#literally my head is full of lint right now
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Fanfic: Sonnenblume
Or, I finally wrote a desert vacation fic.
[Read on AO3] - Rated E for SPICYEEEEEEEE
Pairing: Thane/FShep | Rating: 18+ | Words: ~4600
There’s a kind of transcendental brilliance to this place. Some kind of inebriating mix of oxytocin and fresh air and sunshine that ignites his synapses and levitates his heart until he feels he can touch the radiant sky.
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“I think I found a place,” she says one morning. “An old friend of my mom's, they have a vacation home back on Earth, out in the American Southwest.”
Thane raises a brow at her. They're cleaning out the cargo hold, offloading collector tech at the citadel tower dock for distribution to the council races, each of them making their requests for research and study.
“I've never been to Earth,” he muses. There are any number of arid planets to visit, it seems almost foolish he is just now considering that Earth has many climates, deserts included.
“I haven't been in a long time. Grew up in space, last time I was topside was before my Spectre appointment. But my mom's friend says it's the perfect time to visit. A month from now it'll be hotter than a Krogan’s quad.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Earth sounds lovely, Siha.”
Her smile could light up the deepest reaches of dark space.
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Day 1
They're docking in Vancouver, slipping out the cargo hold and on to a taxi to whisk them away right under the noses of the Alliance's top brass.
The joy in her eyes is supernatural, he thinks. Unshackled from the military for seven scant days, Shepard practically glows with the energy of her newfound freedom. They leave an absolutely amateur trail of evidence as they flee south, along the west coast of the United States, through mountains and redwoods and oceans. The only stop they need to make is to pick up new clothes, snacks, and sunscreen.
They're on vacation.
He has to think to remember how to say it in his mother tongue. Ten years ago, he hadn't the funds to take time away from work after his marriage. Like many within the Compact, his life had always been driven by work, using the few pockets of silence in the spaces between each job to secure the next contract, research the next target, or hone his skills. Little time had ever been spared for himself. This… outing, this vacation, is something he's long thought belonged to the upper echelons of society and caste.
But he supposes he is wealthy, in some sense.
He's in love.
Wealth is watching Shepard parade almost girlishly in front of the shopping center’s changing rooms, all blushing cheeks and nervous laughter as she twirls the golden yellow sundress that she insists she's “unsure” about. Wealth is the way her face lights up when she spots a large, wavy brimmed hat across the aisle and races to try it on. Wealth is how she winks at him over her oversized sunglasses, and the levity in her voice when she says, with a devil's grin, “They'll never recognize me now.”
She might be right. The man at the checkout counter doesn't spare them a second glance as he checks out with their things.
Vacation suits her. And as they hail another transit to take them to the arid southwest, he thinks it's beginning to suit him too. He's rather looking forward to the breezy garments he’d chosen for himself.
Shepard's ruby red hair is swallowed by her massive sun hat, casting a broad shadow down her lean and muscled frame and the golden fabric of her dress. “Civvies,” she calls them. “You know, civilian clothes.”
He's quite certain there's nothing civilian about her. Her shoulders are too square, her calves and arms too hardened. She turns the eyes of the other passengers, oblivious to or simply ignoring their blatant stares. He feels like a shadow by comparison, clothed for now in the dark colors so typical of his profession. Still, her head falls against his shoulder and she slips her hand into his, laying claim to him all the same. Her silent affection makes his heart and body ache for her.
With practiced breaths, he slips beneath the waves of memory, willing himself through the minutes until the moment when they’re finally alone.
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Soon enough, they find themselves stepping off yet another transport not far from their rental.
Nearly one with the rocky desert, the low-roofed home is a dissertation in minimalist design, with flat, concrete lines gliding across deep-set windows, leading his eye to a modest entryway and through the glass beyond. Dimly, he wonders if he might have the funds to purchase the property; the volus bankers who minded his accounts probably thought him dead, having let his assets sit untouched for years. A minimalist by nature, this is precisely the place he had long dreamed of living.
Shepard tugs his hand, her skirt fluttering in the transport's downdraft, and his thoughts melt beneath her eyes, lit from within by a soft, cybernetic glow in the shadow of her sun hat.
She drops their things the moment both feet are over the threshold. Before he’s even figured out how to lock the door, her mouth is on his. She pulls him - grasps him by the shoulders and tugs him deeper into the house, kicking off her sandals as she goes, leading him towards whatever furniture lies beyond. True to her nature, his Siha is impatient. She is the fiery crown of Arashu, and he the rolling tide of Kalahira. He tempers her flames, grasping her wrists and flattening her hands against his chest as he kisses her, slow and deep.
The idyllic home they'll share for the week isn’t much more than background noise as she yields against him.
Her shoulders are already kissed by the sun, dusted with a delicate pink hue that warms beneath his touch. He slips a finger beneath one narrow strap of her dress, sliding it down her arm, trailing kisses in his wake. One luscious breast comes free, then the other, and her dress falls to the ground without ceremony.
Not long after, she's straddling him on the couch, grinding down on him with those soft little moans he's replayed over and over again in his mind.
Their first time was like this. He basks in the ethereal headspace between past and present, crisscrossing them in his mind as her hips roll against his, hot breath on his neck. And then she lets out the smallest whimper, a sound so vulnerable and soft that he cannot help but breathe her name in return, clutching her close. His dominant hand settles on her backside, aiding her motion; the other rests between her shoulder blades as he drives himself up into her heat, his mouth wandering in clumsy gasps along her chest. The way she lets her weight fall against him is an unspoken surrender, a precious gift she has chosen only him to receive.
He will never know why she chose him. But if it's him she wants, then she shall have him. Every night, again and again, until she screams his name in ecstasy and they lay in satiated exhaustion.
Tu-fira.
He belongs to her.
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It’s difficult to articulate how natural this feels.
Night falls, a chill settling over the rocky desert. He’s been alone with her many times, but never quite like this. In the short time they’ve known one another, she’s never been more than a commlink away from her crew, her mission, her ship and her duty. Here, nestled under a sea of stars, they’re more alone than either of them have been in decades. He watches the light of the backyard firepit cast flickering shadows on her bare skin, their hands intertwined.
Long after driving one another to sweat-kissed exhaustion, they remain entangled, engrossed in conversation. It’s like meeting her for the first time all over again. The armored force of nature who had carved a willful path into his life now lay naked in a nest of blankets with him, firelight dancing in her eyes, deep into a long and meandering train of thought. She weaves tales of her life before the Alliance, of joyrides and hijinks that would have made even his younger, rambunctious self hesitate. Her excitement touches his soul with a kind of contentment that he’s not touched in what feels like a lifetime.
Inevitably, the chill of night becomes too much to bear, and their talks meander back to the physical; stories of life before one another and the various trysts that preceded.
He can hear the desire in the deep, red edge of her voice; the way her tone dips from casual to sensual as she stands, clothed only in the dancing hues of firelight, and leads him to the crisp, untouched sheets of their shared bed. He pulls her close, scaled hands sliding across bare human skin, pointedly savoring her, willing his want and his love to find their way into every corner of her soul.
He wants. Oh, how deeply he wants.
He whispers prayers into her palms, one by one, as she rides him into the break of dawn.
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Day 2
Morning comes and goes in silence.
They lay heedless to the sun's motion, tangled soft sheets lit by the dreamy glow of day through the deep-set awnings and windows of their rental. Thane dozes in and out of sleep with her in his arms, heart swelling each time he wakes, awash in the scent of her hair and skin. They lie together for some time, and when she rises, he curls into the space where she had slept, unwilling to part with her residual heat.
Heat stirs in his limbs as he hears the shower kick on, his body calling for her as though he's woken up back in time, a younger, more virile man. Half in dreams, he can see her naked and robed in morning dew like a siren, and he cannot resist.
He finds her in the frameless shower, sunlight streaming through the window beside her. Water pours over her in rivulets of gleaming light, the sun illuminating the strong dunes of her back, gleaming off her shoulder blades and the curve of her spine.
Shepard, of all the people he had known, was made of sunshine. She was made of the fiery warmth and light of day, bathing him in her glory and simultaneously blinding him with effortless radiance.
And it's here, pressed up against the polished concrete wall beneath a lukewarm deluge of water, that he shows her all the ways he loves her. Shows her how, if he angles his hips just so, the last of her burdens melt away and he knows her as only he can; through the gentle, mewling gasps of an angel on the verge of tasting her own glory, manifesting the soft heat inside her as he drives himself against her deepest reaches.
He has to be mindful of his eyes. This has always been true, will always be true of all drell, but never more so than when she nears the peak of her pleasure. Shepard is possessive, perpetually communicating her need with unending motion, gripping him close as though the mere inches between them are a chasm too great to bear. He watches the way crystalline drops of water bead on her neck and shoulders, they way they catch the morning sun like diamonds, casting pinpricks of dappled light against his own scales and streak down the shape of her as she moves against him, contorted and desperate to take him deeper, to break herself upon the sanguine friction of their joining.
Her head knocks softly against the wall, her back arching, chest thrust toward him. And then she breaks. Sweet gods, how she breaks.
It's almost more than he can take. Words can never hope to say all the beautiful things she is when she comes.
He gathers each gasp, each heartbeat, every droplet of water on her parted lips and every clench of her heat around him. He drinks them all in, safely locked in the depths of his blessed memory for all his days. There is no greater gift in this life or the next.
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Day 3
Much as he would like to spend the entirety of their ‘vacation’ finding a reason to make love to her on every unoccupied surface in their rental, Shepard has made sure to include other activities in their itinerary.
He wakes to find her half dressed, smiling at him as she pulls a swimsuit top over her head. It’s a deep, forest green, with wide, high straps that criss-cross over her collarbones in an attractive triangular shape. He blinks, anchoring himself to reality as though he can't be sure she's real. And if his drowsy eyes find purchase in the alluring curve of her breasts peeking through the small cutout at the top’s center, he's certain the gods will forgive him.
The mattress dips as she sits beside him. “Come for a ride with me,” she whispers by his ear.
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Thane has often heard that human skin is easily burned by their planet’s star. He’s never quite believed it until Shepard.
He finds himself on a beach, massaging the soft cream she calls ‘sunblock’ into her back and shoulders, wondering how he could have ever gotten so lucky. His Siha, his warrior angel, so vulnerable without her armor that she wants - needs - his hands to protect her soft human skin, heals his soul with this one simple act; the intimate joy of being her protector and lover as he takes care to make sure she is thoroughly covered. The ocean breeze blows strands of her carmine hair across her forehead as she turns her head to him, smile lines deepening with delight as their eyes meet.
They pass the time in golden luxuriation, prostrating themselves beneath the radiant heat of Sol for hours, never more than an arm’s length apart, until the sun dips below the horizon and paints the sky in a myriad of hues somewhere between floral and fire.
And as the sun bows out for the evening, he bows her into the sand, lips locked and knees knocking against her own as they collapse together on soft, weatherworn sand that clings to the warmth of the sun as it bids them goodnight.
He never wants to leave this place.
Goddess above, Earth is the very image of serenity. Freer than free, his breath unburdened, his elation pours from him into her waiting mouth as they taste the salt air together. Her beach towel is a poor shield from the sand, but it hardly matters as he uncovers her skin, inch by precious inch, until she quivers beneath his touch, the sound of his name carried away by the rolling swell of the ocean.
He can taste the sea between her legs, the irresistible twang of life and salt and need that rises from her like water from a stone.
“Don't stop,” she breathes.
He couldn't - not if he wanted to. He wants this memory exponentially more than his own pleasure. A moment finer than all the collected treasures of the galaxy, etched into his mind for the rest of his days: his Siha writhing beneath his hot mouth, gripping his scalp, crying out as she tumbles again and again through ecstasy of his making.
He could die here, he thinks. Perhaps he's already dead. He nuzzles her thighs, warm and soft, as she floats down from on high. Yes, if the gods wish this to be his grave, he would gladly bow his head in thanks.
It's an hour’s trek back to their rental, but they will stay here until the ocean wind becomes too cold to endure, dunes yielding beneath them just as flesh yields to flesh and they become one.
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Day 4
It’s the honeymoon phase, he thinks to himself, running his fingers through her hair as she lies sleeping on his chest.
Thane has been here before, in another life, waxing and waning in the warmth of his wife’s bed. Deep in a distant rational corner of his mind tries to tell him: it won’t be this way forever. But does that matter? Does it really, actually matter? Months ago he would have said that he was but a tooth on a cogwheel, destined to spin around in repeating cycles of loss, memory, and despair. But this fierce woman pursues him with all the endurance that humans are known for. Bit by bit, she chips away at the rigid crust the last ten years have borne upon him, and he is alive. Alive in ways he hasn’t known in what feels like a lifetime.
They will spend this day treating themselves to all the beauty that earth’s arid lands have to offer. From the bleached, rolling dunes of sand, to the baked and rocky landscapes dotted with life in its most hardy forms, to the golden time-carved radiance of the painted desert - Goddess preserve him. His past has never felt further away. With her by his side, his world is filled with sunlight in much the same way as Earth’s gleaming sky, now so familiar and perfect to him that he would just as easily call it home.
And when the sun’s heat is too much for her human skin to bear, he trades the scenic vistas of the American southwest for a landscape of another kind.
Her skin glows, its color deepening with each passing day in dappled patterns that betray her state of undress throughout their travels. He finds it endearing, the way her cheeks and shoulders are dusted with more freckles than he'd seen when they arrived, the way her chest and thighs remain lighter in color than the rest of her, drawing his eyes, his hands, his mouth to worship at the temple at is her body. She kneels between his knees and blesses him with the sweet heat of her mouth, stealing his breath as she tastes him, crimson hair the perfect anchor for his hands as she takes him higher and higher.
He had underestimated her appetite for him. Perhaps he'd underestimated his own appetite in turn. They haven't even made it back to their rental and he can already smell the need on her, the cramped taxi insulating and perfuming the air so thickly he can almost taste her, slick and soaking with arousal, maddeningly just out of reach but with nothing but her panties between her need and the rest of him. Powerless to the heat of her mouth, he spirals through his lust as she pleasures him, soft hands and pink lips around his shaft. Her artificial eyes gleam up at him through her mussed hair, and goddess preserve him, he’ll hack the engine himself if it’ll make this taxi go any faster.
She's fumbling at the lock as he pushes her against the wall beside their front door, covering her mouth with his. Lips locked, they stumble inside. His hand drops down to her thigh, palming at the warm skin just beneath her skirt. Shepard, in turn, tugs him in the direction of the bedroom.
He considers this, allowing himself to be led as he considers all they’ve had the pleasure of seeing today - of her radiant smile beneath her oversized sunglasses, unable to conceal the joy of her eyes from his perfect recollection. Of her freckle-dusted shoulders beneath the shadow of her sun hat. And he decides in that moment that no - as much as he adores their soft bed and its sex-scented sheets, he loves her in the daylight more.
The back patio opens with a wave of his omni-tool, and he presses her into the opulent cushions around the fire pit. She chuckles against his mouth - perhaps he's become too predictable, but it no longer matters.
There’s a kind of transcendental brilliance to this place. Some kind of inebriating mix of oxytocin and fresh air and sunshine that ignites his synapses and levitates his heart until he feels he can touch the radiant sky. He ruches up her dress, fabric sheeting off her body until she's all warm, decadent skin against a backdrop of their shed clothing. He groans inwardly at the sight of her, the shadow of her clavicles arching nearly above her soft breasts, tipped with that same aphrodisiac shade of desire that awaits between her lush thighs.
She smiles so sweetly at him, but her eyes are shaded with mischief as she opens her legs for him, teasing her folds beneath his heated gaze. He falls to his knees before her, palming her silken thighs, kissing the wet, sanguine warmth between her legs as though it were her mouth.
Her hips rise to meet him, rolling against his tongue as she brings one ankle gently against his back to guide them together, and Thane breathes out a low, pleasured groan. He loves this - the way her body talks for her, knowing full well he needs no encouragement but asking all the same, driven by biological instinct to share the most intimate parts of her humanity with him - a man from another world. Her body calls for him, beckons him, and he is both her servant and sire.
“Please, please Thane,” she whispers, hands reaching blindly for whatever parts of him she can reach.
He lifts from his place of worship with a breathy inhale, curling his arms around her thighs and hauling her bodily until she rests on the very edge of the cushion and the tip of his cock falls against her wet heat. And then he pushes forward, savoring the way her soft flesh yields to him, how her silken walls conform to every inch of his thick, ridged length, swallowing him to the hilt.
She breathes his name as he bottoms out. Takes a moment to catch her breath and then pushes up on her elbows and then her palms until she’s close enough to wrap one arm around his neck and pull him close. Thane folds an arm around her in turn, pumping in and out of her blessed heat. Thank the gods for her brilliant human flexibility.
The sun beats down on his back, his body shielding her vulnerable human skin from the worst of its rays, as he makes love to her with long, deep thrusts. He could never hope to articulate this specific kind of ecstasy - the ruddy heat of Sol crowning him with the same deep heat he seeks deep inside her.
It’s not what he would call fucking, but it’s not what he would call tender, either. It’s somewhere in between. It’s the heavy, sweet push and pull of two lovers, their minds blank of all thoughts beyond the tension, friction, heat, and pleasure that flows between them; tongues sliding together, hands clutching at skin and scales, at once desperate for release but determined not to reach it, to stay in this moment forever, unwilling to part with the sybaritic heaven they share. She locks one thigh around his hips, bracing herself with one hand so she can touch his face with the other, fingertips trailing almost too roughly against his sensitive ruby cheek as she grinds her cunt onto his heavy girth.
He needs her closer, needs her harder, consumed by the need to become one with her in that sanguine way only two lovers can. Parting from her for just a moment, he slides both knees on the cushions with her, hauling her up onto his thighs, watching for a moment as she grinds her flushed, creamy slit against his length before sinking himself back into her depths. They rock together until he’s sure beyond doubt that she’s out of her mind, blissed out and debauched before the combined heat of her sun and his desire. Until the satin sheen of sweat pooling in the hollow of her throat is too laden to cling to her skin, and she moans his name into the wide open sky. Only then does he drop his hand between them, drawing wide, steady circles around that incandescent neural bullet between her thighs.
Her voice is lost as she comes, words and sounds dying in her throat as, at last, the pleasure is too much for her body to bear. He watches beneath heavy-lidded eyes as she tenses, cries out, and breaks, as her body sings like a plucked harpstring; knowing that for those precious few seconds, she is well and truly his, and his alone.
When her mind is wiped of all thoughts but him, his embrace, his kiss, and the pleasure at his hands, he can finally let go.
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Day 5
He wakes to the sound of music playing softly from another corner of the house. Decades old, by the sound of it, plucked notes singing on a guitar string beneath the melodic voice of a human weaving a tale of a dark desert highway. He’s heard this one before, playing over a crackling stationary radio in the cargo bay where she’d often done routine maintenance on Normandy’s ground vehicle.
Rising with a contented breath, he pads over to the common area to greet the day.
She’s wearing one of his robes, and nothing else. A breezy, cream-colored cotton garment that’s too wide in the shoulders for her more feminine frame. She lets it drop down one arm, the fabric collecting in the crook of her elbow just beneath where her hand rests on the door frame. The rest of it hangs open, gauzy fabric illuminated by the glowing sun streaming in from behind her, framing her in ethereal light. Though her face is in shadow, her artificial eyes are just bright enough to search his soul as she peers back at him.
In that moment, his Siha is more angel than warrior. She's posing for him, framing herself in a mental postcard to commemorate the effortless beauty of this place, this life, this love.
She pauses in the doorway for a good long while, as though she knows precisely what she's doing. Cocking her hip, idly running her long, calloused fingers through her hair, waiting for him to sear this image into his blessed eidetic mind for the rest of his days.
It’s so easy, wrapping her in his arms, kissing her again and again, bitter coffee on his tongue and warm sun on his face.
“I got a message from Hackett this morning,” she says softly.
The tone of her voice makes his stomach clench with unease, and he takes a moment to suppress the tremor in his throat.
“How long do we have?”
“Until tomorrow morning.”
He pulls her tight against his chest, as though by some miracle he could keep her from ever leaving the safety of his arms again. Shepard tucks her head into his shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, Thane.”
“Do not apologize, Siha.” Her hair is soft on his cheek, and he breathes deep as his eyes settle without focus on the rocky landscape outside her lovely picture-frame window. “This sojourn has already brought me more joy than you could ever know.”
When she kisses him, there’s a desperation in her that he’s not felt before, as though she shares his worry. That she’s been called away is unsurprising, in and of itself. But the tension in her shoulders makes his heart quake with an obdurate fear that will linger throughout what remains of their holiday.
He resolves to suppress it. If Shepard has taught him anything, it’s how work and purpose can stave off one’s demons, if only for a little while.
“What would you like for breakfast, Siha?”
She lifts her head then, and her smile is worth whatever heartache lies beyond the indefectible threshold of their abode.
He will take what he can from this moment. Reality can wait just a little longer.
#thane krios#shrios#zet writes things#my brain is broken#sorry about the typos i had to uninstall grammarly because ai is the devil#literally my head is full of lint right now#please enjoy#is this fluff?#aaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAA#mass effect fanfiction
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Kinktober day 5 UNIFORM
Colonel Rick Flag X Reader
Tag(s): +18 I MEAN IT | rough touching/mild restraint, semi-publix sex, oral (male receiving), handsfree orgasm, just a big ol' mess at the end there...
AN: I wrote this in under 30 minutes, please enjoy
It's his own damn fault walking around in...that.
"I have to wear it," he says when he catches you staring, "it's a formality."
"Sure, baby."
He misinterprets the frown on your face and your avoidance of being within 3 feet of him until later in the day when you most definitely are not doing that. In fact that evening it is almost impossible not to feel your fingers pluck nonexistent lint from his shoulders or avoid your decidedly heated staring during conversation.
It gets so bad during the dinner he has to pull you aside. "You need to stop."
It almost enrages him when you bite your lip playfully. "I like when you boss me around, we should do it more often."
His grip on your arm twitches. "Darlin? Behave. This is a funeral for a good man."
"This is a memorial for a General, I hardly remember you calling him a good man." You decide to be vague about the general's living deeds in case of voyeurs, however despite that prospect you dauntlessly tease:
"Too much energy in me to behave, sweetheart," you lean in against his distancing grip and whisper, "why don't you fuck it out of me? Then I can be a good girl. Your good girl…"
The first good girl has him whip his head around, face turning red and neck vein popping to see if anyone was around to hear that. The second one made him drag you closer. "This uniform is… delicate. No."
You pout. He had been ironing the hell out of it even after the dry cleaners and literally everyone you came across complimented him for it– any mystery stains would be immediately noticeable. This would apply to his perfectly parted blond hair.
But you do need him. You need him badly and right now. Your nipples are as hard as glass, they have to be visible despite your efforts in this dress. You really are buzzing with sexual energy and if you don't find a way to release it soon, you know you're going to slip up and embarrass the both of you.
So you need to make do. "Baby?"
Rick gives you an exasperated look that changes when he takes in your beggar's eyes. "I've got a frog in my throat, can you give it a look?"
He doesn't catch on at first. He's too busy taking in the way you're sagging into his hold and you poor thing you, rubbing your thighs together in desperation. He lets go of your arm to wrap both hands on your waist– god, you look like you're in pain.
Rick makes a decision (a red faced decision). "... sure baby, I'll… check it out."
That's how you ended up deep throating your fiance's cock at a private memorial in the bathroom. The suite was clean enough to eat off the floor and you were down on your knees with your mouth full. Rick held onto both of your hands– whether a loving gesture or to prevent you from wrinkling his pants, you weren't sure– and even your no stain lipstick was done for.
Your panties were thoroughly soaked. Not a single touch had been allowed by the nature of your wandering hands in a death grip, but you were right on the edge. Rick was seemingly unable to take a full breath, his attempted stifling of his own moans causing him delightful dizziness as you worked your way from tip to base, slobbering up his cock like you were born to do it.
Your eyes rolled back when he begged you by name. You had another half inch of his cock that you hadn't been able to get to yet, but hearing how desperate for release you made your sweet, sweet fiance?
Well, needless to say it made you come.
To prevent biting down on your beloved, you slipped his cock out of your mouth and accidentally released a gasping moan. The way his slippery cock brushed the outside of your cheek fucked him over, and he was coming to– right on you.
"Fuck!" Unable to release your hand fast enough, Rick pressed your head against his thigh and hopes it will be enough to prevent any more messes. He cannot prevent the repeated spurts of his cum from leaving his body but when the last would not make it over your shoulder, he let go of your other hand and cupped his cock head to try and catch it. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck…"
Then the only sounds in the bathroom were the faucet you had running as a disguise and your collective panting. You looked good like that– all fucked out and droopy eyed.
But not here and not now. He's got your arm bent awkwardly over your shoulder and he releases you. That white smear on your cheek was from the first rope (you hardly noticed). Hand still twisted in your hair he guides you to lean back so he can inspect the front of your dress.
Clean. You were shiny with perspiration, dark marks under your arms but fine. He could see the tile behind you had hnmm white splatters but–
"Oh– " he swallowed that last fuck.
The back of your dress…
You emerged from the bathroom in a better mood, better behavior. Only no one could take your fiances' jacket from you.
You two played it off as being cold.
#three bees writing#colonel rick flag#rick flag x reader#rick flag x female reader#smut#kinktober#black reader insert
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Jealous
Pairing | Eric Northman x reader
Summary | bringing your partner to the bar seemed like a good idea in order to have a nice and relaxing night. However, he appears to become jealous as you speak to the owner of Merlottes.
Warnings | smut, jealousy, swearing, exhibition kink, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), squirting, swearing
Requested ✖️
Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬
A hunger derived in the vampire’s chest, a blossoming swarm of contained rage that made the sheriff clench his fangs and watch with piercing eyes. The laughter that resonated from your chest made him scowl, all because he was the one that was not causing it.
Instead, it was the dog that ran around this human grill, the shifter that more often than not, tried to distance himself from trouble. He was the owner of Merlottes. Sam Merlotte was his name, he had a head full of ashy brown hair, that had ropes of grey pleated through it. He was a nice man, warm and welcoming, the complete opposite of Eric in some sense.
The Viking vampire was known, and to your knowledge to be notorious. He never allowed anything to stand in his way, and if it dared to, he would literally, rip its head off if it had one. And despite that deadly feature that he exhibited, you still claimed to have loved him. The two of you were great together, you seemingly brought out the best in him, apart from right now.
Eric grunted to no one directly as he watched you swish your head side to side, shaking it as you laughed at something the bartender said. All that you were supposed to be doing were ordering drinks, not flirting with another one of the men that had previously been head over heels for Sookie.
With one last glance at the shifter, you turned back, sitting on the opposite side of the booth that Eric had been holding. You brushed your hair over your shoulder, it was obvious that you were relaxed in this environment. It was filled with your friends and neighbours, acquaintances and strangers. But it still, despite the limitless customers, induced you with serenity.
“The drinks will be here in a couple.” Despite informing him, it appeared that he could care less about the time until the order reached the surface of the table.
“Will that animal be serving them?” In reply, you laughed, dismissing the seriousness within his tone. That was, until you maintained eye contact with the tall blonde, noticing the feral presence decreasing the size of his pupil.
“Are you speaking about Sam?” You asked uncertainty, the owner having been the only one that you had conversed with in the bar, excluding Eric, so far. “Oh my god, you are.” Your speculation had been correct, and you couldn’t help but feel a pulse of annoyance within you.
If Eric actually ever listened to you, then he would know that your friends meant the world and more to you, and that included the shapeshifter. “I don’t like the way he was looking at you.” He put it simply, and you could only scoff at his defence. It was hardly a reason for him to appear and treat you so uptight and rudely.
“What, with care? Because news flash, maybe you haven’t noticed everything that I have done for you Eric, but many times my actions have proven that you are it for me. And if you can’t see that, you may as well be human!” To support your active words, you stood, the palms of your hands planted upon the surface of the booth.
Sookie quirked a brow as her head filled with your thoughts, however she had no time to adjust to them or check how you were doing, as you stormed out of the grill, leaving Eric with a frown and a sombre glaze in his untameable eyes.
But she couldn’t help herself from taking your place looking down at the table, judgementally prying Eric with a disgruntled frown. “Did you seriously question y/n’s love with you?!” Her accent came out strong, digging into the tense atmosphere that you had strongly abandoned.
Eric rolled his eyes at her intrusion, finding it to be a familiar, yet frustrating feeling of her always bursting his bubble. “It has nothing to do with you, why don’t you talk some sense into your vampiric boyfriend instead?” He jutted back at her, standing, and brushing off any possible lint from his blazer jacket.
Reaching into his inside pocket, he grabbed a small amount of cash, placing it upon the table, and walking past the half faerie, brushing against her as he went towards the door, leaving. Eric had no worries, he could sense that even whilst he was inside, that you were there, leant up against the wall, awaiting for him to follow after you. It was inevitable that he evens would.
Your arms were crossed, and you were facing the parking lot rather than the entrance. The stature that you upheld made it rather clear that you were angry with his behaviour; and not to mention that it was also in public.
The vampire knew that you loved him, despite Sookie’s feeble accusations. Fighting was not something that the pair of you were estranged to, however it made you furious to know that he would accuse you of being interested in somebody else.
It was certain that if Pam was here she would scold her maker for his uptight, and jealous outburst. But it wasn’t as though she would have been able to prevent it anyways, considering that she was all the way across town in Fangtasia attending to the business ongoing there.
“I do know that you love me.” His voice rang out in the cold of the night, frolicking to your ears and biting your lobes as you still refused to face the tall and unfavourable vampire.
“Right now, that is debatable.” Was your retort, feeling the cold air brush against your face as you felt it pinch your nose. “To not only insult my friend, but embarrass me in front of a bar full of people, that was not how tonight was supposed to go at all!”
Your body jolted as you suddenly felt his body press against the back of your own, his large and explorative hand dragging up the skin of your exposed thigh, that was free of coverage in the casual black dress that you had opted to wear for the occasion.
“I am sorry my lovely dear, you know how I tend to be, especially when I hear other men make you evoke that wonderful and all consuming laugh that gets my dead heart to beat every time.” A hitch of a sigh caught in your throat as you tried to remain unaffected by Eric’s flattery, but it was rather impossible, more so as his hands brushed against the lace of your panties.
On reflex, you snapped his hands away from that part of you, you were in the middle of the parking lot for Christ sakes! Though that did not, nor did it ever seem to phase him, if you were to guess, you had noticed some hints leading to him having an exhibition kink. And it was not as though you had never called him out on it, though, most of the time, you happened to give into his public desires.
It was often portrayed within the context and realm of his workplace; Fangtasia. Within the club, there was a frequent case of rendezvous that the club permitted to take place inside its various walls that were filled with vampires and their lustful humans. The exchanges that took place were anything but loving, they were filled by hunger, and the curiosity that simple people, that thought themselves to be edgy and desirable to the immortal eye, all making the rooms reek of pretentious assholes taking advantage of one another.
“We are not doing that here Eric.” You scolded his efforts, despite your craving for them to take place, and ravish you no matter the surrounding that were into the background anyways. With great resilience, you swatted his north travelling hands away, making them stoic from the adequate dismissal.But Eric Northman was never one to admit defeat, he had a plaguing tendency to get what he wanted, and he was always had a route of persuasion to get it.
“Aren’t we?” He asked wispily unto your drifting head, as though he were corrupting the stubbornness that was attempting to remain untainted in the rafters that floated so correspondingly through your weightless veins. “Then why are we sneaking to the back of the grill?” His words had a frown fired upon your face as you tried to register the truth behind his words, but in time before you could ask the mysterious vampire what he had meant by his words, he had sped you away to the said part that was already close by.
“Mature move.” You muttered, and the consequences of your off handed comment had earned you the vulnerable position of being pressed right up and against the back door, that was only usable to the staff. If you tilted your head just right, you could hear the clattering of plates being stacked, and the distant voices o Arlene and Terry as they partook in a private discussion that was supposed to be inaudible to anyone else’s ears.
Beaing that close to people that you knew, and in such a compromising situation where they could easily catch you, had you clenching your thighs together, clearly frustrated by the scenario of your predicament. Clearly. And with Eric standing smugly inside of you, once trailing his fingers on the high top of your thigh, his skin tasting your flesh that was beneath the dress, did not help the matters of your hormonal state.
“I said I was sorry.” Eric reminded you, stroking your thighs with his age old touch, and at the notion, your legs quivered, responding affective to his seducing touch. “Perhaps I have to prove it, would you like that y/n?” An audible whimper fell from your stiff mouth, evicting an amused and gloating smirk out of your boyfriend. He knew what he had done, he had moulded you into a desperate mess.
“I’d rather you apologise to Sam, and whoever else you happened to insult in your time in there.” Was your response, though he tutted at it, seeing through its mask, understanding what you wanted was for him to do more than just caress your thighs, and nothing more. “Eric.” A moan slipped from your mouth, as he fondled your breasts through the bleak fabric.
At first, you thought that he was going to pull the material down to expose your womanly globes, but instead, he tore straight down the middle of the dress, leaving it hanging from you by nothing more than a thread. His action enraged you only slightly, but before you could open your mouth to tell him off for destroying your clothing, he snapped the elastic of your underwear, leaving the personal garment to drop in a discarded manner at your heeled feet.
“You are indeed a sight for sore eyes. Do you know how jealous I would be if one of those fools came out here, and saw you so exposed? There’d be no words to describe how much I would want to compel them to forget, and you thought I was angry inside. That would be nothing more than an understatement my dear.” His hands cast themselves down to grope at your ass cheeks, pulling a surprised squeal out of your mouth.
This time, you did not try and stop his feeling of your body, instead, you rather encouraged it. Wrapping your hand in his smooth blonde locks, you began to push down, which was difficult considering how high his head was, leaving your arms half up in the air as you tried to make him descend. “Do something Eric, or I will.”
“Here?” He asked with a prominent smirk, feeling your hostile glare and intoxicating pout bore harshly into him. Rolling his eyes, he sighed, giving up on his verbal teasing as he sank to his knees, looking up at you from beside your legs. He pressed a sweet kiss against your navel, trailing down, until he was nipping at the curve of your mound, his hands resting on the back of your thighs, to pull you closer as he ran his tongue along the hood of your clit, making you bang your head back against the door.
The sound made you eyes go wide, as you worried that someone on the inside must have heard, though the thought quickly subsided as Eric began to eat you alive, stuffing his tongue in your entrance, leaving you to be nothing more than a mewling victim that was in distress from the pleasure that he gave you. His nose rubbed against your clit, as he hummed delightedly against you, the vibrations causing your body to quiver.
“Stop.” You panted, though he continued, staring up at you with those light eyes, that held much darkness of his past. “Need you inside of my Ric. Please, need you to fuck me good and hard, just fuck me.” There were tears frustratedly slipping from the corners of your eyes, as you were upheld of relief as Eric moved away, undoing his bottoms, and taking his long cock out, sweeping it against your slit.
“I’ll fuck you darling; let everyone know that your mine.” His free hand held the corner of your chin, plummeting his tongue into your mouth, to have one moment of calm, before he penetrated you, leaving you in a mess that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head and deliriously spinning from the euphoria that you felt. Eric performed at a fast and unrelentingly pace, slamming you hard enough into the door for everyone to hear.
It was certain that people within Merlottes could hear the sounds that were ravaged from your lips, though you were too absorbed in your own pleasure to care at all. Eric fucked into you hard, and you appeared unfazed as someone tried to open the door from the other side, the wood splintering against your back as your boyfriend‘s strength kept it shut, pushing your floundering body back against it.
And then you felt it, the absentminded swirl in your stomach, coaxing you closer and closer to release. Eric filled you first, and then he reached down, rubbing your clit, causing a clear stream to spray out from around his cock, leaving you utterly exhausted. You were half asleep now, and so, Eric picked you up, and sped away, leaving your torn clothes upon the floor, so that anyone that found them would know that it was the pair of you that had been using the outside wall as a mattress for your engagements.
#eric northman smut#eric northman fanfiction#eric northman x reader#eric imagines#eric northman imagine#eric x reader#eric smut#Eric Northman oneshot#alexander skarsgård imagine#Alexander skarsgard smut#true blood smut#true blood one shot#true blood x reader#true blood imagine#imagines#imagine#xreader#vampire x human
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𝐀𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳: 𝐓𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐨 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝)
Warnings: NSFW content. Read at your own discretion. Not requested.
❥𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰
"Hongjoong!"
You were practically swinging your feet in the air, whining and pouting like a child out of boredom and annoyance at being cooped up in the studio with your boyfriend.
"5 more minutes." He repeated.
"You've said that for the last 45 minutes." You groaned, tired of waiting for him to finish up.
"I promise I'm serious this time." He assured you.
5 minutes quickly turned to 10, nearly becoming 15. You let out a huff every now and then, eyes staring daggers into the back of your boyfriend's head. Seriously, why could he not take a little break? You wanted to spend time with him yet even on what's supposed to be his day off, he still chooses to work when you could both be doing.....other things.
Getting an idea, your hands quickly worked to rid yourself of your pants and underwear, Hongjoong, still focused on his task didn't even budge at the sound behind him. But when he began to hear some rather familiar moaning, he swung his chair around and was shocked to see you legs spread on the couch, your fingers rubbing against your clit as you stared at him through hooded eyelids. Hongjoong instantly got hard. Licking his lips, he got up and took his place next to you on the couch. Fumbling with his zipper, he pulled his pants down enough to stroke his hardened member.
"Let's play a game since you're so bored. If you can get yourself off before I cum, I'll eat you out right here. But if I cum first, you have to suck me off."
❥𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓢𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝔀𝓪
You were even more tired and angry than when you woke up. Why did your boyfriend have to be so difficult and special about cleaning? You literally spent over an hour lint rolling the shelves over and over again because you had 'missed a spot.'
"Make sure to get the corners, that's where the dust mostly accumulates." He called out from the kitchen.
Not being able to take it anymore, you threw the roller and the rag you were holding down onto the floor. You were tired of being ignored by your boyfriend except when he came over to inspect your cleaning. So you decided it was time to get back at him while simultaneously showing him getting dirty isn't such a bad thing.
Picking up the bucket of murky water, you mentally patted yourself on the back for choosing not to wear a bra underneath your white tank top. Looking over at Seonghwa, who still had his back turned, you put your plan in action. Splashing some of the contents all over you, you let out a squeal that had Seonghwa running over immediately.
"What?" He asked as he came in.
Putting on the biggest pout you could muster, you turned around to let him see the mess you made: white tank top soaked, your breasts completely visible through it, nipples poking out. Seonghwa's mouth dropped as he stared at them, unable to peel his eyes off.
"I'm dirty." You let out a huff.
Discarding the rag he was holding, Seonghwa pulled you against him as he began to peel your shirt off.
"Why don't we get you cleaned up then?"
❥𝓙𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓾𝓷𝓱𝓸
Once again you tried to pull your boyfriend out of bed.
"Yunho, baby. Come on. You have to get up."
You tried to tug his arm, pulling it but he didn't budge at all. Dropping his arm, you looked at him with an 'are you kidding me' expression.
"You said you were going to get up early to spend time together." You reminded him.
Letting out a tired groan, turned onto his stomach and hugged the pillow underneath him.
"I will....just give me a few more minutes..."
Shaking your head, you smacked his back before getting up yourself. You decided to let him have it his way. You had a lot of things to do today, starting with taking a shower. You made sure to slam the drawers rather loudly in an attempt to annoy your boyfriend, which he did not really appreciate, but still didn't say anything.
You were barely 2 minutes into your shower when you remembered you forgot your shampoo in your vanity dresser. Not even caring to turn off the water since you would be in and out in less than 10 seconds, you sprinted out the bathroom, door accidentally letting out a loud noise that startled your boyfriend. He quickly shot up and his gaze fell on you and your dripping naked body.
"Sorry Yunho, I forgot this." You apologized profusely.
Yunho blinked slowly, eyes scanning your entire body as he began to move off the bed.
"Damn...I'm definitely up now." He chuckled at the double meaning behind his statement.
Although you didn't plan it, you couldn't complain when he pulled his shirt over his head and began walking you back into the bathroom.
"Let's hurry before the water gets cold." He said with a smirk on his face as he closed the door behind him.
❥𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓮𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰
"I swear to god, you probably love chicken more than me."
Besides the fact your cold boyfriend was being a selfish asshole by not sharing his meal, he had been blatantly ignoring you when you both knew damn well he was more than capable of maintaining a conversation while also eating his dinner. You let out a scoff when he still didn't acknowledge you and just kept munching on the stupid drumstick. Picking up one of his fries, you flung it at his head.
"I am talking to you!" You exclaimed.
"Busy." He pointed down at his food, mouth full of chicken, you don't even get how you even understood that one word.
"Well you definitely answered my question. You do love chicken more than me. I bet if you had to choose between me or a chicken leg, you wouldn't hesitate to grabbed the chicken leg and ditch me."
You were seriously about to smack him when he just stared you down as he reached for another chicken leg.
"Are you serious-"
Getting up in frustration, you were going to go the bedroom and make him sleep on the couch, but suddenly an idea popped in your head. Turning back around, you stood right in front of him from across the table, hands on your hips. He gave you a questioning look when he finally looked over at you and then proceeded to choke slightly when you lifted your shirt up and flashed your boobs at him. The poor boy was nearly wheezing at the sight. Feeling satisfied, you put your shirt down and chuckled at him.
Quickly putting the leg down, Yeosang began wiping his hands on a napkin as he walked over to you.
"I'm suddenly hungry for something else."
❥𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓢𝓪𝓷
"Who's the prettiest girl? You are..yes you are." San cooed at the siamese he was currently smothering in his embrace.
Meanwhile you were on the other side of the couch, no longer paying attention to the movie playing. Well technically neither was your boyfriend, but you weren't watching cause you were too busy witnessing some furry feline steal his attention away from you to the point of abandoning your cuddling session in favor for her.
"San, she doesn't even want to be held." You pointed out how her claws were sticking out, her head looking in all directions trying to search for a way out of his embrace.
"Nonsense! My babygirl loves me." He chuckled as he kissed the top of her head.
"I thought I was your babygirl." You whimpered slightly.
San didn't respond which made you even more jealous of the stupid yet totally innocent cat who just wanted to be free from her owner's caresses. Tapping a finger against your cheek, a sinful idea popped in your head. Taking advantage of the fact a blanket was covering your lower half, you pulled your shorts and panties down without San noticing anything. Pulling the blanket off you and lifting his hoodie that you were wearing slightly up, you spread your legs before calling out to him in a sing song voice.
When San looked over, his jaw dropped at the sight and he immediately put Byeol down on the floor.
"Go on now girl, run along." He patted her behind.
With a sly smirk, he began to position himself in between your thighs.
"Cause there's another pussy I want to play with."
❥𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲
It was supposed to be a date night with your boyfriend. You two had already finished eating the delicious meal you cooked specially for him and were now supposed to watch a movie together, yet his eyes were glued to his phone. Glancing over, you frowned when you saw he was texting no one else but Yunho.
"Mingi?" You poked his cheek.
"Hmm?" He barely acknowledged you.
"You're not watching the movie." You said.
"Yeah I am." He responded, typing something into his phone.
Rolling your eyes, you then asked him what part was it on.
"The part where they found out the butler did it." He answered you.
You wanted to face palm. The idiot forgot it wasn't even a thriller since his baby ass couldn't handle them. Getting up, you told him you were going to the bathroom, which he probably didn't hear since his conversation with Yunho must obviously be more important than his date night with you. Turning on the light, you peeled off your pajama set to reveal the new lingerie set you bought specifically for tonight. Pulling out your phone, you quickly snapped a photo and sent it to him. Hearing a loud thud, you smirked as you knew he saw it and that noise was of him dropping his phone.
When you came back out, he was no longer on his phone, instead his attention was fully on you. Clearing his throat, he stared at the pastel pink set.
"You got that just for tonight?" He questioned you.
"Yep." You nodded.
Letting out a long sigh, he got up and went over to you, an arm slinging around your waist.
"I'm an ass aren't I?"
You giggled at him and pecked his lips.
"Just shut up and come on. I didn't spend so much money on this for it to go to waste."
Mingi was a giggling and blushing mess as he allowed you to lead him into the bedroom.
❥𝓙𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰
You covered your ears at your boyfriend's obnoxious and loud laugh, no doubt signaling another victory on the stupid game he was currently playing. He had the volume up so loud you could actually hear some of the sound effects emanating from it.
"Jung Wooyoung!!!!" You screamed at the top of your lungs and yet he still couldn't hear you.
Throwing your hands up in frustration, you gave up and went into your room. Taking out your phone, you began scrolling mindlessly through tiktok. Nothing besides cat videos were actually interesting at this point....
Until you saw the newest challenge that was trending all over. Perfect for girls who had oblivious gamer boyfriends like the one you had. Getting up, you decided to put the plan into action. Stripping out of your clothes, you grabbed a towel to wrap around yourself and grabbed a nearby plushie toy to throw at him since yelling wasn't going to work.
As expected, he did not notice you standing in front of him for a while after you came out. Aiming the plushie at him, you struck him right on the face. He immediately ripped his headset off.
"What the fuck are you-"
He froze when he saw you standing there, a mischievous look on your face. Swallowing hard, he widened his eyes when you let the towel drop on the floor, your naked body on full display for him. Not even bothering to see if he paused the game or not, he quickly got up and started walking towards you.
"Come here babygirl."
Knowing his teasing tone to well, you quickly sped down the hallway, giggling loudly as Wooyoung chased after you, catching up to you and holding you in his arms.
"Stop right there. You caused a problem, now you fix it."
Throwing you over his shoulder, he gave your ass a slap as he walked into the bedroom. Throwing you on the bed, he straddled your lap and began to free himself out of his sweatpants.
"Ok. Why not show me your skills with a joystick for once?"
❥𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓙𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝓸
You could not peel your eyes off your boyfriend's arms as they continued to lift up the weights he was holding. You were pretty sure you were drooling at this point. Every time his muscles flexed, you were tugging at your bottom lip with your teeth, your thighs clenching closer together.
"Jongho?" You shyly called out to him.
He didn't respond since he had his earbuds in, music full volume. Besides, when he was concentrated on something it was very difficult to get him to break focus. So you needed to think of something that would work.
Looking down and fumbling with the hem of your skirt, you finally had an idea. Moving cautiously so he wouldn't notice, you slipped a hand inside and began pulling your panties down your legs. Not like you needed them, they were practically drenched already.
Casually walking in front of Jongho, you pretended to be on your phone and 'accidentally' drop it. Bending down, you made sure your skirt rode up enough for him to notice you weren't wearing underwear. That is if he had even looked over at you. Glancing back, you caught your boyfriend's eyes, which were staring at you in disbelief.
"Guess it worked." You chuckled inwardly.
Putting the weights down, Jongho took off his earbuds and walked over to you. His fingers glided down to your skirt.
"Are you trying to tell me something?" He whispered, lips ghosting over your earlobe.
Sucking in a breath, you whined at him.
"I want you to pay attention to me."
Chuckling softly, he pressed your body to the wall, hands going to the back of your thighs and lifting you up effortlessly.
"Well then. Wanna help me out? Let's see how long I can lift you in and out of my cock."
Gifs not mine. Credit goes to their respective owners.
#ateez#ateez reactions#ateez scenarios#ateez imagines#ateez smut#ateez fluff#ateez hongjoong#ateez seonghwa#ateez yunho#ateez yeosang#ateez san#ateez mingi#ateez wooyoung#ateez jongho#ateez headcanons
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Holding Hands
Just dipping my toe into the "faking a relationship for a holiday party" trope. (And blame @shealwaysreads for this cause she was like do it and so I did it.)
This is unbeta’d. Please be gentle with me.
*
Draco waited. The silence that had fallen a couple of minutes ago was still loud. The fire in the hearth kept spitting threateningly instead of just crackling quietly and sweetly like it should. The fairy lights around the tree twinkled gently, slowly, throwing golden patterns over Potter's skin, his dark hair.
They were sat across from each other in front of the hearth, Draco in his armchair upholstered in silver-grey velvet, and Potter in the plushy green armchair he had conjured when he'd arrived. Their drinks were sitting on the spindly-legged table between them.
Potter looked very politely confused, a tiny smile on his face, a thin line between his brows. He was leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, his long, strong fingers clasped together neatly, his full attention focused on Draco. He looked...like he was waiting for Draco to finish speaking, to...explain.
Draco licked his lips and tilted his head a bit. "Erm...?"
Potter's smile widened a bit. "Yes?" he said eagerly. Draco blinked and shook his head imperceptibly. Potter's confusion deepened. "I'm...waiting for you to...you know--" he waved his hand vaguely and then grinned, "--laugh," he finally said, a tad lamely.
Draco frowned. "What's funny?"
Potter's mouth fell open on a stupid gape. "I mean... I thought..." He pushed his glasses up his nose and then scratched the back of his neck. "So, what was it you were saying? What are you asking me?"
"Did you not hear me, or are you feigning stupidity?" Draco asked coldly.
Potter frowned, bristling a bit. "I heard you, Draco, and I feel like you're taking the mickey."
"I'm doing no such thing. I explained my predicament and asked you a simple yes or no question. Would you be so kind as to grace me with an answer?"
Potter shook his head irritably. "Stop talking like that!"
"Like what?"
"Like... Like a fucking ponce. That's how you used to speak to me." Draco just looked at him. "Can you just be normal, please?" Potter snapped.
Draco spread his hands out. "I am being normal."
"Uh huh." Potter was still frowning. "So, you're saying--" He broke off and shifted in his seat, straightening up. "So, you're saying..." Trailing off, he just sat there looking like a fucking idiot. "What are you saying?" he finally asked.
Draco picked up his brandy and took a sip before leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs, lifting his chin high. "Fine. I will ask you again. Since you're a bloody troglodyte, apparently." He had to gather the will and courage all over again to repeat himself. "Will you accompany me to my parents' Christmas party as my boyf- partner? Meaning, they'll think you're my partner. We’ll just have to pretend."
"You...said something before that earlier."
"Oh. Yes. Well, when my mother asked me if you and I are lovers, after she read that article about us in the Prophet, I simply said yes." He'd managed to say it without displaying any emotion the first time. Now, however, Draco could feel heat rising up his neck and face.
Potter was looking particularly stupid as he stared with his mouth open. "Your parents think we're dating?" Draco nodded. "And they want to...meet me?"
Draco brushed imaginary lint off his trousers. "If you consent."
Potter leaned back, slumping in his chair, knees spreading, his arms hanging over the sides of the chair. He blew out a long breath with a whooshing sound, his lips very pink as they formed an 'o'. Then, rather abruptly, he chuckled, rubbing his face and making his glasses jump onto his forehead.
"Which bit did you find amusing?" asked Draco with feigned politeness.
"The whole thing."
"Oh?"
"Draco," Potter said on a laugh, "can you stop talking like that, please? It's fucking hilarious right now. Especially because that's not how one talks to their 'lover'."
Draco knew he was probably purple in the face by now. It was embarrassing. He ought to have told Potter right after he'd confirmed the rumours to his parents. They'd have laughed about it, and then asking him to go to this fucking party now wouldn't be such a fucking task.
Because they're friends. Close friends even. And Potter was probably going to say yes. He never denied Draco anything. He was always indulging Draco; taking care of Draco. Siding with Draco when that fucking Weasel ragged him. Always promoting Draco's label in his interviews, endorsing his little boutique. Trusting Draco enough let him dress him for important events even though Draco knew Potter had the most basic, unadventurous sense of fashion.
Draco wanted to roll his eyes. Potter was the softest, most indulgent person and he was probably going to say yes. But that didn't make any of this any easier. Because obviously Potter thought it was funny that the two of them might be lovers. He found this whole thing really amusing.
There was a thin strain of hurt somewhere in Draco's chest but he ignored it.
"So how long before you say yes like we both know you're going to?" Draco drawled.
Potter grinned widely. "What am I going to be wearing?"
*
The Manor was an absolute wonder to behold. Draco was sure even Hogwarts was never this heavily decorated for the holidays. Fairy lights, glittering icicles, ice sculptures, wreaths, ostentatiously decorated Christmas trees, more lights - the whole house, inside and out, was dripping in red, green, gold and white.
Potter stared around in silence, his expression very serious. He was dutifully holding Draco's hand (just like a lover might) and was taking in the sight of the gigantic ballroom they were in, guests milling about sipping golden champagne from crystal flutes, house-elves trotting around between people's knees holding up trays of hors d'oeuvres; the four gigantic, glittering Christmas trees in each corner of the room, the ice sculpture of a delicately carved fairy, her wings spread, in the centre of the room, sparkling fairy dust falling from her hand and disappearing mid-air.
To Draco this was just about normal, if a tad bit overdone (for the enjoyment of the guest of honour he'd brought along with him, he supposed), but he still blushed in embarrassment when he looked around with Potter's eyes; he was probably convinced now that his parents were pretentious or something. Feeling a bit timid, he glanced sideways at Potter.
He was looking very, very handsome tonight. He had on robes of deep, royal violet - dark enough to nearly pass off as black - with intricate gold embroidery that Draco had spent hours working on himself. He'd let Draco clip a matching cape, embroidered and lined along the hem with fur, onto his shoulders with matching brooches that glittered under the light of what had to be at least a thousand candles hovering above them. He'd made a decent attempt at taming his hair - not a successful attempt, but Draco gave him credit for trying anyway. He'd switched his usual clunky glasses out for the vision correcting spells that Draco knew he hated but it meant his eyes were shining so bright and green that it made Draco's stomach clench a bit with something he’d always staunchly ignored.
Then, his parents spotted them. Lucius was in black as usual - the material expensive, but still black - and Narcissa looked decades younger than she was in robes of pale lavender and silver. Draco smiled as she beamed at them, gliding over alongside her husband.
"Darling." She feathered her lips over Draco's cheek. "Fashionably late, I see. And fashionably dressed," she added, turning to Potter and holding out her hand, her smile small but her eyes warm.
Potter bent over her hand and brushed his lips over the back of her hand briefly - just like Draco had instructed him to - before straightening up and smiling politely. "Thank you for inviting me to your wonderful party, Mrs. Malfoy."
"You are very welcome - literally. And please call me Narcissa."
Lucius had watched and listened in silence, his hands clasped behind his back, his serious gaze fixed on Potter. When Narcissa stepped back, he slowly extended a hand to Potter.
Draco held his breath. They hadn't discussed this. He had no idea how Potter was about to behave with his father but he knew he wouldn't blame him for anything he said or did. Potter was a much better man than his father. This was fact.
But Potter simply shook hands with Lucius and nodded. Draco felt his shoulders relax.
They mingled. Draco had to repeatedly 'introduce' Potter to people as though they all didn't already know who he was, who his fucking parents were. It was laughable. But this was a stupid fucking formal Pureblood soirée and Draco still had his manners. What surprised him was how well-mannered Potter was being.
Potter was also being very loyal to his role as Draco's partner.
"He was such a little terror as a child, bless his heart," said some old crone, patting Draco's cheek with one wrinkled hand. Draco wanted to hiss at her like a cat.
"Aren't we all, at that age?" Potter said calmly, smiling.
"Oh, you're very dedicated to him, I see" she simpered. "Such a pleasure to see. You hardly ever find this in you youngsters these days."
"He doesn't give me much reason not to be dedicated to him."
Potter was still holding his hand.
"Draco doesn't tell us anything about how the two of you put your rather unhappy history aside in order to accept your...softer feelings for each other." Narcissa looked like she'd been bursting to ask Potter this all evening; she'd finally gotten a chance now that she was done making the obligatory rounds amongst her guests.
Potter looked at him, and Draco, his face hot, returned his gaze, trying to apologise wordlessly. But Potter just grinned.
"Well, I don't know about him but," Potter smiled down at Narcissa, looking handsome and charming and, well, fuck, "it was just a natural, automatic thing for me, really. The more I got to know the real Draco Malfoy the deeper I fell in love with him."
Draco felt his eyes widen a bit. He wanted to look at Potter to figure him out, to try and discern just how much he was bullshitting. He wanted to read Potter because Potter was supremely easy to read. The man wore his heart on his sleeve. Draco could always tell, just from one glance, the kind of mood Potter was in.
Trying to appear casual, like Potter hadn't said anything that made Draco's breath catch, Draco looked sideways at him. Potter was smiling, his eyes honest and soft and crinkled at the corners. He was nodding along to something Narcissa was saying.
And he was still holding Draco's hand.
"Very well done," Draco muttered, once his mother had wandered away into the crowd.
Potter smiled and squeezed his hand. "You said you'd give me a tour of the gardens," he said. Draco nodded and led him out.
They strolled in a leisurely manner. It was snowing but there were charms in place which meant that the snow never actually touched them, instead disappearing about a foot over their heads. The gardens were decorated too, lights twinkling everywhere, lighting up the paths.
"This must've been a great place to grow up," Potter eventually said.
They turned the corner and in the distance was the turret-shaped gazebo, hung with white-gold lights. Narcissa, when the weather permitted, loved to paint in the gazebo. Draco smiled.
"It was." Then, guiltily, "I mean... I don't mean to brag or any--"
Potter laughed. It was a low, deep, familiar sound that made Draco break out in gooseflesh.
"Draco," he said gently. "You don't have to feel guilty every time you talk to me about your childhood."
Draco lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "'m not guilty," he mumbled.
"No? You're still that insufferable, obnoxious little shit you were in school?"
Draco actually felt his face fall. He turned to Potter, unbothered about sounding vulnerable. "That's what you thought of me?"
Potter laughed. "Can you blame me? Do you remember you back at school?"
Draco slumped a little. "I suppose." They were nearly at the gazebo now. Together, they turned onto the path that led to the steps leading into it. Then, "That's...not what you think of me now, is it?"
"Draco," Potter's voice was gentle, yet teasing, "Everyone thinks you're a prat. You have to know this."
"Yes, but you?" They climbed the two steps and walked into the gazebo.
"I think you're a prat too." They were still holding hands. "But you're my prat."
Draco turned to look at him but Potter, with a sharp yank, was pulling Draco to himself. With a soft 'oof', Draco hit Potter's chest. Now they were holding both hands.
He quickly pulled himself together although Potter could probably feel his heart galloping in his chest. "Am I, now?"
"Isn't that what we've just spent the last hour and a half proving to people?"
"Well," Draco said slowly, "I was under the impression that it was an act."
"Well," Potter said quietly. "I'd rather it...be real."
They were standing pressed together in the centre of the gazebo, fairy lights surrounding them, Potter's green, green eyes reflecting them as he stared intensely at Draco. He looked like he was challenging Draco, like he was daring Draco to laugh in his face and carelessly brush aside what he'd said. Because that's what Draco Malfoy would do when Harry Potter declared something like that, right? He'd stomp on Harry Potter's proffered heart and revel in it.
Draco couldn't even imagine doing something like that. Especially not when Potter was holding his hands and smelt so good and looked at him like he was promising him so, so many things.
"You were very convincing tonight," said Draco.
"It was really easy," said Potter.
"You held my hand throughout."
"I wasn't about to give up the chance I had."
"Thank you for coming with me tonight."
"I wasn't about to give up the chance I had."
"Potter?"
"Shouldn't you be calling me Harry if we're together?"
"Would you like that?"
"I would love that, Draco."
"You've called me Draco for years now."
"I have."
Draco looked down at the lines of gold thread on Harry's chest, gleaming against the violet silk. "I think I'd like to call you Harry," he admitted.
When his gaze lifted back to Harry's, he was smiling at Draco. Then he looked up above them.
"Mistletoe," Harry said simply.
Draco's ears were ringing as though he'd been struck.
"Oh," he said, his voice quavering.
Harry just smiled again, and slowly let his head drop forward so that their foreheads touched. Then he brought his mouth up to Draco's brow and kissed it.
"Oh," repeated Draco.
They were just gazing at one another now.
Damn it, thought Draco as he broke first and kissed Harry full on the mouth.
They were still holding hands.
*
#drarry#faking a relationship#for a fucking christmas party#classic trope#that i tried to do justice to#idk *side eyes*#my writing#i feel like this has no shape#or plot#so yes this is basically just like anything else i've ever written#happy holidays!
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DORM BUDDIES
32. girlfriend, huh?
DORM BUDDIES MASTERLSIT
DING!
it’s him. it’s sugawara.
“and remember, if he does or says anything that makes you uncomfortable, what do you call out?” tsukishima has both hands place on each of your shoulders with a stern look on his face.
“I say strawberries and you’ll come ‘rescue me like a knight in shining armor.’ we’ve been over this like 10 times in the past hour, kei.” you say playfully. tsukishima’s facial features soften a bit and he smiles at you, but it’s more to himself. he’s just happy you’re not feeling nervous.
“i know.. i just want you to be safe, that’s all.” he smiles, staring at your eyes, then quickly glancing at your lips. you smile back at him and come closer so you’re almost nose to nose to him, taping his nose softly.
“you’re so soft for me.”
“shut up. i’m not.” he stands to his full height and scoffs, blush allergens on his face “last time i checked, you have a guest waiting for you at the door. maybe you should answer it. if you need me just say—“
“strawberries.” you interrupt him, heading to the door with a smirk on your face, making tsukishima chuckle.
“i’ll be in my room.”
for some odd reason, there’s not one ounce of fear or nervousness in you. you don’t know if it’s because of the little lecture tsukishima gave you this morning, or if it’s just the breakfast you ate, but this sudden in urge in confidence is something that was indeed needed.
tsukishima turns around at last and enters his room. you purposefully waited until he went back to his room to avoid him and suga having a very-much-not-needed-convo.
once you opened the door, for some odd reason, the confidence went away. you’re pretty sure his face is what triggered that to happen.
“hi.”
“hi.”
“uh, it’s pretty cold in here. can i.. come in?” sugawara asks, it’s barely even a whisper, but you manage to hear it. you avoid making direct eye contact, you opt for nodding your head and letting out a small hum instead.
you move to the side so he can enter and you close the door and lock it as you walk behind him with one arm placed on the other. he looks back at you and smiles sheepishly, and you signal to the couch, he talks that as a sign to sit.
you both sit in silence for what seems like forever (even though it’s been a good minute or two).
well this seems pointless.
“y/n, i’m sorry. i truly am.” he sounds like he’s begging, and honestly it’s annoying the fuck out of you. is that all he came here for? is to apologize? he could’ve done that through text, you wouldn’t have minded if he did it that way.
“is that all you came here for? to apologize?” you mutter, staring at the ground.
“well, yeah—“
“well then you could’ve done that through text, sugawara.” you scoff, obviously annoyed with him. he cocks your head at the way you’re staring at him in annoyance and furrows his brows, not used to the sudden behavior.
“the hell’s wrong with you?” he asks, his voice is deeper and laced with irritation, a voice he’d usually use when you two were together and he was about to do something he’d later on regret. your eyes widen suddenly and you immediately faced the floor to avoid eye contact once again.
“nothing— just.. what’s the actual reason you came here, sugawara?”
“what, so now it’s sugawara? not koushi, kou? not even suga?”
“you’re not answering my question.. i want an answer.”
“what if i don’t wanna give you one? what are you going to do?”
now it’s your time to cock your head, you really don’t have time to have petty arguments with your ex, who’s obviously not making things easier for you.
“i’m going to have to ask you to leave then.” you say stern and sugawara‘s face lights up with amusement, as if he’s testing you. he gets up from where he’s sitting and sits next to you, but not too close.
“c’mon, baby. can we just go back to how things were before? i’ve missed you so much.. even went to therapy because i couldn’t stop thinking about you...”
he’s staring directly at you, boring his eyes out on you, as if he’s challenging you to stare back. you don’t, you’re trying your best to restrain yourself from bursting into tears. how the hell is he able to make you feel so sick to the stomach?
“yeah, you already mentioned that to me over text.” you place both your hands on your lap before picking a small piece of lint that was on your leggings. sugawara looks down to see your fingers playing with each other, signaling that you were already feeling overwhelmed. he look like he’s having the time of his life. is he a sadist?
“i’m making you nervous? you always used to twiddle your fingers like that back then when you were...”
“can you just answer my question? my patience is running out.”
sugawara scoffs and tears the gaze he has on you to face forward. he doesn’t say anything, he just sits there.. what’s with him?
“i-if you don’t then i want you to leave.” you try to prevent yourself from showing that you truly are feeling nervous, but you always tend to stutter when you were feeling a bit too overwhelmed, and sugawara seems to love it because he laughs.
it’s not a long one, it’s just a huff of a laugh, but the fact that he laughed just proves that he still doesn’t respect you up to today.
“nah. i don’t wanna leave. your cute little stutter’s telling me that you’re not even sure if you want me to leave or not. you obviously aren’t using that tiny brain of yours. if you were, you’d realize that i’m trying to better myself for you. you’re making this harder on me, y/n. it’s not the other way around.”
“i really don’t have time for this, sugawara. i want you to leave. if you need anything, you have my number so i don’t see what the problem is.”
“the problem is you won’t give me a chance when i’ve literally changed!” he’s yelling at this point, his fist slammed against the table so loud, you’re pretty sure tsukishima heard it. “i don’t understand why you won’t listen to me! i’ve changed so why are you acting like this?”
you slowly move away from him, keeping distance with him in case he lashes out again. you can hear footsteps from the tsukishima’s room, he’s probably getting ready to come out, but you’re hoping he doesn’t. just not yet. if sugawara finds out tsukishima’s been listening this whole time he definitely won’t be happy.
“suga, this is exactly why! because you think you can get whatever you want by trying to guilt trip me! you’re only upset that i’ve realized my worth.” you keep commented contact with sugawara once you see his eyebrows furrow in confusion, confidence rushing within you once again. “i’ve already forgiven you and moved on... so can you please leave?”
he groans once more, putting his palms on his face, staring at the floor and still seated on the couch, you’re already backing away because sugawara looks like he’s about to throw something. if you weren’t feeling nervous before, you definitely are now.
“i-if you want to talk.. then explain yourself now or you’re leaving.” your voice is slightly shaky, you don’t think sugawara noticed, given the fact that he’s too annoyed with this whole situation, you are too. he wipes his palms on his thighs, then stands up and starts walking towards you, not quickly, but that doesn’t really matter.
“keep your distance,” you say firmly, you’re backing away from him and he doesn’t seem to be listening to you because he just continues to keep walking. “sugawara, i’m not playing, stop.”
“i’m not playing either,” he has you backed against the wall now, his right hand is giving him support from the wall and his other arm is placed next to him. “i’ve missed you.”
you’re uncomfortable. it’s not that you can’t defend yourself, you can. you just didn’t know what sugawara would do if you even laid a finger on him in a violent way. he would definitely not be happy.
“stop...” you try to shrink away from him, but it’s literally no use. he won’t budge, and you’re pretty sure he’s not going to listen. “strawberries.”
“what?”
finally, you hear the door to one of the rooms in the house open, it’s tsukishima and he walks out, you can’t help but smile when he looks at you and playfully winks. he’s such a weirdo.
“oh hi, y/n! what’re you doing in such a naughty position?” it’s tsukishima and he has a shit eating grin on his face. all you want to do right now is smack that smirk off his damn face. tsukishima looks at suga and furrows his brows with a chuckle. “that’s not how to treat a girl. i thought out of all people you’d know this.”
“ha ha, very funny.” you mutter. “now do what i hired you to do, four eyes.”
“hired? last time i checked this was my idea. i’m the brains behind this plan.” tsukishima retorts. sugawara is staring at the both of you in confusion, he still has you trapped between him, but you’ve paid no mind to it since you were too distracted arguing with tsukishima. it was a petty argument, really.
“why the hell is he here?” sugawara suddenly says, interrupting you from your mini argument. he’s finally standing straight, and you immediately move away from him. his brows are furrowed, and you can see the irritation rise up in him again.
“what’d you mean? i live here. i could ask that same question to you.” tsukishima asks, he’s staring back at sugawara.. maybe even glaring? you look at tsukishima in amusement because honestly, this situation went from stressful to entertaining.
“nah, i came to talk to y/n, i was expecting any other guest.” sugawara says, he glares at you saying the last part and you do everything in your power not to burst out in laughter, tsukishima is doing the same.”what even are you to her? a friend?”
“she’s my girlfriend, and i don’t like people flirting with her unless it’s me. she also lives here, so.”
“girlfriend...?” you look up at tsukishima in confusion then you glance at sugawara who looks like he’s about to lose his shit once again. he won’t though, you know he doesn’t act violent in front of people.
sugawara leaves your side to walk in front of the 6’5 tall man and all tsukishima does is look down at him with a bored expression.
“can you do both me and y/n a favor and leave? we usually like staying here by ourselves. without any guest.”
tsukishima’s passive aggression is kinda hot. you think.
“ah, i see.” he turns to your direction, keeping eye contact with you and you’re staring back defiantly. “so this is it, y/n? you’ve seriously moved on?”
your eyes widen at what he says, not expecting what came out of his mouth at all. he sounds pretty hurt, you don’t think it’s fair for him to act suprised. what did he expect? he’s the one that ended the relationship you had with him in the first place. did he expect you to just wait for him to come back?
you lift your hands up and shrug, not trusting that your voice won’t break. your words come out as a whisper, but the effect is there.“i mean, you can’t really act surprised, suga. you broke things off.”
tsukishima is watching the both of you from a distance, he’d rather cuddle with you and watch a movie in his room than be here watching you finally break things off with your ex for good. sugawara widens his eyes and then smiles.
“yeah, i guess you’re right. well, it was fun.”
you wish you could say the same.
“i’m glad you’re happy.”
“thank you, sugawara. i hope you’ve learned from your mistakes. i’m sure there’s someone out there for you, you just have to be patient, kay?”
sugawara walks towards the door, he turns around to face you with his hand on the door nob smiling, and looks at tsukishima. “she’s a keeper. you’re lucky to have her.”
now it’s your turn to widen your eyes, you weren’t expecting that one bit. what you were expecting was a raging sugawara who wouldn’t take “no” for an answer.
“yeah, i know.”
he doesn’t even make eye contact with you, he smiles at tsukishima’s response before heading out the complex. once the door finally shuts, you heave a sigh of relief and look up at tsukishima in amusement.
“girlfriend, huh? that’s the best you came up with?” tsukishima huffs out a laugh and then walks up to you to hug you. while in his grasp, you look up at him in confusion. “you’ve been so touchy lately. it’s cute.”
“i’m so proud of you.” he kisses the top of your head, and you snuggle your head in his chest further. he’s so cute.
“it’s nothing really kei.”
“no it isn’t. i’m proud of you. so proud.” he hugs you tighter, and you smile softly at how affection he is.
“that was easier than i expected. i thought it would take way more arguing for him to actually leave.” you laugh, tsukishima does the same and shakes his head.
“y/n, i’m gonna tell you something and you have to promise me you won’t judge me for it. okay?”
oh no. is this what akaashi was talking about?
“you’re scaring me, is it something bad?”
“i mean it depends. i don’t think it’s that bad.”
“okay...”
tsukishima takes a deep breathe and hugs you impossibly tighter, almost as if he’s stalling.
“take your time, kei. but the quicker the better cause you’re squeezing me!!!”
“i think i love you.”
—
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a/n: ahhh second to last chapter!! i did cut it a bit short because i felt like there were so many chapters.
taglist: @m01k @sunasro @cvlliesstuff @appleciderslut @lilacnoodles @sinistersith @d0llpie @kac-chowsballs @resetrestartandreplay @satomiis @xo-lovelyreign-xo @idiot-juice-enthusiast @definitelynotbianca @my-weeb-ass @yourlocalbabybird @bokutosuwus @tadashisprout @daninaninani @r4twh0r3 @tazinva @neokawa @mirikusashes @helloshoutohere @goldenchaos7 @wingsofmydemons @fearlesskz @moonieho @denkis-slut @nikanikabitch @peteunderoos @itsjustsavs @lalisbitch @micheleinumaki @tsukkisbbyg @kuroosluv @immxnty @rory-cakes @thechaosoflonging @ish-scribbles @randomesk-yuku @emazzello @fivxss @morosis-haze @setterswife @rarr-com1452z @excujeemi
#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu x reader smau#haikyuu!!#hinata x reader#kenma smau#kenma x reader#kozume kenma#kuroo smau#tsukishima x y/n#akaashi smau#akaashi x reader#hinata smau#sugawara smau#tsukishima smau#tsukishima x reader#tsukki smut#kuroo x reader#tsukishima kei#tsukishima fluff#sugawara angst#sugawara fluff#tsukki x reader#yamaguchi x reader#akaashi keji x reader#haikyuu smau#haikyuu smau series#haikyuu series
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Memories kept in the pink hoodie
pairing: Ex! Heeseung x reader
genre: angst, fluff in the end ig, breakup! AU
warnings: swearing, uhhh they like break down together
word count: 2.2k words OMG
a/n: another one of my requests!! thank you all for the ideas its really helping!! mmm this one was very interesting to write because i usually write crack/fluff, aaannndd ive literally never done anything ive written IURHWIU thank you for the great idea anon <33 THIS HELPED SO MUCH OMG USUALLY MY ANGST SUCKS BUT IM PRETTY PROUD OF THIS AAAA ALSO IM SORRY IF THIS WASNT REALLY WHAT YOU WANTED IDK THERE ALWAYS HAS TO BE FLUFF IN MY IMAGINES IG 😓😭
feel free to request and help get rid of my writers block!!
a bit based off of 'try again' by jaehyun and d.ear
You should've known the consequences of dating an idol, you should've been careful. Of course they wouldn't let you be together, he's in one of the rising groups, heck, he was in one of the biggest companies.
It wasn't necessarily the company's fault you were so heartbroken, it's both your faults. You couldn't help but blame each other for how careless you were. You know better than to make things worse, and yet you did.
The evening you go back to his dorm after being confronted by the company, you two started a huge argument of who's fault it was. Either it was his fault for not taking caution during work, or your fault for always checking up on him. All loving actions in the past became reasons for why you should break up, thus cracking your relationship further.
When you went home that night, with your backpack full of your things, you did nothing. You didn't cry, you didn't rage, you simply thought that this was the end, you felt guilty that it had to end like this, instead of just working it out and breaking it off peacefully.
Your heart was left cracked and hurt for sure, but this time, you blame yourself. You shouldn't have met him, you shouldn't have got to know him, it's all your fault. And for the first time that night, you cry.
Your heart clenched at every thought of having to leave Heeseung, more tears falling at the fact that he's not gonna be a part of your life anymore. He's gone, and it's all your fault.
It's when you unpack your things when you realize you still have a bunch of things left at his place, you realize you never want to go back and face him.
You leave your stuff there for the next 2 days, your heart still unready to confront and be reminded of the fact that Heeseung is gone. Unfortunately, he has other plans.
Your phone lights up, and the last name you want to see is lighting the phone up.
'Hey... you left some of your stuff.'
You instantly turn your phone off, breaths picking up as you quickly look away from it and finish your lunch. You can feel the anxiety filling your body as you notice it light up once again, and it swarms in your chest even more when your mother winces at the next text.
You put down your spoon, quickly glancing at the text.
'If you want, you can come by and pick them up? I'll pack them for you...'
Your heart clenches yet once again, you know it's true, literally half your stuff is still there and you have to pick them up. You unlock your phone, quickly sending an 'okay' before completely shutting your phone down. You wouldn't stand a second more looking at his contact.
You decide to go at 11, because that's when the other members are at the company training. You don't know if Heeseung's gonna be there to give you your things, a part of you hopes he is, another hopes he's not there. But then again, who else would open the door for you?
You stand outside the familiar door nervously, picking on your nails and the lint on the hem of your cardigan. Just as you were about to knock, the door swung open, and instead of your ex boyfriend standing there it's the youngest of the group, his eyes wide and puffy lips parted.
As usual, he woke up late. You can't help but chuckle as he picks his shoes up and scurries down the stairs, bidding him a friendly goodbye.
You almost forget about Heeseung, but as you hear shuffling from inside, it all comes back.
You two share awkward glances, the tension slowly building itself back up. Instead of the heated, rage filled tension, this time the tension is guilty, and without each other knowing, yearning.
“T-this way,” Heeseung mutters tightly, eyes glued to the ground as he shuffled quickly to the living room. You follow along just a few seconds later, still processing the fact that this is the end. He could be gone out of your life after this, it’s your last chance to speak.
Your eyes slowly travel up when you stop, the beating of your heart quickening with the slight burning in your eyes. Lo and behold, there your things laid, ready for you to bring back home. You can’t help but notice how it’s packed completely how Heeseung would pack, neat and with care. It’s not too stuffed, it’s in the perfect place.
Biting at the dead skin of your lip, you trudge towards the duffle bag—his duffle bag—and kneel down to grab the handle. The moment you pick it up, you notice how the bag isn’t fully zipped, and a certain pink sleeve peaks out from the tiny space.
All too familiar, the pink sleeve was. It was the one he took from Daniel in I-land. He knew you loved it, for you loved the kid like your little brother. But, he can’t. It’s his, it’s his favorite, he can’t just give it to his ex.
You instantly place the bag down, the tears starting to well up in frustration and sadness. You zip open the bag and take the pink hoodie out, before shoving it into Heeseung’s chest, “Take it, Heeseung, Please don’t give it to me.”
It takes him a few moments, before Heeseung is shaking his head and handing it back to you. “No, it’s practically yours anyway. And you really like it right? It’s just a-“
“Don’t tell me it’s just a hoodie!”
You both are shocked at your sudden burst, frozen in your spot. Your breathing is heavy, like a weight is holding it down and slowing your breathing. There are tears keeping your cheek moist, warm, they stream down continuously, the sensation as if there was fire dripping from your eyes and burning your skin.
Heeseung’s just on the verge of crying himself, the grip on the pink hoodie deathly, he feels the material ripping against his skin. How did it come to this? When did it even happen? It all feels surreal, to think what you two had could fall apart.
All the happy moments in your relationship fading to memories, the hoodie representing the fact itself is true. None of you wanted to take it, afraid it would remind you of the other.
Deep down, you wanted to keep it, keep the memories it held, keep the tears that once soaked it when you vented all your stress to him, keep the scent of Heeseung that lingered on the fabric. You were just too afraid of being reminded that along with the happy memories, came the sad memories of the night you fought and broke it off.
Your grip on the poor hoodie eases, as you slide to the floor helplessly with tears messing your face up. You desperately wanted to hold the pink piece of clothing and keep it forever, and another part of you cursed at you for being too vulnerable.
Your hand quickly wipes away the tears on your cheeks and chin harshly, almost hitting yourself for being so sensitive. Before you could do the action again, a softer grasp is stopping your hand, Heeseung’s other hand reaching up to brush the tears away dearly, blowing your hair away from your face.
Before you could even bring yourself to stop, you’re already reacting to his touch, cowering into his hold and placing your hand over his on your cheek, almost intertwining them together.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper into his palm, your other hand reaching up to grasp at his t-shirt. You’re sorry for so many reasons, for not being careful, for all the things you said in the argument, for making a sudden commotion just because of a stupid hoodie. “I’m so sorry...”
“Shh, it’s alright, it’s alright.” Heeseung grabs you into his infamous embrace you would hate to leave, stroking your back with patterns just the way he knew you loved, just the way it would calm you down. “We’ll be alright.”
More tears fall between your eyelashes, dripping and soaking into Heeseung’s shoulder as he himself sniffles quietly into your hair. None of you want to leave each other behind, it’s the painful truth that you both can’t have, the truth you’ve always feared.
A sudden feeling of relief fills you up inside, his words reassure you in a way, we’ll be alright, you’ll be okay, it just had to leave his lips for you to believe it. You crawl closer to Heeseung, squeezing yourself in his bear hug, “We’ll be okay, we can make it right,”
A hoarse and hearty laugh leaves Heeseung, it shakes right by your ear as you press it against his chest, and he nods, “Yeah,”
He gently pulls your head back right in front of his, wiping the last of your tears and tucking the stray hairs back to the back of your ear, “Let’s just talk,” his whisper tickles your nose, causing you to lightly giggle at the feeling, his lips pressing softly against the pink tinted skin, “Make everything better?”
You nod, finally grasping at the pink hoodie and holding it tight to your chest as Heeseung laughs and bonks his forehead right on yours.
For the next few hours, you talk, make up, talk some more, maybe even a small cuddle, but that’s a secret. You make ramen for when the other members come back from practice, you feel happy to see the members thank you and eat with enthusiasm, you feel glad this is how your last moments together last.
Now you have the (practically ripped) pink hoodie in your arms as you bid the boys goodbye, slightly tearing up at the sight of them sadly waving, but you keep it in and continue your way back home, where you would tell your mom how you ended it on good terms.
And that night, you slip on the pink hoodie before you sleep, and you feel a piece of paper poking at your arm. You’re surprised to see a crumpled envelope poking out, your name written messily in blue ink.
You pull the envelope out quickly, opening it out with something bubbling in the pit of your stomach as you notice the handwriting as Heeseung’s.
‘My dear Y/n,
Hello there! I don’t know if i got the guts to make it right with you or if i pussied out and watched you as you drove away with regrets, but that’s what this letter is for. hopefully you didn’t throw this letter away hehe
i just wanted to thank you. for everything. your love, your care, your trust, Your happiness, thank you for everything you’ve given me. im sorry we had to end our journey, but know that you’ll be in my mind everyday. when we practice, I’ll remember your encouraging smile, when we win, I'll remember the fact that it’s you who gave me the courage to start this whole career.
i love you y/n. we’ll both probably find our other person in the future, but you’ll forever be in my heart as my first love, my first heartbreak, my best memory. thank you for helping me through my hardest times, thank you for helping the other boys through their worst times, especially jungwon, he’ll miss you the most.
i guess this is goodbye, y/n. not forever, of course, but for some time. thank you for everything, i hope you enjoyed the times we had together as much as i did.
with all the love in my heart,
Lee Heeseung :)’
You wipe at your tears for the nth time that day, folding the paper back into the envelope. “Fuck you Heeseung, you’ve ruined my makeup again!” You curse under your breath as you slip the letter into a certain box at the corner of your bedside table, patting your cheeks one last time.
You truly cherish the memories you had with Heeseung. You hope he does too.
#ehypen#enhypen imagines#enhypen angst#enhypen fluff#enhypen blurbs#enhypen drabbles#enhypen x reader#enhypen scenarios#enhypen heeseung#lee heeseung#lee heeseung angst#lee heeseung fluff#lee heeseung blurbs#lee heeseung x reader#lee heeseung scenarios
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that’s not a shirt
pairing: marcus pike / reader
word count: 1584
summary: marcus comes home from work & finds the strangest thing in the laundry.
a/n: for @autumnleaves1991-blog and her wednesday writing challenge! writing domestic marcus pike is my therapy. unbeta’d and posted from mobile (honestly my laptop is becoming less convenient to post from even tho posting fic on tumblr is literally the reason i bought it last year)
three long, miserable weeks. that’s how long marcus has been out of town for a case that had him jetting all across the country, far away from you and your comfortable bed. he’s almost never at the apartment he pays rent for every month. most of his clothes and his favorite pillow are at your place, and the small quilt his grandmother sewed decades ago is draped over the back of your couch. in everything but name, he lived with you.
when he entered your apartment with his key, he took note of the fact you weren’t there and got set to cleaning up a bit. work leaves you exhausted more often than not and he doesn’t want to leave everything undone for you to worry about when you get home.
upon first glance, he could see the laundry was half done. a heaping load of clean clothes was in the hamper in front of the dryer and there were wet clothes in the open washer. when he looked further, there was also a load in the dryer, which told him that you stayed up late to get things done then fell asleep on the couch waiting for the dryer to finish. with a fond smile, he started the dryer for a few minutes to get wrinkles out of what’s in there. when those are done, he can get what’s in the hamper unwrinkled and hung and folded.
dinner was next on the to-do list. something nourishing to welcome you home after a long day but simple enough to do while catching up the clothes: spaghetti. there’s something about his mom’s recipe for the sauce that makes his spaghetti absolutely heavenly — your words, not his — and he can’t wait to see your reaction to having marcus home two days earlier than planned along with his best dish.
in the time it takes him to get the sauce cooking and the water boiling on the stove, the dryer announces that it’s finished with the first load. he hums as he folds the bath towels and dish rags without a care in the world, making the trip to stow them in the bathroom cabinet with a spring to his step.
checks the sauce for flavor and consistency before putting the second load of wrinkled clothes in the dryer, finding it needs just a smidge more rosemary before it can be left to simmer. picks another sprig from the plant you keep on the windowsill and cuts the leaves very fine before sprinkling them in with a flick of his wrist.
satisfied with his efforts, he turns back to the laundry. he dutifully empties the lint filter (you’re adamant on emptying it after every load and the trait passed onto him) before he begins to grab things to toss into the dryer. about a third of the way through the basket, his hand grabbed onto something weirdly solid and plump.
“mroww!”
last marcus checked, shirts don’t make noises like that. he tore his gaze from the inside of the dryer to the hamper to find a grey and white kitten lounging in the hamper. the little thing was nudging his hand with their head, clearly wanting the attention of the man slowly depleting its bed. he was perplexed. you didn’t have a cat when he was last here, but there was one seeming to be perfectly content in making itself at home in your apartment.
“where did you come from?” he knew the cat wasn’t going to give him a coherent answer but he felt the need to voice his confusion anyway. the first thing to do now: check to see if it’s male or female. it’s a female, looks to be about three months old and is perfectly content with being handled by marcus.
marcus can’t recall the last time he had a pet. with him being too busy with work, he never thought it would be fair to a pet to have an owner constantly gone. he didn’t have enough stability in the past with where he lived and didn’t want to only be a half ass pet parent. the past several months, however, have been nothing but stable. not counting the seldom out of town cases, he goes to work in the morning and comes home to you in the evening, and he rinses and repeats as needed. maybe this kitten is the perfect prelude to taking the next big step in his relationship with you.
for now though, marcus doesn’t let himself get carried away with his daydreams about living with you full time. he’s got laundry to finish and dinner to cook, and now he has a sous chef to accompany him. he holds the kitten to his chest, scratching her chin with a hooked finger and melting at the way she looks up as if telling him to keep going. “alright sweet girl, let’s finish up dinner.” a soft “mrrow!” is her reply and it makes marcus huff a quiet laugh.
dinner is completed with marcus using one less hand than normal, his sous chef being fabulous company. the few times he had to use both hands, his feline friend perched on his shoulder (which he thought was the best thing ever) and waited to be held again. however this cat got here, marcus didn’t know; the one thing he did know is that it wasn’t leaving anytime soon.
the front door was unlocked when you came home and you knew with absolute certainty that you locked it before you left. your walmart bags filled with cat supplies were immediately dropped to the hallway floor as you began to inspect your front door and the area around it. marcus taught you how to spot the basic signs of forced entry (like the protective sweetheart he is) and when none of them were there, you cautiously entered your apartment, mace in hand.
the adrenaline washed away when you spotted your loving boyfriend in the kitchen, gently bobbing his head along to whatever music he had playing. one hand was stirring a pot on the stove while the other was plenty preoccupied with the kitten. shit, you forgot to warn him about the kitten before he got home!
this was the last thing you thought would be here to greet you, but it was a very welcome sight; the feline was finicky and marcus wasn’t due home for another few days, a double whammy. “i see you’ve met the kitten.” you’re honestly just thankful he didn’t get upset about the little thing. neither of you have talked about pets or whatever your living situation is becoming, so the way he seems so taken with the kitten is a sign pointing in a great direction.
when he hears your voice, marcus visibly lights up. “hi honey!” the hand with the spoon immediately drops the wooden utensil into the pot and waves at you happily. “this is my sous chef, say hello, pasta!” he grabs one of her little paws and waves it at you before resuming his stirring, a beaming smile on his face.
did he really just name the cat pasta? and how in the world is she so calm with him right now?
you found the kitten, now known as pasta, huddled in a cardboard box beside a gas station dumpster headed home from work. she was mewling her little head off back there and you were lucky enough to hear her. taking her and her box, your list of things to do was thrown out the window as you rushed her to the vet. they cleaned her up real good and schedule her vaccinations, and sent you home with a list of supplies to buy and advice on how to take care of the little thing.
she was pissed at you after the vet trip. didn’t let you pet or hold her unless she was in the mood for it and if you tried to pick her up otherwise, she would scatter and give you a glare from a safe distance away. but here was marcus holding her like a baby, and the little brat was eating it up! to be fair, you were the same way with marcus when he was being affectionate so you didn’t completely blame her.
“why pasta?” you knew that cats were more likely than dogs to have strange names. you just didn’t think your boyfriend would be the type to give a cat a name like pasta. at that rate, you might as well name a dog goose and call it a day.
he smiles at the furball, giving her a few affectionate pets while he talks. “i was cooking spaghetti when i found her in the laundry hamper, and then i noticed a little spot right on her hip that looks like penne. i couldn’t choose between the two so i went for the middle ground. is that okay with you? or did she have another-”
“marcus, i love it.” and you really do; that sentimental dork just made you love the name pasta with nothing but two sentences. “and honestly, i’ve just been rotating between baby girl, squeak toy, and dumbass since i found her the day before yesterday.”
he scratches pasta under her chin as he laughs at the thought of you calling his sous chef a dumbass. “pasta is not a dumbass! you tell ‘em sweetheart, tell them how smart you are!”
“mroww!”
“see? she’ll be the next einstein.”
marcus pike taglist: @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @obirain @themarcusmoreno @catsnkooks @torradoza @stardustsunrisekisses @darthadeline @max--phillips @jedi-mando @darklingveracruz @andysficrecs @pedropasscals @qhbr2013 @seasonschange-butpeopledont @greeneyedblondie44 @princess76179 @kaermorons @lv7867 @whovianwar @purelypascal
#marcus pike x reader#marcus pike imagine#marcus pike#the mentalist#writer wednesday#autumnleaves1991 blog#i love this so much#i’m proud of this one#marcus pike is therapeutic#my government assigned soft fbi agent
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Clubs Aren’t My Thing. (1/2)
𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 | i’m REPOSTING this because my already bruised ego absolutely rejects the fact that my writing got 33 notes, that, and i just don’t want to continue this if it doesn’t get any traction. i’m not good at nsfw, so i feel like if not a lotta people wanna read my work, why try hard on something i’m bad at? anyways, this whole club concept is totally from @/mystic-sky or skyfelt on ao3. pls check her out. if anything is inaccurate its prob bcuz the only reference i have is the club penguin dance club teehee.
𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 | mentions of sex, drinking, you’re literally at a club.
𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 | Gojo x Female Reader
𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 | 2847
𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 | You’re alone, at a bar, waiting for the end of the night to come. Then again this was bound to happen, as clubs weren’t really your thing, but promises of snacks and money from your friends were really what you came for. A mysterious, yet intriguing white haired man approaches you, and eventually he piques your interest. Little do you know, you had piqued his as well, and he’s having a hard time trying to hide it.
Bright, flickering vivid lights was all the human eye could see from where you were sitting.
You’re sitting at a bar, legs restless and rhythmically bumping against the table. You had come here for a “fun night”, even though they promptly ditched you for the lively dance floor afterwards, you assumed to pick up guys and have some encounters in the bedroom.
It wasn’t quite your thing though, well, you didn’t know yourself, you were far too shy to find out, though.
That’s how you found yourself alone, at a bar, completely sober.
Your friends pushed you, (which was a bit weird since they were no where near you now- so really now, what was the point?) luring you with yummy snacks and treats to come out of your house for once. Hesitantly agreeing, you didn’t expect to have them dress you up as well.
Fighting them off and running for the bedroom door, you hated the very idea of even interacting with anyone. Moaning and groaning like a child that you weren’t getting enough for going to a social event, and not wearing your beloved baggy hoodies and sweatpants.
“Okay, okay!” your friend stood up, hands above her. Shaking her head and letting out an exasperated sigh.
“We’ll add on a free dinner- on us.”
Raising an eyebrow, you scrolled through your phone. This wasn’t a bad deal, not at all. You decided to not reply, though.
“Ugh, (Y/N), Okay. A 50 DOLLAR GIFTCARD TO YOUR FAVORITE STORE. Do we have a deal?” Your friend blurted out, sitting down on her chair with a huff.
The girl clearly wanted you to go to the club.
You grinned evilly, realizing just how much you can get.
Of course, you wouldn’t spend the money without spoiling some of your girlies, but you had gotten even more then you asked for, and well- sure it was a bit mean, but you figured afterwards you could go out with them without the bargaining.
And so, facepalm after facepalm ensued, offering you more and more unnecessary amounts of money and food, you finally broke under the pressure of being a tad too mean. You weren’t planning on torturing your friends for life.
At that point, who could really resist?
Now, enthusiastic with your eyes only on the prize, you allowed yourself to be dressed up just this once. Your friends had whipped up the nicest outfit they could without it showing very much skin (per your request!).
Your friends had let you borrow a rather short white plaid skirt they had paired with a casual simple t-shirt. Slightly sheer, and a warm, yet soft cardigan that was kind of scratchy. Donning a pair of tights that you had picked yourself and your favorite pair of beaten up Doc Martens. You realize that it didn’t look half-bad on you.
For once, you thought you looked nice.
However, it seemed to pale in comparison with the scandalous outfits your friends seemed to prefer. Dresses hugging their curves, showing as much of their skin as possible without being full-blown naked, you wonder how one can hold so much self-confidence. But you ignore the feeling, repeating to yourself that you looked good in your own ways.
You wave for the bar tender, feeling a rush of self confidence as you glance down at your outfit. The rather disgruntled man eyes perked up at the request, rushing over.
“May I offer you something, ma’am?”
You gulp, the self confidence rapidly crashing back down, almost as soon as it had come up. You weren’t quite the drinker, and you weren’t looking to find if you were. Running a hand through your already tousled hair, you stutter out a short sentence.
“Can I have some.. Water? With, uh, ice.”
He nods, seemingly shocked that you weren’t ordering any alcoholic beverages before turning his back on you and quickly whipping up the rather simplistic drink. Well, then again, judging by the outfit, one glance would be enough to tell him that you were forced to come, or shy.
Shocked by how comprehensible you had been when speaking to him, your lips curve slightly into a warm smile. Working around your fear of talking to people in unusual places was good.
Handing the glass of water to you with cold fingertips, you nod back. Skimming his hand as you did so. You grimace, contact felt weird.
Taking a sip, you looked away and hoped not to make conversation.
You heard a rather loud laugh, which was an understatement, because you could hear it even through the mass of chatter and movement of the club.
Curious by who could possibly be louder than the sheer deafening cheers of a drunken crowd, you look towards the other direction, before setting your eyes on a ridiculously white haired man.
He was laughing again now, and your eyes immediately drift over to his very defined jawline. No wonder so many girls were around him, by the looks of it, he looked like a famous model.
His head high above all the females crowding around him, you notice the man next to him. A disgruntled, yet polite looking individual you assumed to be his friend sat next to him.
He was also towering over the women, nodding and smiling at the many girls tempting him with their bodies, but he seemed so clueless that you doubted he even had a clue of what was going on.
Fidgeting and playing with his hair, he was clad in an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt. The crowd of women around him wasn’t as large as the white haired man, you noted, but still large nonetheless.
“Oh, him?” the bartender blurted, you turn to face him again, cursing yourself for being so obvious in your endeavors.
Wiping a cocktail shaker down with a towel, he ducks his head, studying the remaining water droplets. You stare daggers at the bartender for interrupting your train of thought, before cursing yourself for being so mean.
“He’s a regular, gets drunk quite frequently, and he’s Prince Charming to the ladies.”
Rubbing the back of your head, you stare back at the bartender. Unsure what to make of his approach on conversation.
Reconsidering like the good person you are, you thought about how annoyed the guy got talking to a bunch of drunk college kids. He seemed like he had good intentions, and talking to someone that was sober was sure to be refreshing.
“Yeah, I can tell, the guy has a lot of girls around him. He looks really... Lively. To put it simply.”
The bartender laughed, relaxing himself as soon as he heard the friendly words leave your lips. He finished wiping down the cocktail shaker and proceeded to the neatly stacked cups which had just been washed.
“No, the guy’s just friendly. Real hit with the ladies, especially his.. Uh, physical attributes. See his friend over there? Lil bit more modest, he started coming here recently. Don’t let that good natured face fool you though, they’re both the same..”
You rolled your eyes, Typical. Taking the last few gulps of your water before you slammed it back down. The bartender took the cup, refilling it hastily and giving it back to you.
You heard several girls giggling, and you glanced back in the direction of the men. The long, raven haired man had his arms wrapped around dozen or more girls, swarming him as if he was a celebrity.
The bartender was right, he looked so bored when you had studied the two, but here he was now with the same army of girls heeding his every call.
That left the white haired man alone.
Shaking his head with a small chortle, he took another swig out of his drink before looking down at the empty glass, he stood up, and by God were those legs long, before walking to the empty stool next to you.
“Yo. Bartender. Refill?”
The bartender set down the cup he was scrubbing down, rummaging his hands through various shelfs, filled with various drinks and add-ons, before taking the mysterious man’s glass.
Curious, you take a small peek at the man, almost jumping back when he was staring unflinching at you, too.
Taking this as an invitation to gape at such an incredibly well-fit body. Your eyes stare up at what you could; starting with his collarbones.
Paired deliciously with a simple gold chain, you had to admit, it was a good touch. The simplicity of the chain was enough for you to gape dumbly at anything else that was interesting, and was left dumbfounded by the sheer hotness of... Well, him, and those incredibly prominent collarbones.
You look downwards, and he’s wearing a black, simple t-shirt. Not a wrinkle, nor specks of lint in sight.
Well toned arms, and incredibly strong looking ones at that rested idly against his sides. An expensive watch glinted in the light.
He hadn’t quite said anything yet, so you look down even more without hesitation. Almost like you couldn’t control yourself.
Tucking his shirt in neatly was his belt, you could easily tell it was a high-end brand. Casual, wide flared black jeans, the guy really loved black you noted. The accessories made up for it though, various chains were lazily thrown in, and it made the outfit so much more hotter, especially on him.
“My eyes are up here, girly.”
Feeling your cheeks become full to the brim with warmth, your hands fumble about, words formulating at the tip of your tongue to apologize profusely, you look up.
Circular black shades concealed the white haired man’s eyes, and your heart pounds more. Something about him was so intriguing.
About to blurt out nonsense about actually being very interested at a wall, he held his palm up, a large toothy grin gracing his features.
“It’s okay, I’m into hot chicks ogling me. Especially hot chicks with cute outfits.”
Everything on your mind was suddenly wiped clean, you open your mouth before closing, unsure about what to say.
He thought you were hot?
He thought your outfit was cute?
He laughs, and you snap out of your daze. Muttering a quick thanks when the bartender handed his rather sugary exotic drink to him.
“Saw you looking at me earlier, sweetcheeks.” he hums before tipping the glassware near his glossy lips, sipping the drink, looking down at you as he did.
“No, I think you saw wrong... Are you blind?” you asked, still recovering from the compliments you hadn’t ever received in your life prior to this strange encounter. Desperate to get out of the advancingly awkward conversation, you had never been placed in such a weird setting.
He snorts, taking another deep sip of his drink.
“Nah. People think that, though. People think I’m... Old, for some reason?”
“Hm, I wonder why.” replying sarcastically, you felt yourself jolt up, a mix of uneasiness and excitement bubbling up inside of you. By your experience and tips from your friends, these type of guys seemed to like sassy, teasing girls.
Whipping out your phone from your bag, you try to appear casual, even though your excitement was starting to die down by his silence, turning into dread.
Whistling, trying to look like you didn’t have a care in the world, you physically wince as you realize how stupid you potentially look. Wondering what your friends would say about such an attractive guy seemingly hitting on you, then again, they didn’t seem to really care.
No new notifications, and no familiar faces running up to you with open, friendly arms.
He chuckles again. “I like your style, missy. You come here alone? That’s a shame, pretty girls like you deserve to have someone to come with.”
You look down, struggling to contain the growing smile. Doing a small little victory dance in your head as you realize that he had literally stated that he liked your style.
“I did come with someone, my friends.”
“Where’s your friends?” he inquired.
“Partying at the dance floor, flirting with guys probably.” you nonchalantly reply, struggling to hold your tone, but even then it wavered. You didn’t get hit on often, and when you did they were there to help you.
“That makes two of us, my friend Geto pulled all my chicks, and my pussy for tonight.”
He said it so nonchalantly, you almost spat out your water.
“What are you here for? Some good dick?” he shifted his arm to rest against the table, his hand against his head, lazily looking at you.
You study his figure once more, ignoring his previous question. He looked like he came straight out of a magazine, or a movie. Broad, yet strong looking shoulders.
He looked straight up fake.
He towered over you, and you estimated that he was over 6 foot. His hair seemed soft, and manageable, and so, so fun to play with. A Deep, yet playful voice that would probably make everyone within a 6 mile radius instantly melt.
“Hm, cute. I like straight-forward girls.” he poked fun at you, grinning carelessly.
“I’m not being straightforward in any shape or form, what do you mean?” you flutter your eyelashes innocently at him, knowing damn well what he meant.
“You’re fucking studying me like a textbook before finals.”
“You still haven’t told me your name!” you shot back without thinking, you didn’t want to be caught doing something so scandalous. He winked, you took this as a sign of him following suit.
“That’s what makes it fun, baby.”
“Here, lets trade.”
You had decided that you really liked his style, after letting you off the hook so easily like that. He was shrouded in a cloak of mystery, and you found it hot. That, or maybe he wanted to just fuck around and have one night-stands, which wasn’t your style at all, but you still wanted to see where this would go.
“Tell me your name, and I’ll tell you mine. Fair right?”
He stroked his chin with his unoccupied arm, contorting his face and making you giggle a little, even though it wasn’t very funny. With him, you felt like you could strangely be yourself.
“Hmmmmm....” stroking his chin more, he began to pick up and sip his beverage as if it was a tea cup, holding opposite ends of each other and deeply drinking. He set the cup down.
“Nope.”
Exasperated, you slam your cup down.
“That aside, let’s get back to the point!,” he leaned closer into you, smiling a little as you jumped back. Your confidence when you talked with him had dissolved into thin air.
“You’re really cute.”
Frozen in place, you gawk back at him.
He was straightforward, no doubt it, but you didn’t think he was this straightforward. Most men you knew played a game of cat and mouse, only if you caught them you were rewarded.
Opening and closing your mouth, no sound came out. He snorts, taking another sip and waving the bartender to come back, who was now washing cups awkwardly on the other side of the bar.
You almost pitied the bartender, the guy had ordered so many refills at this point, you wouldn’t be dumb to assume he was either a raging alcoholic or another dumb college kid.
“Refill, again.”
The bartender nodded solemnly in reply, swiftly taking the cup. You realize how overworked the poor guy was, wondering how many refills the mysterious white haired man had gotten before you had even step foot in the vicinity.
“I’d love to take you to the bedroom, baby.” he nods as the bartender returns, sipping and looking back down at you.
You bolted upwards, cursing as you realize you’re slouching, not very attractive. The straightforwardness from him was, though. No doubt it, but you were really not looking to break your heart over a fuckboy.
“Uh, um.”
He tips your chin upward, and your heart leaps out of your throat. There was something so undeniably attractive about this act, maybe it was the way he knew how to make you into pudding, or maybe it was the aura of dominance.
Haughtiness literally radiated off of him, as if he knew he could pull a girl in under 1 minute. Well, then again, he probably did know.
Fuck, what were you thinking, this was a complete stranger that could probably pull chicks more attractive then you, times 100.
“Aw, shy? Cute. Don’t worry, you’re intriguing, and if you’re bad at sex, not to worry. I’ll do it all, and I’m good. Maybe give you a few lessons here and there.” he chirped, tilting his head, curiosity evident.
“But, it’s all up to you, sugar. I’m not trying to force you into this.” the man added.
He did seem hot, and this was really a one-in-a-million chance. No one had really looked at you that way at the level of attractiveness that he had. You didn’t want to regret anything, and getting out of your shell was good right?
What could go wrong?
“...I wouldn’t mind.”
A crooked smirk spread across his face.
“I’ll call an Uber.”
#fanfic#dont let this flop#pls im begging#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru#jjk gojo satoru#this fic is a mess#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen gojo satoru#gojo satoru fanfic#lord i pray that my posts just flop the first time#if this gets less then my previous post i will quit tumblr
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SMELLY ENCOUNTERS WITH ETHAN. PART 3. BELOW.
SMELLY ENCOUNTERS WITH ETHAN PT. 3
It had been a good month since my last encounter with Ethan and he took things to a new level by cumming in his dirty sock while he teabagged me and then essentially made me eat the load out of his sock. After that it felt like nothing was off limits. Maybe someday I would be able to taste his actual cock. We hung out a couple times after but he shockingly did not try anything at all with me besides some joke flirting. It was kind of disappointing. I'm not one to ever bring up anything we had done, I wouldn't want to make it awkward. I was on vacation and it was a hot July day. I was driving over to Ethan's house which he just recently bought. My house was having new flooring put in all week, so I was trying to get out of the house as much as possible. I pulled up to his house and he was standing outside. He was wearing black shorts, black and yellow vans, a white tank top and his signature black ball cap. I could see the sweat glistening off his body. He walked up to the window of my car.
“Hey man, do you want to go to the liquor store and grab some beer or something for later?” He asked. I could smell the sweat on him… he must’ve been skating all day.
“Yeah sure, I’m down for whatever, hop in!” I said. Ethan got in the car.
“They still doing your floors?” He asked me.
“Yeah, probably all week…” I said.
“If you want, you can stay at my house this week. I know you are on vacation…” Ethan said glancing over at me.
“Um… sure. That’s really cool of you. Thanks.” I said. I can just imagine… a whole week with Ethan. So many possibilities.
I started to drive. Ethan took his shoe off next to me… the smell instantly filled my car. He was not wearing any socks which is why the smell was probably stronger than usual, more intoxicating. He had some black lint around his toes probably from previous socks he wore in the shoes.
“Fuckin’ pebble or something has been in my shoe all day.” Ethan said as he pulled it out and threw it out the window.
“Dude why aren’t you wearing any socks…” I asked, while secretly thoroughly enjoying the smell.
“All my socks are mad dirty right now… “He said. We got to the store and Ethan slid his shoe back on. I was kind of disappointed. If I wasn’t driving he probably would have tortured me with them. But it was fine… I had a whole week of Ethan now. Ethan went in and came back with a couple 12 packs. I heard the back door open of my car. Ethan had gotten in the back seat behind me. I was quite confused.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Just drive… don’t worry about it.” Ethan said.
I started to drive. Soon enough, the potent smell of his sockless feet filled the air again and I knew what his plan was. I suddenly felt one of his feet come up next to my head.
“How would you compare this smell to when I have socks…” Ethan asked.
“This is why you sat back there?” I asked as his foot inched closer to my nose.
“You have no escape while you are driving. Not that I would let you get away anyways.” Ethan said . His other foot came up next to the other side of my head. The smell was incredible.
“They are definitely stronger…” I said as he starting to wipe his sweaty feet on my face.
“Damn right… I could smell them through my shoes all day; I can just imagine what they are like right on your fucking nose…” Ethan laughed. I saw a car start to pass me in the other lane and look over. The guy started to laugh as he saw Ethan’s feet wrapped around my head.
“Dude- someone saw! That’s so embarrassing.” I said as I pushed his feet away.
“Hey I’m giving you a place to stay this week… If I want to make it known that you are my foot bitch, then I will.” Ethan said as he wrapped his toes back around my nose. I was so embarrassed but at the same time, so turned on.
“If I want you to clean my balls off, my feet, my socks… I want you to just do it… no hesitation or resistance. Plus, I know you like it….” Ethan said. I started to blush a bit. Ethan took his stinky sweaty feet off of me and pulled his shoes back on. We arrived at his house. Ethan popped open a beer as did I. We sat on his couch. Ethan once again, pulled his shoes off.
“Hey can you rub them.” Ethan asked. I wasn’t going to bother pretending I didn’t love it anymore.
“Sure.” I said.
“Nah. I want you to say ‘Please Master Ethan, Let me rub your sweaty feet’” Ethan smiled. I gave him a look. And sighed.
“Please Master Ethan- let me rub your sweaty feet” I asked.
“Ok but only because you want to so badly.” He said. He stuck his feet in my lap right on my balls. I started to rub them. They were very wet with sweat. Ethan reached down and grabbed one of his shoes. He put it up to my nose while I rubbed his feet.
“ Do you think it’s time for new shoes yet? “ he asked. I inhaled deeply. They stunk so bad. I nodded my head.
“Hmmm.” Maybe you should check a little longer. Ethan got up and went to the bathroom. He came back shortly holding crusty black sock and duck tape. He put the sock in my mouth and taped it in. He then taped his shoe to my face. Ethan’s crusty sock had a different taste then his fresh ones had. Kind of stale and stiff.
“There… enjoy that for a bit while I get a buzz.” Ethan said. I had no way out. I couldn’t breathe through my mouth and my nose was just filled with the stink from his shoe. I must’ve sat like that for a good 40 minutes. I felt Ethan’s remove the shoe from my face. The fresh air felt cool and refreshing. He pulled the tape off my mouth and I spit out his disgusting sock.
“How can you enjoy that?” Ethan asked looking down at my crotch. I had a huge boner. I couldn’t even hide it.
"Come to the bedroom." Ethan asked. I got up. No clue what he was gonna make me do. Lay down with you head at the foot. And take your pants off" I obliged.
Ethan took his shirt and shirts off to reveal his boxer briefs and his huge bulge. I thought about how amazing his sweaty balls tasted the last time we hung out. Ethan propped up his pillows and sat up in his bed and stuck his feet right in my face again.
"Touch yourself while you sniff and lick my feet." He demanded.
I took a few deep whiffs and started swirling my tongue around and in between his toes. I reached in my underwear and started stroking my cock.
"By the time I'm done with you, you'll never be able to nut again without my stink in your face." Ethan laughed.
A good 10 minutes went by and I felt like I was going to cum. I started to moan a bit. I felt Ethan grab my hand away.
"Nah. You aren't cumming yet." He said.
"Listen. I know you are gay. I don't know what I am but I have all week with you to help me figure it out. All I know is I love you being my bitch and that turns me on." He said.
"I... " I started to speak. But stopped as I saw Ethan pull his cock out of his briefs. It was so beautiful. It was a perfect size. It was uncut. The head glistened with precum. His balls as big as ever.
"I haven't jerked off in about a week. These balls are full. You are gonna help me drain them. " he said. I didn't even wait to be told what to do. I dove my head right in between his legs and took a long whiff of his sweaty huge balls. I could feel his hot cock sliding around my face and his precum going everywhere.
"I have never been sucked by a dude. You think you can take it balls deep down your throat? " Ethan asked. I nodded my head eagerly, nose deep in his sack. Ethan stood up next to the bed.
"Lay down and hang your head off the edge." He said. I did what he told me to. He reached down and opened up my mouth with his fingers. I could see his cock right in front of my face. Before I knew it, the head of his cock was in my mouth. His precum tasted so sweet. I twirled my tongue around the head.
"Yeah. I feel you lapping up that precum. Wait for the main course. It's gonna be a big one. " he said. He thrust his cock in my throat balls deep. His sweaty balls slapping against my nose. They smelled so good. I was glad I hadn't licked them clean yet and miss out on this amazing experience of ball sweat smell. I reached down and started playing with my own dick now. I could literally explode at any moment. I could feel Ethan start to go faster and faster in my throat. Ethan started to go so fast that his balls were just slapping my nose vigorously. I could feel his cock pulsating. He was close.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Ohhhh. Fuckin chug it dude." Ethan said as he exploded into my mouth and down my throat. It was a LOT of cum. It was so sweet and salty and I swallowed every last drop. He pulled out of my mouth. A little bit more cum leaked down on his balls.
"Come on. Don't just watch. Finish cleaning your mess." He said. He lifted his cock and put his balls on my lips. I started licking them clean. And that was it. I couldn't hold it anymore. I started shooting my load all over the place. It was pure ecstacy.
Ethan watched smiling as i sprayed all over my stomach and chest. Ethan layed next to me.
"So I guess you aren't just a foot bitch anymore. But a cum dump too" he laughed.
It was going to be an amazing week.
PART 4 COMING SOON
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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
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Could I please request thirteenth Doctor & fem!reader where the reader has a soft squishy tummy and she’s kind of insecure about it? 🥺
Gif credit: unknown
Note: not my best work and I haven’t proofread it yet because I’m too tired so apologies for any mistakes. Anyway here’s this. And please please remember that no matter what you look like, you are beautiful and perfect and I love you 🖤
- - -
You took a deep breath as you looked at yourself in the mirror, smoothing down your tight fitting dress. The Doctor had chosen it, explaining that she thought the colour of it would bring out your eyes.
She had been right, of course, your eyes glowing against the soft fabric that shimmered in the spotlights above you, but still you felt uncomfortable and embarrassed.
The dress wasn’t the problem, rather the way it sat over your stomach and highlighting all the places on your body that you disliked greatly.
“Are you ready to go?”
The voice of The Doctor echoed around the room, your muscles softening at the sound. She would always be the best form of relaxation, just her presence was enough to make you breathe like you’d been drowning and were finally allowed up for air.
You made a sound of agreement and turned to face her in her tux, altered to be the same length and style as her usual coat and trousers.
She adjusted her bow tie and smiled brightly, her eyes creasing at the corners. “After you.”
She gestured for you to walk ahead of her out of the room, her smile never faltering. You appreciated her chivalry, but it made you uncomfortable to know she’d be looking at the back of you, taking in your unflattering appearance and most likely making silent judgments.
You mumbled a small thank you and forced your legs to move forward towards the door.
“So, where are we going?”
“You’ll see!” The Doctor rushed past you once you reached the console room, pulling a lever that brought the machine to a halt.
She opened the door and poked her head out to make sure you had landed in the right place and then looked back at you. “Come on, then!”
Her smile was contagious, a smile of your own forcing it’s way into your face. You pushed aside your negative thoughts and followed as The Doctor stepped outside to the mystery location.
You entered a grand hall, it’s wide marble floor filled with people who appeared to be human, but you knew well enough to know that they probably weren’t.
Golden pillars stood tall at each corner of the hall, leading to the ceiling that adorned a beautiful design of swirling patterns that resembled long leaf stems, connecting at the ends to form an endless stream like bunting along the edges, framing the stunningly detailed mural in the centre.
Large chandeliers hung above the heads of the dancing guests, shining brightly in a warm hue, sparkling like diamonds and projecting reflections onto the walls.
“Doctor, this is…” you stopped to think of an appropriate word to sum up just how wonderful this room was. “Incredible.”
“I knew you’d like it.” She beamed beside you, also looking out at the cheerful crowd. “Want to dance?”
You weren’t much of a dancer and in fairness, neither was The Doctor, but she led you over to an open space on the floor and held you close, swaying you both from side to side, her arms around your waist.
It felt nice to be so close to her, to share an intimate moment with her, her gentle eyes locked on yours and her mouth pulled up into a small smile as a sign that she, too, was enjoying the moment.
However, despite the warm tingling the feeling of closeness gave you, you were still very much aware that she could feel your body against hers, her arms and hands touching places on you that sent an unpleasant shiver down your spine.
Negative thoughts swarmed your mind again, the angry voices screaming at you, making their judgements of how disgusting and unappealing you are very clear.
“What’s wrong?”
The Doctor’s voice was calm and soothing against the voices in your head, full of concern and curiosity.
You shook your head and smiled to dismiss any of her worries. “Just a little thirsty.”
Her face changed to a look of content, accepting your answer as the truth. “Let me get you something to drink. You wait right here.”
- -
“I’m getting kind of tired.” You said with a yawn, your back slumped against the marble statue of an almost naked man on the balcony of the grand hall.
You’d been here all evening, dancing with The Doctor for hours, holding each other close and quietly talking about everything and nothing as you swayed.
The night had been wonderful, everything you had ever dreamed of. You were the happiest you’d been for a very long time and you highly doubted it you’d feel this way if the timelord hadn’t been by your side the entire time.
“Want to see our room?”
“Our room?”
She nodded. “I may, or may not, have accidentally destroyed the part of the TARDIS that had our bedrooms in it. And I know how you humans like to spend your lives sleeping so until the ol’ girl rebuilds that part of herself, we have a room here.”
You took a moment to process all the information she had presented you with, wondering when and how she had created said destruction to the poor timeship, and how she had said our room.
“We do not spend our lives sleeping!” You quipped, following her up the winding staircase towards the second floor, your hands tugging the dress up slightly so that you didn’t trip on the length of it under your feet.
She gave you a pointed look over her shoulder, the ghost of a smirk on her lips. “You literally spend a third of your lives asleep. That’s almost 230,000 hours wasted away in favour of lying unconscious when you could be doing other things.”
You huffed through your nose, dropping the subject, knowing you weren’t about to win this fight.
She led the way down long corridors and up even more stairs, the rest of the building decorated just as beautifully as the great hall, it’s walls adorned with portraits of important people and framed with the same swirling patterns as the ceiling.
“Here we are.” The Doctor announced, breaking the comfortable silence between you.
She unlocked the door and stepped inside, leaving you to quietly trail in behind. You looked around as you entered, taking note that the design of the building's decor also moved into the bedrooms.
You sat on the edge of the bed, the one bed. “Uh Doctor?”
She looked up from whatever trinket she had found and put it back down on the dresser, giving you her full attention.
“There’s only one bed.”
She frowned, confused. “Is that a problem?”
“No, not a problem,” you quickly corrected, your gaze falling to your lap in embarrassment. “It’s just that we’ll be sleeping together… in the same bed.”
The Doctor laughed lightly, the sound of it relaxing you ever so slightly. “I won’t be sleeping. You have the whole bed to yourself.”
You made a conscious effort to ignore the feeling of disappointment that also came flooding in with understanding and relief. “Right.”
- -
You watched silently from under the covers as The Doctor gazed out the window, watching something or someone move around the garden. She, too, stayed quiet so that you could sleep, or at least attempt to.
You clenched your jaw tightly until it ached, desperately trying to stop your teeth from chattering, the coldness of the room seeping through the layers of fabric until it reached your bones.
“Cold?”
You nodded at The Doctor’s question, although she could see from your shivering that you were. “A bit.”
She made her way over, her movements swift and fluid, her feet moving with purpose. She kicked off her boots at the end of the bed and climbed in under the covers with you, her slender body slipping in right next to yours.
She pulled you closer so that your body was squashed right up against hers and your head was forced to rest on the spot on her chest, just below her shoulder. She snaked an arm around your middle to keep you close and pulled the covers right up to your chin with her free hand.
“Better?”
You swallowed nervously, feeling comforted and overwhelmed at the same time. In truth, it was better - the shivering had already begun to die down and your stiffened muscles relaxed, a contented sigh escaping you. But your proximity to each other made your heart race, your stomach doing somersaults.
Her thumb absentmindedly stroked the skin of your side and panic overcame you, knowing she was feeling a part of you that you despised under it. You quickly moved her hand up towards your shoulder instead, keeping it there with your hand on hers.
“What’s wrong?”
You shook your head, closing your eyes in an effort to brush off the subject and fall asleep, your body now warm enough to fall into unconsciousness.
A finger lifted your chin so that you were forced to look up at her. From this angle, she looked different, but still just as beautiful. “Tell me.”
You looked away again, releasing a nervous breath. “I don’t like being touched there.”
You couldn’t see her face now that you had turned your head back to its original position, but you guessed that her brows were knitted in confusion, the crease between them deepening.
“Why not?”
It wasn’t hard to confide in The Doctor, her kind eyes locked on yours when you whispered a secret, the non judgment in her voice as she gave you advice back, her gentle hands on your arms as a reminder that she was truly there in the moment and listening - all of it made it easy to trust in her and tell her even the hardest of truths, but that didn’t make it any less embarrassing.
You carefully picked up a small piece of lint from the other side of her chest between your fingers as you whispered, focusing your eyes on it so as to keep yourself from tearing up.
“It’s all squishy and gross.”
“Hey,” the timelord beneath you snapped back quickly, her tone displeased. “Your body is not gross!”
“But I-“
“It may be squishy, but you know what else it is?” She sat up, effectively forcing your body to fall beside her as she turned to face you. “Beautiful. This body carries and protects you everyday. It keeps your heart and your mind safe, it protects the organs you need to live. It grows and changes, and breaks, and thrives! The human body is amazing, truly, and a little bit of extra soft and warm padding shouldn’t get in the way of you loving the body you have.”
Tears brimmed your eyes, your bottom lip wobbling despite being sucked into your mouth. You should’ve known that The Doctor would view your body, along with everyone else’s, as a magnificent organic machine that against all odds, grew and repaired itself, and battled against the elements. To her, the human body was a glorious physical representation of just how far evolution had come and she admired it deeply.
To her, beauty wasn’t defined by size or shape, by colour or style. To her, beauty was smiles of happiness and tears of sadness, resilience and natural radiance, creative minds and beating hearts.
She placed her hands on either side of your waist, holding gently so as not to frighten you. “Who told you that your body is gross?”
You fought back a cringe and drew in a shaky breath, avoiding The Doctor’s narrowed eyes. “Well, no one in particular.”
She sighed like her heart was broken and in response your chest tightened with guilt. “Look at me.”
You did as asked, forcing your eyes to meet hers. She carried an expression on her face that you hadn’t seen before, something between disbelief and worry, whatever she was feeling, it wasn’t positive.
“This wonderfully unique body you have,” she spoke quietly, putting all of her truth and conviction behind her words, desperate for you to really, truly hear them. “Is perfect.”
A tear escaped as you blinked, quickly falling down your cheek before you could raise your hand to wipe it away. The Doctor’s hand came to rest on the now damp cheek and swiped the following tear away with her thumb, her eyes never leaving yours.
You opened your mouth to speak, but your tightened throat refused to release a sound. So instead you pulled her back down to you, holding her flush against you in a bone crushing hug she had not expected.
Silently you sobbed as she held you close, your warmth spreading to your cheeks and circling around the pit of your stomach.
You weren’t sure if you’d ever truly come to love the body you were in, but The Doctor’s opinion was the only one that mattered and that was enough for you. Maybe she’d have to remind you of your beauty every day and you had no doubt that she would, but tonight was a start and already you felt better with your skin pressed against hers.
#13th doctor#thirteeth doctor#doctor who imagine#jodie Whittaker#doctor x reader#13 x reader#thirteenth doctor x reader#thirteen x reader
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Cold as Ice
Billy Hargrove x Reader
Summary: Billy just doesn’t understand why you’re so cold to him. He becomes desperate to warm you up. But, the killer heat of Hawkins combined with a stupid school project gives him the chance to know what’s truly underneath all that ice.
Warnings: cursing, smut, sExUal tenSion, some angst, some fluff, LOTS OF SIN
A/N: Definitely my filthiest fic at the moment, enjoy!
“You’re my partner.”
You look up from the register, hands on your hips as you stare at Billy Hargrove with a blank, unamused expression. There are a few people behind him, arms crossed against their chests - Tommy, Carol, and some other bimbo.
Funnily, you realize that they all resemble a group of poodles.
Cute.
Billy raises his eyebrows at you, smacking his gum as he impatiently awaits for a response. You glance at the folder that he slaps down onto the counter, knowing exactly what it contains.
“Hm, didn’t think you guys were recruiting for the next douchebag of Hawkins High. Are these the applications?” You finally pick up the folder, skimming through the thick pages of paper with a toothy smirk. “To be honest, I consider myself more of a bitch than a douchebag. Isn’t that right, Harrington?”
You chuckle devilishly as you hand Steve a couple dollars, who snickers at the interaction. Billy seems confused, but by the way he clenches his jaw and barely blinks, you can tell you’ve also hit a spot.
“Looks like I’ve won the bet, Y/N. Fuck, yeah! Robin! I told you I would win!” Steve runs into the back room of Scoops Ahoy, waving the dollar bills at his friend.
You turn back to Billy, re-adjusting the hat on your head. “Now, can I get you something, pool boy?” You lean over, hands splayed onto the cool marble of the counter.
“Did you not pick up on what I just said? I’m asking you to be my partner for the project. No, I’m picking you to be my partner.” Billy tries to keep a steady voice, but you easily catch the deep breath he takes between his words. His ‘friends’ are whispering behind him, exchanging dirty looks.
“Well, I’m actually not allowed to have personal conversations with customers right now,” Billy scoffs, tugging his lip between his teeth. “And so, if you aren’t ordering ice cream, then be my guest, and leave. I’ve got a few angry customers to deal with if you can’t tell.” He follows your pointed gaze, and surely enough, the line behind him is fairly long - filled with crying kids and irritated parents. “Come back later? Or never at all?”
Billy groans, pacing in short steps. He knows you’ll come around. They always come around.
You truly are a bitch.
Yet, somehow, Billy waits till the end of your shift to speak with you - hopefully in a more private spot and in a less aggressive manner.
You roll your eyes when you see him, sitting by the table nearest to the register. He seems to be alone, yet it annoys you even more.
“I don’t wanna be your partner, Hargrove. Is that not clear?” Your eyes follow him as he stands up. He’s much taller than you, so you can only send him an intimidating glare in hopes of scaring him away. “Pick someone else. And let me give you a hint - it’s not me.”
Billy inhales deeply, before a small smile forms on his face. He grabs your arm before you can walk away, hoping that he can win you over with his charm. But he knows he has to put away his pride to do so.
“Sweetheart, I really need help with this project. You’re the smartest girl in our class, and if you can’t tell, I hang around a bunch of dumbasses.”
Oh, so this is why he was alone. So he could talk crap about his shitty friends.
Billy continues, smile never wavering. He still has his hand wrapped around your arm, holding you in place as he speaks by your ear. “And anyways, it’s already set in stone. I asked Mrs. Johnson if I could pair up with you. She thought it was a great idea. Guess we’re in this together now, huh?”
He harshly pushes the folder of papers into your chest, letting go of your arm.
“What? You can’t do that!”
But he certainly did do that. Because when you storm into Mrs. Johnson’s classroom on one Monday morning, she’s rambling over how excited she is to have you and Billy working together.
“But Mrs. Johnson, I never agreed to this. How is this fair?” You whine, waving the folder around with wide eyes.
“Miss Y/N, you’ll be doing Billy a huge favor by helping him. He isn’t failing, but he is struggling. He could most definitely use your help.”
Despite all the complaining, Mrs. Johnson doesn’t allow you to pick anyone else. To her convenience, you and Billy are the only ones who haven’t had a designated partner - and now, you really don’t have a choice.
-
The next week, Billy is back in Scoops Ahoy. He can see your snarl from the other side of the mall. He’s got you trapped in cage, and he knows you’re having a hard time trying to adapt to it.
“I knew that he’d pick you.” Steve says through a mouthful of banana, hitting you in the face with its peel. “I mean, you’re the only girl - besides Robin - who hasn’t given into him. He’s probably just trying to cross off your name on his list.”
“He has a list?” You gag dramatically, protesting as Robin pushes you jokingly.
“Dude, Y/N, he’s literally coming over here.” She points at Billy, who actually is coming over.
“I don’t care. Change spots with me. Steve! Robin!” You shout, pulling at the ends of your hair as they run into the back room, locking the door behind them. “Screw you both!”
You turn around, meeting eyes with the damned Billy Hargrove. You fake a smile. If this was a cartoon, steam would certainly be coming out from your ears.
“Bad day?” Billy pouts mockingly at you. His hands rest inside the pockets of his jeans, eyes looking over your angry state. “Should I come back or....”
“Actually, no. But you know what?” You slide yourself over the counter, brushing away at the lint that has accumulated on your blue shorts. “I’m not doing this stupid project alone. You’re staying here till my shift is over. And when it is, you’re gonna drive your ass to my house, where the both of us can work on it. Together. Happy now, douchebag?”
Your breath is almost minty, and somehow feels cool against Billy’s skin. He steps back with a cocky grin, raising his hands as if he were surrending to you.
But he wasn’t surrendering.
“You just gave Team Hargrove one point. But Team Y/L/N? Zero.” Billy snaps with a flash of his pearly whites. He crouches down to your height, hands resting on his thighs. He knows that he is pissing you off. “I’ll see you when you’re done.” Then, you cross your arms at him, nose pointing up as he stands to full height. His eyes flicker down to your lips. “And honestly? I think I’m more of a dick than a douchebag.”
You want to slap the stupid grin of his face. But you don’t. You don’t know the real reason behind it, but you try to convince yourself as to why.
Because it’s against company policy?
Steve and Robin poke their heads out of the other room, coming out when Billy cockily walks away from you. You’re still standing there, eyes narrowed and face drawn into a look of displeasure.
“Should we not bother her?” Steve whispers, elbowing Robin. “I kinda don’t wanna get yelled at right now.”
“No, no, Steve. She’s hotter when she’s angry. Trust me.”
“Guys!” You scoff at them. She laughs at the sudden smile on your face, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“I mean, she’s not wrong, Y/N.” Steve shrugs before taking your place at the register. “You’re pretty hot, I guess.”
“Oh, stop it, Harrington. I’m out of your league.” You wink at him, hopping back over the counter.
You let out an exasperated breath when Robin tells you to sort out the shipments in the back. You push the back door open, groaning audibly when you see the tall stack of cardboard boxes. There’s a clipboard on the table in the middle of the room, and you read over it lazily before you begin to sort through the deliveries.
No one really knows why you despise Billy. Not Steve, not Robin, not anyone. It seems as if you had woke up, saw him, and decided that he was someone you disliked.
That was partly true.
But in detail, you did dislike - or hate, whichever was fitting based on your mood - Billy for a few things.
You never understood his sudden popularity, or the sex appeal he carried along with him. You never understood the hair, the smoking, the people he hung around, or the recklessness and the partying.
You just didn’t get it. You didn’t get why people would waste their time around him, when clearly, he wasn’t grateful for any of it.
Maybe your hatred of him spiraled from insecurity.
He had everything. He was popular and easy on the eyes. He was charming and fun. You’d never admit it out loud, but he truly seemed like a good guy, underneath that whole douchebag act of his.
You were nothing alike. Or so you thought.
-
“Honey! There’s someone here for you!” Your mother calls out from the bottom of the stairs, a slight smirk on her face when she realizes how handsome your guest is. You come barreling down the stairs, feet heavy and frowning deeply when you see who’s sitting on the sofa.
“Billy.”
“Y/N!” He comes to meet you, pulling you into an embrace. Your reaction is one of utter shock, because suddenly, all you can smell is expensive cologne and the faint scent of cigarettes. “Your mother was just asking me if we wanted to join her for lunch.”
“Oh. Uh, thank you, but we have to work on a project, Mom.” You send Billy a look, clearing your throat when you see his lips twitch upwards. “We’ll be upstairs.”
Your mom disappears into the living room, giving you both a second glance and a knowing look as you jog up the stairs.
“How do you know where I live?”
“That little girl from the mall? I think she’s Sinclair’s sister. Bought her some ice cream when I saw it fall, she just returned the favor.”
Erica. Damn it.
“Okay, well, I didn’t think you’d be here so soon.” You complain, running your hands through your hair, damp from a shower. Billy follows you into your bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He takes in the sight, something he wouldn’t expect from someone like you. There are various posters plastered onto your soft pink walls - band posters, movie posters, and he huffs at the one of a shirtless man. There’s a record player on top of your bookcase, where you stand, occupied as you flip through your vinyls. “What’s your cup of tea? Queen? The Beatles? Metallica? Foreigner?”
“I really don’t care.” He scoffs, licking his lips as he takes a seat on your bed.
Foreigner it is, then.
“And I really don’t want you on my bed. Get off, Hargrove.” You throw a paper ball at him, hiding the smile on your face when he doesn’t dodge it in time. “Thought you played basketball. What happened to those reflexes?”
With a dramatic eye roll, Billy tosses the ball into the trash, sliding off of the bed and onto the floor instead. You grab the project folder from your study table, sitting down across from him. You’re reading through the directions when Billy starts to light a cigarette.
And you gasp - really loud. “Billy! No! None of that in here.” You take the cigarette from his lips, his coughs fading in the background as you throw it out your window. “Are you crazy?”
“I just wanted a smoke!”
“Yeah?! Then not in here!” You shake your head at him, handing him a sheet of paper as you calm down. “Your turn to read, asshole.”
Your head begins to become fuzzy as Billy’s fingers brush against yours when he grabs the paper.
He reads, voice soft and surprisingly enthusiastic - if he didn’t act like such a dumbass, you’d think he was somewhat intelligent.
(However, you know he is intelligent - somewhere in that douchebag brain of his - though, that’s one of the things you could never admit to anyone).
The room is suddenly blazing hot, uncomfortably warm despite the numerous open windows. The air conditioning isn’t enough, and you’re silently cursing as you feel sweat build up among your skin. You’re fanning yourself, swallowing as you notice the bead of sweat that rolls down the side of Billy’s forehead.
“God damn, it’s hot.” Billy curses, unable to continue reading with how tight his chest feels. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, hoping he could get some sort of air.
“Our air conditioning sucks.” You push your hair back, “Summer’s coming.”
Billy nods in agreement, picking up from where he had left off.
Maybe it’s just the heat, but suddenly, you start to space out.
Your eyes focus on the rise and fall of Billy’s tan chest, how his skin glows with sweat, and how his muscles flex under that shirt of his.
Oh, wow.
“Y/N? Did you hear me?” You snap out of your trance. “Hope you haven’t passed out.” He sets the paper down, leaning back against your bed frame.
“Huh? Sorry, I - I was distracted.”
Don’t let your guard down.
“I was asking which part you wanted to do.”
“Uh, whichever one is the hardest. I can take it.”
And Billy stops breathing. Maybe because there’s some sort of - sexual - euphemism in that sentence, but also because he’s noticing how flushed you look: cheeks red, skin glistening, breaths heavy. Your hair sticks to your arms, resting on the tops of your knees. But then, he sees this look in your eyes.
It’s not the normal glare he gets. But your eyes are softer, less intense, more - was that longing?
You’re just staring at him, lips slightly parted as your eyes quickly drop down to the floor.
“Unless, um, you want the harder part then you can have it, I guess.” You pipe up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You’re avoiding his gaze, and Billy isn’t sure that he recognizes this Y/N.
Did he win you over yet? That easily?
“Here, you can look over it with me again.” Billy scoots beside you, his denim-clad thigh pressed up against your bare one. His breaths are even, blowing over your hands as you hold up the paper. “I was thinking I could do the research on the biographical context and symbolism, and...” He glances over to you, eyes trailing over the expanse of your neck. Your jaw is tightly clenched, but you don’t meet his stare. “... and then, maybe you could do the overall analysis. Or we could do it differently, if this way doesn’t meet your standards, princess.” His voice is low, a sultry tone laced subtly in his words. He peeks his tongue out to lick his lips, and you look over at that exact moment.
Aw, shit. You wouldn’t give up that easily, would you?
He’s not the only one that can play this game.
“No, I like your idea. We can do that.” You turn to him, hair slightly hitting him in the face. You pucker your bottom lip slightly, rolling it between your teeth as you pass him the paper back.
“Is it getting hot in here?”
Not this line.
“Nope, just you.” You let out a sharp exhale, reading over more of the project.
“Whew. I gotta take off my shirt.”
“Excuse me?” Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull, causing you to drop your pencil. But it’s too late once Billy is pulling his shirt over his head. “Hey!”
Though, he wears a tank top underneath.
And honestly, you’re kind of disappointed.
Wait, what?
He hurls the shirt towards your bed, running his hands through his messy curls. His arms look even bigger, and you can see the faint outline of his abs through the thin, white material. You catch the tattoo on his upper bicep, and you have to put a hand to your mouth from saying anything - now this was ruining you.
Don’t give in.
“Like what you see, Y/L/N?” He flexes his arms in a subtle manner, biting down harshly on his lip. He grunts as he leans over to pick up your pencil, handing it to you. “Didn’t mean to make you drop this.”
Yeah. Apology accepted. Jerk.
“If this is your way of seducing me, it isn’t working.” You cross your ankles over each other, shaking your head at Billy.
He laughs, running his hand through his hair. “And why would I want to seduce you, Y/N?”
The question does sting, but it doesn’t change the fact that his face is literally inches away from yours.
You aren’t done playing the game.
“Oh, I don’t know, Billy. Maybe because I’m the only girl on that - that list of yours that you haven’t yet crossed out? Or is it because you’ve fucked all the pretty girls at school and you’ve finally come to the realization that you’d rather fuck someone with a bit of brains?”
Billy hums with a slow, antagonistic nod, tongue poking out from the corner of his lips. He abruptly stands up, turning up the volume on your record player. He’s dancing. But the bitter look on his face is all you can focus on. You stand up as well, pouting as you lower the volume of the music. It’s a back and forth between you, Billy, and the music.
“The problem with pretty girls, Y/N...” He starts between breaths, still dancing as you stand ahead of him - not happy. “... is that they can’t tell when a guy is no longer interested in them. They got the looks, but no brain.” He chuckles, parting his lips as he taps the side of his head. “And the girls that do have brains? They also got a problem. They’re smart, sure, but they just don’t know when to quit being a bitch.”
That’s when he turns up the music to full volume, hooting in your face as he dances even more.
This was Billy Hargrove at his finest.
“We’re never gonna get this project done if you keep thinking with your dick instead of your head, asshole.” You almost growl. You’re fuming now.
He really knows how to piss a girl off, huh?
“You ever had a boyfriend, Y/N?”
No. Never.
“Yeah, I have. Why?” You gulp, pushing past Billy. You sit down on your bed, continuing on writing your analysis for the project.
“What was his name?”
“Uh - It was - It’s Steve.”
What are you doing?
“You dated Harrington? King Steve?” He slowly stops dancing, panting loudly as he looks down at you.
“Dating him, actually.”
Oh, God.
“Huh. You ever had sex with him?”
“Hargrove, this is getting a little personal.” You chuckle nervously.
“Is that a... no?” He crouches down in front of you, eyes blinking at you. He’s catching on. Surely, you weren’t this good of a liar. “I’ll take that as a no. Must suck, yeah? Harrington doesn’t know how to handle a woman like you. Poor Y/N. You just want a little lovin’ from King Steve...”
His thumb hooks itself under your chin.
And his blue eyes are almost hypnotizing.
“Are you really dating Steve Harrington? ‘Cause you seem a lot out of his league. You’re not even in the ballpark, baby.”
His big hand cups your jaw, fingers rubbing against your skin. Somehow, his hands are freezing - despite the hundred degree weather.
“I have a... boyfriend.”
Billy knows you’re lying now.
“Why are you so cold to me, Y/N?” His eyes are fixed on your lips, flickering up to you when you speak.
“I don’t know. Why are you such a douchebag?”
“Sure. I’m a dick, but you - you’re somethin’ else. You are mean. Steve seems a little soft for someone as headstrong as you.” He shrugs animatedly, “Maybe you’re looking for a - a... thrill.”
“What do you want from me?” You scoff at him.
“I think I know why you hate me.” You hold your breath as he continues, “We’re more alike than you think we are.”
“Yeah? I’d like to hear it, then.”
Deathmatch.
“We both crave something more. Most people go after someone with a little... heat to their name, but us? We thrive in the cold.”
“You’re wrong.” You shake your head at him.
“Then why am I still touching you?” He stands, hands leaving your jaw.
No, come back.
“Billy, this - this isn’t-“
“Surely, your boyfriend wouldn’t like the way I was touching you, wouldn’t he? What’s Steve gonna do if he finds out? Fight me?”
“Steve’s not my boyfriend! Fine! You win!” You explode, rising to your feet.
And it all comes rushing back to you.
You both really are alike.
“You see it now, don’t you? All this competing, this - this fighting, we clash because we’re the same. And it scares you. Because who would’ve thought you had something in common with the douchebag from school, huh?”
He takes a step closer to you. And you do the same to him.
“Smart girls need attention, too.” He says softly, leaning in to whisper at your ear. “But you... you’ve been looking for someone who’s as cold as you. And I respect that, Y/N.”
You make the mistake of locking eyes with him when he pulls back.
“I’m way out of Steve’s league.”
You look down at his plump lips, glancing at how his neck bobs when he pushes your hair behind your shoulder.
There’s an unfamiliar feeling that sparks in your chest when Billy’s fingers trail past your collarbone.
“Can I kiss you now? Because all this tension might give me high blood pressure.” He smirks at you.
You don’t reply.
But you do lean forward, on the tips of your toes, mashing your lips against Billy’s. Your hands are cool against his shimmering skin.
The kiss isn’t sweet, but fueled with fire and pent-up anger. Billy is fast enough to show you that he really wants you, but at the same time, he’s slow, wanting to prove to you that you aren’t just another name on his so-called ‘list.’
You don’t give a shit about winning anymore.
Stubble tickles your cheeks as Billy moves to kiss your neck.
“This doesn’t... this doesn’t change the fact that I still hate you...” You breathe raggedly, screwing your eyes shut at how his mouth feels on your neck.
He tugs at the straps of your tank top, pulling it over your head as he hoists you up into his arms. Your legs wrap around his hips, and you can feel the tightness form in his jeans.
“God, you’ve been such a bitch to me for the past week.” He moans into your skin, pressing you up against your bedroom door as he uses one hand to hold you, and the other to unclasp your bra. You let out a choked moan, only for Billy to place his hand over your mouth. “Don’t forget that your mama is downstairs. What would she think if she saw me doing this to her daughter?”
You bite at his hand, smiling as he groans pleasurably at the sensation.
He’s so rough, but you’re enjoying it.
Billy swivels on the heels of his shoes, laying you down onto your bed as he kisses down your torso. His saliva sticks to your skin, and he chuckles when he watches you arch your back into him. Your hand reaches for his, and he doesn’t pull away - despite how intimate the action is for him.
Billy Hargrove doesn’t hold hands with flings.
That’s how he really knows you aren’t one of them.
“B-Billy...” You gasp as his lips pass over your breasts, his hands cupping and kneading them softly.
He reaches up to kiss you again, whispering, “This isn’t your first time, right?”
You shake your head, “No, no.”
“Okay.” He nods with a grin, taking off his top. “But no one is ever gonna make you feel this good.”
He groans as you crawl to the edge of the bed, playing with him through his jeans. You glance up at him innocently, his fingers card through your hair. You leave short kisses on his abs, slowly making your way up to his neck. You suck and lick at it, surely leaving a prominent mark there. He pulls out his belt, flinging it onto the floor as you unbutton his jeans for him.
He licks his lips, pushing you back down onto the bed. You scoot over, making room for him as he takes off your shorts. You chuckle when he moans at the sight of lace.
“Didn’t know you were wearing those.” He says, obviously surprised as he wraps his fingers around the waistband, letting it snap against your skin. You gasp, letting his hands wander over your back.
“Just be glad I’m letting you see them.”
He flips you over so that you’re on your knees, ass in his face as he pulls the lace panties past your ankles.
You bite back a loud moan. His face and his mouth is down there and you swear you’ve entered heaven itself.
Hell was too hot for the both of you, anyways.
He hums against you, the vibrations nearly sending you over the edge as he toys with you in places you didn’t even know existed. He pulls away, causing you to whimper.
But as you look back at him, the sight is enough to make you cum. His boxers are nowhere to be seen, and instead, he’s touching himself, grinning as he sees the dumbfounded expression on your face.
“You’re okay with this?” He asks, furrowing his eyebrows. You’re shaking your head. “I need to hear it out loud.” He kisses your lower back, hands caressing your ass.
“Yes. Please.”
“Condom?”
You wink, rubbing yourself against him. “On the pill.”
Billy lets out a moan, chuckling. “Mm, that’s my girl.”
You hold back a breath as he pushes himself into you. He’s huge, and it stings with how much he’s stretching you out. You let out a sob of pleasure, hand coming to touch Billy’s upper thigh.
“Slow?” He asks, voice gruff as he bottoms out. You’re sure that he’s as deep as possible, but part of you longs for him to go even deeper.
“No, fast.”
Billy pulls out, only to slam back in. His movements are quick, hips thrusting at a rapid pace. You’re moaning, falling into the mattress with how good he feels inside you.
“Holy fuck!” He grunts as he leans over you, hand coming to rest by your face. He outstretches his fingers, and you take his hand into yours. “Y/N...”
“We have to - to be quiet...” You moan once more, throwing your head back as his arm wraps around your stomach, pulling you closer to him.
He pounds into you, grunting as silently as possible. You can feel the heat radiating off of him.
“Good girl, such a good girl for me.” He cries out, taking a fistful of your hair. You yelp out of surprise when he gently pulls you back.
You liked that.
“D-do that again.” You stutter, mumbling incoherent words when he repeats the action.
The record player still plays music.
And you’re so grateful that it’s loud enough to silence the filthy sounds between you and Billy.
Thank God for that.
But this... this was a whole new level of sinful.
Billy brings a hand to touch your throat. And you nod in approval, shutting your eyes when you feel the pads of his fingers tighten around your airway. He’s still soft and cautious, but the way he was fucking you was enough to send you into overdrive.
Your hand comes up from the bed, jaw hanging open in utter bliss as you flex your fingers. “I’m gonna cum. Billy, holy, I-“
“C’mon, baby.” Thrust. “I’m right there...” Thrust. “...With you.”
You’re cumming.
Your legs are shaking and you feel the wave of heat fall over your body like a spell. Billy follows shortly, groaning sinfully as he buried himself inside you. He pulls out, pumping himself as he lets himself go onto your body. You feel the warm drops of his cum drizzle across your back and over your ass, trickling down your thighs and between your legs before you fall onto the bed.
“Oh, my god.” You sigh, curling up. Billy falls beside you, eyes studying your features for any sign of pain or sadness.
“Was that okay?”
“I just had sex with Billy Hargrove. Oh, my-“ Your hand comes up to massage your temples.
He chuckles.
“And I just had sex with you, so I guess we’re pretty even.” He states, kissing your neck one last time.
He’ll give it to you.
You both win.
But who said that the game would be over?
-
“Here’s the project, Mrs. Johnson.” You smile respectfully, exchanging glances with Billy as you hand her the folder. Her eyes bounce from you both, hands sorting through the papers of the project.
“This looks good.” She nods, eyebrows raised when she finds the part that Billy had worked on. “Wow, Y/N must’ve been a great help to you, Billy.”
“Yeah. She helped me a lot.”
Billy links his pinky with yours under the table, where your thigh rests against his. His fingers come to toy with the hem of your skirt, and his touch: cold.
“Well, I might say that this project deserves an A. It looks very well-planned and thought out.” She takes off her reading glasses, placing them carefully on her desk as she re-organizes your papers. “How would you feel about an extra credit project, Billy? Just to boost your grade a little more before the year ends?”
You and Billy share a knowing grin.
It’s wicked.
It’s spiteful.
It’s cold as ice.
But there’s an inextinguishable heat that lingers between the two of you.
“As long as Miss Y/N can be of help to me.” He flashes a charming smile, hands coming up to rest on the wooden desk.
“Of course, Mr. Hargrove.”
You shut the door of the classroom behind you, following Billy into the bustling hallway towards the cafeteria.
He turns to you and winks as he rounds the corner, denim jacket slung over his shoulder.
“See you later, partner.”
“Later, douchebag.”
Oh, how you loved the cold.
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The Trials and Tribulations of Birthday Presents
Synopsis: Chan’s birthday is only three hours away, and you, his loving girlfriend, still don’t have a gift for him. Modern magic AU because it’s October.
Warning: one instance of calling and driving flying (please don’t do this!)
Word Count: 2.9k
Pairing: fem!reader x Bang Chan
What does one find in a magic shop?
Fat wax candles, decks of tarot cards, and antique spellbooks, just to name a few. If the shop is particularly well stocked, there may be rare potion ingredients like bottled lightning and threads of moonlight.
Despite all the fascinating things available, the very magic shop you work at has nothing for your particular dilemma: a suitable gift for your beloved. In other words, there are only three hours left before your boyfriend’s birthday, and you still have no idea what to get him.
“What do I do, what do I do?” you mutter to yourself.
The minute hand of giant clock face mounted to the oak paneling wall ticks, reminding you that time is of the essence and something you have naught of. If only you knew a time wizard; then you could allow yourself to panic and avoid the problem for a few hours longer.
The black cat perched at the register counter beside you flicks his tail, making the pages flutter. “We do have an aisle dedicated to gifts, you know.”
“There’s nothing good there!” you wail.
Glass candle holders and generic happiness potions don’t scream “I cherish you and the day of your birth greatly!” Though the specialty potions shop across town could probably make you one that literally screams that…
You bat the absurd idea and the cat’s tail away, making it hiss at you as a result. “Isn’t your shift over, Minho? It’s past nine.”
“Oh!” He shifts back into human form and cheerfully hops off the counter, making the floorboards creak. “Lucky me. Good night then.”
“No, wait! Help me! I’m sorry I was mean!” you pathetically call after him. “Minho!”
He turns around and starts heading back to the register. When he sees how relieved you look, he heads for the door again. “Good luck!”
You do your best impression of a banshee in an attempt to stop him, but he doesn’t flinch. “Give some advice at least! Please!”
“Be spontaneous,” he says as he opens the door. “Stop being so practical and get Chan something fun.”
The door swings shut, and Black Cat Minho waves a paw at you before darting down the street. The store goes quiet, and you stand by the counter with your head in your hands.
“But I don’t know how…”
One of your finer attributes is being practical. Plenty of people, namely all your friends who have received presents from you, even say that you are overly practical. It’s not necessarily a bad thing; it just means that they get new brewing stands and gift cards to the local plant nursery for birthdays rather than plushies and balloons.
But Chan’s has to be different and special, which means you have to be reckless and spontaneous and everything you are not.
While you pace around the store, looking for something you would never even consider buying, Changbin steps out of a nearby shadowy corner. He mumbles a hello and brushes his jacket sleeve, no doubt to rid himself of any pieces of darkness from his journey.
“Hey, Changbin,” you brightly greet, walking closer to him with your hands behind your back.
He gives you a strange look at your sudden chipperness and tries to get away. Unfortunately for him, he chose to arrive in a corner, and you easily trap him in.
“How was shadow travelling? Great? That’s great. Anyway, do you think Chan would like this?” You hold up a mesh bag full of stuffed mice, taxidermied ones and plushie ones included.
“What is he even going to do with those? Can I go now?”
You let him pass. “So, it’s perfect then!” Merrily, you take the bag with you to the register and start applying your employee discount code.
Changbin, who has not started working, hovers around. “Wait, is this what you’re getting him for his birthday?”
You stop pressing buttons and fearfully look at him. “Why are you saying it like that?”
You can always count on Changbin on being blunt with you, but it still stings when he answers. “He’ll like it because you gave it to him, but he doesn’t need dead mice. He works with summonings, and what demon likes already dead mice?“
“I’m trying a new approach,” you indignantly say. “No practical presents.”
“Okay, but he doesn’t want dead mice either.”
He makes a fair point. You cancel the purchase and leave the bag on the counter.
“What did you get him?” you ask. You mournfully scan the inventory pages, and the words feel like they’re taunting you. “Crystal ball? Gilded owl cage? Velvet-lined coffin?”
He laughs at your guesses and shows you a picture on his phone. An image of a koala plushie holding a vial of something shimmery stares back at you.
“Is that… dust bunny dust?” you say, pinching the screen to zoom in. “But you can literally find that under your bed.”
“When we were fifteen, he said— never mind, it’s an inside joke.” He tucks his phone back into his pocket and picks up the stuffed mice to put back on the shelf. “Why don’t you get him flowers and chocolate?”
“But that’s so… pedestrian. And more of an anniversary thing.” You sigh and wave him off. “I’ll let you get to work now.”
However, since the shop is quite empty in the late hours — who wants to go shopping when all the best things happen at night — Changbin soon returns by your side to help you solve your issue. You scroll through old text messages between you and Chan to find something noteworthy. You’re starting to reconsider Changbin’s earlier suggestion.
“What if I get him a birthday cake and flowers?” you try after finding a link to a boutique bakery from the town across the river. “But a really special cake and really special flowers.”
“Isn’t that too ‘pedestrian?’” he jokes. At your defeated expression, he pats your shoulder reassuringly. “I think he’ll like it. It’s a little bit practical as well.”
You suppose Changbin is still little miffed by the lint roller and darkness duster you gave him for his birthday.
“Is anything still open though?” You do a search for the local bakeries and flower shops, but as expected, most are already closed. On the bright side, you do know a florist who may not be too appalled if you knock on his door at this hour. “Do you think Jeongin will mind if I barge in for flowers?”
“Yes.”
As for the cake, a simple grocery store cake won’t do. The 24-hour grocery store, luckily, lives up to its name and is still open, which means you can make your own. “And do you think I can make a cake before midnight?”
“No.”
“I will switch those two answers around.” You grab your broomstick from the stand and are ready to leave when you remember that you are still supposed to be working. “Oh wait.”
Changbin shakes his head and nudges you to go ahead. “I can handle it.”
“I can’t just leave early! I’ll get fired!” You nervously drum your fingers on the countertop. You need a new plan, stat. “How about no cake? Agh! But just flowers is… agh!”
He laughs — how dare he! — at your panic. “Jihyo will understand. You’re also the only one who doesn’t fight when you get the witching hour shift.”
Your boss is quite nice and understanding, especially about things regarding relationships. After all, she was an apprentice for a witch specializing in love potions before she decided to open the shop. You hurriedly run for the door as the giant, looming clock ticks again.
“Thanks and good night!” you call over your shoulder to Changbin, who wishes you luck in return.
With some difficulty, you light the lantern dangling at the front of your broomstick. It’s dangerous of you, but you dial Jeongin’s phone number while flying to the grocery store and hope he picks up. If there were actual traffic laws for flying, you are certain you are breaking all of them. The dial tone is cut off, and Jeongin barely gets out a hello before you interrupt.
“I need flowers!” you shout over the rush of the wind. The neon sign of the store slowly blinks, and you nosedive down, scattering a cloud of vampire bats as you descend, almost dropping your phone in the process. “For Chan! So the best ones you have!”
“What kind of flowers?” You hear the sound of water from his end, so he must be tending to his night plants.
“Did you not hear me?” You grab a shopping cart, throw your broomstick in, and haphazardly snatch cake ingredients off the shelves. “The best ones you have! Also, can I borrow your kitchen?”
“That’s not what I— never mind. Sure, you can use my kitchen.”
“Thank you!” you chirp as you grab the last carton of milk. “See you soon.”
You hear Jeongin mumble a goodbye and hang up. Your cart is filled, and you’re certain that you have everything you need to make Chan the most magical birthday cake of his life. Self-checkout is fortunately devoid of customers, so you scan all the products as quickly as you can. Your broomstick is back-heavy as you head to Jeongin’s with your heavy bag of ingredients.
The giant upstairs window of his house is wide open, curtains pulled back, and you fly right through, landing on the kitchen floor with a heavy thump. Jeongin doesn’t even look away from his activity at the sink.
“Hello,” you say a little breathlessly. You take your bag and lean your mode of transport against the wall. “Sorry for coming on such short notice.”
“You couldn’t celebrate his birthday later in the day?” he asks. He’s snipping stems. “I’ve got plants to take care of and harvest.”
You find a large enough cauldron in one of his cabinets and start adding in butter and sugar. “I know, I’m sorry. I couldn’t think of anything to get him, so cake and flowers was a last-minute thing. I’ll buy gift cards here instead of the nursery for birthday presents next time.”
Jeongin seems happy with your response, and he breaks out the extra fancy ribbon he usually saves for expensive orders. With the exception of you mumbling cooking spells and him shuffling flowers around, it’s mostly quiet. After fifteen minutes, you slide the cake pan into the oven and pray the recipe you followed works. You anxiously stare at the clock, the incessant tick tock growing louder with each second. You’re not going to have enough time to frost the cake and make it look pretty at this rate.
While you make the buttercream frosting, you ask Jeongin, “What kind of flowers are you using?”
“The best ones I have,” he replies. You don’t need to see it to know he has a crescent moon smirk on his face. “The real answer is roses, lavender, and jasmine.”
Minho’s reminder of being spontaneous and not practical echoes in your ears. “Those are very practical choices,” you slowly say.
“Isn’t that what you want?”
“I’m trying a new approach. But it looks very pretty!” you add, admiring the colors. “He’ll need the lavender for stress anyway.”
He chuckles, and you sigh at your one-track mind.
When the clock strikes eleven, you’re officially in full panic mode. The bouquet is complete and resting in a glass jar of water. Jeongin, who for some reason trusts you to be alone in his home, leaves you while he attends to his plants. The cake — the stupid, still warm, ‘cannot be frosted unless you want the entire thing to look like an old wax candle’ cake — is sitting on the counter, and you whisper cooling spells that do not seem to be working.
It does smell lovely though, so at least the recipe worked.
After fifteen minutes of waiting and reciting cleaning spells, you start applying the first assembling the cake and icing it. You’re scraping the excess off when your phone rings. You mindlessly swipe across the screen with your knuckle, smearing a tiny bit of buttercream across the surface.
“Hello? Who is this?”
“Hey, it’s Chan! Are you still coming over tonight? I just wanted to check since I know you’ve got work.”
You squeak and quickly push his almost-finished present aside, afraid he will discover the surprise even though he can’t see you. “Hey!” you say as nonchalantly as possible. He doesn’t know, you repeat to yourself. “Yes, I’ll be there.”
“Alright. I can’t wait.”
You hear him smiling, and a colony of bats flutter in your stomach out of anticipation and nervousness. “I’ve gotta get back. I’ll see you later. And happy early birthday.”
“Thanks, love. See you in a bit. Love you!”
“Love you too.”
He hangs up, and you quickly swing back into the thick of things, piping the birthday message in cursive across the top,and decorating the sides with the same sprinkles as inside the cake. It looks, let’s be honest here, terrible, and you decide to use magic to make it look better. It feels like cheating, but what’s the point of being a witch if you can’t use your powers for good?
Jeongin comes back inside and gives an appreciative “Ooh!” when he sees your creation. “That looks really nice.”
“Thanks, I used magic.”
He becomes less impressed. You make a face at him while you carefully put Chan’s cake into a cardboard box, which you stole from Jeongin’s supply cabinet. A cheerful alarm sounds, and your phone screen reads, “11:55 PM - Chan’s Birthday!”
Time is of the essence, and you possess none. You rush about, putting the box into the bag and letting it hang from the back of your broomstick like you did with the ingredients. There are still remnants of your decorating on the counter, so you hastily say a cleaning spell and hope it doesn’t go haywire.
Jeongin is a warlock; he can handle it.
The bouquet you hold with one hand, while your other one steers your broomstick. Your friendly but not useful friend watches you in amusement, and you bid him good night as you launch out of the window.
“Good night!” he yells, his voice ringing through the air. “Tell him ‘happy birthday’ for me!”
“Tell him yourself!” you shout back.
A few petals scatter into the wind, and you force yourself to slow down. You are flying, you should have adequate time, you cannot mess this up. Chan’s house isn’t too far away by broom, and you watch as the ETA on your GPS ticks down.
Destination in two minutes.
Destination in one minute.
Arrived at destination.
11:59 PM.
With a sigh of relief, you land and gather your gifts in your arms. Before you can even knock on the door with your foot, it opens. Chan, a grin on his face, stands on the other side of the threshold.
“Happy birthday!” you greet. You present him with his presents. “Happy birthday to the best person alive — you!”
He hugs you, gifts and all. “Thank you,” he says, his breath tickling your ear.
“Anything for you.”
Oh, how true that statement is.
After you nestle your broomstick in the rack outside, Chan leads you into the living room, and you place the box on the coffee table, which is surprisingly devoid of his usual clutter. The bouquet he takes from you and studies it.
“Lavender for stress, roses for… rosehip tea? And what are the white ones?” he asks.
“Jasmine, and I guess for tea as well. If one of your demons likes jasmine, you can use it in a summoning too.” You poke at his cheek, right where his dimple is. “Open the box.”
“Is it a cake? It smells sweet.”
He lifts the top of the box. He laughs, shuts it back close, and looks at you with lively eyes. “You made this, didn’t you? Your magic is all over it.”
“Do you like it?”
“Of course I do. It looks amazing!” He pulls you closer and rubs his nose against yours. “Was it hard to bake?”
A fifty times sped up video of the hours before play inside your head. “It was hard to decide what to get you,” you decide after a moment. “I wanted to do something different than what I usually do.”
“No basket of common summoning items this year?” he teases.
“You said it was useful last month!” A flash of worry passes through you. “Would you rather have received that instead? Oh my. By the moon and stars, I can’t believe that the one time—”
Your forthcoming rambling is cut off when he puts his lips on yours. It’s sweet, slow, gentle, and out of nowhere. “Hm?” you squeak out once you lean away, too shocked to actually say, “What was that for?”
“I love whatever you get me,” he assures.
“No.” Kiss on your left cheek.
“Matter.” Right cheek.
“What.” Left corner of your mouth.
“It.” Right corner.
“Is.” One sloppy smooch on your lips.
He peppers you with more kisses, and you giggle at his messy attempts. “Even taxidermied mice?”
“Yes,” he replies, seemingly serious. “Decent sacrifice material for small things and good for gag gifts.” He softly chuckles. “I would rather have cake and flowers though. Much more pleasant.”
You mimic his big smile from earlier. “Happy birthday, Chan.”
~ ad.gray
#stray kids#skz#bang chan#happy birthday chan#stray kids au#modern magic au#stray kids fanfiction#stray kids imagines#stray kids scenarios#stray kids fluff#skz imagines#skz scenarios#skz fanfic#skz fluff#20201002
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the stars that shine - Ch 1
Fic Summary: “Eva, darling, Dorian has a few questions for you,” Lysandra interrupted. She tilted her head as she looked Hollin over, an eerily animalistic quality in her gaze. “Will you be attending the same classes?”
He turned his head to Dorian. “Will I be what?”
His brother took a sip of wine. “I’m sure I told you about this. Evangeline will be staying with us for the next few months to expand her education.” Placing the glass down, he looked at the girl in question with clear affection in his eyes.
------
Coming of age in a post-war world could never be easy. Growing up under the watchful eye of Erilea's most powerful and famous heroes is just a little bit harder. Figuring out what the hell they're supposed to do in this big, wide world might require a little more teamwork than either of them realize.
Ch 2 here.
Chapter 1: just two kids
The first time they met, neither of them knew what the hell was going on. The adults spoke in whispers and shed tears that they couldn’t understand, being only eleven years old. Evangeline grew tired of hiding behind Lysandra and clinging to Aedion; she wanted to explore this massive palace that served as her temporary home. Aelin had insisted that they all remain together for a few weeks after her coronation, giving them all some time to figure out how to be a court and a family.
For once, Evangeline’s short stature helped her as she ducked behind people and columns until she found the exit. She picked a direction at random, happy to wander around the hallways and take in the décor, even if some of it looked worse for wear. She hummed to herself as she walked, so focused on absorbing every piece of Terrasen that she could glean from the paintings that hung proudly (if not a bit slanted).
Terrasen. Her new kingdom. Evangeline had never felt any sort of connection to Adarlan. No one had ever held her hand at a celebratory parade or taught her the national song, if there even was such a thing. Her childhood contained no memories of pride or patriotism, nothing beyond a lingering resentment for what her parents did to survive.
“Evangeline! What are you doing away from the party?” She nearly jumped out of her skin at that cheery voice, her eyes darting up to meet the King’s kind smile. Dorian might have deserved her patriotism, if Lysandra and her had remained in Rifthold.
“I was exploring.” She shifted her weight a couple times. Although his face was kind, she really didn’t know him that well. And grown men, especially those with power, cause her to clam up. She remembered her manners just in time to add: “I hope I’m not disturbing you, Your Majesty.”
He waved a hand. “Please, just Dorian. We’ve all been through too much for fancy titles, don’t you think? We were just about to say our goodbyes and head out.”
At his statement, Evangeline finally noticed the boy sulking behind Dorian. Hollin didn’t acknowledge her at all, never even looked at her despite their similar age and forced proximity. She shoved down her irritation, choosing to be the mature and polite one.
“Are you excited to go home?” she asked sweetly, staring directly at the prince. He continued to study the wall next to him, ignoring her yet again, until Dorian shoved his shoulder lightly.
Hollin sighed in a way that made Evangeline’s blood boil. “I cannot wait to sleep in a chamber that doesn’t look like it might collapse on me in my sleep,” he answered, scrunching his nose in disgust.
Her eyes widened. She could have died, not a full two weeks ago, during the final battle against the Valg and Hollin was complaining about the state of his bedroom? Hundreds of replies ran through her mind, most of them including telling him where he could shove that selfish opinion--
“What my brother means to say, is that he wishes Terrasen a speedy recovery after so many trials,” Dorian interjected, placing his hand on Hollin’s shoulder. His grip tightened as he steered his younger brother around Evangeline, mouthing a quick “sorry” as they passed. “I hope you know that you’re welcome in Adarlan at any time. Until next time!”
“Thank you,” Evangeline replied uncertainly, spinning on her heel to watch them walk away. She still couldn’t truly say how she felt about Dorian, but she had never been more grateful for the crown on his head. At the very least, it kept that nasty little boy from having any sort of power he would surely abuse.
She kept walking. Sparing a glance over her shoulder to make sure they no longer lingered, Evangeline pushed into the chambers the royals had just vacated. She wasn’t snooping, just curious if their bed was bigger than hers.
The room was in perfectly fine condition, maybe lacking some of the over-the-top amenities that the former conquering nation of Adarlan could afford. She peeked into the first bedroom and let out a small gasp. So Aelin had given them nicer accommodations. The bed was massive, even bigger than Aedion’s bed (which Lysandra snuck into every night when she thought Evangeline was asleep). Logically, the larger man deserved the larger bed, right?
She looked into the next bedroom. This one was much more comparable to her room, only containing a queen-size mattress and a dresser. Evangeline ran her fingers along the silk sheets, wondering if it would be selfish to ask for these chambers for herself. She might enjoy having the space to herself, and Lysandra might not feel so guilty about spending time with her beloved.
A ray of the setting sun cut through the curtains, reflecting sharply off something in the corner of her eye. There, mostly hidden beneath the dresser, was a small piece of metal. Evangeline dropped to her knees and reached for it, fingers closing around the wiry texture.
It was a ship. Fashioned out of a long piece of aluminum that may have once been a large kitchen utensil. She examined the trinket, trying to imagine how one might have bent the shape hundreds of times to form a tiny replica of the boats that floated in the docks of Ilium.
Evangeline happened to love trinkets and tiny things, so she shoved it in her pocket, considering today’s exploration a wonderful success.
---
Hollin stared at the feast in front of him, wanting nothing more than to snatch up a plate full of food and run to his rooms to devour it in peace. Unfortunately, if he vacated his hiding spot behind one of the larger ice chests, the kitchen staff would surely see him and report his location to Queen Mother Georgina. And then she would surely force him back into the dining room to rejoin the most boring conversation he had ever had to sit through.
As part of his education, Hollin’s tutor taught him the importance of treating guests with civility and respect through proper socialization. While the prince normally managed to suffer through an entire dinner without running away, Hollin simply couldn’t pretend any longer. Not after he stayed up almost until dawn the night before, completely caught up in a new research project.
And although the prince had managed great strides in the two years since the war, shedding some of his more immature and selfish tendencies, he had never learned how to love a crowd the way his brother could. Dorian positively thrived in front of an audience, telling witty stories and navigating even the trickiest of topics with an easy smile.
He watched the head chef finish plating the soups, adding a fried green leek to each bowl. Hollin’s stomach growled, hidden by the noise of crashing plates and rolling carts.
“Hollin!” A sharp voice cut through the clatter. “If you’re in here, come out at once before you embarrass us any further.”
“Fuck,” he muttered. His mother had caught on to his hiding spot far too quickly. Rather than facing the indignation of getting literally dragged out of the corner by the indignant queen, he stood and brushed the lint of his pants.
Walking towards where Georgina stood, her arms crossed, Hollin searched his mind for any excuse that might explain his absence. “I wasn’t feeling well?”
“I planned on serving dinner as soon as the last guest arrived, but now everyone had to wait. Does that make you happy?” she demanded, reaching over to shove some of his hair back. “Remind me to send Donya your way tomorrow. This is getting out of hand.”
Hollin preferred his hair long, brushing his forehead and the back of his neck, but there was no arguing with her. “The dinner?” he prompted, warding off any further complaints about his appearance.
“Go, now. I need to run a final check on everything.” She made a shooing gesture with her hands. Hollin ran out the door at that point, marveling at how much better the dinner party sounded after one simple interaction with his mother.
Pushing through the swinging doors, he was relieved to find most people standing around, finishing up their chatter and their drinks. Darting past a couple of particularly dull nobles and keeping his head down to avoid detection, Hollin scanned the table for his name card.
“Your Highness!” He winced at the nasally voice of Lord Ramdon and the impending doom of yet another economic lecture. “I was just telling your brother about the effects of his new trade agreement on the price of coal over the next five--”
“Please take your seats. Dinner will be served momentarily.” The voice rang out through the room, giving Hollin the opportunity to escape and finally sink into his seat, two chairs away from the head of the table.
Dorian slipped into the massive chair a moment later. “Mother tracked you down?” he asked, offering Hollin a sympathetic look.
“Obviously.” Hollin grabbed his napkin and threw it on his lap, a bit forcefully. “Enjoying the stimulating conversation tonight?”
Dorian laughed. “It was getting a bit dull for awhile there. Thankfully, some more exciting guests showed up at the last minute-oh, speak of the devil!” He stood up, waving to someone over Hollin’s shoulder.
The prince stifled a groan. He glanced at the nametag to his right, at the same time as the person in question filled the seat.
“Hello,” Evangeline smiled at him. “I didn’t notice you when we first arrived.”
Aedion Ashryver and Lysandra Ennar took their places across the table, also smiling warmly at him. Hollin never understood how these people managed to be so happy all of the damned time. Something like jealousy always churned in his stomach when he saw the familiarity and love shared between them, as if a devastating war hadn’t almost ripped them apart.
“I had a...prince thing to do.” He winced at how weak the words sounded. “I hope the journey was easy for you.”
“It was! We travelled quite light for this visit, since it’s much more informal and last-minute” Evangeline perked up as she spoke, starting on a tangent about the route they had taken. In all his fourteen years, Hollin had never met a group of people who talked quite as much as Queen Aelin’s court.
At least he grew out of his snark and pettiness since he left Terrasen for the last time. He forced a polite smile on his face as she rambled.
“Eva, darling, Dorian has a few questions for you,” Lysandra interrupted. She tilted her head as she looked Hollin over, an eerily animalistic quality in her gaze. “Will you be attending the same classes?”
He turned his head to Dorian. “Will I be what?”
His brother took a sip of wine. “I’m sure I told you about this. Evangeline will be staying with us for the next few months to expand her education.” Placing the glass down, he looked at the girl in question with clear affection in his eyes. “I wanted to know, are there any additional activities you’d like to pursue while in Rifthold? Perhaps something in the arts?”
“Oh goodness, I’d love that,” Evangeline gushed. “I know that the theater here is beyond what we have in Terrasen; I’m sure there’s so much to learn from the actors and writers there.”
Hollin’s head hurt. He knew that Dorian would try to force them to get along while she stayed with them, in some bizarre attempt to expose him to so-called good people.
Even after the king had dedicated his time to being an older brother, even though Hollin tried so hard to avoid being another problem Dorian had to handle, he would never garner the look of affection that Evangeline did. He would never be Dorian’s friend in a way the Terrasen court was.
“Hollin attended one of the performances last week.” Dorian leaned forward, catching his brother’s eye with a meaningful look. “Perhaps you could take a look at the upcoming schedule, recommend something for her.”
The meddling had begun a whooping five minutes into the first course.
“I would be happy to,” Hollin replied. “Do you have any particular interests?”
For better or for worse, that question set Evangaline off on another tangent. Dorian gave him a subtle thumbs up as she chattered away, returning his focus to Lysandra and Aedion.
Hollin took the reprieve gratefully, digging into his soup. He mentally calculated how many minutes stood between him and the final course, already considering the night a massive failure.
#tog#throne of glass#dorian havilliard#hollin havilliard#evangeline#evangeline tog#lysaedion#sjm#fic#fanfic#sarahjmaas
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I’m only one call away, I’ll be there to save the day - Daisuke Kambe x Haru Katou
AO3 link
This is the literal definition of self indulgence I’m not even kidding you.
And I totally did not write the last 1/3rd of it in a car because I didn’t have the patience to get home.
And this is unedited. So if you find errors please spare my humble life. I LITERALLY WROTE THIS ENTIRE THING TODAY. The inspiration istg.
Summary:
Daisuke Kambe doesn't get nervous. He doesn't overthink. He doesn't doubt anything he does, or any decision he makes. Except when he's in the dressing room, waiting for Hoshino to come and escort him to his soon-to-be husband. 'Cold feet' is the farthest term one would use to describe Daisuke, yet here he stands in front of the large mirror, wondering if he's good enough for the man whose eyes shine brighter than any star he's seen.
All it takes is one call.
And before he knows it, Haru right there in front of him.
He needs his hero, and Haru is there.
TW: Panic
Word count: 3136 (woohoo)
Special tag: @akaiiro-yume for being my ultimate simp buddy. I told her this whole thing as just an idea and she said she felt like crying and I was like FUCK IT IM GONNA WRITE IT. So here we are. Thank you.
“Daisuke Kambe,” Haru called his name, his voice so gentle it almost got drowned by the waves as he looked straight ahead at them with Kambe by his side. The serene way his lips curved into a peace smile hid with such grace the nervousness shooting up his spine.
“Mm?” Daisuke glanced at his boyfriend, wondering why the inspector suddenly chose to call him by his full name instead of the usual ‘bastard’, ‘pain in the ass’, ‘idiot’, or just ‘Kambe’.
‘Am I doing the right thing? Are we ready for this?’
“What is it, Haru?”
“Marry me.”
Daisuke’s eyes widened, and he stared at Haru without blinking even once. “... What?”
“I said,” Haru turned to look at him, giving him an awkward little grin before grabbing Daisuke’s hands in his own and slowly going on one knee, “Marry me, ‘Suke.”
That was all it took. That nickname.
Daisuke felt every tense nerve in his body relax almost immediately as the answer came as naturally to him as breathing.
“Okay.”
Daisuke’s gloved hand wraps around the glass, his soft lips placing themselves on its rim to take another sip of water. It’s probably his tenth sip in the last two minutes (and counting).
“Lord Daisuke, you look incredible!” Suzue remarks, and he sees her smile at him through the mirror.
“Mm.”
“I can’t believe you and Katou-sama are finally getting married.” Suzue steps up behind Daisuke to smoothen the non-existent wrinkles on the thick piece of blue fabric covering his shoulders.
‘I can’t either.’
“It feels like just yesterday when you came back to Japan,” she continues, not noticing the way Daisuke’s nervous fingers fiddle with his cufflinks, “And now it’s already been six years… time passed by too quickly, didn’t it?”
“It has.”
Silence descends over them like a calm cloud while Suzue busies herself by fussing around with his three-piece suit, straightening it more than it already is, rubbing off any invisible lints, fixing his already perfect tie - a crisp, sophisticated taupe - and Daisuke lets his mind wander off once again.
He thinks about the six years he’s spent in Japan. But more specifically, he thinks about the time he spent by his side.
He thinks of all their firsts; their first meeting, their first argument, the first time he let Haru fall (not for him, but off the bridge), their first show of trust, first confessions, first kisses, first everything.
He thinks of their life after they decided to become more than just friends or colleagues. All of the small ways in which Haru reminded him, every day, just how much he adored him. Daisuke thinks of all those cuddles, all the nuzzles, all the intertwining of fingers.
And before he can stop it, a smile - albeit small but so full of love you could feel it radiating off of him - is gracing his lips.
‘Thank you.’ He finds himself thanking Haru in both his mind and heart… for just about everything.
“Lord Daisuke, are you okay?” Suzue asks, snapping him out of his heartwarming walk down the memory lane.
“Yes, why?”
“Your eyes…” she trails off, and Daisuke’s gaze shifts from looking at her through the mirror to himself. A small gasp leaves his lips when he sees what’s got Suzue so worried about his eyes.
Tears.
A thin layer of unshed tears coats those calm eyes, and Daisuke feels his heart clench with absolute adoration when he realises the meaning behind such a blatant show of emotions.
These tears aren’t of pain. Or of agony. Or of suffering.
There are tears of gratitude. Of love. Of unrestrained joy at the mere thought of the wonderful man waiting for him at the same beach where he proposed.
“I’m fine, Suzue.” Daisuke says, his eyes never leaving the ones in the mirror. “I’m just… overwhelmed,” he admits, taking a deep breath in.
Suzue smiles. “I can understand. It IS a big day, after all.” She turns around, walking towards the door. “I’ll be outside.”
“Thank you,” he says, and he means it. He couldn’t be more grateful to have a sister who understood him so well that they didn’t need words to get their message across.
And with that, Suzue steps out of the room, closing the door behind her, leaving Daisuke alone with his thoughts.
His eyes travel to the clock on one of the walls of the gigantic room, and he sees that he’s still got some time before Hoshino would come by to escort him to his lover. And his fiance.
Daisuke feels another smile tugging at his lips at the word, and he briefly thinks about how he’s been smiling too much today before his mind again wanders off to the man responsible for making him smile so much.
‘He’s too good to me,’ Daisuke thinks, sighing fondly. ‘He makes me believe that it’s okay to feel this… that it’s okay to feel happy. Sometimes it feels like it’s too good to be true.’
And that’s when it strikes him. The one thought which makes his shoulders go stiff, and his lips press themselves together in a stiff line.
‘But… What if it IS too good to be true?’
Daisuke’s mind decides to take another walk down the memory lane, but this time the road isn’t filled with Haru’s smile, or his warmth. This time, the road is dark, cold, unwelcoming. It’s filled with every memory of each time things felt too good to be true… and they were.
‘What if… what if this doesn’t last?’ He thinks, the pictures of his own parents clouding every space they could find in his head.
Haru and him wouldn’t end the same way… right?
‘Would I be able to make Haru happy?’
… As happy as Haru made him?
‘Everything I ever cared for in my life was ripped away from me… Will Haru and I be the same way?’
He notices as his chest starts rising and falling at a faster pace, but he doesn’t pay it any mind.
‘Is it because I’ve been weak? I haven’t been able to protect the people important to me. I-I’ve never been good enough. What if… I still am not good enough?’
Daisuke’s eyes widen, terror seeping into them as his mind chooses to project a mental image of Haru walking, but not towards him. It’s an image of Haru having his back turned towards Daisuke, and he is walking away.
‘Am I even worthy of being loved?’
Daisuke thinks back on all the warm, loving moments that he thought of not even five minutes ago, but this time his mind focuses on his own actions instead of Haru’s
‘Haru has done so much to show me he loves me. How many times have I done the same?’
The back of his eyes burn so hard it feels like they’re on fire, and he finds it harder to breathe; he feels as if someone’s just wrapped their fingers around the base of his throat and is squeezing, hard.
‘Is Haru happy with me? WILL he be happy with me?’
His own fingers come up to his throat, as if trying to replace the invisible ones.
‘Should we even be getting married? What if he realises I’m not worth it?’
‘Where are you, Haru?’ is what his heart screams instead, but he doesn’t hear it.
‘O-oh god, I cannot be forcing him to marry me.’
‘I need you, Haru. Find me. Please, find me.’
‘He doesn’t love me. He shouldn’t be marrying me.’
‘Haru, please. Save me.’
I’m only one call away.
He doesn’t even notice his fingers finding the surface of his phone and he is too busy letting himself fall down the dark spiral his mind lay out for him to bother seeing what his fingers are doing with the phone.
Daisuke feels his feet give away, and he slowly slides down to the floor. His body trembles, his breathing continues to quicken, and he feels something dark crawl up his spine.
It’s something he can’t describe, but it’s so dark and so… consuming. He feels like his mind is being ripped into shreds, as if someone is slowly claiming their control over it.
“H-Haru…” He whimpers and looks up, closing his eyes. He feels the thick layer of tears forming beyond his lids collapse as silent tears stream down his face. He opens his mouth to breathe, but the inhale turns into a choked sob.
He wasn’t good enough. He isn’t good enough. And he never will be good enough.
Daisuke bites his trembling lips and brings his knees closer to his body in an attempt to hide away from himself.
Hah. What a pitiful sight. And Haru thought THIS weak little boy would be good enough for him? He should leave him while he still has time.
“Haru… please. I need you. Pl-Please don’t leave m-”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
I’ll be there to save the day.
Daisuke’s head snaps in the direction of the voice; a voice powerful enough to break the hold of what was slowly crawling through his mind, consuming him whole.
“Haru…” he whispers, blinking the tears away in an attempt to clear his vision.
The attempt is futile anyway, because the moment his sight comes into focus, he feels a pair of all too familiar arms pull him into a strong chest. “I’m right here,” Haru murmurs, pressing a kiss to his forehead before sitting down in front of him and pulling Daisuke between his legs.
“I-” Daisuke’s eyes widen, confusion slowly colouring over every other thought for the moment. “Wasn’t it Hoshino who was supposed to come?”
“You really expect me to ask Hoshino to check in on you when you call my number and then say my name the way you said it?”
‘I called him?’
“You sounded like someone was forcefully pulling every ounce of life out of you.”
“... I did?”
‘Yes, you bastard. You scared the living fucks out of me, y’know?’ Haru thinks, but instead of saying anything, he only pulls Daisuke closer to him.
He smiles when he feels Daisuke return the gesture.
Daisuke’s arms wrap around Haru’s neck and he places his face in the crook of his neck, taking a deep sniff of the latter’s scent. He feels his panic flow out of his body as the warmth of the man himself washes over his entire being.
“H-Haru-” the millionaire stutters, tears again filling his eyes, now that he’s had a moment for everything to catch up to him. Haru’s arms only pull him closer, as close as physically possible, and that’s when Daisuke notices some things he didn’t see earlier.
“You’re safe. I’m here. I’m with you. And I’m not going anywhere.” Haru speaks in between pants, his forehead covered with a thin, barely there layer of sweat.
‘He RAN all the way here?’ Daisuke thinks, taking in every bit of whatever Haru offered him; his love, his warmth, his confidence, his belief in them.
Superman got nothin’ on me.
“Haru.” Daisuke pulls his head back to look at the taupe-haired man.
“What?” Haru replies, his head still facing down. He doesn’t look up, and Daisuke can only wonder why.
“Look at me.”
“No.”
“Haru.”
“No.”
“I love you.”
Haru’s head snaps up at the speed of light, his eyes so wide Daisuke fears his eyeballs might pop out of their sockets.
But now that Haru’s finally looking at him, Daisuke takes the opportunity to find out for himself why the man absolutely refused to look up at him just moments ago.
He feels all the air drain out from his lungs at the findings of his inspection.
‘He’s trembling.’
“I was so scared, Kambe,” Haru whispers, his head dropping on Daisuke’s shoulder. “I was so scared when I heard you sound so… weak.”
“I love you.” Daisuke repeats, and this time it’s him who places a kiss on the other man’s forehead.
“I love you too.”
Haru looks up, and their lips come together so naturally and so perfectly, one would think it was meant to be. And maybe it was.
And just like that, they sit there for a few minutes, wrapped up in their own warm little bubble, the world forgotten.
“Oi, Kambe,” Haru murmurs into Daisuke’s shoulder, successfully catching the attention of the shorter man. “What really happened?”
Daisuke sucks in a sharp breath, knowing exactly what Haru was talking about. The fingers holding on to Haru tighten a little more as he opens his mouth, and begins explaining what actually went down.
Daisuke speaks, and speaks. He expresses every minute detail, because he knows Haru is listening. Haru always listens. And he doesn’t just listen, he makes sure the other knows that he is there for him no matter what.
I’m only one call away.
Once he is done telling Haru everything, he looks at him with baited breath, trying to gauge Haru’s reaction. The only answer he gets is utter confusion as Haru pulls back from their embrace and stands up, brushing the barely-there dust off his suit. He looks down at his lover and extends a hand out to him.
But instead of grabbing that hand, Daisuke’s eyes get lost in the very gorgeousness of sight Haru Katou presents. Haru’s dressed in a three-piece suit, just like Daisuke himself, but it’s taupe in colour. His tie is the same blue as Daisuke’s suit, and he looks downright ravishing.
“We haven’t got all day, idiot.”
Haru sighs, grabbing Daisuke by the hand and pulling him up. He quickly wipes Daisuke’s tears and makes him look presentable (as if he wasn’t already) before dragging him to the door.
Haru opens the door to the dressing room, but before they can step out, Daisuke stops him.
“What are you doing?” Daisuke asks, his brows furrowed and the usual disinterest back on his face.
“Walking down the aisle with my bride.”
“You do know that you’re not supposed to be the one escorting me.”
“Yeah, and what about it?”
“Katou Haru. Are you joking with me?”
Haru turns around to meet Daisuke’s eyes and pulls the shorter man to him with one tug on his arm. He bends his head, giving Daisuke a quick kiss before pulling back and whispering, “Why? Is there a problem?”
Daisuke isn’t even given the time to blush, because Haru is already turning on his feet and walking down the hallway, pulling the millionaire behind him. They keep walking for a short while, even after they leave the building and step onto the beach, before Haru finally comes to a stop.
“We’re here.”
Daisuke pokes his head from behind Haru’s back to see where exactly they are. “Oh my sweet bleeding heart.”
“Of all things in the world, that’s the first thing you say, rascal?”
“Haru, I-” Daisuke is quite literally at a loss for words, because right now, in this very moment, in front of him is a low stage setup with curtains falling around it in a circular fashion, and tiny fairy lights giving it it’s very own magical glow. It’s like a world within a world. A world away from everyone, from everything - a world for just the two of them.
“Come on, you and make it anywhere. But for now… we can stay here for a while.” Haru mutters, glancing at Daisuke, “'Cause you know, I just wanna see you smile.”
“Very cheesy, I’ll give you that,” Daisuke chuckles, stepping on to the stage. “So…” he turns to look at Haru, “What now?”
“Dance with me.” Haru says, and then there is no going back.
All it takes is a nod from Daisuke and Haru steps closer to him, wrapping an arm around his waist.
“What is it?” Haru asks, noticing the furrow of Daisuke’s brows.
“We have no music.”
“I got it covered,” is all Haru says before snapping his fingers, and almost immediately, music fills the space around them.
“What song is this?” Daisuke asks, letting Haru pull him in by the waist and following his lead.
“Doesn’t matter. Focus on the lyrics. Oh, and me, of course.”
And so Daisuke does.
I'm only one call away
I'll be there to save the day
Daisuke’s eyes stare into Haru’s as their feet move together, and he smiles at the lyrics, letting the other man know just how much he loves him. And this. Just how grateful he is for it all.
Superman got nothin' on me
And Daisuke can’t help but agree with that. His fingers gip Haru’s a little tighter as he sighs, his head coming to rest on the other’s shoulder.
I'm only one call away
Call me, baby, if you need a friend
I just wanna give you love
“I love you,” Daisuke whispers at that, pressing a kiss to where his forehead rested just a moment ago.
Come on, come on, come on
Reachin' out to you, so take a chance
Daisuke pulls back a couple of steps, only to have Haru reach his arm out. He grabs it, doing a slow spin and falling into the arms of the man he loves more than his life could possibly define.
No matter where you go
You know you're not alone
“I love you too.”
Silence soon falls between them and they both close their eyes, letting the music be their voice.
Come along with me and don't be scared
I just wanna set you free
Come on, come on, come on
You and me can make it anywhere
Realisation finally dawns on Daisuke as he realises where Haru’s words from earlier really came from. He smirks.
But for now, we can stay here for a while, ayy
'Cause you know, I just wanna see you smile
“You’re just a giant ball of sap, aren’t you?” He retorts, looking up at Haru. He might be smirking, but even he can’t hide the affection that swells up in his eyes as his hands reach up to wrap around Haru’s neck, allowing the latter to snake both his arms around Daisuke’s waist.
“Shut up.”
And when you're weak, I'll be strong
I'm gonna keep holdin' on
“I’ll never let you go, Katou.”
Now don't you worry, it won't be long, darlin'
And when you feel like hope is gone
Haru smiles, pulling Daisuke closer to him.
Just run into my arms
“Funny, because I don’t plan to let you go either, bastard.”
I'm only one call away
I'll be there to save the day
“You really are a hero, you know, Haru?”
Superman got nothin' on me
“Just yours, ‘Suke. Just yours.” Haru murmurs, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against Daisuke’s.
I'm only one, I'm only one call away
“Forever.” Daisuke replies, his own eyes slowly shutting.
“And ever.”
Fin.
DONTCHA WORRY THEY DID GET MARRIED IN THE END THEY DIDNT FORGET ABOUT IT
#balance unlimited#daisuke kambe#haru katou#daisuke kanbe#haru kato#daiharu#ryo hoshino#fkbu#fugou keiji balance: unlimited#fugou keiji#fugou keiji daisuke#fugou keiji haru#fugou keiji ryo#daiharu wedding#fluff#slight angst#some panic#but omg they're cute#this was literally a spur of the moment thing#i swear to god#solz see what you did to me#I have been writing this since like 11:30am I think#and now it's close to 8:30pm#do you see the dedication#yes thats enough dedication to last me 6 months#im gonna go back to hibernating#or am i#idek
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