#like passing out level bad but they’ve been manageable the last few months

[ophernelia]

There’s a good chance Lykaia might be late this week for patrons. Had period cramps yesterday that damn near sent me to the ER so we are not doing well, friends.

#mine have always been bad #like passing out level bad but they’ve been manageable the last few months #but yesterday jfc i couldn’t even wrap my head around the level of pain #and my family thinks they’ll get kids from me one day?? HA! when hell freezes over #idk what’s up tho I might make a doctors appointment tho I doubt I’ll find anything out #the joys of being a black woman am I right??? #and imagine me showing up with my dark skinned bf too they’ll surely prescribe me some Tylenol and brush off my pain #I love being black but I hate everyone else’s perception of blackness #text post

[astaroth1357]

Demigod MC Series: Ares

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus, Demeter, Athena, Hades Pt. 2, Poseidon, Ares

Lucifer

He cannot overstate what kind of damage this mortal was able to do in their first few seconds in the Devildom...

The instant they got to their feet, they had managed to incapacitate Satan and knock down Beel. Lucifer himself tried to get between them and Diavolo but…

If he hadn’t moved his head, if he was standing just ONE INCH to the left… he wouldn’t have a head anymore. Barbatos was there to intervene, but had he not they could have probably taken out the Avatar of Pride and done critical damage to the Demon Prince himself in one strike...

Frankly, Lucifer prefers not to dwell on that moment... He's sure Ares must be proud of this one...

He pretty much treats the mortal like a live bomb afterward, if he can get away with not interacting with them at all, that’s what he’ll do.

He’s NOT scared of them... much... It’s just that they have a bullish and uncooperative attitude at best and since they know they can take any of them, they don't even consider him - Lucifer, the eldest demon brother - a threat...

But you know what the most frustrating thing is? They won't give him an inch of respect, but they'll always listen to Levi! Levi!!

Look, Lucifer knows he may not hold a rank among the Hell's army and he might not have been a major player in the Celestial/Demonic wars of the day, but he's still the strongest demons here, dammit!! 😡

Lucifer finds nothing is more embarrassing than having to ask Levi of all people to keep the mortal in line because he can't... Oh, the humiliation… He hopes they leave soon...

Mammon

At first, he thought they were scary. But in time he thought they were scary… and also pretty damn awkward.

Mammon wasn’t there when they more or less wiped out the majority of his brothers in the Conference Hall but when he finally showed up he'd never seen Lucifer look so pale… If THAT doesn't make you shit your pants, he doesn't know what will.

Naturally, he kind of toned it down on the "stupid human" stuff real quick after seeing that…

But here's the thing. After the two made a pact together, Mammon started to notice that the MC wasn't all that mean, they were just… violent?

He legitimately thought that they couldn’t stand him for a while until one day a guy on the street called him a dirtbag. The MC threw a punch right there! No questions asked, they just decked that guy!!

It was kind of touching… and messy. Very messy. Did he mention that they’re terrifying yet? 😥

As it turns out, the MC has apparently spent a lot of their life just fighting things and being asked to fight things so they're not very used to showing non-violent affection… 

It took him awhile, but he realized that their way of saying, "I like you," is, "I will attack your enemies." So now all he does when his brothers tease him is say, "I'm telling MC!'' and they'll stop immediately. It's great!! 😁

Considers them to be his bodyguard when he goes out to gamble in some… shadier places. Most of the time not even the bouncers want to take on the MC, ain't nobody getting paid enough to lose that many teeth…

Leviathan

Okay, so. It's not very obvious anymore, but he USED to be on the front lines of the war against demons in the Celestial Realm. He was in charge of battle strategies, he led armies, and even now he still holds the highest rank of the royal navy!

So leave it to the kid of a war god to sniff all that out about him, huh…? They appeared to know all about his record the instant they saw him and they actually seemed to respect him for it!

For context, this mortal tells pretty much everybody to shove off but any time he’s around they call him “Admiral” or “sir” and actually pay attention to what he says! He can tell it drives Lucifer insane, but honestly? It’s a bit of an ego boost. 😌

It’s sort of cute when they come to him asking for tactical advice… They get just as into it as he does with his anime and any time he points out something that they haven't seen before they get so excited it's like they're a kid watching a magic trick. HUGE ego boost. 😏

Speaking of anime, it’s hit or miss whether or not they can watch any of it. Anything with good fight scenes (and let’s be honest, not that much talking) they’re on board for. But if the hero and the villain talk to each other for like an episode before throwing punches then the MC will just rant...

MC: “The enemy is distracted... Why aren’t they attacking yet??”

Levi: “Because the villain killed the hero’s best friend and they’re-”

MC: “They could avenge their friend right now if they ended things right here!”

Levi: “MC, we’ve been over this... That’s not how plot works.”

MC: “And now he got away!! See?? They should have killed him when they had the chance!”

Levi: “*sigh*... Let’s just play some CoD.”

Satan 

The last thing he remembered when the “human” hopped out of the portal was a sharp pain to the side of the temple and Asmo wailing as he fell unconscious…

Yeeeeah, not great. And unfortunately for the mortal the Avatar of Wrath tends to hold a grudge… 

For a comparatively brief moment in time, all of Satan’s considerable ire had shifted away from Lucifer and to their new housemate. They found their bed, clothes, pillows, food, and even their toothbrush cursed!

… But Ares kids must be built from some strong stuff, because half of what he employed didn’t even faze them! He even put an explosive spell on their backpack and not only did they tank the blast, it didn’t hurt them at all!! It was like they’re damn near immortal!

Annnnd they kind of are. Apparently the MC had taken a dip in the River Styx at some point before and became nigh invulnerable…

Was it maybe a little terrifying to know that they had kidnapped a nearly invincible demigod on the level of Achilles? Yes. Did that also mean that they must have had a weakness too? In theory....

Satan honestly devoted a depressing amount of time trying to uncover the “Achilles’ Heel” of his new sworn enemy… until…

The MC was walking with him and Asmo to RAD one morning when they passed by a group of lesser demons harassing a small puppy. Now Satan may be more of a cat man, but NO ONE fucks with animals while he’s around.

He was right about to go over and rip those demons a new one but the MC actually beat him to it! Apparently, the second that they realized what was happening, they launched themselves forward and started bashing the abusers' heads into a wall!

… Live by violence, forgive by violence because in that very moment Satan decided they weren’t so bad after all. He even joined in!

Oh, Asmo gave them both shit all day for the bloodstains on their uniforms and the scratches on their… everywhere, but it’s not like either of them cared. Righteous justice had been served and it was glorious!!

100% would team up with the MC in some kind of vigilante “punish-all-animal-abusers” gig. They have but to ask. 😌

Asmodeus

Oh they TERRIFIED Asmo when they first showed up! How else was he supposed to react?? They brought down his brothers like they were made of cardboard!!

Though he had to admit that the confident, battle-ready look they had about them was sexy as hell, he knew better than to go bear poking! 😣 He avoided them like plague until they finally asked him for a pact.

And then he discovered something… something very unexpected….

They're actually adorable!!!

Okay, like, not in appearance (they look like they could pile drive Cerberus for Pete’s sake!) but he discovered that they have NO CLUE how to handle physical affection. Like zero!!

The first time Asmo actually got the courage to try and hug them he expected them to toss him off, but instead they just stood there like a malfunctioning doll, all flustered and confused… It was so cute!!! 🥰

From that point on, Asmo would take every chance he could to wrap his arms around them or kiss their cheeks just to watch them try and fail to handle it. It's more fun than picking on Levi!!

It took two months for them to finally attempt any kind of reciprocation and even that was adorable! They pecked him on the forehead without thinking about it then nearly passed out from the realization. Apparently, they had never felt like kissing anyone before so he was quite honored!

The brothers know that if the MC's looking too mad to listen to Levi, they just need to call Asmo. A nigh invincible warrior becomes a LOT less scary after you’ve cuddled them into submission! 🤭

Beelzebub

Beel didn't like them one bit, at least not at the beginning. They had managed to get past him and actually attack Lucifer which was NOT a great first impression on their part...

He honestly saw them as a threat for a while, but unlike the rest of his brothers he didn’t avoid them. He just kept an eye on them.... constantly….

Look. Beel is a big guy. Stealth is not his strong suit… If he's tailing you, you're probably going to know about it because there's a six-foot something behemoth in orange following you around while pounding down bags of chips. He's not very subtle…

That being said, after following them around for a while the two finally got to talking and he realized that they didn’t want to hurt anybody or anything. They were just acting on instinct before.

After making the MC promise not to hurt any of his family, they got on much better terms. Hell, he actually got them into fangol!

Beel's sport of choice is pretty much just ultra-violent American football so the MC took a liking to it instantly! After enough begging, the coach let them try out and they got onto his team immediately.

He likes having them as a teammate! They're very good at the game, uh... even if they take it a little too seriously…

They once tried to convince his teammates to decorate the team bus with "the helmets of their fallen foes." They're REALLY into the sport… But hey, they haven't lost a game since they’ve joined. It’ll be fine!... Probably.

Belphegor

Hahaha… He’s in danger… 😥

It took one look at this mortal to make him rethink the whole, “Trick the Human” plan… Since when have humans looked like that?? They could crush his skull under their heel!!

It took all he had in him to play it cool when they first met because his internal monologue was nothing but screaming… THIS was the "human" he had to use to get him out of there?? How in the WORLD was he going to kill them?!

Admittedly, he had to think about it for a while. Belphie's a clever guy… and a demon. So who needs an honorable fight, anyway? If he can’t win one-on-one, then he’ll cheat!

He waited until the MC got the door open and didn't attempt a frontal assault… No laughter, no gloating. He just waited for them to turn their back, claws ready to dig out their heart, and then-!

MC: "Do you really want to try that?"

The MC must have had some kind of danger sense, because they didn't even have to turn around to know what Belphie was doing…

MC: "Look. I like Beel and you're his twin brother… So I'm willing to let this slide. But if you really want to try me…"

MC: *looks over their shoulder with the glare of a bona fide killer* "I won't hold back."

That was... very persuasive.

The MC brought Belphie down to the others peacefully with his tail between his legs and honestly Lucifer was more relieved that he wasn’t a bloodstain on the floor than he was mad… They could have killed him sooo easily… 

They did, indeed, forgive and forget about the whole “attempted murder” thing, though Belphie was never quite able to shake off how frightening they were in that moment… He had nightmares for a while.

Thankfully, Asmo clued him in that the MC would melt into a harmless puddle of fluff if they got even the slightest bit of physical affection... Oh, the sweet payback he could dish out... It’s cuddle time. 😏

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me demigods #obey me headcanons

[keiarchived]

Come To The Back | 18+

bodyguard!Dabi x rich spoiled!Reader x bodyguard!Hawks

warnings: dubcon/noncon, drugged, intoxicated, somnophila, breeding kink, split roasting

words: 1.6k

note: Decided to take part in BNHA Degeneracy discord server’s 9 to 5 collab last minute 👀 one of the nastier stuff I’ve written 💦 scummy duo ahead, read with caution ⛔️

Babysitting spoiled brats like you can never be less annoying, all you ever really wanted to do in your spare time is to party, get wasted and high. Whilst the duo have to follow you around all day because it is your daddy’s order after all, ‘Keep my daughter safe or I will have your heads.’ He made sure the consequences were known if they failed, Keigo and Touya were merely bodyguards send to protect this spoiled brat daughter of this billionaire. They have no influence like he does, sure they could run but they can’t hide forever. You are supposed to be good for your daddy, stay out of danger since his rival is out to get him and his family.

Getting only a few hours of sleep each day because of you had begun to wear their patient, it wasn’t as though they could talk to you about it. Believer me, they tried. But of course, your spoiled brat ass went running to your daddy and complained about how Hawks and Dabi were being mean to you which results in their first warning; wedges cut for a month all thanks to you. They simply don’t get paid enough for this, for putting up with you and your father’s bullshit.

But a job is a job, they needed the money. Let’s just hope this issue your father have between him and some of his acquaintances resolves quickly before one of them snaps out of bitterness.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” The taller male huffed heavily, palms resting on either side of his hips as he stared down at your unconscious form. Your so-called friends were long gone after the party at this particular club has ended, leaving you out cold in the VIP booth before moving on with their night. You were mumbling none sense as Keigo went ahead and sat you upright with a soft coo, “Hey, you okay? Just drunk, stupidly high or both? Know where you are an angel?” Of course, the only responses they managed to get out of you were mumbles and grumbles that made absolutely no sense. “She’s definitely out of it.”

“You don’t say, let’s her out of here.” Touya bites back with a sigh, cigarette between his fingers. Seems like tonight will just be another night of them carrying your unconscious form back to the mansion, tugging you back into that warm and cosy cover of yours — or at least that’s what they should and suppose to do.

But rather they end up stripping those slutty clothes of yours, that’s what you want right? For men like them to use this body of yours, just admit it. You had been tempting and playing around with the duo for long enough, wearing these short skirts whenever they are around. Swaying your hips and batting your eyes at them whenever you pass them, you know fair well they cannot touch you because if your daddy knew; they would be gone. Good thing the man himself is gone for a couple of days due to a business trip, oh and they are going to have their fun with you.

One cock in your mouth and another buried deep inside your pussy, the duo wasted no time in stripping you naked after all. With your intoxicated and drugged-out self, it was easy for them to move you around, passing you between the two of them. “Fuck me, this pussy is good.” Keigo chuckled breathlessly, snapping his hips into that tight cunt of yours. Surely this is just an act right, pretending to be asleep so that they can continue to use you and let out their pent up frustration on you. 

A cloud of smoke slipped between Touya’s lips has a low groan rumbled at his chest, stroking that slightly bulge neck of yours whilst a sadistic smirk tugged at his lips. You look much better like this, with cock at either end of your holes and being used them.  “You should try these pretty lips too, given if you can last another round.” Touya taunts, earning a grunt from Keigo as he merely rolled his eyes at the other. “Fuck off.”

Just as the two began to bicker at each other, noises begin to come out of you. “Looks like our princess is awake.” Slowly, Touya slipped his hard pierced cock from those pretty plush lips. Allowing you to take a gasp of air whilst being as confused as ever with those hazy eyes, “Wh-what you doing?” There was a sense of panic in your voice and honestly, either one of them can blame you. Waking up to your bodyguards fucking you into cloud nine doesn’t happen every day and god knows how long they’ve been at it, “Oh don’t worry dove, we’re just taking good care of you. Right Dabs?” It was hard to keep his voice level without cracking as your ridge walls clamps down so tightly around his cock, even harder to hide that shit-eating smirk. Your jaw feels sore from how Touya been using you roughly, pussy feeling full, nice and stretched by Keigo’s cock.

“Exactly, you should be grateful, your highness. We don’t do this often, not free of charge at least.” Dabi’s voice was dangerously low as he mocked, reaching behind your neck and forcing you to take a look at the way his partner in crime’s cock disappearing into your slutty cunt. Even when you were passed out, it didn’t stop you from moaning and gushing slick between your legs. “This is what spoiled brats get when they tease too much.” A desperate whimper fell at those words, now that you are slightly more oriented you could feel the pleasure that comes with every thirst of Keigo’s hard cock. It would be a complete lie if you said you have never fantasied the duo take you like this before, they are handsome and attractive after all. Keigo with his witty charm and Dabi with his mysterious charm, it is hard to say no.

“That’s it baby, take it all! I-I’m cumming!” Keigo unloaded yet another ropes of cum deep inside your cunt, right up against your cervix adding to the growing mess. This totals up to three for his scores, Touya had been keeping track. Your lips hung open with drools tickling down the side of your lips, body reaching its own high whilst Keigo pulled out from your soaked pussy.

“Aw look at you, so pretty and all fucked out.” The sandy blonde man coos almost sympathetically, tugging those loose strands of hair away from your sweaty forehead. Seems like Touya had been doing quite the number on you too whilst fucking your throat open, it must be sore from those smooth metal rubbing and nudging along your velvety walls. You could feel your conscious fading in and out from that orgasm alone, swallowing on your own drool thickly as Keigo’s cum seeps out from you. Too bad this is far from over, Touya’s smirk widens as he leans down to capture those swollen lips. Exploring every inch he possibly can, warm metal swapping across your inner cheeks and lips. After all, you deserve a reward after taking Keigo’s load so good with your well-bred cunt.

“Don’t pass out on us just yet princess, you can take a few more rounds can’t you? For us hm?” Touya coos softly, cigarette scent lingering as he traces over your chin with his rough fingers. Keigo and his partner in crime exchanged a look; the look with a same shit-eating smirk stretched across their lips before switching places with Touya running his cock back and forth between your swollen slit and Keigo nudging at those pouty lips of yours. “Good girl.” One of them praises but you weren’t so sure who it was from, head spinning from the alcohol and drugs you had consumed hours before.

Touya is much rougher than the blonde when it comes to pounding you, with a merciless pace as the tip of his cock continuously hammer at your cervix. Pressing all of the right buttons inside with those round metals of his piercings, “Fuck.. you are good.. should’ve done this a long time ago.” He can barely count the number of time he had wanted to put you back in your places with his hands, forcing them to stay up all night just so you can get home safely — thrust, railing them on purpose — thrust. But Touya managed to hold back, that was until now where the final line has been drawn. It is a risky bet but Touya bet on that you wouldn’t tell your daddy how good your bodyguard fucked you, filled you to the brim with cum and made you into their own personal cumdump. You wouldn’t, why would you when you could have them do it all over again?

Keigo had you choking on a mixture of your own saliva and his essence, quickening his pace once as you could feel the way your throat burns deliciously around him throbbing cock. Maybe you shouldn’t have teased them as much as you had, maybe you should’ve listened to Dabi’s warnings of this dangerous game you had been playing with them. But it’s too late now, they had caught you by your cunt and lips. “Fuck... gonna breed you, see how your daddy likes it when he finds you all swollen with some unknown child.” Touya grunts, letting out a breathy laugh before it turns into something sinister. “You wouldn’t even know who’s the baby daddy would you?” Touya hissed at the way you suddenly squeezed around him when he mentioned it, “Oh you like it huh?” Which only made him grin wider as his climax approached and without a second warning — ropes of warm cum painted both ends of your walls white.

Your bodyguards are now a panting mess as they withdraw from you, sitting on the edge of your now white stained bed whilst a faint chuckle escaped Touya’s lips. “Liked the idea of bearing our kid that much? You slut.” The night is still young and it will be a few more days before you daddy comes home from his business trip, you couldn’t help but wonder what other ways the two of them would use you. Licking over your lips hazily, out of focus eyes gazed towards the two male. You want more, don’t you?

#bnha imagines #bnha smut #mha imagines #mha smut #hawks x reader #dabi x reader #dabi x reader x hawks #hawks x reader x dabi #collab #hawks smut #dabi smut #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #tw’dubcon #tw’drug #tw’intoxicated #tw’somn #tw’breeding #tw’split roasting

[tryingmyves]

Hey Ves! I have a request for you! May you please do Shinsou, Todoroki, ( A character of your choice) who got hit by a quirk who turns them into a lil toddler and they’ve got the biggest crush on their female chubby/plus size classmate 🥺🥺💞 and when they turn back they confess to her💞

hiiii @blossominglark ~ tysm for your request! i’ve haven’t written something like this yet, so i hope you enjoy! ✨

Shinso’s First Crush

PAIRING: Hitoshi Shinso x Y/N (female, plus sized)

c/w: toddler!Shinso, mostly fluff

When you went to class this morning you thought it was just going to be a normal Monday, but the arrival of Mr. Aizawa with Eri and a small violet haired boy in tow announced that today would be different.

“Awh! Who’s this cutie?” Ochako asks, spotting the unfamiliar child first, “Did you make a new friend, Eri?”

“Don’t call me that!” the boy responds, his pudgy fists balling at his sides.

“There was a mishap last night while we were practicing Eri’s quirk,” Mr. Aizawa says, “She uh, rewound Shinso a little too far.”

Every eye in the classroom is now on the pint-sized Shinso, silence filling the room before a cacophony of reactions burst out all at once. Kaminari and Sero are laughing hysterically. Mina and Hakagure are fawning over how adorable little Shinsou is, while Midoriya is rushing to Eri from his desk to assure her that mistakes happen and no one is mad at her. Iida is questioning how to reverse the effects of Eri’s quirk, and even Bakugo looks amused at the announcement. You’re the only one who notices the quivering lip and watery eyes of tiny Shinso.

Since his introduction to your class you’ve been attempting to befriend him. He made it clear that he hadn’t transferred to the hero course to make friends, but you see passed his uncaring facade. He’s let other people’s comments of the possible malicious nature of his quirk effect his self perception. He is so used to people calling him a villain he can’t fathom he’ll ever be called a friend. And you are determined change that. You’ve made small progress towards your goal in the last month. He sits with you in the cafeteria and even accepted a few invitations to study with you and your group, but no significant progress. But now, seeing Shinso so vulnerable in front of your entire class makes you stand from your desk. Even if he isn’t “here to make friends” he needs one right now, so that’s what you are going to be.

You quickly walk to the front of the room and use your chubby frame to hide him from the overwhelming sight of the his classmates gawking at him. Lowering yourself to your knees so your plump face is level with his, you say, “hey, it’s alright Shinso. Everything’s going to be okay.” Subconsciously, your voice becomes softer and there’s a melodic tune to it. You know that the toddler in front of you is a member of your class and typically two months your senior, but right now he’s just a scared little boy. You can’t help but treat him like any other child.

He wipes at his nose with the back of his sleeve, sniffing back tears, “Y/N, they’re all staring at me. I… I don’t like it!” Shinso is mortified at his current state. He was so determined to do everything by himself to prove he belonged to be in the hero course, but now he’s been reduced to a helpless little kid. Worst of all, the kind, curvy and optimistic girl he’s been secretly crushing on the last month is now trying to console him. He’s normally so good at containing his emotions, but it seems Eri’s quirk has reversed his emotional maturity along with his age. Right now all he can manage to do is try to hide his face so no one can see his tears.

You extend your cushy arms outward, offering a hug and Shinso can’t help but rush into it. He feels so exposed right now but when you hold him against your plump body he feels a little safer. Like he’s wrapped up in a cocoon of you. He hopes he can just stay cloaked in you arms until his metamorphosis back to his old self is complete. However, that possibility is dashed by the arrival of All Might and a man you don’t recognize at the classroom door.

“Sorry we’re late, Aizawa. This is who I told you about on the phone.” All Might says, clapping a hand on the stranger’s shoulder. It turns out, among the countless connections All Might made as the Number One Pro Hero, is a hero who goes by TimeSkip, with the ability to fast forward time. In the hero world, he typically puts his quirk to use at the sights of natural climate disasters by accelerating the regrowth of the land so entire communities aren’t displaced. Luckily, he’s capable of aging or time skipping any living matter, not just plants. Mr. Aizawa had called All Might for help after the incident and was relived his colleague knew someone who could fix the current predicament. 

“Shinso, go with All Might and TimeSkip. They’re going to get you back to normal,” your teacher says.

But Shinso just burrows himself deeper into you, pressing himself up to your chest. You can tell that he doesn’t want to separate from your comforting embrace. You turn your head over your shoulder, “Mr. Aizawa, would it be alright if I went with Shinso?” You drop your voice so you won’t be overheard by your classmates, “For emotional support,” you say with a light nod to the weeping Shinso in your arms. He just gives you a nod. You whisper down into Shinso’s hair, “It’s okay, this is almost over.” You take his small hand in your own and lead him out of the classroom, using your large frame to keep him out of sight of the others. 

The pair of you follow All Might and his friend through the halls, eventually stopping in a vacant training room. TimeSkip explains how his quirk works to Shinso, who is still holding your hand and trying to hide behind one of your legs. With some gentle easing from you, Shinso finally lets go of you and takes TimeSkip’s hand instead. You stand in the hallway with your back to the door while Shinso is returned to his normal self. The hero had explained his clothes would not be growing with him, so it was best for you to wait outside. A few moments pass before the two heroes open the door and step out of the room. 

“He’s all set in there, Y/N.” All Might says, “I think he’s a bit embarrassed, maybe you can cheer him up before the two of you return to class.”

You nod, thanking both All Might and TimeSkip before stepping in to talk to Shinso. He’s wearing his uniform now and leaning back against the wall, head low, and face covered by the mess of his purple hair.

“Hey Shi-“

“Please don’t talk about it,” his voice is quiet and filled with humiliation.

“Oh, yeah. It’s no big deal,” you try to brush it off. You want to comfort him and tell him that he doesn’t have to be self conscious, but you know that will just make him feel worse. “I was just coming to see-“

He cuts you off again, “Y/N, I have to tell you something. When I first transferred into the hero course I told you I wasn’t here to make friends. But then you kept talking to me and trying to get to know me and you started inviting me to lunch and study groups. And I… started to think that having you as a friend wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”

He looks up at you now and takes a step closer, moving away from the wall. “And I realize I like you more than that. I love how soft and round you are, and that you always make sure everyone’s included. That you don’t make yourself smaller because you deserve to take up space. I think you’re beautiful and I am too scared to say it.”

He take a few more steps towards you, so there’s only a foot left between you, “But then when I was frozen there in front of the class you swooped in. And I didn’t hesitate to fall into your arms. I didn’t let my stupid brain get in the way… so I have to tell you now, before I think better of it…”

You can help but smile at the confession. You’ve thought Shinso was cute from the moment you met him, but decided he needed a friend before trying to be something more than that. You didn’t realize that Shinso was crushing on you too. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.”

Shinso lets out a light chuckle, finally letting a smile reach his lips. “I don’t. But I had to get it out before I changed my mind. It only would have made it worse.”

You take a small step forward, halving the distance between you. “I, uhm, like you too you know.”

“Why would you want some lanky, closed off guy like me when your so curvy and beautiful?” Shinso breathes in disbelief.

“I guess I have a thing for tall guys,” you joke.

He just shakes his head at you, “Y/N, do you want to go on a date with me tomorrow night?”

You giggle and nod your head, holding out your arms the same way you did in the classroom, “I would love to,” you beam.

Shinso steps forward, enveloping you in a hug. Despite your plus size frame, he easily lifts your feet off the ground for a moment before gently setting you back down.

“I’ll pick you up at eight, okay? And… thank you for helping me today.”

“That’s what friends do,” you assure, excited at the possibility of becoming something more.

#hitoshi shinso #hitoshi shinsou #hitoshi shinso x y/n #shinsou x y/n #chubby y/n #hitoshi shinso x reader #shinsou x reader #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero #boku no hero academia #by ves #request

[sunlightandsuffering]

Corruption au Eren cockwarms mikasa once they’re together, he says ‘it helps him remember things’ and then every so often he gives her an orgasm just to keep her pliant against him while she plays with her boobs, he doesn’t do it in a cruel kind of way, it just he wants to pleasure her while doing his work

however when they’re not together, he’s such a sadist about it, he refuses to let her come even after he’s done his hw and is just fucking her, he always leaves when he’s done. Until one day when he starts feeling bad, he lets her come and it absolutely ruins him, he becomes obsessed with pleasuring her and seeing her face flushed pink, and hearing the needy sounds she makes and the quiet sighs, and the way her hands frantically move around until he Holds them together

STOP U GUYS KNOW ABOUT MY COCKWARMING OBSESSION STOP IT 😂😂 omg bless corruption Eren tho, this is my favourite kink for him, its so hot and it fits their situation perfectly.

It starts slow for Eren, to be honest he has no fucking idea when it really started. One day he'd been failing calculus, accepting he wasn't going to pass the year and thinking about maybe dealing drugs as a career path over his previous dreams of doctor. The next he was being forced to study three days out of the week with high school princess, Mikasa Ackerman.

At first he'd hated it, hated her really. He'd never been able to stand her, not since they were little and she'd chosen the dark side of Historia Reiss, bully and mean girl if there ever was one. Historia had sweet innocent baby Mikasa under her thumb. Mikasa followed her around like a dumb fucking puppy and Eren hated followers, they were all the same, no personalities, no aspirations of their own. She had no backbone either. She let all the shit Historia did slide, all the bullying, the holier than thou attitude because her family was richer than god. So very typical of the rich kids from the upper class neighbourhood. Eren would know, he used to be that rich kid, used to live that life. That was until his parents died in a brutal car accident, Zeke had inherited half the estate on the condition he'd take care of Eren and the rest was tied up in Eren's trust fund until he was twenty one.

Big surprise, no one had taken care of Eren and he was fucking lucky Armin and his grandpa had been there to help him out.

Everyone else, all his other 'friends' had given him the cold shoulder upon finding out he was no longer rich for the moment, he'd been dropped like a hot potato. So Eren's hatred of the upper class of Shiganshina had begun.

And Mikasa Ackerman was the pinnacle of it all, the worst the rich had to offer. She was beautiful, smart, loaded, had every opportunity in life, completely innocent and sweet, and the cherry on top of it all she volunteered on the weekend at the pound.

She disgusted him, so prim and proper and all around good girl while she was letting her 'friends' bully him for being poor, watching the injustice happen like a fish in a bowl.

He couldn't fucking stand her.

Of course, she would be the person who ended up tutoring him though, Principal Erwin mandating it if he wanted to graduate. So here he was sitting in the computer lab at five on a Wednesday watching her plump lips move as she explained integrals to him for the third time in an hour.

It's been a few months since they've started this little arrangement and he's gotten used to her presence. He wouldn't say he likes her, thats a stretch but he's not quite as cruel as he once was. He'd be lying if he said he didn't get a kick of watching that beautiful mouth part every time he does something mean though, those little gasps when he pinches her thigh or touches her where he shouldn't.

It's probably the highlight of these sessions.

Today he's feeling bold, maybe he'll push his luck. After all, he's done it before and she's never protested. For some reason or another Mikasa Ackerman has a soft spot for him, and no matter how mean, she lets him get away with murder. "Miki, come here I can't hear you properly." "And then you take the-what?" She looks up, pretty dove-grey eyes wide, sparkling as she explains her favourite subject, fucking math.

"You heard me, get over here." As usual, she takes orders so fucking well, it brings out the absolute worst in him. She's standing up and next to him in seconds and he's eye level with her perfect chest, those tits he dreams about every night, ripping her bra off with his teeth and sucking at those pretty pink nipples of hers. He's only seen them a few times, when he convinces her it's okay, when he's sure there's absolutely no one around, but they keep him awake at night. He pats his lap, grinning as she goes easily, settling into her favourite spot, he knows she loves it just as much as he does. Her thighs always shake and she shudders as his hands find their place cupping those beautiful creamy thighs, head tucked into her shoulder.

Mikasa starts talking again, beautiful lilt soothing him as she launches into a renewed explanation of integrals while his hands move up, up, up and to his absolute favourite spot, her panties. Today she's wearing cotton, he can feel it, must be laundry day and he kisses her shoulder as he feels how wet she is. Fucking perfect.

Lately she's been more partial to fancier underwear and he can't help but wonder if it's for him. He has a feeling it is, because the first month of their little arrangement he'd snuck as many peaks as they could and it was always pink or white cotton with polka dots and pretty bows. They were his favourite, so fucking innocent, so untouched by anyone but him.

He watches as she moves her pencil drawing lines and numbers, a little bit of the alphabet too and he ignores it all in favour of watching her chest, her breath hitch as he slides a finger inside her panties, feeling those velvet lips, it's been a while.

He's been on his best behaviour lately since Levi almost caught them at her house that one time, but he's horny and she's wet and he misses being inside her, misses watching her try to talk through him fucking her, how her voice would waver, change pitch. How many times she'd stumble through her sentences, have to start all over again, because she can't handle how big he is, doesn't know how to deal with the all-consuming sensation of him fucking deep within her walls, just sitting there filling her right up to her cervix.

Fuck.

He can't really be blamed for what he does next, and besides it doesn't matter, Eren's not a stupid kid, he allowed himself to get this far behind in calculus. He'd spent an hour last night going over integrals with the sole purpose of knowing what was going on today so he could fuck with his favourite toy.

He moves her a bit so she's resting more heavily on one thigh and slides his joggers and boxers down just enough expose his heavy cock to the air, already rock hard and waiting. Mikasa gasps a little bit, a breathy sound quick and sharp as she sees him, her eyes transfixed on his dick and he grins, sliding her panties to the side and slamming her down on him before she even knows what hit her. The slide is so fucking easy too, it takes almost nothing and he gets a sick sense of satisfaction that even with little to no prep she can take him, probably better than anyone else he's ever fucked. She takes it all no complaints, as deep as she can and he bottoms out.

She lets out a long moan, that pretty sound he wants to record and listen to on his phone over and over again, her head lolling back uselessly against his shoulder as she takes in the sensation.

"Miki baby you know this helps me remember better right, sorry it just wasn't getting through my head I was too distracted, but now I'm all ears, why don't you continue. What's that rule you were talking about, how are derivatives and integrals related again baby, they're opposites?"

She's breathing quick and Eren doesn't blame her, he's struggling to keep his tone level as her walls squeeze him, warm and soft and he wants to stay buried there forever, she's so fucking tight.

"I-Eren-I-yeah, opposites," she finally manages to get the last word out ending a little broken as she struggles to sit up and make herself comfortable on his cock, she should be used to it by now with how often he does this, but it never fails she always reacts like she's taking him for the first time all over again. He fucking loves it.

"Why don't you explain again baby, I don't think I really understand? And make sure you're clear Mikasa." She nods, still squirming around, every movement shooting electricity up through both of them as she accidentally grinds down, she lets out an involuntary moan and Eren smirks.

Eren takes it upon himself to move her up and off his cock a few inches before impaling her back down, biting down on her neck a little bit as punishment and she whines, teeth coming out to bite down on her lip brutally as she tries to keep quiet.

"Stop moving baby, you're distracting me, just take my cock like a good girl and explain for me yeah?" She replies brokenly her voice soft and struggling with her breaths, "Yeah."

#corruption au 🖤 #idk where this came from #😂😂

[morganaspendragonss]

Hello 🥰 Whump fic idea :)TK lands in the hospital, again. But this time they're serious, serious injuries, he is under a respirator, he is not breathing on his own, the doctors do not give him much chance of survival, they even advise it would be the best to prepare for the worst and say goodbye, just in case. Owen calls Gwen, she's arriving the same day with Enzo and baby junior. When in the hospital they find out how it happened and that it's mostly Owen's fault (I don't know, for example, he allowed Tk to enter the unstable building to tend to the patient, or whether he made someone else angry and this person unloaded it on TK, or Owen decided to do something reckless and TK wanted to save him or it is The arson situation from 2x12 so Gwyn arrives pregnant, without a baby of course), Gwyn slaps him twice and Enzo punches him right in the nose, breaking it, for risking TK's life. Fortunately, despite the bad prognosis, TK wakes up, but after he took his sweet time being in a coma.

holly's august extravaganza day 3: the meetings for those in my wake

thanks for the prompt! i really loved writing this one though i need to confess to toning it down a little? idk but with the way it was going it didn't feel right to have enzo break owen's nose. i hope you still like it!

ao3 | 3.3k | major character injury, coma, angst with a happy ending

For years after the divorce, Gwyn came to learn that any call from Owen was almost certainly bad news.

TK got in a fight.

TK overdosed.

TK was shot, he’s in the hospital.

Over and over, until the first words out of her mouth whenever Owen’s name flashed up on her screen were, What’s wrong?

Things have been better in the three years since her time in Texas. Gwyn suspects it’s partly TK’s influence—he’s been more than enthusiastic in getting to know his baby brother, and Isaac has latched onto TK despite only seeing him in person every few months or so. But they’ve talked as well, she and Owen, and they really are doing better. They’re almost like friends now, which is why Gwyn thinks nothing of it when he calls just after she’s put Isaac to bed for the night.

“Owen, hey,” she greets. “What’s up?”

The silence she’s answered with is the first sign that something’s wrong.

The sob that follows is the second.

“Owen?” Gwyn repeats, louder this time, her heart leaping into her throat. She sits down heavily on the sofa as she waits for Owen’s response; there’s only one thing that could make him cry like that, and tears prick at Gwyn’s eyes as she imagines TK hurt again, or worse.

“Gwyn,” Owen eventually manages to gasp out, voice wrecked. “Gwyn, it’s TK. He’s… You need to get here. You need— It’s not like last time. They don’t know if he’s going to— They don’t think— It’s bad. Really bad.”

Owen breaks off, crying harder, and Gwyn claps a hand to her mouth. She remembers well how devastated he’d been when he called about the gunshot, but this a whole other level. Gwyn’s head spins with the potential implications of that and she finds her breath coming in sharp gasps, but it’s Owen’s next words that knocks it from her altogether.

“They think we should say goodbye.”

The rest of the story comes haltingly—someone got angry after his son couldn’t be saved on a call, he came to the firehouse, he attacked TK—but Gwyn barely hears it. Her boy is in the hospital again and this time…this time he might not be coming home. She can’t understand it; she spoke to him just two days ago, they made plans for he and Carlos to visit for Isaac’s birthday, and now…

“I’m so sorry, Gwyn,” Owen finishes. She feels a flash of that age-old urge to scream at him, but she fights it off, not wanting to wake Isaac.

“I’ll be on the first flight over,” she promises, then ends the call, sliding off the couch to the floor. Her phone falls from limp fingers and harsh sobs tear from her throat, muffled by the press of her fist against her mouth.

Enzo finds her there an hour later and immediately takes her in his arms, not complaining about her tears soaking his shirt. When she tells him what happened, he insists on joining her, and Gwyn allows herself to take that shred of comfort and run with it.

She thinks it’s the only comfort she’s likely to get right now.

The next flight isn’t until morning, so Gwyn spends a sleepless night packing and unpacking their suitcases and making phone calls with the firm and her clients to cancel everything for the foreseeable. She has the brief, terrible thought about whether she should pack funeral attire, which almost sends her into a panic attack as reality hits her all over again.

Enzo saves her from it, gently guiding her to bed, but not before she packs the clothes anyway.

Isaac seems to pick up on her mood when they’re hurrying out of the house, remaining mostly quiet aside from the odd question about where they’re going. He perks up considerably when he finds out they’re heading to Austin, babbling about seeing TK, and Gwyn has to blink hard to keep from crying again. Enzo reaches over to take her hand, and he barely lets go until they’re landing in Austin.

*

The entrance to the ICU looms before her, and Gwyn feels stuck. There had been a part of her, still, that had hoped to find TK miraculously awake and on the mend, like the last time she had made this trip. She doesn’t want to believe that he’s here, hurt, maybe dying.

But he is, and she’s forcefully reminded of that fact when a kind-looking nurse approaches her hesitantly.

“Ma’am? Can I help you?”

Gwyn blinks at her, her brain taking a moment to catch up. “I, um. I’m here to see my son. TK Strand.” She pauses, then shakes her head, cursing herself internally. “Tyler Kennedy Strand.”

The nurse’s entire demeanour changes, a sympathetic smile taking over her face. “This way.” She leads Gwyn through the ICU, then points at a door near the end of the corridor. “Tyler’s room is just there. I promise, we’re doing everything we can for him.”

Gwyn nods absently, her gaze stuck on the door the nurse had indicated. She walks forward slowly, the room seeming to get further and further away until, suddenly, she’s standing on the threshold, and she sees her son.

TK is barely visible, his face half-obscured by the ventilator, half by bruises, and heavy gauze covers his forehead. His arms, resting limply at his sides, are littered with scrapes, and if Gwyn squints, she can just about make out more bandages peeking out from under the hospital gown.

She’d thought that seeing him would make it all real, but she feels separate from everything somehow, only one thought going through her mind on repeat.

This is not my son.

A quiet whisper draws her attention to the figure sitting at TK’s side. Gwyn has to suppress a gasp as she takes in Carlos’s appearance; she hasn’t seen him in person since the wedding last year, and his pale face and red-rimmed eyes cut a stark contrast to that day. He hasn’t noticed her yet, wholly fixated on TK, one hand gently stroking the tufts of hair poking out above the bandage. His lips move and Gwyn knows she should walk away, but instead she finds herself leaning closer, straining to hear Carlos’s words.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he’s saying. “I know you’re fighting and I know you’re going to try as hard as you can to come back to us—believe me, Ty, I am praying every day to see those pretty green eyes of yours open again. But I—I want you to know that it’s okay if you can’t. If it gets too hard, if you need to let go, you can. I already miss you like crazy and I really, really, don’t want to live the rest of my life without you, but the thing I can’t stand more than that is the idea of you suffering.

“Come back if you can, but if someday you find you can’t, remember that I love you and we’ll be okay. I promise.”

Carlos sniffs and ducks his head to place a gentle, lingering kiss on TK’s cheekbone. It’s such a tender, intimate moment, but it quickly shatters when Carlos looks up and spots her, his eyes going wide. “Gwyn. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were there.”

She waves him off, willing herself to finally step into the room. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I should have said something, but I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Carlos nods, giving her a small, sad smile, which Gwyn does her best to return. She pulls up another chair and sinks into it, reaching out to take TK’s hand. She’s startled by the coolness of his skin, and more tears burn in the back of her eyes.

“What did the doctors say?” she asks, clearing her throat and twisting her body towards Carlos, though her eyes never leave TK.

“That it was a miracle he made it through surgery,” Carlos says, sighing wearily. “Eight stab wounds, too much blood loss, damage to his organs, broken ribs—that’s all bad enough, but they’re most worried about his brain. He took at least two blows to the head, and add that to the fact he wasn’t breathing for a good few minutes… They keep saying not to speculate, but we all know the odds here.”

Carlos’s voice breaks and Gwyn reaches out to comfort him, feeling sick to her stomach at the revelation. Why anyone would do this to her boy, she can’t comprehend; she finds herself both wanting answers and feeling unable to take any more.

Owen chooses that moment to appear in the doorway, looking every bit as wrecked as he sounded on the phone. “Gwyn,” he says roughly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Carlos moves as if to give them privacy, but Gwyn shakes her head at him, cutting off his protests before he can even get them out. “You stay with him, Carlos,” she tells him. “We’ll talk in the hall.”

They head to a quiet spot not too far from TK’s room, and Gwyn turns to face Owen, holding her arms. “What the hell happened, Owen? Why is our son lying in there, not even breathing on his own?”

A flicker of a frown crosses Owen’s face. “I told you—”

“No, you didn’t.” Gwyn clenches her jaw, staring him down. “You said he’d been attacked, not that some maniac had used him as their personal punching bag.”

A few more seconds pass before Owen relents, sighing. “There was a call,” he starts, voice heavy with sorrow. “A car accident; dad and his kid were trapped inside. We got the dad out but the son was stuck pretty good. It took a long time to free him and by then it was too late—EMS did their best, but he was gone.

“The dad went ballistic, screaming at all of us, but especially at TK. We don’t really know why, but it was probably a convenience thing; TK had been the one to break the news, he was the closest person—the guy wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. He threatened him, tried to hit him—the cops had to arrest him eventually, but you know TK. He refused to press charges, said that the dad was just in shock and that he understood.”

Gwyn smiles a little at that; her son has always been too forgiving for his own good. It’s never come back to hurt him this badly before, though.

Owen pauses, throat bobbing as he seems to work up to the next part. His voice is quiet, and he seems reluctant to meet Gwyn’s eyes. “He showed up at the firehouse a week later—the dad, I mean. He said he wanted to apologise and, I swear, Gwyn, he really did seem genuine. None of us wanted to let him near TK, but ultimately it was TK’s decision. They went round the side of the house to talk; when neither of them came back after twenty minutes, we went looking.

“By that time, the guy was gone, and TK was…” He stops and shakes his head, swallowing hard. “He could barely breathe. Tommy and Nancy did what they could and they got him here quickly, but we have no idea how long he’d been like that before we found him.”

Gwyn’s head snaps up, a white-hot anger flashing through her. “I can’t believe you,” she hisses. “You left our son alone with a man who had already threatened him for twenty minutes, Owen.”

Owen frowns. “I told you, he seemed genuine. And TK—”

Gwyn can’t help it; she slaps him. “Don’t you dare,” she grounds out, crowding into Owen’s space. “Don’t you dare act like this was his fault.”

“I wasn’t—”

Her arm moves on instinct, but before she can connect again, a hand closes around her wrist. Gwyn turns to find Enzo staring at her, brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Gwyn, what’s going on?”

She shakes her head and takes a step back from Owen, freeing herself from Enzo’s grasp. “What’s going on,” she responds tightly, “is that he is part of the reason why my son is half-dead in there.”

Enzo gapes between them. “What?”

She ignores the question, needing to focus on anything else to keep her anger from overwhelming her. “What are you doing here anyway? Where’s Isaac?”

“He’s with Grace and Judd, they offered to babysit so I could come here. What—”

“Hang on,” Owen interrupts. “What is he doing here? I figured he’d stay in New York with the kid.”

“Isaac is TK’s brother, Owen,” Gwyn says, turning on him again. “And Enzo has just as much right to be here as any of us; he was more of a father to TK than you were sometimes.”

Owen’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Him? You’re joking, right?”

Gwyn isn’t sure what happens next, who starts it, but soon they’re all yelling, insults and accusations flying around the ward. There’s a furious nurse heading their way, but before she can say anything, another voice cuts through the argument, quiet and trembling but still somehow powerful.

“Get out,” Carlos says. “All of you.”

They all turn to him, Gwyn’s lips parting in shock. Owen takes a step towards him, holding his hands out in a gesture that’s probably meant to be pacifying.

“Carlos—”

“I mean it, Owen,” he snaps, harsher than Gwyn has ever heard him before. “You all screaming at each other is the last thing any of us needs, least of all TK. The only person to blame in all this is the guy who attacked him, and he’s already in custody; he’ll get what’s coming to him. If TK—” Carlos breaks off, clenching his jaw and staring down at the floor. He closes his eyes for a moment, before breathing out shakily and looking back up at them. “If anything changes, I’ll call you, I promise. But you can’t be here right now. Go, please.”

Carlos doesn’t wait for a response before turning on his heel and going back into TK’s room, reassuming his position next to the bed. Gwyn watches him for a second, nodding when Enzo pointedly takes her elbow.

“He’s right,” she says, directed at Owen. “We should go.”

Owen glares, gearing up to argue again, but he must think better of it as he suddenly slumps, all the energy draining out of him. “Right,” he mutters. “Right.”

They file slowly out of the ICU, closely watched by the hard eyes of the nurse from before. Gwyn spares one last look before forcing herself forwards; if getting here was hard, walking away is a thousand times worse.

*

Three weeks pass with no change and, crucially, no improvement. Gwyn spends more time with Carlos than she ever has before, and she hates that it’s her son being comatose that has brought the two of them closer. A tentative peace exists between her and Owen and she knows—truly, she knows—that the attack wasn’t his fault, that there was nothing that could have stopped it.

But she can’t help but be angry that, once again, her son was seriously hurt and she wasn’t around.

She takes Isaac to see TK once, when the worst of the bruises have faded a little. She worries that he’ll be scared, and he does seem to hesitate when they reach the room; in truth, Gwyn hadn’t wanted to bring him at all, but he’d kept asking about TK and she’d found herself helpless to do anything but acquiesce.

They still haven’t told him what’s going on. No-one knows how to. All Isaac knows is that TK is a little hurt and he needs rest, and even that knowledge seems to upset him.

Once he gets used to the sight, Isaac stretches his hands out to the bed. “TK,” he says simply, looking pleadingly up at Gwyn.

She hugs him close, trying to smile for him. “TK’s asleep, sweetie,” she explains. “He needs rest.”

“When wake up?”

“I don’t know, baby. I don’t know.”

*

Three weeks pass, and the doctors start talking about options and next steps. It’s obvious what that’s code for—they want to pull the plug. They’re told to take all the time they need to discuss it but, ultimately, the decision will be Carlos’s, as TK’s husband and next of kin.

Gwyn knows what choice he’s going to make; it’s the same one she, or anyone else in his position, would make.

That doesn’t make it any easier to bear, for any of them.

Gwyn finds him in the hallway, bent over with his head in his hands. She goes over and quietly sits in the chair next to him, placing a comforting hand on his back.

There’s a long silence before Carlos sniffs and turns to her, his face the picture of devastation. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this, Gwyn,” he whispers, voice cracking. “How am I supposed to just give up on him like that?”

She shakes her head. “You’re not giving up on him, Carlos. You’re letting him go.”

“I don’t know how to do that either.”

“None of us do.”

Silence again, but this time, it’s Gwyn that breaks it first. “Listen, Carlos, I know this is hard. God knows I wish none of us were even here. But we are, and we have to do what’s best for everyone, including TK.”

“I know that,” Carlos admits. “I just don’t want to lose him.” He closes his eyes and leans into Gwyn, allowing her to wrap him in a hug. “I wish we had more time.”

Gwyn’s heart breaks all over again, and she squeezes his shaking shoulders. “We’ve got time,” she says, though she knows that’s not what he meant. “As much as you need.”

The sob she’s answered with tells her there’s not enough time in the world for Carlos to say goodbye to TK.

*

The call comes in the middle of the night. Dread pools in Gwyn’s gut as she accepts it and lifts the phone to her ear, her hands trembling.

“Owen?”

“Gwyn. TK, he—he woke up. It was only for a few seconds, but he woke up, Gwyn. The doctors said it was a miracle; they think he might actually recover.”

Gwyn gasps, a sob crawling up her throat as the news sinks in. It’s everything she’s been praying for ever since that first call, and all she can think about now is getting to TK.

“I’ll be at the hospital in fifteen,” she says. She ends the calls and raises her hands to her face, wiping away the tears beginning to fall from her eyes.

Maybe this nightmare is finally coming to an end.

*

TK is off getting tests when Gwyn arrives, but she’s finally allowed back in the room an hour later, Carlos and Owen on her heels. The ventilator has been removed, replaced by a nasal cannula, and his eyes are open—barely to slits, but Gwyn doesn’t care. TK is awake and alive, and that’s all that matters.

As soon as she’s in the chair by the bed, she reaches out for him, her touch feather-light as she strokes his cheek. “My brave boy,” she whispers wetly. “My brave, brave boy.”

TK’s head rolls on the pillow so he’s facing her and he mumbles something that’s probably meant to be a greeting, but the words jumble together and come out as gibberish.

Gwyn thinks it’s the most beautiful sound she’s ever heard.

They’ve all been briefed about the risks of brain damage and all the potential lasting consequences which could impact the rest of TK’s life. But right now, as she holds TK’s hand with Carlos on his other side and Owen at her back, Gwyn chooses to take solace in the constant rise and fall of TK’s chest and the heart monitor beeping out a steady rhythm.

There’ll be enough time for worry later; for now, her son is alive, and Gwyn can’t think of anything else that's more important.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tarlos fic #tk strand #carlos reyes #gwyneth morgan #owen strand #lone star #911ls #holly's august extravaganza #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #anonymous #userkimmy #userjillian #tuserjenny #tuserpaige #tuserjamie #reyeslonestartag #userbones

[spencers-renaissance]

Honeysuckle

Summary: The BAU decide to head out for a picnic one summer afternoon, but they’re soon rudely interrupted by a bee sting and anaphylactic shock. Seeing Spencer carted off in an ambulance is not exactly how they expected the day to go.

Tags: whump, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, hurt spencer, friendship, medical conditions, severe allergic reactions

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid 

Word Count: 2.3k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

Spencer had initially been wary of Penelope’s invitation to picnic in Meridian Hill Park one beautiful summer afternoon — he burned way too easily and didn’t like exposing himself to insects more than absolutely necessary — but as soon as she’d mentioned Derek was going, he’d given in. He wasn’t about to turn down an afternoon spent in the sun with his best friends and boyfriend. It was a rare day off for the team: one not even spent hanging by their phone expecting to be called in any minute, so they were all insistent on making the most of it. 

He’s the last one to arrive, spotting the others sat in the shade of an oak tree, already laughing as they get stuck into their first drinks of the afternoon. Despite his initial hesitations, as soon as he feels the sun on his face and sees his friends he’s immediately glad he turned up and he hurries over to join the rest of the team, his own contributions to the picnic in hand. 

“Pretty boy!” Derek shouts, grinning widely as he jumps up from his lazy position on the blanket to wrap Spencer in a hug, before pulling back slightly to kiss him. He can already tell he’s a little tipsy, and although Spencer doesn’t drink he has nothing against everyone else letting their hair down and having fun; God knows they deserve it. 

His relationship with Derek is only a few months old, and he still relishes every moment he gets to spend wrapped up in his arms.

“Hey guys.” His words are muffled slightly by Derek’s shoulder as his boyfriend is reluctant to let him go, but as soon as he’s released, he turns to match everyone’s wide grins. 

“Did you bring the strawberries?” Emily asks, levelling him with a faux-stern look that she can’t maintain for long, melting back into her relaxed smile soon enough.

“Of course.” He takes a seat on the picnic blanket only to be immediately wrapped into a side hug by Penelope. He hugs back before beginning to unpack his bag.

“What about the icing sugar?” she asks, and her stern glare isn’t fake at all: Spencer knows how seriously Penelope takes a) organisation, and b) sweet treats.

“Who do you take me for?” he laughs, retrieving the fruit and sugar from his bag and taking a swig of the cool lemonade he’d packed in his thermos. 

Sometimes he wishes he could go back in time and show lonely, teenage Spencer pictures of days like these. One day, he’ll be twenty six, working at his dream job, and spending his days off in the warmth of the East Coast sun one Sunday afternoon surrounded by his best friends, kissed by his boyfriend at every opportunity. They’ve never asked him to be anything other than exactly who he is, inviting them into their group and doting on him relentlessly, loving him just as much as he loves them. 

It’s a luxury you only appreciate when you’ve known the loneliness of summer: when the hum of the AC is the only sound in your stuffy, humid dorm room, and you’re researching the effects of methane on winter weather patterns as you long for cold weather again, because then at least then you don’t have to listen to the excited shouts of friends outside anymore, then it’s acceptable to isolate yourself inside with only yourself and books for company.

He shakes himself out of his miserable recollections and reminds himself to be in the present. Emily has her head in Penelope’s lap as they discuss which incarnation of Doctor Who is the best while JJ and Derek discuss the new jogging park opening up across the border in Virginia. He knows which conversation is more suited to his interests and immediately goes up to bat for the Seventh Doctor, which manages to engage him in a spirited debate with both women. 

Soon, though, they find themselves all discussing their workplace embarrassments and recalling the funniest moments from over the last few years, and Spencer loses himself in the heat of the afternoon and the warmth of his friendships. He’s gorged himself on all the strawberries and sandwiches he could stomach, and as the afternoon stretches longer and evening approaches he lies down on the blanket and rests his head in Derek’s lap, mirroring Penelope and Emily. His eyes flutter closed as his full belly and heat of the sun tire him out, and Derek’s fingers thread themselves through Spencer’s long hair, a light and welcome touch. 

The haze of his friends still chatting around him as he dozes comfortably is interrupted, however, when he feels a sharp pinch on his wrist and seconds later, he’s fighting for breath. He launches upright, wheezing as he claws at his chest, trying desperately to fill his lungs with enough air. 

“Spencer? Oh my God, Spencer, what’s wrong?” Penelope cries, immediately by his side as she looks him over frantically, not knowing what’s happening. 

“Derek, call an ambulance,” JJ directs, taking charge as she rushes to Spencer’s side as well. “He’s in anaphylactic shock. Spencer, listen to me, do you have your epi-pen with you?”

Her words manage to get through the panicked haze and light-headedness as he can’t get enough oxygen. He can feel his face swelling and his heart racing, but he’s still coherent enough to point to his bag. 

“He didn’t eat anything, though,” Emily says, panicked and confused as she watches her friend have a medical crisis while she’s powerless to help. 

“He’s allergic to bees,” JJ says, keeping calm as she prepares the epi-pen and administers it to Spencer’s thigh. “One must have stung him for some reason.”

“There!” Penelope points to the bee sting on Spencer’s wrist and JJ lunges for her bag, rummaging until she finds her credit card which she uses to carefully slide under the stinger and remove it, preventing any more venom from flowing into Spencer’s system.

It’s clear after a few minutes that the epi-pen hasn’t worked: Spencer still feels like he can’t catch his breath and the world is fading slowly as his heart beats out of control and his organs can’t get enough oxygen. 

He feels himself be moved gently by various hands as JJ directs the others until he’s leaning up as comfortably as possible against Derek’s chest as Penelope elevates his legs to keep blood flowing to his vital organs. 

“It’s okay, Spencer,” JJ says loudly, right in front of his face. It’s blurry and out of focus and he can feel himself losing consciousness fast. “The ambulance is on its way.” 

It’s the last thing he hears before he collapses completely as he passes out. 

⭐️

It’s dark outside when Spencer finally wakes up. His bed is warm and comfortable and he lets himself listen to the somewhat comfortable steady beeps of the heart monitor and movement of staff and patients around the ward before finally opening his eyes to scan his room. 

Derek’s sitting in an uncomfortable hospital chair right next to his bed, sketching what Spencer can only guess are plans for the property he’s just taken on, an empty jello cup balancing on the armrest of his chair. 

“Sandwiches and strawberries not fill you up?” he asks, voice croaky as he cracks an eye open. He can’t help but smile, too. He has the best boyfriend and the best friends anyone could ever hope for.

Derek’s head snaps up as he hears Spencer’s voice, setting his notebook and jello aside to grab for Spencer’s hand. “You are something else,” he chuckles. “Your first thought when coming round from a medical disaster is an observation of my eating patterns.” He shakes his head fondly. “ But you know I can’t pass up a tub of jello.”

“That’s true. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you say no when it’s offered.”

“You’re one to talk, pretty boy.” 

They lapse into short silence, accompanied only by the quiet beeps of the machines. “Sorry I scared you,” he whispers eventually, feeling guilt wrap itself around his stomach. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not your fault.” Derek looks sincere as he holds Spencer’s hand tighter, careful of the IV in his wrist. “The doctors… they said it was a severe attack, which is probably why the first epi-pen didn’t work. They’re monitoring you overnight to make sure there was no damage to your kidneys, I think. I’ll go find a doctor to tell them you’re awake.”

He moves to get out of his seat, but Spencer pulls him back down, as well as he can when he’s still feeling weak. “No, just… don’t leave,” he asks, his voice coming out a little too pleading for his liking. “Stay.”

The idea of being alone right now twists his stomach; the idea of being without Derek so desperately scary. 

“Okay, okay, baby,” Derek relents, sitting back down and running a soothing hand through his tangled hair, Spencer’s eyes fluttering closed at the contact. “I won’t go anywhere if you don’t want me to.” Instead, he presses the button for the nurse. 

“Where are the others?” Spencer dares to ask after a few seconds of quiet. 

“The nurses weren’t too happy with four people in here,” Derek chuckles. “I’ve been updating them by text; I’ll tell them you’re awake in a minute. JJ saved your life, you know. None of us had any clue what was happening but she was the only one who kept calm and the only one who got us through those awful minutes waiting for the ambulance to show up.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I told her I was allergic to bee stings years ago. It was just an off-hand comment, it never feels like that big a deal… this is only the third time this has ever happened. I guess I don’t feel the need to bring it up.”

“Well that off-hand comment saved your life, pretty boy.” Derek squeezes his eyes closed for a second, and when he opens them the emotion written on his face is heart-wrenching. “God, I can’t believe I could’ve lost you. There were a good few minutes there when I didn’t think you were gonna make it and after… Tobias… I was just so scared.”

Spencer’s stomach clenches at that, imagining the roles reversed is terrifying just as a hypothetical. He can’t even begin to imagine how Derek felt. He reaches a hand out to touch Derek’s face gently, squeezing his hand with the other. “But you didn’t lose me,” he murmurs. “I’m here, I’m  okay.” 

“Yeah.” His voice is barely a whisper as his eyes close again. “Is it bad that I kind of want bees to go extinct now?” he asks with a wet chuckle a few moments later.

“Derek!” Spencer laughs weakly, acting scandalised. “Bees are fundamental to the global ecosystem. Civilisation would effectively collapse if bees went extinct, it’s definitely not worth eradicating bees for the sake of me avoiding the rarity of anaphylactic shock, not according to the laws of proportionality. It’s actually frightening how fast the bee population is depleting though… did you know that there are only about 2.5 million honey-producing hives left in the US? That’s down from 4.5 million in 1980 and the loss has largely been attributed to colony collapse disorder—”

“Ah, Doctor Reid, you’re awake.” A smiling nurse bustles through the door and comes to check his vitals, fiddling with one of his IVs before taking a step back. “How’s your breathing? Is the nasal cannula okay or would you prefer a full mask?”

“The cannula’s good,” he says, smiling politely. Really, he just wants to get back to telling Derek all the bee facts he can recall. He has some really good ones itching to be let out. “I’m breathing fine, just feel a little weak still.”

“Good. Your vitals all look stable, so a doctor will be round in the morning to talk you through your treatment and medication. Is that okay?” 

“That’s fine, thank you,” Spencer nods, and she gives them one last smile before leaving the room and sliding the door shut quietly behind her.

“I should bring her back in,” Derek chuckles as the nurse leaves the room. “She missed out on your bee lecture. Fascinating stuff.”

“Shut up,” Spencer huffs, sinking back against the pillows. “You don’t deserve to hear my bee facts.”

“No,” Derek protests, grinning widely. “I’m joking, baby, carry on. You were telling me about colony collapse disorder.”

Spencer knows that, of course — he does have an eidetic memory after all — but it makes him smile that Derek remembers exactly where he was in his spiel. Maybe Penelope’s onto something when she says that Derek is “whipped” for him. (It had taken at least fifteen minutes for Spencer to fully understand what she meant by that, mostly because he kept asking about the etymology, history, and statistical usage of the word and she kept rolling her eyes, which he would then insist was not an answer.)

“Colony collapse disorder is depressing,” Spencer sighs, feeling quite tired all of a sudden. “I don’t feel like explaining it.”

“It doesn’t sound great.” Derek goes back to threading his fingers through Spencer’s hair. “Why don’t you tell me your favourite three bee facts, and then you can go back to sleep”

Spencer hums, giving it a bit of thought before replying. “Scientists trained bees to score goals in bee soccer in return for a sugary treat, which is especially interesting because they have brains the size of a poppy seed. They communicate with one another by wiggling their butts. It’s like their own language, they tell their nestmates where to go to get the best food. Bees also live in loads of different places, not just in the countryside. My favourite place they live is in marshes and wetlands, because I love insects that live in watery areas.”

“I’d pay to watch bees play soccer,” Derek laughs quietly. “You’re so smart, baby, I’m so proud of you.”

Spencer sighs happily. “Love you,” he murmurs, eyes closing against the exhaustion. 

“I love you more.”

Spencer isn’t awake long enough to argue with him.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @strippersenseii @hotchgans @suburban--gothic @takeyourleap-of-faith 

#my writing #moreid #derek morgan #spencer reid #derek morgan/spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #moreid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds writing #criminal minds fic #spencer reid whump #spencer reid angst #moreid whump #moreid angst #moreid fluff #hurt spencer reid

[clusterbuck]

what you're looking for has been here the whole time

(1.7k, rated T, complete) read it on ao3

@911week day 4: "it's always been you" + love

The realisation doesn’t hit Buck all at once, like they sometimes do. Instead, it gathers quietly, collecting momentum until eventually, it crashes over him like a wave.

It’s made up of the little things. It’s in the way Eddie’s face twists up whenever he asks about Buck’s dates with Taylor. It’s in the way Buck will invite Taylor over to the firehouse for lunch and when he looks at Eddie, he’s met with a glare, some impenetrable combination of bitterness and longing, annoyance and jealousy. It’s in the way Eddie finds a way to change the subject whenever he talks about Taylor for too long.

It finally hits him in the backyard of Bobby and Athena’s house, at the first team barbecue he’s brought Taylor to as his plus one, officially. He looks over to find Eddie, and Eddie doesn’t straighten his face out in time, and Buck understands.

Eddie is in love with Taylor.

It explains everything, doesn’t it? Why Eddie frowns when Buck talks about their dates, why he changes the subject. Why he’s currently looking at them with something Buck can only describe as open, undisguised yearning.

Dimly, he thinks maybe this explains why Eddie was so antagonistic towards Taylor in the beginning. It was right around the time Shannon came back—he must have been feeling all kinds of guilty.

The more he thinks back, the more pieces fall into place. Eddie’s always gotten a little weird every time Taylor shows up in their lives, every time Buck and Taylor have fallen together in this push-pull, on-off thing they do.

How long has Eddie been pining after Taylor, exactly?

And now that Buck knows, he sees it everywhere. He stops bringing up Taylor as much, because he doesn’t want to hurt Eddie any more than he already is. He makes an effort to spend time with Eddie, just the two of them, because he figures Eddie could probably use the company, and he makes a conscious effort not to bring up Taylor.

(In the back of his mind, he wonders if maybe this doesn’t help as much as he thinks. If maybe he himself is a reminder of something Eddie can’t have. But he ignores the thought as much as he can, because—if he follows that train of thought to its logical conclusion, he’ll have to think about the fact that, ultimately, he is the one causing Eddie this pain, and that’s not something he can live with.)

Only, in the end, it turns out he can’t live with any of it. Because as much as he tries to avoid it, when he’s alone in the dark in the middle of the night he lets himself imagine that when he sees Eddie staring at Taylor, Eddie is actually staring at him.

It’s not a new thought, not by a long shot. Buck has been in love with Eddie for as long as he can remember. It’s always there, his emotional baseline. But Eddie’s never given any indication that he’s anything other than straight, so Buck has tried to put it out of his mind and move on.

And he hasn’t really felt guilty about it before—he really does like Taylor, even if his feelings for her don’t come close to his feelings for Eddie. Taylor is funny, and she’s beautiful, and they have a lot of fun together. The sex isn’t half-bad, either. Above average, if he does say so himself.

He’s not in love with her, but he really thinks he could get there, some day.

It’s been enough for him up until now, but now Eddie’s involved, and Buck doesn’t think he can bear the thought of staying with Taylor if it’s going to keep hurting Eddie like this. So he makes up his mind.

Breaking up with Taylor is somehow simultaneously harder and easier than he’d thought it would be. Harder, because he doesn’t really think about what to say, so after he gets out the part about how he doesn’t think they should see each other anymore, he’s left standing there, opening and closing his mouth, trying to find the words to explain why.

Easier, because after a couple of seconds of him standing there like a grouper fish, Taylor asks, “It’s because of Eddie, isn’t it?”

And maybe his reasons are complicated, but that’s as good a distillation of them as any. “It’s not not because of Eddie,” he allows. “Look, Taylor—”

“You don’t need to give me the speech about how you weren’t just jerking me around,” Taylor says. “Do you think I’d let a guy do that to me?”

“… No, I don’t,” Buck says, and feels marginally better about the whole thing.

“We had fun,” Taylor says, “But I think we both knew, on some level, that it was always just going to be fun.”

“You’re probably right.” They’d never really had the big conversations, but from what he’s picked up over the years, Buck is pretty sure Taylor isn’t looking to settle down and build a family any time soon. Meanwhile, Buck’s been dreaming about having his own family since the moment he realised parents weren’t supposed to act like his did.

(When he closes his eyes and imagines his family, it’s always the same: two men, one slightly taller than the other, and between them, a kid with curly hair and glasses and the world’s brightest smile. And as much as he tells himself it’s never going to happen, the image never goes away.)

So Taylor’s right. They’re mismatched on a fundamental level, destined to never have anything more than what they’ve had: a few months of fun scattered across the past few years, and a friendship that will hopefully outlast them. Even if it’s going to hurt like a bitch, watching her with Eddie.

“Of course I’m right,” Taylor says. “Now you should go and see Eddie.”

“Why?” Buck asks.

“To tell him,” she says, like it’s obvious. “It’s about time.”

“That’s not—he’s not interested,” Buck says, and swallows the urge to tell her that Eddie is in love with her, because that should be Eddie’s to tell.

“Sure he’s not,” Taylor laughs, and refuses to listen to anything more Buck has to say on the subject.

He ends up driving towards Eddie’s house anyway, despite what he’d said to Taylor, because—where else would he go? And besides, he should probably tell Eddie that Taylor is single again, in case he wants to do something about it. The thought churns in his stomach like battery acid, climbs up his throat like reflux, but he figures it’s the least he can do.

Buck lets himself into Eddie’s house, and he has a plan. He’s going to tell Eddie that he broke up with Taylor, and then he’s going to be very chill and casual about mentioning that Eddie might have a shot with her, now.

His plan lasts for all of two minutes. Eddie comes to greet him at the door like he always does, and Buck manages to get through the part where he tells Eddie about the breakup.

Then something like hope flashes on Eddie’s face, and Buck can feel the pettiness rising like bubbles in his blood. He knows this is good news for Eddie, but honestly, he could at least pretend to care about Buck’s half of the breakup for the duration of one conversation.

“So, you know, she’s all yours,” he says, bitter, not at all chill and casual like he’d planned. “Have at it.”

Buck doesn’t really know how to describe what Eddie does next. He freezes, completely unmoving, and his eyes most closely resemble the spinny wheel his computer gets when it’s struggling.

Finally, after what seems like a small eternity, Eddie shakes his head, quick like he’s trying to clear out his thoughts. “What?” he splutters.

“I mean, you’re in love with her, aren’t you?” Buck says, still in that same bitter tone.

“In love with—” Eddie parrots, still shaking his head. A look passes across his face, like he’s steeling himself for something, and then he’s stepping into Buck’s space and closer still, backing Buck against the wall of the entryway.

“Buck,” Eddie says, somewhere between a growl and a groan, frustration and fondness all at once. Then he’s lifting his hands to cradle Buck’s face and pressing his lips to Buck’s.

The kiss is tender and demanding, and Buck feels like he’s drowning in the feeling of Eddie’s fingertips at his temple and Eddie’s lips on his, and he feels like he’s coming home.

He also feels like he’s missing something, because—“What?” he asks, when they break for air, the only word he feels capable of forming.

Eddie smiles at him, rolls his eyes just a little. “I was never in love with Taylor,” he says. “I don’t know where you got that impression.”

“But—you always looked so annoyed when I talked about her—”

“Buck,” Eddie interrupts, smoothing his thumb across Buck’s cheekbone. “Do you not get it? It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Buck blinks. “Well,” he says, and blinks again, because he doesn’t really know what else to do.

“Do you need to sit down?” Eddie asks, looking concerned. He goes to take a step back and Buck’s hand shoots up, clamping around Eddie’s wrist.

“No, don’t go anywhere,” he says. “I just—you could have said something.”

“You were with Taylor,” Eddie shrugs. “I thought you were happy.”

“Only because I thought you were straight!” Buck protests. “If I had known—god, Eddie, do you even know how long I’ve been in love with you?”

And once upon a time, he’d thought saying the words would be hard, but it’s as easy as breathing.

“Probably not as long as I have,” Eddie says, and he’s smirking but there’s an intensity in his eyes that tells Buck he’s being serious.

“Oh, you want to bet?” Buck challenges, because—yes, this might be one of the most significant moments of his life, to date, but he’s got a competitive streak a mile wide.

“Maybe later, I’m kind of busy right now,” Eddie says, and leans in to kiss him again.

#911week21 #buddie fic #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #the salt bae meme except it's me leaving light sprinklings of angst wherever i go #i promise there's a happy ending though #and no actual eddietaylor bc lol #buck is an idiot (affectionate)

[oftenderweapons]

The Studio - Namjoon

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 9.7k words

Genre: smut, angst, fluff

Rating: 18+

I told you I’d be back really soon ;) Tonight there’s a lot on schedule! I’ve been working on this piece for two weeks, since it carries a lot for both Namjoon and Vixen, emotionally speaking. It means a lot for me too, since to me it was truly a challenge in terms of the different levels of knowledge that Joon, y/n and the narrator hold. I think I’ve grown a lot in terms of writing even from Tiktok Towel Trick, which I wrote last May, but I’m really proud of myself comparing to what I used to produce a couple years ago.

Now, let me introduce this fic. The piece takes place two or three months after the two have started sleeping together (ideally late January or February). In this piece Vixen visits Joon at the studio after a bad fight and Joon’s self-imposed isolation. The two feel like they’ve come to a dead-end as they wait for the other person to cut ties. Namjoon is suffocated by his job, his tendency to lash out at his closest ones when he’s stressed and his previous traumas; Vixen is locked in her head, shut out by Namjoon and repeatedly accused of infidelity, as a sign of Namjoon’s lack of trust. Will the two manage to work things out?

Description and trigger warnings: The piece was written referring to Namjoon’s Rkive as in his vlive log. There is ANGST. Loads. There is some crying and it is not Vixen’s. Longing and miscommunication. In terms of filth: so much dirty talking the walls exude holy water by now. Unprotected sex (STAY SAFE GUYS!!!!!!!!), DDLG/daddy kink, Masturbation paired up with Voyeurism and Exhibitionism, Fetishism (Shoes, tights and lingerie), Oral (female receiving), Cumplay (eating), Marking, Spanking, Angsty doggy fucking followed by a very soft ride on the sofa. That should be all. Fluff alarm: Namjoon doesn’t want to lose his little fox and Vixen just wants to cuddle her big teddy bear Joon. 

Wordcount: 9.7k

Here is my masterlist

Enjoy!!! 

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Standing in the main corridor of the studios felt very strange. You looked around, uncomfortable, while the receptionist at your side stared at you, waiting. "Don't worry, he's busy all the time. We can wait, no big deal." The fact that you'd been greeted by Namjoon's driver at the entry desk had helped you get to the studios unannounced. "That boy always gets caught up on something. He shouldn't make you wait." He tutted, looking at you with a kind smile. 

"____? What are you doing here?" Taehyung smiled at you brightly, close behind him Hoseok and Yoongi approached with heavy-looking bags on them. 

"Oh, hi. I sort of stopped by for Namjoon." You bit your lip, smiling embarrassedly. 

"He's still in his room. I can show you the way." Taehyung said, grinning. 

Yoongi seemed to be observing him closely while Hoseok looked absolutely oblivious. 

"No, I only have to give him this." You showed them two small bags, one containing food and the other a few things he had left at your place. 

You tried not to let your heartbreak show. 

"Maybe you could bring them to him, I don't want to distract him." 

You smiled but you felt the tears welling up. 

Yoongi's glance moved to you. It felt scorching. "I think you should bring those to him. I think he'd like to see you." His serious tone made you realise that maybe he did know what was happening. Maybe he did know better. 

"I think he'd rather not see me right now." Your lips tightened in a thin line. 

Both the guys turned to Yoongi. "Go, I'll see you tomorrow."

They both patted him on the shoulder and waved at you, Taehyung hugging you close. "It'll be alright. I'll see you."

Taehyung smiled at you, his cute cheeks popping upwards. Maybe it had to do with the fact that you had just granted him an exclusive piece by one of his favourite photographers. Maybe he was just friendly, maybe he simply liked you because he deemed you a decent human being. 

Right at his heels, Hoseok gave you a cute wave, saying bye-bye in a cartoonish voice. 

Beside you, Yoongi shook his head, still sporting a fond smile. "Uhm, I never know whether I should introduce myself. Anyway, we've never met before, so– I'm Yoongi. " He said with a tiny smile, his cheeks jumping upwards. 

You introduced yourself with a small bow. 

"You are just like he described you. He talks about you a lot." He commented. You blushed, almost feeling like dissolving into thin air. You never thought you would meet his friends like this. 

Yoongi looked at your face. "You're exactly his type — in the best way possible." He blushed. "Let's go." He said, leading you. "I actually want to say a few things." He threw his bag on the floor, getting comfortable on the sofa in the common room. "How are you doing?" 

You stared at your feet. "Decent enough."

"I'll be honest, ____. He hasn't been doing good. Not even decent, in my opinion." Yoongi announced, as if trying to prepare you for what you were going to see. "I feel like telling you a couple things about him. He can be hot-headed, and an absolute pain in the ass. He is a perfectionist, and a terrifically clumsy one at that." Yoongi huffed out. "He holds himself to extremely high standards and punishes himself whenever he feels like he's not delivering. And he has the horrible tendency to lash out when he's stressed. He just takes it all out on those who are closest to him." Yoongi patted the spot at his side, inviting you to sit. "I'll be inappropriate, maybe, but I have to say it. You don't have to stay at his side."

The sentence was like a slap to your face. It had never come to your mind to part ways with him. 

"You don't have to put yourself through his tempers and tantrums. You need to be ready to handle those emotionally. If you aren't, I don't think you'll be able to go for the long run." Yoongi looked at you in the eye. "Sorry if I overstepped, usually people come to me to talk, I'm not used to giving unsolicited advice." He blushed and laced his fingers together, laying them on his thighs. 

"I don't want to let go of him, Yoongi." You confessed. 

"Then you should go bring this stuff to him in person. And remember, you don't have to be his therapist. If you want, you can be his partner, walk by his side, but it's not your duty to carry him." The man was incredibly smart and thoughtful. And sensitive. The more you got to know him, the more you understood Namjoon's adoration for him. 

"Thank you so much." You bowed your head briefly, placing your palm on top of his hands. 

He moved one on top of yours, patting gently. "Let's go find your grumpy bear, uh?" 

With a groaned "aigoo" He pushed himself up, standing on his feet like an old man before bending to catch the strap of his bag. "This way." 

He led you through the winding corridors until you recognised the door to Namjoon's studio. "Go on. Knock politely and be smart. Discuss. Negotiate. Compromise. And be kind to each other." He gave you the official salute and left. 

You found yourself staring at the door, wondering if he'd roar at you for interrupting him. 

The room sounded quiet. 

You counted to three. Knocked. 

"Come in." Said his voice with a weak rumble. He was probably distracted. 

His studio was warm and welcoming, if a bit clustered. The lights were low and yellowy, coming from his desk and contrasting with the white gleam of his computer screen, still you could see everything perfectly in the slight penumbra, your eyes perusing your surroundings. It was easy to see why his apartment felt like a hotel room: he barely spent time there while this place really felt like home. It felt like stepping into his soul. Small sculptures and toys and collectibles were neatly lined in his bookcase together with some books. Then the baby shoes. Art catalogues. Candles. Art. A drape too big for the wall, but still there, a painting, probably from Yoongi, since you vaguely recognised his style. On the back wall, you noticed two drapes embroidered in traditional patterns. The floor was covered in thick cream carpets with geometric prints that reminded you of tribal symbols. And sweet lord, that was his wooden, swoon-worthy, customised low table, matching with the piece by the door holding one of his bonsai. A comfy couch with a fluffy, warm blanket, and embroidered pillows. You were mesmerised. You didn't have time to take it all in, your glance running from the upright piano to the microphone standing beside his chair. He didn't turn around, he kept staring at the screen, typing every now and then. His beautiful desk was crowded with stationery, electronic devices, a keyboard and all kinds of knicknacks. 

"What is– oh. Hi." His expression was ice-cold. 

"Hi. I was passing by, I wanted to bring you some stuff you'd left at mine."

His heart froze. This is the end then.

He'd been avoiding it for almost two weeks, hiding from you in his studio, even though the only things he could write were heartbreaking blue rhymes that had Jimin and Jeongguk exchanging pitying glances. 

The beginning of this tragedy was almost comedic in its stupid futility. It was just him incapable of perfecting a pre-chorus. A dumb verse or something. He had called you, talked it out but apparently all he did was just turn down your ideas and suggestions, snapping at you until you exhaustedly told him that you were tired and needed some sleep. He took that as you umpteenth sign that you didn't care about him — which you both knew was entirely wrong — and caused a huge fight which ended on you telling him to go fuck himself, at which he unceremoniously replied that he was okay with that since you were clearly already fucking someone else. 

You didn't bother correcting him, since no matter how many times you told him, he always seemed to get back at you being unfaithful and uncaring. You were done justifying yourself, apologising for things you had never done. 

"Uhm. I also brought you some food. I didn't know if you had already eaten."

He looked at you like you had finally lit a candle in a dark and cold room. 

Your heart broke some more. You asked yourself if there was any more breaking to do, at this point. 

You figured there was the moment you heard his hoarse voice speak. "Let's eat together."

You didn't have the guts to deny him. 

You laid the bags on the small table and took off your coat. He stood on his feet immediately, crossing the room in a few broad steps and hugging you to his chest. 

Let it hurt. You told yourself. It heals faster like that. 

His palms settled at your waist and his eyes closed. He breathed you in. He had never felt something really end. His exes were like a song slowly slipping into a diminuendo until they became silence. His interest burned out, his curiosity simply died down and the feelings never seemed to grow fully. They felt like a balloon which was never supposed to be blown that big. This thing with you was like a song being stopped mid-chorus, silence biting in where it wasn't supposed to be. Is this what the end feels like? He asked himself as he held you tighter, one of his hands climbing up and burrowing into your hair. He pressed your face into his chest, where his heartbeat was so strong and so loud that you asked yourself if you could somehow amplify it, if your body could register it and replay it once you were alone in your bed, mourning over this. "You feel taller." He said, noticing how your forehead reached his lips instead of slotting under his jaw. 

"I still have my heels on." You replied. 

"Wanna take 'em off?" He asked. 

You shook your head. "No, if that's not a problem. 

He breathed out heavily. He interpreted your refusal as a sign that first, you were keeping your tough-woman shield up — which he couldn't blame you — and second, you weren't intending to stay long. 

You tried to part yourself from him. "One more second, little Vixen. Just a second." He whispered. 

You allowed him. 

"Come on, dinner is getting cold." You said softly. 

He didn't let you go, he simply loosened his grip and dragged you to the sofa. He was willing to keep you as close as he could until you ripped the bandaid off, unraveling this small spell that had turned his life into a perfect, dreamlike snowball. 

Sitting on the sofa, he made you sit beside him, your side sticking to his from shoulder to hip to knee to ankle. 

It was all too much but you didn't have the strength to part from him. He bent down and opened the small boxes. 

It was fried chicken. 

Like the first time at his place, at two am, naked in his bed after he had owned you in every way that mattered. 

He loved fried chicken. And now it would always mean you to him. 

No chimaek after fucking with anyone else. He wanted to keep it for you, in case one day you decided to come back, and he would say he had never done that with anyone else, that he had been waiting for you. Because some part of him told him that you would come back. 

Both your brains were going on the same path, already mourning someone who was right there in that moment, but already felt so far away. The room was quiet but both your minds were screaming, thinking so loud that the silence was welcome. 

"I got you fried chicken. I know you love it." 

I love you, his brain replied. But his mouth stayed silent. It was too late anyway. 

"Thank you." He said brusquely. He reprimanded himself for sounding so harsh. 

"It's okay." You said quietly, using the lid to grab a couple pieces out of the ten or so. You didn't feel like eating and he always ate two thirds of the box anyway. 

He exchanged one of your wings for a leg. "You prefer the leg." He said with a shy smile, trying to make up for the coldness he had shown previously. 

You had been sleeping with Namjoon for three months now, spending all your spare time together at his place, sometimes moving in for the weekend, the both of you leaving your job early so you could spend Friday afternoon together and go on small dates. He usually had his schedule on Saturdays and Sundays too, so it wasn't uncommon for you to spend several hours alone at his place. You had made small improvements, making his house feel more like a home with small handmade crafts. And when he came back, you would usually try to keep it chill but eventually you ended up in bed, or on the sofa, or the kitchen counter. Or the carpet on the corridor leading to his bedroom. Or the shower. Let's just say that you would be all over each other. 

You thought how different it would be now, and how difficult it would be to get him out of your system. 

"How is it going." You asked quietly after you swallowed your first bite. 

"Tough. I'm polishing some stuff, but this is the part where I doubt everything and want to rewrite all of it." He explained, his fingers gripping the chicken with a precision and finesse that reminded you of his delicate, careful side. 

"You'll get through it. You're a pro by now. And I'm sure you have excellent taste. You know what you want and you'll find your way to it." You praised him, rubbing your shoulder against him since your fingers were dirty. 

He leaned his head on your shoulder, shrinking down to reach you. "Thank you."

The more time passed, the more you realised he still hadn't said sorry for what he had implied during that phone call. 

"That's okay."

"How have you been doing?" He asked, trying not to let his worry show. It still showed, though. 

You decided on being honest. "I've been missing you."

He paused eating. "I've been missing you too." He put down the chicken, using the ball of his wrists to press against his temples. "I'm sorry about what I said that day. I know my past relationships and nerves are not valid excuses for how I treated you, but I got swallowed in those and I dragged you in."

You looked at the leg and finished munching on it, stripping the bone of the last few strings of meat. You put down the naked bone, licking your fingers. "You never talked about your most recent ex." You commented. 

He picked up his head. "To put it simply, I was her side piece." He said, plainly. "She was getting married to someone else. And she messed around with me." He looked at his feet. "At the beginning I didn't know. It lasted around eight months, as she was waiting for her fiancé to finish his military service. After I discovered it, we kept going for a couple weeks, but I found the whole thing so upsetting and disgusting that we parted ways. Her fiance forgave her and they got married a while ago, a few weeks before I met you." He snickered sarcastically. "I even sent them flowers." 

You blinked distractedly. "Joon, I'm so sorry, baby." You brushed your forehead against his arm. 

"It's cool. I mean, it's not since I'm still traumatised by it. I've been talking about it with my analyst, but it's been a while since I last went, almost three weeks, because this project had been swallowing me whole — after chewing me a little, clearly." He had his exhausted laugh on. 

You felt like you needed to talk about the whole story about that girl, but right now he didn't seem in the right mindset to do that. For now, knowing that he knew he had a bias and he was tackling the issue with a therapist was enough.

"Have you been sleeping, babe?" All the breaking up was momentarily suspended. There was something to save here. You had a lot you still wanted to save from this. 

He seemed relieved when you called him that. Don't get your hopes up. He shook his head. "A couple hours at a time. Small naps when I'm tired."

"Okay, so once you're done eating, we're gonna take a good, long nap."

He didn't want to sleep though. He wanted to hold you close, kiss you, make sure that he did everything he could to make you stay. The meal continued quietly, and as soon as you were fed he asked you about your job, how it was going, if you had any new clients or if you had met any new artists. You replied to each question fully, telling him about curious accidents and little inconveniences. 

And he listened. He had missed your voice and it felt good to listen to someone who wasn't himself or the boys' voices over speakers and headphones. 

As you were both done with dinner, he guided you to the bathroom, standing behind you as you washed your hands. He took some soap, foaming it up between his hands before he caught your left palm within his, pressing and rubbing them together to clean you up. And then he laced his fingers with yours, lathering your digits in bubbles and making sure that the sticky sauce from the chicken disappeared completely. He moved to the other hand as you laid your head against his chest at his collarbone, tipping it back so you could stare at him. You were sure you had never adored someone this much. He turned slightly to look at you, smiling softly. He bent down and pressed his lips to yours gently. No man, no person in the world had ever touched you or kissed you like he has. No one has ever talked to you like him, showed you their world like he has. He reluctantly parted from your lips. 

He led your joined hands to close the tap, moving to the hand dryer. It felt all too intimate. 

"Joon." 

"Let's get back to my studio, yeah?" He whispered in your ear. You nodded. 

He laced his hand with yours. 

Once you reached the studio, he quietly dragged you to the sofa, pulling at your arm so that you fell with your ass on his lap. He hugged you again. "I am so sorry about what I said. You have told me countless times that I'm the only one."

"You hurt me, Namjoon." You said quietly. 

It felt like a slap, his full name. 

"Let me make it right." He kissed your cheek and your eyes fell shut. "I want you."

And you wanted him too. You thought yourself crazy for wanting a man so complicated, someone who had disrespected you, who had repeatedly and blatantly demonstrated his lack of trust towards you. Still, when you needed reassurance, affection and devotion, your bodies always came into play, talking with a language so simple and obvious to each other that you simply nodded, whispering "I want you too."

With his index finger he turned your head, kissing you square on the lips and forcing you to part them, his tongue sweeping in your mouth, making your head spin with the intimacy and intensity of it all. 

Let him take you, if that would reassure him that you only thought about him, you wanted only him and no one else. 

His free hand curled around your thigh, climbing up under the tight knee-length dress you were wearing. The woolen grey number was the first thing to come off as he tugged it over your head and off his way. "You're so gorgeous," He murmured painfully, looking at you and taking in every small detail. "A work of art, little Vixen." He kissed your shoulder. 

You smiled shyly, trying to straddle his waist. He toyed with the lace covering your breasts and nipples, teasing them with his fingers until they pressed hard against the fabric. Next he fooled around with the waistband of your tights, making you stand between his legs as he dragged the nylon down your thighs and calves. He stared at your feet, where the garment bunched up, noticing your black stilettos. "Off." He whispered, tapping his foot against yours. Once you took off the shoes, he bent down to help your feet out of your tights. He bit your leg harshly, leaving a mark behind. "Heels on again, Vixen."

Smiling darkly, you slipped them back on, shivering a little, but so happy to wear your favourite black lace set and stilettos for him. 

"Walk for me?" He asked, making you put on a little show. 

And God, did you enjoy it. His jaw went slack at the Brazilian cut of your panties, exposing to his hungry eyes the perfect curve of your ass, the way it swelled fully before meeting with the back of your thigh. 

That was his favourite place to bite. And spank. 

You did a small catwalk with your back to him, reaching his chair, which you turned around from his desk to the sofa. Facing the chair, you bent forward, your thumbs catching the fabric of your panties at your sides and pushing them down as you bent forward, offering him the whole panorama. 

He groaned. "I'm gonna get an heart attack, baby." 

You smiled at him viciously over your shoulder, letting your lower piece of underwear fall to the floor. Next you dragged your full palm up the curve of your ass, smacking it playfully as your fingers made their way to the clasp of your bra. 

"You're gonna kill me, Vixen." He cried out. 

Bra undone, you let both strings fall down your shoulders, removing one side first and letting the garment dangle from the other side, making your arm fall and drop the delicate lace ordeal. 

Your smile disappeared in an innocent pout when you turned around, completely naked except for your shoes. 

"I'm gonna sit here." You announced, waiting for his approval. 

He nodded eagerly. "Make yourself comfy, Vixen."

You sat down, crossing your legs and propping your elbows on your knees. Shyness was not a word in your vocabulary in that moment. Your only intention was that of distracting him from whatever it was that was mauling his brain. 

"Are you going to make me wait, Joon." You teased demandingly. 

He stared at you, meeting your glance. "Stay there and sit still." He ordered before grabbing the hem of his sweater and pushing it upwards, taking off both sweater and undershirt in the process. His upper body appeared, a bit skinnier than two weeks ago but maybe it was just the distance and the slouching position. His sweatpants were taut around his lap and you bit your lip as your eyes traced the outline of his length. He laid his palm there, stroking himself over the cotton. "Missed you so much, baby." He groaned and huffed. His eyes closed, his hand grew tense, stronger and heavier. Licking your lips, you kept staring at him, squeezing your thighs as he touched himself for you. 

He was hot, all the time, but this… This felt like a fever dream. You were soaked. Thank god his chair was leather and it could be cleaned easily.

He moaned your name, his eyes struggling to open enough to look at you. His voice was so deep and needy, mixed with heavy huffs. "Namjoon." You whined. 

He opened his eyes fully, his hand coming to a halt. It was like a cold shower. He was reminded why you were doing this, why you had come to this, the sudden distance that had come within the two of you. "What is it, baby?" 

You pushed your ass against the chair, looking for friction. "Come here. Touch me." You begged. 

It pained him seeing you so needy and whiny and stressed. "Listen to me, baby thing. Listen very carefully." He wanted to reassure you but he couldn't come to you. "I need you to touch yourself, little one. Can you do that for me? I promise I'll touch you after you cum, baby, but I want to see you first." He asked, palming himself again. 

You licked your lips. "Can I?" You questioned innocently, placing your palm on your thigh, your fingertips grazing your crotch. 

"You can, doll. Do it for me." He growled, pushing his fingers under his waistband, grabbing his hard on at the base and stroking it as you parted your legs, exposing your wetness. You were beautiful, naked on his chair, dragging your middle finger along your dripping slit. Your other hand grabbed your breast. 

"You're a vision, Vixen. You're magnificent, pretty thing."

"I want your tongue, daddy." You mewled, your finger dipping inside, emerging covered in glossy wetness. 

He groaned, taking his cock out of his pants, moving the waistband to his thighs. “I’m gonna eat you later, pretty doll. I’ve been starving for weeks for that sweet cunt of yours.” His erection immediately sprung up, arching to his belly button, the lower tendon looking so inviting along that thick vein that always had him throwing his head back whenever you traced it with the tip of your front teeth. As your fingers met your clit, eliciting a whine from your throat, he used four fingers to press on the vein, his thumb already playing with the tip. His hands always looked incredible whenever he used them on himself, strong fingers and spidery tendons making the vision sinfully erotic. However, he was lost in you as much as you were lost in him, his lips parted, his breath panting while you opened your legs wider, using two fingers in small upward circles that teased the underside of your clit. You felt a chill run down your spine, your legs trembling and closing a little with an involuntary reflex. You giggled at that, closing your eyes and moving your grip to the armrest of the chair. Your upper body inched forward a little and your hand stopped. 

“Too much, babygirl?” He asked and you smiled brightly, nodding. 

You’re gonna miss it, the way she smiles when you’re doing it right, his brain reminded him and as a way to shut it up, he stroked himself faster, with more pressure, his spare hand brushing his abdomen and moving upwards, spreading over his pectoral, scratching the skin there before his thumb and forefinger curved around the base of his neck, pressing there. 

You observed the motion, unpausing the movement between your thighs and humming as he gave you his desperate stare, the one that meant that he couldn’t take it anymore, that he was on the verge of it and even the smallest addition to the current situation would have him screaming and cumming.

“Joonie, lemme get close. Cum in my mouth, Joon, please.” You whined. 

“No, naughty girl. Stay there and cum for daddy.” He groaned. “Come on, baby, I’m waiting for you.” He said, with a harsh and strained command. 

Arching your neck, you started moving faster, opening your legs as far as the armrests allowed, but they only allowed an inch more than what you already had. Huffing with disappointment, you closed them and propped the back of your right knee on top of the armrest and repeated the gesture with your left leg, spreading yourself wide, almost hitting a split with your legs bent at the knees. 

“God, you’re the dirtiest. You stretching it out for me? You’re so good, showing daddy how wet you are for him.” He teased, using that raspy voice that he knew always drives you insane. 

With short, quick breaths you brought yourself closer and closer to the edge. “Daddy, please, keep talking to me.”

His hand slowed down. “Need to hear my voice, babygirl?”

You nodded and he snickered. “Then I’ll talk to you, little one. You know what I’m gonna do after you cum? I’m gonna crawl to you and kneel between those wondrous legs of yours. I’m gonna push your ass to the edge of the seat and feast on you like I’m trying to die eating that pussy. And do you know what you’re gonna do, Vixen?” He provoked. 

You shook your head. “What am I going to do, daddy?” You questioned innocently, your words stumbling a few times as your breath got stuck somewhere in your throat.

“Oh, little fox, you’re gonna grab my hair and push that lovely cunt on my lips and tongue, fucking my face so hard and fast, pressing your sexy heels on my naked shoulders. I want to hear you gasp for air because I make you cum so good you forget to breathe, you forget how to speak.”

“Joon, I’m cumming.” You cried out, your legs starting to quiver and your clit getting too sensitive to stand the movement of your fingers, slipping them inside and pushing them in slow circles around your cervix. 

His fingers moved back to the tip, the other hand massaging his balls. “Take it, Vixen, that’s it baby. I’m cumming, ____.” He moaned your name, spilling his release on his lower stomach. 

You were still staring at each other with your chests heaving, eyes wild, hands stained by your pleasure. It was always the two of you. Always getting caught up in each other, always getting tangled in each other's fantasies with this constant lust pulling you in and never having enough. You wondered when the hunger would stop, when you would grow tired of his insecurity and possessiveness, when he would find out you're too kinky, too needy, too fucked up for a busy man like him to handle. 

He cleaned his hand with one of the unused paper towels from dinner, crumbling it and throwing it in the box with the garbage from dinner. 

"Joonie." You whispered, waiting. 

"Coming, baby fox." He replied, standing up and taking off his sweatpants and boxers, walking straight to you. You closed your legs, a bit cold and embarrassed now that your high was over. Standing right in front of you, he cupped your cheek, making you look up at his face, however, even though your head was tipped back, aimed at his eyes, your glance hung low, staring at the droplets smearing his abdomen. "What are you looking at, spoiled little fox?" He said, with a sardonic smile. 

"I wanna lick."

He grinned and scooped some liquid with his digit, bringing it to your lips. 

Parting your lips, you licked your lower one first, then you let your tongue dart out and swipe at his finger, carefully sucking it into your mouth before he lowered his eyes, staring into yours and smirking seducingly as he pulled his digit out. You smacked your lips and savoured his taste, your eyelids falling shut as you hummed at his flavour. 

His cock, once half soft, was now hardening again, swelling intermittently and slowly rising to his navel. But Namjoon's eyes were focused on your face. "Want more?" He asked once your eyes opened and your gaze focused on his face. With a sex-addled, lazy grin you nodded, opening your mouth. 

He grinned right back. "Such a hungry little girl."

Impatient, you grabbed his hips, pulling him towards you and licking his belly clean. He groaned, observing you closely. 

I'm going to teach her some patience and some manners, he thought darkly. However, he immediately reminded himself that he would never have the time, your liaison coming to an end.

With this unfortunate thought, he cupped your face. "I'm the one supposed to be eating now, ____. Let me take care of you, darling." He said, before falling to his knees. Immediately he pushed the back of the chair to the table, so that it wouldn't cartwheel out of his grasp. 

Once more you asked yourself how many times he had done that before, thinking about how the relationship with the bride-to-be must have been mostly sexual, since you don't usually have much romance and dates with someone who is taken. Even though he didn't know she was taken. Whatever. 

In that moment he was there, kneeling before you, placing your heels on his shoulders, cupping your ass and tipping it forward so he could easily and comfortably give you that first, glorious lick from your hole to your clit. "Taste so good." He said, nuzzling his lips side to side as he spoke, mixing the movement to the vibration of his voice. He bit the small tattoo at the top of your thigh, where it met your pelvis, just shy of your hip bone. "Sexy little thing." He kissed it. "Drove me insane since day one." As usual, he sucked at it, causing a dark purple mark to bloom over it. "Fucking perfect."

He laid his tongue flat against your slit drawing the tiniest circles with the whole length of it. 

You hand-combed his hair back, holding it so you could look into his dragon eyes. He looked vicious and dangerous and so cunning, so smart in the most atrocious way. 

"Namjoon." You moaned, your hips arching closer to his mouth. 

He snickered cockily, moving his tongue slowly back into his mouth, allowing only the tip to wander up your crevice and reach the apex of your labia. He delivered a set of ten licks, slow and curling perfectly against your nub. "Are you good, little fox?" He asked. 

You nodded and pushed his head back between your legs. 

He laughed loudly, fighting against you. "I'm not done talking, brat." He bit your lower belly gently. "I'm gonna pump your clit with my mouth, Vixen. I'll suck it twenty times, then I'll let you rest until I'm ready again. I'll keep going until you cum. Remember that after twenty I'll pause. This could easily turn into edgeplay, baby, so you'd better get very horny very fast. You okay, Vixen?"

He checked on you and you nodded, impatient to simply have him on your clit.

"Be verbal, little girl." He reprimanded.

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl. Let's get started."

He wasted no time. He wrapped his lips around your clit and started sucking, sucking so hard that you knew the following day his jaw and ears would hurt. At pump fifteen you already knew you needed more than twenty to cum. And as twenty arrived you whined but you felt confident that the next set would suffice. 

This time you felt your edge at twelve, still you needed more. You were getting wetter and wetter, so soaked that his saliva and your slick mixed up and made you feel uncomfortable between your asscheeks. 

"Joon–" You said, at which he mumbled "language" in between two pumps. 

"Daddy, I want your fingers inside." You said, indulging his every whim. 

He fumbled around with his arms, securing you with his left, making sure that your backside wouldn't get too close to the edge of the seat, and cause you to fall. His right arm moved back to your front, his index and middle finger coming to your entrance and waiting, his drool sliding from his tongue down your slit and directly on his fingers which, now lubricated, slipped in with no friction or resistance. The pressure was mind-blowing, your head spinning. "Daddy, please."

"Please what?" He said, hitting his pause. 

"Make me cum. Let me." You asked, as meekly as you could. 

"Why should I, uh?" He teased. 

"Because I am a good girl." Because I love you, said an obnoxious part of your brain. 

"Then I need you to say it one last time, Vixen. I know I've tormented you, but I need to ask it once and for all. Is there anyone else?" He said, his voice almost breaking. 

"No, Namjoon. I swear to God, there's no one else. I promise it. I swear on everything that I love the most. Please." You begged, hoping that he would feel the desperate honesty in your voice. "Please. You're my only daddy. I have you, only you. I am yours." You said, and God if it felt right, if it felt true, being his, belonging to him. 

Tell him you love him, your brain said again, but you refused. 

He smiled brightly at your declaration. "We're done playing, if you want to, Vixen."

You simply nodded, batting your lashes at him. "I want to."

"Then hold tight because I'm not going to stop until you're fucking my face and screaming my name and shaking on this seat. Understood?" He warned you. 

"Yes, daddy." You replied. 

"Then hold tight, baby fox. I'm gonna eat you alive."

"Try." You challenged him. 

And that's when he pounced. His pumps became longer, impossibly tighter, and the small pause between one and the next became shorter. Your eyes locked with his, brows knitting together, lips parting in a mewl as you threw your head back. "Namjoon. Please, daddy." 

Smirking, he mixed the pumping motion with a barely-there curl of his tongue, teasing your clit with such delicate pressure that you couldn't even wrap your head around the incredible amount of tension that it was causing in your body. Your hands tightened in his hair, your moans dissolving into small giggles. 

He wanted to tell you how good you sounded, how pretty you looked, how he wanted to see this every day for the rest of his life. He loved seeing you this happy, this carried away. He loved your morning voice and your late night cuddles. He loved breakfast in bed and midnight snacks and three a.m. quickies. He loved watching you take off your bra from under your t-shirt before going to bed, he loved seeing you shiver as you went to the bathroom early in the morning, clad in his t-shirt, plain cotton briefs and a pair of socks even in the dead of winter, since he always kept you warm under the covers by holding you close. He wanted to confess it all: the heartwarming wonder he felt staring at you had when you focused while reading and studying, when you brushed your hair, when you got dressed before leaving for the day, when you stood at the kitchen counter, cooking, with your back to him, and again when you applied lotion all over your body after showering, when he kissed your nape, standing behind you and donning the zipper of your dress. 

However, he stayed silent, showing it all with the reckless ministrations of his mouth as your chest blushed, your hands grabbed his hair almost painfully and your hips snapped, your mouth opening in a silent scream. 

You hadn't even bothered telling him you were cumming. He knew anyway. His mouth became more gentle, resolving to small licks while his fingers massaged your walls deep and slow, perfectly responding to the contractions of your muscles. "Here, pretty thing." He murmured, his hair tickling the skin of your stomach. "I've got you, baby. Shhh." He calmed you down, your breath coming in heavy pants, your heartbeat going like crazy. He rubbed his soaked fingers against his thigh, briefly cleaning himself before coming up to your face, cupping your cheeks. "Are you okay, little one?"

You nodded with your eyes closed, getting sleepy. 

He caressed your face. "Open your eyes for me, baby girl, let me see your pretty eyes." 

With a beatific smile you tried to look at him, eyelids lifting, taking a few seconds to focus on him. 

"There she is, my moonshine." He cooed, pressing a kiss to your lips. "You look really happy, baby thing."

You simply moved your head in a nod. 

"Do you want more, little fox?" He asked, still fussing over you. "Can you take it just one more time, babe?" 

Licking your lips you nodded again with a giggle. 

He smiled. "You keep nodding, baby. Are you saying yes to daddy?" 

"Yes, Joonie." You whispered slowly. 

"Good girl. Can you walk, Vixen?" 

"Yes."

"Great. I want you to kneel in front of the coffee table, darling." He commanded, rising to his feet and helping you stand up. 

This would be the last time, he decided. 

He would allow himself your heaven just one more time, then he would hold you close for a few minutes, clean you up, accompany you home and let you go. He wasn't man enough to look into your eyes. He was weak and unfair. He turned you around with your back to him, his erection brushing against the small of your back. Once you were in front of the table, he moved your hair to the side, skimming the curve of your ear with his lower lip. "Kneel, Vixen."

You did. 

He kneeled behind you, moving the books and magazines on the floor, away from the two of you, while the traces of your dinner were thrown into the bag, which he would discard later. With an empty table, he pushed his palm from the small of your back to your nape, making your front adhere to the table and making sure that your hair was out of the way. "I know you love this table." He murmured. 

"I do."

"I do, too." His heart felt like a burden. Without further hesitation, he grabbed his length and rubbed his tip against you. "You ready, ____?" 

"Please."

With a groan he slipped in, the filling sensation causing a loud whine on your behalf. "Quiet." He reprimanded. 

You got a little scared at his dark voice, knowing that at this point you'd better obey. However, it lasted little. Once he bottomed out, he growled, bending down to your neck. "You good, little one?" He said, his sweet persona back in place. 

"Yes, daddy."

He was breathing heavily through his nose as he sucked at the skin of your neck, marking you. As soon as he was sure the mark would bruise and stay for at least a couple days, he released your skin. "Do you want your spanks, baby girl?" 

Your eyes rolling with pleasure, you hummed. "I want them so much, daddy. Spank me, please."

He simply breathed. "With pleasure, little one." He knew no one would ever be this good to him. 

His chest parted from your back, a small shiver settling in instead. 

The first smack was harsh, angry. You clenched around him and he thrusted in violently, growling. 

The second one hit the tender skin of your outer thigh, where it met your ass. "Daddy." You whined. 

"Quiet." He chastised again, his voice strained. He hammered into you four or five times. 

"Daddy, it hurts." You cried out, at which he stayed silent, simply spanking you again, twice, without rubbing soothingly at your skin. You emitted a shrill huffing sound of complaint, at which he answered with violent ramming into you, using both hands to push you onto his lap. 

This was not how Joon usually did it. This was not normal. With worry distracting your mind, you turned your head, looking at him. His eyes were closed, droplets falling down his cheeks. Was it sweat or tears? 

"Namjoon?" You asked, alarmed. 

He shook his head, biting his lip. "You good?" He asked, eyes still closed. 

"Stop." You murmured. 

He obeyed, exiting your warmth and opening his eyes, still avoiding your gaze contact. "Did I—?"

"Look at me." 

He shook his head. "I can't." 

"Namjoon." You reprimanded. 

As your eyes met his, you noticed they were rimmed with tears, and he was biting his lip to hold back a sob, shaking his head in shame. 

Your initial shock was followed by an overwhelming sense of tenderness for the beautiful, delicate man in front of you. 

You quickly decided what to do. 

You turned around fully, facing him as you stood on your knees, your hands caressing his cheeks. "What is it, Joonie bear?" 

He simply frowned and hid in the crook of your neck, desperate. 

"What is it?" You asked again. 

He nuzzled even more into your chest, inhaling the damp feel of your skin. "I just want it to be a good memory." He huffed with a broken whisper. 

A memory? "Why would it be a memory, Namjoon?" You asked, confused. 

"If it's our last time, I wanna be good to you." He said, and you could feel every ounce of sadness in his voice. 

Last time? "Joonie bear, why would it be our last time?" 

His shoulders shook with sobs as he stopped holding back his tears. "I've been a bastard, it's okay if you want to go." He tried saying in his most composed voice.

You frowned in confusion. "No, Namjoon."

"You want to leave me. It's okay. I need it only one last time."

You shook your head, trying to grab his chin and make him look at you. However, he strongly opposed. 

"Joonie." You murmured, hugging his head and caressing his hair. "I'm not here to leave you." You whispered. "I want to be with you." You continued. 

He shook his head even more. "I was dumb. You have every right—" 

"No." You kissed his head, caressing his shoulders, hugging him tight. "I'm not going anywhere." 

He looked up at you, his face covered in tears. 

"Oh, baby bear." You cooed, touching his cheeks, kissing his forehead. "Don't cry, Joonie." He disappeared even more into you, hugging your entire figure, dwarfing you. "Don't cry, my love." You whispered, the word tiptoeing out of your lips. He sobbed harder. "I'm so in love with you, Joonie bear." You crooned, offering him all your soul in those simple, childish words. 

"You love me?" He asked, confused, alarmed, petrified. 

"I love you, Namjoon." You repeated. 

He completely forgot his messy face and brought his lips to yours, his mouth melting into you eagerly as your tongues spoke a language that came so natural to both of you. 

Breathless, he parted from you. "I love you. I love you so much." He pressed tens of kisses on your face with such speed and pressure that you felt like disappearing into him. 

"I love you too." You giggled, trying to clean his face. 

You both laughed, elated, his hands coming to your waist, holding you closer and closer. "I wanna make love to you." He whispered. "Let me love you."

"Missionary on the carpet or cowgirl on the sofa?" You asked. 

"Why choose when you can have both?" He wiggled an eyebrow. You smiled. He smiled back. "Let's get on the sofa." He replied gently. "You'll catch a cold with your sweaty back on the freezing floor."

"But no missionary on the sofa…" You cried out like a child. 

He smiled. "Do you want missionary so bad?" He kissed your temple, smiling. 

"I guess I'll be happy with anything you want." You pouted, still doubtful. 

"C'mere." He said, getting even closer. You slipped your stilettos off and he picked you up by the back of your thighs and with some strength you didn't know he had, he carried you to the sofa, careful not to step on your shoes. "I'm going to sit. Careful with your legs." He warned, plopping down as carefully and as gently as he could, mercifully avoiding to sit with your calves underneath him. 

"Don't worry, I won't make you ride me, baby." He kissed your brow. "You're too tired for that." He cradled you to his chest, offering you a bit of his body heat. "Can you push it inside you for me, love?" He asked seducingly, kissing your neck. 

You smiled and reached between your bodies. He was already pulsating, you knew he would come undone in a few strokes. Slowly, you lifted your hips and pushed his tip inside, making him groan. 

"You're always so tight, babylove. Fuck, you feel amazing." He sucked at your neck some more, drawing a twin bruise to the one you had on the other side of your throat. "I feel like a fucking teenager with you. I can never get enough." His hips jutted a little, pushing into you while his forearm around your waist pulled you down, his hand gripping your ass. 

"Daddy." You breathed out, your forehead pressed against his neck as he bottomed out. 

"Yes?" He replied, soothing you with long caresses down your spine. "Does it hurt, doll?" 

He had so many nicknames for you but you couldn't wait for your next. "No, daddy." He held your face away from his shoulder. "Are you sure babylove?" 

Your face stretched in a slight grimace. "Maybe."

He giggled and kissed your cheek, sliding down to your mouth. "I'm sorry, Vixen." He pressed his lips to yours once and then again. "I'm so sorry, baby. For everything." He combed your hair back. "I can't promise you I'll never hurt you, but I can promise I'll try to make it better every single time." He held you close as your brow furrowed. "I love you." He whispered, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressing on your lower back. 

"I love you too." You said right back. "But please, Joonie…" 

"Need me to move?" He asked.

"I want you to cum." You murmured. 

He smirked and nodded. "Want me to finger you?" He asked, already drawing short thrusts into you and helping you ride him with his forearm around you. 

"Yes, please, daddy." You whined.

His right hand left the crown of your head, coming to the top of your thighs and beginning to draw small circles at the apex of your labia, the flat of his thumb wide enough to cover your bundle of nerves entirely.

"Would you like to take your time, Vixen?" He asked kindly, knowing that sometimes it took you a bit longer than him to actually get worked up. 

"I just need you to keep going exactly like this. You're perfect, Joonie."

He grunted and started pushing into you from below. "Like this?" He said, his voice a tad strained. 

His thrusts were low and deep, curling just enough to hit your sweet spot. He realised you started holding your breath. Usually that meant you were close. 

He bent his head, looking down where your bodies joined. It was hypnotizing, his thumb drawing perfectly identical circles. He started kissing and licking any and every inch of skin that came close to his mouth, your shoulder, your chest, your neck, sucking whenever he managed to grip the skin for long enough to bruise and mark. 

When you started shoving yourself on him, bouncing in earnest, he kept his cool and stopped fooling around, staying focused on lasting long enough, doing the exact same thing, knowing that with a few thrusts delivered just right, you would become like putty in his arms and he could just get crazy and chase his high. 

With your lips parting in a high pitched moan, you pressed your hips to his two more times before your chest collapsed into his with a tired whimper. "Take what you need." You murmured before propping yourself with your forearms against the back of the sofa, lifting your hips. Your face was pressed at the crook beneath his jaw, your tongue blindly chasing the droplets of sweat sliding down the column of his throat. He emitted an animalistic groan before his palms thudded heavily against your glutes, gripping your hips so hard that both his knuckles and your flesh turned white. And then he started ramming into you from below. The sounds in the room were a mix of his grunts, the smacking of flesh and the wetness between your legs, but more quietly, under all those layers, in between a groan and the next, there were his whispered love declarations, which poured out of his mouth like prayers, until he was so close, so fucked out that he could only repeat 'I love you', over and over, interrupted only by a final howl as he spilled inside you. 

In all of this you had tried to stay quiet, shushing him and kissing his neck, not sure that you were allowed to mark him. 

You laid both exhausted, his body sliding sideways down the sofa, trying to rest on the seats, his head laying on an armrest as his ankles dangling from the other. You covered him like a blanket, your hair draping over his chest and tumbling down the edge of the sofa. 

You were both sweaty and messy with cum and drool, still you simply laid there, until you felt too cold and shivered. 

"Blanket?" You asked. 

He shook his head. "I'd better dress you and take you back at mine. I can go home tonight. There's no use working late. I need to rest anyway."

"Are you sure." You asked, touching his face. 

He kissed your wrist. "Sure."

"I have to clean your chair first. I should have some wet wipes in my handbag." You mumbled. "And I should clean myself too before I drip on your lovely sofa."

He hummed, tired, fake-crying as he said "I don't wanna get up."

"My bag is right beside the sofa, just stretch your arm backward." You directed him. 

He fumbled around a bit, moving the bag from behind his head to your side, where you could easily reach inside. After a bit of rummaging, you fished out your wipes, making a quick work of pulling him out and cleaning yourself. 

"Cold." He muttered with a pout, which you kissed away from his face. 

"Come on, baby bear, get up and get dressed. I wanna shower with you and shower you in kisses." You pampered him, trying to convince him to get ready to leave. 

He whined as you sat up, quickly dashing to recoup your underwear. Once you were wearing it, you cleaned his chair, quite happy when you noticed that it wasn't half as bad as you though. When you turned, you noticed he was staring at you, already completely dressed, your dress in his hands. You moved closer.

"Up with your arms, love." He said gently, and for a second you realised that your simple and emotional confessions weren't a mirage caused by arousal or desperation. 

You followed his instructions as he helped you wear your dress, slipping it over your head and helping you find both sleeves. Next he gripped the hem at both sides, delicately rolling the fabric down your body. Once it reached your knees, he let his hands skim back up your hips and waist, crossing his wrists behind your back before squeezing your ass. He stared at your throat. 

"Will I have to wear a turtleneck for the next ten days?" You asked, slipping the neck of your dress aside and checking the damage. 

"Sorry." He murmured. 

"It's okay. I like it. I'm just teasing you." You said with a playful smirk. 

"Brat." He mouthed with a snicker, bending down to pick up your tights. 

You tutted, stealing them from his hands. "Let me do these, they're tricky."

He simply stared, his body trembling with a new tide of arousal at the mannerism you used to put on the garment, rolling up one leg between your thumbs and forefingers, pressing your toes against the stitching and dragging the nylon up your leg. He had seen this scene in an old Italian movie, but seeing the gesture in real life helped him understand the frenzy that the main character experienced after such an act. After you repeated the movement on the other leg, his mouth practically salivating, he watched some more as you fixed the gusset and the waistband, stretching the garment around the curve of your ass. 

"Call me whenever you need to wear those." He whispered in marvel and agony. "I might take them off you just to see it all over again."

You smiled coquettishly, grabbing your coat and wearing it. 

He kneeled in front of you, holding one of your shoes. "When's your birthday?" He asked, making you lift one foot as he slipped your heel on. 

You frowned, the connection unknown to you. "Mid-november. Why?" 

He held your other shoe and you held onto his shoulder as you lifted your other foot, wearing the black stiletto. "I loved seeing those on you tonight. I might buy you another pair or eight as a birthday gift."

You shook your head and laughed. "I don't need a sugar daddy, I'm happy with my plain, regular one." He rose to his feet and you grabbed his cheeks, planting a big, fat smooch on his mouth. "I'm actually very, very in love."

"Hello, Actually Very, Very in Love. My name is Head Over Heels — he pointed at your shoes — in Love. Pleased to meet you."

You laughed and he felt his heart explode with joy, his nose brushing against yours with Eskimo kisses. "Your bag." He said, bending to pick it up. "My bags." He said, collecting his tote and the small paper bag with his belongings that you had brought him. He neared his desk, checking the various devices. "Equipment off, computer off–" He mumbled as he moved the mouse to shut down the system. Meanwhile you fixed the low table, putting the magazines back on top of it. He switched off his table lamp and moved towards the door. "Dinner." He reminded himself, picking up the trash bag by the entrance. "You ready, Vixen?" 

You hummed in confirmation. 

"Let's go." 

#bangtan smut #bts smut #bangtan sonyeondan #namjoon smut #namjoon one shot #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fic #bangtan fanfic #bangtan fic #Namjoon x reader

[whump-a-la-mode]

Villian-Sicle | Part 3

I didn’t expect to continue this beyond part 2, but I’ve come to love these characters. I hope you guys enjoy! Heed the warnings, this one contains a lot of medical stuff.

CW//Superhero whump, villain whumpee, hypothermia, hospital setting, cardiac arrest, blood, dialysis, talk of death, talk of “pulling the plug”

Taglist:

@whatwhumpcomments

@sola-whumping

@professional-idiocy

The machine was too loud.

Talking over it made Leader feel that they were tearing apart their vocal chords. Then again, the stress of the situation wasn’t exactly aiding in that respect-- they could practically feel their tense muscles tightening around their windpipe.

“They’re going to be okay, then?” Their tone was rushed and pressing.

“I don’t want to guarantee anything.” The Head Doctor bit their lip. “Really, I can’t guarantee anything. By all accounts, the patient should already be dead. Human body temperatures shouldn’t be able to get that low...”

“Humans shouldn’t be able to fly, either.” Medic shook their head, gesturing at Leader, who tucked in their wings, not even realizing that they had unfolded. “But here we are.”

“There’s nothing particularly unusual about their physical anatomy, though?” Head Doctor raised an eyebrow.

“Enhanced people have different anatomy by default. Higher heart rate, for one thing.” Medic provided, glancing towards the heart monitor sitting next to the hospital bed. The spikes were shallow, and abnormally close together, but none the less steady.

“Yes.” Head Doctor dipped their head. “Well, then, that would explain how our patient is still breathing.”

“They should remain that way, then, right?” Leader fretted.

“I have high hopes. We’re doing everything we can. It’s up to them, now. If their body temperature can raise before it’s too late.”

The conversation ended on the same worried note as it had began, and the groups’ gazes seemed to unanimously drift downwards, as if they had simply forgot that they were standing over a body halfway between humanity and corpsehood.

Villain’s skin was horribly pale, translucent, even, as if it were on the verge of melting away. The restraints on their wrists and ankles-- Leader had insisted as to their presence-- seemed far too loose around their captive’s thin structure, but they simply couldn’t be tightened any further.

The only patch of Villain’s body that did not lack color was their chest, in which a catheter of at least an inch in diameter had been inserted. The skin around was red with irritation, resisting feebly against the roaring machine drinking blood from the line, only to return it at the same access point.

The whole spectacle was horribly grisly, with tubes filled with scarlet draped over Villain’s chest in a gruesome web. The machine itself, sat off to the side, seemed to whine and groan with every feeble heartbeat its victim managed to make.

Hemodialysis, the doctor had called the process. Manually warming the blood in an attempt to warm the body. Despite its vampiric appearance, somehow, the process was keeping Villain alive.

A chill ran through Leader’s body at the very thought. Villain was a stubborn asshole, one they’d been pursuing doggedly for months. Somehow, regardless of what trap they placed or what situation they were thrown into, Villain made it out.

Now...

The machine was plugged into the wall with a single cord. Just a wire, just some electrons passing through metal. Something that could so easily be severed. A single tug, a clumsily placed foot. The fight would be over. Would it be so wrong? Villain had done such wrong... and they wouldn’t feel a thing. They’d part in an unconscious pool of their own delusion.

Leader bit their tongue.

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“You okay?”

Hero watched the small flame of force flicker between their fingertips, their eyes nearly crossed with focus. They had hardly realized that somehow had spoken to them, and it took several awkwardly long seconds for them to look up.

“Hm?”

“Are you okay? You looked distracted.” Counselor furrowed their brow.

“I think I’m... always distracted.”

“I know. Just... that was a lot, back there. And you looked stressed.”

“Just worried, I guess.”

“About Villain?”

“There’s not much else to be worried about.”

“I’m worrying about you, right now.”

“I think... Villain is the one that we need to worry about, right now.” Hero chewed their cheek. “You were in there, right?”

“For a minute, yeah.”

“Are they okay?”

“Alive. They were alive. But with Medic there-- well, I don’t think there’s a better authority on Enhanced biology on the seven continents. I think it’ll turn out okay.”

Hero chuckled humorlessly.

“That’s another thing I’m worried about.”

“What? Medic?”

“Yeah. Medic kind of. More Leader. Medic is... I mean, I love ‘em, and they’re the biggest hardass out there, but they’re a doctor more than anything else. Hippocratic oath and all that. But Leader...”

“You’re worried because Leader... isn’t a doctor?”

“No, no, it’s not that. Leader just seems so much more worried about the fight, and the mission, and the good of humanity, than, well, than anything that’s right in front of them. I’m just worried that...”

“That Leader’s going to make a bad choice?”

“Something like that.”

“I agree that they can be... a hardass. But they’re not a bad person. I don’t think they’d execute someone. Not like this. Not after everything.”

Hero’s gaze turned to Counselor. They hadn’t expected their friend to come to the base of their concerns with such speed.

Counselor gave a small smile in return.

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Head Doctor left the room.

They had made their leave hurriedly, ensuring that they would be back in just a few minutes, to press the Code Blue button if anything happened. Leader had nodded along, hardly processing any of it.

They were focused on the person before them.

Over the last few minutes, by some miracle or curse, Villain’s heart rate had begun to stabilize. Though the beats came just as quickly, they were stronger than they had been. Not quite normal, but on their way.

Medic seemed fixed on the monitor, eyes narrowed as though they watched prey. The screen had more than just a heartrate reading. Alongside that, it showed a series of other graphs-- breathing rate, oxygen levels, among some that Leader was clueless as to the meaning of.

They glanced to the door. It was firmly closed. Certainly, the rest of the hospital would be too busy with the recent break-in to intrude.

“Medic?”

The doctor raised an eyebrow, but continued their fixation on the readings.

“Yes?”

“What would you say is the... the percentage we’re working with here.”

“The percentage?”

“Of survival.”

“Well... I suppose I can’t make an exact predication, but it’s climbing every minute. 80 percent? 85? They’re not completely out of the woods, yet, but their temperature is raising steadily. The dialysis is working.

“80 percent.” Leader hummed. “So... 20 percent chance that they don’t make it?”

“That is how math works, yes.”

“That’s not an insignificant percentage.”

“We’re doing everything we can. As I said, it’s rising, and quickly. If we can get their temperature back up into the 90s, I would say that continued survival is almost guaranteed.”

“Is that so?”

“What’s got you acting so weird, all of a sudden?” Medic finally turned from the screen, glancing to Leader.

Leader gulped.

“Do you remember when we were in Denver?”

“At the telecommunications hub? Yeah.”

“And in Vancouver?”

“Yes?”

“And at the bank, in Phoenix?”

“Leader, I assure you, my memory is fine.”

“No, no, I mean, Villain did all those things, right?”

“They had help.”

“But they led the charge?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“They’ve hurt a lot of people. Destroyed a lot of places... brought them to the ground. Leveled a city block, once.”

“Seriously, what is this about?”

Leader’s gaze glanced down to the Villain, pale, restrained, with a tube skewering their flesh, then back at Medic.

“No.”

“What?”

“No. No, no, no. I let you restrain them like some kind of beast, which, for your information, is completely against medical protocol. I’m not letting you kill Villain.”

“And why not?”

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Outside the hospital room, in a pair of plastic chairs, Hero and Counselor sat with far more relaxation between them. They watched passively as Head Doctor left the room, hurrying off to another room.

Hero took a fidget rope from a coat pocket and began twisting it between their hands.

“What do you think they’re going to do with Villain, then?” Counselor’s voice was considerably quieter, as if they were telling a secret. They stared off, down the hallway, instead of meeting Hero’s eyes.

“I just hope they let us have some input in this whole thing.”

“Me too. But... what would you prefer? If you had the choice?”

“I mean...” Hero sighed. “They haven’t been the best person, I think we can all agree on that. They’re dangerous. But I also think that... they’re scared. They’re scared, Counselor, really scared.

If it was up to me, I think we should help them. While in our custody, but, I think they need help. And maybe then, they can help us? I mean, they must know something about Supervillain. It’d be nice to have an informant.

Really, I just want to see them okay again. Even if it does mean that they go back to being an asshole.”

“That’d be nice.”

Hero nodded.

“I think Medic mentioned that, once Villain’s stable, we’re gonna move them back to base. Where we have the special medical equipment, the Enhanced care stuff.”

“Yeah. I think Leader is definently going to want to keep them in custody.”

“If they try to hurt them, though... I’m not gonna let that happen. If we have to keep them prisoner, we can at least be humane about it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“I just hope Leader agrees.”

“Me too.”

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“It’d be a waste.”

The answer was too analytical. Leader had expected to be yelled at, to get an earful about morality and ethics and other crap. Not something so simple, so factual.

“What do you mean?” Leader’s tone wasn’t accusing, at least they didn’t intend for it to be. It was far more dumbfounded in nature.

“Everything in this world runs on technology. Those lights, that door, this machine, everything. Everyone has a phone. Every building has a network, of both electricity and information. Villain can patch into all of that. You said it yourself, they leveled a whole city block. What else can they do?”

“What are you... what are you implying?”

“We keep them, and we use them.”

A garbled voice resounded throughout the room. Leader whirled around, half expecting Supervillain to be right behind them, before turning back.

“Was that y-” They began to ask, but didn’t quite get the chance.

“Code Blue! Code Blue!” Medic snapped. “Don’t be useless, press the damn button!”

It took Leader’s confused mind a moment to note the emergency that Medic was responding to-- that of a horrible, electric screech. The heart monitor was no longer showing a steady pulse.

At the sight, Leader’s own heart rate sped up. They nearly tripped over their own feet as they rushed to the blue button on the wall, jabbing it with their finger multiple times in a frenzied panic. Once they were satisfied that they spiraling terror had been registered properly, they returned to Medic’s side.

The doctor had their hands positioned on Villain’s chest, one over the other, slamming downwards repeatedly. In between, Leader could see a sharp rise in the chest-- they were still breathing. But for how much longer?

Dammit, dammit, don’t think like that, it’s someone’s life!

A resounding crash burst through the room as the door was slammed open. They rushed to the bedside, seemingly ready to continue CPR, before Medic raised an arm, preventing them.

“No, no, they’re okay.” Medic panted breathlessly. Leader raised their eyes to the heart monitor-- sure enough, a slow, steady rhythm was returning.

They’d made it.

“Mmm..”

Leader panted for breath, trying in vain to calm their racing heartrate.

“Mmm... whaaa...”

Leader’s shaking gaze shifted to the source of the noises--only to find their eyes locked with the wide ones of Villain.

#whump #whump prompt #whump community #villain whump #oc whump #villain whumpee #blood tw

[greatbigbellies]

Born Too Large

This was meant to be kinky, but spiraled out of proportion as I wrote, and the belly only comes in at the end. But I wanted a wholesome relationship so…

Ever since birth, she was an outcast, a freak, a giant. At 10 years old, she was already taller and stronger than all the men in the village, including her father, who bitterly blamed her for her mother’s death in childbirth. None of the other kids wanted to play with her; she was an unfair advantage in team games, and even when she proposed that they all take her on, no one was brave enough. So it was that she resigned herself to duty and chores, routinely doing the work of three men, which only made them more jealous and resentful, until one day a royal knight was passing through and beheld the young giantess, and impressed with her size and strength, offered to take her away from this humdrum backwater and put her gifts to use in the king’s army. With no lost love, she left her home behind and joined the knight’s entourage.

She became his squire, and in time she was taught the ways of war. Fully grown, she stood at eye level with a man on horseback. She needed custom made armor, and her sword was too heavy for anyone else to lift, let alone swing. It needed no edge; the sheer weight of it was enough to crush a man’s breastplate. Her strength became a thing of legend; impossible to miss on the battlefield, the mere sight of her set soldiers on the run, which she was fine with–she never much liked killing; it felt too much like bullying. And although her reputation grew, she still heard the hateful words behind her back, the subtle ridicule and quiet envy, of how she stole all the glory. At this point, her heart is hardened and the words don’t hurt her much anymore, but she’s still no happier, in spite of the accolades and glories she’s won in the king’s service. But it’s not all bad. Her closest friend among the knights is eternally grateful, after she saved his life on the battlefield by lifting the horse that had fallen on him, even when the doctors pronounced he would never walk again. And sometimes, she blushes when the maidens compliment her.

This continues until an enemy kingdom, fearful of her strength, sought to remove her from the picture. She’s lured into a trap in a remote corner of the kingdom, and as she passed over a bridge over a ravine, the bridge supports were destroyed, and she fell a great height, bouncing on the rocks and plunging into the river below. She should have died, but her armor protected her, and she drifted downriver, unconscious.

When she next awoke, she found herself in a cramped bed, dressed in bandages, aching all over. It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe. Then a small man (every man was small) appeared in the doorway, and nearly dropped the bowl of soup he was coming to give her. She was awake at last! He explained that he was a fisherman, and that found her washed ashore on the banks; and after getting some help, they carried her to safety, peeled away the armor, and addressed her wounds. It was up in the air whether she’d make it or not; after all, she’d been asleep for a week. She stresses that she must return to the king’s service, but she wasn’t in the shape to go anywhere. The fisherman gently pushes her back down, and for the first time she can remember, she’s not strong enough to resist. She needed to rest and heal, he insisted, or else all their hard work to try and save her would be for naught. A little guilty now, she lays back down, and accepts the spoonful of soup when he puts it against her lips.

Recovery is slow. Aside from her wounds, she needs to go through physical therapy to recover her strength. For so long, she’s been the strongest person in the room, yet now her legs wobble like a newborn colt’s, unable to support her own weight without leaning on the fisherman and his friends, who offer their support unconditionally. It becomes clear to her that they aren’t aware of her reputation; the village is more isolated than most. In her towns and villages, she was recognized (for better and worse). But here, she’s just… a person. A person in need, no less. There’s no judgment, no expectations. In spite of her bruised and broken ribs, she feels she can finally *breathe*.

She starts to adjust to life in the village, helping where she can as part of her rehabilitation, still not at her peak strength. She’s on a more even playing field with the other villagers, yet they value her all the same. In the morning, she often finds gifts at the door, and she treasures these more than any bounty she won in the king’s army. Her previous life seems so distant now, so unimportant. She feels loved; a strange and unfamiliar feeling. And overtime, she realizes her own feelings for the fisherman, who’s been at her side since the beginning. He’s nice and sweet and funny. While she was still on bedrest, he would tell her the most awful jokes, and she would laugh so hard it’d hurt her ribs. She had seen many attractive men in her time as a knight, beautiful and unblemished from a life of privilege or hard-cut and well-muscled from battle. Yet none of them compared to this little man with bushy eyebrows, a wiry beard, and a little gap between his front teeth. Yet his smile outdid the sun, and put a funny warmth in her chest. And eventually, she works up the courage to confess her feelings for him, afraid that he would reject her; she was just so big, and clumsy, and she ate so much, and she wasn’t particularly pretty from first a childhood of farmwork then years of battle. But none of that mattered, because he liked her too. And soon enough, they shared a bed for the night, then every night after. It is awkward at first, as she’s never shared a bed with anyone before or known such intimate touch, but she adjusts to this too.

But the peace does not last. For while she was recovering, the enemy kingdom had invaded, conquering town after town, and now they’ve come her. None of the villagers are warriors. But she is–even though she still aches and is out of practice. The fisherman tries to talk her out of it, they don’t have to fight, *she* doesn’t have to fight anymore, not for some distant king. She tells him, she isn’t doing this for the king, but herself and them. And when it becomes evident that he can’t dissuade her, he gets the boys together, and they work all night to equip her. Dressed in pots, pans, and similarly improvised armor, armed with a lumber axe, she meets the enemy forces at the village outskirts, and after a beat they recognize her: the she-giant wasn’t dead! Uncertainty spreads through the ranks. They had all heard the stories–of how she cleaved a man in two with but a single blow with her monstrous blade, or the time she lifted a castle portcullis with her bare hands, or when she held a bridge by herself against 50 men. They thought she was dead! But the captain bristles. He did not believe in ghosts, and if this wretched country could produce one freak, why not another–this could not be the same woman. So he challenged her to single combat, sure that she was just another country bumplin; his superior skill would prevail against her brute strength. She, in return, extracts a promise from him; that he and his men would leave the village alone if she bested him. The battle is quick and humiliating, but opposite of how the captain expected things to go. Though out of practice and still not at her physical peak (which she might never reach again), she trounces him. Again and again she insists that he stays down, but his pride won’t allow it, until she delivers a blow that turns out to be fatal. The enemy force is aghast; their fears were true. The second in command, now newly promoted, honors the bargain and hurriedly withdraws their forces. That night, she breaks down and sobs in the fisherman’s arms; she didn’t miss killing.

Later, the king manages to turn back the invading army, and following the rumors finds her again. He demands why she hadn’t returned to his service; her disappearance is what emboldened the enemy to finally invade. But he’s willing to forgive her transgression, in light of her outstanding service, provided she returned–but before he can finish, she pulls him from his horse like she’s scolding a child. She’s done with killing, she tells him, she’s done with people using her. She wants to be left in peace, and invokes her outstanding service to lay claim to the land that the village stands on. No taxes, no demanding kids march off to fight strangers’ battles. In exchange, on her promise as a knight, she would never raise a blade again, for him or against him. And soberly aware that she could crush his head between her hands like an overripe melon, he comes to the decision that her demands are totally reasonable, this village wasn’t *that* important anyway, and he actually fulfills his end of the bargain. The king leaves the village in peace and that’s the last of him that she ever sees.

Things settle down again, and there’s no more attacks, no more tax collectors, no more recruiters. For her, it’s a return to form, a distantly familiar life, except this time she is loved. She is accepted. And eventually, she and the fisherman, now her husband, decide to have kids. It’s scary for her. What if they end up like her? What if they’re too small? What if she accidentally hurts them? Forgetting that she’s handled babies before, and helped others through childbirth. But her husband assures her, it’ll be fine. They’ll be fine. She’s the kindest, strongest, gentlest soul he knows; and he’ll be there every step of the way. And a few months later, when the two of them decide to leave the village to go visit her old friend from the knights, her belly is the size of another woman’s at 3 weeks overdue, but for her it’s only the first trimester. Her old friend, seeing her next to her tiny husband, jokingly asks if he needed a ladder to do the deed, but it’s in good fun and they all laugh. She is happy, and eagerly awaits the birth of her children, however many there are, however big or small they turn out to be.

#submission #97thsilentium #I WANNA BE CLEAR THIS GLORIOUS PIECE WASN'T WRITTEN BY ME #this was a submission and a damn good one #like there's not a lot of belly but that's okay i like this sweet giantess girl

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Four | Nyeh Heh Heh! (Part 1 of 2)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

With Sans being the first monster you’ve met, you figure it’s only natural to cross Papyrus off your list next. As strange as the first experience was and regardless of the slightly sour note you both ended on, you were becoming a bit more used to the sight of real-life monsters the more you bumped into them on your day-by-day. A week's passed, and you're still attempting to get Frisk to open up. And as impatient as you felt for wanting to know everything there was about monsters and the Underground already despite it being only seven days since the monsters arrived, you feel it’s more than necessary for you to know everything you humanly could for the happiness and well-being of your child; settling for any less wasn’t an option, as so wasn’t allowing yourself some slack from those responsibilities.

Having more trustworthy information at hand, your meeting with Papyrus arrives quicker than the one with his older brother, barely needing to take the same safety precautions as you did with Sans. You meet up at a different spot, one far, far away from where the previous shopping center was in hopes of lessening the chances of seeing your ex-husband again. Nearly bumping into him once and having him text you again after so long was more than enough, if not too much entirely.

He sits with you at a different food court, one belonging to a smaller mall, located farther away from the big city. There's plenty less hustle and bustle compared to the former, and it's easier to find a quiet spot for you to talk with him. There's a lot more time to spare, too, the sheer product of not having to text Papyrus before meeting him and not needing to have your aunt drive you there for extra preparedness and additional safety precautions. With the knowledge of that extra time in mind, you're both able to grab a quick bite to eat first, just like you'd done with Sans, with the exception of the tension caused by seeing your ex and having him reveal information about the monster beforehand.

Long story short, there's no reason for you to feel nervous, so when you start to grow queasy and sense stress already creeping on your shoulders, you brush it all off and tell yourself you're doing better than last time.

You're meeting up with Sans's brother, a man a few years younger and much taller than you. His gaze is far more cheery and inviting compared to Sans's, and while he seems far easier to talk to when compared to him, you still can't help the stress continuing to pile up on you. There's no reason for you to feel like this, yet you can't bring yourself to do the opposite.

“Are you alright?” Papyrus asks, concern tracing his words. He almost seems to read your mind, though you don't acknowledge his attentiveness; rather, you look up, smile at him, and attempt to focus more on the present in hopes of lessening his worries on you. “You’ve been spacing out for a while now.”

You force all other thoughts away and concentrate some more, already feeling as if you’re being far too rude with a stranger, regardless if he was being nice and patient about it or not. “I’m alright, thank you,” you reply, followed with a nod and a smile. “There’s... just a lot of questions I want to ask, and… And I just can’t seem to decide on my first one.”

He almost beams at your honesty and scoots his chair closer to the table, déjà vu striking as you remember your last words and actions shared with his elder brother. “What if I asked you one first? You can loosen up that way!”

“Sounds good.” Your smile manages to show some more and you find it hard not to be influenced by his friendly demeanor. If he'd acted this way with Frisk at the Underground, you were curious to know what they both thought of each other.  "Ask away." You face him as you say that, more than eager to get somewhere already. 

He nods and takes some time of his own to consider what question to ask of you. His deep analysis over such a simple thing shows in how long he contemplates what he wants to say and in the distant expression on his face, showing his mind's somewhere else. "What are your hobbies?"

Such a mundane question catches you off guard. Already braced for something deep and personal, you release your tension through a quiet breath and think that question over a few times. "Well, I…" 

You trail off when you realize you've pretty much lost sight of yourself since those two months of Frisk going missing. You were quite frankly friendless, and you'd no other hobbies left besides that of watching the late night news every other week day. Memories of your life before that time are difficult to retrieve, so you say the first thing on your mind. "Cooking, maybe? ...And reading, I guess." You give a shy smile and rub the back of your neck, an absent-minded action fueled by having nothing else to say for such a simple and easy question as that one. "To be honest, well… Cooking is something I do mainly for Frisk's sake, but I guess I do enjoy it when it's for that reason -- Not so much when it's for myself." Your newest schedule makes way into your thoughts, reminding you of how busy life would soon be, having to meet up with every monster Frisk knew and having to research on who they were and how they treated your child, all in order to determine how you could allow these to be a part of their life and how you could then welcome them into your home. "I'm due for a change, but I do want to find a new hobby soon -- or take back an old one, at least." 

You stop at the feeling of talking too much for far too long. Already worried over the matter, you shift and look up at the skeleton, only to see he's still carrying the same, friendly expression from before. "But what about you? Your brother told me you liked cooking, too."

Proud of your topic change, you smile and wait for him, who replies with, "I do!" He then nods and meets with your eyes; his gaze takes a more serious look to it. "But that's not what we're here for today, are we?" His tone is just as serious, though there's still his trademark optimism present in each word he says. "I understand you must be worried over Frisk's well-being. And though... Sans kept what happened this past week private, I understand you both had a conversation about that already, am I correct?" His smile returns and his recent concern shows through a subtle furrow in his visage. "I don't usually like to bring this up, but…" He sighs. "As his younger brother, I notice how much he cares for me and how much he tries to encourage me. There are... times when I notice my cooking does not exactly sit well in his taste buds... nor his digestive system, for that matter, yet he still tries to make me feel good about what I do and who I'm becoming."

He stops to let out a sigh, and a few tears manage to leak from his eye sockets. 

"Frisk, Undyne, and lots of other people act the same way with me, but it feels different with Sans -- his worry is without a doubt that of family, rather than those of friends like Undyne and Frisk. So here comes my point…" He sniffles and folds his hands over the table, these trembling despite his attempts at masking it through his usual cheer. A few tears plop on the surface, though he manages to push through with, "I believe the bond between you and Frisk is similar, if not stronger, and that's why you're here. You… You're worried we're not who we seem, and that whatever harm we caused to your child we can cause here again." He takes a pause, using it to breathe in and later out. "I... I assume that's what you called me here for, correct? You're concerned over Frisk's safety, now that they've made new friends, and you're even more worried over just who those new friends of them are."

You can't do anything else besides stare at him for a good while, mind becoming lost due to how much he's said in so short of a time. In the midst of it all, you take out a tissue from your belongings, offer it over to the monster, and smile back at him when he directs the same expression at you. "Thank you," he says, wiping the few remaining tears away. "I'll more than happily answer any questions you may have for me, but even then there will still be some things I won't be able to answer." He crumples the tissue up into a ball and sets it down on his plate, only a few crumbs from his meal remaining on it. "As much as I'd like to say I changed after Frisk showed me Mercy and taught me over how we could be friends, I still pulled them into battle -- I still hurt them, initially. It was my job to capture humans, and... Well…" His gaze averts from yours, similar to that of someone being caught in a bad deed. "My brother's job was, to quote: 'take care of them'."

You face away when he looks back to you, almost reversing your roles. The reminder of how grim the relationship between humans and monsters used to be and how it still was makes whatever food you ate make a comeback in your stomach, already churning. Bile forms at your throat, and you swallow hard, stress bringing forth waves of dizziness and nausea.

"If I did succeed in capturing a human, I would move up ranks under the Royal Guard," he continues, looking more worried the longer your symptoms stay present. "...And I'm ashamed to admit I held that status much more highly than I did over caring about humans, their innocence, and how they were still people like us, at one point. I was… I was much more naive back then. And I allowed for that naivety to hurt what was then a potential friend -- a friend who still ate the food I made despite it not tasting good, and a friend who... who forgave me in battle despite me hurting them."

You take your drink and finish what's left of it. Stress levels up to anxiety, and you can feel your heart beat too fast for it not to hurt. Regardless of nausea and in spite of how little you've talked, you still feel as if you need some sort of refresher with how dry your throat's become. "I-"

"That is why as much as I can talk about what good friends we became, how I treated them before that and how they felt and feel is all up to them. They should be the one to determine if I'm worthy of still staying by their side, and…"

Tears trickle down his face, a sight that compels you to drag your seat closer to the table, similar to how he'd done for you earlier ago. You pull out another tissue and hand it over, though he doesn't use it this time and instead hangs his head low, gaze casting a guilty look at the table below him. "Papyrus," you breathe those words out through a sigh, a saddened smile taking over. "I… I already know about that. But it's not the reason why I'm here." You place your hand over both of his, these still folded over the table, as if to bare himself to you. "Frisk already sees you as their friend -- there's no doubt about that. But…" Your gaze faces with his again, allowing you to carry on with, "I need to know what actions you took back there, so I can understand what was your relationship with them, and so I can judge the situation better." You let his hands go and rectify your posture, in search of confidence for the road still left to trek ahead. "Right now, I… I barely know much about how life was like down there, and how you received my child upon their fall."

The sounds of people walking and talking, of cutlery clicking, and of food cooking take up most of your senses, as so does having people around capable of overhearing the conversation. Both stimuli leave you a little more than overwhelmed and you have to take short breaths in and out to let yourself sink back into reality again. You're more than willing to flee from the conversation and head home by now, but you can't allow yourself any more weakness.

"Should we talk this through another day?" he intervenes, offering a bottled water out to you, appearing recently bought based on the receipt he stores away in his wallet and the way he goes back to his seat. "You seem faint." 

"It's fine," you say, taking the water. The cold nearly shocks you with how warm the rest of your body feels, and a few gulps are enough to bring some semblance of calm back into you. You then excuse yourself to retrieve an eyeglasses case from your satchel and set the rest of your belongings aside, from everyday items to the documents you were required to bring in to work today.

You used to wear glasses from how much you were required to read on your day-by-day, from endless field reports with fonts too tiny for you not to squint at them, to the tutoring and follow-ups you gave to Frisk for each lesson they took in school. "Excuse me for a moment." You settled for contacts not long before the days when Frisk went missing, and you stopped using them not long after with how much you teared up (and cried) on a daily basis. Now, you needed to go back to either one of those, but as luck turned out to be, eye contacts still wouldn't be one of them, presently.

You stand up and walk off to the nearest bathroom available for you, rushing inside to go wash your hands and remove your contacts. You then store them away and slip on the glasses, blinking a few times after to get used to the change. When you're done, it takes only one step for you to notice what Papyrus meant when he said you looked faint. All other surroundings besides that of the closest objects around you turn blurry and you're forced to stop and hold on to the nearest support available. You stay there for a while, grabbing onto the edge of the sink until you finally feel some sense of stability return to you. All the cumulative effects of little sleep, poor nutrition, and constant stress place your body on involuntary sleep mode, minus your consciousness.

It was only a week, but it felt too long.

You needed answers stat, not time to recover nor time to consider your own feelings on allowing monsters to continue being friends with Frisk. All the actions you were taking were for their sake only -- not for you, and certainly not for Jerry. Seeing your child healthy and happy were the two main goals you wanted to focus on; and maybe later on, you could live your own life without feeling that much guilt, sorrow, or remorse over your choices.

Deciding you can't go on like this, you pull out what little strength you have left in your system and exit the bathroom.

"(L/N)!"

Papyrus's voice sounds almost immediate as you leave the bathroom; the worry on his face appears much more noticeable compared to before. He approaches your side and offers you support by placing your hand over his shoulder, stabilizing your steps. "Sans told me you looked strange... But I did not think it was this grave!"

Oh, God.

You wore a bit of concealer to mask your weary state, yet he still noticed?

An involuntary chuckle interrupts those thoughts, and you have to dismiss Papyrus's concern when he asks what's wrong. "It's nothing," you say, thanking him when he hands over your belongings back to you. He still keeps himself near, however, and even asks if you need help carrying what he's just given you. "It's just… Do I look that strange to you?" You burst out another laugh when delving deeper into that thought. "And should I go see a doctor about it, seeing as two whole strangers who aren't even the same as me know I don't look the same as my pictures right now?" 

Despite the confused expression on his face, the monster smiles back, and he walks along with you out of the food court, ignoring the rest of your surroundings as you focus only on each other. "Even if we are different physically, it would still take a completely uninterested person to not notice how different you seem from the pictures both the media and Frisk have shown me of you." His smile turns warmer, as so does the look on his eye sockets. "Sans did not say anything, as he values privacy and did not see you in the state I have just now. But he did tell me he was worried you would collapse for a moment the day he told you about his past, and that he was surprised that you were still patient enough to listen to him regardless of all that!"

He stops for a second and pulls you along with him to a nearby wall, allowing others to keep on walking while he retrieves something from his pocket.

"And that reminds me," he says, offering you a letter envelope, thick and with a bunny sticker keeping it closed. "He told me your phone screen broke during your outing with him, so here you are!"

Not wanting to leave the skeleton's arm extended, you take the envelope and stare up at him with teary eyes, against letting them blink too much until they dry. 

How were you supposed to act firm, if stuff like this made you weak?

How could you judge your enemy without any bias, if acts like these were still present?

And if you did so with the monsters, were you then being hypocritical by not allowing Jerry to see Frisk after his own set of mistakes were made?

And what about you?

You were meant to keep Frisk well under your care, yet they still felt unhappy enough at one point to consider and even go as far as to away from everyone, including you.

What did that make you in their eyes?

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

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

Now that I've planned out the update schedule, here's how it'll go:

1 update a week (weekly) - Saturdays

2 updates a week/2 part long chapters - Mondays and Wednesdays!!

3 updates a week/3 part long chapters - Mondays, Wednesdays, AND Saturdays!!!

Keep in mind Fairytale Complex is a rewrite of TraInt (more on that later for new readers), so I already have 2 story arcs completely written out (...more on that later, as well)!

With that being said, take care and stay safe out there, everyone. :-)

#sans x reader #undertale x reader #lgbt #lgbt themes #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #mother reader #father reader #parent reader #chubby reader #long fic #romcom #adventure #mystery #platonic relationships #slow burn

[dappersheep]

Food Fantasy: An Analysis on what killed a Golden Goose (2/3)

Welcome back. Before we get started, disclaimers again! I do not own the game or its characters, nor do I claim to know the history and future of the game. What I am entitled to are the thoughts and opinions written within this post. You may or may not agree with the points spoken of here. This post also remains untagged from the main foofan tag. Only my followers will see this.

We are now on the second part, so let's go forward under the cut!

Elex

And here we have our beloved global publisher that most of seem to have Stockholm Syndrome for. Don't lie, at least half of us are still playing this damned game due to sunken cost fallacy, sunken time fallacy and the cute/hot jpegs.

In 2018, everything started out fine. Sure, maybe we had some translation mishaps here and there -coughwe'llgettothatwreckagelatercough- but overall, Elex was running the game fairly well. Rewards were on time, we had active social media and support, and a discord was set up!

Hint: Please note I use quite a bit of sarcasm in most everything I say.

And then somewhere along that road, things got derailed. And I mean it like, we're in the midst of a trainwreck in slow motion and we've only cleared the initial collision and still hurtling forward or backward into a steel wreckage ticking inferno.

Problems started cropping up as early as late 2018, just a few months after the game was launched in July.

⦁ Art contest mishaps. You know when you hold an art contest on Facebook out of all places with its shitty tagging system, you're bound to have entries lost to the void, people forced to register an FB account just to participate (seriously, who even has an FB account that isn't just there to appease family members?) and having to wrestle with figuring out how FB's tagging system works. Add to that the panel of judges happen to be Elex staff who don't have a good eye for good artwork (we actually had a kiddy figure drawing win over a well drawn one during the last contest!) and that they ALSO weren't very good at organizing such contests on FB... well, we had several grievances over that.

⦁ Region blocked FB announcements. Strangely enough, I stopped getting announcements around Father's Day of 2019 while everyone else outside of SEA kept getting updates. Turns out that someone on Elex's staff really didn't like SEA players or was just really bad at fixing the settings for the group and never bothered to revert it back. It didn't matter in the long run though, because...

⦁ Abandoned social media platforms. FooFan Twitter, FooFan Facebook... they all floated slowly into the void and was never heard from again. And this was before the 2020 pandemic.

⦁ Remember what I said about Discord? Yeah, apparently, they opened one up a little too early and the staff in charge of it knew zero about how to setup and mod a discord community, and didn't even have the manpower needed to mod the influx of members that came in! Suffice to say, they had to get help from top players and mods from the FB groups to come in and sort things out because someone kept pinging @ everyone every few seconds other than the usual chaos that comes from a server with no filters and people trying to turn the discord into Global Chat 2.0, minus Russian hours.

⦁ Also in line with the point about abandoned social media platforms, they've also mostly abandoned the discord too and only pop in once in a while to check the bug reports or lost accounts. You have a slightly better chance of response with the in-game support. Only slightly. And there's a running joke with several variations on the main discord that the Owner account of the discord server was manned by an intern-kun who never bothered to pass it on to the next unfortunate soul left to maintain this game.

⦁ Favoritism. Funtoy is also guilty of this but they don't publish the game for Global. If you're a top spender the likes of maxing out your cash rebates within the three months or so and you kept spending even beyond that, Elex could possibly invite you to a funky little club where your voice is more important than say... 99% of the playerbase. On top of that, if you keep spending, you could technically also ask for stuff like getting this frame over that frame, or well.... delay certain features from coming to Global for over a year. Now you can simp AND be heard! (Note: In 2021, it's possible that that club may be dead too, as all things shall be)

⦁ SJW Friendly. I don't know if Funtoy themselves have anything to also do with this particular decision... but it's saying something that after a certain little tiddy tantrum from the community side, Elex decided not to announce anything about a certain event's fate and when asked by it by other parties (not me) they either lie through their teeth, or beat around the bush with a non-answer.

⦁ Partial translations, mistranslations. Now, I understand that a lot of Chinese grammar and semantics are confusing to translate properly into several other languages, but you'd think Elex would have given their translators more context to the character or the mechanic to avoid such mistranslations that later set off gender debates or worded the skill/artifact description a little clearer. That is... unless Elex really is hands-off trying to get to know this IP from the start and only gave it the most bare minimum of English where they can cut costs for it, so people can understand it 'well enough' to throw money at an obviously not beta-read quality game.

⦁ No translations. Yes we do have certain parts of the game that are in Chinese since forever since xx patch. Some characters' voiceline texts are still in chinese, especially during the Pledge scenes. More recent artifacts are also in chinese with no announced translation in sight. And don't get me started on the Food Soul bios, or lack thereof.

⦁ Delayed events. Prime example? We had weeks of minor events/no events and still Elex managed to eff everything up for our second Anniversary in July 2020. We ended up getting the Croissant event in late August with barely any apologies and compensation for the delay... and this likely would have never arrived as 'early' as it did if people hadn't been railing about where our Anniversary event was. As it stands, we are several minor events behind CN, at least a year and a half's worth behind. I know Global had requested heavily for more spaced out events (to save resources, not that it actually worked with all the nerfed rewards we get) compared to CN but this is extremely ridiculous.

⦁ Delayed permanent features. Hm... Guild Wars, Sky Tower, Bar, that Wuchang Fish Showdown... several Quality of Life updates.... that new permanent pool update... Food Souls still missing their JP voice packs... Food Soul Bios... *slowly ticking off more than I have fingers and toes*

⦁ Customer Support is whack. You'd be lucky if you got someone who understood your problem/inquiry right off the bat AND did something about it efficiently. You'd be luckier if they answered you honestly if you were inquiring about event updates or other buggy features or reporting hackers.

⦁ The Great Turkey and Apple Incident of 2020. Well, if you were around for that little SNAFU during the Turkey re-run event, you'd know a percentage of people suddenly got logged out of their accounts and had a baller of a time trying to get their accounts back. You were especially unfortunate if you were playing on an iOS account because even if you did bind it (like a responsible player should be doing), you probably still wouldn't get it back in time to rank properly during Turkey. Some Android players also experienced this, but it wasn't as bad as what the iOS players experienced. And then there was the compensation mishap for that too.

⦁ Hacker-chan and not-so-uwu Hacker-teme. Hacker-chan is a meme. Hacker-chan was a harmless player who regularly topped in Top Showdown every week for a time to send a message to Elex just how easy it is to hack the game in certain rankings and invited Elex to ban them every time, just to test how competent Elex is. In the end, Elex has proven to be incompetent and also glaringly stupid about how their published game works. Hacker-teme is a collective of individuals over time who have cheated the game during important ranking events or in somewhat important permanent battles. If you tried to report a Hacker-teme with evidence to prove it -and trust me, people repeatedly have-, Elex would tell you that they're not cheating and/or lie through their teeth that they're 'investigating the case' and then not do anything about it and let them keep their event ranking and thus get the rewards while someone who actually worked hard/whaled hard to get the spot gets denied. In one case, they believe that if an account has rebate points and the player level is at least around level 80, then the hacker-teme is obviously playing the game fairly. Never mind that their units happened to have low to no artifact nodes opened, and not high in ascension.

And that is the end of the Elex saga. I'm aware there's likely more things about Elex that I've missed, but feel free to add on to this analysis post with your own thoughts.

The last part of this trilogy is probably what many of us are waiting for, for obvious reasons.

#ravings of a madman #food fantasy but not tagged right

[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

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Jaskier is good at nothing if not wanting people who will get him into trouble, so falling for Geralt was somewhat inevitable. But Eskel? That one he didn't see coming.

They've been at Kaer Morhen for a couple of weeks now and Jaskier has been drawn to Eskel from the start. He can't say why exactly, though he’'s come to notice how similar Eskel is to Geralt in a lot of ways. He's more open though; more willing to praise Jaskier for his voice and for his songs, and more likely to sit and chat and share details of his past adventures. Geralt never seems to mind, but he never seems to be present when Jaskier sits with Eskel in the evenings.

And that, Jaskier puts down to the weird sort of tension between the two Witchers. He watches them closely when they're together and he suspects one or both of them has realized, but neither says anything about it and neither has asked him to stop. Geralt keeps his emotions close to his chest, but when he's with Eskel, he seems freer. He smiles more, for a start, and there's something different about the pair of them. Something that Jaskier can't quite figure out, but it begs to be pushed over the edge and Jaskier wants to be the one to tip it.

The thought of having Geralt to himself is, he's starting to realize, a daydream destined to drive him to madness, but if Geralt can be happy with someone else who would Jaskier be to stand in the way? And if he lets his mind wander at night to the prospect of being pressed between two Witchers, that's his own business. And it's a damn good thing Witchers can't read minds.

So what Jaskier was hoping might be an interesting winter has turned into watching from afar and hoping Geralt isn't as actually emotionally stunted as he's proven to be with him. And some days it's too much. He wants too much, loves too hard, and seeing the pair of them together is more than he can deal with. Those nights, he tucks himself away in his room with a crackling fire and tries to think of anything but Geralt or Eskel.

And it would be alright if it was just Geralt because he's used to being pushed aside by Geralt, but Eskel has been nothing but kind to him. And he was hoping to be able to give him something back for once. If he's honest with himself, he's been thinking almost as much about Eskel since they arrived as he has about Geralt which is unexpected and, under the circumstances, more bitter than anything. Because he'd rather see Geralt happy than pursue his own desires - especially with someone like Eskel.

Then the weather takes a turn for the worse. They've all been expecting it, but Jaskier didn't realize how much time he'd spent outside until it wasn't an option anymore. And staying indoors means other ways of keeping themselves occupied and while Jaskier can think of many, many ways to pass the time, most of which involve having a willing partner and currently, he does not.

But being trapped inside means being in much closer quarters and spending a lot more time with Geralt and Eskel. He tells himself it's to figure out what they need to cross that imaginary line in the sand, but he genuinely likes being around them. And when Geralt is with both of them, his openness extends to Jaskier. So maybe he sticks a little closer to them than he feels he should, but given the option between being alone and finally having a proper connection with Geralt, there’s no contest.

There's a storm one night and they're sitting in the hall in front of the fire. Jaskier was playing for them, but his fingers have since gone numb with cold and drink and he's sitting quietly now, rubbing his hands together to heat them up. Geralt is recounting the story of a fleder they ran into in Aedirn when he stops suddenly. They've all been drinking, so Jaskier isn't surprised when Geralt's eyes linger on him before dropping to his hands.

"You're cold," he says simply and Jaskier barely has a chance to shrug before he's been hauled unexpectedly into Geralt's lap. Nose-to-nose, Jaskier can't seem to catch his breath and for once, Geralt seems to be the one who's perfectly comfortable with the situation.

And it's not as though this is something new for them, per se, but Geralt is never the one to initiate so much touching and certainly not while anyone else is around. Especially not someone else he's interested in. Jaskier can even remember one particular night in which he was shoved unceremoniously onto the floor because Yen was there. But even now, with his arms looped around Jaskier's waist, Geralt keeps talking quietly with Eskel. And Jaskier’s heart beats so loudly he’s sure it must be deafening for them.

Geralt and Eskel speak in hushed tones, soft and private, and all the while Geralt's fingers play with Jaskier's shirt, fiddling with the fabric until it's lifted enough for him to reach his skin. Jaskier nearly pulls away when he feels Geralt's fingers on his bare skin, but when he looks down at him, Geralt smiles back softly. And when he looks at Eskel, he looks nothing but comfortable, maybe even interested, watching them both as he lounges on his side.

When Geralt finally turns in for the night, Jaskier is almost expecting him to ask him to join him. Geralt walks with him to his room, and Eskel joins them, though he departs first, turning into his own room with a quick goodnight. At the bottom of the stairs, Geralt hesitates for a moment, then wishes Jaskier goodnight and leaves him to ascend alone. Despite the warmth of the fire and the wine, and the pleasant feeling in his chest, Jaskier struggles to sleep that night. And things only get more complicated.

If he thought the night by the fire was a one-time thing, he was dead wrong. After that, Geralt is much more affectionate and usually, wherever he is Jaskier is too. And Eskel always manages to find them, even if they've wandered out in the snow or down to the training yard - not that Jaskier minds at all. It never feels like an intrusion when Eskel finds them, and he can't quite put his finger on what it feels like, but it feels good so for the time being, he's happy with that.

But constantly being with Geralt and Eskel means dealing with the tension between them and some nights, when they're the last three down in the hall it's unbearable. More than once Jaskier has considered telling them to just fuck it out and get it over with; he even left them alone one night in the hopes that they would, but nothing ever came of it. And being with them every night does nothing to help him, either because, since that first night, Geralt has dropped a lot of his walls and touching is now a thing he's apparently, very much okay with. At least when it comes to Jaskier. Which Jaskier is struggling to deal with.

And Eskel is no better, constantly brushing his hands down Jaskier's arms or pressing a hand to his back when they're standing together. Jaskier always keeps an eye on Geralt, to see how he responds to it because Jaskier doesn't want to get in the middle of whatever they’ve got going on, but Geralt only ever seems pleased to see them together. Sometimes it almost feels like he's watching them, and even the most innocent touches make Jaskier's skin prickle knowing how closely Geralt is paying attention to them. And he's not the only one who notices.

Vesemir was the first, having interrupted one of their fireside conversations, but he doesn't seem to mind what anyone does in the keep so long as there's peace amongst them. And Coën keeps to himself most of the time, so if he cares - or realizes at all - he doesn't say anything about it. Lambert has been mostly okay with the whole thing, other than an errant scoff or eye roll here and there, but it's not until one night when everyone is together in the main hall that he starts to show his irritation.

They've been inside for over a month now and with no one else around, everyone is starting to get a little tetchy. Jaskier, especially, is missing the company of anyone other than a bunch of Witchers. And maybe it wouldn't even be so bad if Geralt and Eskel could figure their shit out because he's fairly certain they wouldn't be opposed to having an audience. And while he'd rather be included in any sort of encounter, watching those two would keep him plenty occupied for the rest of the winter. But they're stubborn or oblivious or something and Jaskier hasn't quite figured out how to make them realize it yet. And so he's irritable too, but Lambert takes it to another level and it's not even their fault, not really.

They're playing Gwent, or Geralt and Coën are; Jaskier is perched in Eskel's lap, watching from a few seats away and Lambert is on Geralt's other side. And Jaskier isn't even doing anything. He's had a drink or two, but he's not drunk by any means, but he can't keep his eyes off Geralt tonight for some reason. Maybe it’s the way he's got his hair down or maybe it's the solitude way up here in the mountains, but Jaskier can't think of anything but running his fingers through it. Maybe he'd give a little tug to see what kind of reaction he'd get from him. He thinks Geralt might like it.

He leans into Eskel's chest and dips his chin to whisper in his ear, noting the way Eskel's arm cinches a little tighter around his waist. He just wants to share his theory with Eskel, maybe give him a nudge in the right direction, but just as he moves, there's the scraping sound of chair legs against stone and Lambert rises to his feet.

"For fucks sakes," he bellows, "you have three rooms between you, pick one!"

He's gone before Jaskier can even think to reply. Coën and Geralt share a brief look before returning to their game, and Eskel just shrugs when Jaskier looks down at him.

Jaskier doesn't think much of it in the days that follow - Lambert is irritable at the best of times - and he just carries on as usual. Although even he will admit to being less and less subtle when it comes to Geralt and Eskel. Most of the time, he's trying to get one or the other to see what they're missing, but more and more often his efforts go unnoticed, their attention focused on him. And maybe he likes it. And maybe he doesn’t try quite as hard anymore to get them to stop. But it’s hardly his fault when it’s been months since he’s had any company and Geralt and Eskel won’t stop touching him.

But nothing ever really happens. Eskel allows himself a little more physicality, more often being the one to haul Jaskier into his lap, where Geralt is welcoming but still usually waits for Jaskier to make the first move. Neither does more than look at him and talk in hushed voices or, occasionally, let their hands slip to his thighs. And it's doing nothing to help the simmering lust under his skin.

It takes a few days before he reaches the point of too much and decides he needs to do something about it. Either he needs to get Geralt and Eskel together or he's going to break and fuck one of them himself and that's not going to make anyone happy in the long run. He doesn't like the idea of losing Geralt to anyone else, but Eskel is a much better choice than Yennefer ever was and so he resigns himself to it and goes off to find them.

Jaskier searches all over, even going as far as looking for them out on the balconies, but if Geralt and Eskel are still in the keep, they don't want to be found. He thinks briefly that maybe they figured things out on their own, though judging by the argument with Lambert that he overheard this morning, not likely. And speaking of Lambert-

"Hey!" he calls out, hurrying down the hall before Lambert can escape into one of the rooms. Sighing, Lambert stops and turns to him.

"Can I help?"

"I'm looking for Geralt and Eskel."

Lambert very pointedly rolls his eyes. "Of course you are."

"Just point me in the right direction, I'll keep them out of your way."

Lambert pauses, considers for a moment and turns around, waving for Jaskier to follow him. He does, traipsing after Lambert through the halls until they come to a large wooden door at the end of a hallway. Jaskier is suspicious, but he and Lambert want the same thing here, technically, so he's pretty sure he can trust him. If not, Geralt will certainly avenge him later.

He enters the room to find what appears to be a library, of sorts. Or maybe they use it for making potions, considering the tables lining the room. There's a large fireplace at one end and next to it, Eskel is seated in an armchair, slouched slightly and looking across the room to where Geralt is standing. Idiots, Jaskier thinks, but he doesn't have a chance to say as much before the door behind him shuts and a key turns in the lock.

Both Geralt and Eskel perk up at that and Jaskier turns and pushes against the door to no avail.

"Figure your shit out or you'll be spending the rest of the winter in there," Lambert says and Jaskier doesn't need enhanced hearing to hear his footsteps fading away down the hallway. So much for his plan and so much for being avenged.

Eskel just huffs from across the room and Geralt returns to where he was leaning against a shelf. Presumably, this isn't the first time this has happened to them, and maybe for Witchers, being trapped in a room for weeks isn't a big deal. But for Jaskier, it's a hell of a long time to spend in one place, especially without any privacy.

It takes an hour for Jaskier's frustrations and restlessness to get the better of him. And it's not entirely his fault. Eskel is sitting there in the only chair in the whole place with his legs spread wide like an invitation and Jaskier is sorely tempted to take him up on the offer. And then it hits him; this is the perfect time to put his plan into motion, although plan might be a bit of a stretch.

He pushes himself off the wall he's leaning on, giving himself a moment to stretch before sauntering over to Eskel. If this works, everyone gets what they want, and by the way Eskel's eyes lift to follow him, he doesn't expect his advances to be turned down.

"You've taken the only seat," Jaskier says, lifting his hands to his hips, "and as a Witcher with heightened stamina, I don't think that's fair."

Eskel smirks, huffing a laugh as he spreads his arms and Jaskier takes the invitation for what it is. He presses between Eskel's thighs, slipping onto his lap and wrapping both arms around his neck. He spares a quick glance at Geralt, and there's nothing but calm resignation in his eyes so Jaskier settles himself against Eskel's chest.

Geralt has never come across as a particularly jealous person, so it doesn't exactly come as a surprise when he doesn't respond. But Jaskier is determined and there's a restless energy that thrums beneath his skin. Or maybe Geralt just doesn't care if he fucks Eskel because so far he's made no attempt to separate them. Eskel's hand slips up his side pressing under his doublet and rubbing his shirt against his skin. Jaskier hums and presses into the touch... and nothing happens.

He sits and fidgets and Eskel does absolutely nothing else, but his hands are still warm and heavy against Jaskier's side and the small bit of intimacy is affecting him more than it should. He sighs dramatically, pulling out of the touch and sliding off Eskel's lap to the floor.

"I'm bored," he complains, running his palms up Eskel's thighs. His eyes flick up to meet Eskel's just briefly before Eskel looks up above his head. Jaskier knows he's looking at Geralt, and when he gives no indication of hesitancy, Jaskier's heart thuds. Well, if he's really doing this, he's going to do it properly.

He slides his hands up to Eskel's hips, letting his fingers play over the ties of his trousers and Eskel shifts under him, pushing his hips forward. A wave of heat rolls up his back and Jaskier nearly fumbles with his laces as footsteps approach from behind. He doesn't dare turn around because he wasn't anticipating Geralt wanting to have any part in this and he can't quite reconcile that in his mind. He doesn't get performance anxiety, but something about having Geralt right there makes his breath catch.

Jaskier focuses on the task at hand, unlacing Eskel's trousers and rubbing his palm over the growing bulge beneath them. Eskel groans softly above him and Jaskier presses a little harder, revelling in the way Eskel's cock jumps under his hand. He wraps his fingers around him, stroking him through the fabric and as Eskel's cock swells, the head peeks out above his waistband enticingly. Jaskier stares at it peeking just far enough that he could guess the size of him and he wants to lean in and wrap his lips around it. He wants to take Eskel down as far as he can and lose himself in the taste of him and the stretch of his lips around his girth. Gods, it's been too long since he's been able to do this.

But he's putting on a show - for both of them - and letting himself get carried away so early won't do any good for anyone other than maybe Jaskier's sanity. So he moves cautiously, abandoning Eskel's cock to an unimpressed groan and rising up on his knees. He smiles up at Eskel, slipping his hands under the edge of his shirt and pushes it up his chest. Eskel pulls it up and over his head which is fine as far as Jaskier Is concerned because he's moved on.

He runs his tongue along Eskel's collarbone, pressing kisses along the ridge before reaching the center and slowly making his way downward. If he listens too hard, he can hear Geralt behind him in the creak of the floor beneath his feet and the steady breaths that don't quite reach his hair to ruffle it. So he hums not a tune, per se, just something to fill the silence between the soft moans that spill from Eskel's lips.

Jaskier slips back down to his hips, adjusting to sit back on his heels as he pulls Eskel's trousers away, revealing his swollen cock beneath them. He flicks his eyes up to Eskel's, taking in the lip trapped between his teeth and the way his nostrils flare and Jaskier smiles at him before dropping his eyes back down and wrapping his lips somewhat awkwardly around the head of Eskel's cock.

The shaky exhale of breath is encouragement enough - not that Jaskier needs any - but Eskel's hand slips into his hair, tugging unintentionally as Jaskier's mouth slips over him. Eskel is big, thick enough that he stretches Jaskier's lips around him. but he's got a lovely cock that Jaskier is happy to get as much of in his mouth as he can. Which, surprisingly, is a lot. He's out of practice, but he takes him almost all the way down, slipping a hand around the base of him before pulling back off.

He gets into a rhythm, working his tongue around him and pressing up into every touch as Eskel's finger grip more firmly in his hair. He'd forgotten what it feels like to have someone really get into it, the warm swell of pride and something like satisfaction in his chest knowing he's doing a good job. And something about the fact that he's a Witcher really gets to him, these men who are built to kill and Jaskier is able to take him apart with only his lips and his tongue.

His own cock aches, ignored, against the front of his trousers and when he shifts closer, it rubs against the silky fabric. Jaskier moans around the cock in his mouth, a stunted, choked-off sound, and a warm hand slides around the side of his neck, fingers running along the underside of his jaw.

Jaskier's eyes flutter shut and he hums softly, pressing up as Eskle's fingers dig into his scalp. He's getting close. Jaskier can feel it in the way his hips stutter, the way his moans become louder, less restrained and in the way his fingers tug at his hair, sending little jolts of pleasure through Jaskier's entire body. But he's not going to let himself get drawn into it all because this isn't about him right now. Because as much as he'd love to bring himself off with Eskel's cock in his mouth, he's supposed to be helping. But Geralt's hand slips lower, fingers sliding over his collarbone and down under the edge of his shirt and it's a lot harder to focus as calloused fingers brush over his nipples.

He whimpers, taking Eskel as deep as he can and holding him there. He slips his fingers into Eskel’s trousers, pressing back behind his balls and earnestly ignoring the way his own hips stutter Eskel squirms under him, muttering something but the blood rushing in Jaskier's ears is too loud to hear it. He bucks his hips, clenches his fingers tight in Jaskier's hair and as Jaskier pulls up to the head, winding his tongue around it, Eskel comes.

He curses and groans, thrusting hard between Jaskier's lips and Jaskier takes him as well as he can, wrapping a hand around him to keep him from thrusting too deep. And Geralt is right there, bringing his hand back up to cup his cheek, brush his fingers along his jaw, and when Eskel's hands slip from his hair, Geralt's replace them, brushing it out of his face and gently running along his scalp.

Jaskier pulls off Eskel's cock, his head foggy with lust and looks up at him. Eskel's head is dropped back over the back of the chair, his arms draped loosely over it, and Jaskier swells with pride. He dips down, running his tongue along the underside of Eskel's cock, drawing out a final moan and a full-body shudder, but he isn't granted much time to tease before he's hauled up to his feet. Geralt's nose presses against his temple, drawing back so his lips graze the shell of Jaskier's ear.

"You didn't come," he breathes and just hearing those words out of Geralt's mouth is almost enough to push him over the edge. He's about to say he doesn't need to, that it doesn't matter, but Geralt's hands are already on him.

Jaskier's shakier than expected and when he glances down at himself there's a damp spot on his trousers where his cock leaked through. Geralt's chest presses against his back, running his hands down to curl around Jaskier's hips and Jaskier lets out a shaky breath, his whole body shuddering without his permission. Geralt's fingers creep closer to his cock and Jaskier squirms against him, drops his head back onto his shoulder and bites his lip.

"Can I touch you?" Geralt asks and Jaskier just nods dumbly.

He can feel Eskel's eyes on him, despite his own being shut, and it makes him more comfortable as Geralt slips his doublet off and tosses it away. His fingers move down again, quickly and easily getting Jaskier's trousers undone and pushing them down his thighs. His cock bobs free and Jaskier should feel exposed like this, but when he opens his eyes, Eskel is watching him hungrily despite his own cock growing soft against his hip and Geralt's hands are eager where they slide back up to settle on his waist.

Geralt's lips press against the back of his neck and Jaskier whimpers. For years he's imagined feeling them against his own, how Geralt would kiss him, but it was never anything quite like this. Then again, this whole situation is something beyond even Jaskier's imaginings.

Geralt's mouth finds the corner of his neck and shoulder, moving urgently and brushing against his skin in a way that has Jaskier's eyes rolling back in his head. Then, in one swift motion, Jaskier is lifted off his feet and finds himself straddling Eskel's thighs, jostled slightly as Geralt presses between them from behind. His mouth finds Jaskier's neck again sucking at the most sensitive spot just under his jaw and Jaskier can't help the way he presses back against him.

Geralt's hands slide down his chest just as Eskel's slide over his hips to cup his ass. Warm fingers slip around his cock and Jaskier's breath catches as they dance up his length. His eyes drop shut and his hips roll forward on their own, pushing his cock through the warmth of Geralt's hand. Geralt's fingers wrap firmly around him, squeezing tight and stroking him slowly. It's exactly how he likes it and Jaskier has to bite down on his lip to keep from moaning out loud. He's jostled slightly and when he opens his eyes, Eskel is sitting up and facing him, reaching out to run the pad of his thumb along Jaskier's bottom lip.

"Don't," he whispers, "let us hear you." Eskel's other arm slips around his hip and he tugs him closer, tipping forward to kiss him.

There's a low growl from behind him and Geralt slips up close, fingers slipping from Jaskier's cock in favour of holding his hips. He presses himself against Jaskier's back and Jaskier can feel the press of his cock against his ass and the realization that Geralt likes this spreads like fire through his veins. He likes seeing Jaskier with Eskel and gods, if that's what he's into, Jaskier is happy to give it to him. But, he thinks as he reaches back to wrap his arms around Geralt's neck, he may have been off the mark with his earlier assumptions about the Witchers.

Jaskier groans as thick fingers wind around his cock again and Geralt's teeth find the back of his neck, lightly grazing his skin as his body shudders. He lets himself go limp, one arm around his waist and hands sliding up his chest, leaning against Geralt's body. Eskel draws away, leaning back in his seat, and Jaskier whines softly at the loss, but Geralt is right there to take his place, nipping lightly at Jaskier's lip before kissing him. And Jaskier's hips roll smoothly, matching the steady pace of Eskel's hand as he loses himself in the heat of Geralt's mouth against his own.

When his eyes open again, startled by the sharp twist of Eskel's wrist, he breaks from Geralt's mouth, rolling his head against him. Before him, Eskel is hard again, stroking himself with one hand as the other works over Jaskier's length.

Geralt shifts against him, pressing his cock against the cleft of Jaskier's ass. "Do you want him?" he breathes and Jaskier can barely manage a response with that low, husky voice right in his ear. Geralt's hips roll against him and Jaskier groans, shifting forward in Eskel's lap.

Eskel's hands pull away, much to Jaskier's displeasure, but he's close enough now that when he rocks forward, his cock slides against Eskel's. He uses the position to his advantage, leaning back to prop himself up on Eskel's knees as he slips a hand around them both. His grip is loose, unable to wrap all the way around, but Geralt's hand slips down against his own, encircling them both. Eskel's hips give a sharp jerk and Jaskier doesn't miss the heated look he casts up at Geralt.

In an instant, Geralt is hauled down, Eskel's fingers firm where they're tangled in the front of his shirt and Jaskier nearly forgets how to breathe. He's surprised to see how easily Geralt submits, melting into the kiss though his grip on their joined cocks never falters. Jaskier watches in awe as Eskel's hand slips up around Geralt's back, tugging his shirt out of his trousers and disappearing under it. He was right about one thing: watching Geralt and Eskel together would almost be enough to make up for his own lacking sex life. Not that he needs to worry about that anymore.

He drops his head back, the image of the two Witchers burned into his eyelids, and he rolls his hips steadily. His cock slips between the rough skin of Geralt's hand and the silky smooth of Eskel's cock, a duality that promises to have him shaking apart in minutes. Eskel, apparently, has other ideas.

The bottle he presses into Geralt's palm is small and clear and appears from apparently nowhere but makes no mistake as to where he's taking this. Geralt pulls away from Eskel's mouth long enough to look over at him, his eyes dark and full of anticipation. Something in Jaskier's chest swells and he leans up to kiss his lips, sitting back up in Eskel's lap.

Eskel gets his arm around him again, sliding his hand down his back and down into his trousers. His fingers slip further, pressing between Jaskier's cheeks and Jaskier rises up instinctively, leaning into Eskel as thick fingers slide over his hole. He doesn't linger, drawing back and cupping Jaskier’s face as he draws him in again. Geralt's hand slips from between them, and Jaskier pulls away too, sliding his hands over Eskel's shoulders.

He's vividly aware of every move Geralt makes as he pulls away from them and slips back into place behind Jaskier. He smooths his hands down his sides, pushing his trousers down further and out of the way. He can't get them all the way off without Jaskier moving and right now he's quite happy where he is. And Geralt doesn't seem to mind. He pulls the cork on the bottle and Jaskier settles, pressing his hips back encouragingly.

The first time Geralt presses a slick fingertip against him, Jaskier groans. His body shakes with anticipation, but Eskel holds him close and kisses his neck. Geralt is quick and precise in a way that speaks of years of experience and makes Jaskier's legs shake under him.

Jaskier's erection flags a little as Geralt slides a third finger into him, but Eskel is still rock hard against him, hips rocking just slightly as Jaskier squirms. Jaskier's focus jumps between Eskel's cock and Geralt's fingers, Geralt's lips against his neck, his own cock, filling again as Eskel gets hold of it.

Geralt adds a fourth finger and Jaskier holds his breath as he adjusts to the stretch of him. He drops his forehead to Eskel's shoulder and slowly rocks his hips back, fucking himself on Geralt's fingers. When he adjusts, he moves more quickly and Geralt's hand rises to press against his lower back, steadying him. But Jaskier wants more. Geralt's fingers fill him wholly, and they reach surprisingly far within him, but it's not enough right now.

Right now, Jaskier's half-naked and trapped between two increasingly horny Witchers and if one of them doesn't fuck him soon he feels like he might break apart from the inside out. It's been months since anyone touched him but himself he needs more. Even as Geralt thrusts into him again, Jaskier's thinking about his cock instead, thick and hard and pressing deep into him- He groans, huffing out a breathless "please", as he pushes his head against Eskel's shoulder.

Evidently, Geralt isn't as patient as he seems. As soon as his fingers withdraw, he hauls Jaskier to his feet, spinning him around so he can kiss him. His lips are soft but urgent and Geralt gets him out of his trousers without breaking the kiss, winding his arms around Jaskier's hips and pulling him into his body. And fuck, when Geralt's cock digs into his hip, his mind goes blank with lust, pressing back against him even as Geralt walks him backward. Then Eskel's hands find his hips, holding him steady as he presses his cock against him.

Jaskier sits back slowly, letting Eskel's hands guide him. His breath hitches as the blunt head of his cock presses against him and he curls his fingers in Geralt's hair, holding his gaze as he lowers himself onto Eskel's cock. Geralt dips to kiss him, wrapping one hand around his cock and stroking lightly as Jaskier settles.

Once he's comfortable, Geralt pulls away and Jaskier is disappointed until Eskel thrusts up into him, reclaiming his focus as his hands slip around to hold Jaskier's hips. Jaskier rolls his head back on Eskel's shoulder, breathing heavily against his neck and shifting his hips in time with Eskel's thrusts. This isn't how he foresaw his day going, especially not after being locked in the library, but he has no regrets.

Well, maybe one, but that can easily be remedied.

He glances up, meeting Geralt's eyes, and any regret fades as quickly as it came. Geralt is watching them with a heat like Jaskier's never seen in his eyes and when his gaze slips slower, Jaskier can see how hard he is in his trousers and it makes his own arousal soar. He could feel him against him, but seeing for himself is something entirely different and he doesn't think before reaching out and curling a hand in Geralt's shirt, he just wants to touch.

And Geralt allows him to haul him close, fitting himself between Eskel's legs and leaning low over him and Jaskier. He shifts his weight to prop himself up on one arm, sliding the other up Jaskier's thigh, his thumb brushing dangerously close to his cock as he slips up over Jaskier's hip. Jaskier takes it as a sign that he can reach out and touch, but just as his fingers slip under his shirt, Geralt's attention is diverted.

Eskel beats him to the punch, drawing Geralt close until their noses bump against each other. And Jaskier can't see the look on Eskel's face, but Geralt's eyes drop shut, his lips parting just so. Jaskier groans at the sight of him, missing the moment their lips meet but he hears the muffled sound of Geralt's moan as he reaches out for him.

He slips his fingers over the bulge in Geralt's trousers, tracing the line of his cock before slipping his fingers around it. His fingers won't quite fit around him and his trousers are still in the way and it's hard to keep still with Eskel thrusting up into him, but Jaskier does his best. He strokes Gerlt through the thick fabric, and every time he presses into it, Jaskier's cock twitches against his stomach. He lets his fingers drift, brushing over the buttons on Geralt's trousers, but Geralt pushes his hand away.

He pulls away from Eskel, turning his attention to Jaskier as he slips his knee between Eskel's thigh and the arm of the chair. For a brief second, Jaskier considers the strength of the chair and whether it will hold up under their combined weight, but Geralt's mouth presses against his own and the thought is gone. Geralt kisses him roughly, slipping his tongue between his lips and swallowing Jaskier's moans as he presses closer.

Eskel keeps a steady pace, but as Geralt shifts against them he slows and it doesn't take long for Jaskier to figure out why. Geralt's fingers press against his rim spreading oil over the skin and around Eskel's cock where it slips into him. Jaskier shuts his eyes, but when Geralt presses more firmly he can't help but wonder about taking both of them. He doesn't know if he'd be able to, but the thought of it has his cock leaking against his stomach and he's never been one to turn down a challenge.

He hauls Geralt close again, panting against his lips as he fumbles with the buttons on his trousers, desperate to get his hands on him. This time, Geralt lets him and when Jaskier's fingers dip into his trousers, wrapping around his length, he stills, moaning softly against his lips. Eskel mumbles something against his ear that he doesn't quite catch, but it sounds like encouragement and Jaskier wraps more firmly around Geralt's cock.

He pulls him out of his trousers, stroking him firmly as Geralt gets his other leg up on the chair. Eskel adjusts to make space and in the new position, Geralt's cock slips right up against Jaskier's and it's just a natural progression for Jaskier to pull him closer. He keeps one hand fisted in Geralt's shirt, rocking unsteadily against him and it's almost too much. His mouth goes slack as Geralt's hips roll fluidly against his own and Jaskier knows he won't last long like this. He doesn't have Witcher stamina and he'd be perfectly happy to let them continue afterward, but he doesn't want to come yet. He wants Geralt inside of him, and more than that, he wants to at least try to take them both. The idea of it makes him dizzy with lust and if he doesn't try, he knows he'll regret it.

He takes Geralt's cock in his hand again, guiding him down to where Eskel presses into him and pressing him against Eskel. There's a breathless "fuck" against his ear and Eskel's fingertips dig into the flesh of his hips. But Geralt looks up at him, presses his forehead against Jaskier's.

"Are you sure?" he breathes and Jaskier nods enthusiastically.

"Please."

Geralt gets his fingers slicked up again, stroking Eskel slowly before pressing one finger in alongside him. It's tight and Jaskier shuts his eyes, pulling away from Geralt to press his face into Eskel's neck. Geralt waits, letting him adjust before sliding a second finger in and then a third.

When he pulls out, Jaskier almost misses the stretch, but Geralt's cockhead presses against him, softer than his fingers though wider. Jaskier buries his face in Eskel's neck, trying to contain the pained noises that threaten to escape him because he's not used to having one Witcher cock inside him, never mind two. But Geralt is gentle and Eskel is patient, stroking his hair and tipping his head up to kiss him as Geralt presses in.

Jaskier can feel the way Geralt's cock twitches inside him, eager to get on with it, but he remains still to let him adjust. Jaskier focuses on every other place they touch, where Geralt's thigh is fitted under his own, where Eskel's chest heaves against his back, and he relaxes. The thought of having them both at once, of having two of the most beautiful men he's ever met at the same time, is enough to help him settle and Jaskier shifts between them, finding a comfortable position so he can better control their speed. Though he quickly finds that with Geralt and Eskel sandwiching him, he's very willing to give up what little control he has.

He leans back and Geralt follows him, bracing himself on the back of the chair as he rolls his hips more quickly. Eskel curses breathily against Jaskier's ear, mumbling incoherently as his hips jerk opposite to Geralt's. Jaskier can't imagine how it feels for them, squeezed tight and sliding against each other, but Eskel's moans tell him enough and Geralt presses his forehead into Jaskier's shoulder, lips parted and panting. And Jaskier has never felt so full, every inch of him filled and fucked.

His head spins, cloudy with lust and so overwhelmed by the waves of pleasure that roll over him that he can barely move. His limbs are loose where they wrap around his Witchers, one hand curled in Geralt's hair and the other slipped around the back of Eskel's neck. He presses his hips down and squeezes around them. Geralt growls, a loud rumbling sound that vibrates right to Jaskier's core and he turns his head, kissing him hard.

It's rough and sloppy because Jaskier is constantly jostled, but he relishes the feeling of having Geralt's mouth on his again. Eskel's hips jerk and he slides an arm around Geralt's back, using him as leverage to thrust up hard. Geralt draws back, tipping his head and Eskel catches his lips in a heated kiss.

Eskel's hips snap up hard and Jaskier melts against him, groaning at the way he presses into him. He's close, Jaskier can feel it in the way his thighs shake and the desperate little gasps and curses that spill from his lips. Jaskier tugs Geralt against him, clinging to him as Eskel comes, slamming into him and digging his fingers into Jaskier's hip, holding him down.

Eskel slips out and Geralt readjusts, pushing deeper into him with a grunt. As Eskel comes down, his fingers slip up into Jaskier's hair, running through the strands as he pants and catches his breath.

"How does he feel?" he asks and Geralt rolls his hips at exactly that moment, rendering him momentarily mute.

"Good," he huffs, "really good." He tips his head back to look at Geralt. "Ah- Geralt, I'm gonna-" Geralt cuts him off with a swift kiss, working his hips in quick sharp thrusts and driving Jaskier closer and closer to the edge.

Jaskier whines and tries to hold on, but Geralt's cock pushes into him, hitting that spot deep inside and it's all he can do not to break apart right there. When Eskel's hand slides around, wrapping around his cock and stroking him slowly, Jaskier comes, spilling all over himself and Eskel's fingers. Geralt only lasts another couple of minutes before he's grunting, burying himself deep and biting down on Jaskier's shoulder.

He slips from the chair almost immediately, dropping to the floor and leaning back against the table leg behind him, breathing hard. Jaskier slumps, the only thing keeping him from falling to the floor next to him is Eskel's arms around him, holding him up.

Jaskier watches him for a moment, the way his eyes fall shut and his chest heaves. But he can already feel exhaustion overtaking him and he settles against Eskel’s chest, pressing his face into his neck.

By the time Lambert returns for them, Jaskier is awake and dressed again, though Geralt and Eskel seem unbothered about their lack of presentation. Lambert casts a look between the three of them, rolls his eyes and sighs a dramatic finally before turning around, exiting the room, and slamming the door behind him.

It's a few hours before any of them sees Lambert again and dinner is a surprisingly quiet affair. Jaskier turns in earlier than the others, still thoroughly exhausted, and Eskel traipses after him, accepting Jaskier's invitation when he reaches his room. They fall happily into bed and Jaskier is asleep by the time Geralt joins them, but Geralt is there in the morning when he wakes, curled protectively around Jaskier's back.

They all head down to breakfast together and while Jaskier sees the way Lambert rolls his eyes at them, he makes the - probably wise - decision not to mention it, slipping into a seat across from him.

The day is uneventful. The boys train in the yard for the better part of the afternoon and while Jaskier joins him, he prefers to sit and watch. The sexual tension isn't quite so obvious with Lambert and Vesemir around to tone it down, but Jaskier still catches the odd glance between Geralt and Eskel that gets his heart racing.

He's certain they're a song just waiting to be written, though, given Geralt's aversion to being sung about, it might have to be for Jaskier’s ears only. Not that that has ever stopped him before. He scribbles down a few thoughts, noting the way the two Witchers move around each other, each carefully keeping track of his opponent. It has the makings of his most provocative ballad yet. A shame no one will ever hear it.

In the evening, they retire to the mess hall, just the three of them and Lambert. Geralt is complaining about no one wanting to play cards and Lambert is mocking him, grumbling away from his seat near the fire. Jaskier doesn't mind; he's spent enough years being pestered about learning Gwent that he just tunes it all out now, and sitting at the table with Geralt's chest against his back, he can find very little to complain about.

"I'll have to teach you to play," Geralt hums and Jaskier, warm and comfortable, finally agrees.

"But not now," Jaskier amends, shifting to get more comfortable. Across the room, Lambert rolls his eyes.

"He's just jealous," Eskel winks, crossing to stand next to Geralt. He leans down and whispers something in his ear, but whatever it is, Jaskier doesn't hear it. He does hear the little huff of a laugh that is Geralt's response, and the drawn-out groan from Lambert.

"Gods," Lambert grumbles, "I think I preferred things better before."

#Geralt x Eskel x Jaskier #idk if there's a name for this ship #but i love it #rip lambert's patience #rex writes #the witcher #pwp #be warned

[quarantineddreamer]

@zutaraweek 2020 Day 1: Reunion

This is my first Zutara week since I am new to the ATLA fandom. For some reason I am very nervous to post this (I think because I spent my morning scrolling through the tag and OMG THE TALENT!!) but anyways, here it is! 

Also posted on my AO3

Rating: G

Summary: “I’ll save you from the pirates” -Zuko Katara

Katara picked nervously at the corner of the scroll she bent over, eyes passing over the familiar handwriting for the hundredth time in the past hour alone. We’re boarding the ship shortly… meeting went really well, I think that any additional negotiations will… I’ve been counting down the days till I get to hold you in my arms again... by the time this messenger hawk reaches you it should only be two more nights spent apart... Love always, Zuko. The letter, detailing the success of the Fire Lord’s diplomatic visit to the city of Omashu where a few restless rebellions had arisen had reached Katara over a week ago.

The waterbender frowned as she reached for her tea -a soothing blend that Iroh had promised would help her sleep despite her worry. Still squinting at Zuko’s hurried penmanship, Katara’s fingertips found the steaming liquid instead of the sides of the porcelain teacup, and she cursed as she flinched, knocking the beverage all over her reading material.

“No, no, no!” she cried, waving her hands, pulling the water from the page rapidly so as to keep the ink from running. When at last she was certain she had managed to save the precious material, she collapsed into her chair with a heavy sigh. As she watched the shadows from the candle on her desk play across the walls of her office, she tried desperately to calm herself.

He’s probably just hit bad weather. An image of Zuko thrashing about in the merciless waves of a storm flashed in her mind. Nope! Nope! He’s, uh, just not caught the right wind. But of course, the Fire Nation vessel Zuko had boarded did not rely on a breeze and they couldn’t have run out of power, not with firebenders like Zuko to provide fuel. Not for the first time, she wished that her friends were not scattered across the globe -wished that, at minimum, Aang had been traveling with Zuko, both of them flying safely on Appa’s soft back. But Aang was with Sokka and Suki in the South Pole at the moment helping with restoration work, and Toph was in Ba Sing Se training a special force of Earth Benders to help take down the remnants of the Dai Li.

The last time Katara had felt anything close to this level of worry for Zuko, he had been lying on the ground motionless, remnants of his sister’s lightning dancing across his body. At least she had been with him then, to look after him. Now, she didn’t know where he was or what condition he was in, but she knew him, and she knew it was not nothing that would keep him from her -not with all they had fought through before...

Katara had never felt so alone, but it was Zuko who had asked that she remain behind. “It’ll only be a month!” She remembered his hand on her shoulder as he gave her a pleading look. “Please... While I am gone Uncle will need help keeping everything in check here. You’re the only person in the world I would trust.” When she had finally reluctantly agreed, the kiss he had given her had banished all sadness at the thought of his absence. What was a month apart when they had a lifetime to look forward to now that the war was over? But he was not here now to erase her fear and dispel the hard knot lodged in her stomach.

The month had gone by fast with plenty of ‘Fire Lady’ duties to take care of, but the days that had passed since his estimated date of arrival had dragged with agonizing slowness as though time itself were taunting her… Her fingers itched to drag the scroll towards her again, to scour its surface for clues. He wouldn’t just disappear, he would tell them if he was going to be late.

A soft knock on the door broke the typhoon of anxiousness tearing through her mind. “Yes?” she called.

Iroh’s face, normally so jovial, was grave as it peered into the room. “A soldier from Zuko’s guard just arrived at the palace.”

“Where is he?” She nearly choked on the question, sensing her worst fears were about to be confirmed.

“Their ship was ambushed by a group of pirates. Zuko has been taken hostage and is being held unless the Fire Nation delivers a significant sum to his captors.”

She barely heard the rest, the where, when, and how. All she knew was she was done waiting, fussing over words on paper as though that could bring him back. She should have trusted her instinct, the tightness in her chest, that had told her something was wrong. Should’ve gone with him to Omashu to begin with... She pushed her chair back and stood. “I’m going after him.”

“Katara, please, we have identified the particular ship that has him, we can send a fleet after him.” Iroh fiddled with the teacup and papers on her desk nervously.

“I can handle some lousy pirates. He’s been gone too long, Iroh! And we can’t have the Fire Nation knowing their ruler has been taken...” Already her heart was racing. She’d never admit it, but a dangerous, secretive, part of her missed this. The raw rush of adrenaline from imminent conflict was intoxicating, addictive. Diplomatic meetings had taken her all over the world, but paperwork and debate had nothing on this.

Iroh hung his head. “Peace is fragile. I am aware…” He hesitated, observing her expression intently before saying, “I suppose no one is better suited to chase down pirates, than the greatest Master Water Bender…”

“Hardly,” she quipped humbly, but he always knew how to make her smile. “I appreciate the compliment.” Already at the door she turned to ask, “May I borrow a small ship from the Fire Nation Fleet?”

“The girlfriend of the Fire Lord can have whatever she wishes.” His tone managed to be light, joking, but his eyes still held great sadness and concern.

Katara stepped towards the older man to give him a brief, strong hug, leaning back afterwards to fix him with an earnest gaze. “I promise I’ll bring him home.”

“Stay safe, brave, Katara. I will handle things here.”

“I know you will.”

Moments later she raced through the palace out into the humid night. She did not stop to catch her breath even as she stole past the guards onto the docks and untied the first boat she saw with sails -one she knew she could manage alone.

Yue watched over her and gave her strength as she furiously bent the ocean around her. Spirits help those damn pirates if they’ve so much as given him a papercut...

-----

Zuko groaned as he came to, vaguely aware of a swaying sensation as though he were about to fall, which he figured had something to do with the massive lump at the back of his head. Or maybe it was the movement of the ship he was on. He blinked, his mind slowly focusing and gaining awareness -and along with it an awful dose of pain. How long had he been out? A fog was beginning to lift inside him, but the lingering grogginess suggested he had potentially been drugged for quite some time.

His most recent memories were of chaos, arrows whistling through the air, latching onto the deck of their ship. He had tried to incinerate most of them, and had been successful, until something had struck him hard across the back and sent him instantly into the void.  

Rope rubbed at his wrists and clutched at his chest as he struggled. He tried to bend, but found his movement to be too restricted and clumsy -disoriented as he was. A string of curses tumbled from his lips.

“Tsk, tsk. Not language very fitting of His Highness is it?” a voice called from the shadows of the ship’s hold.

Zuko recognized the voice… One of the advisors that had been traveling with him, Jian… Despite the remnants of drugs in his system it was beginning to become clear how their ship had just happened to fall victim to pirates and who had managed to catch Zuko from behind unexpectedly. “What do you want, Jian?” he asked sharply, glaring as the advisor drew closer.

“You are the last person our great nation should be led by,” he hissed.

Zuko’s lips curled in disgust at the man’s hot breath on his face, his nostrils flared as he exhaled smoke and frustration, pleased when Jian backed away, clearly fighting an undignified cough. “I trusted you. I thought you were helping us work to rebuild… The past year… and last week in Omashu. What changed?”

Jian laughed coldly. “This was always the plan. Your naivety will be the end of you young Fire Lord.”

“To hope for something better is not naive,” Zuko replied fiercely.

The former advisor scanned him for a moment then smirked, eyes shining with mania. “Look at where you are.” He lifted arms clad in elegant red silk to gesture at their dingy surroundings. “You will either die here, or in a cell in a Fire Nation prison unless a ransom is paid.”

Zuko snorted, a small flame escaping his nose. He wished, not for the first time in his life, that he had managed to master more fire breathing than that -something that would be useful in his current predicament- but that had always been more Azula’s specialty despite all of Uncle’s efforts. “Money? That’s what this is about?”

“That is only the beginning,” he whispered conspiratorially. Beady black eyes danced in lantern light as he regarded Zuko with intense hatred. “One day soon, the rightful Fire Lord will return to the Fire Nation throne and he will make you pay for your treasonous actions.”

Zuko rolled his eyes. Great, another Ozai loyalist. Just his luck that one had been insidious enough to work his way to this point. Maybe he was naive, though if Katara and the rest of his friends had taught him anything, it was that trying to find the good in others would never be a bad thing. He had everything to thank for their belief in that. Katara… He shut his eyes for a moment as a wave of longing washed over him. Arguably he had been in worse situations than this, but it had been years since he had faced them without her by his side. If only he had let her come along…but he had been so afraid to leave the Fire Nation unattended with all its troubles placed solely on his uncle’s shoulders.

A knock at the door interrupted Zuko’s thoughts of the Water Bender and the ache that he felt burying itself in his chest knowing she would be worried at his delay. He regretted the stress he would put her through. While Jian went to open the door Zuko tried to subtly tug at his bindings again. If he could just get enough motion in his fingers to firebend and weaken the rope… With Jian distracted he frantically tried to summon enough of the element, fighting the last of the drug’s haze...

“Yes?” Jian asked impatiently of the visitor to the hold, a short, skinny pirate with a large, floppy hat that Zuko could see extended beyond even the width of Jian’s frame that blocked the doorway.

Almost there… Zuko wiggled his wrists in small circles, wincing when a small jet of fire nearly set his pants aflame, missing the ropes entirely. Fortunately the hold’s wood was damp enough that the floor remained unlit. The firebender took a deep breath and tried again, thankful that Jian was still busy discussing something with the pirate at the door.

An image of Katara practicing her bending came to mind. He recalled the graceful, delicate, intention with which she waved every muscle in her hands. On his second attempt to burn the ropes he was careful to control his digits more precisely, and his efforts were rewarded when he felt a small heat pass along his palms and hit the rope.

The sounds of Jian bidding the pirate farewell and closing the door encouraged Zuko to rush his final pass at burning the ropes off. He fought back a hiss of pain as he felt flame pass over the delicate flesh on the inside of his lower arms. Seconds later when he gave the bonds one last tug and felt them fall away his injury was forgotten. He remained carefully still as Jian turned back to him, waiting for the perfect moment.

When the advisor strayed within arm’s reach Zuko suddenly lunged, seizing him by the shoulders and spinning the man, head-first, into the nearest wall. Jian collapsed with a soft, surprised exclamation and a solid thunk of skull colliding with wood, and Zuko, breathed a sigh of relief.

Wasting no time he rushed for the door, throwing himself through the opening and shooting glances down the short hallway. Luckily, it was clear. Quietly, he sealed Jian in the cell and padded softly towards a set of stairs illuminated with pale moonlight. He had no idea what awaited him on the deck. Whatever it was he would handle it then, though he had to shake Iroh’s admonishing tone from his head, ‘You never think these things through!’

When he emerged from the belly of the ship he was prepared for an immediate onslaught of pirate swords and other weaponry, but despite what he was sure were Jian’s desires, these were not Fire Nation soldiers. The crew was gathered around a makeshift table and their drunken cackles and bickering carried loudly above even the sea breeze and persistent slapping of water against the hull.

Zuko crouched behind a wooden crate and scanned the deck. There were more than a dozen pirates playing cards in the moonlight and who knew how many more aboard the ship. With the moon shining brightly in the sky Zuko knew Katara would have been a force to be reckoned with, but he could not say the same for his firebending, and he was disappointed in how weak he felt -from hunger, thirst, likely concussion, and not to mention residual effects of whatever Jian had been using to keep him unconscious.

He was contemplating the slim likelihood of stealing away unnoticed with one of the small boats tied to the side of the ship when the gull-rat squawked at him. At first, he ignored it -at any given moment any seaside town or boat was always under the assault of the persistent creature and its horrible fecal habits- but when it continued to tilt its head at him in curiosity he recalled the companions the pirates he had met several years ago kept…The gull-rat’s call was louder the second time and Zuko swore as its owner, walking away from the card table with a fistful of coins and a drunken grin, blinked at the sight of the prisoner wandering freely.

It was really not his day. Zuko sprinted for the boat he had been eyeing early, bending a blast of flame at the ropes that held it to the main ship and hoping he would not be far behind the vessel as it crashed loudly into the ocean below. The gambling crew were all armed now, and though a few teetered from the effects of what was decidedly not the calming tea Iroh was always drinking, many looked formidable opponents. A circle was already closing around Zuko who searched desperately for an opening.

The Fire Lord managed to dodge two pirates who swung rusty blades at him and pushed back three more with a ball of flame. Seeing an opening in the ranks, he dashed wildly for the side of the ship, glancing back only once when an arrow whizzed past his shoulder.

Once was one time too many. He crashed right into the short, skinny pirate that had stopped by his cell to speak with Jian and they collapsed to the deck in a painful twist of limbs. Before Zuko could roll away the short pirate had pinned him and grabbed both his wrists.

-----

“I’ll save you from the pirates,” she whispered, grinning as the confusion on his handsome face turned to joy when she removed the ridiculous hat she wore so he could see her. His smile was everything, she hadn’t realized just how much she had missed it -instantly warming her from the inside out.  

“Katara!” He sat up and pulled her into a tight embrace, kissing the top of her head and breathing in the smell of her hair.

She was disappointed when he broke away to stand. It was understandable though. The pirates were racing towards them -even the gull-rat was giving chase.

“I knocked a boat into the water, if we can just swim to it…” Zuko eyed the railings of the ship unhappily, no doubt imagining the long drop.

“And then what?” Katara asked, drawing water from the ocean and forming two whips over both her arms.

“We, uh, we go?” Zuko offered.

She fought back a bubble of laughter. “You really don’t think things through. Zuko, they can just chase us! They’d catch us in no time in this larger ship. Was that really your plan?”

He fumbled for words, cheeks flushing furiously with embarrassment.

Katara lashed out at the first wave of pirates, tripping them with one long tendril of water. “Zuko, you’re a firebender, set the ship on fire!” She looked away as a stray pirate broke rank to try and shoot them with his bow. A jet of water aimed sharply by Katara eliminated that immediate problem. “You are the Fire Lord, how did you not think of this?” This time the laughter escaped her, his befuddled expression too cute to take.

“I, uh.. Okay, I’m pretty sure I have a concussion... and potentially still some drugs in my system?” he admitted, punching the air with his fists, sending fire at the pirates and the sails of the ship. Soon the entire deck was dancing with the dangerous orange glow.

“That’s our cue!” Katara declared, and grabbed his hand. “Ready?” She stepped up onto the railing of the ship and he followed.

They balanced precariously for a moment, her hair spinning wildly in the wind, before jumping into the air, stomachs dropping for a brief exhilarating second before Katara froze a wave to slide them towards the empty boat bobbing in the waves. A miscalculation on her part landed them in frigid ocean water that stole both their breaths away.

Katara was first to pull herself into the boat, flopping wetly into the wooden hull. She giggled at the sight of Zuko, hair spiked every which way by the ocean, arms flung desperately over the side of the boat kicking furiously to pull himself into the raft. Taking mercy on a Fire Bender out of his element, she helped him aboard. Together they looked back at the burning pirate ship, observing the frantic shadows of the crew moving about with buckets of water. Still, Katara did not wait long to begin moving their vessel to the small cove nearby where she had anchored her Fire Nation ship.

Only when they were confident that no one had pursued them to the sandy shores and were safely sailing towards home aboard her borrowed ship did they rest, allowing the wind to do the work for them. They collapsed, laying on the deck, staring skyward at a ceiling of stars, and Zuko gently pulled Katara against him. She reveled in the familiar beat of his heart beneath her as she settled her head on his chest.

She felt him shake as he laughed quietly. “I still can’t believe I didn’t think, to... Burn the ship?”

Katara reached for a small bit of water and it glowed as she reached a hand back to touch the side of his head. “Better?” she asked after a moment.

“Yeah, much. Thank you…” he sighed and leaned his scarred face into her healing palm. “I can’t say this was the reunion I was imagining.”

“I don’t know…” She looked up at him, the beginnings of a soft smile tugging at her lips. “We’re even now,” she teased, bumping him playfully. “And it was kind of fun... Reminds me of how far we’ve come.” How different things were since the last time they had encountered pirates -and not just his hair, though thank the spirits for that.

“Just another day in the life of the Fire Lord I guess,” Zuko replied wistfully, a hand playing with the end of one of her curls.

“I mean, I’m not saying you should do it again… ”

“Not without you... “Never without you,” he promised -and to Katara’s delight, sealed the oath by placing his lips against hers.

#zutara #zutara week 2020 #zuko #katara #reunion #zuko x katara #zutara fanfic #zutara week #zutara fanfiction #ao3 fic #b writes #zukos-calming-tea