#I really wanted to produce some content and that was the first thing I could think of

[derocatem]

Y Si Fuera Ellos || Anaxa

summary: one last night, together, have let your life to change in more ways than you could ever expect.

content warnings | smut + angst + fluff (minors dni), chubby reader, genderfluid reader (reader have both vagina and penis in this (could be read as afab with a (magical) strap or intersex), switch top reader, reader is a scholar alongside Anaxa, Anaxa and reader are in established relationship already and their relationship developed is showed in bits and pieces, intersex Anaxa (praise dear Cerces for it), switch bottom Anaxa, mentions of 3.0 to 3.2 information and POSSIBLE spoilers for ahead versions (?), reader and anaxa spends quality time together (bathing, studying together, ect.), breast play, body worship, fingering, receiving + giving handjobs, piv sex, missionary sex, passionate + emotional sex, rough sex, overstimulation, supernatural male pregnancy and non explicit birth mentioned but not described, body horror in a way(?), death, original child oc, family and domestic life + possible more (?)…

a/n - #1 “magical” strap is a strap that is worn by afab individuals and mimics dick, can produce cum and you could feel it like it’s connected to your body (pls i don’t want to elaborate more you get it 💔)

#2 - i tried to give all important details but not to spoil anything too much, please say if i should tag something 🙏

#3 - it’s very bad, i haven’t written in a long while i just wanted to write something for my man coming out today

“Was it all worth it?”

“Every single second of it? Was it?”

You ponder on that question again in your own mind when you remember…everything, this usually happens not too regularly yet not quite irregular either, once in a while if you have to actually think about it when you’re free that these days don't really happen often but it’s okay.

As harsh sun of the eternal land landed upon you early this morning through the open window, much to your energy barely made you to flip around in the bed like a lazy teenager as your hand pulled onto the thin curtains and pulled them lightly as you now definitely used all of your energy to flip back around onto your stomach and close your eyes just for a moment longer as you thought to yourself”

“Was it worth it?”

.

“If you think that you are not worth it, why would you be here in the first place? You must be either really dumb or really stubborn to not give up?”

Anaxagoras spoke, his tone factual and full as he looked at you, his gaze unwavering as he clearly mentally judged you for whatever reason that you clearly can’t even remember how long passed since then. Your first meeting. A year older yet so far away from you in studies that it made you believe that you won’t ever finish. Much to your horror back then, you were forced to work on many experiments and projects in the Grove together due similarly to your courses that you shared together. Now it brings you a small smile as you now noticed some things that you didn't back then.

It was kind of adorable how he started looking out for you, you could actually give a decent argument to his question and express your support to his…blasphemous comments and started arguing with others scholars about gods that you held so dear to your heart when you were a child yet…sky is fake, isn’t it? you know that now really well.

Even when you started actually getting more confident and understanding of all knowledge around you as your studies progressed, you got comfortable in getting uncomfortable and getting out of your comfort zone of comfort that you actually started…being able to actually explore your own ideas and experiences.

By the end of the academic days, you and Anaxa just like…silently understood that you understood each other’s minds much better than others could ever. Even that memory of when you were doing the research, the fleeting touches and comforting night spent looking at each other’s faces longer than supposed to when you should study were clear to both, last your of your academic studies, first kiss finally came as they finally sit too close to each other’s, your head on his shoulder before looking at him with those eyes and fuck, why are trying to tug on strings of his heart.

Even when you guys had your first time together after you both graduated and got accepted back into the groove as the staff members. It makes you chuckle now that you know that you were both virgins AND having unprotected intercorse? Were you trying to procreate so quickly or?

Jokes aside, youth madness as people would say it, isn’t it?

“Was it worth it?”

.

Your smile faltered just a bit as you remembered the time that Anaxa got the information that he’s supposed to be next crysos heir for titan of reason, the future is making fun of you isn’t it?

Though it might be a selfish thing, you couldn’t help to feel like…you haven’t deserved such a thing? You were young and in love, sometimes even crying to yourself when you knew that he accepted it. In back of your selfish part of yourself, you wanted him to yourself.

He is yours, isn’t he? Your partner, someone who lays in the bed next to you late at night, stargaze together as you hopelessly daydream about your future together and someone that actually likes to bottom instead of top? you found yourself a perfect person to co-exist till the end.

Your smile falters a bit more when he starts…changing. Physically changing at least, that void that started forming on his chest and other parts of his body like cracks in the ground, chipping away from him as endless greenish void continued showing, growing as you could only partially rest your head on his chest deep in night as you curled around him like a needy child, craving a reminder that he’s still next to you.

Amused dry chuckle left your lips as you thought about the star-shaped hole in his chest…you loved to tease him about it in more ways than one.

When your fingers danced around his chest as you rode him almost silly. When his hair was sprayed on the pillow around his head, almost like a halo as his reddish blue eyes could barely hold eye contact with you before rolling back to back of his head from the pleasure of your walls squeezing around his girth. His eyes always turned a bit more to red, his natural eye color when he was with you. You always bring out his human side so selfishly, so greedily making him crave you like a forbidden fruit from the finest lands that galaxy could ever offer. Making him love yet hate mornings that you wake up next to him, beautiful like a dream as your head rests on his chest, your voice still heavy with sleep as you speak, your eyes glossy as you look up at him and hold him closer to your heart.

“Was it worth it?”

.

Your expression now neutral your eyes slightly opened, glancing at the nothing in particular as you remembered that…time. Last time actually. Last time you got to hold body of your beloved in your hands selfishly.

You knew very well what Anaxa planned. You weren’t a dummy, maybe not an crysos heir but your endless nights full of reading and learning history made you understand clues and read through the actions that made you understand what your partner was meaning to do.

Even Cerces—…or rather Calypso were now residing inside your partner’s body like she found it, a corpse that is now used for keeping her alive gave you a little privacy for your own sake. She might be the titan of reason but she also loved, now dead titan of love, her beloved one.

*

Resting against Anaxa’s body you bathe together, your fingers gently brushing through his hair you washed his hair from behind him. Tips of your fingers rubbing through hair and massaging his scalp before rinsing it off. luke warm water softly splashing against the walls of the bathtub as you moved when washing each other’s bodies, innocently appreciating the beauty of the human body together as you guided his head to rest between your breasts when you finished, deciding to spend some more time together here. Your lips pressed against his scalp as your fingers slowly moved from his hands to forearms, then his upper arms and shoulders as you gently squeezed and worshiped skin underneath your fingertips.

After it your hands slowly circled around to his front as you lowered your head and started pressing light, butterfly kisses on back oh his neck as your fingers went over the length of his neck, feeling up his adam's apple before brushing his collar bones softly before going over his chest and stopping against now slightly prominent ribs, one hand rubbed over his ribs as other went up and cupped one of his breasts, gently rubbing it as a soft noise slipped through his mouth but he decided to stay silent and let you continue your little ministration. You hummed against his neck, you pressed lingering kisses on his neck as that hand that lingered went towards the crack in his chest before two of your fingers slowly slipped into the void.

Moan slipped his lips as his head lulled back on your shoulder, letting you press more open mouth kisses against his skin as your fingers slowly slipped in and out of his chest, making him practically whimper as your hand found its way over his stomach towards between his legs, your hand softly grabbing his cock as you give a few experimental squeezes around the shaft and head before pumping it up and down, letting him feel a bit of the pleasure of act of pleasure that usually happens between you.

You decided to tease him, after just a bit you slowly pulled away your hands from his body as you pulled out the plug of the drain as you turned his head towards you and gave you a dirty look while looking like a wet cat. You giggled before kissing him apologetically before helping each other out of the bath and you two didn’t even bother to put on the clothes as you entered your shared room together.

“Sun” was slowly setting down on the city as you two stared at it wordlessly before you took a step closer to him, taking his hands into yours as you pulled his body against yours together as you rested your forehead against his for a long moment.

Your breast pressed against his, soft tummy resting against his stomach and his cock slightly twitching as it brushed against your thigh. His own hands slowly followed almost the exact same route that you did, slightly rough tips of fingers caressing your skin like it’s a sacred thing, gently rolling mounds of your breast between his fingers and brushing though rolls of your back gently, rubbing your thighs and squeezing around your hips and waist as you own body got excited from his touch.

After a shared kiss, you took the lead as you guided him towards the bed before making you face him as you got a hold of his butt, squeezing it before lowering your beloved into the sheets. Your lips quickly found his as you two made out.

You pulled back as you started at the beautiful man underneath you, your hands gently spread his legs as shifted between them, your fingers rubbing over the length of his things as you spoke as you lowered yourself down, kissing down his stomach and slowly pulling down as your lips pressed a few lingering kisses over the length of his already erected cock before gently probing against the hole underneath his cock before slowly inserting your fingers in, drawing a moan from him as you lifted yourself back, fingering him slowly before picking up the peace.

“I-wish for you to stay here with me, very much so, y’know?”

You spoke, your voice neutral and light but a hint of genuine emotion in your voice as you worked him open. There was always an elephant in the room, even when you don’t address it. Always looming over both, especially the last 14 days since he betrayed Crisos Heirs and seemingly joined the Council of Elders, you know it wasn’t the complete truth yet you know the real reasons why he did it, you could only put hope and faith in his experiments. He will die in the end either way.

“It’s a selfish thing, I'm aware, but it’s still a wish.”

You chuckled, keeping your emotions in check barely as your fingers didn’t waver from it’s peace as you flexed them inside Anaxa before pulling them away and practically shamelessly licking them clean before him as a light blush appeared on his chest and cheeks.

You moved slightly, getting into a more comfortable position as your hand grasped your shaft, giving it a few pumps before centering it on his entrance as another held onto Anaxa’s waist to keep him in place, his legs instinctively moving around your waist as you pushed inside.

Giving his waist a squeeze you slowly pushed your hips forward as he mewled at the size, his hand clasping around your arm on his waist as the other hand kept his legs open as you gave a couple of trusts, as you couldn’t help but to moan as he was practically sucking you. Your voice stuttered as you spoke again, gaze fixated on him as your feelings grew harder to hide as you picked up your speed, your frustration over everything around you finally getting to you as Anaxa moaned and gasped as his legs quivered from each slaps of skin against each other as you blabbered about.

“Fuck- i just wish to keep you next to me. Keep you here—..”

You spoke as every thrust of your hips makes his head fall back into the pillow as breathless moans escape his lips if your lips weren’t on his, mouthing every single reaction from him and engraving them into your memory.

Even when you already finish so deep inside of his body, your hips don’t stop. Going far and beyond as you greedily pump him full of your seed as his cunt greedily squeeze and relish in the warmth substance that was now so deep inside of him. Your hand on his member, helping him ride out his high as his stomach gets coated with his own cum as an almost filthy ring of combined releases slips away from his gaping core as it slides down his skin into the sheets when you pull out.

Finally you let yourself cry, almost pathetic sounds emerge from depths of your poor, human heart as you weakly flop next to his breathless body as you sob, not wanting to wake up tomorrow to your partner, love of your life not existing as he get sentenced to the execution by Aglaea because of mingling with Kephalie’s body to find the answer to his life long question.

“I don’t want to-…i don’t want to not have you next to me Anaxagoras. I want to hold you to my side for the rest of my life. I could only love someone like you and that’s it. And no one like that exists.”

You spoke your heart out, most words barely understandable as you sobbed into his chest as you curled around him. His hands now gently rubbed against your back, letting you cry out your fears and troubles to him. After a while, when your tears dried out and your head rested on his chest again, you whispered softly as your head felt too heavy for your eyes to stay open to for much longer. Your words broke the pained silence as a tear slipped over your cheek towards his chest before it slipped into the endless greenish void inside his chest.

“Please…just don’t leave me alone.” I love you.

It was almost silly, Anaxa thought to himself as he watched you slowly slip into the dreamland as his hand gently cupped your face, his thumb passing over your cheek as he brushed away draid tears from your skin as he kissed your forehead as he whispered against your skin softly.

“Don’t leave you alone?…What a surprise tomorrow will have to you, my dear.” I love you too.

*

Even when you wake up the next day, your body as usually turning around automatically to greet the love of your life just for your breath to catch as you see empty…not empty sheets?

A soft sound greeted you as your heart skipped a beat as you were greeted by…a baby? Newborn baby curled into the soft blanket as it fluttered her eyelashes open and looked at you before cooing softly, greeting you like you were the guest in your own bed as she smiled at you, immediately recognizing who you are.

Your voice got lost on you as you almost abruptly sat up, not even caring to cover your naked body with sheets as you cradled the little baby to your chest as the little head rested on your chest as you felt your heart beating in your ears. You finally dated to look down at the baby within your chest more deeply and…stare at her. She had just a light bit of the hair on top of her head as her eyes showed a mix of your own eyes color mixed with Anaxa’s natural eye color. Soft futures mix of both. A sound akin to sob left your lips as you couldn’t help but to smile at the little being in your arms.

You brought a little baby to your heart after checking if she needed anything quickly before laying down and just…feeling the moment. You glanced finally outside towards the Downcloud whose entrance was still visible from the window of your room of the house where you and Anaxa used to live together when you finally became officially together when you and him weren’t working in the Grove of Epiphany. You took a deep breath as you knew what would happen next.

*

He was…indeed very much dead. You got a full story from other people after the entire “show” went down with tricking council of elders and Caenis and entire all of other crysos heirs and citizens and how he practically ripped out the coreflame from his heart for his to get the crysos heir journey could continue. He was called a great performer for a reason.

You would probably sink down some rabbit holes after that and never show your figure again in public but you know that you couldn’t. You know that Anaxagoraa would want and you do have now a couple months old baby, Aurora. Only so little and young but you can see her father within her as she was going ahead her age, already standing up and walking at 9 months with little help from you, not even a month later she called out for you with her words being your name and funny version of Anaxagoras names as you showed her picture of you and him from the years back as you introduced her to him, not wanting her to not know her other parent. You know that Anaxa would like that.

He literally used the state of his body, power and knowledge to actually make his daughter from within him AND birth her from the gaping hole in his chest in the middle of the night of his last day being alive…so it’s only fair, i guess?

.

You would like to to remember more of your dear partner but a little grabby hands doesn’t give you a chance to think about him too much as she demands your attention, or politely said requests your mind to be on here as she curl into your chest as she slept next to you as she giggled into your skin as you smiled at her. you two had a lazy and comfortable cuddle session with a droma plushie she carried with herself like a lucky charm.

You finally pulled yourself and her out of the bed, her body resting onto your hip as you carried herself towards the window as you two grazed upon the holy city. She rested her head on your shoulder as you kissed her head and glanced over the Castrum Kremons one last time as you smiled to yourself as you let yourself relax and get comfortable as you knew what was coming to happen in just seconds.

.

“Was it worth it?”

And you finally had the answer to that question on your last breath as the world around you crumbled as Trailblazer cracked the truth of this world and you hugged your daughter closer to you and her plushie before finally answering.

“…I think it was worth it every single minute.”

“May we…all reunite in the new world before the gates of truth together.”

[letteredlettered]

feedback and fic in fandom (3 f's of our own)

This conversation about feedback on fic says everything I’ve been wanting to say better than I could say it. But I’ll go ahead and try anyway.

Over the last five years or so there have been some great discussions around the rise of commodification of fanworks and decline of fandom community. This commodification looks a bit like enshittification of the internet: a cool site exists; its popularity makes someone realize they can get money from it; it has more and more ads; the site adds features to drive engagement, including The Algorithm; the things that made the site cool start to fall away. The site exists now as a vehicle purely to get clicks, and the people on it are on it solely to get clicks—to make money, to be successful, for some kind of social cachet.

AO3 doesn’t have advertisements. It’s not making money. But what is happening to fandom is proof of concept that enshittification changes the way we as humans engage. A cool website in 2004 was often a community space where you could meet people, have conversations, find cool things, and make cool things. A cool website in 2024 is either a content farm that will continually feed you enough content to hold your attention, or a social media site where your participation will come with stats to show you whether you are holding the attention of others.

AO3 wasn’t built to be a community space. It doesn’t have great functions for meeting people and having conversations. The idea was that, because fandom community spaces already existed, AO3 would serve the part of that community where you can find the cool things and store the cool things you made. It was meant to be a library in a city, not the whole city itself.

But it was also never meant to be a website in 2024, a content farm constantly generating content solely for your clicks and eyeballs and ad revenue, or a social media site where the content creators themselves vie for your clicks and eyeballs.

The most common talking point when people discuss the enshittification of fandom is the folks out there who are treating AO3 as that first kind of enshittified website: the content farm. This discussion is about how people treat fanfic as a product for consumption.

The post that kicked off the discussion on @sitp-recs’s blog was about someone who wasn’t getting very many kudos or comments on their fic, and was feeling pretty demoralized about it, then joined a discord server and found an entire channel dedicated to people loving their fic. But those on that server had never come to share that love with the author, which the author found really discouraging.

There are more and more stories like this. Someone on tiktok pulls a quote from a fic on AO3 and makes a 10-second video with them staring at a wall, the quote pasted at the bottom, music playing over it. It has 100,000 hearts, and 100 comments with people gushing over the fic, which has 80 kudos on AO3. Overall, people notice more and more hits on their fics, but fewer and fewer comments or even kudos. Fewer and fewer people seem to feel the need to interact with the author, instead treating the fic like a product to be used and discarded—which the enshittified internet (a stunning feature of late-stage capitalism!) encourages. The fandom community is dying, these stories conclude.

I agree. 100%. Both of the stories above have happened to me—viral tiktoks about my fic, secret discord channels to follow and discuss my fic—and let me tell you, it fucking sucks.

But from these observations about fandom enshittification, the discussion continues in a very odd direction. The solution to the death of fandom community is our favorite enshittification buzzword: engagement. We should engage the authors. They’re producing these products for free. We consume them at no cost. We must demonstrate our gratitude by paying them back.

It’s as though the capitalist consumption that the enshittified web encourages is so ingrained within us that we must think in terms of payment, in terms of exchange, transaction. Or as though, by forgoing payment, authors are some kind of martyrs defying capitalism, and the only way to honor their great sacrifice is comments and kudos.

Indeed, the discourse around this sometimes does veer away from capitalist rhetoric into something that smells almost religious in desperation. Authors are gods who bestow us mere mortals with the fruits of their labor benevolently, through love; the least we can do is worship them. Meanwhile the authors adopt the groveling sentiment of starving artists: I produce great art; I only humbly ask that you feed me in return.

These kinds of entreaties make my skin crawl for a number of reasons. I’m not a god. I’m not writing because I love you. I don’t expect your worship or even your praise.

I think the thing that disturbs me the most about it is that it suggests that authors (or, if the OP is feeling generous fan work creators) are the most important people in fandom. I’ve even seen posts stating that without creators, fandom wouldn’t exist—as though readers aren’t just as important. As though conversations where people discuss characterizations and plot points and randomly spin out interpretations and ideas and thoughts related to canon are meaningless. I’ve even seen people scramble to include folks having these discussions as “creators,” as though realizing that these people are necessary and integral to fandom communities but unable to drop the idea that the producers are the ones who are important. As though that person who just lurks can never count.

Is this what community is? When you join the queer community, are you expected to produce a product of your queerness? If not, must you actively participate and give back to the queer community in order to be considered a part of it? Or is it enough that you are queer, that you exist as a queer person and want to be around others who are queer, you want to be a part of something? What is community, anyway?

The problem with people raising the authors above everyone else in the community and demanding that tribute be paid is that they are decrying the “content farm” style of 2024 website out of one side of their mouth, but out of the other side are instead demanding that AO3 become a 2024-style social media website. Authors are influencers. “Engagement” and clicks are the things that really matter. They are in fact suggesting that the way to solve the commodification of fanfic is by “paying authors back” with stats.

Before anyone comes at me with the idea that comments aren’t just “stats,” I will clarify what I mean. There are literally hundreds of posts on tumblr alone claiming that any comment “helps” the author. Someone replies that they are shy to comment. Someone else replies that incoherent keyboard smashes, a single emoji, or the comment “kudos” are all that is required to satisfy the author, all that is required as tribute—all that is required as payment to keep this economy healthy.

I’m not condemning the comments that are keyboard smashes or emojis or a single kind word. I receive them. They make me happy. If anyone wants to leave such a comment on my fics, I’m really grateful for it. But this is not community-building. This is a transaction. In @yiiiiiiiikes25’s excellent response in the post linked at the beginning, they point out that “you have a cool hat” is something that is “perfectly nice” to hear from someone—and it is! We all want to be told we have a cool hat! But as they go on to say, what builds community is interactions that are deep and specific, interactions that are rich in quality, not in quantity. A kudos or a comment that says only ❤️are lovely things to receive, but they don’t build community.

My reaction, when I see people begging for kudos and comments as the only means by which to keep fandom community alive, is very close to @eleadore's. I want to say, “No. Readers do not need to comment or kudos. Believe not these hucksters who claim to know the appropriate method of fandom participation. Participate as you feel able, or not at all; nothing is required of you.”

I’ve been told before (several times) that I’m not qualified to participate in such discussions because I am an established author who has some fics with very high stats. It doesn’t matter that I have also been a new writer with almost no one reading my fics. It doesn’t matter that I still write in new fandoms where no one in that fandom knows me. It doesn’t matter that I, like any human being, still care about receiving recognition and attention and praise.

And maybe that’s correct. I personally don’t think that billionaires have a place in deciding the direction of the economy, and--if we're really going to consider fandom an economy--in fandom terms, if I’m not a billionaire, or even a millionaire, I’m definitely in the infamous “one percent.” So, just as no one wants to hear Elon Musk say “money isn’t everything,” maybe it’s not my place to say “kudos isn’t required, actually.”

That said, I’m not the only one who has a problem with the stats-based discourse around fandom community. However, the main counter-response to this discussion I see goes something like this: you shouldn’t be writing fic for validation. If you’re writing for attention, you’re doing it for the wrong reason. Authors should write fic because they love it without any expectation of return.

This is, in my opinion, missing the point of what is meant by fandom community.

I wrote fanfic before I knew that fanfic, as a concept, existed. I read books; I wanted them to be different; I wrote little stories for myself with new endings, with self-inserts, with cross-overs, with alternate universes. I did it for myself in the 90s. It never occurred to me that anyone else would do this, much less that people would share.

As @faiell points out—creating and sharing are two different things. I created fics for myself, but I decided to share them in the early 2000s because other people might like them, too. And of course, I wanted to hear whether other people liked them. How could I not? I might decorate my home just for me and not for anyone else’s preferences, but when people come over and say my house is nice, how can I not enjoy that? And if a lot of people think my house is nice, which encourages me to post pictures of it online, isn’t it understandable I might do so with the hope that more people will say my house is nice? And, honestly, if no one is appreciating my pictures, I probably won’t continue to go through the trouble of taking them and posting them. I’ll just enjoy my house that I decorated without sharing, the end.

When I found out there were whole fannish communities where people discussed canon and tossed ideas around about it, made theories and prompts and insights into the characters, fics they had written and recs for other fics and analyses of fics and art based on fics and fics based on art—I wanted to be a part of that, too. Now, sometimes, I write fic not out of an internal need to do so but out of a desire to participate in that community.

The idea that we write fic only for the love of it, then post it only because we possess it, is a process entirely centered on the self. It’s fandom in a vacuum. The idea that we share this thing, that we feel pleasure if someone likes it but feel nothing at all if no one says anything about it, that it’s completely okay to be ignored and unseen—that’s not what a community is either. That’s some weird sort of self-aggrandizement through self-effacement—because yes, there is often a weird kind of virtue-signaling in this kind of discourse.

I say this as someone who has virtue-signaled in that way: “some people write for stats, but I write for myself.” It’s bullshit. Sure, I write for myself, but why post it on the internet? Honestly, said virtue has a whiff of the capitalist machine, which would like you to produce for the sake of production, work for the sake of work. The noblest among us expect no recompense for that which they give!

The reason that I’m bringing this back around to capitalism is that capitalism actively works to dismantle community. The reason that folks are out here pleading for “engagement” in order to “pay back” authors for the products they give us “for free” is because people no longer even have the language to discuss how to participate in meaningful community. And frankly, how to build back fandom community, in the face of enshittification, is getting harder and harder to see.

But I do think that if we value fanfic and the fanfic community, it’s really, really not constructive to judge whether someone’s reasons for writing fanfic are valid. It’s also weird to me that it would be considered wrong that someone’s reason for sharing fanfic is because they would like to receive some recognition for it, when in fact that seems to be the most natural reason in the world for sharing something so private and vulnerable with the world.

Let’s go back to that idea of how hurtful it is to find out your fanfic is trending on tiktok without anyone from tiktok saying anything to you about your fic, or how it can be painful to find out there’s a secret discord channel dedicated to your fic. The people who respond to that with, “Ah, but you shouldn’t be writing to get attention!” are missing the point. The fic did get attention. It got lots. Attention obviously wasn't why the writer was writing--they were writing to participate, and they didn't get to. At all.

However, if your conclusion is that the author was upset because these particular stats were not accruing under this author’s profile, thereby preventing them from achieving the vaunted status of BNF and influencer—I don’t know, maybe you’re right. But I don’t think that’s why I, personally, have been hurt by these things, and I doubt it’s what hurt the people in these posts either. They’re hurt because they want to participate, and they have been systematically excluded by the very people they thought were part of the community they thought they could participate in.

Sure, if those folks from tiktok and the discord server all came and showered the author with kudos and comments that said “kudos,” the author might have felt satisfied enough with the quantity of this recognition that they would continue writing. But in the end, this still does nothing to address the problem of fandom community, in which the deep, meaningful recognition, interactions, and relationships in fandom are getting harder and harder to have and to build, as a result of how people now expect to engage in online spaces.

So, how to address the problem of fandom community? You probably read this long, long post hoping that I had an answer, and for that I must apologize. I don’t have solutions. My intent was to be descriptive, rather than prescriptive. I wished to outline the problems that I’m seeing in what was hopefully a slightly new or at least thought-provoking way, rather than offer solutions.

But, now that I’m talking about being prescriptive, maybe I can offer one suggestion, which is—maybe the solution to this isn’t about prescribing behavior. I do understand the irony in writing a prescription saying we shouldn’t prescribe people, but I’m going to write it anyway:

Maybe we shouldn’t be telling anyone the appropriate reasons for writing fanfic or for sharing it. Maybe we shouldn’t be telling readers they need to kudos or need to comment. If we’re going to go pointing fingers, we should be pointing at the institutions of capitalism that have made the internet what it is today—but I don’t think that’s going to solve the problem either.

But I do think that describing this problem, understanding what it actually is, not blaming readers for it and not blaming authors for it—I do think that helps. The discussion I linked at the beginning of this post is what I think of as the fandom I miss, the fandom that's now harder and harder to access, the fandom that is dying. That fandom was a social space where people had opinions and disagreed and went back and forth and gazed at their navels and then talked about Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

In the words of @yiiiiiiiikes25, it was a fuckin’ discussion about hats. And we’re hungry for it.

[mononijikayu]

is it new years yet? — nanami kento.

"Apparently, we're #RelationshipGoals now." "Some of them really think I write poetry about you during my lunch breaks, too. Not inaccurate, of course. But the thoughts I have of you are different." “My darling, behave.” “No <3” ".......In any case, my darling…..this one says I’m lucky to have you. Can’t argue with that."

GENRE: alternate universe - no curses au!;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, secret coworker romance, co-workers to lovers, romance, fluff, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, making out, rough sex, fingering, creampie, p to v sex, stairwell sex, orgasm, humor, profanity, pet names (my darling, babe, etc), possessiveness, jealousy, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, actor! nanami kento, actor! reader;

WORD COUNT: 6k words.

NOTE: hello everyone, this is the first fic of 2025!!! this was specifically written because of a conversation between me and @midnight-138 on the afternoon of december 31st 2024. i started progress while on a bus on the way to my grandma's house and for a bit on the 1st. i still wanted to write more for it, but i had to stop because i caught a cold. i still have a cold. and i need a massage cause i feel my body hurt real bad, cause its working hard to save my life from this cold TT TT

but that being said, i shouldn't complain too much. good things have been happening to me despite my problems. i hope that good things continue to come!!! anyway, enough yapping, i hope you enjoy this little fic. happy 2025!!! may good things, good health and happiness come your way always this year!!!

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

IT WAS ALWAYS LIKE THIS WHEN YOU AND KENTO GET TOGETHER. But it was to be expected, since you graced the screens since you were a child. Nanami Kento was like that too. Of course, it wasn’t something of a brag at all. It was just your normal.

You were lucky, you were favored like that. Kento was favored just like that. Both of you were so beloved. And especially so, in a way that they end up hoping that you both were together. 

Ever since you worked with him on Jujutsu Kaisen all those years ago, it was just too strong — the chemistry between the two of you. It pulls people in for more. They wanted a story, they wanted something that could ease their days from the mundane boredom that it was to the fun, exhilarating excitement that comes with the tea in both of your private lives.

You didn’t mind, your company didn’t mind either. Neither did Kento or his side of the aisle. It helped that you were both good friends. You had met even before landing your roles on Jujutsu Kaisen, after all. So, the ‘will they, won’t they’ between the two of you really did help your careers.

But of course, just like in Gege–sensei’s scripts, some parts are sentences with too many blank pages. And the wholeness of your relationship with Nanami Kento truly only belonged to you and him. And you were not willing to expose it to the world. Not just yet.

Yet — this does not stop them from trying to do something about that.

The studio buzzed with activity as you adjusted the earpiece in your ear, stealing a quick glance at the veteran actor, singer, producer, writer and entertainment personality that is Nanami Kento.

He stood near the stage, his posture relaxed yet impossibly refined. Dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his tie a subtle but elegant shade of deep blue,everything about him just exuded a quiet confidence that made it hard for anyone to look away. 

You, however, knew better than to let your gaze linger too long. You knew too well that those are reserved for just him and you to interpret and to see. No one else should. You were as possessive about your private moments as he was. But you would never say that outloud and neither will he.

“Can you believe these two again?” a stagehand whispered slowly, behind you. It was still, of course, loud enough for you to hear. “It’s like they were made for this. If they don’t end up together after tonight, I’ll lose faith in love. Really!”

You bit back a laugh, focusing on your notes. No one knew the truth, after all. That you and Kento were already together had been for a while now. Not even your publicists or managers — hell, not even your entertainment companies, knew that this was for genuine actuality, a real thing now. But you and him liked it that way.

You had let your fans go wild with their theories over the years of course. Every post, every comment, every little interaction, every collaboration, every press tour — almost everything seemed to spark a new wave of speculation and fan shipping. 

For years now, the internet was rife with hashtags like #OurSecretLovers and #MrAndMrsNanami with fans pouring over every detail like it's an investigatory report they were doing, a documentary study. You had to admit, it was amusing at times, watching people try to connect dots they couldn’t see. 

Nanami Kento had a reputation for being rather serious, because he gets roles in that league often. But he was a silly little man, well your silly little man. And he often had the knack for finding the most random, yet oddly endearing, posts about the two of you on Twitter. During your five-minute breaks between shoots, when you were in separate rooms or on different sets, his messages would pop up on your phone, accompanied by a link and a deadpan caption.

"Apparently, we're #RelationshipGoals now."

"Some of them really think I write poetry about you during my lunch breaks, too. Not inaccurate, of course. But the thoughts I have of you are different."

“My darling, behave.”

“No <3”

".......In any case, my darling…..this one says I’m lucky to have you. Can’t argue with that."

You’d giggle to yourself, your shoulders shaking as you tried not to draw attention. It didn’t matter how serious the production you were working on either. He had a way of making you laugh even from miles away. And that relaxes you a lot.

When it was your turn, you’d send him TikToks. Fancam edits of the two of you together had exploded in popularity as of late, especially since you both played a married couple who were spies deceiving each other recently. People thought he looked so good, especially when he had his shirt off. You loved teasing him about it. After all, he was really pretty hot in those scenes. And if you were being honest, they did in fact rile you up.

"Look at us, babe." you texted once, attaching a video with dramatic lighting, a love song playing over clips of you two stolen from interviews and behind-the-scenes footage. "We’re icons."

His reply came almost immediately: "Icons, sure. But I’m just a guy who got lucky enough to be yours, you know?"

Those words made your heart swell every time. He’d always been effortlessly humble, never letting fame or admiration inflate his ego, even as his star rose. After all, you were the senpai here—the darling of the Japanese screen since childhood. 

You’d grown up in the industry, your name synonymous with household stardom. He, on the other hand, had been a late bloomer, starting as a teenager and building his career with quiet determination.

He never let the difference in your status get in the way, though. If anything, it only made him more in awe of you. He’d often remind you how much he admired your grace, how you’d navigated the pressures of fame with a poise that still left him speechless.

“You’ve been dazzling audiences since you were a kid.” he’d say, his voice warm with pride. “I’m just lucky to share the screen with you now and your life.”

And you’d roll your eyes playfully, nudging him with a smile. “Don’t sell yourself short, Kento. You’re a fan favorite for a reason.”

“Maybe.” he replied with a soft smirk. “But you’re my favorite. And that’s what matters.”

No matter how busy your schedules got, those small exchanges, be it a funny link or a sentimental text, every bit of this kept you connected. It reminded you both that beneath the glitz and glamour, what truly mattered was the quiet, enduring love you shared.

You were out of your bubble soon enough when Kento suddenly caught your eye from across the room, offering a small, reassuring smile and then a small gentle nod. You felt your cheeks turn red but lowered your head immediately before anyone was to notice. He was too good at making you feel like this. And certainly so, he was hiding his smirk under his cue cards.

“Alright, places, everyone!” the director called.

You finally stood up from your chair, taking a deep breath and calmed down. You gave yourself one more look in the mirror, trying to make sure that your cheeks were natural now. When you felt like it was, you smiled at your manager who handed you the mic and swiftly thanked them. You went to your position. Kento soon approached, his footsteps purposeful but unhurried. 

“Ready?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” you replied, flashing him a smile.

You were grateful for the reassurance. Even if you were already such a big name, you still did get nervous. And even more so, with such a big show like this — the New Year Countdown, of course you could feel yourself slipping.

The two of you took your positions on stage as the lights dimmed and the opening music swelled. His fingers brushed against yours briefly as he fixed himself up, your pinkies touching. Even briefly, you could feel the warmth. He did that on purpose. You could see it in his caramel eyes. 

You let a brief smile echo on your lips. You gathered yourself as the lift came up slowly. When you both were in the sight of the gathered audiences and the cameras started to broadcast it all live, you both slipped effortlessly into your roles. After all, you both were professionals.

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to this year’s New Year’s Eve Countdown!” you began, your voice bright and enthusiastic.

“Thank you for joining us as we bid farewell to the old year and welcome the new.” Kento added, his tone smooth and polished.

Your banter flowed naturally, as always. That well beloved chemistry between you is still ever so undeniable. It was easy to fall into a rhythm with him; he was your partner in every sense of the word. And that made your job tonight a little bit easier.

But of course, the real challenge was hiding the little moments that threatened to give you away that bit you kept so dear to you. You just can't help it when it comes to him. He has such a powerful pull on you and he knows it.

There were those little lingering glances, watching and feeling the way his fingers brushed yours when you handed him a card, the subtle softness in his smile when he looked at you. After all, this is the longest you could be together in your very busy schedules this year.

Still, you kept yourself in that cage. And so did he, despite his lack of patience when it comes to you and everything about you. As the night progressed, the energy in the studio grew electric.

Various music performances lit up the stage, and interviews with special guests kept the crowd engaged. Throughout it all, you and Kento remained the perfect duo—professional, poised, and completely in sync.

After nearly a few hours of composure, it came almost all too suddenly. In just a few moments, the final countdown approached, and the excitement was palpable. The two of you stood at the center of the stage, along with the other participants for this year’s event. In front of you, the crowd behind you cheering wildly, waiting excitedly for the new year.

“Here we go!” you said, your voice barely audible over the noise.

Kento leaned in slightly, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You’re doing great, darling..”

Your heart fluttered, but you kept your composure. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself, babe.”

The countdown soon began.

You took a breath, looking at the screen.

You held your cue cards tightly to you.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!”

The lights soon dimmed, and the giant screen behind you displayed the numbers as they ticked down. The crowd’s voices grew louder with each second. The emotions coming through you were indescribable. Another year had gone by. But he was still by your side, like this. And all you could pray for as the time passed into a new age — that you would always be together.

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”

Confetti soon rained down, and the studio erupted in cheers. You turned toward Kento, and for a fleeting moment, the world around you disappeared. The look in his caramel eyes was unmistakable—warm, tender, and filled with a quiet pride that made your chest tighten.

But just as quickly, the moment passed, and you both turned back to the crowd, waving and smiling as the cameras captured every angle. People of course started to pay less attention to you both and the stage and more onto the fireworks now blurring the sky with its bright hues. You and Kento made a steady exit off the stage. 

“Another successful project, isn’t it?” you said, breaking the silence as you leaned against the wall.

Kento smirked faintly, unbuttoning the top of his shirt to loosen his tie. “They’ll be talking about this for weeks, you know?”

“And shipping us even harder, hm.” you added with a laugh.

“They’ll never know, though.” he said, his voice soft but steady.

You stepped closer, your hand finding his. His fingers intertwined with yours, the simple gesture grounding you in a way nothing else could. “They don’t need to, babe.” you whispered, meeting his gaze. “This is ours.”

Kento’s lips curved into the faintest smile as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Happy New Year, my darling.”

“Happy New Year.” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

You had thought it would end there, sweet and innocent. You had thought you both were safe for one more year. But when you two are together after a long time…..it was a whole new animal. And nothing can stop such a wave in high tide from occupying something whole. 

The next tithing you know is that the internet exploded the moment the photos dropped. Headlines blared across every platform, hashtags like #FINALLYOMG and #NewYearNewScandal trending within minutes after they were taken.

The pictures were pretty damning. They were blurry but unmistakably you, disheveled and wrapped in Nanami’s coat, your hair a mess. And him? A rare sight indeed.

It was none other than Nanami Kento, usually the epitome of composure, looking uncharacteristically undone. His tie was loose, his shirt wrinkled, and the telltale bruises blooming on his neck left little to the imagination.

You groaned, tossing your phone onto the coffee table as you buried your face in your hands. Beside you, Kento sat unbothered, calmly sipping his tea like the world wasn’t on fire—or at least your career’s PR team.

“I told you we should’ve been more careful, babe.” you muttered, your voice muffled by your palms.

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lips quivering into a teasing smile. “You were the one who couldn’t wait with it, y'know?” he replied smoothly, setting his cup down with an elegant clink.

His tone was infuriatingly calm, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement. “Who was it again, begging me to fill you up? By round two, you were going—‘Kento, I need you. Right here. Right now.’ and I was happy to heed the request like always.”

Your scarlet blush was immediate, your head snapping up to glare at him. “Kento!” you hissed, glancing around the living room as if someone could overhear, even though it was just the two of you. “Not helping!”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs with the air of a man thoroughly enjoying himself. “I’m just stating the facts about, I'm the same.” he said with a shrug, his smirk widening as you shot him another flustered look. "That's not a bad thing."

Your phone buzzed again on the table, your manager’s name flashing on the screen. You sighed, picking it up only to immediately huff and toss it back down. “This is really…” you trailed off, searching for the right word but settling on a frustrated groan instead.

“Chaotic? Consequential? Hilarious?” Kento offered, his voice laced with mock innocence.

You shot him a glare that was far more affectionate than threatening. “Horrible. That’s the word. This is horrible.”

He chuckled, reaching over to rest a comforting hand on your knee. “Darling, it’s not the end of the world. Scandal or not, we’ll deal with it.”

“Easy for you to say.” you grumbled, crossing your arms. “Your team probably thinks this is great publicity for your brooding, mysterious heartthrob image. Meanwhile, I’m the one getting texts about how unprofessional it looks for ‘Japan’s sweetheart’ to be caught sneaking around with hickeys and wearing her boyfriend’s coat.”

“Unprofessional?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “It’s not like we committed a crime. We’re adults in a committed relationship. And in any case my darling....….” he added, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “You look adorable in my coat.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but crack a small smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me. Very much." he quipped, leaning over to steal a quick kiss from your lips.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest, instead letting your head fall onto his shoulder with a sigh. “Next time, though….really.....” you muttered. “We’re finding a stairwell without photographer cameras.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Noted.”

As you leaned against your lover, the memory hit you both like a freight train, vivid and unrelenting. It had started innocently enough—or as innocently as it could between the two of you. The countdown show had gone off without a hitch, and the studio was still buzzing with post-show chaos. 

You both talked for a bit, had a cute moment and then went back to your professional mode when everyone started to surround you both again. It was like a switch, and it was easy. No one suspected a thing.

You went ahead into the dressing room, you talked with everyone. You’d been polite and professional, thanking the crew and chatting with some of the guests. But the moment Nanami Kento had caught your eye as you left the green room, something in his caramel gaze had made your pulse quicken.

You hadn’t seen him in weeks. Between his packed schedule and yours, the countdown project had been the only excuse to be in the same room together. The public facade you maintained only added to the frustration. Every fleeting touch, every shared look—it all built up, an unbearable tension neither of you could ignore.

So, when he’d quietly grabbed your hand and guided you down a quiet, rarely-used stairwell in the building when no one was looking, you hadn’t protested. You were excited, happy even. This was the chance to feel him again this close to you. 

And you were glad for that opportunity. You could feel his touch be so genuine and warm despite the heavy chill in the air, and the firm grip of his fingers around yours sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“Darling, I missed you, really.” he murmured as soon as you were alone.

His voice low and rough, filled with a longing that made your knees weak. His hands cupped your face with a reverence that always left you breathless, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek as he leaned in. The kiss was searing, his lips melding with yours as though it had been an eternity since your last stolen moment together.

The cold winter air bit at your exposed skin, but his touch set you alight. His coat had slipped from his shoulders in a quiet, unspoken gesture, draped over yours as his lips moved to your neck. The kisses were hot, open-mouthed, and deliberate, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin before his teeth grazed your pulse.

“Kento, babe….” you gasped, your voice trembling from a mix of the frigid air and the heat of his attention. Your fingers clutched the lapels of his suit, trying to ground yourself against the onslaught of sensations.

“Shh, just enjoy it......” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. 

His hands slid down your sides, firm but gentle as they gripped your thighs. Without hesitation, he lifted you effortlessly, pressing your back against the wall. The rough texture scraped against your coat, but you barely noticed, too focused on the way his body pressed into yours.

His strength always caught you off guard, even after all this time together. Your eager legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, your heels digging into his lower back. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open as he stepped between them, his body fitting against yours like a missing piece.

“Babe!” you breathed again, the sound barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

He kissed you like a man starved, his lips leaving your neck to reclaim your mouth. The intensity of it stole the air from your lungs, leaving you dizzy and clinging to him. He was hungry, perhaps even more than you were. But you had expected that. He has a habit of yearning to touch you a lot.

“I hate not being able to touch you, with all the schedules we fucking had.” he muttered against your skin, the words tinged with frustration and longing. “Hated every fucking minute of it……”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, the silky strands slipping through your fingers as you tugged him closer. “Then don’t stop, babe.” you whispered, the plea soft but desperate. “Cause….I need you badly too. I need you so bad in me—”

He growled softly, the sound rumbling against your throat as his touch shifted. One hand remained steady on your thigh, holding you firmly in place, while the other slid beneath the hem of your dress. His fingers were deliberate, pushing aside the delicate lace of your panties with practiced ease.

When his fingers slipped through your slick folds, a gasp escaped your lips, your head falling back against the wall. He groaned softly, the sound low and satisfied as he gathered your arousal, his touch teasing and unhurried.

“You’re already so ready for me, aren’t you, my darling?” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his fingers moved with precision, finding the spot that made you arch into him.

The cold air around you was a stark contrast to the heat building between you, the quiet of the stairwell broken only by your uneven breaths and his whispered praises. It was reckless, indulgent, and utterly intoxicating—just like him.

“Kento, babe….oh!” you whimpered, your voice trembling as his fingers continued their unrelenting rhythm. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as waves of pleasure began to build within you.

“Shh, darling.” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear before trailing back to your neck. His voice was low and soothing, laced with a quiet intensity that only made your pulse race faster. “You’ll have to keep quiet for me. Can you do that?”

You nodded frantically, biting your lip to stifle the moan threatening to escape as he added a second finger. The stretch was delicious, his movements slow and deliberate, coaxing you higher with every stroke. His thumb brushed over your sensitive bud, and your thighs instinctively clenched around his waist.

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin. “That’s my good little lover, hm? My only beloved darling.” he murmured, his praise sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. “So perfect for me.”

Your fingers slid up into his messy blond hair, tugging gently as your body arched against him. The rough texture of the wall behind you was a sharp contrast to the soft warmth of his touch, grounding you as he pushed you closer to the edge.

“Kento, please, b–babe….oh!” you breathed, the words barely audible as your head tilted back, exposing more of your neck to his eager lips. “M–more…..more!”

He hummed in response, the sound vibrating against your skin. “So impatient, aren’t you? Greedy too.” he teased, though his fingers quickened their pace, curling just right to hit the spot that made your breath hitch. “I missed seeing you like this, so needy for me.”

The heat pooling in your core intensified, your body trembling as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. “I’m—” you began, but the words dissolved into a strangled gasp as he pressed his thumb harder against your sensitive nub.

“That’s it, pretty for me, so fucking pretty." He says, coaxing you like a pied piper. His voice was low and intoxicating. Everything about it just burns you as much as his touch did. "I’ve got you. Always.”

With one final stroke, the beautiful echo, that blossoming coil inside you just snapped, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your body tensed, your thighs tightening around his waist as you buried your face in his shoulder to muffle the cry that escaped your lips.

He held you through it, his fingers slowing their movements as your body shook with aftershocks. His other hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, his lips pressing soothing kisses against your temple.

When you finally relaxed, your breaths coming in shallow gasps, he pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were soft, his gaze filled with a mixture of adoration and satisfaction that made your chest tighten.

“Better?” he asked, his tone light but tinged with affection.

You nodded, still too dazed to form words. He chuckled, adjusting his hold on you as he gently set you back on your feet. Your legs wobbled like jello against him, and he immediately steadied you, his hands firm but gentle on your waist.

“Careful, darling.” he murmured, his brow furrowing in concern. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, babe.” you managed, your voice breathless but steady. “More than fine.”

His lips quivered into a soft smile, and he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Good.”

As the reality of your surroundings sank back in, you couldn’t help but glance around, the abandoned stairwell suddenly feeling far less private. “We should… probably get back, babe.” you said, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “It’s getting pretty late.”

He followed your gaze, his expression calm and unbothered. “Let them wonder where we went.” he said simply, shrugging off the concern as he adjusted his coat around your shoulders. "It's none of their business."

You opened your mouth to protest, but the mischievous glint in his eyes stopped you cold. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “After all… I’m not done with you yet.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could respond, he was guiding you gently back against the wall. His lips found yours again, this time slower, deeper, igniting the fire he’d only begun to stoke. His hands trailed down your sides, their warmth chasing away the chill of the stairwell as he pressed his body firmly against yours.

“Kento, babe.” you murmured, a weak attempt to regain your composure, but he silenced you with a kiss that left no room for argument. 

“I missed you, a damn whole lot.” he said, his voice low and filled with longing as his hands slid to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly once more. "Like I always do."

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, your heart pounding as the desire you’d both tried to suppress flared back to life. He pressed against you, the hardness of his arousal undeniable even through the fabric of his pants. The teasing grind of his hips against yours drew a gasp from your lips, and he smirked, his composure slipping just enough to show his need.

"Really....." Kento effortlessly whispered to you, his voice vibrating onto you like a wave crashing onto you at sea. "We shouldn't schedule much this New Year, hm? So we can be together."

"Hm.....Kento." You echo back to him, intoxicated by his touch. "'ake time....for me, okay? I'll.....I'll do the same."

“That's the plan already, you know?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he shifted, his hands tugging at the barriers between you. “Let me take care of you, like I always do.”

Soon after that, you could feel the wet, thick head of his member pressed against your entrance, the heat and pressure stealing the breath from your lungs. You gasped as he began to push in slowly, his movements deliberate, almost reverent.

It was too good, too damn easy to fall into a high to. You could feel the stretch inside of you, it made you so full. Everything about it was intoxicating, your body yielding to him as he filled you inch by inch, your walls clinging to every part of him like he was made to fit. 

It was like he was trying to make a home inside of it. Inside of you. And it just made you feel so good. A deep, guttural groan rumbled in his chest, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as he buried himself deeper.

“Darling.” he muttered, his voice strained and low. “You feel so perfect.”

You whimpered, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support as your body adjusted to the delicious fullness. The sensation was overwhelming, the slight ache quickly giving way to a heat that spread through your entire body.

“Kento.” you breathed, the sound a mix of plea and surrender.

His large hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he pulled back slightly before thrusting forward again, the motion slow but unyielding. Each movement sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through you, and the friction only made you crave more.

“God, this is so…..you feel so good.” he groaned, his voice rough and filled with need. “You’re so tight. I don’t know how I’m supposed to go slow like this with you.”

“Don’t, babe.” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Don’t hold back.”

His carmel eyes darkened almost instantly at your words, a flicker of something primal overtaking his usual control. With a growl, he began to move in earnest, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. The sound of your bodies meeting echoed in the stairwell, a symphony of shared desire that neither of you could hold back.

The rough texture of the wall behind you only heightened the sensation, grounding you as he took you apart piece by piece. You could feel your back burn against the concrete wall as you throw your head back against it. His lips found yours in a searing kiss, his tongue claiming your mouth as thoroughly as his body claimed yours.

“Darling, my pretty baby darling.” he murmured against your lips, his voice ragged and desperate. “You’re mine. Always mine.”

“Yes, babe. Yours….O–oh…only! Only yours!” you managed to gasp, your head tilting back as he kissed along your throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. 

The coil in your core once more tightens with every spark you feel as he pushes deeper over and over in a fast pace. Everything about the pleasure you feel keeps building to an almost unbearable peak. It just felt too good. He felt too good.

His pace quickened, his breaths coming in harsh pants as his control began to slip. One hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your sensitive nub and rubbing it in quick, precise circles.

You cried out, your body arching into him as the tension finally snapped. Pleasure crashed over you in waves, your walls clenching tightly around him as your release tore through you.

“Fuck, fuck. I’m close!” he groaned, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release. With one final, deep thrust, he shuddered against you, his body going taut as he spilled himself inside you.

For a moment, the only sound was your shared, labored breathing, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a cocoon. His forehead rested against yours, his hands gentle as they smoothed over your thighs and waist, grounding you both.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern despite the lingering haze of pleasure in his eyes.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “More than okay.”

He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before gently setting you back on your feet. His hands remained steady on your waist, holding you as your legs wobbled beneath you. You leaned into him, your breath uneven, your body still humming from the intensity of what had just transpired.

But that wasn’t the end of it, of course. 

The hunger in his eyes hadn’t faded, and neither had yours. The raw desire that simmered between you was far from sated, and you both knew it. Kento’s hands lingered, his thumbs brushing soft, teasing circles against your hips as he studied your flushed face. 

“I just think that I…..” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “I still want more.”

You barely had time to process his words before your lover’s lips were on yours again, roughly consuming you in a kiss that was as demanding as it was all encompassing. Your hands quickly found their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. Your body instinctively responds to the magnetic pull of his, over and over.

“We shouldn’t…” you whispered between kisses, though your voice lacked conviction. “It’s going to make people suspicious.”

“Probably not.” he agreed, his smirk returning as his hands slipped under the hem of your dress, trailing up your thighs. “But repercussions are damned when we’re hungry. I can’t stop. I know you won’t too..”

The wall pressed against your back once more as he claimed you all over again, the cool stairwell air doing nothing to cool the fire that raged between you. It was reckless, but neither of you cared. Not here, not now. Hunger demanded to be fed, and with Nanami Kento, you were always insatiable.

After a while, you were both removed from the plane of normalcy and you were both panting with joyous weariness. He presses a kiss against your jaw as you keep a steady bite on his neck. He grumbles against you as he gathers himself from seeing stars. You follow him soon after. You released his neck and started kissing his lips once more. 

When you both found yourself satisfied, you both started to make yourselves as presentable as possible. Well, at least what remains presentable and salvageable for both of you. Kento ripped too much of your outfit as much as you did. Still, you both did not care. 

“We should get you cleaned up.” he murmured, his tone tender as he placed his coat on your shoulders and adjusted it tenderly on you, to keep you warm. “I’ll call my car and then we’ll just hop in there. We’ll go to my hotel, okay?”

You nodded again, your cheeks flushing as the reality of your surroundings began to sink in. But as he laced his fingers with yours and led you back toward the main building, you couldn’t help but feel a warm glow of contentment.

Of course, things too did not go the way you both wanted once again. You didn’t know that there were many SNS photographers  and gossip journalists waiting to catch some other celebrity in that area where Kento’s car was going to be. And that’s just how you were caught, not thinking about the logistics of it all. 

But how could you? It was New Years. 

You just got mindlessly blown with really, really, really good sex.

And you were together once again with your lover.

How could you think about anything else after all that? 

Now, back in the present, the two of you sat in the quiet of your shared apartment. Nanami Kento’s calm demeanor was a stark contrast to your frazzled nerves. You sighed, looking up to your lover who presses a kiss on your forehead.

“You know this is going to be everywhere, babe.” you said, gesturing toward your phone.

He set his tea down and leaned back, regarding you with a look of quiet amusement. “Let them talk, darling. It was bound to happen eventually.”

You groaned. “Eventually I didn't need to include hickeys and a ruined coat. And oh god….. was I leaking your cum?” 

You took your phone once again to inspect, but your lover took your phone with his free hand and put it away. You looked at him, almost sulky as one would look as a child. He laughs. He presses another kiss on your hair. Kento couldn’t help but smirk. Both acts had made your heart skip a beat. 

“You look good in my coat though. I could hardly care if my cum was dripping out, darling.” he said simply. “I’m pretty sure I look just as ridiculous. You mauled my neck so happily after that first round.”

“You  do look like you’ve been ravaged.” you shot back, though your cheeks burned at the memory. “I mean, it made sense at the time….I was hungry.”

“Hm, I don’t blame you.”

You sighed. “We’ll contact our PR and everyone later, okay?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Hm.”  he said softly, his voice filled with the steady reassurance you’d always loved about him. “We’ll be fine, okay? I don’t care as long as I am with you.”

You sighed, leaning into his warm touch. “I guess the secret’s out, huh?”

He nodded, his gaze warm. “I don’t mind. As long as we're happy together, I say let them say whatever they want.”

You blinked at him. “You think so?”

“Hm.” He smiles at you. “Because no one will truly know who you are to me. That’s only mine. They’ll have a headline, but I’ll have the whole spreadsheet.”

You feel like your heart is melting with his tenderness. “I love you. So so much.”

“I love you too.” He kisses your lips, smiling wider at you.

And just like that, the storm outside felt a little less overwhelming.

[sheerfreesia007]

Just a Peek

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Word count: 1,299

Content warnings: Suggestive, Fluff, Slight nudity, Topless Chan

Summary: You and Chan have been friends for at least three years and have become best friends through your shared careers as music producers. But one night at the studio you’re shocked to walk in on Chan changing and get an eyeful that you weren’t expecting but are not complaining about.

Chan smiles as he looks down at his phone, I’m going to stop by with food since I know you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast check in this morning, was your latest text and he couldn’t stop the feeling of butterflies fluttering in his stomach over your care for him. You and Chan were best friends and had been ever since you burst out onto the music production scene when you started working with Twice and Itzy. He had been intrigued by the way you worked and your work ethic seemed to match with his where the two of you were often at the company building mixing tracks and working on songs late into the night.

That was how your friendship had started, he had found you working in one of the sound recording studios after the girls in Itzy had left for the day and had asked if you wanted some company while you both worked. You had offered him the other half of the table you were working on and that night while you both worked you each played twenty questions with each other to get to know each other. A week later he found you in the same studio working and had asked if you wanted company again, and the night had been a repeat of the first night together. Chan and you had exchanged numbers so that the next time you were working late at the company the two of you could join each other and not be alone while you worked, and for a while that’s how things came to be and Chan found himself befriending you rather easily and quickly. The two of you were just so easily matched in not only your work ethic but also your personalities, you were the sarcastic grump to his teasing sunshine. The two of you were ruthless with your teasing of each other and Chan really loved that he could be himself around you without feeling judged or heaped with expectations. In fact oftentimes you would help him when he got stuck on a track and he found that your approach to making music was a nice change to help him get through any blocks he came across.

It had now been three years since the two of you first met in the recording studio and you had easily become the best of friends. You both would always check in with each other to make sure that you were doing alright even if yours often came with a slight scolding or teasing remark, like your text earlier. Chan had come to expect you to always be there whether it be a text or a late night together you always managed to be there for each other and he was grateful for you. 

Turning back to his laptop Chan frowned softly as he felt sweat slide down his temple, looking over to the wall he noticed that the room had definitely gotten hotter over the hours that he had spent working. Standing from his chair he walked over to the thermostat and turned it down so that the air would turn on and hopefully cool the room down a little bit. But it wasn’t even ten minutes later that Chan felt more sweat start to slide down his temple and he huffed loudly before standing from his chair again. Grabbing the hem of his hoodie he began pulling it up his body trying to remove it quickly so that he could start to cool off.

He struggled a little bit as part of his shirt got caught up in the oversized hoodie and his shirt began to ride up his body. Huffing softly he lowered his clothes hoping to separate the two before taking the hoodie off. Trying again he felt his shirt riding up again and in his irritation he just removed both his hoodie and shirt from his body before frowning darkly at his hoodie.

He was topless now feeling the cool air begin to slide against his overheated skin and he sighed in relief before starting on the task of separating his shirt from his hoodie. Suddenly the door to the studio burst open and Chan whipped his head up to stare wide eyed at you as you walked in holding a large bag of take out for the two of you while looking down at your cellphone in your other hand while talking to him.

”So I’ll accept payment for saving you from starvation in cash, credit or you getting on your knees and worshiping me.” You said sarcastically before looking up from your phone. Chan watched as your eyes took in his topless form and then widened with appreciation as your mouth dropped open slightly. “Or this works too.” You said approvingly as your eyes raked up and down his form slowly.

”My eyes are up here sweetheart.” Chan said sarcastically with an eye roll as you burst out in shocked laughter as you kept staring at him. He quickly tried to separate his shirt from his hoodie feeling slightly embarrassed at your appraisal of his body.

”Yeah but then I wouldn’t get to look my fill of your abs.” You retorted wittily to him and he huffed at you before finally getting his shirt separated from his hoodie. “Noooo, don’t cover up the masterpiece.” You whined softly and Chan chuckled at you before shaking his head as he slipped his shirt over his torso effectively covering his body as you pouted at him.

”Don’t be a creep.” He huffed at you as he tried to hide the blush that had been creeping up his neck as soon as you walked into the room and saw him topless.

”I was just admiring all your hard work.” You quipped back at him before you moved to the table and began taking out the meals that you had ordered for the two of you. Chan felt himself grow shy before he moved closer to you wanting to ask if you meant what you were saying about his body. “Yes Chan, I meant it. You look real good without clothes on.” You tell him over your shoulder with a soft knowing smirk on your face and he blushed brightly at your words. He had known he was falling for you after a year into your friendship and just hadn’t thought he had a chance with you or ever thought you’d be into him as well. But now with your reaction to seeing him topless he had his answer and knew he wanted to explore this with you.

”Maybe if you’re nice to me you can see more of me like that. If you wanted to, that is.” He gently teased you with a hopeful look in his eyes. 

“What do you mean be nice to you?! I’m always nice to you.” You gripe out at him as you whip your head around to glare at him before you stop yourself and see that he had moved closer to you and was leaning slightly over you as you stood at the table with the take out bag.

”Yeah? Then what was all that teasing before?” He asked softly in a slightly challenging tone which made your eyes widen slightly. “What’s the matter sweetheart? Where’s the sass now?” He teases you and you blush at his word before turning back to the takeout bag. “Oh no, no, no running from me now sweetheart. Not when we’re just starting.” He said softly as he wrapped his arms around your body and tugged you back against his chest. “You got to look so what do you say to giving me a peek?” He asked with a soft smirk and watched your eyes widened as he tilted your head up towards his.

SKZ Taglist: @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @inlovewithstraykids, @channiesrightasscheek

[studioeisa]

cables and crackle 💽 jihoon x reader.

wondering why you're so nervous 'round your so-called 'friend'.

★ co-producers jihoon x reader. ★ part of buzz (seventeen's version). ★ word count: 13.8k ★ genre/warnings: romance, fluff. producer!reader. feelings realization and denial, jihoon has a crush <3, pining/yearning, first date and confessions. references to producing (that may or may not be accurate).

When you first started working with SEVENTEEN three years ago, Jihoon wasn't all that excited to have you around.

Perhaps it was his pride. BUMZU and PRISMFILTER had been the company's go-to's until they decided they wanted to bring in someone fresh, new, up-and-coming. You had been the result: Someone two years younger than Jihoon. Scrappy and hungry. Experimental, ambitious.

His hesitance at your music production has morphed from begrudging respect, to genuine appreciation, to something akin to admiration. Jihoon would never say it out loud, but you've grown to be one of his favorite producers to work with. (He doesn't have to say it, really. Everyone is already privy to Jihoon's biases.)

Now, three years in, Jihoon finds himself trying to reckon with a foreign feeling—

The flutter of his chest as you walk in to the studio. The stutter in his pulse as your fingers lightly brush over the digital audio workstation. The hitch of his breath as your head, ever so lightly, falls on to his shoulder the longer the evening drags on.

Jihoon is a 27-year-old man. As he tries to stay absolutely still, there's only one thing on his mind: Wasn't he too old to have crushes?

You could usually keep up with Jihoon when it came to these long-night sessions. One had to, considering how he was practically nocturnal at this point. But it had been a long day of minor misfortunes, the type that wear you down bit by bit.

You don't even seem to notice that your head is lolling to one side. When your cheek lands on something solid, you might think it's the back of the chair next to you— except it's Jihoon's shoulder, and he absolutely freezes underneath you.

He would be the first to admit that this isn't the first time you've ever been this close. There's been many times your bodies have gravitated to the same spot on the couch, or times when your heads are practically glued to one another while your hands are both at the keyboard, or during the times your feet accidentally meet with each other under the desk.

It's just never been this close, where Jihoon can feel the brush of each of your lashes against his neck every time your eyes fall shut.

He think he might pass out if he dwells too much on it.

He watches from his peripheral vision as your eyes flutter shut, and he thinks, for a moment, that you're out of commission. But then, you mumble, "The reverb on the snare, just now."

If you hadn't been right next to Jihoon's ear, your words might have been drowned out by the speakers. But, as it is, he hears you loud and clear. "Too heavy," you go on to say, without even opening your eyes. "We need to dial it back for a cleaner sound."

There it is, he thinks with both awe and bitterness. Even half-lucid, even half-asleep, you're still as brilliant as you've ever been.

"Mhm," he hums lowly. "I'll adjust it."

He does as you've asked. When he runs the track back, you let out a soft sound of contentment and shift slightly in your seat, blissfully unaware of how you're leaning more weight in to Jihoon's side. It's absolute torture, he thinks.

"Better," you mutter. A beat. Your drowsy inquiry comes in next. "How do you feel about the tempo in the bridge?"

He forces himself to pay attention. He runs the song back once more, this time paying particular attention to the bridge. It doesn't take him long to identify the issue— one of the main ones, anyway.

"A little too dragging," he replies. "It slows the track down a bit too much. I think it disrupts the flow. Makes the chorus—" He suddenly stops mid-sentence.

Because, for some reason, he's become acutely aware of the way your head fits perfectly into the crook of his shoulder.

He's now fully conscious of how close you are. Of the way your breath fans against his neck. Of the way your knee seems to bump against his whenever you unconsciously readjust your position.

Jihoon feels his pulse pound at his chest as he tries to keep his tone steady.

"It disrupts the flow," he repeats, his voice slightly gruff. "Makes the chorus less of a… high, for lack of word."

When your initial response is a thoughtful hum, he bites back the urge to smirk. It should come to no surprise that you're about to disagree with him. More often than not, you butted heads over minor things like this.

"Thought it was too fast," you grumble, somehow sounding a little sulky because of your drowsy state. You're usually a lot more adamant and fiery when it comes to asserting your opinions. But in the late— or early, since it's already past midnight— hour, you've tamped down my temper.

It does absolutely nothing for Jihoon's poor heart.

Your cheek nuzzles against Jihoon's sweater as you shake your head in a very that won't do manner. "The lyrics might suffer. Try slowing it down by 8 BPM so we have more space for vocal delivery."

8 BPM? Jihoon nearly chokes on an incredulous laugh. The number is so arbitrary, so out of pocket. "The tempo's already sitting at 139 right now," he bites out. "It's not like slowing it down by another 8 BPM is going to—"

Jihoon makes the mistake of glancing down at you, and damn it. You're not just leaning against his shoulder at this point.

You've practically cuddled into him.

Jihoon's breath catches in his throat as you shift once more, leaning your chin against his shoulder.

He finds himself wanting to wrap an arm around you and pull you closer. Press you into his chest until your cheek is up against his. Until your head is tucked right under his chin.

But then you're grumbling out your next words. "139?" you repeat. "Notch it down by 9, then."

The slur in your tone is just enough to remind him that you're not entirely coherent. He swallows hard, his fingers a little too gentle as he inputs the changes. 9 BPM it is.

It's a bad call, one that's made abundantly clear when Jihoon plays the track back. He doesn't even have to tell you; you're already groaning, pressing your face in to his shoulder. Your words are muffled against the soft material of his sweater.

"You were right. Should have amped it up instead of slowing it down," you mutter, though there's a distracted edge to your tone. He gives it a cursory couple of seconds, letting you gather your thoughts.

"There's an issue with the kick and the bass, isn't there?" you note.

He listens closely— and, as always, you're right. There's a dissonance between the kick and the bass.

Jihoon frowns, a little more focused now. "Yeah, I hear it too," he manages to say succinctly.

His brain is still trying to conjure up a solution when you let out a slight huff and finally peel away from Jihoon's side. He doesn't know if he's grateful or disappointed because of it.

You're bleary-eyed and your fingers fumble but your work is efficient as you click away at his mouse, at his digital audio workstation. He watches with a straight face as you add sidechain compression to the bass, as you drag the bridge's BPM up.

It's not just the music that's synced, but the way the two of you work as well. A little push, a little pull, and you manage to find balance. You know exactly what to do, even when you're tired.

Jihoon listens closely as soon as the bridge plays back and he's pleasantly surprised.

"That fixed it," he says, his eyes darting rapidly as he takes in the revised audio levels. "Yeah, I think it's good. We should move on to verse three now."

"Jihoon."

He blinks and glances over at you. You've slumped back heavily in to your chair; it spins slightly on its wheels when you do.

"I'm not going to make it through another verse," you warn. "I think I need, like, a power nap."

"Power nap?"

Despite Jihoon's best efforts, a corner of his mouth twitches. A glance at the clock tells Jihoon that it's past one in the morning. They'd been working on the track for a solid eight hours now.

He lets out a low, considering hum, before looking back at you with a slight frown.

"How long is this power nap supposed to last?" he asks dubiously.

"I only need fifteen minutes," you respond.

There's a decisiveness to you tone, one that brokers no argument even if you're rolling your shoulders from sheer exhaustion.

"You're too stubborn for your own good," he replies, though not unkindly.

He rolls the chair back, moving so that he's facing you fully. One leg is crossed over the other, his eyes studying you carefully. He's going to attempt to convince you, obviously.

"You need a good night's rest. You won't be any use at all when you're this tired," Jihoon insists, but he immediately regrets his choice of words when he sees you wince slightly.

You're no stranger to his bluntness; you know just as well that he can be both brutally honest and painfully inconsiderate. That he shows his care and concern in much more roundabout ways compared to others.

And so when you insist that you'll be good as new in fifteen minutes, he can only sigh, leaning forward to rest his forearms against his knees.

"And if you're still tired after fifteen minutes?" he counters. His tone is gentler, softer, this time.

"I'll go home," you grumble, like the thought physically pains you. "If I'm still out of it after my nap, I'll go home."

Jihoon feels some of the tension in his shoulders abate as you finally agree to a compromise. "Fifteen minutes," he reiterates firmly, holding up a single finger for emphasis. "And if you're not ready to work again by the end of it, I'm driving you home."

You open your mouth, almost like you're about to argue at the thought of Jihoon driving you home, but then you opt to purse your lips. You know how the two of you can go in absolute circles some days and so you merely shoot him a heatless glare before stalking over to his studio's couch.

It's not really the type that should be slept on. With its stiff, black leather, the couch is an awful makeshift bed for anyone. But you and Jihoon have figure out little workarounds after spending so much time working together— like the fluffy, folded comforter at the foot of the sofa and the throw pillow that's shaped like an onigiri.

Jihoon watches with a small smile as you curl up on the sofa, underneath the blanket and with the pillow. "G'night," you call out mid-yawn. "See you in fifteen."

He watches you for a beat longer, his eyes tracing the way your expression relaxes, just a little, as your head hits the pillow. After a moment, he manages to tear his gaze away. He really had to work on his habit of staring.

"Yeah," he huffs as he tries to go get a head start on the third verse. "Night."

It's difficult because he can't help but steal glances, and every single time he does, he's struck by a wave of affection. You're so small, so fragile-looking, burrowed in to the sofa. He notes the way the pillow's slightly squished underneath your head, your face half-buried in the plush material…

He almost feels the urge to take a picture just to capture the scene.

And then he realizes: Why not? You're friends, aren't you? And friends take embarrassing photos of each other.

He picks his phone up from his pocket with one hand and angles the camera with the other. He knows just what he wants to take a picture of. The way your cheek is squished against the rice ball pillow, just barely visible underneath the edge of your tangled mess of blankets. The way your expression is relaxed, softened in sleep, with the slightest pucker to your lips.

He presses down on the snap button, and the shot is just perfect. The way the glow of the monitor catches in your hair, bringing out the natural color. The way your eyelashes fan out over your cheek, and the way the shadows highlight the sharpness of your features.

Jihoon's eyes linger on the image, something akin to longing twisting in his gut.

This time, he doesn't bother to push the feeling away. He does go back to work, though.

Fifteen minutes pass. And then twenty, thirty. The longer you sleep, the more Jihoon's guilt gnaws at him.

He knows he's about to wake you up, to ruin the temporary blissfulness that sleep has brought you. He knows he's about to drag you back to the studio to work again, despite the bags that are under your eyes and the exhaustion that is evident in every line of your body.

He knows he's going to be the cause of your fatigue. And he hates that— hates himself, just a little, for his need, his drive.

Still. At the thirty-minute mark, he makes his way over to your side. He reaches out, fingers hesitating for a second, before he gently shakes your shoulder.

"Hey," he calls, his tone soft and neutral. "Wake up. We need more work done."

It's very likely that the unceremonious way you've been dragged out of your sleep has gotten to you, because how else can Jihoon explain the way you drowsily move to hold him?

Your fingers reach up and curl gently around his wrist. Your eyes are still closed as you exhale, "Jihoon-ah."

It's more of a whine than anything, really, but it's one that he can't deny, not when you clutch his wrist like that. "What," he asks, his tone flat out of panic. "What is it?"

It's surreal, in a way. The way your tiredness has loosened your inhibitions, has stripped you down to the simplest, most vulnerable version of yourself, one that's practically begging for closeness.

You give his hand a gentle tug. "Come nap with me. Y'need to rest, too."

Jihoon's mind goes blank the moment the words leave your mouth, his whole body freezing. Because no, he didn't just hear that, you didn't just ask that—

And then you tug on his wrist again, and he swears his heart stutters.

On one hand, the rational, reasonable part of his mind is screaming at him to push you away, to reject the idea entirely. He needs to focus. He needs to finish the track. He needs to work, not rest.

But then he looks down at your sleepy form, the way you're clinging on to him, and all those thoughts are thrown out the window.

Slowly, Jihoon lowers himself onto the couch, his body sinking against the plush material. It's a tight squeeze. Months ago, the two of you might have called each other ridiculous for even trying to fit in a piece of furniture that was clearly not for two people to lay on.

The thick of comeback season absolutely shatters any attempts of appropriateness or discretion. As Jihoon complies with your absurd request, you somehow manage to throw the blanket over the two of you.

Jihoon isn't a stranger to casual touches— he's had to survive through years of constant skinship between the members— but there was something different about this.

The feeling of your body, curled against his own. The way you hold his fingers in your grip, like a comfort, like an anchor. The scent of your hair, so close he could just nuzzle his face into the messy strands.

He tries very hard to focus on the negatives. On how cramped and uncomfortable the couch is, how he's going to end up with a backache—

— but his mind doesn't want to cooperate. Because all he can see is you, all he can feel is you; the way your soft, warm body is pressed against his own, the gentle rise-and-fall of your chest against his, you, you, you.

His mind goes blissfully vacant, and before he can even think to stop himself, Jihoon is wrapping his free arm around your waist, drawing you in.

Jihoon doesn't mind the sudden increase in body heat that comes with having you pressed so close to him, not when your back is solid and warm against his chest, not when the curve of your hips slots so smoothly against the shape of him.

He lets out a shuddering breath as you press his palm against your stomach, the fabric of your shirt slightly rucked up by the motion. You're so soft.

For once, Jihoon finds himself hating everything else— the studio, the album, the uncomfortable sofa, this damn comeback for robbing him of an opportunity to simply hold you.

Jihoon swallows, his throat suddenly dry as the words slip past his mouth before he can even stop himself.

"You're too close," he mutters in your ear, his lips so close to the shell that he's half-convinced you were going to feel his words against your skin. He's being a hypocrite, really, since he's the one holding you, but he needs to maintain some sense of propriety.

"Mmm," you hum, still more asleep than awake. You exhale an apology as you try to sleepily shift away, mumbling something like "didn't notice" in your languid effort to disentangle.

Your movement has to be the most half-hearted attempt at putting space between the two of you. So Jihoon tightens his grip, his fingers curling over your hip to keep you from shifting away.

He doesn't want you to move, not even an inch— and it's greedy of him, really— but the thought of losing the heat from your body is more than he can bear, not when you're here and you're so close.

His hold is firm, almost demanding. As you settle back down, Jihoon buries his face against the back of your hair, his mind going blissfully quiet.

"Dunno why y're so cozy," Jihoon murmurs, his words slightly slurred with the exhaustion that's catching up on him now, too.

He tries not to think too hard about it, the intimacy of it all. He tries not to focus on how he's practically molding his body against yours.

Just a nap, he thinks. It's just a nap.

Your voice is so soft, so quiet, nearly lost against the sound of Jihoon's thrumming pulse in his ears. He catches it anyway. Your quiet murmur of "G'night, Jihoon-ah."

He feels strangely light-headed. It's hard to focus, hard to think, his thoughts fuzzy around the edges as he slowly starts to succumb to drowsiness.

Jihoon lets his lids flutter shut, his mind sinking into darkness. "Sweet dreams," he mumbles back.

In the end, Jihoon is the one who has sweet dreams.

They're fractures of a bigger picture, pieces to a puzzle he could never piece together.

He sees your tired smile, hears your soft laugh, feels the brush of your hair against his chin. He sees you in flashes, in glimpses, always out of reach. Never close enough.

They're so vivid, these dreams— so real— that Jihoon swears he can almost feel you, can almost hold you. When he reaches out for you, for the dream version of you, it feels like he's grasping at air.

There are hints of other things— flashes of studio lights, melodies and songs that drift in snippets. But they all fade to the background in the face of you, the way you shine in his dreamscape like a sunbeam.

Seungcheol is the one who finds Jihoon and you the next morning— or, rather, the next early afternoon.

He's not surprised to hear that Jihoon didn't come home to the dorm. He's not surprised to find Jihoon asleep in his studio. He is surprised to find Jihoon spooning you— his co-producer, the one they all thought he was a little too soft towards.

Seungcheol's eyebrows raise to his hairline. Jihoon was never the affectionate type. And yet here he was, curled around you like a parentheses. Seungcheol takes a quick picture on his phone before gently nudging Jihoon with his foot.

"Yah," the leader says, his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants; his tone, a little too-amused. "Jihoon."

It takes a few nudges for the words to register, for Jihoon's sleeping mind to slowly come back to the world of the living.

He feels… groggy. Exhausted. And strangely warm.

After several long moments, reality catches up with him. As his sleep-addled mind slowly pieces everything together, Jihoon's eyes flutter open and it takes all of two seconds for him to process the fact that he's spooning you.

Jihoon's eyes widen, and his head snaps up to a grinning Seungcheol.

"This isn't what it looks like," Jihoon says immediately, his words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush.

He almost screams when he tries to move away, when he tries to untangle himself from you, and your soft, sleepy whine sounds more like a protest than anything.

He should've let you go. He should've, but when you make that noise, when you curl in closer to him, the part of Jihoon's brain that's awake shuts down entirely.

Jihoon freezes and tries desperately to ignore the way Seungcheol snickers.

Seungcheol keeps his hands in his pockets as he watches Jihoon with growing amusement. Put-together, frumpy Jihoon, stunned in to silence because his co-producer is latched on to him.

It is, as Jihoon had said, very much not what it looked like. Seungcheol can see that the two of you are still fully clothed. Hell, he wouldn't have even imagined Jihoon going that far when the boy barely thought of romance that way.

Still, it's just a little funny. "Long night?" the leader drawls, not even trying to conceal his sheer mirth at the situation.

Long night is a huge understatement, and Jihoon shoots Seungcheol an acerbic look that's not nearly as effective as it normally might be. Not when he's still trying to detangle himself from you without waking you up.

"You have no idea," he grumbles under his breath, his eyes flickering down to your exhausted expression as you cling to him.

He can feel the way his heart stutters at your closeness, the way his chest tightens. Not the time, he scolds himself.

"We were working on the album," Jihoon says, as if that explains everything.

He's given up on trying to move, because he knows that if he keeps trying, you're going to stir— and the last thing Jihoon needs is an awake you, all warm and soft and adorably disheveled.

"Can you... leave?" he croaks to Seungcheol. Jihoon's cheeks are tinged with a furious red color; he prays to any deity that Seungcheol will simply chalk it up to shame. "I'll give you details later, just..."

Jihoon shifts minutely, and a muted noise of protest escapes from you. He shuts his eyes and sends a silent plea at the ceiling of Please, God, not now.

Seungcheol, for his part, lets out an amused huff, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Alright, alright," the leader says, holding his hands up to show he's conceding. "I'll leave. I'll talk to you later."

He grins. "And try not to have too much fun, yeah?"

The smirk only widens when he sees the flush on Jihoon's face. The leader saunters out of the studio, the door clicking shut behind him.

And Jihoon is... well... left with you.

Silence descends, and it's deafening.

Jihoon can feel each and every beat of his own heart, can hear your slow, soft breath coming out in steady, even exhales. You're asleep— still clinging on to him, your body pressed firmly against his own— and Jihoon tries not to focus on the feeling, tries not to think about how you're so soft, so warm.

He should move, he thinks. He should untangle from you, put at least two feet of space between you, and yet.

Jihoon can't, not when you look so peaceful against him. Not when you're making little noises every now and then, the soft, low sounds coming from somewhere in your throat.

It's a special kind of torture, having you so close when he knows he can't do a single thing about it. Just a taste, an inkling of closeness— and now he's hooked, wanting for more.

He knows it's selfish, what he's doing. To have his arm wrapped around you, holding you tighter than he should. To relish in your warmth as you sleep— but Jihoon can't help it, not when he knows this might be the only way he could ever get to hold you.

He knows you're not his. You can't be his, for several reasons.

But for this brief, quiet moment in time, you feel like you could be.

There's no way of telling how much longer you stay there. To Jihoon, it feels like an eternity and then some; in reality, it's probably only a couple more minutes. You shift in your sleep, letting out a big yawn. Jihoon tries to not flinch when you stir.

For one ridiculous moment, he considers closing his eyes and pretending to sleep, so he can have a few more seconds, a few minutes longer with you in his arms. But then you're moving again, and Jihoon can feel his heart in his throat as you blink, shifting to look up at him.

"Huh," is the first thing you say as you squint up at him. "Hi."

"Hey," is his lame response, his tone oddly, uncharacteristically soft. He swallows when he catches the way your eyes flicker all over his face, as if drinking him in.

There's a lot to take in, he's sure. His arm is still around your waist and your leg is slotted between his. The blankets are a mess; the noonday sun, peeking through the studio's heavy curtains.

As your mind finally seems to catch up, you let out a groan. "S'rry," you slur, voice still thick with sleep. "We overslept. I'm a bit clingy when 'm tired."

Yeah, right. Clingy is not a strong enough word for what you had become in your sleep.

Jihoon tries to ignore the feeling of your legs tangled together, the way you're practically molding against him. He tries to tamp down the way his breath hitches, to ignore the way his heart skips a beat when you let out a sleep-filled groan.

"You were hanging on to me for your life," he remarks in a tone that is far more amused than exasperated.

"Yeah, I figured," you say wryly, glancing over at the clock to see the damage. Jihoon's eyes follow your gaze. Two in the afternoon. Your shared 'nap' had lasted a full twelve hours.

"Wow," you huff. "We were out for a while."

"That we were," Jihoon agrees, and he's more than a little reluctant when he lets you go, unravelling his own limbs from yours. The space between your bodies feels like a physical blow, but Jihoon tries not to seem too put off by it.

He sits up, running a hand through his hair. "I haven't slept that long since I was a trainee."

"That's unhealthy."

"Pot calling the kettle black."

There's a calculated casualness in your next words. "Did you at least sleep well?"

The slight concern undercutting your tone makes Jihoon rather light-headed. "I slept like the dead," Jihoon answers easily, and he doesn't even have to lie about that.

His rest had been more peaceful than it had been in years, and if he's truthful, he'd blame it all on the fact that you were wrapped so firmly around him, all soft skin and sleepy warmth. You'd fit so perfectly with him and Jihoon is fairly sure he's never going to get the sensation of you pressed against him out of his mind.

A corner of your lip twitches upward. "Don't say that," you tease as you stretch your arms over your head. "Because we may actually be dead soon enough."

There's still an album to finish. A couple more tracks due in mere days. But Jihoon's suddenly feeling much better in a way that he hasn't in a while.

Even the ever-present stress and exhaustion feels almost like an afterthought, like it's barely even there. In the midst of it all, there's only you, still mussed from sleep.

It helps that you're taking the little cuddle session with surprising grace. "Wanna order in breakfast? Lunch?" you inquire, like you can't quite decide what to call your first meal of the day when it was well in the afternoon.

"Breakfast-slash-lunch sounds good to me," he answers, a hint of a smile visible in the curve of his mouth.

You order Chinese food. Something proper and real, a break from the convenience store rice balls and energy drinks. In the time it takes for the takeout to come, you and Jihoon speed through the song that had been plaguing you both last night. It seemed that being well-rested did you both well.

When the food comes, you go to collect it. In your absence, Jihoon finally checks his phone.

Suddenly, the studio feels ice cold, because he has seventy-something unread messages from his group chat with the boys.

He clicks the little arrow that takes him back to the first unread message, and surprise, surprise— it's from Seungcheol. The stolen snap of Jihoon and you cuddled together glares up at the producer, paired with the world's most annoying message.

🍒: Our Woozi-yah's a big boy now. ㅋㅋㅋ

The messages don't stop there, because Seungcheol had essentially given the others the green light to blow his phone up.

Jihoon scrolls through them, his expression growing more and more irritated as he reads through the suggestive and ridiculous messages the boys have chosen to send.

⚔️: Jihoon-ah~ Who knew you had it in you~ 🐈‍⬛: finally! 🦦: LET'S FUCKING GOOOO

Jeonghan, as per usual, is the worst offender of them all. Jihoon is just about to try and get a word in when a new, rapidfire sequence of texts pop up, the second eldest member clearly having entirely too much fun with this.

👼: So cozy, our Jihoon-ie! So cozy ♡ ♡ ♡ 👼: Finally, our Jihoon found himself a pretty girl 👼: We didn't know you were such a cuddler~~~

Jihoon's fingers are itching to reply something back, but it's hard to even make sense of the messages; they're coming in so fast. Every time he tries to type something back, another notification pops up with more texts, so he's forced to sit and watch as the members tease him relentlessly.

But then—

🐱: Cough up @Joshua @Vernon 🐢: dammit. couldn't have waited four months, woozi hyung? -_- 🦌: I didn't lose as much, so it's okay~ 🐯: WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER

The other boys all chime in with their own odds, and Jihoon realizes with horror that his bandmates had bet on him.

The horror quickly morphs into disbelief mingled with irritation.

So they'd bet on him? And on what exactly? That he wouldn't fall for a girl over the course of three years working together?

He doesn't even look at the odds before he types an aggravated reply.

🍚: You guys bet on me???

No one even tries to deny it. Soonyoung, the menace that he is, is the first to respond.

🐯: Not all of us ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ 🐈‍⬛: and it's just if you'd get with your fav producer. lol

It occurs to Jihoon, then and there, that the boys presume him and you are dating. It's a misconception he has to amend before any of the twelve can make some wisecrack about it in front of you.

🍚: We're not dating.

Jihoon doesn't bother to hide his irritability.

🍚: We were just napping together.

It's not the last of it, as it turns out.

More texts flood in after his message, and while there aren't as many jokes as before, it's easy to tell that the members are just dying to tease him about this whole thing.

When you return to the studio bearing your takeout, you're greeted with Jihoon typing furiously away at his phone, a disgruntled sort of look on his face. "You alright over there?" you call out amusedly as you pad over to the studio couch.

"Yes, and no," Jihoon answers shortly, a hint of petulance to his tone. If he looks up at you, it's only for a moment.

For someone who tends to be stoic and brooding, he's not exactly having the best morning right now. Jihoon is more than a little annoyed from the relentless teasing, and while he tries to fight it, there's a lingering feeling of humiliation, too.

A part of him wonders if this is what he deserves— for having had that moment with you this morning.

"Well, whatever it is—" you give a dismissive wave of your hand before plopping down on the couch.

He almost smiles at that; you've known each other for an odd number of years. It was enough time to be fairly acquainted with each other's habits and mannerisms, to know when something was worth pressing in to or not.

"Come on," you urge him. "The faster we eat, the sooner we can finish."

"Okay, yes, I'm coming," Jihoon answers hurriedly, and he makes a hasty beeline for the coffee table, where your takeout boxes are set out neatly.

He gives the group chat a final glance, just to make sure they're not texting anything too embarrassing. The more he scrolls the more he's bombarded with messages about you, and you would have thought the group chat was dedicated entirely to you, considering the number of texts.

He groans and locks his phone, turning it face down on the table as he takes his seat.

"Here," you say as you gently place Jihoon's order in front of him. Chao fan with a side of sweet and sour pork; a can of cola.

The way you seem to automatically know all the things he orders, the way you know what the right order to pick for him is, it almost gives Jihoon the sense that you've been working with him for even longer than three years.

He's not sure what to make of it, but it feels strangely nice, somehow, knowing that there's always something or the other that you would already know. He takes a bite out of his meal, wondering when it was that this relationship of his with you had become so comfortable.

It's an odd sensation, really.

Jihoon had always been more than content to keep to himself. But there's no denying that he feels a certain kind of peaceful contentedness when he's with you.

Perhaps it's how the two of you work so seamlessly together. Perhaps it's how you somehow managed to get under his skin. There's a certain comfort that Jihoon isn't used to having that's settled around the two of you.

And it's the kind of comfort that might make him vulnerable.

He can't have that, so he privately decides to keep you at a distance.

It's a distance you reciprocate. Both Jihoon and you know better than to tread the careful line of your friendship, especially in your line of work.

The two of you work like a well-oiled machine, like a lit match being tossed in a haystack. Jihoon and you are relentless, as always, and you finish off the rest of the mini-album in the next three hours.

There's still fine-tuning to hurdle through, but as Jihoon and you replay the last track for the first time, he has to concede. The worst is over.

You slump forward in your chair, your forehead resting against the work desk of his studio. "Done," you breathe. After a moment, you add, "For now."

"For now," Jihoon echoes.

There's a long pause between the two of you as you both relish the peace and quiet of a fully completed mini-album.

"Let's go for coffee?" he finally asks, glancing to where you're slumped in your chair.

You tilt your head ever so slightly until your cheek is pressed against the desk and you're looking up at Jihoon. You smile ruefully as you speak, your tone almost apologetic. "No to coffee. I think I want to go home and knock out for twelve hours."

You go on, "You should do the same. We've been in this studio for…" You pause like you're doing the mental math, and then a disbelieving laugh slides past your lips. "About thirty-three hours, Jihoon-ah."

Thirty-three hours is almost incomprehensible. Jihoon isn't even surprised, because of course, that's the kind of work ethic you've come to expect from an idol— but, thirty-three hours?

Jihoon's head is spinning. There's a strange, odd kind of haze settling around him, almost like he's caught between a dream and consciousness. He's tired, yes, he's more than tired, but Jihoon knows that he doesn't really need to go home to sleep.

Except he can't say no, not when your words are coming with all the weight of a command, not when you're looking at him like he's some helpless, pitiful wreck, needing some sort of care. He hates it.

He hates that you see him.

"Okay, okay," Jihoon says in a rush, standing from his chair. "I'll go home."

He's always known that any work done with you ends with him doing exactly as you say. You might have never said the words to his face before, but Jihoon isn't an idiot.

He's wrapped around your goddamn finger some days.

The thought that he's now more than willing to do whatever you want from him has never occurred to him before now, and it leaves him feeling slightly shaken, slightly unsure of everything.

It takes you both about ten minutes or so to get everything in order, then another seven minutes to head out of the company building. The relief Jihoon feels as you finally find yourselves outside is immense, even if it is a chilly, early winter evening.

You glance at your wristwatch before distractedly asking him, "You'll be okay behind the wheel?"

"'Course," he says as he fishes for his keys. For a moment, he contemplates asking if you want a ride home. It'd be out of his way, but it's something he's almost willing to bear.

Almost.

Instead, he forces himself to say, "See you. Take care."

You give the same pleasantries back before beginning your trek to the train station. Jihoon, for his part, finds his car in his designated parking space.

The drive home is the most boring and uneventful thing ever— except when Jihoon looks in his rearview mirror. The sight of you disappearing into the distance makes him feel strangely hollow and a bit wistful.

His stomach gives a weird, twisting lurch, and he's tempted to make a U turn right there and then and find a reason to be back in his company.

Maybe he'll tell you just how alone he can sometimes feel after an album is completed. How there's always this sort of lull in the days, hours after his work; how he fights it off by doing more work, even if it's not all that necessary.

He wants to ask if you ever feel the same way, too.

But you had never really been a part of that loneliness, and now you were leaving. And— just for the night— Jihoon can't help but feel more lonely than ever.

He doesn't want to be lonely.

He wants to be left alone, in a company of his own thoughts, with nothing and no one to distract him. But, for some odd reason, he wants you around.

It's almost too much to bear, so Jihoon turns the radio on louder and lets the sounds of music drown out the patter of his ragged heartbeat.

Jihoon and you are forced to reconvene a couple of days later, albeit on circumstances that neither of you are particularly fond of.

Sungsoo, the company's CEO and executive producer, is already seated at the head of the table when you walk in. Jihoon sees the way your eyes scan the meeting room; he tries not think too much of the way the tension in your shoulders seem to ease when you spot him.

The sight of you makes Jihoon's heart do a little dance, which makes him want to both pull you close and run far, far away from you.

For now, he just gives you a nod of acknowledgement and shifts his eyes back to the older man sitting across the meeting table from the both of them.

You sit across from Jihoon. Sungsoo doesn't even bother to sit; he merely launches straight in to his agenda.

"Good work on SEVENTEENTH HEAVEN," Sungsoo says right off the bat. Jihoon knows it's more of a cursory greeting than anything; there was always going to be more than just a pleasant compliment.

The other shoe drops soon enough. "I think there's more work to be done, though, specifically on three tracks," the CEO presses on.

Three tracks.

Jihoon feels his jaw clamp tightly. He's been through these kinds of corrections before, of course, both from himself and the company. Sungsoo says things about the lyrics of Back 2 Back, and the organization of Yawn, and the chorus of Diamond Days.

And while Jihoon has been through this, has needed to take things apart or put stuff together to appease the higher-ups, it's never any easier. His hands are clasped tight, and he's trying his best to hold himself together, but on the inside, he wants to scream.

This is a part of him. These are all parts of him, big and small, and it's always just a bit of a jab— to have his heart put in someone else's hand, and then to watch that heart be poked and prodded for the sake of... what? Commercial gain?

At one point, Sungsoo pauses to look between Jihoon and you. "Are you not going to take notes?" the older man asks.

You respond before Jihoon can. "Rewrite the second half of Back 2 Back, tweak the instrumentation balance and structure of Yawn, adjust the rhythm for Diamond Days' chorus," you rattle off. "I— we got it, sir."

"Right. Good," he says, and Jihoon doesn't like the condescending tone that Sungsoo uses with you, but at least it's not aimed at him.

The older man sits back in his chair, and Jihoon lets his eyes drift away from the company boss just for a moment to look at you. A strange feeling fills him. He wants to name it appreciation, wants to claim it's nothing more than a little admiration.

But then he'd be lying to himself. Because that warm kind of feeling shifts into— just a little— something a bit more than what he's supposed to be feeling for a co-producer.

Before he could dwell on this thought any longer, Sungsoo clears his throat and Jihoon quickly tunes back in. He's not thinking about that right now, and that's final.

The meeting wraps up not too long after with some parting reminders on deadlines and the upcoming comeback. Jihoon can tell by the look on your face that you're a bit dazed, and Sungsoo's parting words only add gasoline to the fire.

The CEO says both your names as he readies to dismiss you. "The two of you are a good pair," he notes, and Jihoon almost short-circuits.

Pair.

Right. A good pair of co-producers. Not anything else, not anything more.

Both of you mumble your appreciation for the CEO's remark. And Jihoon, like the fool that he is, feels that warm, fuzzy glow bloom again. He doesn't care what it signifies; at the moment, he's just too happy to work with you again.

By the time you head back to his studio, there's not much that either of you can really say. Marathon edits were not new to either of you; you both slide in to work mode without much preamble.

The music starts playing and the edits start pouring in, and the five or six hours spent on the three tracks fly by without Jihoon even noticing it. It gets to the point where he's working on autopilot— one hand on the mouse, fingers flying across the keyboard.

The thing about working on autopilot was that it made the process quicker but left little room to feel or think, which was both a blessing and a curse.

At the six-hour mark, he finally deigns to glance at you. Your gaze is focused on the digital audio workstation as you cut some low frequencies from the guitar on Diamond Days, but there's a slight quiver in your hands as you do it.

While Jihoon doesn't see what you're having trouble with, he can sense that you're off. He knows the signs of stress and exhaustion better than most, what with the hours he puts in.

"Aigo," he calls out to you, and his voice is a little raspy— hoarse— because he's been humming and singing for the better half of the evening. "Are you okay?"

"Still in the green," you say wryly. You had a bit of a traffic light system to refer to when talking about how far gone either of you were.

He watches intently as you implement the changes to Diamond Days, as you give a disapproving shake of your head at the revision. Still not to your standard.

Of course you wouldn't be at the red light stage— not even close, he muses. But in Jihoon's head, there was already one foot on the red light spectrum— and it wasn't just because of the revisions.

"Let's take a break," he suggests.

The idea comes out of absolutely nowhere, even for him. A break—? When was the last time he had voluntarily done that?

Jihoon's been having more questions than answers lately, but he just chalks it all up to being stressed. And maybe a little tired.

Anything except what it really is.

This time, you actually do glance up from the workstation. There's mild surprise on your expression as you tease, "Yah, who are you and what have you done to the indomitable WOOZI?"

"Huh?" he deflects. For a brief moment, he almost feels a little shy around you.

"I'm just bored," he explains, and he's surprised that he can lie so well and sound so casual. "You don't need to come if you don't want to. I just wanted to get some air."

But of course you're coming, already pushing back against the table at the rare invite from Jihoon. "The usual?" you prompt.

To others, a 'usual' might have indicated a trip to the cafeteria, a smoke break on the sidewalk. But Jihoon and you both hated the company's food and neither of you smoked, and so your breaks were spent somewhere a little more unorthodox.

"The usual," he agrees.

He leads you across the company building, the walk to your destination full of comfortable silence. Eventually, you make it to your designated break place: The company's rooftop.

Jihoon takes his usual seat at the far end while you sit closer to the ledge. The atmosphere is thick and humid from the weather, but there's a breeze to keep the heat bearable.

When Jihoon said he wanted to get some air, he meant it quite literally.

He doesn't want to give away his real intentions on calling for the break. Still, he can't help the question that slides out of him as he watches the glittering lights of Seoul beneath the two of you.

"Are you feeling better now?" he asks, glancing at you.

"I am," you answer quietly, your gaze still fixed on the city. "Thanks, Jihoon-ah. I needed this."

He almost smiles. "Of course."

This was the first time since he's met you that he'd asked you to do something just because he thought you needed it. And it isn't long until that fact has Jihoon wondering why the heck he's been putting things off so much lately.

He doesn't get to mull over his thoughts for long though— not when there's a sudden urge to do another thing that he realizes he hasn't ever done.

He takes out his phone and opens up the camera app. "Yah," he calls. "Look here for a second."

You do as he asks, glancing over your shoulder, and the soft click of his phone breaks through the white noise of the city below. When you let out a surprised laugh, he thinks it's the second best thing he's ever heard. Only after music.

"What are you doing?" you chide, a bit of a giggle in your tone as you raise your hand— palm facing Jihoon— to your face, as if trying to shy away from the camera.

"I don't know," he admits. A laugh tumbles out of him, and he knows he's blushing— but he's not ashamed of it this time, not really.

"It doesn't have to mean anything," he assures you. He holds in a chuckle at the way you're blocking your face and snaps another picture.

Maybe he's delirious from all his work. That has to be it, he thinks, as he clicks away despite your sputtered protests.

"Alright, fine," you huff, feigning annoyance. And then— oh.

You brace your hands against the ledge and tilt your head to one side so you can flash Jihoon an easy, practiced grin. "Cheese," you sing-song.

It takes quite a lot of willpower for Jihoon not to just sit and stare, that strange feeling welling inside of him coming to fore. He's not proud of it, but it's there, and the fact that there's something about you that makes him feel this way makes everything a little bit more complicated.

"Cheese," he agrees, taking just one more picture of you.

He knows he's smiling too hard, his eyes turning in to crescents with just how damn fond he feels to be snapping photos at your side.

You can never tell from the expression on his face, but he's wrecked with the knowledge that he had just done three things he had never done before:

He's asked you to do something solely because he thought you needed it.

He's taken a picture of you (with your knowledge, this time).

And he's let this thing he has for you be so in control of him.

It's a damning thing, he muses as he tucks his phone away. What would happen next was up to the universe.

Admittedly, it almost all felt like a test, and Jihoon is terrified he had failed.

But then you reach out, your hand casually resting atop of Jihoon's. You don't clasp your hands together or intertwine your fingers. You merely keep it there as you cast your gaze back down at the city, like you're giving Jihoon a chance to pull away.

It's almost instinctual, how he turns his hand over and links his fingers together with yours. His fingers are longer, so your fingertips curl over his and you’re left holding his hand for the first time.

You don't say a thing about it. Jihoon tries to rationalize the action on your behalf. Maybe you're just delirious and tired, too. Maybe it's cold and you need something to hold on to. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

All the while, his heart thumps in his chest.

Did he even deserve this? Was this okay?

Would it be okay if he just sat there, looking down onto the city, holding your hand and nothing more?

His brain refrains the earlier remark he'd given you. It doesn't have to mean anything. It's just a hand in his, a quiet evening, a moment that will eventually pass.

It doesn't have to mean anything, but why does Jihoon want it to?

Back in the studio, neither of you say a word. Not about the photos of you that Jihoon now has in his phone; not about the way you initiated holding his hand. Not about how the two of you held on for just a bit too long before heading back from your break.

The two of you do what you do best: You throw ourselves in to the last of your work.

It takes you two a record of fifteen minutes to fix what had been wrong with Diamond Days, and then some twenty more minutes to make sure the three other tracks are alright. Jihoon does the honors of sending them over to Sungsoo for some final checks.

Once the email goes through, you lean back in to the couch of Jihoon's studio. "And now we wait," you exhale, sounding equally exhausted and elated.

With your work for the day done, it feels like whatever veil of formality had held the mini-album together is broken— and you're now just two people in Jihoon's workplace, tired, and done working for the day.

Jihoon stretches his arms out and sags against his chair, letting out a groan.

"And now we wait," he repeats. A beat, as he keeps his eyes trained to the ceiling. Then, softly, he adds, "You did good, you know."

He sees you glancing at him from the corner of his eyes. "You, too," you offer quietly, sincerely. "You did well, Jihoon-ah."

His eyes remain on the ceiling, his mind taking him back to how it felt when your hand rested atop of his. It had felt strange and it had felt good— and the fact that you'd so boldly initiated it in the first place made it even better.

The thought that there was a possibility of it being a one-time thing made him almost want to cry, for whatever reason.

It's just so weird, and Jihoon has never felt like this before. He's never caught in a complicated sort of feeling like this. But the way you'd held his hand was different— and the more thoughts he thought about it, he realized that your touch was different from the touch of anyone else's.

"Can we talk for a second?" is all he finds himself able to ask, and it's a surprise to him— considering how much the two of you have never talked about things that were just about you and him.

Still, he wonders that perhaps now, with everything that's happened here, there was something he needed to tell you. Something he wanted you to know.

He hears you shifting on the couch, spots a corner of your lip quirking upward in a show of interest. When he fully turns to look at you, he notices the way you've braced yourself against the back of the couch to meet his gaze.

"Sure," you say. "What's on your mind?"

Jihoon rubs his hand over his mouth as he thinks of a way to articulate his thoughts.

There are so many words here that don't need to be said. There are some words that he wants to say but that you simply don't need to hear.

There were a lot of things he wanted to say, but he needed to filter them very well because he wasn't sure if they'd cause a misunderstanding.

"I'd like to keep doing this," is what eventually comes out.

His fingers find his earlobe out of nervousness. His heartrate only seems to spike when you stare back at him for a moment, your eyebrows raised like you're waiting to see if he'll elaborate.

And so elaborate he does. "All of this," he goes on. "Producing for the group, collaborating with you, just… seeing you and talking to you and… having you around."

It feels a bit weird to express after three years of working alongside each other, but it's also the first explicit admittance Jihoon has made abut wanting to keep up your collaboration.

He's not surprised when you try to pass it off with some humor. "I'll stick around for as long as you'll have me," you say almost jokingly, but there's almost a desperate weight of truth in your words.

Jihoon sighs, his expression tightening. There was a whole lot he wanted to say to you— he wanted to make a lot of things very clear— but he also wanted to keep whatever was blooming between the two of you going.

He tries not to dwell on it. Not now, with his feelings as fresh as they were.

"I've been thinking," he starts, his voice quieter now. "Maybe we could… get to know each other or something. Spend the day together— away from the company. Away from this life. Just as… two normal adults."

Another pause.

"Are you asking me out on a date, Jihoon-ah?" you kid after a torturous minute.

Jihoon goes quiet for a moment, the gears turning in his head.

He really was asking you out on a date, wasn't he? How would he even spin this as something simple and innocent?

What had he been expecting in return when he asked you? Why did he ask in the first place if it wasn't to actually find out who you were and why you were the only person he could really say he wanted to spend time with?

Questions, no answers. He's going to go insane.

"You know what," he blurts out before he can lose his nerve. "Yeah. Yes, I am asking you out on a date."

You're both stunned in to silence, and you look like you're just about to say what you should. A 'no'. Something about this not being proper.

But then there's a faint ding from Jihoon's laptop, and he glances over just in time to see that Sungsoo had responded in the affirmative to your revisions for the group's eleventh mini-album.

A stuttering, relieved breath escapes you. Jihoon, for his part, lets out a huff, his shoulders falling. He hadn't even meant to ask you out on a date; he was only going to ask you to spend the day with him.

Now, though, it was out in the open. And he'll be damned to take it back.

"Looks like we're free now," he muses, far too prideful to let Sungsoo derail this conversation. Jihoon's voice is edged with hope as he goes on, "So, what do you say?"

Jihoon has no way of knowing this, but you admire his persistence. When you laugh, it's what changes your mind, what privately convinces you to take him up on his offer.

Because Jihoon had still somehow managed to make you laugh despite it all.

"You know what? Okay," you say readily, one shoulder raising in half a shrug. "Let's go on a date next week, Jihoon-ah."

It would definitely beat sitting in Jihoon's studio, alone and bored, until Sungsoo had sent over their next project.

"Okay," he repeats, his lips curling in a tentative smile. "I'll let you know what plans I come up with, then."

"Alright." You're already rising from the studio couch, preparing to take your leave for the evening.

As you gather your things, Jihoon tries to look back at his workstation instead. Like the sight of it might somehow give him the answers to where to take you, what to do, how to go about all this.

You pause at the door of his studio. "Text me," you say.

It's nothing short of a miracle, how Jihoon is able to respond "I will."

And then you're gone, but the loss doesn't feel as prominent as it usually does. Because now, Jihoon has something to look forward to.

He doesn't remember the last time he allowed himself to be so selfish.

His thoughts over the next few days are consumed with the upcoming date.

Everything he does seems to center around how the date will go, where he'll bring you, and how he would survive a day in your presence without completely humiliating himself.

He takes his time planning. By the time next week rolls around, he's a mess.

His ears are burning as he dials your number and presses the call button.

Your tone is casual on the other line. "Hey, Jihoon-ah," you greet. "What's up?"

Jihoon takes a moment to just hear your voice. He internally groans at how a simple what's up already has his heart rate picking up like nobody's business.

"Hey," he finally says after he gathers himself, his free hand shoving into his pocket. He's pacing his apartment bedroom, fighting for his life to keep calm. "I… just wanted to call about tomorrow."

When you respond, your voice is cautious. "Sure. What about tomorrow?"

There's a slight pause again, and Jihoon can already feel the sweat forming on the inside of his palm.

Surely, you wouldn't think he was calling to cancel? Why would he have waited until the day before?

"Just needed to ask you about something," he admits, his free hand coming up to fiddle with the hair on one side of his ear. "I just wanted to… ask a question. Uh…"

"What… are you going to be wearing?" he finally spits out, his face already going red as the words leave his mouth.

Why the fuck can't he be cool about this? Why can't he be casual and chill about the date and about seeing you? It's so goddamn frustrating— he needed to get a handle on himself and soon, he thinks with despair.

"Oh. Uh…" From the other end of the phone, you seem to be shuffling around. "I was actually going to ask what our plans were," you admit rather meekly. "So I can dress accordingly."

Jihoon's eyes widen, and for a moment, he feels even more like an idiot than he usually does.

You had no idea where you were going, he realizes, and as a result— you had no idea what to wear.

"Oh… right," he says, mentally facepalming himself. He was supposed to be the one giving you information, not the other way around. "Yeah, okay. That makes sense."

He takes a second or two to collect himself, because— God, he did not want to mess this up. If you found out about the amount of work and effort he'd put in this thing, you'd definitely laugh at him.

"Nothing too formal, but don't be super casual," he says slowly. "You'll want a jacket, maybe. And wear comfortable shoes."

He takes another deep breath, steadying himself before he adds, "And I'm going to pick you up at ten. Is that alright?"

Jihoon's instructions are a touch on the vague side, but you don't seem to mind as you let out a huff of amused laughter. "Dress warm, comfortable jacket and shoes, ten in the morning," you repeat. "Okay. Got it."

You go on, "I'll text you my address. I— we've known each other so long, but I don't think you've ever come over, have you?"

Another good point. Jihoon and you spent most of your time at the company. There were rare occasions where you'd join the group's post-comeback celebrations with the rest of the staff, but those were always at some rented-out restobar.

"Yeah. Well. Just text me, then," he says lamely, already mentally berating himself for how much of a fool he's acting. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow, Jihoon-ah," you bid, and he can hear the smile in your voice.

Just like that, Jihoon's heart rate picks up again— except this time, it's not just nervousness he feels.

There's that strange sense of anticipation, the slight thrill of excitement he gets with the mere thought of seeing you the next day, and he nearly lets out an exhale to quell all those feelings.

"See you," he says finally, his voice barely above a murmur.

And then suddenly— he's hanging up, the realization of everything finally settling on him. This was actually happening.

He sits on his bed for a moment, just mulling over the conversation, before he lets himself fall back onto the mattress in horror. He had just hung up, hadn't he? Did he even say goodbye? Did he even say something nice? He was a mess.

He lets out a long, pitiful whine in to a pillow as he wonders for a second or two if he should call back just to say good night to you properly.

In the end, he decides against it. He didn't want to come off as desperate and it was pretty likely that he'd just dig a deeper hole for himself.

Still, he can't help but let out an annoyed, strangled sound as he turns to look at the ceiling.

He was going to have to put a lot of effort if he didn't want to embarrass the hell out of himself.

Come the next day, Jihoon is standing outside your apartment at exactly ten in the morning.

He knocks almost tentatively, and he's only a little surprised that you swing the door open without missing a beat.

You flash him a smile in greeting. "Come in," you say, ushering him in to what he can only describe as uncharted territory. "Can I get you something to drink? Water, juice?"

He's so tripped up over how you look— the smart-casual outfit, focused on warmth, as he'd advised— that he almost misses the offer.

"Ah," he stutters. Barely a minute in and I'm already done for, he thinks ruefully. "Do you have— cola?"

You give a small sound of assent as you move further in to your apartment, towards what he assumes is the kitchen. "Make yourself at home," you call, and Jihoon is left to bear witness to your space.

It looks very much like that of an artist's. There's floor-to-ceiling corkboards on almost every wall and a blackboard full of chalk markings— bearing everything from concepts to half-finished lyrics.

You have bookshelves groaning under the weight of music albums— Jihoon sees a number of SEVENTEEN's— and instruments crammed in to nooks and crannies.

He suddenly remembers how, for some reason, you had never really let him come over to your apartment before. And now, he understands why, because your apartment almost felt like a reflection of your own brain— chaotic, but brilliant. It was a creative genius's studio, and it was more than just a little bit captivating.

You return with a can of Coke. "It's a lot, isn't it?" you muse.

Jihoon shakes his head. It is a lot. But also— he knows how gifted you are, knows how driven you can be. Seeing it here, so openly on display, has something stammering in his chest.

"Is this all your work?" he asks a moment later, still glancing around. "Is this… everything you've been working on? You've been keeping it here?"

"Not all of us have separate studios," you shoot back. There's an easy smile on your face, indicating that you're just teasing.

When you seem to realize that your initial jab hasn't answered Jihoon's question, you amend, "It's not all of my work. You should see my childhood bedroom back in Jeju."

"Jesus," he says with a slight chuckle, his fingers pressing around the metal of his soda can.

He doesn't know why the thought of your childhood room in Jeju having more of this surprises him. But, then again, that was just the kind of person you were. An ambitious, freethinking, creative genius, the same qualities he'd grown to appreciate over time.

And now he was about to go on a date with you. How the hell had he gotten this lucky?

He isn't quite sure what compels him. All he knows is that the question, almost rhetorical in nature, is out of his mouth before he can reel it back in.

"You really love music, don't you?"

The question seems to throw you off-kilter, but you recover surprisingly fast. You're thoughtfully smoothing out the patches on your denim jacket as you retort, "I love it about as much as you do."

If it had been any other person, Jihoon might have scoffed, might have privately thought they were cocky or just outright lying. But it's you, and his heart twists in to a knot at the thought of how willing he is to accept that cardinal truth.

That you and him loved music in equal measure.

In a hopeless attempt to collect himself, he shoots back his soda in several big gulps. The carbonated drink burns as it goes down his throat; he forces it to stay down.

"We should probably get going," he prompts once he's done with his drink.

"Right, of course."

You go to throw away his empty soda can for him, and the way you move makes it abundantly clear that you're unaware of the effect you have on him.

As the two of you step out of your apartment and find your way to Jihoon's car, he can only hope that it won't be that long of an afternoon.

Despite the way he keeps both hands on the steering wheel, Jihoon can still feel the nerves racing up and down his spine. He's nervous, excited, his emotions a mess as he tries to get himself together.

He can't believe that after years of talking about music and just working together, after all this goddamn time, you were finally going on a date together.

The car radio is just a touch too loud, which is to be expected, considering that it was Jihoon's vehicle. You have to pitch your voice above it to be audible.

"Where are we going?" you ask as he peels in to traffic.

"You'll see when we get there," he responds.

The disapproving pinch of your expression draws a laugh out of him. He doesn't give you the opportunity to press any longer as he fiddles with the radio dial, upping the volume just a touch more.

He'd planned this date carefully after spending far too much time agonizing over all the details. He was damned if he wasn't going to keep some things in the dark.

It's a quiet drive for the most part, with only the radio keeping the silence from being too deafening. But, frankly, Jihoon isn't too bothered by the silence because it gives him ample time to collect his thoughts, to try not to focus on the way your hand is right there, a few inches away from his on the gear shift.

He keeps his eyes on the road, keeps his expression neutral, and keeps his cards as close to his chest as possible.

Once Jihoon is finally pulling in to a parking lot, he manages to find his voice. "We're here," he notes, like it's not the most obvious thing in the world.

He waits a moment for you to also unbuckle your seatbelts, and only then does he climb out of the car. He quickly walks around to your side, pulling open the door for you and gesturing for you to follow him as he crosses the parking lot.

"What is 'here', exactly?" you ask Jihoon as you walk up to the building in front of you. It looks rather unassuming; nothing on the outside giving out what it might be. Just white walls and a sign outside that's still too far to read.

Jihoon catches the way you try to make out the sign, and he can't help but find himself feeling a touch flustered because goddammit, was he allowed to find everything you did endearing?

He clears his throat before finally answering. "A planetarium."

Now, Jihoon definitely doesn't miss the way your eyes widen, nor the small tone of excitement that betrays the otherwise casualness of your voice.

"That's cool," you say with your hands shoved in to the pockets of your jacket. "Never been to one before."

He can clearly see how excited you'd gotten just at hearing where he'd brought you. And, frankly, it just makes his pulse race all that much more.

"Well, let's go in and have a look then, shall we?" he offers, his voice a little on the quieter side as he tries valiantly to not mimic your excitement.

As you approach the building façade, the signage comes in to better view. It boasts of an immersive planetarium experience, but what stops you dead in your tracks is a note tacked on the front door.

Closed for a private event.

"Oh?" you're saying, a slight edge of disappointment in your tone. "It's looks like it's—"

But before you can finish your sentence, the door is pulling open, and an important-looking man— the manager— is already stepping up to address Jihoon.

"Mr. Lee, right on time," the employee greets with a bow. "We've set everything up for you."

The oh that escapes you, this time, is a lot softer.

Jihoon can't help the small grin that immediately works its way across his lips at your reaction. He'd been hoping to catch you by surprise, and he can tell that it worked.

He gives a polite, somewhat formal half-bow in return to the manager before glancing over his shoulder to you. There's a hint of smugness in his voice as his gaze lands on you again. "C'mon," he says as he starts making his way in to the planetarium.

The inside is mostly dark; Jihoon gives his eyes a moment to adjust to the change. There's no one else here but the two of you, and Jihoon isn't really complaining about the emptiness. It just means he can have you all to himself, without having to worry about having anyone else around.

He can hear your footsteps, following behind him, and he has to mentally remind himself to keep himself together before he finally glances over his shoulder at you.

"Surprised?" he teases, the ghost of a smirk making its way on to his face.

He revels in the look of awe on your face, the way you all but ignore him to pull a couple of steps ahead. You're surveying the lobby like it's already the main exhibit, and Jihoon has the sudden urge to rent out every gallery in Seoul for you to see.

Your next words are one-two punch on Jihoon's poor, poor heart. "I think you've got some nerve, Jihoon-ah, pulling out all the stops on our first date," you muse, your face still upturned to the entryway.

Jihoon almost trips right over his own two feet as the casualness of your words registers in his mind.

Multiple dates. You were implying that there might be multiple dates to follow. That you wanted there to be multiple dates.

He takes a quick breath, trying to maintain any semblance of a nonchalant attitude as he responds. "What?" he says, the smirk just a touch more shaky on his lips. "You think this is 'going all out'?"

He continues to walk, catching up to you a few moments later. "I'm offended. How dare you think that I'd settle for anything less than perfection."

"If this isn't 'all out' yet for you," you quip. "I'm a bit nervous as to what is."

He only responds with a small chuckle. "You'll see."

He leads you to the next room over, and this particular one is far more darker. The only source of light is from the projector against the back wall, projecting a constellation map on the opposite wall.

Jihoon glances over his shoulder once more, watching the small look of wonder on your face. He leads you to a small couch in the center of the room before sitting comfortably beside you on it.

His face is partially illuminated by the lights of the projector, and he can clearly see the way you're taking in everything around him.

"You like it, hm?" he gently prods, watching you again.

It's a lot to take in, honestly. The high ceiling, the projected constellations, the lights dancing across both your faces. Even the way the room has been rearranged— the single plush couch, the type that allows you to recline and gaze up at the faux sky of constellations— is all so damn good.

"I like it," you concede, your voice barely above a murmur. You speak like you're scared that talking any louder will break an illusion. "It's— yah, Jihoon-ah. It's so pretty."

In that moment, Jihoon almost forgets how to breathe.

There's something so soft and gentle and fond to your voice as you speak, and the way your words came out almost reverently does something to Jihoon that he couldn't quite explain.

"Pretty," he repeats, eyes still trained on you. "It is, isn't it?"

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a long time; Jihoon still watching you instead of the exhibit. You didn't just say it was pretty. You'd said it with words and tone and expression that told him just how much you loved it.

Christ, he was a goner. He was far gone for you.

After what feels like both an eternity and a second at the same time, Jihoon finally shifts his gaze away from you, glancing up at the ceiling above him. He's quiet for a few more moments before he finally speaks again.

"Y'know…" He starts, the sound of his voice just a touch quieter than usual. "When I was a kid, I always thought the stars were my favorite thing."

Jihoon glances over at you again, noticing the way you were still practically enchanted by the projected stars above you. It makes him bite back a small, amused smile, before he continues.

"I used to sit out in the field by my house and count them, name them, make up my own stories for each of them. I thought they were the most magical, most incredible things in the whole universe."

He thinks of his home back in Busan, the way the moon reflected over the sea water. He thinks of a version of him from lifetimes ago— a boy he'll never be again.

He almost misses him.

Jihoon lets out a soft huff. "And then I got older, and life got really shitty and busy, and..." His voice falters a bit. "The stars were no longer as important to me as they were before."

He exhales, the sound filling the quiet room. He can feel you listening, can feel you taking in every sincere word of his. And that's enough. That means something.

"But..." He goes on quietly. "Sometimes, there are moments that come, and the only things that matter are the stars again."

It's just like Jihoon to spew something poetic without pretense or shame. In his peripheral, he sees you glancing at him, and it takes everything for him to not let this feeling overwhelm him.

"I hope you have more moments like that, then," you say, your voice equally soft.

There was something so endearing about the sentiment you'd said, and he knew that you meant every word of it. And that made it all so much worse for his heart.

He's so whipped, it almost makes him want to laugh.

This is one of those moments, he almost says. Even if it's not real stars.

He can't help it anymore. Despite all the times he's had to keep up his usually cool, calm demeanor with you, despite his usual attitude, despite his usual shyness, the urge is just too much and—

He slides his arm around your shoulders, pulling you a little closer.

That was one thing the stars could do: Give him a bit of courage.

When you don't resist his gentle tugging, he figures he can do just one more thing.

His free hand moves to your chin, gently coaxing your head up so that you’re looking at a specific point up at the ceiling.

You're so focused on the stars, you barely even register the sound of Jihoon’s voice again.

"The most special stars," he murmurs. "They all have names."

He’s still speaking into your ear, and you can feel his warm breath against your skin. "That one," he says, his voice like gravel. He slowly, carefully tilts your chin up just a little more. Coaxing you to look up even further. "Is my favorite."

His calmness is belied by the fact that his heart is a jackhammer in his chest. All he can do, really, is try to get you to look at one of the larger stars that's almost dead center in the middle.

"Why is it your favorite?" you inquire, the genuine curiosity in your tone almost mistakable for breathlessness.

"It's the brightest star in the entire sky." His gaze darts between the star and your face, the shadows of the room hiding the way his chest tightens at the sight of you listening intently. "It's called Sirius."

His voice is still soft, but there's a new note to it that you've never heard before. It's quiet, reverent, almost like he's about to tell you a secret.

"The Romans called it the 'dog star'," he continues. "Because it's the brightest star in Canis Major, the big dog constellation."

He lowers his head a little so that his chin is almost resting on your shoulder, and his arm around your shoulders tightens just a fraction.

"But to the Chinese, it was known as the 'heavenly river commander'," he goes on. "And the Arabs called it the 'chief star in heaven'."

Jihoon is getting nervous, now, but he has to do this. He has to.

It feels like the first flicker of a neon sign as he goes on, "To all those different people, it was all of those things. To me—"

He pauses, feeling the words stick in his Adam's apple.

The brightest star in the night sky.

For the longest time, Jihoon had wondered whether he would find something to call it, too. The closest he's come has been the boys, his music.

But that felt like an understatement. They weren't just a group, after all; they were his whole life. And so it was more apt to describe them as the universe, as the entire planetarium.

Which left him with the brightest star—

"To you?" you repeat, tilting your head back to meet Jihoon's gaze head on.

"What's it called to you?" you prompt.

In the relative darkness, he can't read you as well as he might have wanted.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't change what's he's going to say, anyway.

He gives you his answer—

He says your name.

And then he leans in— his heart at your feet, all yours for the taking.

[deerlino]

Hey hey hey

Can i please request producer!grumpy! Chan x producer! Sunshine! Reader? Enemies-to-lovers?? Like chan has a bad first impression on reader and doesn't like her but like they get put together for work and he falls in love?? Can you make it really fluffy and domestic at the end (like they're in a r/s and like they kiss and cuddle alot????)

thawing the ice.

bang chan x fem!reader / at first, chan really didn’t like you and had a bad first impression of you. but then, you got teamed up for a project. spending time together changed everything, and he found himself falling for you.

additional tags / grumpy producer chan x sunshine producer reader (i mean… i tried. 😭), fluff, domestic fluff, forced proximity, mutual pining, workplace romance, love confessions, love-hate relationship, dislike to lovers — 1.5k words in total.

content warnings / kisses, smooches, and cuddles

authors notes @ anon / hey heyo anon <3, thanks for the awesome request! loved writing this. you asked for enemies to lovers, but the enemies part kinda fizzled out while i was writing—not my strongest trope, lol 😭 still, hope you enjoy it !! <3

You glance at your watch, groaning internally. It’s barely eight in the morning and you’re already heading to the studio for another day of work. It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for the fact that you were going to be working closely with Chan. Again.

It’s not that you dislike Chan. Honestly, how could you? He’s talented, driven, and ridiculously handsome. But from the moment you met him, he’s been nothing but cold and dismissive. It’s like he’s made it his mission to make your life difficult.

As you walk into the studio, you see him already there, his back to you as he fiddles with some equipment. You take a deep breath, plastering a smile on your face. “Morning, Chan!”

He doesn’t turn around. “Morning.”

You suppress a sigh. Another day, another brush-off.

You set your bag down and get to work, trying to ignore the icy atmosphere. The day drags on, the silence between you both filled with nothing but the hum of electronics and the occasional muttered curse from Chan.

Finally, after what feels like hours, you manage to get him to talk. “Hey, Chan, can you listen to this track? I think it needs something, but I can’t figure out what.”

He looks up, eyebrows raised. “You want my opinion?”

“Uh, yeah. You’re one of the best producers here,” you say, trying not to sound too sarcastic. He might be a jerk, but you still need his input.

He listens to the track, his expression unreadable. “It needs more bass. And the vocals are too soft. They need to be more upfront.”

You nod, making notes. “Got it. Thanks.”

The rest of the day goes by in much the same way, but you notice something strange. Every time you ask for his help, he gives it without complaint. And every now and then, you catch him watching you, a strange look in his eyes.

***

As the weeks go by, things start to change. It’s subtle at first. He starts offering his help without being asked. He brings you coffee in the mornings, saying it’s just because he’s getting one for himself anyway. He even starts making small talk.

One day, as you’re both working late, he surprises you. “Hey, do you want to grab some dinner after this?”

You blink, taken aback. “Uh, sure. That sounds great!”

You end up at a little diner, talking and laughing like old friends. It’s the first time you’ve seen him genuinely smile, and it takes your breath away.

“You know,” he says, looking down at his plate, “I don’t actually hate you.”

You laugh, but it’s a little shaky. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He looks up, his eyes serious. “I’m... I’m not good at this. At feelings. I’ve liked you since the day we met, but I didn’t know how to act around you. I thought being distant would make it easier.”

Your heart skips a beat. “You like me?”

He nods, looking almost shy. “Yeah. A lot.”

You reach across the table, taking his hand. “I like you too, Chan. A lot.”

***

From that night on, things change even more. You’re not just coworkers anymore. You’re friends. And, slowly, you become something more.

There are late nights at the studio where he pulls you into his lap, kissing you softly as you work.

It’s nearly midnight, and you and Chan are the only ones left in the studio. The room is dimly lit, the glow from the computer screens casting a soft light over everything. You’re both exhausted, but there’s still work to be done. You’re hunched over your laptop, tweaking some last-minute details on a track, when you feel his presence behind you.

“Hey, take a break,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky from hours of talking and singing.

“I just need to finish this part,” you reply, not looking up. “Almost done.”

He sighs, but there’s a smile in his voice. “Alright, Miss Perfectionist.”

You hear him move around, and then suddenly, you’re being lifted out of your chair. “Chan!” you yelp, but he just laughs, pulling you into his lap as he sits back down.

“Relax,” he says, his arms wrapping around you. “You’ve been working too hard.”

You lean back against him, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours. “I just want everything to be perfect.”

“I know,” he says, his lips brushing against your ear. “But you need to take care of yourself too.”

You tilt your head, looking up at him. “And what about you? You’ve been working just as hard.”

He grins, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “I’m taking care of myself right now.”

You smile, your heart fluttering. “Okay, fine. Five-minute break.”

“Good,” he says, his lips trailing down your neck. “Because I need more of this.”

You close your eyes, losing yourself in the feeling of his lips on your skin, the warmth of his arms around you. In that moment, all the stress and exhaustion melts away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped up in each other.

Then, there are lazy Sundays spent cuddling on the couch, watching movies and stealing kisses.

It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon, and you’re both sprawled on the couch, watching a movie. Chan’s arm is draped over your shoulders, and your head rests against his chest. The movie is some cheesy rom-com, but neither of you are really paying attention. You’re too busy stealing kisses and laughing at each other’s jokes.

“Hey, pay attention,” you say, swatting his hand away as he tries to tickle you. “This is the best part.”

“Oh, really?” he teases, his fingers brushing against your side again. “What happens?”

You laugh, trying to squirm away. “Stop! You’ll see.”

He grins, finally relenting. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave.”

You settle back against him, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek. It’s moments like this that make everything worth it. The late nights, the long hours, all of it. Because at the end of the day, you have this. You have him.

“You know,” he says suddenly, his voice soft, “I could get used to this.”

You look up at him, surprised. “What, lazy Sundays?”

He shakes his head, his eyes serious. “No. Us. Being together like this.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Me too.”

He smiles, leaning down to kiss you. It’s slow and sweet, full of all the things he can’t put into words. And you know, without a doubt, that you feel the same way.

Then, there are also mornings where you wake up tangled together, his arms around you and his breath warm against your neck.

The first rays of sunlight are just starting to filter through the curtains when you wake up. You’re tangled in the sheets, Chan’s arm draped over your waist, his breath warm against your neck. You can feel his chest rise and fall with each breath, his body a comforting weight against yours.

You turn your head slightly, just enough to see his face. He looks so peaceful, so different from the grumpy, guarded man you met months ago. You reach up, brushing a strand of hair away from his face, and he stirs, his eyes slowly opening.

“Morning,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

“Morning,” you reply, smiling. “Sleep well?”

He nods, pulling you closer. “Always do when you’re here.”

You feel your heart swell at his words. “You’re sweet, you know that?”

He chuckles, his lips brushing against your shoulder. “Only for you.”

You laugh, rolling over to face him. “Lucky me.”

“Yeah,” he says, his eyes soft as they meet yours. “Lucky me.”

You lean in, kissing him softly. It’s a slow, lingering kiss, the kind that makes you feel like you’re the only two people in the world. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

You smile, your heart feeling like it might burst. “I love you too.”

And as you lie there, wrapped up in each other, you know that this is where you’re meant to be. With him. Always.

***

One evening, as you’re sitting on a bench at the park together, he turns to you, his expression serious. “You know, I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. You make me want to be better. For you.”

You smile, your heart swelling. “You already are, Chan. You always have been.”

He kisses you, and it’s slow and sweet, full of all the things he’s never been able to say. And you know, without a doubt, that he loves you.

As the months go by, you can see the change in him. He’s still grumpy and a little rough around the edges, but there’s a softness to him now, a warmth that wasn’t there before. And you know that, no matter what, you’ll always have each other.

One night, as you’re both lying in bed, you turn to him, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest. “Hey, Chan?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad we ended up working together. Even if you were a jerk at first.”

He chuckles, pulling you closer. “Me too. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. For being a jerk.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to his chest. “You’re forgiven. Just... keep being you. That’s all I need.”

And as you drift off to sleep, wrapped in his arms, you know that you’ve found something special. Something real. And you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

© deerlino (est. 090624) ༯ heyo, did you enjoy this piece? if you did, maybe you could reblog, drop a comment, or shoot me an ask to let me know your thoughts. also, feel free to check out my other stuff! thanks a bunch for the support! <3

[bbydoll18xx]

An Inch Away From More Than Just Friends

Paige Bueckers x reader

Your ex-boyfriend is quite literally the smallest man who ever lived, and Paige is there to pick up the pieces

Themes: Heavy smut, angst, happy ending <3, friends to lovers

Word count: 3k

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

“And you deserve prison, BUT. YOU. WON’T. GET. TIME!” you scream-sing, each word punctuated with a hand slapping the table loudly. Tears fall down your face and you let out a ragged breath, attempting to quell your rage and anguish.

Your stupid ass, idiot of a boyfriend, Connor, had cheated on you with some tramp from Florida, of all places. And he had subsequently dumped you over text, attaching a picture of the girl sucking his cock.

You wanted to murder him. Slowly. With a knife. 

Here you sat, though, after the shock of that text message wore off, sobbing at your kitchen table to Taylor Swift. Your life felt like a terrible sitcom. 

He was your first boyfriend. You didn't really date much in high school. The boys were immature and gross, and the girls were too intimidating to approach in a flirty way. You just wanted to feel wanted, sick of constantly being the third wheel with your friends.

Despite getting broken up with out of the blue, you knew why Connor had done it. It was the reason for your countless arguments you had suffered through the last year.

Paige Bueckers.

Paige was your best friend, and Connor had absolutely loathed her from the moment you had introduced the two blondes. 

Your boyfriend had always been slightly possessive; it was one of the things that had initially attracted you to him. You had always craved an intense and all consuming love, and at first, you had thought you'd gotten that. But fate was tempted as you and Paige grew closer.

As the song you’ve had on repeat restarts for the hundredth time, you recall your last argument. It wasn’t difficult considering it happened just a few days ago. 

You and Paige were hanging out in your apartment like you did frequently. Laying side by side on your bed, a movie played on the TV, sending flickering lights through the dark room. You were both exhausted from the week, but each other’s presence produced a calm energy that washed over all of the stress you had been feeling.

Your legs are tangled up with Paige’s, and your head is nestled in the crook of her neck. The movie is long forgotten, as you relish in the presence of your best friend. She hums in content at your closeness, enjoying your company just as much as you.

You can actually feel your heart cry, realizing that you couldn’t get any closer to the blonde girl. 

You had been having several realizations the last few months: Your fondness for UConn’s favorite star was more than just friendly. Unfortunately, you were pretty sure that Connor had also picked up on this. And if this helpless little crush of yours continued, you’d be in deep shit. 

Contemplating your situation, Paige nudges into you, catching your attention. 

“I can literally hear the wheels in your head turning. Whatcha thinkin’ about, baby?” Paige teases softly.

Baby. 

Your heart flutters, as it always did when she called you little pet names.

You shrug, the movement slightly jostling Paige.

“Just dealing with some stuff,” you mumble, a feeble attempt to minimize what you were feeling. It's not like you could tell her anyway.

Before Paige can goad you into revealing more, the door to your bedroom is ripped open, hitting the wall with a slam and reverberating through the apartment. 

“I fucking knew it!” Connor shouted, pointing at you and Paige. His face was screwed up into an ugly expression of contempt.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Paige yells back, as you simultaneously shout, “Connor you can't just barge in here. That’s so fucking rude.”

“Stay away from my girlfriend, you nasty, little bitch,” Connor sneers meanly. Paige’s eyebrows furrow at this, standing in front of him to look him in the eye.

You try to stifle a laugh as Paige gets in your boyfriend’s face; she was two inches taller than him, and she never let him forget it. 

“I don’t know about ‘little,’” she retorts with a smug expression on her face.

Enraged, Connor spins around, stomping out of the room, kicking your couch on his childish rampage out.

Your breathing is irregular as you try to slow your heart rate. Sobs are already bubbling up inside your chest, threatening to seep through the cracks that Connor had left once more. 

Paige pulls you into her lap, cradling you against her chest in a desperate attempt to comfort you. Little did she know, her touch was all you really needed. 

You are pulled back into the present, feeling empty without Paige. Tears roll down your cheeks and your bottom lip wobbles. You felt like you were never really present anymore; walking through life in a daydream. Pictures of Paige constantly filled your brain, and you knew the unrequited feelings would be much more painful than the harsh termination of your and Connor’s relationship. 

Fuck. You were down bad. 

You take to your couch with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Those were two guys you knew would never fail you. You allow yourself to rot the day away. Episode after episode plays, but you are barely paying attention. You feel like screaming, the feeling of desperation wrestling with your typical sense of composure. 

Your vision slides over to the top of your fridge, where an impressive amount of alcohol sits.

‘Perfect. I can't pine when I’m black out drunk,’ you think miserably. 

You were so, so wrong. 

An hour later you were dancing around in nothing but one of Paige’s shirts and your underwear, using a large bottle of tequila as a microphone. You were usually a quiet roommate, but the empty apartment was the perfect excuse to let out all the emotions you had been holding in for months. 

You were so engrossed in your performance, you miss Paige walking in. When you finally turn to face her in a dramatic spin, hair flying everywhere, you gasp in shock. 

Paige is grinning. “Havin’ fun, babe?” she questions, clearly amused by your drunken antics.

You were too inebriated to feel embarrassed, and you nod with a bright smile. You thrust the bottle towards the blonde, encouraging her to join in your fun. 

“Oh, what the hell,” Paige concedes, taking the bottle and lifting it up to her mouth in a way that had you suddenly feeling sticky. 

She was sinful when she was drunk. It was not your fault that you wanted the clingy Paige that accompanied large amounts of alcohol. 

You spend the next hour taking turns sipping from the bottle, enjoying the feverish burning in your belly that follows each swallow. It doesn’t take much time for Paige to catch up to you, and you know she’s tipsy once she pulls you into her lap and starts drawing shapes onto your thighs. A quiet moan escapes from your lips at her touch; her fingers were fucking magic. 

You turn to face Paige, straddling her on your couch. The tequila in your system was making you bolder than the blonde was accustomed to you being, but she welcomed it. Now face to face, with nothing but your flimsy panties in between Paige’s muscular leg and your slick center, you gaze at her with heavy lidded eyes.

She was so pretty, and her eye contact made you bashful. Breaking away from the heat of those blue eyes, you wrap your arms around her neck in a huge hug, causing Paige to let out a small chuckle at your affection.

You were nothing if not candor whilst drunk, so Paige is hardly surprised when you slur, “Connor hated how I look at you. That’s why he broke up with me.”

Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, Paige murmurs, “How do you look at me?”

“Like you hung the fuckin’ moon,” you sigh dreamily, the tequila making you feel warm and fuzzy.

“Oh, really, baby?” Paige questions, her voice growing deeper as you tilt your hips against her thigh once more in an attempt to feel some relief. Her presence was overwhelming your senses, and there was fire deep in your abdomen that was raging.

 You forget to respond to her, too distracted from the way her leg felt so damn good against your clothed pussy. Attempting to lessen some of the desire building up inside you, you experimentally roll your hips, letting out a lustful whine as you realize how good it feels. 

Paige is momentarily stunned at your boldness before she grabs your chin, tilting it up to meet her eyes that were full of want. Your pupils are blown, the irises just a small ring at this point, and she questions if you really want to do this. 

Well obviously.

You nod your head, unsure if you had any words in you to describe just how badly you wanted Paige to fuck you.

“Baby, use your words,” Paige drawls. The huskiness of the term of endearment has you panting, and you struggle to moan out a “Yes, please just fuck me, P.”

That was all Paige needed. She places her hands underneath your ass, and lifts you up, carrying you towards your bedroom. You wrap your legs around her toned figure and meet her lips in a searing kiss. 

In a second, it feels like all the shittiness has evaporated away, leaving you feeling reborn and renewed. Paige was a fucking drug to you, and you needed another hit. 

Setting you down on your bed, Paige wastes no time stripping you of your oversized t-shirt, leaving you in your cotton panties that were now completely soaked. She swirls two fingers across the drenched fabric, smirking to herself that she was able to have such an effect on you. You whine at her deliberate actions and pout like a child who wasn’t getting their way. Paige laughs at your desperation and kisses the pout right off of your lips, licking into your mouth with fervor. 

You tug at her shirt, wanting her to be as bare as you were, and she quickly slips it over her head, throwing it onto the floor. There was still an imbalance of clothing between the two of you, and you finger the waistband of Paige’s sweatpants, wanting to see every bit of her. 

Shaking her head fondly at your blatant lack of shame, she gets off of the bed and shimmies out of her pants, leaving her in just a sports bra and those boxers you loved a little too much. From where you were still sitting on the bed, you shamelessly let your eyes rake over her toned figure. She was stunning, and you felt pride well up inside you, knowing you were finally going to have sex with the tall blonde.

It almost made the years of pining worth it. 

“This better?” Paige asks, gesturing towards her body, and you giggle in response. 

She climbs back onto the bed, a knee placed between your parted thighs and presses it against your soaked heat. You let out another loud moan at the contact, and your back arches off the bed from the pleasure. 

There are no thoughts in your tipsy, drunk-in-love brain, and it shows. You’re mumbling in tangents, now, pleading with Paige to do more. 

She finally concedes and goes to take off your panties. She’s being a little tease, slowly dragging them down your legs, while keeping intense eye contact with you. You are pretty sure the act makes your pussy drip even more. 

Placing a leg over her shoulder, Paige opens you up and takes a second to admire the gleaming wet folds that were hers and only hers. You tremble under her stare, feeling deliciously vulnerable in a way that makes you want to submit to her every whim. 

She inches closer to your pussy, pressing hot kisses all along your inner thighs. You revel in the buildup of it, trying to avoid being pushy. To no avail, your hips jut forward, slightly humping the air in an attempt to get some release. 

Coming back up to nip your earlobe playfully, Paige whispers sensually, “Gotta be a good girl for me.” 

You try to respond, but her use of the phrase ‘good girl’ makes the words catch in your throat. She resumes her kisses, trailing them down your throat to your chest, where she takes a detour in favor of showing your pretty, peaked nipples some attention. 

Another whine leaves your lips like a prayer, as Paige leaves love bites over your tits. That would look like a damn masterpiece in the morning, and you’re already planning to take a Polaroid picture of you topless, covered in Paige’s hickeys. 

Finally, she trails back down your stomach, fingers ghosting over your skin and leaving behind thousands of goosebumps in their wake. Your skin felt like it was on fire. 

“Please, Paigey. Need you, baby,” you whimper brokenly, begging for some respite from the torturous teasing. 

Paige gives in, dying to taste to you, and she licks a fat stripe on your pussy, starting at your dripping hole and ending in a tantalizing circle at your clit. Your hands fly to her head, trying not to pull at her hair too much. 

She inserts her middle finger into you, drawing another slutty moan from your lips as she pumps into you vigorously. 

There really is no way to describe just how good she is making you feel. The past six months of sex with Connor had been passionless and repetitive. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to go without this again. 

Paige inserts another finger in your pussy with a smirk and continues to pummel them against your g-spot. The pressure in the pit of your belly was already building, and you knew it wouldn’t be long until you exploded. Paige had taken a break from eating you out to kiss you once more, wanting you to taste your sweet wetness on her lips. It was possibly the hottest thing you had ever done, and the act pushes you closer to the finish line. 

“Gonna cum, Paigey,” you moan wantonly, your thighs twitching and your back arching once more. The tequila in your system causing you to act especially debauched. 

Paige loves it. 

“C’mon, baby. Be a good girl and cum for me,” she moans in response against your soaked pussy, and you fall apart instantaneously. 

High pitched whines and moans fill your bedroom as Paige continues thrusting her fingers in and out of you, slowing down as you ride out your high. If it wasn’t for the alcohol, you would be embarrassed with yourself, but there was no thought of that. 

You needed to taste Paige. 

Once Paige pulls out of you, licking her fingers off as if she was starved, you reattach your lips feverishly. You taste so good, but you are dying to know what she tastes like, and without warning, you strip the rest of her clothes off. 

She lays her head on your mountain of pillows, blonde hair fanning in all directions. You can see the heaving of her chest, already anticipating your touch. Her lips are swollen in a way that’s positively sinful, and you think you’ve never seen anyone look as beautiful as Paige does right now. 

Straddling her, you lean in to suck at the soft skin underneath her left ear, pulling out moan after moan that went right to your still-buzzing pussy. 

Trailing down to her tits, you knead one before attaching your hot mouth to the other, swirling your tongue around it and then nipping it experimentally. 

“Fuck, babe. Please. Can’t do more teasing,” Paige grits out, trying to maintain some semblance of control. 

Just as yours had, Paige’s hips squirm, and you grin up at her. You press kisses across her toned abdomen, mentally noting that her abs would be nice to ride another time, and finally settle at the opening of her legs. 

Spreading her open, you gaze upon her glistening wetness momentarily before diving in. You could not possibly wait another second to taste her. 

You two both moan at the contact, sending muffled vibrations against Paige’s pussy that brings forth a second, louder groan of pleasure. 

Wanting to make her feel so, so good, you plunge two fingers into her sopping wetness, while flicking the tip of your tongue across her clit repeatedly without ceasing. 

It had been awhile since you had eaten another girl out, but it came back to you immediately; it was like riding a bike. 

Paige’s moans fill the room, and you think you could die there happily. You’re unrelenting. The combination of three of your fingers and that lavicious tongue of yours soon has Paige panting out, “fuck, baby. I’m gonna cum.” 

She rides out her orgasm, switching between moaning your name and naughty words that have you immediately wanting to do a second round. 

You pull your fingers out of her wetness, making a show of licking them off in front of her before meeting her in an erotic kiss.

You lay back on your pillows, stifling your sighs and calming the beat of your heart from what you had just done with your best friend. You look over at her, hoping and praying that the sex you just had wouldn’t ruin your friendship. 

Paige bites her lip, in a not so great attempt at hiding a smile, and pecks you on the lips. “That was way better than that fuckhead, Connor, right?” She was smug as hell. But she was not wrong.

“Considering his dick was three inches, uh yeah,” you laugh. “But joking aside, you were amazing.”

“Just glad I could make my girl feel better,” she replies.

“I’m your girl?” you ask, cheeks ablaze in a fiery heat of desire.

“You are now,” Paige chuckles, interlocking your pinkies together in an earnest proclamation of affection. 

You were hers, and she was yours. 

[pookietv]

lost in translation (part one) | george clarke

hello!!! well isn't this new, me writing a multiple part fic (or me uploading twice in a week nowadays)

pls pls pls tell me if ur enjoying cause i lowkey think i have a cute plot for this so :P

when you had moved to london two years ago, life had gotten pretty fast pretty quick.

you originally came from jersey - quaint and nice to grow up in, but not a fantastic place to explore and grow work experience. you knew chris through his family, your fathers had known each other for a long time, and you were introduced around high school. you and chris had been friends, despite him being a few years older than you.

then, he blew up on youtube, and moved away to london, living with friends, having more job opportunities on his doorstep. you kept in touch, not all the time, but the catch ups, even through phone, were a nice familiarity.

and when you told him how bored you were getting of your job here - assistant manager of a local pub, he mentioned work.

'well, i doubt you'll find what you're looking for in jersey'

you rolled your eyes (though endearingly) at your phone a little as you replied, 'oh yeah, i should just up and leave everything and move somewhere else with no promises of job?'

'well, chrismd industries is always looking for new and bright talent...'

you could almost see the smug grin on his face as that message went through.

and that was that. he rang you, offering you work if you wanted it - saying he wanted production crew that could help not only whilst filming but also as producing things for short form content, like tiktok, instagram, youtube shorts.

and your two years passed, you had a small apartment you were happy with, and a friend group chris had kindly enough adopted you into. you met all the people you had seen him frequenting with on screen, becoming close friends with becky, will and arthur hill.

the group was lovely, outings were often and life was good for you.

your only slight problem?

george clarke.

at first, you got on like a house on fire. you chatted all the time, he sent you things he found funny , you'd go round their house and have movie nights and you and george would always sit beside one another, and on a night out it was always you two lingering around each other, giggling to one another about something or another.

then?

distance happened. you couldn't even pinpoint it really, but he went a little cold. not to everyone, just you. he was the bubbly george clarke in any other conversation, but when it was just you and him? he was quieter, a bit more awkward and dismissive of anything you said to him.

you messaged asking if you'd done anything wrong, and he just said a simple, i don't know what you're talking about, nothings happened.

and so grew a silent seething dislike of stupid george, with his giggly laugh and instant quips.

you'd never let something as silly as that effect your friendships with the rest of them, so you mirrored george - you acted normal in public, ignored each other in private and that's how things ran. to call it a good system would be absurd, but it was a system that worked, and if it wasn't broken, you weren't gonna be the one to fix it.

you told your closer friends about it, about the distance and whilst they agreed, there wasn't much to be done. you told them not to kick up a fuss, if he wanted you to leave him alone you would, and that was that.

and that pretty much led you up to today, in arthur hill's bedroom, laying on his bed and talking nonsense whilst he sat at his desk, replying to some emails and talking back to you.

"oh, i forgot to mention to you, i think we're going to go out for a couple of drinks later on tonight, if you fancy coming," he said, swiveling round in his chair to face his bed, where you were flopped out, staring at the ceiling.

"what like, the whole group?" you asked, lifting your head to look at him.

"nah, just me and george, chris is on a date tonight," arthur replied.

you shrugged, letting your head hit the bed again, "i'll probably give it a miss then, let you two have a date also," you said, trying to make a light joke of the situation. the reality was, as much as you loved arthur, you and george sitting awkwardly and both just conversing to him and rarely talking to each other didn't seem like your perfect idea of fun.

"cause of the george thing?" arthur huffed, rolling his eyes as if chastising you.

"you make it sound like i'm terrified of george or something , but it'd just be awkward for all of us if i came," you responded, lifting your body to sit cross-legged for this conversation.

"you two don't even know what you don't like each other for, you just don't like each other, it's stupid!" arthur huffed, a petulant grin on his face.

"hey, i was left in the dark too, hell even i don't know why he doesn't like me," you half scoffed, half laughed, "it's not like i.. don't like him, we got along well, i'm just not gonna bother with someone who doesn't want me around."

"if it's any consolation, i don't think he doesn't want you around." arthur said, head swivelling back to the computer with a grin on his face.

[stararch4ngelqueen]

grocery shopping with jason, beyond obsessed with doing domestic things with this big strong sometimes broody guy

Idk why the idea of Jason being the only sane person if the BatFam went to Costco or Sam’s club is funny to me.

Grocery shopping at night only. Jason is your scary dog privilege. I didn’t mean for this to be so short, I’ll probably do a target run at some point 😅

—

“Smell this one.” You hold up two various body washes for Jason to smell. One is a creamy, soft vanilla, the other is a fragrant, artificial strawberry with lilac leaves printed on the bottle.

“They both smell fine,” he insists after smelling them. “Why’re you asking me?”

“Cause I know you use it sometimes.”

He says nothing at this quiet truth. Maybe sometimes he’d reach for your bottle during his exhausted showers. Maybe he didn’t care if the smell clung to him for a good while. He didn’t mind one bit.

“That one.” He points towards the scent he preferred.

Essentials first. That was the quiet deal before getting produce. You loved asking for his opinions on a lot of stuff, since you practically ‘lived in the same bed.’

Jason didn’t particularly mind when he’d tread along with you when you wanted a new soap or lotion. Sometimes it was kind of amusing the array of options their turned out to be. You had a good nose, picking out scents he adored smelling on you every time he held you close, invading his hoodies every time you wore them.

“Do we have popcorn at home?” Came your first question after his arms settled snugly around your waist, holding you content to his chest.

“Half a box yeah, why?” You try to tilt your head up, but fail when Jason purposely rests his chin ontop.

“Just wondering,” he answers. “You ‘bout done here?”

“Yeah. Why? Too many single girls making eye contact?”

“More like a ton of single mothers.” He chuckles, breaking into a laugh when you lightly slap the back of his hand.

Checking for produce was a team effort. Sometimes you can’t remember if you have enough of this or that, but Jason’s good memory usually came in hand.

“You had one of these before?” You question whilst holding up a spiky, untrustworthy vegetable after grabbing some cheery looking bell peppers.

“Uh, no? Don’t think so. Don’t know how you would eat those.”

“We could ask Alfred,” you reply while slightly rocking the cart back and forth. “Anything else?”

“I’m thinking.” Jason keeps still, tilting his head back in thought. “I’m thinking got everything. Anything else you want, babe?”

You would say yes, but you don’t really know what you’re particularly in the mood for after filling up your shopping list, having extra money to spend.

This led to the both of you wandering around the store, slightly vacant due to most people settling at home, eating their meals or spending time with their families.

You peer along the freezer windows as you stroll by, nearly coming to a stop after examining some interesting coffee ice cream.

Bump.

The sudden soft prod of the cart frame against your behind made you scoff, turning over your shoulder to peer at a smirking Jason.

“Oops.”

“Rude!”

“Sorry. You walk too slow.”

Scoffing, you grab a bag of frozen blueberries and turn around, witnessing Jason quickly and carelessly toss a bag of frozen avocado into the cart.

“Hey, theirs a system Todd!” You step closer, quickly rearranging the produce and snacks back into their ‘original’ spots.

“Says the woman playing Tetris with our food.”

“The avocados crushing the bread!” You gesture towards the produce. You click your tongue and scoff again to Jason’s delight as you left the bread untouched.

Good thing too. You almost saw the ice cream he had hidden underneath it.

—

Going grocery shopping with the mans 🧍🏽‍♀️

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just the Two of Us: Helping Hand

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you meet someone you never expect at the grocery store.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You sway back and forth holding your few staples. You wait patiently for checkout, happy enough to do so as you avoid the typical awkward interaction of the checkout lane. Some might dread it, but you prefer self-checkout. It spares you the face-scalding small talk with the cashiers and you’re certain they don’t hate you for it either. 

The man at the machine just ahead of you hisses and tips his head back. He takes a deep breath and sets his chin straight, scratching his blond hair as the machine beeps at him. He seems frustrated by the scanner as he waves a jar of peanut butter back and forth over it. 

“Come on...” he mutters then stops to look around. The attendant is at another machine, helping a woman key in her produce. “...should just leave it...” 

You watch him as he turns back to the screen and taps it in exasperation. There’s something familiar about him. In a city this big, odds are you could see the same face a dozen time in the same day and not know it. 

“Um, excuse me,” your bag of sourdough rustles as you tiptoe slowly close, “do you want some help?” 

He turns to you and you’re stricken as you recognise him at once. It’s Steve Rogers. Captain America. The homegrown hero of New York! 

“I’m so sorry. I know I’m taking forever here,” he pushes his hair back. It’s a mess from his anguished scratching and combing. “I’m trying, I swear.” 

“Here, er, do you mind,” you balance your armful as you near. He steps back and shakes his head, “you got a better chance of figuring this dang thing out.” 

“Alright, no promises, but I used to work retail, so, I think I can,” you carefully set down your groceries at the edge of the small metal shelf of the self-checkout. “Peanut butter, please.” 

He looks down at the jar then hands it over. Your fingertips brush as you take it and find the barcode. You angle it down and the machine scans it right away. He groans and puts his palm to his forehead. 

“Of course,” he sniffs. “I promise I’m not a total disaster. I thought this would be faster.” 

“It’s fine, I don’t mind,” you smile. “Least I can do for the First Avenger.” 

He visibly cringes, “right.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you shake your head. “I wasn’t... meaning to... do you need help with the rest?” 

He nods and looks down. Now you feel awful. You didn’t mean to embarrass him. You take his bunch of bananas and key in the number then weigh it. You put it aside and finish with his pulpy orange juice and a can of ovaltine... Ovaltine? 

“Right, I think that’s it,” you gather up your stuff. “You’re all set and there’s a machine free so I’ll get out of your hair.” 

He slips his fingers into his pocket and slides out his wallet, “thanks. Appreciate it.” 

You sidle away and claim the next machine. You scan through your bread, cans of salmon, six-pack of muffins, and the little odds and ends. You unfold your reusable bag and put each inside before you pay. 

“Ahem,” the deep noise draws you away from the pinpad. “Hey, uh, I’m sorry if I came of... rude. It’s not you. The dang machine just—got the best of me. It’s not you and I mean, you were just being nice. And helpful.” 

“Really, it’s no problem,” you smile as you keep your hand on the debit machine. 

“I know but I almost made it one.” 

“No, it’s nothing,” you turn back to finish before the machine times out. It thinks as he lingers close by. 

“You’re really nice. I don’t deserve that. Captain should know better,” he says. “But I do prefer Steve.” 

He holds out his hand as you swipe your card free and tuck it away. You shove it back in your purse and face him. You take his free hand and shake it as you offer your name. “Nice to meet you, Steve.” 

“You, too.” 

“Um,” you look behind him, “don’t wanna be in anyone’s way.” 

You quickly snatch up your bag and hurry out of the checkout area. He follows you with long but easy strides. As you pass through the door, he’s only a step behind. 

“Look, I’m sure you have somewhere to be,” he says as he catches up. “But, uh, could I carry your bag or something? I feel like I owe you.” 

“Oh, no, it’s not very empty,” you assure him. “But thanks!” 

“Hmm, well, how about...” he looks around, “coffee?” 

You follow his gaze across the street. You’re not really in a hurry but you didn’t plan to be sitting down at a cafe. Your leggings a loose sweatshirt aren’t exactly trendsetting. 

“I mean it, you know, it wasn’t anything at all.” You insist. 

“Yeah, but how many nice people do you meet around here, huh?” He asks. As if to make his point, he grabs your elbow and angles you away from the edge of the sidewalk as the man behind you nearly walks right over you. “Gotta admit, you’re the first friendly face I’ve met since I got out of the ice and that was a while ago.” 

“Uh, wow, that’s sweet. I suppose a coffee won’t hurt,” you say. “And I know what you mean, I’ve been here two months and I don’t know anyone. I thought a made a friend but she stole my shoes and never called me back.” 

“Really? Someone did that to you?” He flutters his lashes in disbelief. “That’s rotten.” 

“I suppose she really liked them. Besides, they weren’t very practical. Kind of uncomfortable so really, she did me a favour,” you laugh. “One thing I learned, the city moves fast and you gotta keep up with it. So, I just keep going. As best I can.” 

“Hm, well,” he turns with you as you reach the crosswalk. “I think we wear a different size so I promise, I won’t steal those.” 

You glance down at your knockoff Uggs in purple and snort, “oh, you think so?” You move your foot closer to his and compare the difference with his large leather shoes. “I think you could squeeze in.” 

He laughs, a rocky rumble that fills you with warmth. Or maybe you’re a bit starstruck. If you had any friends, you might just brag to them that you met the Captain. You guess you’ll just have to savour it to yourself. 

[venus-haze]

You're My Best Friend (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: Homelander was a test tube baby, raised in isolation in a cold, clinical lab. But that doesn’t inspire America, does it? Vought tasks you with creating the idyllic backstory for its hero, and what starts as a limited comic run spirals out of control when Homelander himself demands your help in making the story a reality.

Note: Gender neutral reader, but no other descriptors are used. Based on a request by @crash-and-cure as well as a bastardization of one of the sweetest love songs ever written (sorry, John Deacon!) This got kinda meta? Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, I guess some gaslighting on Homelander’s part? Do not interact if you’re under 18.

When Vought hired you to create their long-awaited Homelander origin comic series, you were thrilled—until they gave you so little information about his childhood to work with, you weren’t even sure you could come up with one comic, let alone the ten they requested. The details about his childhood were minimal, not even a full printed page—a loving mom and dad, played baseball, did well in school, strong sense of justice from a young age, his friends called him “Johnny.” Your requests to meet with Homelander so you could get some stories from the man himself were constantly denied.

You almost considered dropping the project, until you decided to throw caution to the wind and pull from your own childhood and set it in good ol’ generic suburbia. Some of the storylines were based on your own experiences or things that had happened to people you’d grown up with, though you changed enough names and details to not link it to anyone in particular. Except yourself, of course. Using a pseudonym professionally meant you felt no need to change your own name in the comics. Sure, making your cooler fictionalized self Homelander’s childhood best friend was a bit self-indulgent, but no one would know, really.

To your relief, the editors at Vought loved your ideas, making minor changes before bringing the storylines to their comic artists to bring it to life. The result was Finding Homelander: A Boy’s Journey To Be a Hero. The issues flew off shelves when they were first released, ironically praised for their relatability and authenticity. Vought extended your contract, asking you to produce the cartoon adaptation and another ten issues.

Still, in all of that, you’d never met Homelander. A representative from Vought emailed you to let you know to tune in to his interview on a talk show one day, saying that he’d be talking more about the cartoon project on it. You recognized the host, Tracey, always chipper and having some extravagant giveaway for her audience members. Daytime TV was never your thing, though.

“I think what resonates with so many people is how relatable your childhood is,” Tracey said, holding up a copy of Finding Homelander issue #3, where he saved ‘you’ from getting hit in the face with a baseball at one of his games, catching it with ease. It’d been the happy ending to a short storyline of him struggling to find his place on the team and you encouraging him to not give up. “You and Y/N were pretty close, do you still keep in touch?”

“You know, Tracey, not as much as I’d like, unfortunately. Adulthood can be so busy, you need to cherish those childhood memories,” Homelander said. “I did give them a call when the comics first came out, and wow, the laughs we had over those old antics of ours. Talk about a walk down memory lane!”

You guessed the bullshitting was all part of the promotional circuit for Homelander. Knowing this childhood of his was your own fabrication, you couldn’t help but wonder what else about him was fake. Maybe he wanted to maintain his privacy, you could certainly understand that. You couldn’t shake the voice in the back of your mind that said it wasn’t so simple, that the narrative Vought pushed was a cover to hide something in Homelander’s past.

“Now, I’ve heard rumors of a cartoon show based on the comics in the making, is this true?”

“It is! I’m excited for this project, getting back to my ‘roots’ so to speak. I’ll be voicing myself, of course, but it’s funny you’d bring up Y/N, because they’ve agreed to voice themself, too.”

“How fun!” Tracey exclaimed over the roar of the talk show crowd’s applause and cheers. “I guess this is the hopeless romantic in me, but I hope this reconnection leads to something a little more. I’m just a sucker for childhood sweethearts!” 

Homelander laughed along with the host’s giggles, “Well, you never know.”

You balked at the television, mouth agape. Surely he couldn’t be talking about you. ‘Y/N’ could be anyone with your same features. Vought had probably hired a professional voice actor for the role and were pushing the authenticity angle. The whole situation felt odd. 

When you checked your work email again on your phone, you nearly dropped it on the floor. 

SUBJECT: Meeting with Homelander This Week

The email contained a list of days and times throughout the week wherein Homelander would be free, apparently wanting to meet you to thank you for the success of the comic series and discuss upcoming work. Yeah. That last part you sure as hell wanted to discuss too. You responded with the soonest time available, in a meeting room in Vought Tower the following evening. As soon as you hit ‘send’, you wondered what exactly you were getting yourself into.

Anticipation filled your gut as you went about your day leading up to meeting the supe himself. What would he be like, really be like? Was there even a version of Homelander that wasn’t hopelessly manufactured for the masses? You knew then that his upbringing was a lie, and thus stood the probability that so much else was, too. 

When you stepped into that meeting room, you hadn’t been expecting his face to light up at the sight of you. 

“Homelander, hi, it’s great to—“

“No need to be so formal, Y/N! You can call me Johnny, just like old times,” he said cheerfully, in on a joke you clearly hadn’t been aware of.

“Sorry, Johnny,” you said, playing along. “It’s great to see you again.”

He pulled you in for an unexpected hug that you returned. “Figured we should catch up before things really start getting crazy, don’t you think?”

You nodded, your nose brushing against him as you did so. Just as your lips parted to offer an apology, he smiled, shooing away the assistant who’d accompanied him out of the room. 

He sat down, motioning for you to do the same.

“Gotta say, I’m a fan of your work,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said. “I’m not sure I understand exactly what’s going on, though.”

“What’s there to understand? I’m not allowed to know more about my best friend, our lives together growing up?”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Wasn’t hard for me to put two and two together, but considering everyone else around here has their head up their asses, they have no idea,” he said, before lowering his voice conspiratorially and giving you a charming smile. “I haven’t told anyone. What’s a secret between friends?”

You nodded, overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention on you. “What do you want to know?”

He sighed, resting his head on his hand. “Everything.”

So you told him. Not quite everything, of course, but enough to abate his curiosity. At least for the time being. His interviews were sharper, more specific with details rather than rattling off whatever had been in the comics. You watched in shock as convincing photos of his Little League days were posted to his social media accounts, anecdotes provided by his increasingly frequent conversations–or more like interrogation sessions–with you, but in his style, of course. It was almost scary what the graphic design team at Vought could accomplish, not that you’d ever know how, exactly, as they were all under the same strict NDA that you were.

He started spending more time with you, too, and after a while, it did seem like you were old friends. Part of you flinched whenever you called him Johnny, because Johnny wasn’t even real, but with your complacency, this fabrication was slowly morphing into a strikingly tangible memory. With each conversation, he drew you deeper into the world you’d been paid to create for him until you found yourself slipping up.

You’d been showing him a goofy stuffed monkey on your desk, a cute little thing with big sparkling eyes. A prize for getting two out of three at the ring toss. Probably spent more money winning it than it was actually worth, but it was about the effort, the memories made.

“You remember, don’t you? You won it for me at the county fair,” you said without thinking.

He laughed in agreement, as if he actually had. Except he hadn’t. Your high school boyfriend won it for you a week before graduation. Sensing the mood shift, he set down your prize and looked at you with the same intensity he had when you first met.

“It’s been a while since we were there, huh?” he said. “Why don’t we go back?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Go where?”

“Home.”

With a strong arm around your waist, he took off for your hometown. You could hardly tell which way was up or down, he was flying so high, but he didn’t seem to mind the way you clung to him at all. When he finally landed, you recognized the community baseball field where all of his fictional games were set. 

“Geez, it’s like nothing’s changed,” he said cheerfully.

You looked at him in disbelief. How long was he going to expect you to go along with it? Or maybe the question you should have been asking was, how long were you going to enable him? The end wasn’t anywhere in sight as he took your hand, and you walked him through your childhood, further enmeshing him in it until you arrived at the house you grew up in. 

The middle of the day, no one was home, and so you let yourselves in like you owned the place. Suddenly, the house seemed too small for a man like Homelander to occupy, but he was engrossed in the details of it. He scanned the kitchen, no doubt inspecting the contents of the fridge and cabinets with his x-ray vision. Moving onto the living room, he stared at photos on the wall, the magazines and DVDs that were strewn on the coffee table, giving away your parents’ taste in entertainment.

“Which one was your room again?” he asked.

You swore you could feel his breath on the back of your neck as you wordlessly led him to your room. Each step down the hall felt dangerous, as if you were about to walk into a trap. Face-to-face with the closed door, you opened it, standing aside while Homelander looked around, from what you had hanging on the walls to the knick-knacks you’d left behind.

An uncomfortable tension settled over the room when Homelander closed the door of your childhood bedroom. An odd blend of hurt and amusement spread across his face as he observed the way you were eyeing him, body ready to fruitlessly run from him the way a rabbit would a hawk.

“C’mon, after how long we’ve been friends, I would never hurt you,” he said, as if reading your mind. “We’ve been through so much together. I mean, we were each other’s first kiss.”

You froze. Issue #9. That was something Vought’s editors had added, claiming a romance angle would make the series appeal to the younger female demographic. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

He slyly backed you into the wall, leaning over you as you slinked down the slightest bit.

“Show me how we did it,” he whispered, his hand caressing your cheek. “So clumsy and nervous, I can even feel you…quivering.”

“Homelander, I don’t know what you’re—“

He tsked. “Y/N.”

You let out a shaky breath, “Johnny—“

He hummed in satisfaction. “It’s alright. I know it’s been a while.”

You let him kiss you, sweetly in a way that put your actual first kiss to shame. His lips were soft against yours, his tender movements intentional as he cradled your face, pulling you the slightest bit closer to him when you kissed him back. 

A sense of familiarity settled over you, warm and comforting like pulling a blanket out of the dryer on a chilly evening. Every time it seemed like you were beginning to overthink the situation with Homelander, he drew you back in with the kiss, a more than effective distraction until you pulled away with a dazed smile on your face.

[wilwheaton]

When you watch The Curse, you are watching two children who were abused and exploited daily during production. No adults protected us.

This was originally published on my blog in August, 2022.

I had a wonderful time at Steel City Comicon this weekend. It was my first time at this particular con, so I didn’t know there was such a huge contingent of horror fans, creators, and vendors who attend.

I love horror, and I was pretty psyched to be in the same place as John Carpenter and Tom Savini, across the street from the Dawn of the Dead mall. Pittsburgh feels like one of the places horror was invented, at least to me.

A number of these horror fans came to see me, and asked me to sign posters and other things from a movie my parents forced me to do when I was 13, called The Curse. I had to tell each of these people that I would not sign anything associated with that movie, because I was abused and exploited during production. The time I spent on that film remains the most traumatizing time of my life, and though I am a 50 year-old man, just typing this now makes my hands shake with remembered fear of a 13 year-old boy who nobody protected, and the absolute fury the 50 year-old man feels toward the people who hurt him.

I told this story in Still Just A Geek, and I’ve talked about it in some podcasts I did on the promo tour, but I’ve never put it out in public like this, in its entirety.

I suspect someone at the publisher would prefer I tease this and hope it drives book sales from people who want to read all of it, but I honestly don’t want to have another weekend like this one where everything is awesome, except the few times people who have no idea (and why should they) put that fucking poster in front of me, and all the fear, abandonment, and trauma come flooding back as I tell them that I won’t sign it, and why.

To their credit, each person was as horrified as they should have been, told me they had no idea (if they didn’t read my book why would they), and quickly put the poster away. They were all understanding. I am grateful for that.

But I really don’t need to tell this story over and over again, so here it is, with a child abuse and exploitation content warning, so I can just tell people to Google it.

After Stand by Me, everything changed. The attention from entertainment journalists, casting directors, and especially teen magazines came pouring in. The movie was a generational hit, beloved by critics and audiences alike, and every single one of us could pick anything to do next.

River’s parents and his agent got him Mosquito Coast, with Harrison Ford, as his next movie. I also auditioned for the role, but I knew even then that River was going to book the job. He was perfect, and I’d have to wait a little bit for my opportunity to come along.

I went on a lot of theatrical auditions after Stand by Me. I had tons of meetings with directors and the heads of casting at every major studio. It was all a very big deal, and I felt like we were all looking for something really special and amazing as my follow-up to Stand by Me.

At some point, a couple of producers contacted my agent with an offer to play one of the leads in an adaptation of H. P. Lovecraft’s “The Colour Out of Space.” The script was titled The Farm. (It would, of course, be changed when the film was released).

I read it. I did not like it. It was a shitty horror movie, and I saw that right away. It was the sort of thing you rented on Friday when the new release you wanted was already out of the store.

My mother, already an incredibly manipulative person, used every tool at her disposal to change my mind. My father threatened me, mocked me, told me “It’s your decision” when it clearly wasn’t. It was all so weird; I didn’t understand why they cared so much.

I told my parents I didn’t like it and didn’t want to do it. I clearly recall thinking it was a piece of shit that would hurt my career.

It wasn’t the first thing that had come our way that I wanted to pass on, and every other time, it hadn’t been a very big deal.

Sidebar: I was cast in Twilight Zone: The Movie, in 1983. The film tells four stories, and I was cast as the kid who can wish people into cartoonland. It was a GREAT role, in a movie I still love. (Note that Twilight Zone had four directors. One of them got three people killed. The segment I was cast in was not that one. I mention this because too many people zero in on this to deflect from what this whole thing is actually about.)

But I was CONVINCED by my parochial school teacher that if I worked on The Twilight Zone, which she had determined was satanic, I would go to hell. (This woman and her bullshit played a big role in my conversion to atheism at a young age, but when she told me that, I was all-in on the supernatural story they taught us in religion class.) I was so scared, more scared than I’d ever been to that point in my life, I cried and wailed and begged my parents to not make me do the movie. And I never told them why, because I was afraid my dad would laugh at me for being weak and afraid. My agent tried to talk me into it, and I wouldn’t budge. It’s the only thing I deeply and truly regret passing on, and I really hate I made that choice for such a stupid reason.

Okay. Back to The Curse.

This time, when I told them how much I hated it, they wouldn’t listen to me. My mother, already an incredibly manipulative person, used every tool at her disposal to change my mind. My father threatened me, mocked me, told me “It’s your decision” when it clearly wasn’t. It was all so weird; I didn’t understand why they cared so much.

That is, until they made me take a meeting with the producers of the movie, in their giant conference room on the top floor of a tall building in Hollywood. All I remember about this place was that it was huge; the table was way too big for the five of us who spread around it, and there were floor-to-ceiling windows on three of the walls, but the room was still dark. There was a weird optical illusion in the center of the table, this thing they sold in the Sharper Image catalog, made from two reflective dishes with a hole in the top of one. You placed an object in the bottom of the bottom dish, and it made it look like that object was floating above the whole thing. They had a plastic spider in it. What a strange detail for me to remember, but it’s as clear in my memory as if I were sitting in that room right now.

One man, who I presumed was the executive producer, was European or Middle Eastern (I didn’t know the difference then, he was just Not Like People I Knew), and I was instantly afraid of him. He was intimidating, and seemed like a person who got what he wanted.

So we sat there, my father who didn’t give a shit about me, my mother who was cosplaying as someone with experience, and me, thirteen years old, awkward as fuck, and scared to death.

I don’t remember what they said to me in their pitch or anything other than how uncomfortable and anxious I was to even be in that room. I tried so hard to be grown up and mature, but I — and my parents — was way out of my depth. I’d done one big movie and that was it. We didn’t have my agent with us, who had lots of experience and would have known what questions to ask.

No, in place of my experienced agent, my mother had decided she was going to be my manager, and she tackled the responsibility with an enthusiasm that was only matched by her absolute incompetence and inability to go toe-to-toe with producers the way my agent did. She was outwitted, out-thought, and outmaneuvered at every turn.

“You don’t have a choice,” my father commanded. “You are doing this movie.”

So we sat there, my father who didn’t give a shit about me, my mother who was cosplaying as someone with experience, and me, thirteen years old, awkward as fuck, and scared to death.

At some point, this man, who is represented in my memory by big Jim Jones sunglasses under dark hair above an open collar, said, “We are offering you a hundred thousand dollars and round-trip travel for your whole family. We will cast your sister, Amy, to play your sister in the movie.”

It all made sense, now. I was only thirteen, but I knew my parents were pushing me so hard because this company was offering me — them, really — more money than I’d ever imagined I’d earn in my life, much less a single job.

I knew that the right thing to do, the smart thing to do, was to say no. There would be other opportunities, and it was stupid to cash myself out of feature films for what I thought was, in the grand scheme of things, not very much money.

It’s incredible to me that I knew all of this. It’s incredible to me that I could see all these things, plainly and clearly, and my parents couldn’t (or, more likely, chose not to).

So after this man made his offer, all the adults in the room ganged up on me, selling me HARD on this movie.

My mother said, “Don’t you want your sister to have the same opportunities you’ve had? Wouldn’t it be fun and exciting to go to Rome? Think of all the history!”

The experience was awful. It was the worst experience I have ever had on a set in my life, by every single metric. The movie is awful, and it is the embarrassment I knew it would be.

I don’t think about this very often, because it’s super upsetting to me. Right now, I’m so angry at my parents for subjecting me and my sister to this entire experience. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

In that moment, I felt bullied and trapped. All these adults were talking to me at the same time, and I just wanted it to stop. I just wanted to go home and get out of this room. I just wanted to go be a kid, so I did what I’d learned to do to survive: I gave in and did what my parents wanted.

The experience was awful. It was the worst experience I have ever had on a set in my life, by every single metric. The movie is awful, and it is the embarrassment I knew it would be.

But here’s the thing: when you watch The Curse, you are watching two children, me and my sister, who were abused on a daily basis. The production did not follow a single labor law. They worked us for twelve hours a day, on multiple film units (while I work on First unit, second unit sets up and waits for me. When I should get a break to rest, they send me to Second unit, then to Third unit, then back to First unit. I was 13.) without any breaks, five days a week. I was exhausted the entire time. I was inappropriately touched by two different adults during production. I knew it was wrong, but I was so scared and ashamed, and I felt so unsupported, I didn’t tell anyone. I knew my dad wouldn’t believe me, and my mother would blame me. Anything to keep the production happy, that’s what she did. That was more important to her than the health and safety of her children. The director was coked out of his mind most of the time, incompetent, and so busy fucking or trying to fuck one of the women in the cast, he was worse than useless. He was a fading actor who was cosplaying as a director, as in over his head as my mother. My sister and I were never safe. Instead of harmless atmospheric SFX smoke, they set hay on fire in barrels and blew actual smoke onto the set. They took buckets of talc, broken wood, bits of wallpaper and plaster, and threw it into my face during a scene inside the collapsing house. My sister is in a scene where she goes to get eggs from some chickens, and they attack her. So they hired Lucio Fulci, the Italian horror master, to direct her sequence. His idea, which everyone was totally on board with, was to throw chickens at my sister. Live chickens, live roosters, live birds. Just throw them at a nine-year-old girl. Oh, and then tie them to her arms and legs so they’ll peck her. All of this happened under my mother’s observation, and with her full participation.

Everything I need to know about who my parents are is wrapped up in that experience: the total lack of concern for my safety and happiness, treating me like an asset instead of a son, lying to me, manipulating me, and using me to get things they wanted, and then gaslighting me about it.

If just ONE of the things I can remember happened to someone I loved, I would have grabbed my kids, gone to the airport, and flown home. Fuck those abusive assholes in the production. Let the lawyers sort it all out. Nobody hurts my children and gets away with it.

My mom says she “had some talks” with the producers. She claims that, once, she wouldn’t let us leave the hotel. (God, what a fucking dump that place was. It was just slightly better than a hostel.) I have no memory of that, but honestly the entire experience was so traumatic, I’ve blocked most of it out.

The movie was the commercial and critical failure I knew it would be. My parents spent the money. I don’t know what they spent it on. I got to keep fifteen cents of every dollar, so . . . yay?

My sister and I hardly ever talk about this. I suspect it was as upsetting and traumatic for her as it was for me. I told her I was writing about it, and asked her if she remembered anything. She told me she’d been lied to her whole life about this movie. Our mother let her believe she had been cast on the strength of her audition. “I was excited to work with you,” she said. She reminded me about some stuff I’d blocked out, including a scene where my character’s older brother (played by an actor named Malcolm Danare, who was kind and gentle, and made both of us feel safer when he was around) shoves my character into a pile of cow shit. When it came time to shoot the scene, the mud they’d put together to be the cow shit looked an awful lot like cow shit. When Malcolm pushed me into it, we all found out it was real cow shit. I was FURIOUS. The director had lied to me and had allowed me to have my entire body shoved into an actual pile of actual cow shit. I don’t remember what I said, but I remember he treated me the exact same way my father did whenever I got upset: he laughed at me, told me I was being too sensitive, reminded me that he was the director and he wanted to get a “real” performance out of me, and concluded, “If it bothers you so much, we’ll get you a hepatitis shot,” before he walked away.

My sister also recalled that, after she survived the scene with the chickens, it was the producers’ idea to give her one as a pet.

Okay, let’s unpack that for a quick second: you’ve been traumatized by these birds, so we’re going to give you one as a pet. That you’ll somehow keep in your hotel, and then will somehow get back to America. It will shock you to learn that neither of those things happened.

She remembered, as I do, the huge fight I had with my parents in our kitchen, where I told them I hated the script and I hated the movie. I didn’t want to do it, and I hated that they were making me do it.

“You don’t have a choice,” my father commanded. “You are doing this movie.”

“This is the only film you are being offered,” my mother lied to me. She made me feel like, if I didn’t do this movie, I would never do another movie again in my life. I had to do this movie. As my father bellowed, I had no choice.

Both of my parents denied this argument ever happened. Can I tell you how reassuring it is to know that my sister, who was also there, remembers it the same way I do?

The makeup department decided they would literally cut my little sister’s face with a scalpel, in three places, and put bandages over them.

But one thing she told me, the thing I did not know, the thing that makes me so angry I want to break things, actually managed to make the entire experience even worse than I remembered it.

There’s a scene after her chicken incident where I check up on her in her bedroom. She’s got cuts and bruises, and I guess we talk about it. I don’t remember and I can’t watch the movie because I’m terrified it will give me a PTSD flashback (I’ve had one of those and I recommend avoiding it). Here’s the thing about that scene: she has some cuts on her face, and those cuts are real. They are not makeup.

I’m going to repeat that. My nine-year-old little sister had actual cuts on her face that were placed there by an adult, on purpose.

The makeup department decided they would literally cut my little sister’s face with a scalpel, in three places, and put bandages over them. My sister told me our mother wasn’t in the makeup room when this happened — honestly, it seemed like our mother was strangely and conveniently absent when most of the really terrible things happened to us on the set — and when my sister told her what they’d done, she “lost her shit” at the production. She was pissed, I guess, which is appropriate and surprising. I wonder what would have to have happened for her to put us on a plane and get us home to safety? I mean, her son being abused daily didn’t do it, and her daughter being CUT IN THE FACE ON PURPOSE didn’t do it.

I just . . . I can’t. I can’t understand or comprehend allowing your own children to be physically and emotionally abused. They were literally selling my sister and me to these people, like we were some kind of commodity.

This was a tough conversation. My sister’s experience with our parents is very different from mine. My sister and I love each other. We’re close. I know it’s hard for her to hear that her brother, who she loves, was so abused by her parents, who she also loves. I was really grateful she made the time to talk to me about it, and grateful the experience wasn’t as horrible for her as it was for me.

As we were finishing our call, Amy also remembered one man, a young Italian named Luka, who was our driver for the movie. I haven’t thought about him in thirty years, but I can see his face now. He was kind, he was friendly, he taught us how to kick a soccer ball, and in the middle of an abusive, torturous experience, he stood out as a kind and gentle man. I mention him because she remembered him, which made me remember him, and goddammit I want at least one small part of this thing to not be awful.

The Curse remains one of the most consequential times the adults in my life failed to protect me. I’m 50. I still have nightmares.

Ultimately, as I predicted and feared, this piece of shit movie cashed me out of respectable films forever. I got offers for movies, but they were always mindless comedies or exploitative horror films. They were never the serious dramas I wanted to work in after Stand by Me. The industry looked at me and River, wondering if one or both of us would become a breakout star. They quickly saw that River was doing real acting work, and I was in this piece of shit. For River, Stand by Me was a beginning. For me, it would turn out to be pretty much everything, at least as far as film goes.

There are thousands of reasons film careers do and don’t take off. Maybe mine wouldn’t have taken off anyway. Clearly, it’s not where my life ended up, and I’m super okay with that now. But when all of this happened, it hurt and haunted me.

The Curse remains one of the most consequential times the adults in my life failed to protect me. I’m 50. I still have nightmares. Everything I need to know about who my parents are is wrapped up in that experience: the total lack of concern for my safety and happiness, treating me like an asset instead of a son, lying to me, manipulating me, and using me to get things they wanted, and then gaslighting me about it.

This annotation is the last thing I wrote before I turned this manuscript in, because opening these wounds is hard and painful. I put it off as long as I could, and I feel like I’m still holding back, because just this small glimpse of the experience has taken me a week to write. I can’t imagine trying to go back and unpack the whole thing. (Note that is not in the book: I’ve made an EMDR appointment to work on this because the nightmares have come back after the weekend).

Fuck The Curse, and fuck every single person who exploited and hurt two beautiful children to make it. You all participated in child abuse, and you all knew better. Shame on all of you. I hope this follows you to the end of your life. I hope that living with what you did to innocent children has been as hard for you as it has been for me, because you deserve no less.

[elllisaaa]

SUGARCOAT - L. JIHOON

KINKTOBER DAY 7 - ORAL FIXATION

SUMMARY : one of the first thing jihoon noticed about you was that you always needed to have something in your mouth - be that candies, cigarettes or joints, lollipops... he just didn't think that your obsession extended to him and his fingers too.

-> pairing : friend!jihoon x fem!reader

-> words count : 1.9k

-> genre : smut

-> warnings : oral fixation (obviously), dry humping, finger sucking, kind of a hand kink, riding, dirty talk, swearing, unprotected sex, oral (m. receinving), cum eating

+ the way i'm depicting jihoon does not represent him, it's only a work of fiction

-> 18+ content bellow, minors DNI

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated ! sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> masterlist | svt masterlist | kinktober 2024

“- Do you have candy Jihoon ?

- Uh… Yeah, there should be some in one of these drawers.

- Thanks !”

You hopped from your spot on the couch of the studio and went to rummage through the drawers he indicated, immediately stuffing a piece of candy into your mouth when you finally found them. It was a habit of yours that Jihoon observed pretty quickly - the way you always needed to chew on something. You always had lollipops or gum in your bag, and when he noticed the nicotine patches you carried with you too, he guessed that it was to conceal your consumption of cigarettes. You never mentioned it though, so Jihoon never did either, not wanting to make you feel uneasy. 

However, he couldn’t deny that he had sometimes watched you a little too closely when you were sucking on a lollipop, that he had stared a little too long at your lips when they were coated in sugar from the popsicle you just ate. Jihoon tried to focus back on his work and not let himself be troubled by his dirty thoughts again. 

“- Jihoon, could you help me with this ?”

You had come closer to him, placing your laptop on his desk to show him the question of your assignment that you were struggling with. You made your studies into musicology, and having a talented producer and singer like him as your friend was very helpful. While Jihoon tried to clarify what you hadn’t understood, you were unable to listen to him, hypnotized by the way his hands moved around on your keyboard. 

“- Are you even listening to me ?

- Uh, yeah, sorry, I just got distracted.”

Jihoon huffed as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, throwing a dark glance your way that made you gulp down and want to take his pretty fingers in your mouth even more. 

“- What’s the point of teaching you all this if you’re more focused on drooling on my hands ?”

Your cheeks heat up at his words, trying to come up with something to defend yourself but nothing coherent was going to come out of your mouth and you knew it. He had caught you red handed, might as well tell him the truth. 

“- It’s just… This is so embarrassing… You see, I love to… Have something in my mouth. And well, your hands are pretty, and I’m sorry this is really weird.”

You sighed as you looked back at your laptop, ready to pack all your things and leave him alone to come to terms with what you had just revealed, but Jihoon didn’t let you go too far as he grabbed one of your wrists to stop you. He forced you to turn back to him, finding you so cute with your red cheeks and your shifty eyes. 

“- I don’t think it’s weird Y/N, it’s… Kinda hot actually.”

You snapped your head back at him, watching him with your widened eyes, and Jihoon couldn’t help but giggle at your reaction. His own cheeks were starting to grow hotter with the way your gaze shifted from shock to something much more darker.

“- You do ?

- Yeah.”

Slowly, you got closer to him again, until you could sit on his lap. Jihoon’s breath was caught in his throat as you reached for his hand and brought it up to your lips. You closed your eyes as you kissed the pad of every one of his fingers softly, missing the way Jihoon was looking at you - amazed, and so fucking excited. You opened your eyes to dive into his intense gaze as you parted your lips and pushed one of his fingers into your mouth. Jihoon was surprised by the contented sigh you let out as you started to suck around his finger. You had told him you loved it, but he didn’t think that it was going to turn you on that much. He could already feel his shorts growing tighter as you took a second finger into your mouth, this time moaning as you coated them in your saliva. 

“- D-Do you like it ? Is it what you wanted ?”

You let another noise escape you as a response, involuntarily rolling your hips against him and making you both gasp at the feeling of a friction that felt good, but not quite good enough. Quickly, Jihoon’s other hand found your hips and pulled you closer to him, until you could sit directly on his clothed cock. Your sounds of pleasure were muffled by his fingers, but Jihoon still drank every one of them as he helped you grind against him. You ultimately let go of his fingers, cheeks burning up and arousal dripping into your panties as you moved against him faster. 

“- F-Fuck… Feels so good Jihoon, I love your fingers… 

- Good, I want to make you feel good. This… This was so hot, you’re so fucking hot.”

You locked eyes with him again as you stilled your hips, trying to catch your breath, but the way Jihoon was looking up at you with such adoration, with such lust, made you even more hungry, made you crave more and more of him. Your gaze flicked down to his lips for a second too long, and soon enough, Jihoon crashed his mouth against yours, your tongues finding each other as he helped you resume your moves against him. You whined into his mouth, and you swallowed his own moans as you humped his clothed cock like a dog, your dignity long forgotten by now. 

“- Can I… Let me fuck you Y/N, I need to be inside you.

- Yes, fuck yes, please.”

The way you were so quick to answer and help him get out of his sweatpants made his cock throb. You looked so pretty like that - on top of him, pushing your underwear away to take him whole into your wet cunt. Jihoon couldn’t see the way he was filling you up because of your skirt that you hadn’t had enough care to take off, but the feeling was way more than enough to make him groan out your name and buck his hips up. 

“- You’re so tight around me… Is this what having my fingers in your mouth does to you ?”

You moaned against his mouth in agreement as you started to roll your hips on top of him, eyes glued to his face, watching intently as Jihoon threw his head back, lips parted and letting out pants and sighs to your every move. You slowly build up a rhythmic pace, deep and sensual, allowing you to feel every inch of his cock dragging against your walls. His hands were holding your waist, but he made no efforts to help you ride him, too lost in the pleasure you were giving him to care. 

“- Jihoon…”

His name coming out of your mouth in an airy whine forced him to open his eyes and look at you again, his breath hitching in his throat at the way you were staring at him - in adoration, like you desperately needed him, like you needed him more than anything. 

“- I want your fingers in my mouth.

- Take them, take them baby.”

You didn’t need more than that to grab his hand and bring it to your lips, letting Jihoon push his fingers into your mouth. His eyes stayed glued to the way your lips were wrapping around his digits, to the way you were sucking them just like your favorite lollipops. You unconsciously sped up the pace of your bouncing as you closed your eyes and let your tongue run along his pretty fingers. 

Jihoon’s free hand strengthened its hold on your waist, helping you move up and down quicker, the new rhythm and the slight change of angle making you both moan. Some drips of your saliva had started to run down his hand and his wrist but he didn’t seem to care, going as far as pushing his fingers deeper into your mouth, making you whine around them. And Jihoon couldn’t help but wonder if it would feel just as good to have your pretty lips wrapped around his cock, if you would be just as warm and wet around him, if you would take him just as nicely as his fingers. 

“- S-Shit, Y/N…”

You moaned around his fingers again, swirling your tongue around his digits again before getting them out of your mouth. They were dripping in your saliva, and the fucked out look in your eyes as you watched the mess you made pushed him to quicken his pace, the both of you gasping in harmony, the low and needy moans coming out of Jihoon’s lips tightening the knot forming in your stomach. 

“- Love your fingers… Couldn’t stop thinking about them.”

If Jihoon would have felt a little cocky about the revelation usually, now he just squeezed his eyes shut, his two hands grabbing your hips to help you move on top of him. The way your cunt was clenching around him rendered him unable to think straight, the only thing going through his mind in that moment being you. 

“- You love my cock too, don’t you ? 

- Y-Yes, love it so much… Jihoon, I’m close…”

His eyes met yours again, and you stared at each other as you felt your orgasm built quickly. His cock was hitting the perfect spot inside of you, your whines growing high-pitched as you felt closer and closer to the edge with each new thrust of his hips up to match your rhythm. Jihoon didn’t fare any better, his gaze unfocused and filled up with lust, fingers digging into the skin of your waist under the intensity of the pleasure coursing through his veins, and he wasn’t even ashamed of the way he was moaning out loud now. 

“- C-Cum on my cock… Please….

- O-Oh my god !”

The force of your orgasm crashed over you like a tsunami, your eyes rolling back and pussy clenching down on him as your uncontrolled moans echoed in the room. Jihoon watched you, fascinated, as you fell apart on his dick. He was almost there too, but before he could even ask you to let him cum too, you got off his lap and down on your knees, settling between his thighs without a word. 

“- W-What are you d- Ah ! Fuck… You… You feel so good.”

Your mouth wrapping around his still hard cock had Jihoon trembling in his desk chair. The view he was craving for now in front of his eyes, and the feeling of your tongue licking your own slick from his length made it impossible for him to hold back anymore. He wanted to last longer, to enjoy the sight a little longer, but seeing you look at him through your lashes, with your eyes wide and filled with desire was too much for him. Though, it was the way you whined around his cock that made him swear under his breath as he released in your mouth, throwing his head back as you gulped down every last drop of his cum. 

Your hand brushing against his cheek was what made Jihoon reconnect with reality, as he was still struggling to catch his breath. The sight of your lips still covered in a mix of his cum, your own wetness and saliva could have made him hard all over again. But instead, Jihoon pulled you into a passionate kiss, tasting himself on your tongue as he wrapped his arms around you. He broke the kiss to press his forehead against yours, an action maybe a bit too sweet and loving for two friends but you didn’t care. 

“- Next time you need to suck on something, call me.”

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my work.

kinktober taglist (dm or comment to be added) :

svt taglist (fill in this to be added) :

@lil-kpopstan @hann1bee @heevllog @bewoyewo @foxinnie8 @jaderabbit-98 @lala-----------lala

@d-dilemma @bath1lda @anxiousskylar @mikaelless @leeknowinggg

[welovewarcraft]

when i die

fandom(s): homicipher

pairing(s): mr. crawling/reader (mc)

summary: What a blissful love life he enjoys. Alas, all good things must come to an end.

The fresh air was very nice to feel; it was very different from the metallic odor that constantly lingered in his old world. You told him about the sky and how beautiful it could be when it was blue. When the rain clouds cleared and he saw the sun's rays poke through the clouds from the confines of your apartment, he was giggling and happy. He had no eyes, but due to his supernatural qualities, he could still see.

Mr. Crawling liked many other things about your world in comparison to his. The buildings and their interiors were much like the ones he was familiar with, except they were cleaner and not tinged with dirt, rust, and blood. There were no ghosts with dubious intentions that could pop out at any moment. Though paranormal activity still existed in this world, as long as the both of you stayed away from prominent areas and activities, you two were fine. 

This world was so much safer and nicer.

With you, Mr. Crawling was almost ecstatic every day. He had his first shower, his first set of clothes that weren’t his usual robe (you thought he looked rather cute in a hoodie and pair of sweatpants of the same color, but in the end, Mr. Crawling preferred his old clothes, so you got multiple kimonos for him), and his first real meal that wasn’t flesh (you’re a great cook!). He also learned about your language, your interests, and much more (once, you joked about turning him into a man of culture, but Mr. Crawling didn’t understand at the time). 

About a year had passed since he started living with you. Mr. Crawling was content with the better and safer lifestyle, and he was able to speak your language at a basic level. One day, as Mr. Crawling was watching a documentary, he noticed you weren’t beside him. When he looked over, he noticed you staring out the window, lost in thought.

“(Name)?” He asked, the name rolling off his tongue naturally.

You looked at him in response.

“Yes, Mr. Crawling?”

“What are you thinking about?” His words still sounded a bit stiff. Your name was the only word that came naturally to him; once he got it right, he was ecstatic and didn’t stop saying it for a long while, enough to practice pronouncing it perfectly.

“Nothing, dear,” you replied.

Mr. Crawling blushed at the endearing nickname, but he still felt a bit unsure. Despite that, he turned his attention back to the documentary, enjoying the visuals on-screen and trying his best to pick up new words.

Mr. Crawling was very glad that he got to go to the human world with you.

A few days later, Mr. Crawling got worried. You seemed increasingly stressed, and he wanted to relieve you of it. This time, he was really poking at you, to the point of being annoying. He hadn’t acted this worrisome in a long time since accompanying you in the other world. When you finally were pushed past a tipping point by his badgering, you snapped and said that you attracted the wrong kind of attention and that if you weren’t careful, you would end up dead. 

Mr. Crawling cried at your outburst. He could not produce tears, but the feeling was there all the same. You felt really bad, and patted his head and back to soothe him. Once he calmed down, he wanted to know everything. You refused to tell him much. A bit toward the end of your conversation, you said some words to him that made him shudder.

“When I die,” you began, “I would like to feed you my flesh so that you won’t be hungry for some time. I want to do one more good thing, even after I die.”

At this, Mr. Crawling had burst into tears again (to remind, metaphorically). He wanted to perish the thought, but you already planted the seed in his head, and he couldn’t seem to uproot it now. He could never eat you! You are his joy, the light of his life! He would rather go back to the otherworld or die than do such a thing.

He must have been really out of it because you dropped the subject instantly.

After that, Mr. Crawling became very clingy. He didn’t want you to leave your apartment at all. He succeeded at first, but after a few days, you managed to get away to go to work. You had to promise him extra cuddles and kisses after you came home every day (even on the weekends). He never wanted to leave your side, even when you had to take a shower (and thus, that’s how he got his first bath with you. It was greatly comforting, even if it was just temporary). You even got him a phone so you could send messages about what you were doing.

Fortunately, a few months later, the fear seemed to disappear almost entirely. You had managed to convince him that you fixed whatever situation you were in and that he didn’t have to eat your flesh. He was overjoyed. Everything was back to normal and perfect again.

Until one day, you didn’t come home. Mr. Crawling wasn’t too worried at first but when it was about eleven o’clock at night, he couldn’t take it anymore. He unlocked the apartment door while he was on his knees and exited the apartment. He tried his best to lock the door from the outside despite not having much experience with them; he knew you would be upset if you came home to an unlocked door and him not being there at the same time, but he was just so worried for your safety, that he eventually stopped trying and just left.

He wandered the city, making sure to stay away from other people and stick to the shadows. As he traversed, he picked up a strong metallic scent. He hadn’t smelled blood this strong since his residence in the other world (you would cut your hand on the kitchen knife sometimes). Afraid, he cautiously followed the scent.

He crawled and crawled until he reached an empty park. He made it to some trees when he saw you. You were still recognizable, but your body was mangled on the ground.

He crawled hurriedly over to your corpse and cried.

If only you just… didn’t go to work. 

He sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. His human was dead. Who would do this to you? 

As he drowned in his sorrow, he suddenly remembered your words.

When I die, I would like to feed you my flesh, so that you won’t be hungry for some time. I want to do one more good thing, even after I die.

He made a louder whimpering noise. He wanted to preserve your corpse, like how he watched in those videos about funerals. He didn’t want to eat you! He was torn between doing what you wanted and doing what he wanted.

After he was able to calm down a bit, he looked at your corpse for a little while.

Unsure, he slowly reached with his claws out.

+++

AO3

[slightly-knot-insane]

What Long Tongue You Have

Monstertober 2024 - day 17 [ Razor sharp smile ] by @ozzgin

[ fem!demon x m!fairy ]

content: giant/tiny , not reader POV

Her priority was to eat something. Demon's day was long and cumbersome and she was really looking forward to munching something small like a pixie or maybe a small wood nymph. Her favourite snack bar in Hell, had just what she needed. A cute little fairy. He was still alive, rolled into a crepe, ready to be cooked.

"No need", she tells the chef. "I'm in the mood for some fresh fairy. Put him in to-go box."

She hurries home with her little trashing and rather upset fairy boy in the box. She really loves them all feisty - adds to flavour.

She finally get home and unpacks her fairy crepe. She is already drooling, all giddy about her meal. Fairy filling looks extremely angry (as much as a tiny creature like him can look), but then he blushes. "Your... tongue," he says.

"Hm?" she responds absentmindedly.

"It's so long," he continues, looking at her mouth almost mesmerized.

"Yeah, and I'm about to use it and eat you." She smiles a wide and eerie smile, lifts him up and, just when's she's about to take a bite, pixie squeals again.

"Please, let's make a deal!" Demon rolls her eyes, but she is curious to what the little fairy has to offer. "I'll do whatever you want, just don't eat me. I'll serve you and be your companion for the rest of your life!"

"As if. I'm hungry, my little snack. Give me another meal, as equally as tasty as you, and then we'll talk."

And indeed, he does. With a shake of his pretty wings, his magic produces food. He gives the demon not one, but many meals and snacks and deserts. He fulfills all her wishes and presents on the table whatever the demon asks for (except for pixie crepes). While the demon is eating, fairy is looking at her, watching her eat and chew. He is blushing the entire time.

"Okay," the demoness burps. "This was incredibly delicious and I want you to stay my servant. But I want to reward you for this wonderful dinner. What would you like?"

"To ride your tongue!"

Demon is surprised by the request, but also morbidly curious. She lets her long tongue out of her mouth, and the exited fairy undresses himself. He sits on her slippery tongue and thrusts his hips, humping the bumpy and moist texture. "Ahhh, this is so good..." he moans.

Demoness smiles behind him, thinking how easily she could just slurp him between her sharp teeth and eat him how she intended in the first place. But the sounds he is making and the little desperate thrusts of his hips. They are... just too cute.

She lets him climax all over her tongue and thank her for this pleasure, and demoness simply swallows the tiny amount of cum. It was one of the sweetest things she ever tried. She smiles happily and licks her lips with a different kind of hunger in her eyes.

[asaka-lucy-hl]

Report on the 3rd Online Meeting of the Last Defense Academy School Council (Held on February 28)

The archived video is now available for the School Council members, so I’ve listed the key points and comments from Kodaka and Inou (THL’s producer) that I found particularly important or amusing. Part of the report is written in the form of a conversation, and the person named Miyokawa who appears in it is the editor-in-chief of a Japanese gaming media outlet called Famitsu.

Q: There are now 55 days until release. How are things going? Kodaka: We’re working on some patches, but development itself is basically finished. Until recently, I was making final adjustments to the parts I was responsible for, as well as checking the balance of the SRPG sections. But now that’s all settled, so I’ve been playing through the parts written by other writers—the ones I wasn’t involved in during development—as a player.

Q: So you're playing THL from a player’s perspective? Kodaka: Yes, exactly. There are parts I didn’t oversee at all, so I’m experiencing them for the first time myself.

Q: The demo’s reviews have the status of “Overwhelmingly Positive”… Kodaka: They’re all fake reviews. (Everyone laughs) Kodaka: We paid people 100 yen each to write them. Miyokawa: That’s cheap. (laughs) Inou: I personally wrote about 30 of them. (Everyone laughs) Miyokawa: Let’s not make jokes like that—it could spread in a weird way. It’s not true! (laughs) Right now, there are around 806 reviews. Kodaka: It’s really nice to see so many reviews for just the demo.

Q: Do you feel the impact of the feedback? Kodaka: Yes, I do. With Rain Code, we didn’t release a demo, and while DRV3 had a demo, there wasn’t really a place for people to leave reviews like this. So being able to see this kind of reaction is really valuable. We’ve even used some of the feedback to make adjustments in patches, so in that sense, I’m glad we released a demo. Also, as I mentioned in my Famitsu interview today, seeing the reactions to the demo has been a relief. My worries have eased a bit. Before the demo was released, I was thinking, “What if we only sell 600 copies...?” But now I know we’ll at least sell 800, so I feel a little better. (Everyone laughs) Miyokawa: I don’t think 800 copies is a number you should feel reassured about. (laughs)

Q: The SRPG sections were more challenging than I expected. Kodaka: That’s true. I think that’s one of the aspects that received particularly good feedback. When it comes to the story, a lot of people commented that it felt “Danganronpa-like” and nostalgic, but for the SRPG sections, it seemed like many players only truly understood what they were like after playing them.

The SRPG has a system where, if you get a game over, various relief measures kick in, making it progressively easier. Personally, when I play action games and keep getting game overs, I always think, “Why doesn’t this game have some kind of relief system?!” Since I’m more of a casual gamer, after dying three times, I just want the game to let me clear it already.

Miyokawa: So THL has that kind of relief system? Kodaka: Yes. Since I’m the type of person who wants that kind of feature, I made sure to include it.

Q: Since we have Kodaka here, I’d love for the School Council members to share their thoughts directly with you. But at the same time, many fans are hesitant to say too much because they’re worried about spoilers.

Kodaka: Yeah, but honestly, what’s playable in the demo is really just the tip of the iceberg—actually, more like the tip of the tip of the iceberg. I’ve seen a lot of reviews commenting on how surprisingly large the demo is, saying things like, “I can’t believe they released this much content.” But in reality, it’s just a small fraction of the full game. So many more things are going to happen from here on.

On the other hand, since the development team talks openly about all this stuff among ourselves, I sometimes worry that I might accidentally slip up and drop a keyword or something.

Most SRPGs tend to have a fantasy feel, but I think this demo really conveys just how much of a 'chuunibyou' (edgy, over-the-top) vibe the game has.

(Everyone laughs)

One thing that’s always bothered me about SRPGs is how, toward the end, the gameplay often turns into just surrounding the last enemies and bullying them. At a certain point, you realize, “Oh, I can’t lose anymore,” and the tension disappears. I wanted to reduce that as much as possible.

So, I designed the game around "comeback victories." The more allies you lose, the stronger you become.

I set it up so that, near the end, you might think, “Only two of us are left... but if we risk everything, we might just pull this off... We did it!!!” That kind of dramatic, high-stakes moment. I feel like that also adds to the game’s chuunibyou spirit.

---

<Kodaka's Comments During the Fan Q&A Session>

Darumi is the kind of character that seems like they could fit into Danganronpa but actually can't. If you have a character like that, they’d basically have to be killed off early on. So, while they might seem like a Danganronpa character, they actually wouldn’t work.

Maruko wouldn’t fit either. Someone that much of a coward would be hard to use in the story. Ginzaki as well—if he keeps sinking into self-loathing every time he speaks, the Class Trial wouldn’t progress at all. Surprisingly, there are a lot of characters that seem like they could appear in Danganronpa but actually wouldn’t.

For the first nine characters (except for Takumi), I wanted them to feel a little more relatable, a bit more grounded compared to the ones in Danganronpa or Rain Code. Maruko, Kawana, Shizuhara—they don’t have over-the-top appearances. Since this game has war as a theme, I wanted to include somewhat realistic reactions to that. So, at first, I aimed to depict real high school students with these nine characters. ...But I couldn't really do it. laughs In the end, I just kept adding more and more, and it turned out the same as always—intense characters all over again.

(Everyone laughs)

Kodaka: Still, I think the designs are slightly more relatable than those in Danganronpa, don’t you? Miyokawa: Darumi might be a bit extreme, though. Kodaka: Yeah, that’s true. But then all the characters that got added later ended up being way too intense, which made for a really unbalanced mix. laughs

Q: Are you participating in the 100-day login campaign? Kodaka: I haven’t logged in once. (Everyone laughs)

Q. The controls with the keyboard are difficult. Can they be improved before release? Kodaka: To be honest, I strongly recommend using a gamepad. Well... making adjustments for keyboard controls costs money, you know. Inou: Yeah, it’s not like we didn’t consider it, but given the budget, we decided it was better to just ask players to use a gamepad.

Q: Will there be any shocking announcements before the release? Kodaka: Honestly, we’re still debating how much to reveal. From a marketing perspective, it would be better to make an honest announcement that "This and that happen," people would go, "Whoa, this game is insane!" But at the same time, I want players to experience those surprises firsthand. So I’m thinking maybe it’s best to hold back and rely on post-release word-of-mouth instead. I don’t want to ruin those moments of shock for the players.

That said, I was looking at the demo reviews, and it seems like a lot of people were really reacting to Aotsuki’s event CG from Tokyo Game Show. Maybe that’s because, after playing the demo, they understood the characters better?

Inou: Yeah, that one definitely got people buzzing and stirred up a lot of "What!?!" reactions. Kodaka: At TGS, we had a bunch of event CGs on display at the booth. And we figured, "Hey, let’s throw in something fun at the edge of the lineup!" So we deliberately included one of the more intense event CGs. But I think it’s still hard to understand why things turned out that way.

There are over 600 event CGs in the game, so I doubt many people will see all of this.

---

On the development process

Kodaka: Today, various sections of the team were interviewed, and while reminiscing about the road to release, our staff kept saying things like: "I never thought we’d finish this game." "There’s no way this is possible."

Honestly, for the past two years, I’ve been hearing nothing but people saying, “It’s impossible! We can’t finish it!”

Miyokawa: Sounds like the whole Tookyo Games team was in despair. Kodaka: Yeah, Tookyo Games was in despair. Even Media.Vision (the company handling the SRPG sections) was in despair. Inou: Right. And since I was managing the project, I was in despair too. (Everyone laughs) Inou: So, at some point, I thought we had to force ourselves to finish it. Speaking of which, someone started saying scary things like, "If we had another year, we could have done even better..." Kodaka: It would never be finished at that rate. laughs Miyokawa: That just shows how ambitious the game was. Kodaka: Yeah, and I think the quality turned out really high. The character sprites and music are really abundant, too.

Plus, in the ADV sections, the scripting was all handled by the actual scenario writers. For the sections I wrote, I also did all the scripting myself. In fact, the entire ADV section of the demo—I handled all the scripting for it.

That’s probably why people kept saying in reviews that it feels like Danganronpa—because everything, from the way sound effects are used to the way music changes, was all done in my style.

While working on this, I realized that I’m actually really good at scripting. Maybe even better than writing scenarios. I genuinely feel like my directing makes things more engaging.

Miyokawa: Do different writers have their own distinct styles? Kodaka: Yeah, you can really tell, especially with Uchikoshi—his writing stands out a lot. There are some sections where you just know it’s him. But I think that’s part of the game’s charm—there are so many different routes, and multiple writers contributed to them.

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[Closing Segment]

Miyokawa: Now then, does anyone know what day it is today, February 28th? Kodaka: Monster Hunter release day! Miyokawa: (laughs) Oh, the team members know what I mean. That’s right—it’s Ginzaki’s birthday! So, we have prepared a cake for him!

What do you think? Kodaka: That’s impressive. It does look a bit like his ears are melting though. Miyokawa: Well, is he really that beloved? Inou: I believe a lot of people will end up loving him. He’s already popular at ANIPLEX, and he’s one of my favorites too. Kodaka: He does have a great range of expressions. A lot of them are annoying, though. (Everyone laughs) Miyokawa: Even the expression on the cake is a little irritating, right? He doesn't seem to be aware that he is being celebrated. ---

Miyokawa: Lastly, do you have any message for the School Council members? Kodaka: Well, after the release, I’d love to have a meeting where we can share our thoughts without worrying about spoilers. I think a lot of different impressions will come up. Probably, about a month after the release, people who have played it will have completely different opinions, so I’d like to hear everyone’s thoughts at a good time. I think this is a work where sharing impressions will be a lot of fun, so please look forward to it and wait until the release.

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That’s all for now. Please note that this post only highlights the parts of their statements that I found interesting, and some sections have been edited for flow, as they were not originally consecutive.

I hope you find some parts of it enjoyable to read. Thanks for reading! 🌟