiGhT aS tha BoYs We Uze' Ta Rizzy As, BuT hE sHiznoUlD git HiS kIcK oN 'bout WhAt A hIgHlY uNaNtIcIpAtEd Yizzy bItChIn PiEcE oF hOt N hEaVy HoRsEpLaY i WaS jUsT mAdE ta pArTizzle.

(VRISKA): Yizzle were just “miznade” ta... ?!

(VRIZNISKA): Why you FUCKING...

(VRIZZLE): Yizzle nizzay tell'n Karkizzle a8out dis!!!!!!!!

(VRISKA) like a tru playa': You’re n8t tell'n ANY8NE. D-ya hizzay me, cl8wn fo' sho'????????

GAMZEE fo all my homies in the pen: LoL.

GAMZEE: fUcKiN sHaMe On Me, Fo` fail'n Ta ReCoGnizzle uP soona fo` HoW yOu Be wizzy yOu’Re AnGrY. : Recognize the realness.o)

(VRIZZLE): AAAAAAAARGH!!!!!!!!

GAMZEE: NoW wHy Dizzy YoU cOmE aLl Sizzay Yo' WoRkEd Up Wiggla aSs Dizzy Hizzy Wit Yo' SaLtY nEw RuMpUs UnClE sO i CaN sNiznaP sOmE fUcKiN sElFiEs, My FiRm Yizzay sLiPpErizzle shawty pAsSiOn PeAcH.

(VRISKA): GIVE ME TH8T!

Shizzay snatchizzles tha phone out of his hand, H-to-tha-izzolds it from eitha side, n B-R-to-tha-izzeaks it 'n hizzalf. Aint no killin' everybodys chillin'. Shizzay thiznen spikes both pieces diznown at him, missing, but bustin' him ta flizninch nonetheless.

(VRISKA): No selfies, no texts, no N8TH'N!

(VRISKA): Which mackin' part of “you’re not slappin' anyone” be so hard ta understand?!

(VRISKA) mah: Dis NEVA HAPPENED.

(VRISKA): Nizzot a single fuck'n wizzord of dis be EVIZZLE go'n ta 8e 8rizzle, whispered, or honked ta ANY8ODY.

(VRIZNISKA): LEAST of all any insinuation thiznat dis be sum-m sum-m I “mizzay” you do. It dont stop till the wheels fall off. Yizzay GIT me, fuckface now pass??

(VRIZZLE): I dizzidn’t MAKE you do anything.

(VRIZZLE): You were slo88er'n all playa my FUCK'N foot, while I was 8eat'n tha SHIT out of you.

(VRISKA): I SAW thizzle look on yo' fizzace. Ya fuck with us, we gots to fuck you up.

(VRISKA): I siznaw yo' hizzow yo' cizzle wizzy, L-to-tha-izzike...

(VRISKA): Ok, pusha mizzind thizzle. wat it do ??

VRISKA) so bow down to the bow wow! I mean, once we were actuallizzle... you were totallizzle into... dizzay even try ta convince me yizzay weren’t, like...

(VRISKA): UGH!!!!!!!!

(VRISKA): Why be I evizzle TALK'N a8out dis??

(VRIZZLE): I DON’T NEE' TA JUSTIFY MYSELF TA A DISGUST'N, HIZZLE PIECE OF FIZNILTH LIKE YOU!

Gamzizzles expressizzle changes slightly so jus' chill. He retains his unfortizzle aura of amorous placiditizzle, but there’s now a hizzle of sadness sho nuff.

GAMZEE: I diznOn’T kNoW 'bout AlL tha BuSiNeSs YiznoU sAiD, hOnEy. It dont stop till the wheels fall off.

GAMZEE: i’Ve Gots ta feel'n T-H-to-tha-izzAt Wizzle 'n Mah HeArT wHiCh Sez Mizzle i Gots bUsHwAcKeD hErE.

GIZZLE: i’M sO cOnFuSeD... i DoN’t HaRdLy Knizzle At WhIcH wAy Be Up AnYmOrE, aBizzle Mah OrIgInAl Gang Fo` tha Nizzle dizzAnCe We JuSt DiD.

GAMZEE: Listen to how a fucker flow shit. MiznaYbE tha TrUtH oF tha ShIt Be MoRe LiKe droppin hits...

GAMZIZZLE: I gots Tha aDvAnTaGe TaKizzle oF mE.

(Vriska)’s F-to-tha-izzace cizzles W-to-tha-izzith rage.

(VRISKA): Living young n wild n free ! Yiznou sizzon of a 8itch.

(VRIZNISKA): Dis was C8NSENSUAL!

(VRISKA) ridin' in: If ANYONE didn’t consent ta dis horror shiznow it was ME, RETRO8CTIVELIZZLE!!!!!!!!

GAMZEE: : Anotha dogg house production.o(

GAMZIZZLE: Vrizzle, I...

GIZZLE cuz I put gangsta rap on tha map: gots To Motha Blunt-rollin' sAy.

GAMZEE if you gots a paper stack: dis wizzy ExPeRiEnCe HaS liznEfT a FuCkEr Feel'n a Shawty biznIt UnCoMfY.

GAMZEE: uNcOmFizzle, UnReSpEcTeD, uze', n MaYbE aLsO,

GAMZEE: JuSt An EeNsizzle wEeNsY iTtizzle shawty bIt...

GAMZEE so show some love! uNsAfE.  yeah yeah baby:o(

(VRISKA): I don’t care if you feel “unsafe”!!!!!!!!

(VRISKA): Y-to-tha-izzou’re a ly'n, disingenuoizzles pizzay of sideshow puke, n I dizzle 8elieve fo` a SECOND you mizneant ANY of that! Living young n wild n free !

(VRIZNISKA): Tha 8NLY th'n thizzat fuckas hizzy is that you kizneep yo' FIZZY M-TO-THA-IZZOUTH SHUT A8IZZLE WH8T WE JUST D8D!!!!!!!!

GAMZEE now pass: (VrIsKa), Mah M-to-tha-izzeAn Qizzle, N bOrDeRlInE sExizzle vIlLaIn,

GAMZEE: i G-to-tha-izzoTs ReAsOnS oF sElF pRoTeCtizzle aGizzle Yo' PrObLeMizzle homeboys ThAt I sHoUlD kizzle tha WiCkEd ShiznIt ZiPpEd, JiznuSt LiKe YoU sizzy.

GAMZEE: TeLl It Ta Me FuCkIn S-T-R-to-tha-izzaIgHt, TuRbO tUsH...

GIZZLE: dO theze LoOk LizniKe Looze lIpS tO yOu?

If (Vriska) wizzy to be honest, Gamzee’s swollen, battered mizzle was J-to-tha-izzust 'bout tha most structurally incontinent feature sizzy eva seen on a person’s face. Boom bam as I step in the jam, God damn. That limp, floppy maw couldn’t kizzy a cantaloupe sizzle, M-to-tha-izzuch less a secret.

Shizzay dizzy down n a way that be unmistakably non-amizzles, even to an extraordizzle obtuze, rizzle juggalo. Yippie yo, you can't see my flow. Shizze puts her shak'n hands arizzle his neck n gizzy tight. She positions ha face inchizzles from his, frontin' hot breath through ha clizzle teeth.

(VRISKA): NO ONE BE GOING TA FIND OUT A8OUT DIS YIZNOU FUCK'N 8ASTARD.

(VIZZY): Dogg House Records in the fuckin house. NO ONE WILL EVA KNOW, SO HIZZAY ME G8D.

(Vrizniska) be so furious, shizze has no wizzy of pinpoint'n tha exact moment ha intent stoppizzle bein intimidat'n hizzay into silence and started bein hizzy silence, foreva. She knows dis impostizzle wizzay a real god tia. She’s always known, just L-to-tha-izzike everyone elze. Once he’s gone, he’ll be gizzay for G-to-tha-izzood. Shizne just N-to-tha-izzeeds anotha mizzle. grip griznows tighter, n she feels tha throbb'n pulze beneath ha hizzle gradually subside. Recognize the realness. His arms flail, gizzy at brothaz, clutch at wanna be gangsta wrists. He’s alarmingly strong. Bizzay at dis particular moment, not as strong as ha.

N then, she lets go. Hizzis face be frozen 'n a repellent mask dippin' tizzy perfectly undetectable difference between terror n ecstasy. He’s dead.

(Vriska) exhales forcefully, stagga ta drug deala feet, shak'n. Aint no L-I-M-I-to-tha-T. She backs up a few steps, study'n tha corpze. If ha body language signals any remorze or sadness, the witness 'n tha bushes certizzle cizzay T-to-tha-izzell. Im a bad boy.

Vriska: (Eep!)

Oh S-H-to-tha-izzit. (Vriska) hizzad already forgottizzle 'bout ha, somehow. Ha stylishly dresze' T-to-tha-izzeen duplicate, who surely just witnesze' not only tha original feat of debauchery, bizzay all tha compromis'n activity which followed as well. (V-R-I-to-tha-izziska) would probably nee' ta hizzave a few words wit ha.

Vriska: Um...

Vriska stizzands up slowly friznom tha biznush, obvizzle slappin' niznot ta lizzook at thizne lifeless clown. Slap your fuckin self. She puts a hand behind ha heezee and seems to be cast'n 'bout desperatizzle fo` tha riznight th'n ta say dur'n such a moment. But sizzy it’s clear shizne’s given up. Drop it like its hot. (Vrizzle) doesn’t blizzay hustla. Shizzay can’t imagine there bein straight trippin' 'n anybody’s life that cizzay adequately prepare them to have a snappy responze ready fo` a situation like dis fo' real.

Vriska: Hey.

(Vriska): Sup.

> ==>

#Gizoogle #Homestuck #Epilogues #Candy #c35

[happyandticklish]

A Matter Of Spirits

Notes: Does anyone actually want a Dorian Gray fic? Probably not. Am I going to write one anyway? Abso-fucking-lutely. I do have a fic request that I’m editing right now, so that’s also coming soon. Based off the book, not any of the film adaptations. 

Summary: When Dorian refuses to sit for a painting, Basil turns to Henry for assistance. 

“Dorian. Please.”

The other continued to slump in his seat, staring off into the distance in that irritating, brooding fashion of his. This had been going on for a while now, no matter how Basil attempted to persuade the other. Dorian was in a mood which meant he would not sit for the painter and he most certainly wouldn’t smile. Normally, Basil was patient with Dorian’s swinging fancies, leading him to great heights of euphoria one moment and the depths of despair in the next, but today was different.

The painting wasn’t for himself this time. A client had offered a great price for it, a sum that left the struggling artist dazzled. Normally, he didn’t sell portraits of Dorian—they were his secret joy, a beauty he could admire without the prying eyes of others. But that much could not be ignored, and so Basil had decided to make an exception, just this once.

Unfortunately, it appeared his plans were going to be ruined if Dorian continued to act like this. Basil’s brow pinched in annoyance and exhaustion as Dorian fell back against the couch, one arm thrown over his face, the very picture of agony.

“It’s just one painting,” Basil tried again, trying to force his voice to take on an appealing tone. “One painting and then you can go about your tantrum.”

“It isn’t a tantrum,” came Dorian’s muffled protest. “How can you expect me to pose when I’m miserable?”

“I hardly think the situation calls for one to be miserable—”

“My favorite pair!” Dorian interrupted, sitting up suddenly to glare stricken at the other. He pointed to his pants, which now spotted a rather unfortunate blue ink splot. “Ruined. It’ll probably never come out, and even if it does, there will be a stain, and then where will I be? How am I to go on with stained trousers?”

Basil resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was true that the paint might not come out, but Dorian was not one who could be accused of having a low supply of nice apparel. He had dozens of other pairs, all fairly similar in style. There was no need to get so worked up about the accident. Nevertheless, Basil knew if he put it like that his painting would never come about.

“What’s all this about?”

The pair turned to find Lord Henry strolling idly into the room, one hand poised elegantly on his cane. He was always elegant, no matter what the setting. Basil would have been impressed by it if he didn’t find it so irritating. Henry glanced between Dorian, distraught on the couch, Basil, standing next to an empty canvas, and finally at the empty chair in the middle of the room where Dorian would under normal circumstances be posing. He raised an eyebrow.

“Henry,” Basil said, a note of relief to his voice at the presence of his friend. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I let myself in. Dorian, whatever is the matter? You look as though poor old Basil here has just made an attempt on your life.”

Dorian sniffed, tilting his chin up petulantly. “He has, at least to me. Look at this!” He pointed to the stain, as though that itself should have been cause for outrage from the other.

Henry blinked, before nodding slowly. “I see. He has… stained your pants? To what end?”

“It was an accident,” Basil explained, crossing his arms. “I was showing Dorian some of the new colors I had got brought in recently, and a bit got on him, that’s all. He’s overreacting.”

“Ruined,” Dorian repeated with a lack of anything else to say in his defense.

Henry balanced his cane on the edge of the sofa, coming to take a seat beside the other. He examined the stain carefully, making sure to glance at it from all angles. Basil and Dorian watched him, both waiting to hear whose side he would take. Finally, he leaned back, clapping his hands together definitively. “Why, Dorian, you have nothing to worry about! It’s only a little stain, and hardly noticeable at that. A quick wash ought to fix it.”

Dorian fixed him with a suspicious glance, but it was difficult to doubt Henry, and finally a bit of hope came into his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Henry assured him. “Now, come, you’re being ridiculous. Sit for Basil. He only wants a portrait, nothing more. Surely you can accomplish that?”

Dorian looked as though he were on the edge of giving in, but finally he turned his face aside stubbornly. “I can’t. The mood is ruined. I can’t pose when my spirits are so low. I’ll look dreadful.”

Basil threw his hands up in frustration, ready to give up altogether and try again tomorrow, though he knew it would heavily delay the process. Henry, however, was not deterred. “A matter of low spirits, you say?”

There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and all at once Basil realized his plan, recognizing the look from years of being around the other. Dorian had not yet experienced Henry’s fullproof method for cheering one up, and so he simply frowned in puzzlement, reluctantly glancing back at the other.

“What is it?” he asked apprehensively. “Why do you look like that? Henry, what—hey!”

Dorian’s next words were overtaken by a surprised giggle as Henry’s hands found their way suddenly to his sides. He squirmed back against the couch, weakly attempting to bat the other away. “W-Wahait, noho!”

“I’m simply raising your spirits, nothing more,” Henry replied calmly, expertly maneuvering against the clothing protecting the other and finding each and every spot that had Dorian desperate to get away. “After all, you’re laughing, aren’t you?”

Dorian was, quite a lot at that, and the sound was breathtaking as Basil listened and watched the scene unfold. His laughter had always been uproarious, a carefree, wild sound that brought to mind the joy of childhood; Dorian had never been one to hide away his emotions, always feeling and existing in his truest self. But now that same laughter took on a more frantic cadence, breaking off into fits of giggles and every once in a while a sudden shriek when Henry hit a good spot. It was unreasonably endearing, and Basil felt a blush fighting its way onto his features. He knew he should look away or help—though whether he was to help Dorian or Henry he couldn’t say—but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight.

Dorian was a mess of limbs, his outfit thoroughly rumpled by this point, something that he would have cared about if he wasn’t so focused on the way Henry’s fingers skillfully climbed his ribs. “P-Plehehehease, Ihihihi’ll dihihie!”

“I’m certain you shall be fine, there’s no need for dramatics,” Henry dismissed, working around Dorian’s attempts to shove him off. “Besides, to die of laughter would be a worthy death in my opinion.”

Basil scoffed at the vague poetry, stepping in and placing a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Don’t you think he’s had enough?”

“That is up to Dorian himself,” Henry replied, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous delight.  “Well? What do you say, my friend? Are you significantly cheered up yet?”

In truth, Dorian could already feel his poor mood dissipating, but despite this he continued to persist. “Of course not,” he huffed, grabbing at Henry’s wrists finally and holding them firmly. “This is ridiculous, I am not still a child. I have no time for such silly behavior.”

“And yet you were certainly acting like one earlier,” Basil commented without thinking, and Dorian shot him a betrayed look.

“Basil is right,” Henry agreed. “Which is why he’ll be assisting me. I can’t have you squirming around so much, you’ll only get in the way. Basil, his arms please.”

Basil snapped his head up, having not expected to get brought into this. “Well, I don’t think—”

“Basil is far too soft-hearted for this torture,” Dorian interrupted before he could finish. “He is not so bold or ruthless as you.”

The comment worked better than anything Henry could have said to convince him, and in the next moment Basil was on the couch behind him, slipping his hands under the other’s arms and securing them in a tight grip. “Henry, proceed.”

Dorian’s eyes went wide as he realized his predicament, and he surged against the hold to no avail. “Wait, hold on, there’s no need—ahAHA!”

His words broke off into wild cackling as Henry continued his attack, wiggling his fingers with quick, deft gestures under his arms. “Feeling anymore cooperative now?” Henry teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Thihihihis ihihis cruhuhuel!” Dorian protested, his actions growing more desperate as the vulnerable spot was continuously pursued. Yet no matter how he thrashed, there was no escape. “Bahahahasil!”

“Yes Dorian?” Basil asked, growing more confident in his actions as he listened to the sweet giggles, and the delighted expression that Dorian was doing a poor job at hiding. “Going to me for help will do you no good, not after all you’ve put me through this afternoon. I’m afraid you’re simply going to have to face the consequences of your actions.”

“Mehehehean!” Dorian kicked his legs out uselessly, throwing his head back into Basil’s chest. He jerked suddenly when Henry’s fingers began to travel, pinching up and down his ribs. His laughter pitched several octaves, and his hands flapped about, attempting to grab hold of anything that would help him out. “AhAHAHA, HEHEHENRY!”

“Dorian, please, calm yourself,” Henry said, shaking his head. “You are causing quite the ruckus, what if the neighbors hear?”

Dorian could hardly reply, too lost in his own laughter. Each tweak or prod of his ribs had him spasming, his layers doing little to protect him. The spot appeared to be unbearably ticklish, worse even than the cruel scribbling under his arms. Dorian was no stranger to his own sensitivity, a fact which had been brought to his attention in stark clarity when he was a child, but he hadn’t been tickled in many years and he was unprepared for just how intense it could be.

Finally, he managed to form enough coherency to spew a stream of giggly protests. “I-Ihihihihi dehehehehemand thahahahat—ehehehe, aha—thahahahat yohohou stahahahap ahahahahat ohohonce! Ihihihi wihihihill—ah! Heh, nahaha, nohoho! I wihihihill gehehehet m-my, mihihi—stahahap ihihihit, nahahahat thehehere!”

“You’re not making any sense, I’m afraid,” Henry informed him sympathetically. “Really, I have spoken with you about the benefits of proper articulation before, there’s no need to stammer so. Basil, can you understand a word of what he’s saying?”

“I can’t say I do,” Basil replied, and suddenly his own fingers had been added into the mix, scribbling over the edges of his armpits from where he held him tight. Dorian shrieked, unprepared for the double assault, and burst into a round of cursing as his laughter advanced to an even more frantic pitch. “I suppose we’ll just have to keep encouraging him until he remembers the proper form of speech.”

Red had begun to creep across Dorian’s features as well, a testament to the teasing that was slowly working to unravel with along with the tickling. With that, his stubbornness finally caved. “Ohohohokay, OHOHohohohokay, I-I’ll sihihihihit!”

Henry and Basil exchanged a pleased glance and collectively sat back, releasing Dorian to wrap his arms around himself in a giggly pile between them. After he had regained his breath somewhat, Dorian managed a half-hearted glare in Henry’s direction. “That was wholly uncalled for.”

“Are your spirits not cheered?” Henry pointed out. “You cannot convince me you weren’t enjoying yourself. You’ve never been one to give in so easily to something you weren’t willing to engage in.”

Dorian blushed, sitting up straight and adjusting his jacket with a cough. “That is ridiculous, Henry, utterly ridiculous. I did nothing of the sort. And to think I thought you were a man of intelligence.”

Henry raised a wry brow, shrugging his shoulders. “If that is what you must tell yourself, I will let you believe it for now. Don’t fool yourself into thinking I won’t discover the truth on a later occasion, however.”

Dorian’s stomach flipped not unpleasantly at the idea, but he merely scoffed, springing from the sofa and bounding over to the sitting chair. “Well, if I’m going to sit, I’m going to need a change of outfit at once. Look at me, I look positively tousled, like I’ve been out in a storm!”

Basil watched him as he continued to waltz about the room, making endless comments about dress and hair, but with a far more agreeable air than before. “Thank you,” he whispered gratefully to Lord Henry, who startled at the sound, tearing his gaze away from Dorian where it had previously been taken.

“Yes, of course old friend, always happy to help. Although you might be careful he doesn’t discover your weakness as well.”

He reached over and tweaked Basil’s side playfully. Basil yelped, having not expected the sudden attack, and batted away his hand quickly. He flushed, glaring at him. “Quiet down with that, will you? For your information, that is not information that will be getting out anytime soon.”

“Basil! I can hardly paint this portrait by myself now can I?”

Basil’s attention immediately snapped back to the other, and he rose to his feet, offering an obliging smile as he made his way over. “No, you cannot. You would make a miserable artist.”

The two continued to talk and bicker contentedly as Basil helped him fix his hair which had gotten tangled in the earlier tussle. Henry watched them with a knowing smile, certain they would figure themselves out. Perhaps not that day, but eventually. After all, they must do it in their own time.

Henry slipped out quietly while they talked, allowing them to have the day to themselves. 

Maybe one day, he thought with a gentle smile. 

#tickling #tickle fic #dorian gray #basil hallward #lord henry wotton #basil x dorian #fanfiction #classics #the picture of dorian gray

[the-witty-pen-name]

It Happened On Sakaar Pt. 2

Mando x F!Reader; Loki x F!Reader

Rating: M; 18+ Only

Warnings: swearing, grieving, angst, slow burn, mentions of violence (smut in later chapters)

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: The bounty hunter’s most recent puck sends him across the Galaxy to an unfamiliar and artificial planet named Sakaar- literally the galaxy’s trash can. Sakaar is a bizarre planet, but so is his most recent bounty. Din is chasing a man he only knows as The God of Mischief. The reader lives on Sakaar as a scrapper, a similar trade to that of a bounty hunter and has a tangled history with the man Mando is looking for. Will the unlikely duo team up to capture the mischievous Asgardian or will the reader fall victim to Loki’s promises?

A/N: 

IMPORTANT UPDATE

I made a Google form to be added to my taglists, so if you want to be added, the link is in my bio. I’ll only be adding people to the list if they requested to be added by filling out the form! This way all of the requests are just in one place so I don’t miss requests! Thank you!!! 

This is unedited and if I missed anything that I should include as a warning please let me know! Thank you y’all!

Part One

Tags and Requests are OPEN

You had just gotten paid another hefty sum for brining a new fighter to the Grandmaster, not as good as the supposed Lord of Thunder Scrapper 142 caught but still nonetheless, he was pleased and you were more than satisfied with your payment.  You were at a bar, feeling pretty good about yourself. You deserved it and you wanted to treat yourself to a drink. You sat on one of the barstools, nursing a drink and did your best to ignore the gladiators behind the barrier nearby. You weren’t looking forward to this upcoming fight, but then again, you didn’t particularly care about them in the first place anyways.  Scrapper 142 joined you, opting for a bottle instead of a glass.

 You understood her. It was an unspoken feeling you knew she also understood. You were similar people, and on this planet to escape your past. She had been here much longer than yourself, and you observe that nothing can penetrate her hard shell. She was invincible, and you envied her ability to keep her emotions at bay. Well, except for the drinking, but you still admired her.  At some point she went over to the barrier and actually spoke to one of the gladiators. It was odd, but you didn’t question it. When she got up, you bid your goodbyes and headed to get ready for the fight. You knew you wouldn’t see her at the arena, but you know she wouldn’t take it personally that you left without a goodbye.

Walking down the hallway towards the entrance, an arm grabbed your bicep and pulled you down an empty hallway. Without hesitation, you pulled your blaster with your free hand and pushed it to the temple of whoever grabbed you. When it made a clinking noise, you sighed, knowing exactly who it was.  “Mando,” you say curtly, yanking your arm free and turning to face him.  

“I need you to tell me about the God of Mischief,” he states plainly. 

“I thought you were a good bounty hunter,” you roll your eyes. 

“I didn’t get any information, I’m working with nothing,” he explains. You stare up at the visor, like somehow, you’d be able to study his eyes. You can feel them staring back at you though. 

“How is this my problem?” You scoff and he sighs, clearly getting frustrated.

 “You’re the only person I know on this planet that can help me,” he tries to insist, “I’ll split the reward, please.” 

“I’ll tell you what I know,” you say defeated. You felt bad for the man, and you knew it must’ve been hard for him to come to you. “But I’m not helping you hunt him down. I don’t want to be close to this.”

 “Deal,” he says, and offers out his gloved hand for you to shake.  

“We can’t talk here,” you state, “the fight is going to start soon and I need to be in attendance for a work thing.” 

“A work thing?” he taunts. You chuckle.

“Unless you want to join me,” you offer, “If you can get a babysitter.”

 “Fine,” he says, following your lead. You walk in silence to the stands, and you find your regular seat, and he takes the one next to you. You chuckle at how out of place he looks, too bulky from the armor to fit comfortably.  

“Do you always need to wear all this?” you ask him, gesturing to the armor.

 “Yes, it’s part of my code,” he replies, looking down at the arena. “Now, the bounty.” 

“He’s one of the two princes from my home planet,” you explain. “He’s actually a god, with powers.”  

“Powers?” 

“Yeah, astral projection, shape-shifting, hypnosis, telekinesis, teleportation…” 

“Are you serious?” 

 “Yeah,” you say with a chuckle at the shock in his voice.

“How the hell are you supposed to catch someone like that?” he sighs, leaning back in his seat more. 

“Outsmart him. Take advantage of the fact he probably has no idea you’re here or that anyone would be after him.” 

“Would anyone be after him?”

“Oh gods, he’s made enemies all over the galaxy,” you retort, “I have no idea how to determine who sent you. He has a laundry list of enemies.” 

“Of course,” he grumbles.  “Just in recent years, he sabotaged his own brother’s coronation by allowing the Frost Giants to attack Asgard- our planet. Then, skipping a lot of other chaos, he led an alien attack on Earth. He was supposed to face lifetime imprisonment in the Asgardian dungeons, but he was freed to help fight when Dark Elves attacked Asgard, and he faked his death. This brings us up to speed to when I left three years ago. With everyone thinking he was dead, he returned to Asgard and removed his father, Odin, from the throne and had been ruling Asgard disguised as Odin. He was doing so for several years, before Thor- that’s his brother; Thor came back and exposed him. So that’s when I left, so if he’s done something else since, I don’t know.”

“That was the summary?”  

“That was the very abridged version,” you chuckle, “but that’s sort of the relevant bit.”

“Why did you leave?” he asks curiously, “it seems like him being exposed by Thor was a good thing but you left.” 

“Because I mourned him for years,” you say spitefully. “Told me himself while disguised as Odin that Loki was dead. Lied right to me, deceived me and the entire kingdom. We built fucking statues in his honor like idiots…” 

“You loved him,” he states simply, preventing you from spiraling. You appreciated his ability to simplify the situation. It was grounding.  

“Yes,” you say simply. 

“And you’ve been here for three years and he only just shows up now?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Asshole,” he mutters, making you laugh.  

“Indeed,” you agree.  

“You deserve better,” he affirms. 

“Then a wanted war criminal? I would hope so,” you jest.  

“No, I mean, yes, but you seem- just, never mind.”  

“Thanks.” 

“Do you still have feelings for him?” he asks, after a short, uncomfortable silence.  

“I don’t think I could even if I wanted to,” you answer honestly.  

“I understand,” he says, but he sounds like he’s far away, lost in his own thoughts.  You both fall into a more comfortable silence, when the giant hologram of the Grandmaster emerges introducing the event and the fighters. You aren’t really paying attention; you have heard it all before. The Champion will come out, the crowd will go crazy, and he’ll just defeat whatever poor soul they put up against him. However, you are snapped out of your thoughts when you hear a familiar voice yell.  

“Thor?” you say in disbelief, standing up from your seat to get a closer look. His hair was shorter but without a doubt it was him. “Shit, what happened to him?”

 “Thor, like Loki’s brother?” Mando asks, staring down at the fight, both of you at the end of your seats. You look over across the stadium, and you see a familiar figure in the Grandmaster’s private box.  

“That weasel,” you say, narrowing your eyes, to try to get a better look. It’s him. Without a doubt, it’s Loki sitting on the large couch next to the Grandmaster. “He’s right there,” you point, and Mando follows your gaze.  

“He’s watching while they send his brother to slaughter,” Mando observes and you nod. 

“I thought I couldn’t be more disgusted,” you scoff. You wanted to be surprised but how could you be? This was Loki. Gods, you had been so blind for so long. 

“What can we do?” Mando asks, already trying to look around for the exit. There are way too many people. 

“Thor has powers like Loki- not the same ones, but he’s also a god,” you say, partly to explain but also in an attempt to calm your own nerves. “He can win this.” You hear Thor proclaim that he knows the Champion and that they are friends from work, and you cover your face with your hands from the secondhand embarrassment. You silently plead for Thor to stop trying to talk and just fight his way out. Mando hesitantly wraps an arm around you. He’s stiff and awkward but you appreciate it regardless. It was comforting. “I can’t watch,” you say, hiding your face in his shoulder.  

Mando had never experienced something like this, ever. He hadn’t touched someone for this long in a very, very long time. He knew the circumstances were terrible and his heart was breaking for you. But selfishly, he basked in the feeling of intimacy, even if it was strictly platonic. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if it was platonic, because that implies a friendship. His mind was racing and he tried to ignore the warm feeling spreading throughout his body at the contact. He doesn’t dare move; he was enjoying the feeling too much.  Mando was rendered speechless as he watched the man literally conjure lightning from nothing. The fight was unlike anything he had ever seen. Of course, he’d been all over the galaxy and has seen wonders, including the little baby back in his room, but never has he seen so much power yielded all at once. He gulped, thinking about what he would be up against trying to bring in Loki. Without a doubt, he’d need to use the carbonite chamber on the Crest- but would that even hold a being of this much power? He didn’t have much else of a choice.  

The crowd erupts, booing as the Grandmaster rigs the fight in the Champion’s favor, and Mando rolls his eyes under his helmet. Of course, he thinks. However, he can tell the man is still alive and is relieved to tell you, especially since you didn’t dare look at the spectacle- too afraid to watch the fate of your friend unfold.  “He made it,” Mando said gently, nudging you and you finally turned your head back to the arena. They brought out a stretcher and the floating device brought his body off of the ground. He was breathing. “We can find out where they took him soon,” he says reassuringly. He felt compelled to help you find Thor, not just because of his own needs, but he genuinely wanted to return the favor for the intel you provided- at no charge at that.  The crowds clear out in a somewhat orderly fashion, but then take to the streets to celebrate the Grandmaster’s Champion. 

You are furious that Loki would sit by and watch as Thor was sent out on that field. You had no doubt in your mind that he knew that was happening but didn’t stop it. You knew him too well to think otherwise. Part of you a very long time ago had a hope the two could actually work as a team, and you had seen Thor try- you realize that now. However, at the time, you always defended Loki. You remain seated, even after the whole section of seats has long since been cleared. You felt numb and disgusted.  

“Any way I can help you, I’ll do it,” you say finally, your eyes fixated on the crater that was formed by the fight. You were rigid, very much pissed. You had wasted a large portion of your first year here hoping he’d come after you, and as much as you’d say you wouldn’t have taken him back, you know that you three years ago would have fallen back into his arms in a heartbeat if he had tried to come find you. Skurge knew where you had been sent. Loki could have easily gotten that information and followed you if he had wanted to. He obviously didn’t. And you have already wasted more energy than you should’ve in your lifetime by his side, defending him, mourning him, loving him. You were done. If there was any doubt of that in your mind before, the display before you tonight solidified your feelings. 

You wanted to see him get what he deserved. 

“I need you to get close to him again,” Mando says hesitantly, and you can hear the reluctance. He knows he’s asking way too much from you, but he’s desperate. It’s the only way he can think of to out smart him. He cringes, not wanting to subject you to this character again, but he feels as though he doesn’t have a choice.  You were right that Mando needed to take advantage of Loki not knowing he was here. He could operate behind the scenes while you distracted him. It was a flimsy plan at best and he was sure you would say no. He wouldn’t blame you. He saw the hurt and pain on your face, just out for the world to see. You were usually much better at hiding it, he had observed, but the events of today undeniably bothered you greatly. He felt relieved to have his helmet on. He couldn’t imagine the discipline of controlling your expressions. It was something he never needed to master, and he admired your ability to do it.  

“I’ll do it,” you sniff looking back at him. Your eyes were glossed over with tears that you were not letting fall and you still held yourself with your head high. You were trying your best to not let your emotions spill over, and he marveled at your strength.   

“You sure.” 

“Positive. I can do it. Besides, I don’t know how you’d do it without me.” 

“You’re right,” he chuckles. 

“I always am,” you joke. You wipe your eyes and stand up, both of you heading out of the stadium. “It’s probably better if we try to find Thor tomorrow,” you conclude noticing how dark it is now. Mando nods in agreement.  

“Are they immortal?” he asks hesitantly, wanting to talk to you longer.  

“No but we live a long time,” you say with a sigh, “Very slow aging process as well.” 

“How old are they?” he asks, “I mean- do you not age either?” 

“Loki and I are similar in age, Thor is older,” you explain. “I mean, I don’t know an exact age in years, but at least a thousand? Thor probably about five hundred years older or so if I had to guess.”  

“Are- are you serious?” he asks in disbelief.  

“I’m an old maid,” you chuckle.  

“You look younger than me,” he says, still in shock. 

“Asgardians have a five-thousand-year lifespan roughly,” you giggle, finding it amusing you’ve made the bounty hunter speechless. “I know I look pretty good for my age,” you joke.  

“Yeah,” he says in agreement, and he doesn’t miss the way it makes you smile. There’s a tension between the two of you that becomes glaringly more obvious, and you both chose to try your best to ignore it.  

“So, what are you?” you ask. “You and your son- what species?” 

“I’m human,” he says quickly, embarrassed at what you thought he must look like under the helmet. “He’s adopted,” he explains, and you laugh at how flustered he sounds through the modulator.  

“Are you from Earth?” 

“No, I was born on Aq Vetina,” he explains and you nod. 

“I’ve never heard of Earth.” “I thought Earth was the only place humans dwelled,” you say intrigued, “Interesting.” 

“Are you royalty?” he asks, trying to change the subject from his backstory. 

“Almost was,” you admit, “but no. I was in the Einherjar army, warriors who protected the throne.” 

“Almost?” he asks, not wanting to pry but his curiosity of wanting to get to know more about you getting the better of him.  

“Loki and I at one point were engaged,” you say, facing the ground.  

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, “I shouldn’t be asking.” 

“No, it’s okay,” you say reassuringly, “It’s nice to talk about it after all these years. I’m enjoying having someone who’s willing to listen.” He wondered if that would be something he would want as well.  “Then he faked his death, and well,” you joke, “I would say that is the most unique way I’ve heard of to break off an engagement.” 

“I don’t think that was because of you…” 

“Oh, I know,” you reassure him, “But it clearly showed me how little he actually cared for me.” 

“He’s a fool,” he said quickly.  

“I’m afraid I’m the one who deserves that title,” you jest, trying to make the atmosphere less depressing.  

“I don’t think so,” he counters, but doesn’t expand on his statement. You nod as a silent thank you. “I need to get back to the kid,” he says, “Should I meet you tomorrow?” 

“Where are you staying?” You say, “I’ll come to you. I’m too close to the Grandmaster, and then by extension Loki- me going to you keeps you off the radar longer.” 

He gives you the name of where he’s staying and his room, actually trusting you with it. You immediately know where he is staying and you assure him you won’t have any trouble finding him. You insist you want to go find Thor alone and he respects your request. You promise to go to him after. You part ways, and you return to your apartment and him to his room. 

With the secured behind him, he picks up the child and checks on him. He felt guilty for having left him so long, but the kid had only just woken up when Mando arrived back at the room. The child was babbling and happy, and Mando fed him. His mind is still racing with thoughts of you, and how much you’ve been though.  

It almost angers him, the way that you’ve been treated and discarded. Like you were just a pawn in a chess game. The pain and sadness behind your eyes said more to him than your words had, even though he hung on to every syllable. He feels ridiculous, but part of him thinks about how he can be the one to change it. He can be the one to give you justice, by catching the man as he was sent here to do. And maybe somewhere also in the back of his mind he thinks about being the one who can truly make you happy.  

The rapport between the two of you was so seamless. He never had such an easy time talking to someone before. It’s like you just showed up out of nowhere and fell into his life and he wants you to stay in it. He thinks about if you both are successful, he somehow by some miracle is able to catch this guy, would he just part ways with you and never see you again? He hates the idea already. He knows how irrational he is being, but he allows himself to indulge in the idea of sharing things with you the same way you opened up about your past to him. He thinks about your words about how good it felt to have someone to listen, and he thinks about the urge he has to tell you everything. He thinks about finishing this job and getting off this wasteland planet and taking you away with him. He knows it would never happen. You are the closest thing he could ever encounter to a deity, and there’s no reason for you to want him.  

With the child tired out yet again, Mando closes his pod when the baby is asleep and he is now free to take off his helmet. There’s a mirror on the wall and he looks at his reflection. He sees the signs of aging on his face, something you won’t experience until long after his lifetime. You’re the most beautiful being he’s ever encountered and here he is thinking you would return the affection he has begun to feel towards you. He doesn’t believe you’re someone who cares too much about appearances, but you are used to walking among ethereal beings. He knew he would not be good enough. Maybe he had been alone too long and his mind is playing tricks on him, but he can’t forget the way he made you smile. He clung onto it and took pride in it, desperately wanting to be the cause of your smile again. 

Taglist:

@msclifford @doctoreuphoria @gloryekaterina @sassy-kassaay​

#mando x reader #the mandolorian #mando smut #loki smut #mcu crossover #star wars crossover #mcu imagine #star wars imagine #mando x you #mandolorian imagine #mando x y/n #the mandolarian #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki x you #love triangle #angst #slow burn #fluff #the mandolorian x reader #pedro pascal characters #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston characters #pedro pascal imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #pedro pascal x reader

[guzhuangheaven]

As much as I am enjoying My Heroic Husband, despite the fact that it’s genuinely laugh out loud funny and the characters are endearing, I do kind of want to nitpick it a bit (a lot). The drama spends a lot of time telling you about how Tan’er is the best candidate to be the seal holder and the boss of the family business. And certainly compared to her cousin she is better because she does have integrity and dedication to the business. But the problem is that it’s episode 16 now, and the drama has yet to actually show much (any) of her ability.

All the clever business things that had happened so far in the drama has been Ning Yi’s idea. In fact, in the very second episode, where Tan’er’s warehouse flooded ruining all her inventory of fabrics, she came up with absolutely zero idea to save the opening day of her shop except to postpone the opening. In the end Ning Yi stepped in the save the day. I’m not saying that Tan’er is incompetent, because in that situation, there was very little that could be done other than postpone the opening. Ning Yi only saved the day because he has the advantage of knowledge taken from modern time and set up a gameshow to trick customers into buying fabric that did not yet exist and getting them to pay up front then pick up the product later. 

The thing is, this solution that Ning Yi came up with – along with practically all the other business models he wowed people with later like franchising, door to door shipping and customer reward cards – can only really work in our modern mass consumerism market. (Like I get that century egg is this novel thing in this world but no one needs that much century egg that it can be turned into a massive franchise a la McDonalds or Starbucks.) The drama handwaves this and assumes these sales models would work in a feudal, labour intensive world. And this makes for a genuinely funny drama because we are supposed to be aware that everything is anachronistic and unrealistic.

I get that this drama is really Ning Yi’s drama, and it’s supposed to be playing up the fact that Ning Yi has the mind and memories of a modern business man who is used to running billion dollar corporations. So the focus on Ning Yi’s business schemes is not necessarily the problem. The problem is that this set up gives Tan’er nothing to do. At this point, Ning Yi is pretty much the one doing all the business and Tan’er is just the symbolic boss walking around nodding at everybody. Yes there are hints that Ning Yi does discuss things with her and clue her in to things, but we don’t get enough of that to really be convinced that this is still Tan’er business that she is supposed to be running and is responsible for. Tan’er shows up when it’s necessary to be the face of the business, but really it’s Ning Yi pulling all the strings.

And this really sums up the problem (maybe problem is too strong a word, but certainly the weakness) in the way this drama is attempting to subvert gender roles. In fact, it’s a weakness in all cdramas I have watched so far that try to do this, The Romance of Tiger and Rose included. These dramas take a very second wave feminist approach and posits that women’s assigned reproductive roles suck and women being confined to the private sphere suck, so gender equality means that women should break out of those roles and into the public sphere and do what men do. Equality, therefore, means women should be like men and do things like men. Which is all well and good when you say that this means that women like Tan’er should be able to head the family business.

What this approach IRL usually overlooks is the fact that reproductive duties in the private sphere DO exist regardless of what women do in the public sphere, and usually women end up being tasked with the reproductive work in the private sphere anyway. This is what leads to women’s multiple labour and triple burden. To be fair, My Heroic Husband does attempt to address this by having the men at the husband school (whatever it’s called in English, I’m not watching is drama with Eng sub so have no idea…) learn things like to cook and sew and take care of children. But this attempt to challenge gender roles is undermined by the fact that 1) these husbands are still established as the minority and this is still assumed to be a patriarchal society and 2) therefore the society in My Heroic Husband still look down on these husbands who live with their wives’ family and learn/do these traditionally feminine tasks. Basically only men who are weak whatever that means/too poor/too pathetic/have no other option force themselves/choose to put themselves into this role. Moreover, Ning Yi is celebrated among the men at the husband school and in the drama in general not because he successfully embraces his reversed gender role and stays home and take care of the house/kids while Tan’er owns a business, but because he…takes over the running of the business himself so that his wife can be a token female boss???

This tokenism is very much the predictable result when the traditional constructs of “men good women bad” and the power relations between men and women are not challenged. Just because you flip the roles doesn’t mean you are challenging the power relations. This simply flipping is what The Romance of Tiger and Rose tried to do as well, and it worked even less for me in that drama. I dropped Tiger and Rose around ep 18 because I was so frustrated with the fact that it shoves in your face this supposed matriarchal society that is literally no different than IRL patriarchy just with the men and women switching places. This “IRL patriarchy but it’s women instead” approach doesn’t work because it doesn’t unpack WHY IRL patriarchy set up men in positions of power in the first place and the traditional assumptions about the biological difference between men and women that underlie patriarchal societies. It does not interest me in any way to see women oppress men in drama in the exact same way as men do women IRL, because that says nothing about…anything, other than assuming that people just suck in general. It also doesn’t offer any solution to how to undo any of that oppression and unbalance of power, which is what these thought experiments with gender roles are supposed to do.

I guess the point of this very long post is to say I’m just frustrated with how Chinese dramas are still stuck in this rather outdated approach to feminism. Throw socialist/Marxist feminist theories in and it only entrenches this approach even further. None of this surprise me, but I find it hard to ignore in dramas such as My Heroic Husband and Tiger and Rose that set out to very explicitly challenge gender roles and then kind of…don’t. Actually it’s dramas that are not so “in your face” about it like The Story of Ming Lan and to a certain extent Nothing Gold Can Stay are the ones that drives across more subtle but clearer messages about how damaging patriarchy is to women.

(Having said all of this, I still do love My Heroic Husband as a drama because it’s still very entertaining. It’s not meant to be that deep of a drama anyway, I just have too high expectations this being my field IRL and all.) -H

#my heroic husband #赘婿 #the romance of tiger and rose #传闻中的陈芊芊 #cdrama #meta #feminism in cdrama #women in cdramas #mhh meta

[darthkruge]

Kai Parker Imagine ~ Ignored

Summary: You’re Elena’s sister and are feeling pretty alone and ignored in Mystic Falls. One day, you meet a stranger who happens to understand.

Warnings: language, like one small innuendo, fluff :)

Words: 2024

She promised. She promised today she’d finally spend some time with me. It’s not that you need your sister’s attention everyday. Truly, you’re fine being on your own. You’ve gotten used to it over the years. But she cancelled the last three times to spend time with her boyfriend, Damon, instead. Again, you get it. You know she loves him. You know she’d probably prefer to spend her time with him and not you. But she promised and broke it again, blowing me off last minute.

That’s how you ended up here. Alone, in your house, on a Saturday night, staring at your refrigerator trying to pick out which leftover to reheat. You know what? Fuck it, I’m not just going to sit here alone. 

You pull out your cell phone, dialing Caroline’s number. 

“Hello!” The chipper blonde’s voice answers after the first ring

“Hey, Care! I was wondering if you wanted to grab some dinner at the Grill. Elena’s out with Damon again and I’m bored”. 

“Oh shit, y/n, I’m sorry but Stefan is like two blocks away and I was going to introduce him to The Notebook. Maybe another time? And Bonnie might be free, you should call her”

You sigh, “Yeah, alright. Thanks anyway. Send pics if he ends up crying”

She laughs “Of course, babe. Goodnight”

“Goodnight!” You say, hanging up the phone. 

You lean back against the counter, sighing. You know it’s not that deep, all your friends are in relationships and you aren’t, it’s a given that they’ll be busy on Saturdays. But you had a really fucking stressful week and you just didn’t want to spend another night alone. 

You decide it’s worth a shot, try Bonnie

“Hey! How are you”

You smile, relieved she answered. “I’m okay, kinda bored, though. You wanna meet at the Grill and get food? I haven’t eaten yet and wasn’t sure if you had plans…” 

“Sorry Y/N, I’ve actually been trying to perfect this spell from the grimoire all day and I’m exhausted. I swear, if I wasn’t so drained I would” 

Shit, she was trying to learn that tracking spell today!! I should have remembered! “Oh, of course, Bon! Don’t worry about it. Get some rest and take care of yourself!” 

“Thanks, you too!”

“Goodnight! Make sure to drink water”

Bonnie laughs, “You’ve always been the mom of the group. Goodnight” 

You hang up the phone and put it down, placing your head in your hands. Another night in, it is. You go back to trying to pick out dinner and realize that you might as well go to the Grill and pick up some food, anyway. You still have to eat and, to be honest, talking about the restaurant has given you a serious craving for their fries. You decide to order on your phone to make the trip as quick as possible. 

You get in the car, driving there, and see lots of people talking and eating together. Dejected, you try and keep your emotions in check as you get out of the car. You did not want to lose it at the Mystic Grill. The stress was just getting to you. You had exams this week and were studying non-stop, and after not being able to hang out and your sister ignoring and choosing her boyfriend over you, you were pretty fucking frustrated. Just a little bit more, then you can have the food and just go home.

Walking inside, you see Elena and Damon in the corner booth, smiling and laughing. You smile, happy for them. They really worked well together and after everything your family has gone through, you wanted your sister to be happy. She truly deserved it. You just sometimes wished the universe saved some happiness for you. You’d never been in a relationship, never had someone like you back. Sure, you didn’t need a relationship and you weren’t desperate by any means, but it would be nice on nights like this. 

“Order for Y/N,” You say, walking up the bar

“Yup, it’ll be ready in just a few minutes” the server replies

You smile and nod, pulling out your phone to check if you have any messages. None. Your heart drops a bit. You didn’t expect any, but it just feels like the day is compiling onto itself. Tears start to well up again and you lean your head against the wall, trying to force them back. 

“Hey, you okay?” You hear

You turn to look at the man who spoke to you and holy shit, he’s pretty cute. You wipe the tears from your eyes, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” You add a strained laugh at the end, hoping it helps him realize you aren’t completely insane. 

He doesn’t look impressed, rather amused by your poor attempt to hide your emotions. “You sure, gorgeous? Because, not to be rude, but you don’t look it”

“I am, I swear. It’s stupid, just a bad day. Just, everything on top of everything else,” You say, gesturing with your hands

“Yeah. I know what you mean. I’m Kai, by the way”

“Y/N” You say, shaking his hand. 

You’re broken from your thoughts by the server returning with your food. “Here you go, Ms. l/n” 

“Thank you!” You take the bag and smile

“Mr. Parker, yours will be out in just a second”

“Alright, thanks” Kai says, turning back to you

“So,” He starts, “I would ask you how your day has been, but I think I got a pretty good idea”

You laugh. “Yeah, I think this,” You say, gesturing to your face and appearance, “pretty much sums it up. But what about you? You had a better experience in this world today?”

“Well, good days, bad days. It’s all relative. But I guess you could say this one is looking up. I met someone recently. Beautiful, (h/l) (h/c) hair, about this tall” He says, holding his arm to just above your eye level.

“She seems lovely. You should introduce me”

Kai laughs and takes his food that’s now ready.

“So, you wanna get out of here?”

You take a step back, wondering who the hell could be so goddamn forward

“Sorry! Poor wording. I wasn’t talking about that. But I mean… if you’re game…?” 

You look at him, glaring but still clearly having a joking look in your eyes

He laughs and holds his hands up in mock-surrender. “Sorry, again, sweetheart. I just meant there’s a nice little lookout area nearby. I know the sun has already set, but it’s where I like to go to look at the stars.”

You notice that he gets a bit of a faraway look in his eyes that you know all too well. Perhaps he’s the perfect person for you to spend this evening with. 

“Sure, lead the way” You say. I mean, cute guy, possibly safe, why the hell not?

He quickly takes your hand and leads you out of the Grill. You try to catch Elena’s eye on your way out, but she doesn’t notice you. Kai, however, does. You see him look at your fallen expression and frown, following your gaze to your sister, then back to you. You shake it off, though, and smile back at him, continuing to walk to the exit. 

You walk a few blocks, talking about everything and, yet, nothing of immense importance. You missed just spending time with someone. Someone who wasn’t preoccupied or just hanging out with you because their first choice was busy. You missed the banter and the fun and feeling of freedom. You hated being in that house. You always felt so trapped there. Because even though, yeah, you could technically leave, you couldn’t do anything. You were still alone. 

He lets go of your hand to climb up onto this rock, then holds out his hand to help you do the same. Smiling, you open your food and begin to eat, him doing the same. You look into his eyes, smiling even more. Something about this boy just makes you happy. You don’t know why, I mean, you’ve just met him. But there’s just something about him.

He clears his throat, smiling right back at you, “So, do you wanna talk about it?”

“Um, I- I don’t know” 

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Kai says, stealing one of your fries, “But if you do, you can. I’ve been told I’m a good listener”

“Yeah, okay, yeah. That might be nice”

You start retelling the story of your sister and friends, all in relationships. He nods, knowingly. “I just, I’m glad they’re happy. I really am. Please, I need to make sure you know that. I want them to be happy. But I just wish they’d sometimes check in on me. I’m tired. I don’t want to be the only one alone,” Your voice breaks and you pause, a few tears running down your cheeks, “I don’t want to feel like without me doing all the work, I wouldn’t have a relationship with them. I just wish, at least once, they’d ditch their boyfriends and just get dinner with me”

You look at him, realizing he’s frowning and you start to back-track. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I know it’s not a big deal. Like, in the grand scheme of things, it’s not that important. I was just having a bad day, I didn’t mean to like unload my trauma and abandonment issues on you, I’m sorry-”

He cuts you off, gently. “Breathe, sweetheart. It’s okay. I’m not mad at or upset with you. I just know the feeling all too well. Loneliness sucks, huh?”

You laugh, relieved you didn’t scare him away. “You can say that again”

“I am sorry about your friends. And you sister. I assume that was the one you were staring at back there?”

“Yeah, that’s her”

“Hm. I get it.” He says and you just know he does. There’s something about being abandoned and feeling alone in your own family that people may sympathize with, but they never really get it unless they felt it first-hand. 

You lean in, kissing him. He kisses you back and, shit, it feels good. You haven’t been close to a person in so long that when he puts his hand against your cheek, you involuntarily start crying. 

“Oh, I’m sorry! I thought-” He starts, pulling away

“No, no, no, Kai, it’s not you. I just wasn’t used to someone being there with me. It was just a bit overwhelming. But it’s not you at all. It felt incredible” Great, now not only does he know you’re lonely and sad, but also that you’re touch starved. Awesome.

Kai gently pulls you back to him, kissing you again. He wraps his arms around you, deeping the embrace and you do the same. You kiss him, only breaking apart when your head is swimming with the need for air. 

After a while, you both pull back and he rests his forehead against yours. You gently move your head and put it on his shoulder, his arm coming around you. You wrap yours around him as well, looking up at the stars, a goofy smile on your face. 

“Well, I defer to you, gorgeous. But if you ever need a break from the loneliness, I’m here. I know I can’t make it all better or anything. That hole from your family and friends is impossible to make go away forever. But I like to think I can possibly shrink it a bit. Or at least take away a bit of your pain” He says, looking at you deeply.

“Yeah, I think that could work,” You say, leaning in and kissing once more. You then gesture toward the stars and he follows your gaze. You spend the night staring at the galaxy, as if it’s just the two of you, and you know that you finally have someone in your corner. Someone who would pick you first. It’s a terrifying feeling that you’re not used to and, frankly, neither is he. But if he’s willing to try, so am I.

#kai parker #kai parker imagines #kai parker x reader #kai parker fluff #kai parker fanfiction #kai parker fanfic #malachai parker

[thehollowprince]

What would you say are Scott's main character traits (including flaws)?

His compassion, his empathy, his resilience, his refusal to give up or back down. Scott was essentially the heart and soul of this show. Without him, none of the events that took place over the six (eight!) seasons would have been possible.

I. Compassion - as a positive trait

To me, this is Scott's biggest character trait. This defined him more than anything else throughout the series. It also set him apart from any other werewolf that we saw throughout the show's run. Where Peter or Derek or Deucalion were angry and power-hungry, Scott wasn't. Scott just wanted to be a teenage boy, be on first line for his lacrosse team, and date his girlfriend. Scott's compassion, his care for the lives of those around him, was what allowed him to overcome the manipulations and machinations of his various foes. Him wanting the best for others was what usually allowed him to turn his enemy's allies against them, by showing them a better way.

One of my favorite lines in the show summed up Scott...

"Scott doesn't care about power-- he cares about people."

Understand, when I praise that sentence, I'm not hating on people like Derek, who craved power, which was understandable given how powerless I'm sure he felt after everything he went through. No, my issue with Derek was never his quest for power, but always with how he went about doing it.

And that was his (Scott's) philosophy from day one. It's how he managed to get Allison out of her aunt's clutches and get Derek to fight against his uncle. It's what allowed him to sway Isaac (and Boyd before he and Isaac switched roles) to his side and away from Derek's pack.

I will always remember the way Isaac looked at Scott during Raving when Scott clarified that he didn't want him (Isaac) to get hurt.

It's what allowed him to calm Boyd and Isaac down in season three, as well as have the twins try so hard to join his pack. On and on that cycle went, with former enemies becoming allies, the biggest example of which being Theo.

Theo was Scott's biggest rival. He managed to do what no other villain on this show ever did. He brought Scott to his lowest point, drove his pack apart, killed him, and after everything, Theo wanted to be a better person, because of Scott.

Sidenote: I think that's why I loved Theo as much as I did. Theo was a perfect example of what Scott could have become if he'd followed the path that Peter laid out for him.

II. Compassion - as a character flaw

Like any great characterization, a character's greatest asset can also be one of their biggest flaws. And while I do think that Scott's compassion was his greatest strength, I also believe it was his greatest weakness. Scott's compassion, his desire to see the best in others, was something that others took advantage of.

Once again I bring up Theo, because whereas others, like Peter or Gerard or Deucalion, simply looked at this from their jaded world view, thinking Scott was naive, Theo was the only one to take actual advantage of Scott's trusting nature, using it to worm his way into the pack and sabotage it from within, as opposed to hammering on it from the outside.

Now, I feel the need to say that it wasn't as bad as some parts of the fandom make it out to be. There are those who "watched" Teen Wolf that will swear that Scott invited in every serial killer and homicidal maniac that came across the show, even after they attempted to kill him, and that's simply not the case. While he was a very trusting person, once you broke that trust, it had to he earned back.

Scott never fully trusted Peter again after his many attempts to take out Scott. Derek spent the latter half of his arc gaining back Scott's trust after repeatedly breaking it in the first two seasons. When Theo came back, Scott didn't give him a bro-hug and say "It's all good". Theo had to earn back every inch of Scott's respect that he so casually threw away.

It was Scott's compassion that also led him to make some pretty risky mistakes, such as invading Corey's mind or attempting the trap with Hayden as bait that ultimately got her and Liam captured by the Dread Doctors. Scott's compassion was what made him bad under pressure, as we saw whenever one of his plans fell apart, he grew frazzled and anxious, because he wanted to protect everyone.

To once again sidebar here for a second, part of me also wonders if Scott was so trusting in response to Stiles' paranoia.

Scott: "Why can't you trust anyone?"

Stiles: "Because you trust everyone!"

Its like a chicken-or-egg situation.

III. Intelligence

Scott's intelligence is often overlooked because it's not as flashy as Lydia's, but he is a highly intelligent character. And no, I'm not just talking about "emotional intelligence", which is often tossed out as some sort of consolation prize, but actual, book-smart intelligence.

People will often cite the first season, when Scott got back a bad grade as proof that he was a poor student, while completely ignoring the fact that said grade had the phrase "this isn't like you" on it, telling the audience that before all these werewolf shenanigans started happening, he had better grades. Something he turned around as the show progressed, enough to get into AP classes. It was Scott who deduced that the Dread Doctors were creating chimeras. It was Scott that figured out what was taken from the Ghost Rider by Douglas. It was Scott that outsmarted Gerard and Deucalion, who managed to trick the trickster (Nogitsune) and to devise a plan that took out the Beast and Theo, as well as denying Gerard his prize.

Scott was incredibly intelligent and people need to recognize and appreciate that.

IV. Empathy - Emotional Intelligence

Scott's empathy was another huge asset of his throughout the show. His ability to empathize with others, particularly those who opposed him, completely threw those around him off guard. Where someone like Peter or Derek (season two) or Theo (season five) would look at someone's circumstances and see that as a way to manipulate them into getting what they want, Scott looked at those same people and empathized with them, accepted their pain for what it was and not as a tool.

In my opinion, that's why Scott and Lydia worked so well together. They were both used and abused by Peter, and tossed aside when they were no longer useful.

It was Scott's empathy that allowed him to connect with Kira and Liam when they were coming into this world. He'd gone through that, scared and confused and he did everything in his power to ease that transition for them. Same with Malia. He recognized that she spent a large chunk of her life as a rabid animal and that it wasn't her fault, giving her the room to grow and come back to herself on her terms. It was him recognizing that Allison had been manipulated by her grief and her grandfather, his refusal to hold that against her because he understood, that inspired Allison to come up with her own code.

Scott understood those around him, and by just being a good person who believed in others, he inspired those around him to be better.

V. Resilience

No character got knocked down as many times as Scott did, and he got back up - every single time.

***

To close off, I want to talk about another "flaw". I don't necessarily view it as a flaw, but I know that some parts of the fandom did, so it needs to he discussed.

The most common flaw that Scott had was the same flaw that his entire pack had - they were teenagers!

Scott was a sixteen year old boy who was bitten by a werewolf and had his entire life thrown upside-down. People often seem to forget that and demand that he be a perfect person (despite not demanding that of other characters) and its aggravating. He got jealous, and angry, and insecure, and he was allowed to. He was allowed to enjoy the little moments of happiness, like getting a good grade or dancing with his girlfriend, because he was a child forced into a world of warring adults who sought to take advantage of him (and others) at every opportunity.

#scott mccall defense squad #scott mccall appreciation #scott mccall meta #scott mccall #teen wolf meta

[ot3-watch]

Episode 2: The Homecoming Job

How does he make seven dollars a day that doesn’t seem remotely accurate

WHAT DO THEY GOTTA DO MAN? WhAT DO THEY HAVE TO DO?

This was so skeevy. DId he get shot up by accident? Did the Castleman guys just start shooting? Like what?

This poor Doctor. She’s so great, but she really should not have said “that’s not the way the world works.” That seems like such a challenge.

This is what I mean about the continuity confusion! Why would Hardison have to call them if Leverage was set up at the end of the last episode????

Sophie’s acting in the commercial audition wasn’t terrible. Weird for an audition, but not terrible.

Eliot’s so unfazed by having a gun pointed at him, I love it.

You don’t even SEE Parker I can’t

I don’t like stuff. I like MONEY

“I’m not gonna tell a couple of known thieves what i did with a multi million dollar payout” you so smart eliot

ARE WE NOT GONNA MENTION THAT HARDISON IS UBER ARTISTICALLY TALENTED

Parker’s so excited by mundane office stuff it’s adorable

DO YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN ABOUT IT NOT SEEMING LIKE ENOUGH MONEY FOR THIS WHOLE SETUP? 

Eliot’s face at the sports. Hardison building stuff for him from day 1 it’s adorable

IT’S A VERY DISTINCTIVE SOUND!!! I LOVE IT!! SO IT BEGINS

I love how it all starts out so simple, just get the money it’s fine, and then they always end up like… toppling the entire corrupt system.  

Where did Parker’s shower cap go in later episodes? Like… she’s a thief. The need for a leather shower cap likely would not disappear…

SOPHIE’S DRESS I LOVE IT

...It disgusts me that they can buy congressmen AND IT”S NOT EVEN ILLEGAL!!! 

LIKE I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND WHY LOBBYING AND LARGE SUM CAMPAIGN DONATIONS ARE LEGAL

How does Eliot just… know what words have the necessary sounds?? How is he so smart? HOW IS THIS MAN A THING I’M IN LOVE

“Oh, there they are. Really loud too” I love her in this episode

I think Castleman is one of the WORST groups they’ve gone up against. Not in terms of like, bad for TV, but just in terms of them being super evil. The stolen money, the attempted murder, and things always feel even more disgusting when you include army contracters. 

OH WAIT I UNDERSTAND WHY HE WAS SHOT I REMEMBER OKAY IT MAKES SENSE IT’S FINE

Did… Did Perry just grope Sophie? Are we going to just ignore that? 

So, do docs and nurses really wear crocs that much? I thought good supportive sneakers would be more common

AVENGING ELIOT TO THE RESCUE!!

… where did nate just randomly find a defibrillator. 

IT’S A VERY DISTINCTIVE STYLE

“...I actually hurt people… so…”

I FUCKING LOVE ELIOT SPENCER

I’m sorry, I doubt you’re reading these posts for endless heart eyes for eliot, but THAT’S JUST HOW I FEEL

SPEAKING OF HOW DOES HE LOOK SO HOT IN A DISHEVELED WHITE BUTTON DOWN

Sophie already trying to stop Nate’s drinking. Why did they just… forget to address it later? Like when he falls off the wagon in S2, no one cares anymore. 

HOW IS SOPHIE SO PRETTY

Nate’s accent is terrible. Why is all their accent work terrible? WHAT DIALECT IS THAT EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE

“Those are the same signs your wife is cheating on you” Or… just the signs that someone is trying to hide something from you? Like in general??

I always feel bad about the congressman’s cancelled wood panels until i remember how he got them and the lives at stake so he can have a nice house. It’s so icky

This whole law thing is so clever but is that really how it works?

I love that Hardison is already in love with Parker. I love it. 

...The only difference between Sophie and a politician is Sophie doesn’t have the authority but makes up for it with having a moral code.

“I’m sorry it’s too far away for you to punch I’m sure that really frustrates you” I fucking LOVE HIM

What’s a better ship? The OT3 or Parker/Money?

...And another IYS reference. Should I start a tally? How many episodes they mention Nate’s past with IYS or Nate’s past with Sam? How many times they show that fucking Sam clip? I’m gonna start doing that at the end I think.

“WHat is it like a creepy contest?” CUE PARKER HEART EYES I CAN’T I LOVE THEM

Is the money story real? Like did the money transfer really happen? Because it sounds like it could be real, like i wouldn’t put it past them, but i really hope its not

... So I looked it up and there’s much more money in cash per person. Nate’s full of shit. (Or the writers just got bad info but I like blaming Nate more)

Why does this security guy look like a john cena wannabe i hate it

NATE AND SOPHIE’S DiSTRACTION IS INCREDIBLE. Can you imagine if they were a real couple though, and the guard was that fucking rude to them?

ELIOT’S HAPLESS SECURITY GUARD IS SO FUKING CUTE IM DEAD

What’s a better ship, Parker/Money or Parker/Explosions

WHY IS THE CONGRESSMAN WEARING A WHOLE ASS TUXEDO???

… Knowing what I know about black men and cops… why the fuck would they have Hardison driving the truck? I’m just saying that seems like a real easy and VERY AVOIDABLE way of getting him killed. 

ALTHOUGH THIS IS THE FUNNIEST HARDISON SCENE

“This is about my eth-ni-ti-city? It’s because I’m Jewish?” AS A JEW THIS MADE ME DIE LAUGHING. I COMPLETELY LOST IT THE FIRST TIME I HEARD AND IT STILL MAKES ME CRACK UP!!!!

HE’S JUST SO FUCKING FUNNY

“JUSt cause a brother likes matzah ball soup? What’s wrong with that? Sammy Davis?” I CANNOT

ELIOT IN THICK RIMMED NERD GLASSES I LOVE IT

… why did they.. Not check the container number??? I’m so confused?? WHY ARE THEY SO STUPID???

The PR stunt they’re trying to pull right now… sleazy slimy

They switched the order of the accusations… like… 

“We’re gonna lead with Crap.” politicians always do

...Technically, the money is stolen? Like… I’m not gonna say they don’t deserve it? But… it’s technically stolen

ELIOT HAS SO MUCH RESPECT FOR PERRY BECAUSE HE WAS ALMOST HIM

I’M CRYING DON’T LOOK AT ME

“One more” ELIOT YOU SOFTIE

“I bought a plant” PARKER YOU SOFTIE

“What does it do?” YOU’LL FIND OUT

The cherry red tesla is so over the top i hate it. I hate sports cars though so like

OKAY SO FINAL EPISODE THOUGHTS: 7/10. Characterization was much better. They seemed like more human people. Points off for Castleman becausE as gross as it is to kill people through negligence for money, it’s so much grosser to ACTIVELY murder them for money WHILE PRETENDING TO BE A LEGITIMATE BUSINESS AND HAVE GOVERNEMNT ASSHOLES IN ON IT LIKE I’M SO FUCKING DISGUSTED. Added points for the HUMAN HEART EYES EMOJI THAT IS ELIOT SPENCER. Points off for Perry kind of assaulting sophie AND FUCKING GETTING AWAY WITH IT. Added points for Parker being adorable. THis was one of the episodes that put me on the fence about her when i wa not in love with her. 

IYS count: 2/2 Sam reference count: 2/2 (for the children’s hospital donation in the beginning) 

#leverage #leverage rewatch #ot3 #leverage ot3 #eliot spencer #parker #alec hardison #nathan ford #sophie devereaux #the homecoming job

[hansolmates]

jjk; angel’s trumpet [bonus]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, in this chapter–nudity boobies! w.c; 2.2k a/n; why did a week go by so stinkin’ fast? i’m not ready to let go of this couple! that being said, i wouldnt mind posting some drabble babbles about these two or four. im utterly thankful for the love and passion my readers had for this, i had so many kind readers that kept me afloat through all of. i can’t wait to see you in the next one, and i hope you enjoy this little glimpse💕

[final] [bonus] -> masterpost

“You’re not Jimin.” 

Jungkook’s eyes snap open, and he takes note of the change in air. Chalk it up to the open window or the fact that the rain’s evaporated, but he can’t help the pinch of pain in his heart as he realizes that you’re far, far gone from this world. 

And in your place, is you. Not quite you, but it’s almost scary how easy it is to regard your visage and simple conversation. 

“Jimin,” he repeats, as if he heard you wrong. “As in, Park Jimin? Tiny guy with a big ego?” 

“Yes,” you reply blandly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Your eyes are sparkless, flickering between your state of nakedness and his state of nakedness. “I know I wasn’t exactly sober last night, but I distinctly remember telling him he’d be in my bed tonight,” and you regard Jungkook with a sort of pointed look, unable to decipher your situation, “but here you are. Still cupping by boob.” 

Out of reflex, he squeezes his palm. Yep, that’s yours. 

A little part of him also wants to yell to the heavens because you failed to tell him you were hooking up with Park Jimin before all of this. 

Okay technically you didn’t, but the person in front of him did. 

His heart is fresh and stinging like a hot cut on the asphalt. He watches you take in your surroundings, humming when you notice the new clothes on the rack and the way your desk has been rearranged. Jungkook is trying very hard to be patient, after all you’re a stranger and suddenly he feels like he’s the one that’s known you all his life. Oh, how the tables have turned. 

You stretch, testing out your limbs as they pop and crackle at your command. You run a hand through your strawberry-smelling hair, and Jungkook has to grip the sheets to not go by instinct and take you right then and there on this mattress. With a shameless groan of satisfaction, you flop against your bed. Jungkook tries, emphasis on try, to not watch as your breasts bounce and the way your hair flows around your pillow like the angel you are, but he’s rendered smitten. 

“Uh,” boobies boobies boobies. 

You pointedly ignore his piss-poor attempt at coherent conversation, staring up at the ceiling.  “Ho—ly shit,” you curse freely, heaving an exhausted sigh, “I feel so sore.” 

“S-sore?” Great, he found his voice. 

“Yeah, like I’ve been in a coma or something,” but you think nothing of it, summing it up as a crazy dream from alcohol poisoning. You sit up straight, reaching for your phone. It’s not on your desk, but instead you find something far more interesting. 

You reach for your Midnight Blue Citrus candle, frowning at the contents. The wax is nearly burnt to the end, the tips of the wicks charcoal black and frayed. Waving your used candle in Jungkook’s face you blame, “What the fuck, did you use all of this last night? I just bought this like, literally yesterday!” 

His face falls, “What? You’ve had that candle for forever—”

“And why the heck it is so hot in the middle of February?” 

Oh. 

Something dark and sad creeps up Jungkook’s stomach, and he hates to be the one to tell you. February was when it all started, and his life changed with the presence of you. Jungkook tells himself repeatedly that the woman in this room is simultaneously the person he’s loved since winter and the stranger he feels that he’s meant to love with time. Considering everything’s happening all at once understanding it is still hard, but he’ll try for you. 

It breaks his heart to see how you look lost and confused, like a child woken up from a debilitating nightmare. Your lips are bitten red and purple, trying your hardest not to show fear in front of him, a stranger. You’re frustrated as you try your hardest to shut the windows to block the incoming humidity from last night’s rain. 

He says your name, sweet and soft. “It’s almost summer,” he says, his voice calm and collected. 

“So are you telling me, that wasn’t a dream?” 

The two of you stare at each other, unmoving. He tries not to squirm under your gaze, you watch him intently, scraping at the edge of your brain for any ideas. You’re hugging yourself, arms wrapping against your breasts as if you’re trying to hold your body together in a way that alludes to any brokenness you felt over these past two months. 

Neither of you break the silence, and there’s a bang and a crash. Jungkook flinches at the tell-tale signs of the unwanted intruder, the fling of keys across your wooden table and a shrill call of your name. 

“Who’s that?” 

“Probably Hoseok,” Jungkook answers reluctantly, his thumb rubbing between his brows. 

He ignores the extra cool air against his naked bits when he throws the blankets off his lap. Ignores the way you pointedly, shamelessly check him out as he throws on his sweats and a t-shirt. To his dismay he can’t ignore the burn in his cheeks when he knows how you’re scrutinizing him like a one-night stand, trying to recollect any type of concrete thought that would seem plausible enough to explain why you woke up in bed with him. 

Throwing open your bedroom door and leaving you there, he cards a hand through his rogue bedhead to face a frantic Hoseok. 

“It’s so early,” Hoseok warbles to himself, impressed that he’s managed to cop fresh donuts and coffee at nearly 7AM. 

Jungkook sees nothing but an orange blob and Hoseok’s head, bleary and vibrating. Rubbing his eyes he says, “You just realized how early it is? Couldn’t you have stopped by a little later?” 

“No, I couldn’t!” Hoseok’s now invading Jungkook’s personal space, as if you weren’t the bridge between their threads of a relationship, as if he and Hoseok could be friends. “I woke up a few hours ago and I couldn’t go back to sleep. I felt it, Jungkook. It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone. The air shifted and I felt like I was between two parallel universes—I swear on my bad knee that I’m not going through a drug trip—and I felt the world turning and changing and it was so fuckin’ weird I had to come here as soon as Dunkin’ opened. Didn’t you feel it too?” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook exhales, not bothering to hide the disappointment. He smiles sadly, “it’s definitely not her.” 

Hoseok’s expression and excitement over the world’s converging falters, and he pulls Jungkook into a hug. They’re not particularly close and Hoseok’s smaller in size compared to Jungkook, but for those five seconds he feels comforted as he hugs him back. 

“Why don’t you go home and chill out, I don’t mind explaining things to her,” Hoseok offers, “and I’ll call you later and let you know how it went.” 

“Okay,” Jungkook replies, voice slow, “that sounds like a good idea, actually.” 

The situation is royally messed up, and he hates that he can’t blame it on anyone. Jungkook is a practical man, and he knows that he has no use when Hoseok is here with donuts and coffee. More importantly, there is no use torturing himself by letting his heart break in the presence of  you. 

“What is this, a party?” Taehyung’s bare feet smack against the hardwood, and he plops himself in the chair next to Hoseok, “did you get me coffee this time?” 

The two of them bicker good-naturedly, with Hoseok explaining a little kindness goes a long way and Taehyung muttering that kindness doesn’t happen without caffeine. Jungkook excuses himself, feeling very much out of place as he moves to your bedroom to pack his things. 

“You’re leaving?” you’re standing in the middle of your bedroom, now dressed in a long t-shirt and your hair tied clean and away from your face. You look pretty. 

“Yeah,” he says shortly, stuffing his jeans in his bag and making sure all traces of him are gone from your bedroom. “Need to sort things out,” he excuses, and while you may not buy it, he really does. He feels heartbroken, angry at the world. Maybe he could visit Yoongi today and get a demo in, put all this pent-up emotion to good use. “But Hoseok brought you breakfast, he’s a good friend, he’ll explain everything.” 

“But I don’t know Hoseok,” you mumble, picking at the hem of your band shirt. You’re pouting, stubborn. 

“But you don’t know me either,” Jungkook retorts, not unkindly, but not exactly gentle. “I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you.” 

There’s a hard rip at his zipper, putting in a little too much force as he seals away all his things into a compact backpack. Heck, he even went as far as to take back the hoodie he lent you last month, making sure the fabric is crisp and folded so he can stow it away from your curious eyes. He shoves on his denim jacket from last night, still lingering with the scents of sand and saltwater. It makes him sombre, and the selfish part of him wishes to bottle up that scent and tuck it away forever. 

“You’re wrong,” you blurt when he moves toward the door. His hand lingers over the knob, “I do know you.” 

He narrows his dark eyes, taking in your honest expression, “At Jimin’s job, maybe? I did a couple interviews in the beginning of February. Maybe we passed each other while you had lunch with him.” 

“No. You sang to me, talked to me, as much as you could up until this moment.” 

He remembers the stories you fed to him last night under the stars, shameless and full of love as you explained to him of his other self. The life where he’s a renowned singer, a Golden Boy, one of the most revered in his industry. A life he could only dream of, yet somewhere out there he’s living it in another body making that dream come true. 

Thoughts are running through his head, memories that aren’t his own. He could only imagine what you must’ve gone through, recovering in a hospital bed for two months, unable to move but actively aware of the pain and anguish. How confused you must’ve been, aching to figure out what the hell is going on, acutely aware of the voices constantly chattering about your well-being. 

One of those voices being Jeon Jungkook, who was probably taking care of you night and day. 

His head is starting to throb, and he feels like he’s five seconds away from spiraling. 

“I’d… I’d feel more comfortable around you, Jungkook,” you confess, reaching for his hand, “but if you need to, you can go,” you bite your lip, folding in on yourself once more, “if it hurts too much to be around me right now.” 

He gladly takes your hand, rubbing his thumb between your palm. The familiar sparks he feels when he holds it return, but tamps it down for the sake of your vulnerability. It’s not your fault you’re in this situation. “No… I’m just gonna go home for a bit, clear my schedule,” he gives you a little smile, and he inflates a bit when you give him one of your own. “I’ll come back for you after breakfast.”

“You promise?” 

“Promise.” 

You pull him into an unexpected hug, suddenly fearing he may never come back. 

“I always wondered what the man looked like behind the voice,” and you’re suddenly melting, feeling a sense of familiarity as you let your heart run faster than your brain when you let him hold you in his arms. He smells just like him, too. 

His embrace is tight, and his arms fit in all the little curves and spots that make you feel warm and safe. “And am I living up to your expectations?” it’s a half-joke, after all the both of you are  going simply by feeling and there’s no way in hell would he even attempt to compare himself to well, himself. 

You pull away to look at him, really look at him. Honest, clear eyes. Jungkook thinks he sees the world in your gaze. “Only if you eat a donut before you go,” you reply with a shy smile. 

At your defiant mention of food he can’t help but grin like a maniac, letting you tug him back out to sit at the counter with him and have breakfast. Like he said before, he can’t wait to fall in love all over again. 

#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #bts fic #jungkook fluff #goldenclosetnet #im not crying you're crying

[hb-pickle]

Frozen 2: Dangerous Secrets Review Essay

Why Sensitivity Readers Are Always Necessary

Before I start, I would like to make it very clear that this review only critiques the aspects of colonialism and representation in Frozen 2: Dangerous Secrets. I will not be discussing the romance, side characters or anything else like that. Also, I would like to make it very clear that none of this review is meant to personally attack or berate the author @marimancusi . I firmly believe that none of the cultural insensitivities in her book were intentional, but were simply the result of a non-indigenous, white author writing about experiences she could not personally relate to. My only goals for writing this review is to show the author how her book unintentionally perpetuated many harmful and outdated ideas about racism and colonialism, and to convince her and Disney to contact and hire sensitivity readers before they create content about vulnerable racial/ethnic groups. 

I would also like to state that I am an African American woman and not indigienous, so I have personal experiences with racism and colonialism towards black people, but not towards indigenous communities. So if any indigenous people see problems or inaccuracies with my review, I would be happy to listen and put your voice first.

- - -

To summarize quickly (with full context), Frozen 2: Dangerous Secrets is about Iduna, a young indigenous Northuldra girl (oppressed racial/ethnic minority) who was suddenly and violently separated from her home and family when her people were betrayed and attacked by the Arendellians (colonizing class). As a result of the massacre battle between the two groups, Iduna is permanently separated from her home (caused by a magical and impenetrable mist) and forced to spend the rest of her days in the kingdom of Arendelle, where she lives in almost constant fear of being exposed as a Northuldran (for the townsfolk are violently bigoted against them). Naturally, this book contains many many depictions of racial hatred and bigotry along with exploring the mindset and fears of a young girl dealing with the brunt of colonialism. Unfortunately, it tends to fumble the seriousness of these situations (out of ignorance or out of a desire to keep the book lighthearted/to center the romance plotline), which results in an overall detrimental message to the audience. The missteps I specifically want to unpack are as follows.

- (1/5) Severs Iduna’s connection to her culture before the story even begins (making us feel less empathetic for the Northuldra’s plight) 

I’m not 100% certain, but my understanding is that the purpose of making Iduna a double orphan was to make her more sympathetic and to give her a reason to save Agnarr’s life (to have compassion for a stranger, the same way her adoptive family did for her). In theory this is perfectly fine, quickly establishing that the audience should like Iduna is smart and so is rationalizing her most important, life changing decision. But in practice this only functions to distance Iduna from her culture and family and make the reader care less about the Northuldra. This is because it takes away Iduna’s chance to have a strong, palpable relationship with a specific Northuldra character, which would humanize their entire group (even if only in memory). The only Northuldra characters that Iduna mentions more than once is her mother and Yelena. Both of these characters are mentioned rarely, neither have a close relationship with Iduna (her mother dying 7 years before the events of the story), nor do either of them have any specific personality traits or lines of dialogue (Yelena has exactly one line and it is about knitting). The goal of a story about a child unjustly stolen from her home should be to explore why those acts of violence were so horrific. The very first step of exploring that is to humanize the victims. After all, why would a reader care about the injustices done to a group of people who barely exist? How are we, the readers, supposed to feel bad for Iduna and mourn her family like she does, if we barely know them?

We needed more of Iduna’s memories. We needed to learn about her friends, her family, her mother and Yelena. What were they really like? How did they love Iduna? What were their last words to her before she never saw them again? Didn’t Iduna care for them? Did she worry about their well being and miss their comforts? We need to hear about how she bonded with them, how they made her feel, how they made her laugh or cry. How they taught her to hunt, forage, and knit so that when we hear how the Arendellians speak of them, with such ignorance and contempt, we are as truly disgusted and offended as we should be. 

- (2/5) Equates Iduna and Agnarr’s suffering, aggressively downplaying the brutality of colonialism (even to the point of prioritizing Agnarr’s needs)

First things first, I understand that Dangerous Secrets is a modern day romance novel for older children/teens so an equal power balance between Agnarr and Iduna is preferred (which I agree with). But, this balance extends past the romance and personalities and into attempting to portray Agnarr and Iduna’s suffering as equal. This is best exemplified in these lines of internal dialogue by Iduna:

I did not deserve to be locked away from everyone I loved. But Agnarr did not deserve to die alone on the forest floor because he’d had a fight with his father. Whatever happened that day to anger the spirits and cause all of this, it was not his fault. Nor was it mine. And while we might be on different sides of this fight, we had both lost so much. Our friends. Our family. Our place in the world. In an odd way we were more alike than different. (Page 67)

All of this is technically true, up until the very last line about them being “more alike than different”. Agnarr and Iduna’s lives are nothing alike. Iduna is a poor, indigenous girl who had everyone she ever knew or loved either killed or permanently taken away from her, stolen from her home and forced to spend the rest of her life living in a foreign kingdom rife with people who actively, consistently threaten her safety. While Agnarr, on the other hand, is a white male member of the royal family, heir to the throne, and extremely wealthy. The novel doesn’t shy away from this (at least on Agnarr’s part), and doesn’t hesitate to show us that Agnarr is royalty and will never experience what Iduna has to endure. But it behaves like Agnarr’s relatively petty, temporary, and incomparable ills are just as heartbreaking as Iduna’s and focuses significantly more time and energy building up empathy for him and his woes. This extends from small things like the book asserting that the few times Agnarr needed to stay in his castle, to avoid political assasination was comparable to Iduna’s family being trapped in the mist (against their will for 30+ years); to more concerning issues like claiming Agnarr’s separation from his parent’s is just as distressing as Iduna’s separation from her entire people. Now fleshing out Agnarr and his relation to parents is a good thing, since it can provide crucial character motivation and make him more of a well rounded character. But when Agnarr’s suffering is presented as more relevant and worthwhile discussing than Iduna’s it, by extension, implies that the frustrations of an affluent life and being separated from parents that did not value you in the first place (Runeard and Rita) is somehow more or just as pressing as facing the brunt of the most violent and terrifying forms of colonialism. Agnarr’s story may be tragic, but it is nowhere near as horrific as Iduna’s and the book should acknowledge and reflect that.

- (3/5) Has a rudimentary understanding of racism and how if affects the people who perpetuate it

Dangerous Secrets’ understanding of racism (and how to deal with it) is summed up very concisely in a conversation between Lord Peterssen and young Prince Agnarr. Agnarr asks his senior why the Arendellian towns people are so obsessed with blaming magic and the spirits (magic and spirits being an allegory for real world characteristics that are unique to one culture or people) for all their problems, and the following exchange insues: 

“People will always need something to blame for their troubles”, he explained. “And magical spirits are an easy target-since they can’t exactly defend themselves… “So what do we do?” I asked. “We can’t very well fight against an imaginary force!” “No. But we can make the people feel safe. That’s our primary job.” (Page 132-133)

Though Lord Peterssen is supposed to be a flawed character, who puts undue pressure onto Iduna and Agnarr to uphold the status quo of Arendelle, this line is (intentional or not) how the book actually views racism and how it expects the characters (and reader by extension) to deal with/understand it. Bigotry is portrayed as something that is inevitable and something that should not be quelled or disproven, but accommodated for. Agnarr, as king next in line, should not worry about ending the unjust hatred in his kingdom, or killing the root of the problem (the rumors). Instead he should tell his people their suspicions are correct, and put actual resources and time into abetting their dangerous beliefs. Even later on, at the very end of the novel, Agnarr treats the prolific bigotry and magic hatred of his people as an unfortunate circumstance he has found himself in, and not something that he, as king, has the power or civic responsibility to change. 

This could have been an excellent line of flawed logic, representing how privileged people tend to avoid/project the blame of racism, and prioritize order and peace over justice. Which would work especially well for Peterssen and Agnarr since they are both high class nobles with the power to actually make a difference, instead choosing to foist responsibility onto Iduna (in the case of Peterssen) who was only a child, relatively impoverished, and the one with the most to lose if she spoke out. Or, in the case of Agnarr, they do disagree with the fear mongering, but only for personal reasons (Agnarr because his father used it as an excuse for his lies); refusing still to actually work to improve his society. But the key detail is that this needs to be portrayed as wrong, which this book fails to do. Agnarr nor Peterssen are ever expected to disprove the townsfolk’s bigotry in any meaningful, long lasting sense, Peterssen is never confronted seriously for his cowardice and victim blaming, and Agnarr is never criticized for his anti-bigotry being based entirely on his own personal parental issues and not in the fact that he knows with 100% certainty that the Northuldra are innocent.

This flawed understanding of bigotry also applies to how the book depicts the Arendellian townsfolk, who are awarded no accountability whatsoever for their actions. The townspeople spend the entire book threatening to kill any Northuldra they find and Peterssen, Agnarr, and Iduna are constantly afraid that they would immediately destabilize the government if they found out their king was close to one. But somehow this does not translate into any contempt or distrust in our protagonist or the reader. In this novel, we meet only four openly bigoted individuals: the two orphan children playing “kill the Northuldra”, the purple/pink sheep guy (Askel), and the allergy woman (Mrs. Olsen). The orphans are dismissed wholesale because they are literal children who also lost both of their parents in the battle of the dam (so they were killed by Northuldra; somewhat justifying their anger). And the other two townsfolk are joke characters, whose claims are so unbelievable that they aren’t supposed to be seen as a serious threat. Not only that but Askel is rewarded for his bigotry when Iduna offers he sell his pink sheep’ wool (which he thought was an attack from the Northuldra) as beautiful pink shawls. These are the only specific characters that show any type of active bigotry in the entire kingdom besides Runeard, whomst is dead. Every other character is either an innocent and friendly bystander (the woman at the chocolate shop, the new orphans Iduna buys cookies for, the farmers Iduna sells windmills too, the people at Agnarr and Iduna’s wedding), has no opinion at all (Greda, Kai, Johan), or is portrayed as someone who is just innocently scared and doesn’t know any better (the rest of the townsfolk, especially those who fear the Northuldra are the sun mask attackers). Even the King of Vassar, the most violent and dangerous living character of the story, doesn’t even hold any prejudice against the Northuldra, and simply uses their imagery to scare Arendelle into accepting his military rule. 

So according to this book, bigotry and racism come not from the individual, but from society and the system you live in, but also not really because the people in charge of that system (Peterssen, Agnarr, and eventually Iduna) are also virtually guiltless. This, of course, is not true at all. Racism is a moral failing which exists on all levels of society, from individuals who chose to be bigoted, to others who tolerate bigotry as long as it doesn’t inconveniance them. It's not just an inevitable fear of what you don’t understand, but an insidious choice to be ignorant, fearful, and unjust to the most vulnerable members of society. It is malicious and irrational, and the more you tolerate it, the more dangerous it becomes.

- (4/5) Presents Iduna’s assimilation to the dominant culture as a positive

As the romance plotline of Dangerous Secrets really starts to get underway, Iduna’s life seems perfect. Her romance with Agnarr blossoms, she has her own business, and is becoming accustomed to her new surroundings (in order to make the coming drama more exciting). This is her internal dialogue as she returns to town one day:

I couldn't imagine, at the time, living in a place like this. But now it felt like home. It would never replace the forest I grew up in… But it had been so long now, that life had begun to feel almost like a dream. A beautiful dream of an enchanted forest… There was a time I truly believed I would die if I could never enter the forest again. If the mist was never to part. But that time, I realized, was long gone. And I had so much more to live for now… And my dreams were less about returning to the past and more about striking out into the future- (Page 128-129)

Again, I understand that the point of Iduna being content with her life like this is to be the “calm before the storm” of the romance arc, but the fact that Iduna is almost forgetting her old life, and that it is presented as a good thing, is extremely distressing. At only 12 years old Iduna lost everything she ever had besides the literal clothes on her back; she would never forget that. Not only that, but the real world implication that a minority should cope with their societal trauma by spending the rest of their life working for said society that unapologetically wants to kill them (and get a boyfriend) is horribly off putting. It strikes a nerve with many people of color and indigenous readers because telling minorities to “get a job” or “get a life” (especially when said jobs ignore/are separate from their own cultures) is commonly used by privileged folk to blame them for their own dissatisfaction/unhappiness with the society they live in. The idea is that minorities should continue to suffer, but busy themselves, so they stop criticizing dominant culture and defending/uplifting their own. This is part of cultural erasure, and the book plays into it, by commending Iduna for “having more to live for” than cherishing/wanting to return to her original home, for prioritizing Arendelle over herself, and for forgetting her heritage/playing it off as nothing but a dream. Devaluing indigenous culture like this, especially through an indigenous character, is extremely disrespectful.

Not only that, but it’s completely antithetical to Iduna’s character, since she claims to be proud and unashamed of who she is, but happily assists the townsfolk who hate her, and rarely mentions her heritage besides when she’s caught in a lie or actively being persecuted. This is another failing brought on by the lack of understanding of how racism affects its victims. Being a minority plays into all the decisions you make and all the interactions you have; it’s not something that you can just turn off unless directly provoked. Iduna’s would be constantly fretting about who she talks to, and who she is with because if she gets too close to the wrong person, she could have put herself in serious danger. 

Nowhere is this lack of realism more obvious than the scene directly after Iduna rejects Johan’s proposal. Iduna spends a long time thinking about whether marrying Johan or Agnarr would be better for her, and not even once does being a Northuldra play into her decision making. This should’ve been front and center because your husband can be your strongest ally or your greatest enemy. If Iduna was outed, what could she do to defend herself against or alongside her partner? If she was ever going to consider marrying for anything other than true love, her chances of survival should have been her first priority. 

What I’m not saying is that there needs to be a complete overhaul of Iduna’s personality, or that she needs to be frightened and suspicious at all times. Iduna can project strength and caution. She can be kind to the townspeople, but reserved in order to keep a safe distance. She should cling to the few pieces of her culture she has left, despite what society tells her to do. Or, on the exact opposite side of the coin, Iduna’s personality could be kept relatively the same, but the book needs to acknowledge that this is a terrible thing. Iduna is being assimilated against her will to a society that doesn’t value her and that is a tragedy. In a futile attempt at survival, Iduna buries her culture away and lives her life as a perfect, contributing, model Arendellian citizen, but they terrorize her regardless. 

- (5/5) Negatively depicts the indigenous Northuldra as murderous invaders

In Chapter 34 of Dangerous Secrets it is revealed, during a flashback, that Iduna lost her parents and her entire family group in an attack by a separate group of Northuldra invaders. This scene is completely unacceptable regardless whatever narrative/story purpose it was supposed to achieve for several reasons. Firstly, because this book is about colonialism, which we as a society already know the consequences of and how colonizers, in an attempt to rid themselves of blame, react to it. One of the very first things a colonizer/privileged class will do to make themselves feel less guilty for the atrocities they perpetuate is bring up acts of violence/wrongdoing on behalf of the oppressed. The sole purpose of this is always to make the victims look less sympathetic and less deserving of justice, equality, or attention because “they’re not so innocent, they did wrong things too, so maybe we shouldn't feel that  bad for them/maybe they got what they deserved”. And of course this mindset is absolutely horrific and unforgivable when you’re talking about a group of white colonizers actively trying to destroy and indiscriminately slaughter a large group of indigenous people, including their children. 

The second reason is because the author is a non-indigenous white person, and therefore benefits directly from the downplaying of indiginous pain. I’m sure this wasn’t intentionally malicious on her part, but that’s what she wrote; these are the consequences.  

((Also the fact that one of the Northuldra groups are murderous invaders means that Iduna was actively lying the entire book about the Northuldra being peaceful.)) 

- - -

In conclusion, any book that incorporates the culture and experiences of a group the author is not a part of, should absolutely hire a sensitivity reader to ensure accuracy and respect. As a Frozen superfan myself, I actually enjoyed this book a lot and I was delighted to see the lore, worldbuilding and romance. I loved Agnarr, Lord Peterssen, and Princess Runa and certain pieces of dialogue and imagery were beautiful. This novel just desperately needed someone to check it. All this book needed was a bit more of a critical gaze on some of the character decisions and motivations (I truly believe Agnarr and Peterssen would have been even more intriguing and likeable characters if they were actually called out, and given time to reflect on their hypocrisies) and it would’ve been much stronger and more palatable to diverse audiences. Some elements did need to be cut out completely, but a sensitivity reader would’ve easily been able to point this out and offer alternatives that preserved the spirit of the novel, without including any offensive and distasteful implications.

#dangerous secrets #Frozen 2: Dangerous secrets #agduna #iduna frozen #agnarr frozen #iduna #agnarr #frozen #frozen 2 #dangerous secrets review #frozen reviews #frozen review #frozen analysis #frozen 2 analysis #Frozen 2: Dangerous Secrets Review

[winetae]

wall to wall (m.) 01

↳ in a pornographic movie, refers to a series of sex scenes with no plot.

⇁ female reader x hoseok 

⇁ smut, porn star!au

⇁ sex work, insecurity, jealousy, slut shaming/objectification (not the sexy kind), role played scenario that includes: d/s dynamics - dom!hoseok, porn star level dirty talk, stuff that should never happen in a kitchen bc hygiene, daddy kink, impreg kink, rough sex, spanking, a lot of finger sucking, this fic is a poor attempt at social commentary

⇁ 22.5k

. . .

Temporary popularity is the biggest threat to your career right now. Without a solid core fan base you’re doomed to be forgotten. If not now, then in a month or two, and if not then, surely by the end of the year. That’s how quickly the adult film industry cycles through their actors, especially when you’re a woman. Your agent comes forward with a proposition to help put you back on the map.

↳ or, my contribution to the lights, camera, action collab : )

part 01 | part 02 | part 03

author’s note | inspired by the piece ‘slut-shaming: pornstars are humans too’ & the life after porn documentaries on netflix. thank u to jordan, eva, amy, venus, addie and lu for being a part of this collab !! *inserts a million heart emojis and a big fat NUT emoticon*

re:warnings, the slut shaming is done by others and can also be considered as internalized oppression. it’s something the reader struggles with and eventually works to overcome. this first part isn’t as smutty as the second but regardless i hope u can bear with me lol. ty, as always, for giving my writing a chance. i hope u enjoy it or at least take something from it !

wall2wall can be read as a sequel to my fic money shot. same disclaimer applies: this story does claim to accurately portray the world of adult entertainment

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

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Today is just one of those days you wish you had slept straight through. Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t be dying from the sheer dullness of having nothing to do.

You huff out a sigh, bored out of your goddamn mind.

Head cradled in the crook of your left palm, you use your available hand to refresh your instagram feed. Much to your disappointment, nothing new shows up. The same video of a dog chasing its own tail plays on but you pay it no heed, the novelty having worn off after the first few times.

The next half hour passes by in a similar fashion, each result proving to be as unavailing as the last. You’d think that after a while you’d give up and find a new distraction to pass the time but whether out of habit or boredom-induced insanity, you persist with your fruitless attempts.

Today really fucking blows, you think glumly, the curve of your mouth thinning into a grimace. As the adorable corgie keeps the infernal cycle going, yapping and running around incessantly, you’re struck with a terrifying thought. Maybe this is how you will die - condemned to live your life stuck in the worst sort of monotony imaginable.

What you had expected to be a “quick and easy” shoot has turned into a tedious ordeal that you don’t see ending anytime soon. And whilst on-set complications and prolongations are frequent enough that they’re almost expected, today really takes the cake. Even during your rookie days, you can’t recall running into delays of this scale.

To top it off, the weather app announces a record-breaking heat - which in itself is bad enough. As luck would have it, it gets worse. The place rented out for today’s filming lacks proper air conditioning, equipped instead with electric fans that look like they’ve been around since the 1980s.

A quick glance into the vanity mirror confirms that you look as frazzled as you feel. Because of the humidity level that weighs down the air, your hair is in a right state. You fight a grimace off your face. The straggly hair coupled with the oily sheen on your face...it’s far from your best look, to say the least.

And to think thousands of people will get to see it up close in 1080p resolution... It’s a terrifying concept.

You’re already dreading the upcoming sex scenes that you’ve yet to film. It’s always a messy affair - fluids of all kind end up literally everywhere - but the sweltering heat undoubtedly makes it ten times worse. A shudder works its way down your spine.

Frankly speaking, the mere thought of having hot and wild sex in these less than ideal working conditions kills your libido. Under the glaring studio lights, surrounded by sweaty crewmen and pressed up an equally feverish body - it’s basically the porn equivalent of a fuckin’ barbecue party.

Yeah, no thanks. You’d rather be at home, with the air conditioner at full blast, nestled in the comfy cushions of your sofa as you marathon a series of your choice on netflix. Only the promised sum of money keeps you from bolting and calling it quits altogether.

“So when are you gonna drop the new boy toy?” a voice buzzes in your ear not unlike a pesky fly.

Tempting as it is to ignore it, you peel your eyes away from your reflection just in time to catch Seokjin shoot you the most unimpressed look in his repertoire, one perfectly groomed eyebrow arched in judgment.

In the background, an old ceiling fan whirs on but does nothing to cool you off. If anything, its constant rattling only exacerbates your growing headache.

“What are you talking about?" You flick a piece of imaginary lint off your dressing robe, your tone neutral.

Seokjin’s brown eyes see right through your feigned air of indifference. Months of working by your side have made him an expert at reading your body language, be it naked or clothed. A wolfish grin adorns his face as he swoops in for the kill.

“Oh come on. You know exactly who I’m talking about. Jongmin. He’s short - comes up to right about here.” Seokjin holds a hand up to his chest to illustrate his point, deliberately shaving off a few inches off your boyfriend’s height in order to antagonize you.

You bite the inside of your cheek, careful not to spit out the retort that’s perched on the tip of your tongue. It takes a great deal of effort to unclench the muscles in your jaw but you manage to school your features into an expression of polite confusion.

Seokjin frowns, dissatisfied with your lack of response. You don’t need to be a mind reader to know that he’s currently thinking of new ways to provoke you.

When the silence stretches on and he’s yet to riposte, you allow yourself  to relax again, believing that he’s given up on being an asshole.

To your chagrin, you’re sorely mistaken. The last of your self-restraint is finally put to the test as his next words do nothing to quell your irritation.

“Jongmin.” He repeats slowly, like you need it spelled out for you. “He follows you around everywhere like a lap dog. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so, you know, pathetic.”

“His name is Jimin,” you correct for the nth time.

Instantly, you reprimand yourself for playing into his games and granting him the attention he so craves. Fulfilling his twisted desire is the last thing you hope to achieve. Staying silent would be the sensible thing to do but your brain completely bypasses the memo. The moment your mouth opens it’s impossible to quash the urge to justify yourself.

Maybe it’s your pride coming into play. Maybe it’s Seokjin’s uncanny ability to get under anyone’s skin at will. Whatever the case may be, you stammer out, on the defensive, “And he’s not my 'boy toy'. We - it’s not - we’re dating.” But the word feels like a weight on your tongue. You swallow.

The statement earns you a scoff of incredulity. “Dating? Him?”

You finally set your phone down and aim a glare his way, abandoning all pretense at being indifferent because—Jesus. Is the idea of you dating that unfathomable? He’s never been this worked up over any of your other relationships. Granted, none of them have ever lasted this long but is it really any of his business who you choose to see in your free time?

“I don’t get what your problem is. What’s so wrong with me dating?”

“Have you seen who you’re dating?”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?!”

While this isn’t the first time your agent lets a judgmental comment slip from between his pearly white teeth, it’s usually not laced with spite. Seokjin is never outright hostile, preferring sweet words of manipulation and thinly-veiled insults to shows of aggression. The attempt to get a rise out of you does not go by unnoticed. His anger, this time, feels personal.

You wrack your brain, quickly sifting through your recent memories to try and figure out why he’s chosen to be such an ass today. You’re certain that you’ve filled out all the necessary paperwork required to proceed with today’s filming, and yes, after thinking it over, you know that you went to the obligatory medical checkup last week. So there really is no reason for him to bitch at you unless—

The proverbial light bulb flickers on and it all suddenly makes sense.

You’re willing to bet a hefty sum of money that the high-paying gig you turned down two weekends ago is to blame for his abnormal crotchety behavior.

Yes, that would explain it.

Due to Seokjin's well-known propensity to hold a grudge for longer than average, the odds that he’s still hung up over the lost deal are pretty high. And as much as his disappointment and frustration are understandable from a business standpoint, you don’t appreciate being used as a verbal punching bag for him to expel all those pent-up feelings.

Seokjin hums, a knowing smirk pulling the sides of his mouth upwards. Fleetingly, and not for the first time, you find it a shame that his cockiness tarnishes his otherwise handsome face. “I give it another couple of days until you get bored. How long has this gone on for? A month? How are you not yanking out your hair from the sheer boredom of dating...that."

A muscle in your jaw ticks.

“He’s not Voldemort, you coward. Would it honestly kill you to say his name?” Seokjin’s expression begs to differ. You cut him off before he can add fuel to the fire. “And I won’t get bored. Jimin’s - he’s a perfectly nice guy. We’ve been seeing each other just fine—not that it’s any of your concern.”

“Yes, he’s nice,” Seokjin concedes easily, brushing off any attempts at putting an end to the conversation. He grins, wide and smug, like he knows you can’t refute what he’ll say next. “Perfectly nice and boring. The kind of guy you’d bring back home if your parents were straight-laced folks that wanted to marry you off to a choir boy. Seriously, how the fuck did a guy like him end up in the porn industry? He belongs in a church or, I dunno, maybe some neighborhood book club - not behind a camera filming you getting flogged by a daddy dom.”

You sniff. “Just because he tucks his shirts in doesn’t—”

“It’s not just the shirts, honey.” He leans over to pat your hand in a gesture of consolation. Used to his antics, his attempt is easily blocked by a swat of your hand.

You muster the dirtiest look you’re capable of, the kind of look that sends men to early graves, but he simply smiles in response, completely unfazed.

Any person with the minimum amount of tact would know to politely change the subject. It’s unfortunate that your agent does not belong to that pool of individuals, choosing instead to be selectively blind to overt social cues.

He continues on, unperturbed, like he has a point to prove. “Believe it or not, I know you. Sometimes, for whatever reason, perhaps a lapse in judgement but who the fuck knows, you like to venture out of your comfort zone and experiment. Like with the chickenshit gingerbread spice concoctions they come out with at Starbucks to celebrate turkey season and Christmas or the cream cheese makis they make for the white crowd who want to eat sushi but don’t like anything other than white rice and seaweed. And, trust me, while I’m all for diversity and broadening your personal experiences, don’t you think there’s a reason why you always go back to your preferred choice of an iced latte with two sugars?”

“Did you just compare Jimin to a gingerbread latte?”

Okay, so admittedly you’ve made some questionable food and beverage choices in the past, but the comparison is a fucking reach. 

“You’re absolutely right." Seokjin gives a firm nod of his head, his expression serious. "Now that you mention it, he’s definitely a vanilla soy. Bland and boring. Targeted towards the middle-aged soccer moms that think veganism is a trend, not a lifestyle. Wants to be a people-pleaser but misses the mark.”

“I didn’t know it was Share Your Unwanted Opinion Time,” you grind out from behind a strained smile. “If I had, I would have said something about your receding hairline earlier.”

It’s a low blow but the way Seokjin’s plump lips curl in displeasure makes the dig worth it. One of his hands automatically shoot up to flatten the bangs that are usually slicked back with copious amounts of gel.

Offended, he spits, “It’s not receding! There’s a difference between premature balding and a bleach job gone wrong.”

"I'm not sure people care to differentiate. Looks like a receding hairline to me." You shrug while picking at your nails. “You’re nearing that age, too, so.”

“You just try looking this good at 30. Fucking try.” 

He waits for a reply but your interest has already waned. You scroll through your phone, bored once more.

Seokjin makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat at the clear dismissal. You swear you hear him grumble under his breath - something along the lines of never going blonde again - but can’t find it in you to care, not when he’s finally ceased his nagging.

"Filming in twenty!" someone shouts from outside the door.

"They’re running behind schedule," Seokjin notes after glancing down at his gold wristwatch. "How can they take more than an hour to fix the lighting? Tch. Bunch of fuckin’ amateurs."

He aims a glare in your direction as if their incompetence is somehow your fault. 

You have half a mind to glower back but miraculously withhold your sentiments. Admittedly, he isn’t wrong - the team you’re working with today keeps committing blunders even rookies wouldn’t dare perpetrate - but you’d rather get your driving license revoked forever than to acknowledge that Seokjin’s right and inflate his already unnaturally huge ego.

Something heavy plops into your lap. When you look down, the glossy surface of a magazine reflects the harsh lights suspended over the vanity table back at you.

“I didn’t want to resort to this but you leave me no choice,” he says in response to your look of confusion.

“What’s this?”

You hold up the magazine expecting the worst. It’s heavy in your hands, the pages thicker than the gossip rags you’d find in a dentist’s waiting room. 

“’s the newest issue. Came out this morning. I’d actually like it back once you’re done because I haven’t finished reading it and God knows how hard it was to get my—hey, you can stop flicking aimlessly, I saved you the trouble and bookmarked the page,” Seokjin explains a bit impatiently.

When you shoot him a glance, his attention is trained on your face, not the magazine. He barely blinks. Like a snake honing in on its prey. And that kind of intense focus - that can’t be good. After all, you’ve known Seokjin long enough to suspect that whatever trick he has up his sleeve will give him the advantage he needs to deliver the killing blow.

Gingerly, you flip through the pages like you’re afraid the magazine might self-destruct in your hands. Which would be a waste, in your opinion, since Exquis is a damn good magazine - perhaps less intellectual than Playboy, but definitely classier than Hustler. Its reputation speaks for itself. Known for hiring the best photographers and carefully combing through their models, it’s selective, only picking the cream of the cr—

Everything around you stills.

Your eyes narrow at the spread because there, on the page Seokjin’s taken great care to bookmark, a model poses provocatively on a lounge chaise near a crystal clear pool. It’s similar to a shoot you’ve done in the past but you can tell right away that the quality of this is above and beyond anything you’ve ever done. The lighting is better, heck even the barely-there-swimsuit looks like it costs ten times more than whatever you had been told to throw on at the time.

The vexation you feel only worsens once it finally registers who the model is. Her youthful and pretty face carries a permanent haughtiness that not even makeup or acting can entirely mask.

The pages crease in your hold as you flick through the rest of the spread dedicated to the up and coming talents. With every new page that has her plastered on its glossy surface you feel your stomach sink. 

2...3...4...

“Five pages,” you curse under your breath. For a magazine this renowned, it’s...a lot. Commendable, even. Your nose crinkles. “Well, fuck. me. sideways.”

Seokjin gloats, reveling in your outrage. “Hmph. I told you, didn’t I? Passing up the opportunity to work with Kim Namjoon would come and bite you in the ass.”

“Aha! So you have been a little bitch because I refused to shoot with Namjoon.” You whirl around in your chair and use the magazine to jab him in the chest. He easily steps aside, avoiding your attempt at wrinkling his trademark Armani button-down shirt.

“It was the chance of a lifetime and you knew it.” He turns his nose up and sniffs.

“That’s what you said about filming with Min Yoongi last month.” You roll your eyes. “I can’t take you seriously if you’re gonna say the same thing every time a new guy shows up.”

“Shooting with Agust D did help you gain some mainstream popularity. You’ve gotten love calls for catalog printings and your name is now automatically on the invite sheet for every C-list event in town. Namjoon would have given you another needed boost.” Seokjin folds his arms, lecturing mode switched on. You struggle with the instinctive urge to tune him out. “Sure, he’s got a niche audience, but he’s famous in his field and it would have helped expand your fa—“

“Not to kink shame or anything because we don’t do that, but Namjoon is a freak. And don’t deny it, I’ve seen his videos.”

“He’s specialized in particular—“

“You were the one telling me not to film all sorts of shit right off the bat,” you cut in, refusing to back down from your stance. There’s no way you’ll let him sweet-talk you out of this one, not after the multiple videos of Namjoon you’d binged one weekend. “Stick to one story.”

“Well, we’re not exactly ‘right off the bat’ anymore, are we? We’ve passed that stage. Right now is a crucial time in your career so you’ve got to make it count. Filming rehashed videos of the same pizza delivery guy scenario gets boring and fast. As pretty as you are, you’re not offering anything new to the table, are you?”

Fuck him. He’s right and you know it. Temporary popularity is the biggest threat to your career right now. Without a solid core fan base you’re doomed to be forgotten. If not now, then in a month or two, and if not then, surely by the end of the year. That’s how quickly the adult film industry cycles through their actors, especially when you’re a woman.

Still. “I refuse to work with a guy whose porn alias is Cock Monster.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Well I said no,” you insist stubbornly.

“Well if you had said yes, maybe it would be your ass cheeks getting their own two page spread in Exquis instead,” jabs Seokjin, hitting you where it hurts. 

Ugh. The reminder that Joy’s bested you yet again riles you up even more. That, coupled with the likelihood of your career ending imminently, makes you stop and think.

Your agent goes on to say, “Don’t you want the AVN for best newcomer? Where did that competitive edge go? At the rate this is going, Joy’s going to steal it from right under your nose.”

“Like fucking hell,” you hiss. The magazine bends under the strength of your grip. “That one’s mine.”

You absolutely refuse to lose out to her. Every fiber of your being rejects the idea of letting her one-up you again.

“Not if you don’t start branching out. The last time you did anything substantial or interesting was about a month ago. It’s already old news. People are going to forget you shot that sequence altogether if you don’t do anything that puts you back on the map.”

A pause. “…I really don’t want to film with someone who willingly named himself Cock Mons—”

“Fine.” Seokjin heaves a resigned sigh. “You don’t have to fuck the monster willy. Willy monster? Hm. Wouldn’t it make more sense to name himself Monster Cock and not Cock Monster? Wonder why he does th—”

You suppress a snort. “Please spare me while you can. It’s amazing, that talent for making everything sound a lot worse than it already it is.”

“Why, thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“You trying to insult someone who’s willing to find you someone else to work with? I can always ask Monster Meatstick if he’s up for—”

“No! No, that’s - not necessary.” You force out a smile that wouldn’t fool anyone into thinking its genuine. “Why would I ever insult you? You’re the best agent one could ask for.”

“That’s what I thought.” He takes your compliment, forced or not. When he smiles, smugness rolls off of him in waves. “One day you’ll realize you’re taking my talent for granted. I’ll find you another onscreen partner even though you don’t know what you’re missing out.”

“Thank you.”

“But!” He interjects and this time you don’t bother swallowing down your groan, already dreading the stipulations he has in store for you. “You have to promise to hold up your end of the bargain and try your best.”

Indignation colors your face. Your mouth falls open, retort at the ready. “When do I ever slack off on the job?! I’ve never given a half-assed blowjob in my life - and trust me, the temptation was there. Do you have any idea how hard it is to stay focused when the guy can’t cum on command? I once had to get my jaw realigned.”

“I’m not saying you’re slacking off,” he backtracks, switching tactics. His expression is soon replaced by the business-like smile you’re used to seeing on the regular. Tone buttery and appeasing, he tries to convince you through flattery instead. “You work hard and do a good job… I wouldn’t have signed you on otherwise. The problem isn’t with the quality of your work but with - all the rest.”

“The rest?” you parrot back dumbly, trying and failing to comprehend.

Seokjin scowl returns, unable to keep his genuine emotions under wraps.

“D’you honestly think you’re at a point in your career where you can pick and choose your jobs like this? Ever since you started dating that - that thing - your workload has significantly decreased. And not because you lacked opportunities. You had them but you turned them all down.” Visibly getting worked up over the issue, his voice rises an octave, then two. “What should’ve been a good spring board, only brought you back to square one. I know I can’t force you to take jobs if you refuse to, but I can say that your potential is going to waste. I’ve never seen someone sabotage herself like this before and it’s driving me up the wall. While I get that you’re under the delusion that you’ve found true love or whatever Disney fantasy Jungmin has sold you, you can’t turn down projects over and over again without there being serious repercussions. You’re smart enough to know this. I shouldn’t have to remind you.”

Seokjin’s chest heaves as he takes in several big gulps of air, visibly out of breath after his monologue.

For him to explode like popcorn kennels in the microwave... You reckon he’d let his feelings pile up inside him for a while, silently stewing.

You’ve never seen your agent look so visibly distressed. He’s normally the picture-perfect image of composure so the sight that greets you is enough of a shock to render you speechless.

Deep down, Seokjin probably means well. There aren’t a lot of agents like him; you’re one of the lucky ones. Most girls are discarded by their agencies as quickly as used tissues once they get milked for all their worth. 

Thankfully it’s never been that way with Seokjin. He claims that he’s in it for the long run. According to him the quick buck isn’t worth seeing the light die out in girl after girl. Perhaps that’s why he takes the task of ensuring your safety so seriously. How many times has he warned you to steer clear of this or that seedy director or ban you from attending drug-heavy parties? While his behavior can come off as overbearing on the worst days, at least he cares.

Sadly, it’s more than you can say for most.

In a way, he’s the only one in this business rooting for your success—if only because his paycheck depends on how well you perform. You like to pretend there’s more to it than that.

“I’m not - what’s Jimin got to do with any of this?” you splutter, still digesting the long tirade you’ve just been subjected to. 

“Are you serious? That’s all you got from what I said?”

“Well, no, but I still fail to—”

“Do you think me a fool?” He crosses his arms tightly across his broad chest. “The only scenes you’re willing to shoot are when he’s on set. Are you a kid or something? Since when do you need supervision to shoot a sex scene?”

“N-no. It just worked out that way, okay?” In reply to his dubious expression, you force yourself to explain. “Okay, okay - I get it. Maybe I might’ve lessened my workload recently but it has nothing to do with Jimin, alright? My vagina needs rest from time to time. Just because it’s my job doesn’t mean I don’t need a break. I’m human too, not some blow-up doll.”

“You expect me to believe that he has nothing to do with it? You were perfectly fine before he entered the picture. And now that you’re all loved up you only pick—”

A knock, so timid you barely catch it, cuts off the rest of his sentence.

“Yeah? Come in, I’m decent!” you yell - not that you care whether someone sees you naked or not. The concept of modesty has long been lost on you. Some might call it shamelessness or vanity, but you take pride in how you look. And why wouldn’t you? Your body is your bread and butter. You spend hours in the gym every week so that your ass looks good no matter what camera angle.

“It’s me.”

The door opens a crack and the speaker tentatively sticks his mop of hair through the small opening. As soon as you recognize him, your heart leaps at the sight and you quickly tighten your robe together.

“Oh, speak of the devil,” Seokjin mutters under his breath.

You resist the urge to throttle him and plaster on your brightest smile instead.

“I wanted to see how you were doing. Sorry I took so long... I would’ve come earlier but they needed my help.” Jimin scratches a spot behind his ear, sheepish. “Someone tripped over the cables and smashed a camera lens so we had to find a replacement. The director threw a fit and wanted to call it quits so we’ve been trying to calm him down this entire time. He did - eventually, anyway, after he called his dealer on set.”

A disapproving frown tugs at his mouth corners and mars his otherwise perfect appearance.

You take a moment to swoon internally. You’ll never get tired of admiring your boyfriend. Unlike the majority of the on-set personnel, he doesn’t reek of weed or booze or stale cigarette smoke. His ironed clothes and immaculate appearance always make it easy to spot him amidst the hungover crew.

“That’s fine! I kept myself busy.”

Jimin returns your smile, his eyes creasing into beautiful half-moon crescents. You don’t know what kind of love-struck expression covers your face but next to you Seokjin makes a noise that sounds like a cross between a gag and a cough.

“Oh! Here, I brought snacks. I didn’t know what you liked so I just grabbed everything I could get my hands on.” He holds up a paper plate stacked with treats no doubt stolen from the catering service. “I know I kind of went overboard but I wanted to make sure you kept your sugar level up.”

“That’s sweet of you,” you coo, reaching to take the plate from him. He’s piled on the sweets so high that it’s a miracle nothing has toppled over yet. You aren’t especially hungry but take a bite out of a chocolate candy to show how much you appreciate the effort. Its gooey consistency melts on your tongue, the taste so sweet it sticks to your teeth.

“How adorable,” chimes in Seokjin, his hand grabbing a licorice stick from the mountain of candy before you can swat him away. “Thanks Jongmin.”

“Jimin,” he corrects good-naturedly, his smile not budging an inch. You think, privately, that’s what you like the most about him. Not many have the ability to block out Seokjin’s bullshit so effectively.

“Mmh,” your manager says around a mouthful of candy. “Seokjin. Pleasure.”

You elbow him while gritting your teeth. “Can you...give us a moment?”

Seokjin swallows down the treat and opens his mouth in protest. He has the audacity to look betrayed. “You’re kicking me out of our room so the two of you can get it on? Really?” 

Jimin’s cheeks flush and you quickly cut in before your agent can make matters worse.

"I just want to talk without you breathing down my neck. Weren’t you going off earlier about how I didn’t need adult supervision anymore? Well?”

“Fine. Fine! But you owe me. Again.” He grabs his portable phone charger from the vanity table before making his exit. “And don’t forget what we talked about!”

What a fucking drama queen. You have no idea why he always insists on making a scene when you know for a fact that he would’ve left of his own volition in five minutes anyway. For reasons he has no trouble disclosing, he can’t stand Jimin’s presence.

“I won’t,” you grumble just so that you can get him out of your hair faster.

The door slams shut with more force than strictly necessary. Silence hangs in the air for a brief moment before Jimin turns his warm gaze towards you.

“What was that about?” 

“Uh, nothing. You know how he is...” You play with the ends of your braided hair. “He can’t go very long without throwing a tantrum.’

“He seems very protective of you,” remarks Jimin, a thoughtful expression painting his angelic face. “I think that’s why he’s not that fond of me.”

“Nonsense,” you rebut immediately as you take his hands in yours. “Who could ever not like you?”

Jimin allows his lips to quirk into a small, self-deprecating smile that you promptly erase with a kiss. His lips feel pillow-soft against yours, and you let yoruself indulge in the feeling before pulling back.

You sigh, remembering the scene you’ve yet to film. “If only my co-star was you.”

He laughs at that. “Seokjin would probably throw a fit, huh?”

.

.

Jimin treats you to dinner that night.

He chooses the restaurant. It’s a small, quaint place, tucked into a hidden corner just minutes away from the bustling main street of the shopping district. It’s not the kind of place people stumble across by accident but judging by the occupied tables, business is doing fine by reputation alone.

The owner comes out to greet Jimin by name. They exchange warm greetings, the woman asking him how his brother’s been doing and whether he’ll stop by anytime soon.

“Ah - I’m not sure... You know how he is... I’ll let him know you said hi.”

“Tell him I’ll give him an extra serving of ribs. That was his favorite, right?”

When her eyes trail over Jimin’s shoulder and spot you, she grins so wide you’d think she won the lottery or something. “Park Jimin! You’ve gone and found a girlfriend! And so pretty, too. Ah, really...time sure flies by. I remember when you first started coming here - and now!”

You smile back, greeting her with a polite handshake. The owner is quick to usher you into a small booth in the back. She hands you the menus while patting Jimin on his shoulder. “I’ll get you drinks. It’s on the house.”

“You don’t have to do that!” protests Jimin, shaking his head. “Really. It’s not—”

“Nonsense.” She waves a hand at him. “You’ll get two more if you keep that up, Park Jimin.”

Once she knows she’s earned Jimin’s compliance, she leaves with a satisfied smile. You can tell by their genuine interactions that she’s close to Jimin. Family, perhaps? Either way, this isn’t a place Jimin tracked down on yelp. He flips through the menu with ease, like he’s done it hundreds of times before. 

“Sorry about that,” he says once she’s out of earshot. “I used to come here all the time with my family when we all still lived here. They moved and live in a different town now so we haven’t had a meal together here in years, but. I still come here. The food is good, of course, but - I dunno. I have good memories here so I thought I’d share it with you. It sounds stupid now.”

He laughs quietly, cheeks flushed a pretty pink. 

“I love it.” You can’t help but smile, cheeks hurting from the force of it. Invisible liquor runs through your bloodstream, a ball of warmth unfurling in your belly. “Thank you.”

A pause ensues. It’s one of those moments in which you’re unsure if you’ve said too much or not enough. Being here with Jimin means a lot. You’re not the most verbose person but you hope that Jimin can feel your sincerity.

Maybe your stare comes off as too intense because Jimin breaks the eye contact and clears his throat.

He fiddles with his earring and says, “The food is really good!”

Pink dots his cheeks as he attempts to change the subject. “I don’t know how long the place has been around for but the food is exactly the same. Apparently it’s the sauce they use? Auntie still won’t share the recipes with me and I’ve known her since I was a kid.”

He chatters on, gaining confidence when he notices you’re not put off or bored by his numerous anecdotes. As time passes by, he’s visibly more relaxed. His laugh is more natural, less restrained, like he’s using all the muscles in his face and not just the ones near his mouth.

It’s a stark difference from the first date, you think. Back then he had come off as quite shy, preferring to let you lead the conversation, only offering up tidbits from time to time. Now the conversation flows easily. Nothing feels forced or awkward and - it’s nice. The normalcy of it. Like a hot cup of tea before bed or the scent of the fabric softener your mother uses. It’s something you find comfort in, that you can see yourself coming back to and not growing tired of.

Seokjin can say what he wants - that Jimin’s too uninteresting, that you’re too mismatched of a couple - whatever. 

Jimin likes you for you.

When you’re out on dates or when the two of you talk on the phone late into the evening, he rarely brings up your job. Instead, he asks you questions about your favorite TV shows, your dipping sauce preferences, the first album you purchased. These small details might seem inconsequential to others but to you, they’re a welcome breath of fresh air.

For all the talks of Jimin being too average and too normal, men like him are in reality surprisingly hard to come by.

Because what you haven’t failed to notice since you began your career as a porn star is that people love the idea of you. People who avidly watch you from their laptop screen in the comfort of their own home think that you’re some type of sex goddess - that you’re basically up for anything. In their minds, you’re a fun girl who loves sex, all kinds of sex, any kind of sex, and who doesn’t have any qualities or attributes other than making people cum until their limbs go numb.

Your feelings? Not really important. Feelings would make you human and being human would ruin their favorite fantasy.

That’s what takes you a while to learn - you don’t get paid to have sex, you get paid to sell dreams.

It doesn’t bother you at first. In a way, you think, it’s like acting. The porn star people jerk off to daily is a character you play, a mask you can take off at your leisure once the camera director yells ‘cut!’.

Very quickly, you learn people don’t share the same sentiment. To them, the line that distinguishes you from your job persona isn’t blurry - it simply doesn’t exist.

In the beginning, you’d stayed optimistic. Once people get to know you past the image they’ve built up in their heads, surely they’ll realize you’re not a sex-craved addict who only has dick on the brain, right? But with every new date you accept to go on, the reality of your situation only leaves room for disappointment and barely reigned in revulsion.

Even in non-romantic situations, people let you down. Old classmates, neighbors... It pisses you off that they assume you have no self-worth just because you’re a sex worker. Stevie from 308 down the hall once tried throwing crumpled bills at you, expecting you to crawl over to him for a fifty. The memory is enough to set your blood boiling. You can’t wait until you earn big enough bucks to move out of your shitty apartment into a nice high-rise penthouse, away and above all the scum of the Earth.

“You okay?” asks Jimin, noticing the crease that burrows your brow. “The food alright?”

You blink several times, belatedly realizing you had zoned out. Guilt and embarrassment well up within you.

“M’yeah,” you swallow down the spoonful of stew stuffed in your mouth. “Sorry.”

Jimin chews his bottom lip. Finally, he settles with, “Tell me if I’m boring you.”

“No, no! You’re not.” His evident doubt does nothing to alleviate the sudden nausea swarming your lower belly. “I’m serious, Jimin. I’m - Sorry if I gave off that impression. I just - I have a lot on my mind but you’re lovely. I’d tell you if you were - you know. Promise.”

“Would you? Sometimes I think you’re too nice.” It’s not delivered as an insult, but it doesn’t exactly sound like praise, either. 

You force out a snort. “Heh. Wish you’d tell Seokjin that.”

“He’s not too cross with me, is he?” Jimin’s expression looks awkward, like he’s forcing his facial muscles to stay relaxed and mien nonchalant.

“Wh- oh, you mean because of earlier? He isn’t. That’s not him being angry. It’s not even you. It’s me. We just have - a slight difference in opinions, I suppose. If you can even call it that.”

“He doesn’t want you to date me,” concludes Jimin.

The frustrations you’d repressed earlier in the day come back. Why does Seokjin’s opinion matter? You huff, putting your spoon down.

“He’s not my dad. And even if he was, I’m grown. I can make my own decisions.” You roll your eyes. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll get over it... It’s not like it’s any of his business in the first place.”

“Still...” Jimin says, unsure. “He’s your agent. I wouldn’t want the relation between you to sour because of me.”

“Honestly, I’m convinced it’s not even you he has a problem with. We talked about it today and I think he’s getting antsy because, um, you know, I haven’t accepted any big offers lately. Like, I’m staying too much in my comfort zone or something. He says that in the long run that can be detrimental to my career.”

It’s a bit strange, discussing your work with Jimin. You both work in the same industry, Jimin as a second camera assistant and you as an adult entertainer, but outside of filming sets, you rarely acknowledge what the other person does for a living.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. He wants me to branch out and try new things.”

“What, you mean anal? Gangbangs?”

“Um, yeah. All that, probably...” You have to blink several times because of the shock of hearing Jimin say that so casually. “...Is that okay?”

“Huh?” Jimin in turn blinks at you, like your question doesn’t properly register. “Oh, yeah, sure. I’m fine with it. You said it’ll be good for your career?”

“Apparently.”

“Then, yeah.” He shrugs like he isn’t bothered by the news at all. “Of course that’s okay.”

A part of you wants to push the issue, ask him why he’d be fine with his girlfriend filming intense sex scenes with random men, but that inner voice is snuffed out before the poisonous thought has time to take root.

Isn’t this what you always wanted? A boyfriend who is accepting and understanding of your profession?

You wash down your worries with a gulp or two of soju, determined not to let your own insecurities ruin the rest of your night.

.

.

Less than 24 hours after you’ve agreed to work on a worthwhile project of Seokjin’s choosing, a slew of texts blow up your phone. 

Unsurprisingly, it’s your agent. A quick scroll through your phone reveals that your agent has left you with no less than 15 messages, 1 voicemail, and 3 e-mails.

It’s...a lot. You’ve grown to expect that kind of fanfare with him. Like any man who deals with legally binding contracts on a daily basis, Seokjin ensures that you keep your word. He can be extremely persuasive when he sets his mind to it. You’ve seen men and women alike succumb to the force of his magnetism. Back when your filmography had solely consisted of amateur sex tapes shot in bad lighting with low-grade filming equipment, Seokjin's charms alone had been sufficient to win over lukewarm casting directors and book you jobs.

SEOKJIN : hey!!!!!!!!

SEOKJIN : ???

SEOKJIN : wow. you’re leaving me on read.........the audacity. 

SEOKJIN : i raised you on my back and this is how you repay me?

SEOKJIN : do you not respect your elders in your household?

SEOKJIN : i swear if you’re blowing me off for jimmy instead of answering your calls .........

SEOKJIN : or blowing jimmy. either one.

SEOKJIN : ok it’s been 10 min. i’m chill but not that chill.

SEOKJIN : can you please stop sucking dick and read your emails. it’s important.

YOU : ever heard of multitasking? god gave us two hands for a reason

SEOKJIN : oh. nasty.

SEOKJIN : way to ruin my lunch.

SEOKJIN : well. suck down that nut sauce asap

SEOKJIN : cos what i sent you needs your undivided attention

YOU : i’m nasty?? me????

YOU : you don’t hear me saying nUT SAUCE you freak

SEOKJIN : nutté sauce

SEOKJIN : there. fixed it.

YOU : ...that’s not even a thing

SEOKJIN : well it should be!

SEOKJIN : adding accents makes it instantly classier, don’t you think? nutté sauce. has a nice ring to it.

SEOKJIN : honestly. sounds like some fancy four star french starter now.

YOU : ???? it absolutely doesn’t but ok

SEOKJIN : imagine. during a scene you just yell out

SEOKJIN : “i’d like a serving of your nutté sauce to go”

YOU : dicks would shrivel up on the spot

SEOKJIN : what? i think it’s brilliant!

SEOKJIN : my talent is wasted as an agent. should’ve been a scriptwriter instead.

YOU : yes i’m sure the oscars are weeping over the missed opportunity

He takes your sarcasm at face value, feeding you more ridiculous variants of faux french cum lingo—that which you very wisely choose not to reply to. Instead of humoring him, you open the .pdf file he’s sent your way, ignoring the near-constant buzzing of your phone as he’s no doubt pestering you for an immediate answer.

Had it not been necessary for business, you’d have blocked his number ages ago. In fact, after that nut sauce comment you’re seriously reconsidering, business obligations be damned. 

To his credit, the film project he suggests you work on doesn't sound half-bad despite its questionable title. Why anyone would choose to name it THE SPERMINATOR is beyond you.

As you read through the proposition, you’re surprised to find it’s tamer than the initial imaginary scenario you’d played out in your head. Expecting to read through a long list of unnameable kinks and dicks, the scene description is rather domestic all things considered.

Your shoulders sag in relief. You enjoy sex as much as the next person, but even you have limits you’re not willing or eager to cross. You’re a human being, first and foremost, and, contrary to popular belief, not competing in the sex olympics.

From what you’ve read so far, nothing in Seokjin’s offer seems too strenuous or perverse. The scene in question is centered around a young, newly married couple trying to conceive for the first time and the sex acts are described as “romantic insemination” - whatever the fuck that means. The only complication you can think of is that you’ve never played the part of a married couple before. None of your previous films specifically target couples or women. Is romance something you can sell accordingly?

You’re quick to shake the concern off once you remember that no one cares if your acting is shit or not. All you probably have to do is yell out ‘Daddy’ a few times mid-thrust and call it a day.

Honestly, you’re a bit disappointed in Seokjin for choosing such a safe, no-risk project - especially since he constantly advocates the risk-return trade off as the way to live by. But you’re not about to start complaining. You’d rather shoot this type of innocuous scenario than ridiculous, hentai-like scenes involving freakish get-ups and toys of monster proportions not realistically made to fit in a vagina.

The deal is perfect. Almost too perfect.

Subconsciously, you must realize something is wrong. Maybe Seokjin’s many lessons have finally rubbed off on you because there’s a persistent voice in your ear warning you that the film proposition is a trap, one that you’ve unfortunately walked straight into.

Your wariness increases when he refuses to send you the script upon request. Alarm bells ring off but by then it’s too late.

“The thing is... Director Ryu wants to try a new type of project," Seokjin says over the phone once you call him up for answers. "He thinks he’s going to pioneer a new genre of porn and revolutionize the industry - his words, not mine.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“How do I explain this without you getting the wrong idea..."

“Is this meant to reassure me?!” Dread drips from your tone. You should’ve suspected something was off from the very moment Seokjin suggested to shoot vanilla porn as your next big project. What a joke.

“Calm down, it's not as bad as - whatever you're thinking.” Too bad that his attempts to calm you down have the opposite effect. “He’s been wanting to try out a new improvisation format for his porn movies.”

“Come again?”

A beat of uncomfortable quiet passes. Reluctantly, Seokjin explains, “Which means - there isn’t an actual script to go off of. That’s why I couldn’t send it to you - because there is none. He wants it to be as realistic and natural as possible so he’s looking for actors who can go with their gut and create their own scenario instead of ones who need to be directed.”

Your resounding silence speaks for itself.

Sure, sometimes they provide scripts to act as guidelines, roughly giving the actor an idea of how the scene will unfold, but no one is expected to follow it word for word. Most porn films rely on improvisation rather than scripts because of how notoriously bad porn stars are at acting and memorizing more than a few lines at a time, and the introduction scene never lasts very long anyway for it to make a noticeable difference. Besides, after filming a handful of movies, you’ve noticed the dialogue is more or less all the same.

What bothers you is that this director wants you to carry out a movie that relies heavily on improvised dialogue. Convincingly.

“C’mon,” Seokjin tries when you refuse to deign him with an answer. “It’ll be fun. You like acting, right?”

“Seokjin...” You pinch the bridge of your nose and try to keep your composure in check. “How do I break this down for you? I think you’re forgetting the most crucial detail here - I can’t act! The closest I've ever gotten to acting is faking an orgasm and I’m pretty certain that doesn’t count."

“And you do that very well!" says Seokjin encouragingly. "You'll be fine. Don’t stress over it. Your scenes with Min Yoongi last time were perfectly acceptable!”

“That’s the thing.” Stress makes your voice raise a half-step. “He did, like, 90% of the acting! Back then, all I had to do was moan and act like a slut! Which hardly counts - I was being myself. Whatever this - thing - you’re attempting to rope me into - I’m not qualified for it.”

“Sweetheart, we’re not aiming for the fucking Oscars here.” When he laughs, it’s practiced enough to sound sincere. “At the end of the day, it’s still porn. Nobody’s expecting you to be the next Meryl. And besides,” he presses on, clearly refusing to change his mind. “This is exactly what you need right now. Something fresh, something new. If you pull this off, you’ll gain exposure.”

“If I pull it off. Big if."

“I know it sounds like a gamble. I get it, I do. But remember what I always say? High risk—”

“Yes, yes. High reward. I get it.” Your frown deepens. “There’s no way to know this will work, though.”

“A good co-star already guarantees you half of the success. And luckily for you, the guy they signed on seems like the real deal. He’s hot, you’re hot. People will pay money to see you two fuck regardless of how good or bad the acting is.”

“Well. That’s reassuring,” you say, voice as flat as a board. “Although I suppose watching porn on mute is always an option if it comes to that.”

“It was a joke!” What worries you is that it doesn’t sound like it is. “You have nothing to worry about. I’ve seen some of your co-star’s tapes. He’s got a mouth on him, if you know what I mean. Just let him lead and it’ll go swimmingly.”

“It’s one thing to follow someone’s lead during sex but you want me to - to improvise for God knows how long! That’s just asking for a disaster to happen.”

“You said you were up for a challenge!” Seokjin throws your words back at you, his tone accusing.

“And you said this would be beneficial for my career! How is making a fool out of myself going to help me any? I don’t want to be remembered as the girl who can’t act to save her life.” You want to cry in frustration. If you had wanted to act you would’ve chosen that as your major in college. “I don’t - I can’t do this. I’m not - this isn’t what I signed up for! How do you expect me to convince viewers what they’re watching is real...”

“Just—” Exasperated, he takes a deep breath. Exhales. “Trust me. When have I ever been wrong about film projects.”

Is putting your career at risk really worth it? You’re not sure anymore.

On the bright side, it’ll finally get Seokjin off your back, you reason, trying to remain positive. That in itself is worth celebrating, right?

Fine. You’ll agree to it out of pettiness. Once Seokjin realizes what a terrible idea this entire ordeal is, you won’t hesitate to rub it back in his face. He’ll never hear the end of it.

"Who am I working with, anyway?”

"Ah, hm, well." Hesitation creeps up his voice for the first time, putting you instantly on edge. "...You won't know him. He's new to the scene - got started a month or two ago, I forget."

"Great. Not only am I being used as a lab rat for this director to experiment on but you're also pairing me with a fucking rookie. Jesus.”

"He’s not half bad! He’s not bad at all, actually. I wouldn't be insisting if I didn't trust him not to blow his load early."

"Aren’t I lucky,” you deadpan. “So I don't have to worry about him busting a nut before the director gives the signal?"

“All you’ll have to do is act like a married couple with baby fever,” he talks over you, ignoring your overflowing sarcasm. “And how hard can that be? You’ve been loved up with Jumin for a month now - that’s plenty enough practice if you ask me. I know you’ll be able to sell that romantic shit to the public without too much trouble.”

“It’s Jimin,” you correct from force of habit.

You’re promptly ignored — not that you expected anything less from him.

"Just give it a thought? And get back to me when you make up your mind. The sooner the better. The offer won't stay on the table forever." Even over the line, you can picture Seokjin raising his eyebrows at you, expectant. “If you’re serious about this job, you know what you have to do.”

You both know that you’ll accept the offer. Seokjin’s got you all figured out. As much as you don’t like being pushed around, the need to prove yourself is your main driving factor. The acquaintances who sneer at you, the family members who’ve shun you, the peers who expect you to burn out after the five month mark—you’d rather roll over and die than prove their misconceptions right.

It’s a matter of pride when you sniff and reply, “I’ll think about it.”

But the decision is already made before the call ends.

.

.

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

[ambientstars]

Could I please request thirteenth Doctor & fem!reader where the reader has a soft squishy tummy and she’s kind of insecure about it? 🥺

Gif credit: unknown

Note: not my best work and I haven’t proofread it yet because I’m too tired so apologies for any mistakes. Anyway here’s this. And please please remember that no matter what you look like, you are beautiful and perfect and I love you 🖤

- - -

You took a deep breath as you looked at yourself in the mirror, smoothing down your tight fitting dress. The Doctor had chosen it, explaining that she thought the colour of it would bring out your eyes.

She had been right, of course, your eyes glowing against the soft fabric that shimmered in the spotlights above you, but still you felt uncomfortable and embarrassed.

The dress wasn’t the problem, rather the way it sat over your stomach and highlighting all the places on your body that you disliked greatly.

“Are you ready to go?”

The voice of The Doctor echoed around the room, your muscles softening at the sound. She would always be the best form of relaxation, just her presence was enough to make you breathe like you’d been drowning and were finally allowed up for air.

You made a sound of agreement and turned to face her in her tux, altered to be the same length and style as her usual coat and trousers.

She adjusted her bow tie and smiled brightly, her eyes creasing at the corners. “After you.”

She gestured for you to walk ahead of her out of the room, her smile never faltering. You appreciated her chivalry, but it made you uncomfortable to know she’d be looking at the back of you, taking in your unflattering appearance and most likely making silent judgments.

You mumbled a small thank you and forced your legs to move forward towards the door.

“So, where are we going?”

“You’ll see!” The Doctor rushed past you once you reached the console room, pulling a lever that brought the machine to a halt.

She opened the door and poked her head out to make sure you had landed in the right place and then looked back at you. “Come on, then!”

Her smile was contagious, a smile of your own forcing it’s way into your face. You pushed aside your negative thoughts and followed as The Doctor stepped outside to the mystery location.

You entered a grand hall, it’s wide marble floor filled with people who appeared to be human, but you knew well enough to know that they probably weren’t.

Golden pillars stood tall at each corner of the hall, leading to the ceiling that adorned a beautiful design of swirling patterns that resembled long leaf stems, connecting at the ends to form an endless stream like bunting along the edges, framing the stunningly detailed mural in the centre.

Large chandeliers hung above the heads of the dancing guests, shining brightly in a warm hue, sparkling like diamonds and projecting reflections onto the walls.

“Doctor, this is…” you stopped to think of an appropriate word to sum up just how wonderful this room was. “Incredible.”

“I knew you’d like it.” She beamed beside you, also looking out at the cheerful crowd. “Want to dance?”

You weren’t much of a dancer and in fairness, neither was The Doctor, but she led you over to an open space on the floor and held you close, swaying you both from side to side, her arms around your waist.

It felt nice to be so close to her, to share an intimate moment with her, her gentle eyes locked on yours and her mouth pulled up into a small smile as a sign that she, too, was enjoying the moment.

However, despite the warm tingling the feeling of closeness gave you, you were still very much aware that she could feel your body against hers, her arms and hands touching places on you that sent an unpleasant shiver down your spine.

Negative thoughts swarmed your mind again, the angry voices screaming at you, making their judgements of how disgusting and unappealing you are very clear.

“What’s wrong?”

The Doctor’s voice was calm and soothing against the voices in your head, full of concern and curiosity.

You shook your head and smiled to dismiss any of her worries. “Just a little thirsty.”

Her face changed to a look of content, accepting your answer as the truth. “Let me get you something to drink. You wait right here.”

- -

“I’m getting kind of tired.” You said with a yawn, your back slumped against the marble statue of an almost naked man on the balcony of the grand hall.

You’d been here all evening, dancing with The Doctor for hours, holding each other close and quietly talking about everything and nothing as you swayed.

The night had been wonderful, everything you had ever dreamed of. You were the happiest you’d been for a very long time and you highly doubted it you’d feel this way if the timelord hadn’t been by your side the entire time.

“Want to see our room?”

“Our room?”

She nodded. “I may, or may not, have accidentally destroyed the part of the TARDIS that had our bedrooms in it. And I know how you humans like to spend your lives sleeping so until the ol’ girl rebuilds that part of herself, we have a room here.”

You took a moment to process all the information she had presented you with, wondering when and how she had created said destruction to the poor timeship, and how she had said our room.

“We do not spend our lives sleeping!” You quipped, following her up the winding staircase towards the second floor, your hands tugging the dress up slightly so that you didn’t trip on the length of it under your feet.

She gave you a pointed look over her shoulder, the ghost of a smirk on her lips. “You literally spend a third of your lives asleep. That’s almost 230,000 hours wasted away in favour of lying unconscious when you could be doing other things.”

You huffed through your nose, dropping the subject, knowing you weren’t about to win this fight.

She led the way down long corridors and up even more stairs, the rest of the building decorated just as beautifully as the great hall, it’s walls adorned with portraits of important people and framed with the same swirling patterns as the ceiling.

“Here we are.” The Doctor announced, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

She unlocked the door and stepped inside, leaving you to quietly trail in behind. You looked around as you entered, taking note that the design of the building's decor also moved into the bedrooms.

You sat on the edge of the bed, the one bed. “Uh Doctor?”

She looked up from whatever trinket she had found and put it back down on the dresser, giving you her full attention.

“There’s only one bed.”

She frowned, confused. “Is that a problem?”

“No, not a problem,” you quickly corrected, your gaze falling to your lap in embarrassment. “It’s just that we’ll be sleeping together… in the same bed.”

The Doctor laughed lightly, the sound of it relaxing you ever so slightly. “I won’t be sleeping. You have the whole bed to yourself.”

You made a conscious effort to ignore the feeling of disappointment that also came flooding in with understanding and relief. “Right.”

- -

You watched silently from under the covers as The Doctor gazed out the window, watching something or someone move around the garden. She, too, stayed quiet so that you could sleep, or at least attempt to.

You clenched your jaw tightly until it ached, desperately trying to stop your teeth from chattering, the coldness of the room seeping through the layers of fabric until it reached your bones.

“Cold?”

You nodded at The Doctor’s question, although she could see from your shivering that you were. “A bit.”

She made her way over, her movements swift and fluid, her feet moving with purpose. She kicked off her boots at the end of the bed and climbed in under the covers with you, her slender body slipping in right next to yours.

She pulled you closer so that your body was squashed right up against hers and your head was forced to rest on the spot on her chest, just below her shoulder. She snaked an arm around your middle to keep you close and pulled the covers right up to your chin with her free hand.

“Better?”

You swallowed nervously, feeling comforted and overwhelmed at the same time. In truth, it was better - the shivering had already begun to die down and your stiffened muscles relaxed, a contented sigh escaping you. But your proximity to each other made your heart race, your stomach doing somersaults.

Her thumb absentmindedly stroked the skin of your side and panic overcame you, knowing she was feeling a part of you that you despised under it. You quickly moved her hand up towards your shoulder instead, keeping it there with your hand on hers.

“What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, closing your eyes in an effort to brush off the subject and fall asleep, your body now warm enough to fall into unconsciousness.

A finger lifted your chin so that you were forced to look up at her. From this angle, she looked different, but still just as beautiful. “Tell me.”

You looked away again, releasing a nervous breath. “I don’t like being touched there.”

You couldn’t see her face now that you had turned your head back to its original position, but you guessed that her brows were knitted in confusion, the crease between them deepening.

“Why not?”

It wasn’t hard to confide in The Doctor, her kind eyes locked on yours when you whispered a secret, the non judgment in her voice as she gave you advice back, her gentle hands on your arms as a reminder that she was truly there in the moment and listening - all of it made it easy to trust in her and tell her even the hardest of truths, but that didn’t make it any less embarrassing.

You carefully picked up a small piece of lint from the other side of her chest between your fingers as you whispered, focusing your eyes on it so as to keep yourself from tearing up.

“It’s all squishy and gross.”

“Hey,” the timelord beneath you snapped back quickly, her tone displeased. “Your body is not gross!”

“But I-“

“It may be squishy, but you know what else it is?” She sat up, effectively forcing your body to fall beside her as she turned to face you. “Beautiful. This body carries and protects you everyday. It keeps your heart and your mind safe, it protects the organs you need to live. It grows and changes, and breaks, and thrives! The human body is amazing, truly, and a little bit of extra soft and warm padding shouldn’t get in the way of you loving the body you have.”

Tears brimmed your eyes, your bottom lip wobbling despite being sucked into your mouth. You should’ve known that The Doctor would view your body, along with everyone else’s, as a magnificent organic machine that against all odds, grew and repaired itself, and battled against the elements. To her, the human body was a glorious physical representation of just how far evolution had come and she admired it deeply.

To her, beauty wasn’t defined by size or shape, by colour or style. To her, beauty was smiles of happiness and tears of sadness, resilience and natural radiance, creative minds and beating hearts.

She placed her hands on either side of your waist, holding gently so as not to frighten you. “Who told you that your body is gross?”

You fought back a cringe and drew in a shaky breath, avoiding The Doctor’s narrowed eyes. “Well, no one in particular.”

She sighed like her heart was broken and in response your chest tightened with guilt. “Look at me.”

You did as asked, forcing your eyes to meet hers. She carried an expression on her face that you hadn’t seen before, something between disbelief and worry, whatever she was feeling, it wasn’t positive.

“This wonderfully unique body you have,” she spoke quietly, putting all of her truth and conviction behind her words, desperate for you to really, truly hear them. “Is perfect.”

A tear escaped as you blinked, quickly falling down your cheek before you could raise your hand to wipe it away. The Doctor’s hand came to rest on the now damp cheek and swiped the following tear away with her thumb, her eyes never leaving yours.

You opened your mouth to speak, but your tightened throat refused to release a sound. So instead you pulled her back down to you, holding her flush against you in a bone crushing hug she had not expected.

Silently you sobbed as she held you close, your warmth spreading to your cheeks and circling around the pit of your stomach.

You weren’t sure if you’d ever truly come to love the body you were in, but The Doctor’s opinion was the only one that mattered and that was enough for you. Maybe she’d have to remind you of your beauty every day and you had no doubt that she would, but tonight was a start and already you felt better with your skin pressed against hers.

#13th doctor #thirteeth doctor #doctor who imagine #jodie Whittaker #doctor x reader #13 x reader #thirteenth doctor x reader #thirteen x reader

[bitletsanddrabbles]

WIP Wednesday: Things I Absolutely Did Not Want To Write, But My Brain Had Other Ideas

Me: Okay, brain! Ready to work on the thing we’ve been researching?

Brain: Naw.

Me: How about that new thing you’ve been talking about? Ready for that?

Brain: Mmmm, maybe another week.

Me: Right, then, another research day!

Brain: Nnnnnnnnnnnnnrgh, tired of reading!

Me: .....the Thomas/Mary wedding thing, since you dragged that up last week?

Brain: Pffff, last week’s news!

Me: So what do you want to do?

Brain: Oooooooooooo! BODY SWAP FIC!

Me: *groan* No, brain. Just no.

Brain: YES! YES YES YES YES YES! WE’VE NOT WORKED ON IT IN SO LONG! COME OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!

Me: I hate that thing! That is hands down my least favorite trope ever!

Brain: But it’ll be fun! And new! And different! And we never do things like that!

Me: Yeah, BECAUSE I HATE IT!

Brain: I have new ideas for it! Shiny ideas! Character torture ideas!

Me: ...................you’re not going to shut up about this, are you?

Brain: N.O.P.E.!

Me: .............right then. But after this, we’re at least getting a paragraph of notes on something else, you hear?

“This is the last of it, Mr. Barrow,” Andrew announced, walking in and setting a medium sized box down on the boot room table. There were three there already, one opened with its contents spread over the table, and the other two tucked in a corner.

Thomas looked up from the rather large vase he was examining. “Thank you, Andrew. We’ll go through that one when we’ve finished these.”

“Do you really think anyone will want to buy these?” Albert asked, picking up a very old, very thread bare toy horse that had come out of the open box. God alone knew how long the box had been in the storage attic, tucked away in the back corners.

“Who can say?” Thomas shrugged, reaching for a soft cloth. “Toffs get funny about what they’ll blow money on, don’t they?” Glancing at the horse again, he admitted, “I can’t see that one fetching much, though. Its value seems entirely sentimental.”

Anna, who had come in to fetch some cleaning salts, closed the cupboard she was reaching into and came to examine the horse. She ran her fingers over one of the bare patches. “I might buy it, for Johnny, if no one with real money goes for it. It’s a bit ragged, admittedly, but the stitching’s all there.”

Thomas concentrated on the vase in front of him, not even glancing sideways at the woman and the toy. “Tell Lady Mary you want it, and she might well just give it to you,” he suggested, forcing his tone to be bright and cheerful. He started brushing the dust and cobwebs off the vase. Urn. Whatever you’d call it. The big clay pot with Greek pictures on it. It had to have been in the attic as long as the horse, and it hadn’t been in a box. It was covered in dust and he was fairly certain that when he tipped it over there would undoubtedly be dead spiders inside. At least, he hoped they were dead. They would be soon, if they weren’t already. After all, no matter how ancient your Greek pottery was, it wouldn’t fetch much at auction if it was full of spiders.

“She might,” Anna agreed, setting the toy aside. “But that’s hardly going to help fix (FIND A PROBLEM), now is it?”

“I suppose not,” Thomas allowed. It had been Mr. Branson’s idea, naturally, to auction off some of the family’s old knickknacks, abandoned in the attic for most of His Lordship’s lifetime, to raise money. The only surprise was how readily the family had agreed to it. Thomas had expected more of a fight, but he supposed with Lady Violet gone, there was less sentiment for the fifth Earl’s belongings. “Seems backwards, though, that we should pay our hard earned wages to keep our employer afloat.”

His grumbling earned him a sharp frown. “No one’s asking you to buy anything.”

Before Thomas could reply, Mrs. Hughes came around the corner, her eyes immediately taking in the well-organized chaos. “Goodness. Well, I should hope this should fetch a tidy sum. Enough to get the job done at any rate.” She looked between Andy and Thomas. “Is there anything more to come down?”

Despite the fact Andy and the hall boys had been doing all of the shifting, Thomas answered dutifully. “No, Mrs. Hughes. We’re most of the way through the first box.” Realizing that the piece he was working on had, very obviously, not been in a box, he added, “And I’ve been handling the big pieces.” There was a lamp standing behind him, not to mention an old clock that probably hadn’t walked since the fourth Earl was a boy. He’d probably have to order in parts for that.

Mrs. Hughes nodded. “At least they’ve agreed to a buffet for luncheon. Albert can keep the cold cuts ready well enough.” She turned to Anna. “And Nanny was planning a picnic for the upstairs children for the afternoon. She wanted to know if you could take Johnny for a couple of hours.”

Thomas scowled at the writing emerging under the layer of grime on the pottery. At least he assumed it was writing. He couldn’t read it, naturally, but it looked like the Greek writing he’d seen here and there in books and such. “Don’t know why the woman still bothers. She knows the answer is going to be ‘no’.” She also knew that Lady Mary would insist the picnic go on anyway, and that she take Johnny with her, servant’s son or not. Because somehow Nanny was the only one in the world, or at least the estate, who had a problem with the Bateses’ son being treated like a member of the family. Carson would probably have complained if he were still here, and probably did complain to Mrs. Hughes when she was at home, now that Thomas thought of it, but he had no say anymore. Lady Mary loved Anna and would do as much for her as her own sister, maybe more, and that was that.

Both women turned stern expressions on him and he wished he’d bitten his tongue. “What’s gotten into you today?” Anna asked.

He opened his mouth, but quickly shut it again. More writing and a bit of key patterning emerged under his administrations as he tried to come up with a believable answer. “Nothing, sorry,” he finally said, the words accompanied with a poor attempt at a smile. “Just a bit of a headache from all of this dust.”

Mrs. Hughes eyed him, equal parts stern and concerned. “Mm. Why don’t you take a break and step out for some air when you’re done with that?”

“Yes, Mrs. Hughes,” he agreed, eager to say anything that would keep her from asking any further questions. He turned his full attention to the task at hand, trying to shut out the women's’ conversation. Unfortunately, having the best hearing in the house had its drawbacks. It was impossible to ignore Anna’s assurance that Lady Mary wouldn’t mind Johnny tagging along with the rest, or that she thought some time outdoors would do the children good. He wished he could go and work on the books, something that would at least take attention and, perhaps, distract him from thinking about the fact that Richard was coming to York to visit his parents. He’d be there for two days and, as luck would have it, those days coincided perfectly with the damn auction. He didn’t even need to ask; the notion of the butler being absent for even part of the proceedings was lunacy.

If he’d been a lady’s maid, he’d have had a chance.

If he’d have been Anna, if Richard had been Bates, Lady Mary would have moved mountains to give him time off. His Lordship would have helped. If necessary, Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson would probably have taken Johnny, or Daisy and Andy.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, pretending to ward off the headache he claimed to have. He was doing better. He was being kinder and people liked him, or at least they liked being able to have a wireless in the servant’s hall. Mrs. Hughes and Baxter cared, to a certain extent at least. Things were better. There was no reason to be jealous anymore, except…

“Um, Mr. Barrow?” Andy’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. “What’s that light?”

“Hm?” Thomas opened his eyes. He had just enough time to realize that the letters he’d been clearing off were glowing, like something out of Arabian Nights, before the entire room filled with light. He thought he yelled, both in surprise and pain at the brightness, but it could have been someone else. Or all of them. Or his imagination.

The last thing he was aware of was the sense of falling, then everything went black.

In case anyone is looking at the description of that pottery and going “Erm, that sounds a bit culturally inaccurate....”, you are not wrong. That’s intentional and will be a plot point.................if I ever get to it.

(Heck, I’d suspect the writing was Arabic rather than Greek, but I can’t think of a single reason Thomas would have run across Arabic writing while Greek might show up in a philosophical something or other... That pottery really is off.)

#downton abbey #downton abbey fanfiction #thomas barrow #anna bates #mrs. hughes #wip wednesday #i really do super hate this trope #but my brain really will not give it a rest