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hivemuthur · 19 hours ago

Note

Hi! Thank you so much for your beautiful work!! I hope it’s okay to make a silly little request

So I’m in my 20s (late 20s I might add) but I’ve never ever even kissed anyone yet and I kinda really want to so… Would you consider writing modern au!Viktor with a virgin!f!reader? Something about a first kiss or maybe having sex for the first time or first relationship..? Anything first in general 👉👈

Anon, I am beating my chest that it took so long and hope that you will get a notification that it is published (I sometimes don't when I ask anon questions). I was a late bloomer myself and it has some massive advantages. Though I hope you get to kiss someone nice soon!

First Rites

viktorxfemale!virgin!reader mature, kissing and making out :)

author’s note: Nothing smart to say here, really, other than I will probably write a part two of this :') @rennethen beta read!

word count: 1,8K

—

Your eyes sweep over Jayce’s tongue on Mel’s before you catch yourself staring. And even that doesn’t stop you. You analyse the movement of their hands, the way Jayce’s hips press into Mel’s, memorising all the smacking sounds they try to muffle into gentle giggles, hoping that you and Viktor are doing a decent job of not looking. When in reality, it’s the exact opposite.

It always goes the same way: the clack of heels echoing through the corridor outside the lab already has Jayce perking up. He grunts, clears his throat, and gets up slowly to avoid raised eyebrows and Viktor stating the obvious, like, “I guess this means you’re off for the day?”

Then, Jayce gives an apologetic smile and strolls toward the door, opening it before Mel can even knock. He exchanges a shy, stupid, cheek-reddened “Hi” for her sultry, thick “Hi yourself.” Their greetings die somewhere in their mouths when their lips meet in a first hello kiss. That one doesn’t last very long—soon, it shifts into an I missed you kiss. That lingers before melting into an I want you kiss or an I’d rather eat you than dinner kiss. And those are your favourites.

Even when you try very hard not to imagine what kind of kiss might follow that, you can’t help yourself. You end up blushed and flustered, your mind spinning with curiosity.

So you stare—impolitely, some might say—but for you, it’s research. You study and memorise, committing their courtship to memory so you can replay the scene later, your fingers wandering over your own lips as you imagine what it would be like. To have someone’s lips on yours, someone’s tongue in your mouth. It doesn’t sound all that appealing or hygienic, but it looks fantastic. It makes you feel a very much welcomed weirdness in your chest and belly, and having nothing else to supplement those feelings with, you just outright stare.

“It’s quite rude, if you ask me,” Viktor’s voice cuts through your thoughts just as Mel lets out a small, startled sound at Jayce’s hand cradling the back of her neck.

“Uh, I know. They should take it somewhere else, really,” you whisper back, but your tone is far from condemning. You say it absentmindedly, your eyes still glued to their mouths, chin propped on your hand, your scribbling abandoned the moment Jayce stood up.

“I meant your intense staring. But yes, such activities should be performed outside of work areas,” Viktor mumbles, not looking up from his notes.

Your blush deepens into an intense red hue as you finally look away and cover your face with your hand.

“Oh, I um… I didn’t mean to, it’s just—”

“All right, we’re off! Don’t work too hard while I’m gone!” Jayce’s beaming laughter cuts you off. Before you or Viktor can reply with a snarky comment, he sweeps Mel by the waist, and they disappear into the hallway. The sound of Mel’s giggle and the uneven click of her heels on the stone floors make you wonder if Jayce is kissing her neck or pressing her against a wall.

“It’s just?” Viktor insists, finally looking at you, his face forming an unamused expression.

“Nothing. It’s just nothing,” you respond quickly, picking up your pen with a shaky hand. You force yourself back to scribbling, even though your handwriting comes out ragged, suffering from both the excitement and the fear of Viktor’s prying eyes. But you do it anyway, desperate for any kind of shield.

“It does not look like nothing,” Viktor pushes, rotating in his chair to face you fully. You deepen your hunch, almost pressing your nose into the paper. How mortifying.

“I understand the concept of unrequited attraction, but you should really do yourself a favour and quit this self-flagellating practice of ogling every time Mel picks him up. It doesn’t lead to anything beneficial and impacts your focus,” Viktor drones, his nasal tone close to scolding.

You feel so scrutinised that you don’t even bother to correct his misunderstanding of your habit. You just sigh and continue your fake note taking.

“Trust me, I would know,” Viktor adds.

That catches your attention. How would he know anything about what you’re going through?

“Whatever do you mean by that?” you ask, keeping your face turned toward your notes, though your eyes wander to glance at him. He looks… unhappy? Mildly irritated? Annoyed at your lack of shame and focus?

“I am merely stating that lusting after someone out of reach is, at best, futile and, at worst, a path to ruin. For your own good, I would refrain from such practices,” Viktor says quietly.

You blink a few times as the words settle in your mind. He thinks I’m in love with Jayce? Lusting after him? It’s almost funny when you think that what you’ve been doing is in fact, just lusting.

“I can assure you, I am not attracted to Jayce. Or Mel, for that matter. I just—”

“Oh?” Viktor’s head snaps up so fast it surprises even him. He internally scolds himself for the involuntary reaction, but the undeniable punch of hope makes him lose control of his body for a moment. His pupils are wide, his brows lifted all the way to his forehead. “You’re not?”

“Uh, no,” you sigh, finally turning to face him properly. Your head dips as embarrassment weighs you down, but maybe admitting it will make it easier to carry. “I’m just… collecting research. For whenever I’ll have the opportunity. If ever. I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever—”

“What?” Viktor’s voice comes out too sharp. Shit. He scowls at himself—internally, of course—for how poorly he masked his shock. Way to be sensitive.

You wince, sinking deeper into yourself.

“Oh. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to… offend you,” he says carefully, trying not to sound too excited. His hand hovers over your knee while he calculates whether it would be proper to comfort you with a gentle touch. If you would like that. If you would like him to touch you.

But before he can decide, you turn back to your side of the desk, avoiding his gaze. “I’m not that easy to offend. It’s just not something I’m comfortable with. I’m a bit… too old for that, you know.”

And as if having a mild upper hand in this situation pumps Viktor with extra courage, he twists your chair back and rolls it close to his, until the sides of your thighs touch. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, then. I actually mean for the opposite of that,” he breathes and allows himself to glance over your lips, briefly. But you notice.

“Viktor?” you whisper, feeling an invisible force pulling you closer to his face. His arm extends over your legs, gripping the edge of your seat, and you feel the mild heat radiating off his body. You can smell his scent lingering in the space between you as you indulge in small glances at his eyes and lips.

“If you allow me, I could provide you with… some hands-on experience. Unless, of course, I am not—”

“Yes,” you answer quickly, and Viktor exhales into a relieved smile. He mumbles an “okay,” as if bracing himself, and closes the little distance left between you. His mouth presses against yours almost innocently as he takes your upper lip between his. His lips are soft and warm. It’s a long, lingering peck that has your eyes fluttering shut and a pool of heat blooming in your belly. You find yourself leaning into the kiss, your hips on the edge of the chair, to the point that your chests almost press against each other.

When he disconnects from you, it’s only to breathe against your mouth, “Is this alright?”

“Yes,” you say shakily, your lips brushing his. You open your eyes only to see a pretty pink blush splattered across his cheeks and ears. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth when he asks, “Would you like me to continue?”

“Please, continue,” you exhale, and something glints in Viktor’s eyes. Emboldened by your enthusiasm, he slides the hand gripping the stool to the back of your seat, pulling you closer until you can almost feel the flutter of his heart against yours as your chests meet. His other hand cradles the back of your neck, and oh, it’s the same gesture Jayce granted Mel that you’ve longed for so dearly, and you feel your skin prickling under Viktor’s touch.

His mouth is back on yours, this time the press is firmer, as he parts your lips with his tongue and—oh. Just oh, as your eyebrows knit together and the warmest of feelings floods your chest, making your hands jolt out to fist his vest, and you sigh the sweetest of sounds into his mouth. And he doesn’t stop there—the hand from the chair slides up your side, rests on your ribcage, fingers digging in when he—oh—also makes a sound. The hottest of sounds, a honey-dripping moan that makes you bite his lower lip, craving to eat him up with a long spoon.

And when he loses himself a bit—grunts and sighs into you, his hands wandering to rest at the base of your spine and cradle your cheek in a firm grip—you don’t even know how it happens, but you slide your hips to straddle his and press yourself down on him. To your delight, he has many more of those pretty sounds, some even forming something close to your name, making you melt into his arms.

When he pulls away, it’s only for an inch. “Oh, my,” Viktor mutters, rubbing his face against yours and kissing your neck. You like that too, but you already miss his hot tongue in your mouth. “A natural talent, I see,” he chuckles, and you blush even more at the thought of what he would say if he knew how much practice you’ve done on the crook of your fist alone in your room.

He looks up at you, all flustered and pretty, swiping his thumb across your glistening lip. He doesn’t know what’s come over him when he says, “If you wish to explore this further, I can offer my… expertise.” What he wants to say is that he’s been thinking about this too many times to count, leaving him flustered and pretty countless times before, but he doesn’t want to scare you away. So he just keeps looking at you expectantly, willing his mouth to shut.

“I would like that,” you mutter shyly, noticing how Viktor’s chest sags with relief. To think that he was there, willing and within your reach all this time makes you feel silly for all those times you stared at Jayce and Mel longingly. And you’re convinced you’ll continue to watch them—not with longing, but with anticipation for when they finally stroll off to their date, so you can sink your lips onto Viktor’s.

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x f!reader #arcane #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #viktor fluff #viktor x reader fluff #requests #viktor x female reader

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 day ago

Text

A Curse [Chapter 3: Flower District]

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap relationship, entertainment industry misogyny, some body dissatisfaction/dysmorphia, medical stuff, a creepy dude, a special surprise is found in Aegon's office!!!

Word count: 6.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

You sleep in late and wake to the sound of excited voices out in the kitchen. When you follow them, you find Baela using a pink Click ‘n Flame utility lighter to ignite the candles on a sloppily but lovingly homemade cake, Pillsbury Funfetti according to the blue box left upturned on the countertop, lumpy white icing dotted with multicolored sprinkles. Jace must be responsible. You panic, thinking that you have forgotten a birthday, but no: you quickly recall that Baela is a Sagittarius and Jace is—somewhat improbably—a Capricorn.

“What are we celebrating?” you ask.

Baela looks up from the cake, the candlelight luminescence radiant on her face. She is beaming, she is glowing, she is definitely meant to be an actress. She shines too brightly to belong anywhere but among the stars. “I got the part.”

“Which part?”

“The one in the new Yorgos Lanthimos movie!”

“No way!” you shout, and you rush over to hug her; but already there is a sinking feeling that you are dimly aware of through the rush, and when the revelry is over you will lie in bed alone with these thoughts, treasonous yet true: When will it be my turn? Why can’t this happen to me? “That’s so exciting! I’m so happy for you!”

“It’s about the French Revolution,” Baela says when you pull away, still grinning hugely. “I’m getting third billing, my name will be on the promo posters! I’m flying to Paris for filming next month!”

“Wow.” Your smile is frozen on your face. “Wow, wow, wow, I can’t believe it. This is so awesome!”

Then Baela realizes how it must feel for you, and she is sympathetic, rubbing your shoulder as her expression twists into something soft and bashful. “But hey, your luck is turning around too!”

“Yeah,” Jace says. “You got to be in Episode 5,000 of Grey’s Anatomy.” Baela gives him a reproachful glare. “What?” he asks, clueless.

“No, it’s totally cool,” you insist. “I’m really, really thrilled for you, Baela. You have to take a million pictures in Paris so I can see all the architecture and desserts and hot French dudes!”

Jace snorts. “Are French dudes even hot?” He sounds skeptical.

“You can be my date to the premiere,” Baela tells you. Jace gapes at her, incredulous. “We can pose together on the red carpet and you can do some networking! Maybe Yorgos will even like you and cast you in his next project!”

But something about the way she says it makes the prospect sound ludicrous, fantastical, fictional. Baela’s breakthrough is reality, yours is unicorns and mermaids and the Loch Ness Monster. “You are so wonderful, but you should take Jace.”

“Yeah, you should take Jace,” Jace says.

Baela pulls a knife out of the bamboo block on the kitchen counter. Her parents bought it, like they bought almost everything else in the apartment; they believe in her, lots of people do. “Do you want some cake? When’s your appointment?” The appointment you didn’t cancel, contrary to Aegon’s explicit instructions. Technically, you never agreed to, so you haven’t lied to him. That makes you feel better. Baela glances at the calendar and reads the time written there in red ink. “Oh good, not until noon. You definitely have time for cake!”

“Babe, you gotta blow out your candles first,” Jace says. Baela closes her eyes, becomes still and serene, extinguishes the tiny golden flickers of light with one delicate puff. Then she begins cutting the Funfetti cake. You get three forks from the silverware drawer. Jace hands you a plate from the cabinet as he complains about having to go to class today: Music Aesthetics, Analysis, and Philosophy.

“Just a little one, please,” you tell Baela. A moment later, she plops a skinny slice of cake onto your plate. “Thanks, Becca! Wait, no, I mean Baela. Sorry.”

She laughs, still wielding a knife covered in white frosting. “Who’s Becca?”

“Aegon’s fiancée.”

“Oh, your agent’s future wife? The agent that you are definitely not into at all?”

“Yeah, that one, you got it.” You give her a wink and take a bite of cake: frosting so sweet it hurts your teeth, tiny kaleidoscopic flecks of candy like gold in a stream.

~~~~~~~~~~

“So, which one are you liking the feel of?” Dr. Cunningham asks, smiling in a way that is effervescent and yet impersonal, vaguely impatient, a real estate agent type of charisma. He must be in his mid-fifties, and yet his face is nearly entirely purged of wrinkles, smooth and shiny and evenly tanned. His teeth are too perfect to not be veneers. People keep suggesting those to you too; you need more time to wrap your mind around the idea of having your canines and incisors shaved down to helpless nubs.

“Um…” You go down the line again, squeezing all three samples that are arranged on the stainless steel utility table that Dr. Cunningham wheeled over to you. “I walked in wanting the gummy bear implants, and I think I feel the same way now.”

“Excellent!” he says, wearing that same smile. His eyes, very blue, never change; they are alert yet vacuous, like the fatal error screen on a Windows computer.

“And they’re safer, aren’t they? The gummy bear ones?”

“Statistically, yes,” Dr. Cunningham agrees, somewhat briskly, as if he is eager to change the subject. “But I wouldn’t worry about that. I hardly ever see ruptures in any of my patients.”

Hardly ever, not never. “That’s good!” you say spiritedly, like a star pupil.

“As I mentioned earlier, they are a bit more expensive than the other options, but we have several financing options available.”

“My parents are paying, so no worries there.”

“Fantastic.” He’s still smiling. You kind of wish he would stop. “You want to be an actress, I assume?”

“I do, yeah! How’d you know?”

He chuckles as he rolls the small metal table away. “That’s what all the girls are doing out here, right? And if it’s not acting, it’s singing, or modelling, or…what do you call that, when you make money on TikTok or wherever?”

“Being an influencer.”

“Right,” Dr. Cunningham says. “Well, I wish you the very best of luck.” It’s chivalrous but hollow, an echo of the encouragement he’s given to thousands of women just like you, except probably more beautiful and more talented and actually getting some of the parts they audition for.

I got a part, you think, and your mood lifts a bit. Aegon finally found me one. And he believes I’ll get more.

“Is it okay if I take a look?” the ever-smiling Dr. Cunningham says, and your heart begins to pound beneath the gown you’re wearing, scratchy white polyester-blend fabric that opens in the front. But this is all standard procedure, and you knew to expect an exam, and you should not feel like you’re lining up for the firing squad.

“Of course!” you exclaim too enthusiastically; your voice cracks. You undo the tie down by your waist and the fabric across your chest and belly goes slack. Your tan TOMS wedges are scattered on the linoleum floor that’s supposed to look like wood. The sundress you wore to the appointment, patterned with large sunlit palm leaves, is folded on a chair. Your eyeshadow matches: matte green Thorns by Anastasia Beverly Hills, sparkly gold Whisper by Natasha Denona.

As Dr. Cunningham opens your gown and begins the exam, you stare at a framed print of Venice Beach on the wall, and you pretend you are there under the hot glaring daylight instead of here in a frigidly air-conditioned office being prodded and manipulated, measured not to be admired or understood but only to be improved upon.

Dr. Cunningham is saying: “Just so you’re aware, due to how firm a gummy bear implant is, we typically have to make a slightly larger incision in order to insert it. Saline and traditional silicone implants, being more flexible, can be squeezed in through a smaller opening, for example using a transaxillary incision in the underarm. But they’re also more prone to wrinkling and rippling, and they must be replaced more frequently, so that pliability comes at a cost. I think gummy bear implants are a very good choice for you.”

“And…where exactly would the incision be?” Your heartbeat is still thunderous; you can hear the scorching red blood flow throbbing in your ears. Dr. Cunningham either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mention it.

“We’d go in right here,” he says, skimming his gloved fingers just beneath your left breast, your raw heart just two inches away. Goosebumps prickle on your arms. “It’s what we call an inframammary incision, and it gives us more room to work with to ensure the implant is placed properly, and…”

He loses his train of thought, interrupted by a commotion out in the lobby. Through the closed exam room door, you can hear people arguing and then something being spilled—the jar of pens on the receptionist’s desk? the glass bowl of mints?—and heavy sprinting footsteps. Dr. Cunningham pulls his hands away and you snatch your gown shut just as the door bursts open, and Aegon stands there breathing heavily from the exertion, hair in disarray, white Nike Killshots with a red slash of a Swoosh, dark jeans, salmon-colored t-shirt that’s too big for him, tan sport coat jacket yanked off of his shoulders. His attacker, the elderly receptionist, has chased him to the doorway.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” she’s shrieking. She smacks him with a massive leather purse. “You can’t just go barging in on patients! What are you, some kind of druggie? We don’t keep any opioids in this office!”

Dr. Cunningham yells: “Will you call the police, Barbara?!”

“No wait, I know him,” you say, and both Dr. Cunningham and the receptionist stare hostilely at you. You ignore them and look at Aegon instead, stunned. “Hi.”

He straightens his jacket. His eyes, that dark and turbulent blue, are fixed on your face as you hastily retie your gown so it stays shut. “Hi. What the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s just a consultation.”

“For a surgery you’re not going to have?”

You shake your head in disbelief. “How did you know I was here?”

“I just had this feeling you weren’t going to cancel,” Aegon says. “So I went to your apartment and you weren’t home, but your roommate told me where you were and gave me the address that you wrote on the calendar.”

“Oh.”

“She’s very nice. Your roommate, I mean.”

“Yeah, Baela’s cool.”

“She offered me a piece of Funfetti cake.”

“Did you take it?”

“No. I was in a hurry to get here.”

“Right.” You remain seated on the edge of the exam table with your hands clasped together in your lap. The receptionist and Dr. Cunningham’s bewildered gazes fly between you and the intruder.

Aegon sighs and nods towards the hallway that leads out to the lobby and the front door of the office. “Come on,” he says gently. “Get dressed. Let’s go.”

“I can’t,” you reply.

“Why not?”

You don’t answer; your eyes dart to the print of Venice Beach on the wall and stay there as they begin to water. Aegon crosses the room—the receptionist and Dr. Cunningham shuffle around the cramped space to keep away from him—and stops when he is standing right in front of you, his hands in the pockets of his rumpled tan jacket.

“Why not?” Aegon asks again, very softly now.

You look at him. Your voice is a quivering whisper. “I don’t want to have to give this up.” The city, the potential, the dream.

“Hey,” Aegon murmurs, leaning in close. You can smell the ocean and sunlight and Juicy Fruit gum. Strands of blonde hair, ripped from the sheen of gel, shag over his forehead. “You’re bright as hell just the way you are. You don’t need surgery to be an actress. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

And immediately, you are ready to leave. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” You wriggle down off of the exam table, check your gown to make sure you’re still covered, and turn to Dr. Cunningham. “I guess I’m not interested anymore.”

“Please never set foot in my office again,” he says.

“No problem,” Aegon snaps. And then to you: “I’ll meet you outside. We’ll get lunch.”

“Sure,” you reply, still a little dazed.

Aegon hurries out of the exam room before the police are summoned. Dr. Cunningham and the receptionist leave too, muttering to each other and casting you appalled glares. When you are alone, you throw off the gown and put on your bra, wedges, and sundress…and as you are smoothing the creases from the soft cotton patterned with palm leaves, you smile to yourself, kind pink heat swirling in your cheeks.

Aegon is in the parking lot and leaning against his white Chrysler Sebring convertible. He has put on his black aviator sunglasses to blot out the intense afternoon sun. Dr. Cunningham’s office is on a busy street in Beverly Hills; you can hear car horns, pedestrians shouting into their cellphones, toy dogs yapping, Shape Of You chiming from a passing Mercedes. Across the street is a series of shops in a row, Starbucks and Neiman Marcus and Gucci. Aegon says, pointing to your 2003 Honda Accord: “I’ll drive you back to get your car later.”

“Okay. Where are we going?”

“Chinatown,” he says, opening the passenger’s door of his Sebring. “And from now on, you listen when I tell you to do something, just like you said you would.”

“I’ll be your best client ever,” you promise, climbing into the car. The top is down, the wind blowing in from the Pacific Ocean to the west.

“I’m here for a reason. It’s not to be ignored. I can be your advocate, but you have to be honest with me.”

“I completely understand. I won’t mislead you again.”

“The Grey’s Anatomy people really liked you, by the way.”

The hope unfurls across your face like dawn over the earth. “Really?”

Aegon gives you a teasing, crooked grin. “Don’t pretend you’re shocked.” He shuts the car door, jogs over to the driver’s side, drives east through thick midday traffic.

At the same restaurant you went to the day you met, seated beside the same large fish tank, you and Aegon place the same orders: moo goo gai pan, boneless spare ribs. The waitress, Lanying, asks Aegon about how his siblings are doing before she speeds off to tend to her other customers.

Aegon watches the malevolent ember-colored oscars for a while, then taps his paper Chinese zodiac calendar, rimmed in red and gold. “Which one are you?”

You laugh, thinking he’s joking. “You already know.”

But Aegon doesn’t smile; he only stares at you blankly. “What?”

“I told you about my zodiac sign. The first time we had lunch here.”

And he looks at you as if his skull is as clear as the transluscent blue-tinged water of the fish tank, all the lights on but nobody home, and for a split second you almost feel as if you don’t recognize him, as if he is a stranger wearing Aegon’s windswept blonde hair and ill-fitting clothes and the crow’s feet around his eyes. Then Aegon repossesses himself and he is flippant, casual. “Oh yeah, right. Totally. I remember now.”

But you have the sense that he doesn’t. You try to hide how much this wounds you. It must not have been memorable. It must not have meant anything to him. “I’m a dragon!” you say brightly, and hold up your hands as if they are claws, opening and closing your hooked fingers.

Now he does smile, a little preoccupied, a little forced. “Of course you are.”

You scan the calendar. “What year was Becca born?”

“Uh…1994, I think.”

“She’s a dog,” you say. You read the description silently to yourself as the tea and wonton soups are brought to the table: Loyal and honest, you work well with others. Generous yet stubborn and often selfish. Look to the horse or tiger. Watch out for dragons.

~~~~~~~~~~

You arrive at Aegon’s office twenty minutes early, mostly because you miss him. It’s Wednesday, June 25th, and you park your Honda on the narrow sloping street and step out into 80-degree sunlight, ambient dog barking, powerlines crossing overhead. A lady walking her chihuahua waves at you and adjusts her sunglasses. Window air conditioning units whir. The trees, ginkgos and pink trumpets and Victorian boxes and palms, are still in the bright breezeless afternoon. The skyline of Downtown is a mirage on the horizon. From the barber shop across the street, you can hear a radio playing Bailamos by Enrique Iglesias.

When you clop into the lobby in your TOMS wedges, you see that Aegon’s door is closed. At his desk, Brandon is on the landline phone and jotting notes down in his planner, his flower pen scribbling rapidly across pink paper. When he spots you, he covers the phone speaker with his hand. “Hey girl!”

“Sorry, I know I’m early. Is he busy with another client?”

“No, go on in!” Brandon reaches down to dig around in the minifridge and sets a Perrier on the ledge of his desk. You take it, thank him, and go to Aegon’s door. You are puzzled to hear people talking on the other side, muffled indistinct voices. You wear an ocean blue sundress and cool metallic shades on your eyelids: Shellshock by Urban Decay, Strike by Natasha Denona. You open the door.

Aegon has his Nike Killshots up on his untidy desk and is playing the Nintendo 64. Mario is running through what appears to be some sort of underground maze, foggy and strewn with gold coins. The greenish haze must be toxic. Mario’s Power Meter is slowly ticking down; each time Mario snags a coin, it is partially restored. Aegon is watching the screen as he talks to a woman whose back is turned to you: tall, willowy, long dark hair. They don’t realize you’re here.

Aegon is saying as he clicks the transluscent orange Nintendo 64 controller: “That’s great, babe.”

“And the charity thing is on July 19th. I got a custom suit from Tom Ford, it’s powder blue, all you have to do is show up to the fitting.”

He sighs euphorically. “You’re the best.”

She giggles. “I know.”

Then Aegon notices you, and for a moment he seems shaken—not in a good way—and for some reason you feel like you’ve made some horrible mistake. The woman spins around to see what he’s looking at. She is stunning and ethereal and wearing a plain sack dress that hangs perfectly on her, a young Cher, and she smiles at you, kind and dazzling.

“Hi!” you say. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m a little early, I mixed up my appointment time because I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re fine,” Aegon replies, but he’s still distracted. Mario suffocates in the maze and drops over dead. Aegon turns off the game. He clears his throat. “Uh, this is Becca.”

You shake her hand when she offers it. Gold bangle bracelets jangle on her wrist. “It’s so nice to meet you, Becca!”

“And you must be the new client!” she says warmly. “The one from…where was it, Michigan?”

“Minnesota,” you reply.

“Oh, brr!” Becca says, pretending to shiver, and you laugh.

“Yeah, I’m really happy to be here. And you’re getting married soon, I hear!”

Becca beams, clapping her hands together. “Yes! I’m so excited but so stressed. The planning is endless.”

“Are you going to do it here in the city somewhere?”

“Aegon didn’t tell you?” Becca is perhaps a tad disappointed. “It’s a destination wedding.”

Aegon says from his desk, somewhat recovered: “Turk…something.”

“Turkey?” you say doubtfully. An interesting choice.

“Turks and Caicos,” Becca clarifies.

“No way! My sister just got engaged there, she said it was gorgeous.”

Aegon asks you from his desk: “Have you ever been?”

“I wish. Not yet, maybe one day.”

“You’ll have to come to the wedding!” Becca says cheerfully.

“Me?!” It’s ridiculous; you’re a nobody, you barely know her, you have a crush on her future husband.

“Yeah, all of Aegon’s clients are invited. Aren’t they, babe?” Becca glances at him, and then her eyes catch there and they stare at each other, Aegon slumped in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, Becca standing next to you, and there are several slow awkward seconds of silence. Aegon gets a piece of Juicy Fruit gum from a pack on his desk and shoves it into his mouth. Becca looks at you and then back to Aegon, who is pretending to organize the clutter on his desk. You notice for the first time that there is a ceramic bowl of Honeycrisp apples there.

“I thought you didn’t like those,” you say to alleviate the tension that you don’t understand.

“Well, Brando eats them,” Aegon explains.

“That makes sense.”

“And I guess they’re growing on me.”

“They’re really good for you,” you say. “Helps to balance out all the boneless spare ribs.”

Now Becca is studying you, and instead of being warm she is now cold and rigid and perplexed. After a while she asks stiffly: “What are you two up to today?”

“We’re going to the Flower District,” Aegon tells her as he rolls his gum wrapper into a ball between his palms. “I’ll be done in a few hours, I just have to get some current pics of her to send to people. So we’re going to do a quick impromptu photoshoot.”

Becca nods, still scrutinizing you. You open your Perrier and start gulping it so you have an excuse not to talk.

“What’s for dinner tonight?” Aegon asks Becca, and she perks up a bit.

“Beef bourguignon. It’s a new recipe, I’m really excited to try it.”

Aegon pretends to drool. “Amazing. I can’t wait.”

“I’ll talk to you later,” Becca says, and goes to leave.

“It was so nice to meet you!” you call after her.

Becca replies curtly without stopping: “Yup. You too.” You hear the two-inch heels of her gold sandals tapping on the scuffed wood floor and then the rough opening and closing of the front door of the half-duplex.

“What just happened?” you ask Aegon.

“Nothing,” he says, standing from his desk. His shoes match his shirt, a green plaid Ralph Lauren button-up that isn’t tucked into his jeans. His hair is slicked back and shiny with gel.

“I’m sorry, did I…did I do something wrong…?”

He sighs. “No.”

You toy anxiously with your Perrier bottle. You don’t want Aegon to fire you; you don’t want to lose him. He’s the only person who understands. “You should have told me we were going to be taking pictures. I would have done my hair and worn normal eyeshadow.”

He smiles. “I wanted you to look like you.” Then he heads off to his Chrysler Sebring, and you follow him.

The Flower District is on the other side of Chinatown in Downtown Los Angeles. It’s the largest wholesale flower market in the country, six blocks of vendors selling every plant imaginable, from ordinary daisies and tulips to bamboo shoots, ferns, herbs, cactuses, succulents, baby trees, house plants like monstera and ivy. The aroma is overwhelming; when you breathe deeply, you imagine prismatic blossoms bursting up through the alveoli of your lungs, roses and irises and calla lilies and orchids. Aegon weaves through the aisles and frowns at the magnificent flowers, none of them right for some reason. You are endlessly pausing to sniff petals and gingerly graze your fingerprints over leaves. Aegon has to backtrack to find you when you stop to watch a demonstration of a Venus flytrap being fed.

“Here we go!” Aegon announces triumphantly when at last he is satisfied, and he lifts the large bouquet from a plastic bucket for you to see: massive sunflowers, water dripping off the cut stems. “They’re sunny, just like you. You like them?”

“I love them,” you say, taking the bouquet and beaming. Aegon pays in cash.

Outside under the harsh cloudless sunlight, he poses you in front of one of the flower shops, pedestrians walking behind you and a rainbow myriad of blooms out of focus. He uses his phone to take a series of photos, some up-close and some full-body shots, and you had assumed it would be awkward but it’s not, Aegon is making jokes and you are laughing and trying weird angles and spinning around so the skirt of your sundress swishes despite the lack of a breeze.

“Cool, got some good ones,” Aegon says, scanning through his phone. “We’re done.”

“What should I do with these?” you ask about the sunflowers. “Do you want them back?”

“Why would I want them back?”

“I don’t know. You paid for them, it feels weird for me to keep them.”

“They’re yours. Enjoy.”

You inhale the faint floral scent that emanates from the yellow petals. “I’m going to put them in a vase on the kitchen counter and buy them flower food so they live as long as possible. And I’m going to talk to them, because that’s supposed to be good for plants.”

Aegon chuckles. “You are ridiculous.” He slides his phone into the pocket of his jeans and sees an ice cream vendor up the street, then gestures for you to come with him. The ice cream is allegedly homemade and only comes in five flavors. Aegon orders for you both. “Hi, one vanilla and one strawberry.”

The vendor scoops the ice cream into two waffle cones. Again, as he always does, Aegon pays in cash. You locate an available bench and you and Aegon sit together with the sunflower bouquet lying between you, watching the pedestrians stroll by with their friends and partners and children and dogs.

“Tastes better when you make it,” Aegon says, licking melting strawberry ice cream from his waffle cone. “I might have another job for you.”

“Really?! Yay!”

“It’s a little unorthodox, but you said you’d take anything.”

“I definitely will.”

“It’s a music video for Maroon 5,” Aegon cautions. “It’s honestly pretty uninspiring and stupid, but it’s work. It’s another last-minute thing, at first the girlfriend of one of the band dudes was supposed to be in the video but I guess now they’re fighting all the time and the guy doesn’t like the idea of having a permanent reminder of her if they break up, which seems likely.’”

“I want to do it,” you say immediately. “When?”

“They’re planning to film the first week in July at a mansion in Beverly Hills. They already have a male actor cast. And you don’t even have to kiss him or anything, you get to argue with him in the first scene and then the rest of it is mostly you just moping around the mansion in designer outfits. Again, it’s super unoriginal. Boy and girl have a miscommunication and split, boy regrets it afterwards, they both secretly and photogenically yearn for each other. It’s very Edward leaving Bella in New Moon.”

“Sounds fantastic! Do I get to meet Maroon 5?”

Aegon is disappointed. “Are you a fan?”

“Well…not really.” You both laugh. “But I feel like it’s always cool to meet celebrities in real life.”

“Yes, you get to meet them.”

You cheer. “You are the most talented agent ever!” You take a lick of your ice cream; it’s almost gone now. You look over at Aegon, serious now. “You’re the only person who doesn’t think I’m absolutely insane for trying to do this.”

He crunches his waffle cone with his teeth. “Your roommate’s an actress, right? She must get it.”

You shrug. “Baela is confident, and magnetic, and she wants to be famous. She’s very obviously meant to be in this industry, and agents and directors respond to her. But I’m not like that. Most people don’t notice me. And that’s okay, I don’t really want to be famous. I just want to be able to be a working actor and get to stay here. If I’m not making significant progress by the end of the year, I have to choose between going back to Minnesota or being disowned and impoverished.”

Aegon watches you, thoughtful, maybe a little sad. “I like you the way you are, sunshine.”

You smile shyly at him. “Thanks. I like you too.”

“And I don’t want you to change. It’s horrible to watch someone disappear.” He devours the rest of his waffle cone. “You know…I think helping you get to where you’re going, and making sure it’s done the right way…that will be the last good thing I ever do here.”

“You don’t have to retire.”

He shakes his head. “Circumstances change. Priorities change.”

“Do you want kids?” If Becca is in her thirties, perhaps now is the time to start planning for that.

“No,” Aegon says, flinching. “Definitely no kids. You’re anti-horse, I’m anti-kid.”

“Then what’s the rush to leave L.A.?”

“It’s the right time.”

“Not for me.” You grin. “I just got here. You can’t abandon me yet.”

“I’ll make sure you’re taken care of before I go. I’ll get someone I trust to sign you.”

“But I don’t want another agent.”

“The music video director asked to meet you before filming,” Aegon says, deflecting. “It’ll be quick, just ten or fifteen minutes. We’ll swing by his office on the way back to Elysian Park.”

“Okay,” you agree. You take a makeup compact out of your Patricia Nash purse and use the mirror to make sure you don’t have any ice cream on your nose or chin.

“I haven’t worked with him before,” Aegon says. “But I’ve heard very good things and obviously I’ll be there at the shoot.”

You snap your compact shut. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

In a spacious, glass-walled office in Downtown, the director introduces himself as Dan Sacco. He is tall and broad through the shoulders and extremely welcoming, offering you drinks and snacks and asking about your hometown as Aegon stands in the corner of the room, his hands in his pockets and his eyes watchful. Two jobs in two weeks; Aegon is a miracle worker.

When you get home to your apartment, it’s empty. Baela and Jace must have gone out somewhere for dinner. You put the sunflowers in a vase and then scroll through Instagram. Aegon has posted a new story: a photo of you standing with your bouquet and smiling, not sexy or alluring or arrogant but simply happy, and he must be very knowledgeable about filters because you think you look great.

Future Hollywood Walk of Fame star recipient, Aegon has added as a caption. If you want to book her, you know where to find me. He finished with a sunflower emoji. You press the heart button in the bottom right corner of the screen to like the story. Your own heart is racing now in the best way possible, feverish and loud, intoxicated, needful, seams ready to rupture.

You look up Becca’s Instagram, but her account is private. You send her a follow request. She doesn’t accept it.

~~~~~~~~~~

The night before the shoot, there is a knock at your door. It’s 8:30 p.m., a strange hour, not early enough for Amazon deliveries or a visit from one of Jace’s eccentric PhD program friends, not late enough for a drunk tenant to have mistaken your apartment for their own. When you open the door, you are at first so shocked you can’t place him. Then you remember where you know the hulking man in the tan suit from. It’s Dan, the director of the music video.

“Oh my God, hi!” you welcome him. You have just gotten home from Cold Stone Creamery and are still in your drab grey uniform. You always drive to and from work now, per Aegon’s insistence. You promised you’d listen, and you’re trying your best. Jace is in Baela’s bedroom banging on his Yamaha keyboard. From the velvet orange couch in the living room where she is watching The Vampire Diaries, Baela peeks curiously over at where your visitor fills up the doorway.

Dan seems pleased by your enthusiasm. “Hello again.”

“Can I help you with something? I know the shoot is tomorrow, I’m really excited. I was about to get ready for bed so I can go to sleep early and be well-rested. There’s not a problem with the music video, is there? Please don’t say it’s cancelled or that I’m fired or something.”

Dan chuckles, a deep slow rumble. “No, nothing like that. I just wanted to give you a heads up that we added a scene to the script.” He holds up a thin packet of papers held together by a single staple. “I’m not allowed to leave it in an unsecured location, so I have to take it with me when I go. But I thought you should be aware so you’re prepared when you show up to set.”

“Aw, that’s so thoughtful of you!” You take the packet and flip through it, skimming for an unfamiliar scene. “Did you get my address from Aegon? Or Brandon, his receptionist?”

“It was in your file that they sent over,” Dan says, perhaps a bit guardedly, and before you can ask anything else you stumble upon the scene, and your stomach drops. The actress—me, you think, that’s not some other woman, that’s me—will be lying in a vast empty bathtub, soaked hair, dripping skin, black lingerie, writhing and whimpering as she mourns the loss of her lover.

“Um…the bathtub scene?” you squeak.

“It’s going to be so cinematic,” Dan says, his large hands painting a picture with dramatic gestures. “Sunlight streaming in through a window, your skin glowing, you’ve drained the tub but you’re too heartbroken to get up so you’re just sprawled there, still drenched from the bathwater. Obviously it would make more sense if you were naked, but…we can’t do that in a music video.” He laughs. “But the aesthetic will be divine, like sexy mourning widow. And we’ll get all kinds of shots, you crying, you angry, you pining, you flirting and beckoning the camera closer, and we can get creative, you can just kind of crawl around all over the tub and we’ll see what you come up with.”

You gaze at the script until all the words vanish, imaging a room full of men watching you roll around in underwear, black lace wet and clinging to your skin, no secrets, nowhere to disappear. I can’t do that. But you can’t say no. “Is there going to be a woman on set to…you know, to…like…supervise, or, or something…?”

“You mean an intimacy coordinator?”

“Yes, thank you, that’s the term I was looking for.” Does Aegon know about this? He has to, right?

“Well, it’s not a sex scene,” Dan says rationally. “It’s not even a kissing scene. So we would never pay to have an intimacy coordinator around for this, it’s completely unnecessary.”

“Oh.” I can’t do that. I can’t do that. You feel nauseous; you feel dizzy, like you might stagger if you try to move.

“Look, if you’re uncomfortable, that’s totally cool,” Dan says. “I get it, a job like this isn’t for everyone. I have a list of backups I can call, and I can find somebody else—”

“No!” you cry out, then give the script back to Dan and manage a smile. “No, sorry, I was just a little confused, but I understand now. Thank you for letting me know about the new scene, and I can absolutely handle it.”

“Great.” He grins proudly. “I knew I could count on you. See you tomorrow.”

“See ya.”

Dan lumbers down the hallway, and you close the door when he’s out of sight. Baela asks from the couch: “What do they want you to do?”

You swallow noisily. “Roll around essentially naked in a bathtub.”

Baela nods; she doesn’t seem alarmed. Is this normal? Are you unreasonable? “Bikini?”

“Lingerie.”

“Want to know a trick?” she says. “After you shave, run a Stridex pad over your skin. I have a container of them in the bathroom cabinet, use as many as you want. It’ll burn at first, but it kills any bacteria and prevent razor burn. No bumps or ingrown hairs!”

“Thanks,” you reply weakly.

Baela squints at you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” A lie.

“It’s not that bad,” she says reassuringly. “I know it seems like the end of the world, but once you do a nude scene or a sex scene once, the nerves go away and it’s just another day at work. You’ll get through it. You’ll do an incredible job.”

I don’t want to give up the dream. I don’t want to leave Los Angeles. I don’t want to leave Aegon.

“You’re probably right,” you tell Baela, and you pretend to be fine so she won’t worry, or pity you, or be further convinced that you don’t belong here.

You shower, shave, scrub your skin with stinging Stridex pads, and long after you were supposed to be asleep you’re still staring up at your bedroom ceiling, a deep blue shadowscape with no stars.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen x you #hotd fic #hotd fanfic

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billiesbabygirleilish · 1 day ago

Note

can you write something where billie and reader arent our to the public yet but some fans have catched on and a lot of them harass and bully reader online bc they are jealous so reader gets overwhelmed and billie gets angry at the fans and calls them out ? ty if u do this ily

Virtual Vengeance

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘😈⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘��

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘😈⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The hum of Billie’s studio equipment usually filled you with a sense of calm and excitement. Being in the music room, watching her create, was one of your favorite places to be. But today, the low thrum felt like a building pressure, a constant reminder of the anxiety bubbling inside you.

Billie was humming softly, coaxing a melody out of her keyboard. You sat curled on the worn velvet couch, scrolling through your phone. Or, trying to. The screen was a blur of ugly colors and uglier words.

It had started subtly, a few odd comments on your Instagram. Vague, almost dismissible. Then, people started piecing things together– glimpses of you on Billie’s stories (a hand holding hers in the background, the back of your head in a mirror reflection), the way she seemed to light up whenever your name was mentioned in interviews. The more they saw, the angrier some of them got.

"What do you think about slowing down the tempo here?" Billie asked, tilting her head towards you, her blue eyes sparkling.

You forced a smile, trying to push down the knot in your stomach. "Sounds great, babe."

She didn't miss the lack of enthusiasm. Billie always saw right through you. She cut the music and swiveled in her chair, her brow furrowed. "What's wrong? You good?"

You sighed, finally putting your phone down, feeling guilty for letting it distract you. "Just… some stuff online."

"Stuff like what?"

You hesitated, not wanting to burden her. Billie was fiercely protective, and you knew where this conversation could lead. "Just some silly fans. They're being… weird."

"Weird how?" Her voice was low, a warning rumble that made your heart ache.

You chewed on your lip, then caved. You knew she wouldn't let it go. "They're saying things… about us."

Billie's expression hardened. "About us? What things?"

You took a deep breath and decided to just lay it all out. "They think we're, you know… together. And some of them… they don't like it."

You watched as her jaw tightened, her eyes blazing. "What are they saying?"

You hated this. You hated telling her. You hated that they were the reason you were having this conversation. But Billie deserved to know.

"Just… jealous stuff. Calling me names. Saying I’m riding on your coattails. That I'm ugly. That I'm not good enough for you." You rattled off a few of the insults, the names stinging even as you repeated them. "They're calling me 'Billie's Bottom Bitch' and making memes of me looking stupid. Someone photoshopped my face onto a pug, Billie! A pug!"

You knew it sounded ridiculous, but the sheer volume of negativity had been relentless. It felt like a constant barrage, chipping away at your confidence and making you question everything.

Billie was silent for a long moment, her gaze dark and intense. You could practically see the gears turning in her head. You could see her frustration, her anger.

"Show me," she finally said, her voice barely a whisper.

You reluctantly picked up your phone and opened Instagram. The comments section of your latest post was a toxic wasteland.

@billie_eyelashlover69: "Ugh, who is THIS?? Get out of here and leave Billie alone! You're so basic." @avocado_bae: "Billie could do SO much better. This girl probably can't even play the ukulele." @finneasfanatic: "She's just using Billie for clout. Watch, she'll drop an album in a month. Barf." @badguyismydaddy: "She's so ugly! Look at her nose! Ew! Billie deserves someone hot, like me!" @puglife4eva: "OMG ur the pug LOLOL #billiesbottombitch" @ilovebillieforeverandever"STOP PARADING AROUND WITH BILLIE WHEN YOU HAVEN’T EVEN BEEN CONFIRMED AS HER PARTNER!! YOU’RE SO THIRSTY" @haterofhaters "Ugh! Can't you all find something better to do with your time? You’re all so rude. Like leave her alone" @billieismymuse "BILLIE WOULD NEVER. YOURE LYING"

Billie scrolled through the comments, her face getting darker and darker with each passing second. When she reached the pug photoshop, she let out a low growl.

"This is… this is insane," she said, handing your phone back to you like it was a hot potato. "They're seriously harassing you?"

You nodded, tears stinging your eyes. "It's been going on for weeks. I try to ignore it, but it's hard."

"I'm so sorry," Billie said, reaching out to take your hand. Her touch was warm and grounding. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I didn't want to bother you. You're so busy with the album, and… I thought it would just blow over."

"This isn't a bother! You're not a bother," she said fiercely, squeezing your hand. "This is important. And I'm gonna do something about it."

You knew that look in her eyes. It was the look she got when she was about to unleash the full force of Billie Eilish’s wrath.

"Billie, please, don't do anything drastic," you pleaded. "It will only make it worse."

"No, it won't. They need to be called out. They need to know that this isn't okay." She stood up, pacing the room. "I'm not gonna let them get away with this."

The next morning, Billie posted a story on Instagram. It was a simple black screen with white text, but the message was anything but simple.

The response was immediate. Some fans, the true fans, flooded her comments with messages of support, condemning the online bullies and sending love to you. Others, the toxic ones, doubled down, accusing you of manipulating Billie and trying to ruin her career.

@trubillieber: "YES BILLIE!!! You tell them! We love you and YOU deserve to be treated with respect!" @billieismymuse: "WOW billie your taking her side??? She’s ruined you! You’re turning soft" @no1billiefan: "Some of us are just voicing our opinions, Billie. Can't you handle criticism?" @avacadobilliefan: "OMG Billie is the queen! These haters need to back off!" @love4billie: "WE LOVE YOU BOTH. Ignore the haters! They're just jealous." @billie_is_my_gf_4ever:"SHE’S A GOLD DIGGER! She's probably just using you for your money and fame! Wake up, Billie!!!"

Despite the continued negativity from some corners, something shifted. The sheer force of Billie’s condemnation seemed to silence some of the more vocal bullies. The support from her true fans outweighed the hate.

In the days that followed, things slowly started to improve. The comments on your posts became less frequent, less vitriolic. You still saw the occasional jab, but it didn't sting as much, not when you knew that Billie had your back.

One evening, you and Billie were back in the studio. She was working on a new track, a song about finding your voice and standing up for yourself. You were sitting on the couch, no phone in sight this time, watching her work.

Billie stopped playing, turning to look at you. "You okay?"

You smiled, a genuine smile that reached your eyes. "Yeah. I'm good."

"Really?"

"Really," you confirmed. "You know, you’re a pretty good girlfriend."

Billie grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I try." She paused, then added, "And just so you know, if those pug-photoshop people ever come back, I'm gonna write a diss track about them."

You laughed, the sound echoing in the studio, filling the room with a lightness you hadn’t felt in weeks. You knew that the internet could be a dark and ugly place, but you also knew that you weren't alone in facing it. You had Billie, and that was all that mattered.

#billie eilish #billieeilish #billie eilish x fem! reader #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish fic #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fanfic #billie eilish fluff #billiesbabygirleilish #billie eilish angst #billie eilish imagine

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ldydeath · 3 days ago

Text

Show Must Go On | Kang Dae-sung

Summary: You and Daesung both have feelings for each other but are too stubborn to admit it. When your boss decides that a PR relationship is best for business you both worry that you're feelings might come out. What could go wrong?

Warnings: None.

Author's Note: This is my first time writing for our angel baby, Daesung. Please let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list.

Daesung had been one of the first people you’d met when you had started coming up in the industry. With both of you becoming famous around the same time, you’d grown close rather quickly. You’d spent a lot of time with him and his band over the years, so much so that you all went hand in hand at this point. People didn’t think of them without thinking of you and vice versa. It was daunting sometimes being talked about in the same circles, but you loved your friends too much to ever distance yourself from them.

That however, didn’t stop you from being shocked when you walked into your bosses office to see Daesung there. “Dae? What are you doing here?” He shrugged and you raised a brow at your boss as you sat down. It had been a long time since you two had been called into the office together. In fact, the last time had been when you were a lot longer and were being scolded for doing something wrong on a variety show. You wracked your brain trying to think of something, anything you’d done wrong recently as your boss began to speak. “It’s a weird time for the industry and with you two still being single we think it’s best if you do a PR relationship. At least for a bit.” You blinked, having missed all but the end of the conversation. “What? That’s ridiculous. Nobody cares that we’re single.” Daesung nodded in agreement.

“It’s perfect timing, Daesung is doing reunion shows with BigBang, you’ve got your new album coming out. It’s a win-win if you promote each other and attend all these events together. You guys have a staged photo shoot in an hour for the hard launch.” You looked at Dae who rolled his eyes before looking back at your boss. “And we have to do this?” His voice was soft and you raised a brow, wondering why he wasn’t fighting back as hard as you were. “Yes.” Your boss leaned over, handing you both a timeline of the relationship. You snatched it from his hands before standing up to leave the room.

As soon as you were outside the room a hand was on your arm, you looked up into the concerned eyes of your best friend, “Are you ok?” Your expression softened at his worry and you let out a sigh, “Yeah, I’m just annoyed that we have to do this.” He cocked his head to the side, dropping your arm and folding them across his chest. “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s not like we’re not going to take this stupid schedule and make it fun.” It was a big deal, though. Over the last few months you’d started to feel things that you shouldn’t for your best friend. You weren’t so sure you could handle fake dating your best friend while you were navigating your own feelings for him. “Yeah, okay. I know we’ll make it fun, it’s just silly that they think anyone would care about this.”

—

A week had passed since the pictures of you being caught on a date had appeared online and you were eating your words. Fans from all over the world were obsessed that the two of you were dating. You were knee deep in instagram comments over a photo of your and Daesung’s hands. It was kind of funny how they could find a way the fans were playing detective over every post and story the two of you would put up. You didn’t even have to be in each other's stories for them to assume you were together.

The agreement had been that you’d be caught out, being a little too friendly but wouldn’t confirm anything yet. This week was a week of soft launching without tagging each other, no faces, nothing just to gauge the reaction. Tonight was the big show. You two had dinner with Jiyong and Youngbae and a couple people from both of your teams, something you all did frequently but after the dinner you and Daesung would get caught kissing.

You were a nervous wreck at the thought of it. Just being around him like this the past week had you on edge. Careful not to linger too much when holding hands, or to not look at him too long when walking down the street. It was one thing for the fans to see you smitten, it was another for him to realize just how much you weren’t acting. You were so busy trying to play it cool that you didn’t realize the way his touch lingered or the fact that he never wanted to be the one to leave first. You were fighting so hard to convince yourself that there were no real feelings there that you were missing the probability that he was in love with you and afraid to admit it too.

A knock at your door broke your thoughts and you grabbed your bag. Checking yourself over one final time before plastering a big smile on your face to hide the nerves, “You ready?” Dae greeted you and you nodded. “As I’ll ever be.” You held your hand out for him to take and he laced your fingers together, your heart pounding in your chest just from holding his hand. This man was going to drive you crazy and he didn’t even know it. As if picking up on your nerves, Daesung gave your hand a gentle squeeze as he led the way to the restaurant.

As expected the paparazzi was out, following you and your security down the street. Thankfully you only lived a couple blocks from dinner so the walk wasn’t too sketchy with your team by your side. As Daesung opened the door to the restaurant you leaned up to plant a kiss on his cheek, his cheeks flushing at the touch. That was unscripted and you cursed to yourself as you let go of his hand to make your way inside. Thankfully, everyone else was already there and the cameras weren’t allowed inside. You only had to keep up appearances in case anyone got a shot of you through the window, but you didn’t have to act in front of your friends.

“I guess I just don’t understand why you two have to be here for the kiss, it’s embarrassing.” You complained as dinner was coming to an end. Daesung's eyes flashed with a hint of hurt before covering it up with a nod his grip tightening on your leg. You didn’t see how much it was killing him, being so close to you and you shutting him down every chance you got. He should’ve told you how he felt, and now he was starting to chicken out. “I think it’s so the world can see that we support you both.” Jiyong looked between you too as you spoke. “It’s a big deal for the Hyung to approve of his girlfriend.” He sat back smugly in his seat and you rolled your eyes at him, knowing he didn’t take that title seriously anymore.

As you went to stand once the meal was over, Daesung kept his arm on your leg, causing you to stay seated. “We don’t have to do this, if it’s going to make you uncomfortable.” You thought maybe you were imaging things but he seemed sad as he spoke to you and you frowned, your eyes locking on him. Daesung wanted to make sure you were comfortable before anything else was to happen. He didn’t care about schedules or contracts or their boss, he only cared about you. “I’m not uncomfortable, never with you, it’s just weird, you know?” You were projecting, nothing about kissing this man was going to be weird. You were nervous that you wouldn’t be able to hide your feelings and ruin your whole friendship, but you had to do this. “Come on, once this is over we can go back to my place and watch everyone freak out in real time, it’ll be fun.” He nodded, standing up and taking your hand in his again before leading you outside.

You spotted the cameras hungry for attention, it was show time. Hugs were exchanged between you and the guys and as Daesung pulled you towards your street you leaned up, your mouth brushing his slightly. As his lips met yours, you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, and just as you were about to pull away, Daesung’s arm wound around your back pulling you closer and deepening the kiss. He had one shot to let you know how felt, and he poured all his emotions into that kiss, hoping maybe now you’d realize how he felt about him.

You got lost in the moment, your heart doing somersaults as you kissed your best friend. Jiyong cleared his throat behind you, causing you both to freeze. “Camera’s left a bit ago.” Your eyes popped open and you turned slowly, taking in the scene. It was just the four of you and your various security standing awkwardly around you. “Right. Well, we’re going to go.” Youngbae waved and the two of them took off down the street.

When you turned back around Daesung was looking at you, his expression soft. “So I guess that happened?” He chuckled his hand finding its way to yours as he faced you fully. “Kind of like you a lot more than just as a friend these days.” His eyes were wide searching yours for any clue that you felt the same and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, your hand moving to cup his cheek. “Kind of feel the same about you. That’s why I was so nervous about this whole fake dating thing. I didn’t think you felt the same and I didn’t want you to realize that I’m stupid crazy about you.”

He grinned, his eyes closing into those perfect half moons that you loved so much and it felt like a weight had been lifted off both your shoulders. “Starting to think this was a setup to get us to both stop being so stubborn.” He made a face, looking around as if someone was going to pop out and tell him he was right at any moment. “I’m glad though, I was too scared to tell you how I felt, and I knew today was my only shot to really show you how I felt. I think maybe we rip up that stupid contract and give dating for real a real shot.” You nodded your head at his words, leaning up to kiss him again. “Come on, let’s get you home so we can have some privacy.” He pecked your lips a couple more times before leading you down the street. Both of you making a mental note to thank your boss and everyone else who’d been involved in setting this up for getting you to realize that you two were crazy about each other.

tag list: @wcnderlnds @alosss-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun

#daesung x reader #kang daesung x reader #kang dae sung x reader #bigbang x reader #my fics #smgo #divider by cafekitsune

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4vanaa · 2 days ago

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WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING, rafe cameron, 19

summary: y/n left the outer banks years ago, determined to build a life far from the memories of her childhood love, rafe cameron. now a botanist, she's moved on-though a quiet part of her still clings to the past. when an event brings her back to OBX, she's forced to confront the one person she never truly forgot.

cw: none | masterlist | 18 | 20 |

rafeupdates 3h

liked by rafefan, weekndlover, and 25,670 others

rafeupdates Rafe Cameron spotted out with friends tonight in the Outer Banks before his sister’s wedding! He was seen laughing and talking with the group, but fans couldn’t help but notice one mystery girl who had his attention all night. 👀 Who is she??

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carter_bby WHO is the girl in the black dress bc Rafe was looking at her like she hung the moon

rafeszn nahhh this gotta be the girl he’s always singing about… he’s back home, the lyrics always mention ‘small town’ and ‘should’ve never left’ 👀

rafecameronwifey y’all I’m sick. physically unwell.

user not me abt to deep dive through his following. we will FIND HER.

brooklyn24 lmao let me know what you find bc I need answers.

kildarefan someone in the group tagged a girl on their story but her acc is PRIVATE. this might be her 😭

obsessedoverrafe he better not be soft-launching someone right now bc I’ll actually cry.

carolinagirlxo I’m gonna hold off my jealousy until we have real proof but it’s NOT looking good for us 😭

rafeswife the way he’s staring at her in EVERY clip… like sir blink twice if ur okay

user24 um. y’all. the girl literally has a boyfriend 😭 there’s a pic in someone’s story where a guy has his arm around her.

camrafe WAIT and in another one they’re literally kissing wtf. Rafe why u staring like that 😭

basketballbaby NOOOO NOT UNREQUITED FEELINGS I CAN’T DO THIS TODAY

allthingsrafe no bc imagine being her bf and seeing rafe cameron looking at ur girl like that… I’d simply walk into the ocean.

xorafe wait. didn’t he say in that interview last year that he was in love with a girl who had a boyfriend??? and we all thought he was joking??

xoangelkiss LMFAO NOT RAFE LIVING HIS OWN LYRICS. THIS IS A FANFIC.

abelfan the way we should’ve KNOWN bc he makes music w the weeknd… of COURSE he’s gonna be messy 😭

rafeupdates2.0 hold on bc people are saying her bf isn’t even all that… let’s be so serious.

camwife imagine having rafe cameron writing songs abt u and u still picking some random dude. could never be me

user idk y’all I saw the bf and he’s actually kinda fine, like I lowkey get it 😭

user yeah he’s cuteee I’d be loyal too tbh

angelrafe her man is cute but rafe being obsessed with her is kinda eating… like the plot is juicing rn.

rafesgf watch her be an old family friend or something and we’re all losing our minds for nothing 💀

a/n: ngl i think it’s safer for this story, that i don’t write/update bc the only thing in my head is angst angst. i’m sorry it’s taken almost a month for this chapter but i’m like basically finished drafting the rest of the story so.. i originally wanted to end the story on valentine’s day but yk ill say it’ll be done by the end of the month!!

🏷️: @xoxo-ada @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @sleepiibunniiii @urbrunettebombshell @sideboobrry11 @acidfeens @marleymarleymarleymarley @hadids-world @ursogorgeous13 @louxmcl @cyberkitty1 @pogueprincesa @drewrry @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not

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thebunnednun · 2 days ago

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Kiss me!~Kiss me!~ 💐

Y'all ain't ready for ALL this here.

Based on my mha “Fuck it, I got you,” mha story au’s. Some of these ladies haven’t graced the screen yet so you’re meeting new girlies today!! The only two cannon series out right now are Katsuki’s and Aizawa’s. I don’t wanna write for more characters until I finish at least Katsuki’s.

Why am I letting the girls out now then? (THey scaRe mE—) Because as Elizabeth Bennet said, not having the younger sisters have their share of fun because the eldest is not yet married hardly encourages sisterly affections. Plus, they crazy.

BUT— For this month alone, you will meet them and hopefully fall in love. Every fic is going to have bonus facts about the reader and how she met her man at the end of the fic. These ladies walked into my mind fully formed so I hope you love them as much as I do.

None of these women are ‘OC’s’. They are you, with big personalities and crazy brain power/quirks/whatever. If y/n can be a pretty princess one moment then throw her hair into a messy bun using her orbs and take 5 dicks like a pro and keep it kicking at work the next day, you can have a discernible personality and strong powers in a fanfic.

I will be hosting a poll that lets you, mi amor, vote on who you want to see get posted first. Make sure you cast your vote because poll times are going to be airtight. I will also take requests for a character that you desperately want to see added to the list. Remember to reblog with extra tags so more people can see this!

If you like my writing please feel free to follow, like, reblog, whatever. My fanbase is called the, “Cheesy potatoes,” and I do have a community link. Feel free to interact with me here on my blog, that’s what tumblr is for! I also have a Ko-fi if you’d like to tip me or commission a fic. I write for other fanbases too, but if you like my mha stuff in particular, please give my current works and series a look over and show them some appreciation. I’m also on ao3 and comments are love.

Enjoy your reading!!

And Happy Valentines Day~~🌹

-Angie

P.s. All the little icons are clues to what the stories will be about, byebye!~

Remember to give the post a like if you vote.

Remember you are loved.

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slytherinzz · 3 days ago

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A Gaunt arrangement

Hello everyone,

I got this prompt in my request and kind of got carried away a little bit, I feel like there is more to write about this story!

I hope you all enjoy and my request are still open, I do so enjoy writing your ideas.

Prompt: Heyy please do a ominis angst to happy ending, where we are the mc and its maybe sixth or seventh year (established relationship) but he's been close to another girl for a while so mc gets jealous and insecure. You can choose how the story goes but i NEED SOME GOOD ANGST WITH HAPPY ENDING PLEASEEEE

💫 Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x F!MC (named Olivia, but feel free to self-insert!)

⚠️ Warnings: Mentions of abuse

Please leave a comment, that motivates me greatly.

I’ve never been the jealous type.

Truly, I haven’t.

When I was dating Garreth Weasley in fifth year, and he cozied up to Imelda Reyes after a Quidditch match, I thought nothing of it. Free will is important, I told myself. But then I found them shagging in the dressing rooms a few days later, and my world shattered.

Since then, I’ve tried my best not to let past betrayals cloud my judgment.

But watching her—Eleanor fucking Rosier—lean into Ominis, brush her delicate hand along his sleeve as she whispered something in his ear…

It made my stomach twist painfully.

She was always around. A perfectly bred, poised, pure-blood princess. We had been in the same year since first year, but suddenly, now in our seventh, she had attached herself to Ominis like a sickeningly charming parasite.

And worse?

He let her.

I knew Ominis. Knew the way his lips curled in irritation when someone invaded his space, the way his fingers twitched when he wanted to pull away. But with her? He didn’t.

A shrill laugh rang through the Great Hall, and my gaze snapped to the Slytherin table. There she was, sitting beside him, practically pressed against his side. And Ominis? He looked… blank.

Not uncomfortable. Not anything.

“Are you even listening?”

Poppy’s voice dragged me back to reality. She had been rambling about a rumored phoenix sighting near the Forbidden Forest, but I hadn’t heard a single word.

I blinked, realizing I had been glaring across the hall, my untouched pumpkin juice growing room temperature beside me.

"Sorry," I muttered, forcing myself to look away. "What were you saying?"

Sebastian, sitting across from me, followed my gaze. He sighed, setting his fork down with a dull clatter.

"Just go talk to him."

"There's nothing to talk about." I stabbed my eggs harder than necessary.

Sebastian scoffed. "Right, because brooding and sulking is a much more mature approach."

I glared. "He's the one acting different, not me."

"You know Ominis," Sebastian said, leaning forward. His voice softened. "If he's keeping close to her, there’s a reason."

I hated that he was making sense.

But I hated even more that Ominis hadn’t spoken to me properly in weeks.

He was mine. We had been through heaven and hell together. From reluctant allies to friends to lovers to… this.

I had held him on nights when his nightmares were too much to bear. I had taken care of him when his family pushed him to the breaking point. We had shared everything.

And yet, now?

He was slipping through my fingers.

I tried to ignore it.

Tried to tell myself that Ominis wasn’t avoiding me. That I was being dramatic, insecure, paranoid.

But then he stopped meeting me in the Undercroft, like we did every night.

At first, I assumed he had gotten caught up in prefect duties, but night after night passed, and still—nothing.

It wasn’t until I caught him alone in the Astronomy Tower that I snapped.

"You’re avoiding me."

Ominis turned at the sound of my voice, his expression unreadable. The moonlight carved soft shadows along his sharp features, but there was no warmth in his gaze.

"I’m not," he said simply.

Liar.

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he didn’t respond.

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. "Is it her?"

He froze. "What?"

"Eleanor." I took a step closer, watching his face carefully. "Is that why you've been avoiding me?"

Ominis remained silent.

"You spend all your time with her," I continued, my voice wobbling despite myself. "You listen to her. You let her touch you."

That last sentence stung.

Ominis hated touch. It took months for him to let me in. I had been patient. I had taken my time, waiting until he felt safe enough to reach for me.

Now, he let her do it so freely.

"I don’t—" he started, but stopped himself.

"Why?" My voice cracked. "Why won’t you talk to me? What’s changed?"

Ominis turned away, running a hand through his platinum hair. His posture was rigid.

"You wouldn’t understand," he muttered.

I scoffed. "Try me."

A silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. Then, finally, he spoke.

"My father," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "He… set up an arrangement."

My breath caught in my throat.

"What?"

Ominis swallowed hard, his fingers clenching into fists.

"I’m betrothed."

It felt like the floor had been yanked out from under me.

He kept going, his voice hollow. "Eleanor’s father is close to mine. If I don’t… cooperate, if I don’t spend time with her, they’ll make sure I regret it."

I stared at him, disbelief crashing over me like a wave.

"You—You’re saying they’ll hurt you?" My voice trembled.

A bitter smile twisted his lips. "They already have."

I sucked in a shaky breath, eyes darting over him desperately as if I could see the damage they had done.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" I whispered.

Ominis laughed softly—but it wasn’t real. It was sharp, pained, hopeless.

"Because I knew what you’d do." His pale eyes—those beautiful, haunted eyes—found mine. "You’d try to stop it. And if you tried… they’d hurt you too."

Tears burned at my eyes.

I wanted to tell him I didn’t care. That I would go to war against the Gaunts if it meant keeping him safe.

But then I looked at him. Really looked at him.

And I realized…

He was terrified.

Not for himself.

For me.

"Ominis," I choked, stepping closer. "I don’t—There has to be another way—"

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

"I can handle it," he murmured. "I just need you to… trust me."

A tear slipped down my cheek.

"How can I, when it feels like I’m losing you?"

Ominis reached for me then, finally, his fingers grazing mine. It wasn’t enough.

"It’s not forever," he whispered. "It can’t be."

I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the sob rising in my throat.

But deep down, I knew the truth.

As long as the Gaunts had control over him, this wasn’t something we could fight.

And that terrified me.

The days that followed were torture.

Ominis still spent time with Eleanor, still walked beside her in the corridors, still let her touch his arm as if it meant nothing. But now I knew why.

Now I saw it differently.

His posture was stiff every time she spoke to him. His hands trembled slightly when he thought no one was looking. And the worst part?

He barely spoke to me.

Not because he didn’t want to—but because he was protecting me.

But what he didn’t realize was that his silence was hurting me more than the Gaunts ever could.

I found him in the library late one evening, tucked away in the farthest corner, a single candle flickering beside him. He was hunched over, one hand gripping his wand, the other clutching his ribs.

I froze.

"Ominis?"

He stiffened at my voice, his head tilting slightly. He hadn’t heard me approach.

"You shouldn’t be here," he muttered.

My chest tightened. "You’re hurt."

Ominis didn’t respond. But as I stepped closer, I saw it. The way his breathing was uneven, the way he flinched just slightly when he adjusted his posture.

I dropped into the seat beside him and reached out instinctively, fingertips grazing the fabric of his robes.

He flinched.

My heart shattered.

"Let me see," I whispered.

Ominis sighed heavily, as if every part of him was breaking under the weight of this secret. Then, without a word, he unbuttoned the top of his vest and pulled up his shirt.

I had to bite back a gasp.

Bruises. Deep, ugly, fresh. Dark purple and yellow, spreading across his ribs like an artist’s cruel brushstrokes.

I felt sick.

"How?" My voice shook as I reached out, fingers hovering over his skin. "When?"

Ominis swallowed. "I got another letter. I didn’t… respond the way they wanted. They summoned me home, like a fucking puppet"

My hands curled into fists.

His family did this to him. His own blood.

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to breathe through the absolute rage coursing through me. Then I stood abruptly, grabbing his wrist and pulling him up.

"O-Olivia—?"

"Come with me."

He hesitated but didn’t resist.

We slipped out of the library, down the dim corridors, and through the tapestry leading to the Undercroft. Our place.

The moment we were inside, I turned to face him.

"This has to stop."

Ominis exhaled sharply, running a shaking hand through his platinum hair.

"You think I don’t know that?" he whispered. "You think I don’t want to—" He cut himself off, turning his face away.

"Then let’s end it," I pleaded. "Together. I don’t care about your family, Ominis. I don’t care about the Gaunt name or their stupid, twisted rules. If they cut you off, fine. Let them. You’re more than their legacy."

His breath hitched.

"You think it’s that easy?" His voice was bitter, laced with exhaustion. "If I walk away, I have nothing. No home. No name. I’m just… gone."

I grabbed his hands, gripping them tightly. "You will always have me."

Ominis stood completely still. His fingers twitched in my grasp, as if he were memorizing the feeling.

Then, slowly, he squeezed back.

"...Say that again."

I stepped closer. "You have me. You will always have me."

His breath shuddered.

Then, without warning, he crashed into me.

His arms wrapped around me, desperate, unrelenting. His forehead pressed against my shoulder, his entire body shaking.

I held him just as tightly, running my fingers through his hair, pressing soft kisses to his temple and then finding my lips. It was soft and tender, but the kiss grew desperate and hungry. Finally, I had him all to myself again and I loved every second of it.

For the first time in weeks, Ominis wasn’t holding back.

"I don’t want to do this anymore," he whispered, voice cracking. "I don’t want to pretend. I don’t want to let them control me."

I pulled back just enough to cup his face, thumb brushing against his cheek.

"Then we fight," I said firmly. "We tell them no. We end it. Together."

A tear slipped down his cheek.

Ominis Gaunt never cried.

But now? He let me see him.

He leaned forward, and I met him halfway, our lips crashing together again

It was desperate, raw, full of every unsaid word, every moment that Elanor had stolen from us.

When we finally pulled away, breathless, I pressed my forehead against his.

"No more hiding," I whispered.

Ominis let out a shaky laugh, smiling for the first time in what felt like forever.

"No more hiding."

And in that moment, I knew.

We had already won.

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