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winetae · 4 years ago

Text

wall to wall (m.) 02

— female reader x hoseok

— smut, porn star!au

— sex work, insecurity, jealousy, slut shaming/objectification, role played scenario that includes: d/s dynamics - dom!hoseok, anal sex, sex toys, face fucking, double penetration, erotic massages, humiliation, degradation, porn star type dirty talk, squirting, creampie, lots of cum (and oil!)

— 19.7k

…

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

Your agent comes forward with a proposition to help put you back on the map.

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

part 01 | part 02 | part 03

author’s note | part 2 is finally here ! ! ty to jordan who has encouraged me literally every step of the way and to ella for supplying a never ending amount of hoseok gifs and pics when i most needed it :’) i’m sorry again for cutting the chapter into two parts but seeing as this entire chunk only amounted to 1/3 of my outline for part two it’s safe to say i would have never finished this fic otherwise ;;

(!) if you are particularly sensitive to humiliation/ degradation then maybe u should skip the smut scene bc jdjffjkfkddkd cries in tears of heaux

SCENE 03 - PULP FRICTION. TAKE 02. ROLL A.

It’s hard to guess how a project will be perceived by the general public. Sometimes a xxx feature film everyone believed would do well sells less than expected, and with online pirating becoming such a rampant and common occurrence, it’s harder to measure the impact of your work. Views and numbers are no longer a reliable indicator of one’s popularity. You’re lucky that you’re signed under such a big talent agency because at least you’re guaranteed regular paychecks, regardless of how well you perform. But to survive in this industry you’re conscious that you need more than that.

According to Seokjin and his expert advice, fans are the ones who will keep an adult entertainer’s career afloat for longer than the average six months. It doesn’t matter how good-looking or well endowed an actor is; if fans aren’t interested and invested, there’s a slim chance that they’ll pay money from their own pockets to view your work. And in order to build such a strong and dedicated fan base, you need one of several things: regular content and an active social media account.

It’s a careful line to tread; not enough online interaction can make people lose interest, but so can overexposure.

You’re patiently waiting for what Seokjin baptizes “The Big Breakthrough” - the decisive project that will propel you into superstardom. None of your videos have ever garnered that type of traction, however, and you’ve been stuck repeating the same old recycled scenarios of plumbers/pizza delivery boys coming over to get the fuck of their life.

When your latest video is uploaded online, you do your best to steer clear from social media. As much as you want to see what people think of your performance, it’s too nerve-wracking to deal with on an empty stomach. You know that if you begin scrolling through the comments, you’ll spend all day glued to your phone, constantly refreshing the page to check for feedback.

And while you aren’t the type of person who lets negative opinions affect your morale, you are nonetheless worried that your time in the industry is about to run out. Lately, the thought lingers ominously in the corners of your mind.

In times like these, exercise is one of the best distractions, second to maybe sex.

Pia, the yoga instructor, walks you through several routines, bending your body this way and that, until your head feels pleasantly blank, devoid for once of any stress and self-doubt. The hour long hot yoga class puts your overthinking mind to rest. In that moment even the notion of time ceases to matter.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.

The instructor turns off his meditation playlist while the room empties out, soft chattering replacing the chirping of birds and the sound of cascading water. Slowly, mind still fuzzy around the edges, you gather your belongings and head straight to the vending machine to get a much needed dose of caffeine.

As you dig around the contents of your purse for spare change, someone comes up from behind and taps your shoulder.

“Eep!” You catch your bag before it can slip from your grasp. “What—”

“Shit, sorry!”

When you spin around, hands clutched protectively over your chest to keep your heart rate steady, you don’t expect to come face to face with Hoseok, of all people.

He grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to give you a scare. I, um, recognized you from afar and thought I’d come say hi.”

Now that the initial shock has faded, you’re free to admire the sight in front of you without any distractions.

As handsome as Hoseok looks under the bright studio lights with his hair styled and make-up applied, there’s something undeniably appealing about the way he appears now - with his hair mussed up and sweatpants riding dangerously low on his hips. While you normally prefer someone who puts more effort into their appearance, there’s something attractive and unpretentious about his casual demeanor that intrigues you.

Heat surges to the apple of your cheeks when you realize that you’re being too blatant with your ogling. Your eyes settle on his face - a safe zone, one that won’t cause any misunderstandings. It’s a nice sight to look at. Hoseok’s face is pretty, the absence of powder and contour not taking away from his handsomeness in the least. His skin glows in a way that can only be achieved post-workout or after an intense orgasm.

This train of thought brings you down a slippery slope. All too soon, your mind supplies images of his long cock filling you up over and over and over again, his lips whispering praise and filth in the same breath. Your gaze flits to his mouth as you recall how red and swollen they’d been after kissing you senseless, how sticky and wet they’d felt against your own, the taste of your own succulence bleeding into your mouth as your breaths intermingled.

“You’re - yes.” You clear your throat, embarrassed by the way you’d quickly let your thoughts spiral out of control. “It’s fine, you just - caught me off guard. How’ve you been?”

Since you last dicked me down, goes unsaid.

“Just finished teaching a class a few minutes ago. I’ve got a 30 minute break before the next one starts.” He checks his watch. “Well, eleven minutes now.”

“You teach here?” You raise your brows, taken aback by his revelation.

Not that it isn’t uncommon for adult entertainers to work two jobs - or more. You’ve run into a variety of cases since joining the industry. Some do porn on the side, as a hobby or as a way to make a quick buck. They quit the moment porn becomes tedious or when they’ve made enough money to pay back their loans. For you, however, it’s not like that. What started off as amateur cam work has now become your whole life. You can’t imagine doing anything else, even if it means going against your family members’ wishes. They could go suck on a rancid cock, for all you cared.

“Yep, sure do. I teach the morning Pilates class on Wednesdays and Thursdays. Funny how I’ve never run into you before, huh?”

He takes a few coins out of his left pocket and inserts them into the vending machine. “Here, get whatever you want.”

“You don’t—”

“My treat.”

You want to argue but Hoseok’s too beguiling for his own good. It doesn’t take much for you to be won over; Hoseok’s smile widens and you’re a goner.

It’s that easy.

You’re not sure if it’s because you’ve seen each other naked before or if the earlier yoga session has successfully weakened your defenses, but you’re not as wary as you usually would be around people you don’t know well. Distrust runs in your veins yet something about Hoseok has you lowering your guard.

Based on your observations, there’s nothing calculated behind his gestures and mannerisms. The blinding grin, the jokes, the way people easily get pulled into his magnetic field - it’s not a facade or an act or a fluke. It’s just the way he is.

Hoseok leans against the vending machine and watches you press in the numbers for your order. From the corner of your eye, you see him studying your profile with a degree of intensity that makes you self-conscious. You swallow down the urge to fidget.

And it’s - silly. He’s seen you bare and at your most exposed, has kissed and touched the entirety of your body from head to toe, but this quiet moment feels strangely intimate, more so than when he’d slid his cock inside of you for the first time. Perhaps it’s due to the absence of cameras and prying eyes or the knowledge that right now you’re both real people, stripped of your porn star persona exterior.

Your eyes meet.

There’s nothing predatory or hungry about his gaze. The passion and the love he’d expressed so naturally during your filmed scenes are no longer detectable. Right now he’s Jung Hoseok, not a character with a role to play. This is all him - the dark circles, the relaxed smile, the slight slouch in his shoulders.

“About—” He clears his throat. “About the other day. The guy that was with you...”

You know without needing clarification who and what he’s talking about. You run your tongue across your row of teeth, wiping away the cheap coffee’s aftertaste, and nod for him to continue.

“He give you a hard time?” Hoseok’s eyes don’t stray from yours. He looks concerned. Serious. “Afterwards I - I regretted leaving so soon. I didn’t want to - I wasn’t sure. But, regardless, I should have made sure you were okay before leaving you alone with him.”

“Oh.”

Realization sinks in. Your eyes widen and you splutter, flustered. “No, no. It’s nothing like that. Jimin - he’s my boyfriend.”

It’s hard to appreciate the concern when all you feel is shocked that someone could misinterpret your relationship for a perverted staff member preying on an unsuspecting porn actress. Although it’s unfortunately common practice in the industry, it’s so far removed from what you share with Jimin that you’re at a loss for words.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Hoseok immediately rubs his face in embarrassment. “I thought - sorry. I’m a dumbass. Ignore me.”

“It’s -” You shake your head. “It’s fine.”

An awkward silence ensues.

You occupy the void by sipping on the bitter vending machine coffee, your eyes glued to your toenails peeking out the top of your sandals. Any other time, you’d fret over the chipping nail polish and rush to schedule an appointment at the nail salon, but your thoughts are so jumbled up that you can barely string a coherent sentence together.

Jimin - he isn’t anything like what Hoseok’s implying. Implied. You know this. But the fact that someone could mistake him as such doesn’t sit right with you. You want to defend him but at the same time you don’t know what to say.

“I just,” he sighs, breaking the silence. “I’ve seen it happen before. I’m sorry I assumed the worst. I guess I’m too paranoid for my own good. I hope I didn’t offend you too much. Or him.”

“No - I’m - I understand.” You give him a small smile to let him know you don’t harbor any ill feelings over the mistake. Hoseok seems so genuinely sorry about the entire situation that it’s impossible to hold it against him.

It’s possible, you think. To misinterpret your relationship with Jimin. The situation back then had been so tense - you remember that better than anyone. Given the context, Hoseok had every right to be mistrustful, especially when no one had bothered to set the record straight.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“There’s no harm done.” You hesitate before continuing, “I’m that way too, you know. I tend to think the worst of people when I probably shouldn’t. I thought - I was worried about you at first, too. When we met. Not because - it wasn’t anything against you personally. I’m just distrustful. But I’m glad - that it was you and not someone else.”

His posture relaxes. “Thank you. I’m glad that it was you, too. And that I was able to prove you wrong about me. With the shit you hear and see happening on set… I don’t blame you for being on your guard.”

“Yeah. Maybe we’ll - oh. I think someone’s calling you.”

Hoseok follows your line of sight to where a small group of his students are huddled behind the glass panel separating the Pilates classroom from the hallway leading down to the changing rooms. They’re all female and look around your age, maybe younger. The one who had been waving her arms wilts under the attention of her teacher, blush high on her cheeks, while her group of friends dissolve into a fit of giggles.

“Ah. That’s my cue.” Hoseok sighs in apology, the corner of his lips tugged downwards into a pout. “Sorry. Would’ve loved to get coffee and catch up but alas. Duty calls.”

“Next time.”

“Yeah, definitely. I’ll hold you up to that. And it’ll be proper coffee next time! Promise.”

“Okay, deal,” you agree easily. “I’ll buy.”

He looks somewhat offended. “What - no, that’s not what I meant.”

“It’s only fair.” You gesture at the half-empty plastic coffee cup still warm against your palm.

Hoseok opens his mouth to object but a short-haired woman pokes his head out the open door. “Yo, teach! Wasn’t class supposed to start five minutes ago?”

“I’m coming!” Hoseok shouts back, waving his student back inside. “Arrogant brat.”

“Go, go!” You urge, holding yourself from physically pushing him towards the classroom. His group of students look like they’re willing to jump you if you keep hogging his attention.

“We’ll Rock Paper Scissors it!” He says while jogging backwards. “Gotta run but see you around, yeah?”

Your lips pull into an amused smile as you watch him retreat back to his classroom. Through the glass panel, you can see the horde of girls flock around him, each vying for his attention in different ways. You’re especially impressed by how one almost succeeds in drowning Hoseok in her generous cleavage.

The sight of Hoseok dealing with thirsty college girls is so ridiculous you can’t help but giggle. You’re tempted to attend one of his classes just to watch them all trip over each other in an attempt to seduce him. Maybe you could even learn a thing or two.

With that thought in mind, you leave the gym center in high spirits, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated, ready to tackle on whatever hurdles the day decides to throw your way. You hum along to a top 40 hit they constantly play on the radio and decide to stop by your favorite restaurant to get take-out before heading home.

As you get into your car, you turn on your phone you’d disregarded all morning and are immediately notified of five missed calls and several unread text messages. More than half are - unsurprisingly - from your agent. You’re tempted to ignore him for an hour or two longer but you know how he gets once his patience runs thin.

“Don’t tell me you were out with Jimmy again,” Seokjin groans once you decide to call him back.

“I was with Hoseok, actually.”

“Hoseok?” Seokjin instantly perks up on the other side of the line. “As in, Jung Hoseok? J-Hope? Your baby daddy? That Hoseok?”

You contemplate ending the call.

Begrudgingly you concur, “Yes. That one.”

“Oooooh. Do tell,” he eggs, the smugness in his tone so thick that you can visualize it.

“It wasn’t - whatever scandalous thought you’re thinking. He works at the gym I go to. What are the chances, right?”

“What are the chances indeed.” Despite the lack of juicy gossip, he sounds pleased. “The news I rang you for earlier involves him.”

“How so?”

“Your video with Hoseok has been the number 1 trending video on Bang Gang’s home page since this morning!” He squeals, enthusiasm making the volume of his voice raise by a notch. “People are eating that romantic insemination stuff for breakfast and lunch. The views on this are insane! We haven’t gotten such a big reaction since the Agust D teacher-student role play and that was ages ago.”

“Wh- Are you serious?!”

Unable to contain the elation that surges through your chest, your face breaks out into a giant grin.

You’re admittedly the first to say that the number of views doesn’t equate to one’s talent or prowess in bed, but you also can’t completely disregard what this particular achievement implies...

While belonging to a reputable agency has its perks, it also entails continuous competition with big names. Your coworkers are also your competitors. Every month the most successful porn stars are rewarded and praised, whilst the ones who rake in the least amount of views are cast aside and are fated to fade into anonymity.

As much as you hate to acknowledge it, you’ve never had the support or interest it takes to contend for 1st place on any popularity polls or rankings of the sort. On Wednesdays, it so happens that the number one trending video spot is usually occupied by a popular femdom porn star who’s been in the game long enough to have secured a loyal fanbase.

Seokjin understands and empathizes with your excitement more than anybody.

“Yes, I’m serious! I think this is It, you know? Your Big Breakthrough, the moment we’ve been waiting for. You’ve been doing well so far but I think we’ll be able to go mainstream with this,” he chatters on, excitement building with every word. “Director Ryu said he’d personally call you up later to congratulate you, so don’t turn off your phone and ignore your calls, okay? I think he wants to ask you to film in his next movie but he didn’t discuss the details with me. Whatever it is - please say yes. I know the guy is a little pompous old fart but he really has an eye for this sort of thing. Casting you and Hoseok in the same film was the work of God. The chemistry between the two of you is unreal, no wonder people are jacking off to this at 10 am while they eat their cereal.”

You think it’s too early to rejoice in the success of your video considering the majority of the viewers are sleeping or busy at work - but when THE SPERMINATOR retains its number one ranking for the remainder of the week, you know your achievement deserves to be properly celebrated.

True to Seokjin’s word, Director Ryu does end up calling you. He wants to work with you and Hoseok again for a new film - and possibly more.

“A multi-film contract? You want to sign one with me?”

“How could I not? You’re both naturals and work well together. More importantly, the camera loves you. And people are on board with the pairing already! I think it’s a good idea to capitalize on their interest, don’t you think?”

It doesn’t take much more to convince you — not that you need any convincing at this point.

You refuse to be a flash-in-the-pan star. Although you admittedly had your reservations at first, the unexpected success of the last film is all Ryu needs to persuade you.

And - you like Hoseok. It goes without saying that there are far worse people to be partnered up with. Besides, it’s easier to work with co-stars you’ve starred in movies with previously for multiple reasons. Your acting is much more likely to come off as natural if you’re already acquainted with the dick that’s about to split you open - at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

When you mention the possibility of working again with Hoseok, your boyfriend doesn’t seem to share your enthusiasm.

“So it’s not a one time thing?” He’s not looking at you directly, his attention fixed instead on the freshly brewed coffee he nurses in his hands.

“I mean—” You smile tentatively. “Director Ryu hasn’t said for how long he’ll keep hiring us for his projects. Maybe - maybe he’ll keep the format and hire different actors in the future? He - he didn’t really say. I don’t think he has much of an idea himself. He’s very...peculiar.”

You force out a laugh, but your attempt to lighten up the atmosphere falls flat.

“I see.” Jimin brings the coffee cup to his mouth to hide his grimace.

You don’t need to see his dejected expression to know that he isn’t pleased with this development.

“Do you - is there something wrong with Hoseok?” You hesitate, unsure of how he’ll reply.

Jimin’s never insisted you step down from a project before or expressed his dissatisfaction with any of your ‘artistic choices’, although you always imagined that someday, somewhere down the line, he might. Compared to your past dalliances, Jimin is understanding and empathetic. You don’t expect him to be perfect, however, especially when you yourself are far from that. Everyone must have their own personal limits, right? It’s unfair to ask Jimin to be accepting all the time.

It’s just that...the timing is bad.

You want to take his feelings into consideration, but you’re also aware that this might be your last opportunity to get your name out there once and for all. Your previous works have never tanked, so to speak, but they’d mostly gone by unnoticed. While you’ve managed to make ends meet in the past, such anonymity cannot go on for much longer if you want to remain in this line of work.

Your lipstick wears off as you bite your lower lip. Silence hangs heavy in the air.

Jimin sets down his cup of coffee and averts his gaze.

“No. No, there’s nothing wrong with him.”

You breathe out in relief, only now realizing you’d been holding in your breath as you awaited his answer.

“It’s a bit difficult,” he admits after a pause. “Watching both of you together... Not because it’s bad! You did really good last time. You always do, but - saying ‘I love you’, that kind of stuff, it’s - I don’t know. It’s not your fault, though! I just need some time to adjust. Next time shouldn’t be as strange - since I know what to expect...”

You blink slowly as your brain registers the confession. His words echo in your ears and a strong feeling of déjà-vu washes over you. He’d said something along those lines before, hadn’t he?

Jimin shrugs like it’s no big deal before continuing, “As for Hoseok... He seems like a good person, I guess. I don’t think he’s the problem. Whether it’s him or another guy...” He sighs. “I think I just need to work this out on my own. It’s not like I can ask you to turn down a job offer because of me, right?”

Guilt makes your stomach turn. He’s right. As much as you want to respect his feelings, you can’t bring yourself to turn down the job for his sake. Does that make you selfish? Does he think less of you for it?

“Alright...” When you reach out to take his hand in yours, his skin is surprisingly cold to the touch. “You’ll tell me if it ever bothers you, okay? Filming this - or anything else. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable with what I do...”

You’re not sure what you’ll do if that moment ever comes to pass. Work is your number one priority in life. Many of your relationships haven’t worked out because of that very reason but your past lovers’ dissatisfaction hadn’t been enough to change your mindset. After all, work is what helps put money on the table, not love. You shake your head, as if the action will help you get rid of your stressful thoughts.

Jimin nods as he interlaces his fingers with yours. On normal days, holding hands together puts your mind at rest. You love the way his hand fits in yours, the different skin tones blending into one.

Right now, his pale hand feels unnaturally cold against your own. It feels like winter itself is embracing you and you repress a shiver.

Maybe as his girlfriend it’s not the right choice to make, but — you can’t falter now. It physically pains you to admit it but Seokjin’s worrying isn’t unfounded. Your career is stagnant, your projects predictable and boring. You’re not bad at your job, but you don’t stand out amidst the sea of pretty girls hoping to make a name for themselves.

There’s no guarantee that Director Ryu’s new project will be as successful as the first. You’re no stranger to false hopes; there’s a chance that Seokjin’s wishful thinking might never amount to anything. Even so, you want to give it a shot. Not trying feels too much like giving up and giving up is not an option you’re willing to consider, not when you’ve already put so much on the line.

You’re not a quitter. Seokjin had warned you from day one that it wouldn’t be easy and you’d taken his lessons and warnings to heart. You’d become an adult entertainer fully aware of the trials and tribulations you’d have to face and had been prepared to make the necessary sacrifices in order to achieve your goals.

But are the risks truly worth it? Looking at Jimin’s dejected expression, you’re not so sure anymore.

They’ve really gone all out this time, you muse as you cast a cursory glance at your surroundings. A small, electric waterfall fountain sits in the far right corner and crimson colored scented candles are dispersed all around the elaborate massage parlor set-up, dousing the room in a cosy, amber glow. It’s a surprising sight because porn sets are famous for never focusing on the details. Viewers are here for the sex, not the generic backdrop of a rented room or hotel suite.

Director Ryu vehemently protests.

“That’s precisely what sets apart my works from your average pornography film. I want the viewer to be completely immersed in the movie they’re watching. Porn is too constricting and underwhelming a word. What I’m creating is a feast for the eyes, one that leaves a lasting impression after consumption.”

“Ah... Yes.” You try (and fail) to sound impressed.

“People want to believe the sex is real, even if it’s just for an hour.” He sighs deeply, sounding pained, like explicating such a simple fact isn’t worthy of his time. “They need the escape and it’s our job to make it happen. A few extra candles might not make a colossal difference at first glance. But that’s where you’re wrong! It’s never been about the candles. It’s about the ambiance! The visual experience!”

It’s a pity the new budget doesn’t extend to your wardrobe, you remark internally as your gaze drops to observe the stylists’ pick of the day.

For the upcoming scene, you’ve been instructed to squeeze into a tight, baby pink shirt that stretches obscenely over your bust like something straight out of a frat boy’s wet dream. Inwardly, you congratulate yourself for hitting the gym religiously because your clothes—or lack thereof—put everything on display. The cotton material of your shirt is so thin, you’re surprised the stitches haven’t popped out, while the denim bottoms you sport are so tiny that you could hardly qualify them as shorts. Although—you suppose that there isn’t any use debating over semantics. It’s not as if they’ll stay on long enough for it to matter.

The scenario that you’ll be acting out today is pretty straight-forward. You stop by the parlor to cash in a voucher gifted by a generous and thoughtful friend. Hoseok, who plays the role of an erotic masseuse, gives you a deep tissue body massage worthy of a five star review on Yelp.

Director Ryu is extremely proud of the pitch. His spectacles glint as he pushes them up the bridge of his long nose.

“We’re gonna call it My Bare Lady. Haha, get it?” He gloats. “It’ll be different from our last shoot - the both of you aren’t supposed to be acquainted with each other at all. In fact, there won’t be any romance. We’re aiming for something new because as artists, it’s our duty to reinvent ourselves every day. Complacency is the enemy of creativity.”

At the mention of Hoseok, your gaze flits over in his direction.

His brown hair, two shades lighter than the last time you’d run into him, is swept to the side, giving him a professional and tidy appearance. He’s swapped his workout attire for beige scrub pants and a matching shirt. The color compliments the glow of his tan and the cut of the uniform is flattering to his figure. Diretor Ryu’s speech continues despite your wavering focus.

“—visual stimulation. That’s why one shouldn’t underestimate the proper use of props. A believable setting sets the tone for the rest of the scene. If you don’t believe the role you’ve been given, then why should the audience?”

“Mhm,” you nod here and there but you’ve long stopped paying attention to his one-sided speech.

Your eyes linger on Hoseok’s arms and the dimples that appear every time he laughs. You’re not the only one who stares. A small group of admirers flock to him like bees swarming around a rare and exotic flower.

You’d noticed it before but today confirms it; Hoseok’s presence is riveting. It’s not the first time today your gaze has strayed his way. More than once, you find your eyes drawn to him like a moth to a flame only to quickly avert your gaze whenever your eyes meet. Each time, the right side of his mouth quirks into a half-smile, the beginning of a question forming on his lips.

It’s embarrassing to be caught red-handed gawking but, in your defense, you aren’t the only one who ogles him—and many of them are far less discreet than you try to be, some gazes curious, others downright lecherous.

It bothers you. What exactly do you and everyone else find so fascinating about his character? He’s good-looking, sure—but you’re no stranger to handsome and pretty co-stars with nicely shaped dicks. You can’t put a finger on what sets him apart from the rest.

The gaffer comes over and momentarily interrupts the flow of Director Ryu’s monologue with a personal inquiry. Thank God. You use the opportunity to slip away, grateful that someone has put an end to your misery. As thankful as you are to the director for the career opportunity, you could do without his long-winded speeches that never seem to end.

“Hey, Hoseok.”

His smile widens, the corners dimpling the moment he spots you. “Hey! It’s been a while. Who would’ve thought we’d get to work again so soon, huh?”

“I didn’t think our last movie would do so well, honestly.”

Without its success, who knows what kind of movie you’d be participating in right now? Another re-hashed version of ‘BABYSITTER GETS CREAMED’ type scenario, most probably.

“I guess that’s a testament to your acting skills, right?”

You smile back, sheepish but nevertheless pleased. It always feels nice to be complimented, especially on days like today when you’re feeling less confident than usual.

“You changed up your hair.”

“Yeah! I thought I needed a change.” He threads his fingers through his locks self-consciously. “It looks fine, right?”

“It does!” you agree with an enthusiastic nod.

Jimin, who had insisted to be present on set today, hovers on the edge of your periphery. In the back of your mind you know he means well—that his presence is meant to be a source of support and security. On a typical day, you’re relieved that someone you trust is close by in case the situation escalates. While you’ve never had any horrific experiences, there have been the occasional uncomfortable encounters behind the scenes. Thankfully, Seokjin or Jimin have always stepped in before whichever entitled asshat could get too handsy.

But for the first time, his presence doesn’t comfort you the way it usually does.

Your smile becomes stiff.

The last thing you want is for Jimin to misunderstand the situation... Despite his claims of not having any problems with you shooting again with Hoseok, you can’t forget the stony expression on your boyfriend’s face as he had stared your co-star down, his grip around your waist strong and possessive.

“Are you okay?” Hoseok inquires, noticing your change in attitude. Worry creases his brow. He takes a step forward as if to check up on you.

“I’m okay!” You wave your hands around in the air, if only to maintain the distance separating your figures.

Despite your energetic reassurances, Hoseok looks unconvinced. He tilts his head to the side, his eyes narrowing in concern.

You wrack your head for an acceptable excuse. “Maybe I have pre-performance jitters? It’s nothing serious, though!”

It’s not too far from the truth, either. You feel more nervous than usual... Maybe because you’re aware that today’s shoot will most likely make or break your career. If the results prove to be disappointing, you don’t want to imagine what that means for your future.

You shake your head, refusing to accept any talks of early retirement.

But what other choice will you have, your inner voice argues. If no one is interested in viewing your works, no production company will want to book you for their movies. Even if you’re able to shoot half a dozen films after this failed attempt, the interest and support from viewers and higher-ups will soon dry up.

Hoseok’s features soften.

“Look, I know we don’t know each other that well yet, but if my opinion means anything... I think you’re really amazing.” His deep brown eyes reflect sincerity. “I haven’t had this much fun performing with anyone before and it’s not just ‘cos you’re fucking hot.” He laughs to cover up his embarrassment. “Maybe it’s a bit of a reach to compare the two, but porn is a bit like dancing in a way. There’s a choreography to follow, a certain rhythm and mood you have to get into. But the most important part is the chemistry and trust between you and your partner. And you - when I perform with you, it doesn’t feel like I’m acting at all. Not many people have that ability. For what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty special.”

“T-thanks,” you stutter in reply, taken aback by his candor. “I appreciate that.”

You’re not the only one caught off-guard by Hoseok’s frankness. He rubs the back of his neck and chuckles to fill up the momentary lapse in conversation. A bashful smile inches its way across his face, but surprisingly he doesn’t break eye contact.

You quickly change subjects, unwilling to acknowledge the slight fluttering in your stomach.

“...So, you dance?”

It’s not the smoothest transition, but Hoseok’s face instantly lights up.

“Yes! I mean,” he pauses and clears his throat. “Not professionally. I minored in dance. But it’s something I definitely enjoy, you know, to blow off some steam. Ah, wait a sec—”

He takes out his phone to show you short video clips of his dancing. He pulls up his instagram account and scrolls through an eclectic mix of mirror selfies showcasing his bold fashion choices, dog pics, and videos of him working out and dancing.

“Here’s a recent one.”

You don’t know much about dance but in spite of your little knowledge in the subject, your eyes stay transfixed on the screen in front of you. “Whoa...”

The way he moves is enthralling, for lack of a better word. You know from experience that his body is flexible and agile, lithe and strong, but seeing it in action like this leaves you speechless, momentarily robbed of coherency. You can’t even describe it. His execution of the choreography is sharp and powerful, yet his body doesn’t look rigid. On the contrary, his movements are surprisingly fluid and he never misses a single beat. You watch in astonishment as he pushes himself off of his knees after bending backwards in one fell swoop.

“Eh? Is it even possible to move your body that way?” Surely if you try to mimic him, you’ll look like a flailing chicken. “That can’t be safe...”

Hoseok laughs at your shocked expression. “It takes a lot of practice. You should come to a workshop one day! My friend teaches beginners. He’d be glad if you could join. The more the merrier, right? You don’t need to know any of the basics... And if you’re worried about people poking fun—don’t. Dancing isn’t a competition or anything.”

“I dunno.” You hand him back his phone after watching the video loop back for a second time. “I think my back would crack if I attempted any of that.”

“I think you would do really well! You’re pretty flexible and I don’t think you need to worry about stamina. Your core muscles are also really well developed. Based on what I’ve seen, you have a good sense of balance and beat awareness, so even if you’ve never danced before, you have the body and disposition for it.”

“Well... I guess I—”

“Hey.” Jimin interrupts, plump lips curved into a polite smile. You try not to let your surprise show; you hadn’t even noticed him approaching. He kisses your cheek and slides his hand into yours, clasping it between his own. “Sorry to interrupt, doll. Seokjin wanted to have a word with you before the shoot.”

“Oh.” You blink, your eyes darting back and forth between Jimin and Hoseok. “Um...if you don’t mind?”

“That’s straight,” Hoseok steps back, shoving his hands down his pockets. He shoots you a tentative smile. “I’ll catch you later.”

You feel bad for ditching him mid-conversation after he’d been so nice, but you know how annoying your agent can get when ignored for too long.

Jimin’s fingers tighten around yours. When you look up, he’s pouting, his lips pursed and brows drawn together.

“Is something on your mind?”

You can see the hesitation flicker across his face. When he finally meets your gaze, his expression is troubled.

“It’s nothing...” He looks away again and the grip he has on your hand loosens.

“Hm.” You swallow down any further inquiries, worried you’ll upset him.

“What was that about, anyway?” he asks casually, trying his best to look uninterested. “You and Hoseok look like you’re getting along well.”

“Yeah.” The memory of your previous conversation makes you smile softly despite yourself. “He’s a nice guy.”

“I can imagine.” Jimin mutters under his breath. Before you have time to question him again, he straightens his spine, his features twisting into an apologetic expression. “Look, I gotta help setting up the cameras. I’ll see you after the shoot.”

“Ah... Alright.” You fight to keep the disappointment of your face. Since you only have a few minutes before filming begins, you’d been hoping to spend it with him.

As if reading your mind, Jimin leans in and kisses you, his plush lips soft and familiar against your own. You expect him to pull away after a few seconds but his left hand slots itself behind your neck, bringing you in closer to deepen the kiss. His other hand angles your head to the side, giving him more access, and he doesn’t waste any time before brushing his tongue against the roof of your mouth.

You respond to the kiss as if on auto-pilot, but your thoughts are all jumbled in your head. Jimin’s always been a good kisser but he’s rarely kissed you quite like this. His style is more of a slow-burn, the kind that slowly creeps up on you and leaves your whole body numb with pleasure. Every press of his lips feels like a silent prayer of worship and each swipe of his tongue tastes like adoration. You like that he takes his time, like you’re not just a quick meal to curb his hunger but a delicacy worthy of being savored.

Right now, this kiss feels unfamiliar. Urgency replaces devotion. Perhaps it’s because he’s short on time, but his touch is hurried and sloppy. He bites your lower lip, hard enough for it to hurt, and licks into your mouth when you mewl out a gasp of surprise.

“I wish I could just mark you up,” he pants against your parted lips. They feel tender when you smack them closed.

“The makeup artist is going to strangle you for messing up my lipstick.” You fake a scowl. You’re not half-wrong, though. Once she sees how swollen they’ve become she’s bound to take out her frustration on the closest available victim. “If you marked me for real, she’d probably kill you. Don’t tempt her.”

He chuckles and pulls back, letting his hands fall to his side. His eyes dart to somewhere behind your shoulder, his smile curving into a smirk.

“You’re right.” He sighs, looking back at you. “But that’s easier said than done. You’re hard to resist... Anyone would agree.”

Something dark clouds his eyes but whatever it is, it’s gone in the next blink.

You laugh, pleased nonetheless by his flattery. “Didn’t you say you had to help set up? You’re going to end up in trouble because of me…”

Jimin snorts but backs up all the same. “Don’t worry about me. Besides, you’re worth getting in trouble for.”

Someone behind you gags dramatically. “Absolutely sickening.”

When you whirl around, your agent shoots you a disgusted glare. “I was wondering what was taking you so long but I should’ve known you two were out here fabricating babies. Have you no shame?”

“I’ll see you after the shoot!” Jimin says quickly, eager to get away from Seokjin and his sharp tongue.

“See you.” You smile sweetly, ignoring Seokjin’s grumbling. You feel a pang of jealousy as you watch him scurry out of sight. If only you could avoid Seokjin’s pre-performance motivational speeches...

“Anyways.” Seokjin looks noticeably less irritated once Jimin is gone. “I wanted to check up on you before filming could begin. How’s your ass doing?”

You don’t bother hiding your grimace. “Squeaky clean and stretched.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He sounds proud. “Don’t make that face. It’s your first anal scene after all. Doesn’t hurt to be prepared, right?”

By ‘be prepared’ he means following a strict diet prior to shooting, waking up at the ass crack of dawn to get a colonic, stretching out your asshole for a good thirty minutes using a fuck ton of lube, and constantly rehydrating yourself throughout the day to the point where you’d gone to the bathroom more times than you could count on one hand.

You’re never this thorough with prep before having anal but apparently that’s the difference between fucking in the privacy of your own home and on camera.

“There’s a reason why cleanliness is one of the fundamentals of anal sex, especially when shooting porn. It’s a pain...in the ass...but this way, no one sees something they’d rather not see,” had explained Seokjin after giving you a non-exhaustive list of detailed steps to follow. You suppose there’s logic behind his reasoning. Due to the magic of 4k-quality videos, viewers can now easily see everything, down to the sweat droplets dotting your hairline and any makeup-covered skin imperfections, so you don’t want to imagine what they’ll notice once the camera zooms in on your back entrance.

“Eventually you’ll get used to squeezing water out your bum on the regular.” He shrugs. “You’ll also start to avoid certain foods on your own. The dietary restrictions aren’t that bad, all things considered, and your body will thank you for eating more spinach than you’re used to. Greens are good for your health even if they taste like yuck.”

Athough his suggestions are well-intended, you don’t need another 25 minute speech on all the know-hows of filming anal sex. The first time had been more than enough.

“Thanks for the advice!” you interject right as he opens his mouth to continue his counseling. “That reminds me I need to get this butt plug out of my ass before we start shooting.”

Seokjin sighs. “That would be preferable, yes.”

He doesn’t need to know that you’ve taken out the butt plug in the bathroom half an hour ago. Any excuse will do, as long as you’re spared from listening to his passionate discourse on the benefits of high-fibre food diets and his long list of enema tutorial video recommendations.

The fussing, you think, is unnecessary. You’re not worried about the upcoming sex scene, even if it will be the first time someone other than your partner sees you in that position. No, what troubles you is the possibility of the audience growing tired of seeing you onscreen now that they’ve witnessed you take it up the ass. Boredom is the reason why so many of your peers are forced to end their careers prematurely, after all. Why else is Seokjin so adamant about you pacing yourself and not filming everything there is to film right off the bat? You’ve always held off shooting anal, double penetration and the likes, for that very reason. Although you have no qualms with the act itself, you’re worried that you’re now one step closer to retirement.

The thoughts sit on your shoulders like a heavy weight as you get ready for the scene to come. You listen to Director Ryu’s instructions as he describes the scenario’s key points, your character’s motives, and what sex positions you should include before the scene comes to an end.

“The rest is up to you,” he says with an encouraging nod. “I want the words to come from the heart! Let yourself be a vessel, a way for your character to express their innermost desires.”

“Leave it up to us.” Hoseok’s smile radiates confidence.

“I like your enthusiasm!” Director Ryu approves, clapping his hands together. He misses the way his two leading actors exchange exasperated glances over his shoulder. “Good, then we’re all set? Remember where the cameras are positioned, please, or else we’ll have to reshoot to get the right angles.”

“Got it.” You nod, eager to get this show on the road. Between him and Seokjin, your ears are about to fall off from the incessant chattering. Even the camera men are starting to grow restless.

Speaking of... You meet Jimin’s gaze, the sides of your mouth upturning the moment you spot him. As usual, he looks slightly out of place standing between the other crew members, his white, ironed dress shirt neatly tucked into his black pants providing a stark contrast with his co-workers’ unkempt appearance.

Jimin mirrors your smile and your shoulders immediately relax. A lot of people may not understand why you’d allow your boyfriend on set while you’re fucking someone else, but his presence brings you a strange sense of comfort that’s hard to put into words.

The sound of your name being called pulls you from your line of thought.

“Can you scoot over to the right? Just a little.” Director Ryu orders while glancing at the monitor. “Yes, that’s much better. And can we fix the lighting, please? My shadow’s getting picked up by the camera.”

Now that the start of the shoot is right around the corner, your stomach cramps up with a nervous kind of anticipation. Your tongue feels like cotton in your mouth and even when you swallow, the unpleasant feeling doesn’t go away.

You clasp your hands together in your lap to hide the minute trembling of your fingers. It’s strange, you think. Ever since you started working with Hoseok, you always get too wrapped in your thoughts. Not necessarily in a bad way, at least not all the time, but --

“You all good?” Hoseok asks, low enough that the mics won’t be able to pick up his questioning. “Do you need some water?”

You shake your head. “I’m good, thanks.”

He hesitates but doesn’t push. “I just wanna run this with you one last time. I know we already signed the consent forms but I’d feel better talking with you about the scene directly.”

“Oh.” You remember he’d done something similar last time, too. “Sure.”

“Anal aside, are you okay with the use of degrading names during the scene?” His eyes never leave yours, like he wants you to know how serious he is.

“I’m okay with you calling me a whore.” Your shoulders loosen up. It’s easy to relax when you’re on familiar territory. Working in this industry requires complete transparency. There’s no shame in discussing your kinks just like there’s no shame in admitting the acts you’re not comfortable performing. “As long as I can call you a slut.”

“That’s fine.” His lips quirk up, but not in a mocking or dismissing way. “I don’t really have any hard limits myself, except for what you’ve already seen on paper. Degradation is fine with me. Call my dick tiny all you want, I won’t take it to heart.”

You laugh, forgetting to keep the volume down. “I’ll keep that in mind…”

“So degradation is fine. Is humiliation okay as well? Situational and verbal?”

“I like that.” You bite your lower lip as you remember your encounter with Min Yoongi a month or so ago, how turned on you’d been from his words alone. “I’ll admit I haven’t dabbled too much in BDSM on the porn scene, but I enjoyed what I’ve done so far.”

“That’s good to know.” He raises his brow. “Ever since we received the pitch for today’s movie I’ve been trying to think of ways to make it, uh, more interesting. So to speak. But I didn’t want to take any initiatives if they made you uncomfortable. Oh, also I meant to ask if there was anything you wanted to include in the scene aside from anal sex.”

Somehow you’re not surprised he’s put thought into this. Last time you’d worked with him, he’d been overflowing with suggestions as well. Maybe because the previous filming formats aren’t as flexible, but it’s not often you meet someone so willing to exchange ideas before filming.

The change is more than welcome. For the first time, it feels like your opinion actually matters. The two of you quietly go back and forth discussing different possibilities while the filming crew finish setting up the set the way Director Ryu wants it.

“Alright,” Ryu calls, settling into the director’s chair. Somewhere in the background, the gaffer wipes off his brow. “Everyone ready to rooooollll?”

Hoseok takes a few steps back and reaches for a nearby clipboard.

Miraculously, you note distantly, the swarming of butterflies in your stomach is now gone. Your palms are no longer clammy and cold with perspiration. When you swallow, there’s no lump of nerves stuck in your throat.

Hoseok sends an encouraging smile your way right before Director Ryu yells “ACTION!” and he schools his features into a more polite, appropriate expression.

He doesn’t speak up right away, just walks over to where you’re sitting on the massage table in a leisurely manner. You open your mouth to fill the silence but he beats you to it.

“Welcome to Happy Ending Clinic, where we ensure every client leaves feeling 100% satisfied. We guarantee high quality services personally adapted to suit the needs of our every client,” Hoseok says in lieu of greeting, the lilt in his voice smooth and practiced, like he’s used to repeating this introduction multiple times throughout the day. “My name is J-Hope and today you will be in my care.”

“Nice to meet you.” You’re careful to keep your back ramrod straight, hoping the stiffness in your body will be picked up by the cameras.

The role you’re playing today is more reserved and awkward than the usual unabashed and bold characters you’re used to acting. And while it’s not your first time pretending to be coy and shy for the cameras, such behavior isn’t second nature.

His smile, whilst professional, radiates warmth. You suppose it’s meant to be reassuring.

“I will do my best to make this session unforgettable.”

His gaze sweeps over the clipboard sitting in his hands.

“Hmmm... ______, is it?” When you nod in affirmation, he continues. “It says here it’s your first time visiting our establishment.”

You’re surprised at how naturally he adapts to the role he’s been assigned to. The words that roll off his tongue sound like his own.

“Yes... Honestly, I - I didn’t think it was necessary, but my friend insisted - I mean, she recommended I visit this place...said it would do me some good.”

You wring your hands in your lap. You’re lucky the character you’re playing today is supposed to be a little shy and rigid. Otherwise, you’re not sure Director Ryu would have let your awkward stuttering slide.

“That’s not a problem.” The lines of Hoseok’s mouth bend into a reassuring smile. “Let’s see... It says you’ve booked an hour-long session?”

“Yep.”

“Then with your permission, I’d like to take fifteen supplementary minutes to find out which massage course is best suited for a novice like you. It’ll be free of charge, of course.”

You nod, eager to get the show on the road. Given your character’s disposition, maybe you should have pretended to mull over the proposal for a few seconds more - if only for appearance’s sake - but you’re tired of all this talking. Impatience gets the best of you.

“Oh! Yes, that sounds fine.”

He pulls out several colorful mock pamphlets and hands them over for you to peruse their contents. You try not to let your astonishment show.

It’s the first time you’ve seen a prop team this devoted to their task. Although the insides of the brochures remain blank, you still can’t believe someone actually took the time to print out fake brochure covers. You appreciate the effort, even if the covers do look like they’ve been made by someone who’s looking to major in ‘graphic design is my passion.’

You hold one up at random and pretend to read through it, hoping that whoever will watch the movie later will ignore the ugly block font that spells out ‘NAUGHTY MASSAGE : FOUR HANDS EDITION.’

“Inside, you’ll find a detailed explanation on the various vegan, cruelty-free products we use. All of our treatments are oil-based and you can choose the scent of your choice. If your skin is particularly sensitive, we have essential oil-infused body butters that work just as effectively and leave the skin silky smooth to the touch. Depending on your skin type, you might be interested in testing—” He takes out several jars all while explaining the different health benefits of ylang ylang essential oil.

Once again, you’re caught off guard by his convincing performance. Even though you’ve been given several pointers by the director before filming, Hoseok is the one who ultimately calls the shots. Inwardly, you wonder how he manages to come up with such original lines on the spot. Despite not being a professional actor, Hoseok’s intuitive choices are beyond your expectations.

The thoroughness of his explanation makes your head spin. Cruelty-free products? Body butter? You have no way of knowing whether his statements are fabricated for the sake of the vague storyline - but you suppose the credibility of his words doesn’t really matter in the end. It’s the small details he sprinkles here and there that help you immerse in the scene.

His proficiency in acting makes all of your worries melt away. It’s hard to believe he’s only a rookie, just starting off his career, and not an acting veteran with dozens of movies under his belt.

Not wanting to be entirely overshadowed by your co-star, you furrow your eyebrows, determination set into your features.

“I’m sorry... I’ve never done this before. They all look the same to me.”

“Ah.” Still, Hoseok’s smile stays amiable and professional. “Well, let’s go about it this way - why do you think your friend insisted you visit our establishment?”

You catch your bottom lip between your teeth, your gaze dropping to the floor in order to avert his probing stare. “I - um. I haven’t had - I mean, I guess I’ve been stressed lately. More pent up than usual. I’ve tried exercising and meditating and mas- uh...well everything, honestly. But nothing seems to work. I’m snappy all the time and...frustrated.”

Today, the character you’re playing is a bit more bashful, too timid to voice her desires into spoken words. “It’s all about the tension! The build-up!” Director’s Ryu’s voice echoes in your mind as a reminder.

“I see,” Hoseok nods, taking your comments into consideration. “On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate the quality of your sleep?”

“A five...” you say after a moment’s hesitation. “I don’t wake up during the night, but it takes me a long time to fall asleep.”

“Do you feel any pain anywhere?”

“Pain? No, not really.” You roll your shoulders back, conscious of the way your perky chest juts out, nipples prominent through the cheap fabric. “My neck does feel sore from time to time but I think it’s because I work an office job. They say staying hunched over in front of a computer all day is bad for your health.”

His gaze roams your figure, quietly assessing. “It is.”

“May I?” he asks, taking a tentative step closer. “I think I’ll need to gauge your level of sensitivity for myself. We’ll adjust the intensity of the massage depending on how much pressure you can withstand and how your body reacts to different types of stimuli.”

Your brows lift. “Oh. Sure, why not.”

“Move back a little. A bit more.” You obey his instructions without second thoughts. “That’s perfect, thank you.”

Your legs dangle awkwardly over the edge of the massage table. You can probably close them if you wanted to, but you don’t miss an opportunity to expose yourself in front of the cameras. The shorts you’re wearing are more like tiny scraps of denim put together with the help of a few stitches. You’re certain that if someone were to really look, they’d see the outline of your pussy lips.

Hoseok walks around the table to stand behind you. The sensation is somewhat familiar—right away, you’re reminded of the first encounter with Hoseok, the one where he’d wrapped his arms around you and whispered words of love into your ear. You close your eyes and let the images flash by in quick succession. The memories all come rushing in at once—an artist’s lips painting your skin like a brush would canvas, a potter’s agile fingers molding your body from clay, a lyricist’s tongue composing sonnets into your weeping, open cunt. Your body remembers it all.

When he finally touches you, his hands radiate warmth the shadow of his memory does not.

A shudder runs down your spine.

Oblivious to your inner thoughts, Hoseok carefully gathers your hair into a ponytail and moves it out of the way. His mobility no longer restricted, he lets his slender digits travel down the slope of your neck, the pads of his fingers digging into the meat of your shoulders.

“You’re unusually tense here.” Concern colors his voice as he increases the pressure.

Suddenly the discomfort you’re to convey to the audience is no longer feigned. “Ow!”

The wince that mars your face is authentic. You try to wiggle out of his grasp to relieve the sharp ache in your shoulders. Hoseok’s grip is strong, however, and he keeps you exactly where he thinks you ought to be.

“Hmm...”

He massages your arms one by one. The circular movements he traces across your skin are a lot more gentle this time around, and you allow yourself to slowly relax under his touch. He manipulates your body like one would a rag doll, pulling your arm over your head.

“Can you reach behind, towards your neck? How about a little lower? You should feel a stretch here.” He taps at an arm muscle.

“Yeah… I can definitely feel it.”

You suspect that Hoseok’s stunt as a Pilates instructor is what’s helping him sound so experienced and natural.

“Good.” He lets out a pleased hum. “Hold the position for as long as you can.”

His hands reach around your body to squeeze your perky breasts. You gasp at the rather rough way he handles your tits. Perhaps it’s because you’ve been told to forgo a bra, but you’re much more conscious of his every action - from the way his fingers splay out, cupping the fullness of your breasts between them, to the way he kneads your mounds with his entire palm as he gropes you from behind.

“How often do you masturbate?” he asks in an almost offhand manner, his tone is more clinical than casual. The question is crude and direct enough to distract you from the way his fingers encircle your nipples through the cotton fabric of your shirt.

You recall Ryu’s earlier directions: unlike your first movie together, this tryst is not romantic in nature. The scenario that you’re acting out this time doesn’t involve sweet kisses and whispered declarations of love. Feelings aren’t on the table.

You pretend like the bitter taste you swallow down isn’t disappointment.

“Um.” You struggle to remember the initial question. Luckily, your mental buffering comes off as bashful and true to the character you’re playing. “I, uh, I guess masturbate often?”

“But it isn’t enough, is it?”

His question comes off as slightly patronizing. Before you can formulate a suitable answer, Hoseok’s fingers tweak your hardened nipples and your back bows under the pressure. You oscillate between the desire to thrust your chest out in offering, and the pressing need to flee the sharp sensations his skilled hands provoke.

“I - um!” You squirm helplessly as he continues playing with your breasts. “It isn’t!”

“Just as I thought.” He pinches both of your nipples and pulls at them until you cry out in half-pain, half-pleasure. The thin material of your shirt doesn’t dull the ache; if anything, the cotton scratches your skin, rubbing the nubs raw.

Despite your very visible discomfort, Hoseok doesn’t let go. You can only sit there obediently while he has his fun, knowing that if you wiggle too much it’ll only worsen the pain.

“Ah!”

Only then does he release them. You fight against the urge to cover your sore nipples. Your flimsy shirt hadn’t provided any protection against his rough onslaught, none at all.

“You’re quite sensitive,” he observes, giving your breasts one last squeeze.

Finished with his appraisal, he steps away and picks his clipboard up. He makes his way around the massage table, coming back into view, and scribbles something onto the paper with a ballpoint pen. He looks so absorbed in his work that you almost fall for the act.

You worry your bottom lip, crossing your arms over your chest self-consciously. Without a bra, your hardened nipples are clearly visible through the thin shirt. They jut out in a distracting way; Hoseok’s eyes drop down for a split-second in appreciation before flickering back to the clipboard in his hands.

“Your body is wound up. It’s tense in places it shouldn’t be.”

“Is that...a bad thing?”

“No. Your case is not abnormal.” He shakes his head and offers you a reassuring smile. “Although... Hm. When was the last time you achieved an an orgasm?”

You look away, mumbling your answer in an embarrassed voice. “Last night.”

More scribbling. He taps the end of the pen against his chin, pretending to be lost in thought.

His eyes glint when he asks, “How many times did you cum?”

It’s not real - none of this is - and yet you can feel warmth spreading from your cheeks down to your chest. It’s a strange sensation, stuck somewhere between humiliation and arousal, and it makes your entire body heat up from the inside out.

“Just - Just once…”

“Look at me.”

Your eyes snap towards his on command. He looks relaxed, unbothered, like he’s discussing the weather forecast and not your masturbation habits. You want to look away but something in his stare pins you in place.

“You’re telling me the truth, right?”

“Yes! I’m not - I wouldn’t lie.”

“Good.” He smiles pleasantly, nodding to himself. “So. You came once. Did you use your fingers? Or, perhaps, a toy?”

He’s still staring at you, forcing you to look him straight in the eyes while you confess your sins. Your thighs clench together and you struggle to focus on the conversation at hand.

“F-fingers.” Your breathing becomes ragged as you imagine Hoseok’s fingers replacing your imaginary ones. They’d fill you up nicely, too. Compared to your own, they’re longer, capable of reaching places yours can’t. All you’d have to do is hook your arms under your knees and keep your legs spread wide open. He doesn’t even need to take your clothes off; he could pull the seam of your shorts and underwear to the side and fuck you just like that. “I only used my fingers.”

He raises an eyebrow like he doesn’t quite believe you. Somehow, that makes the fire between your legs burn hotter. It’s like - he knows you’re too cockhungry to settle for just fingers. And if a mere stranger can tell how desperate you are to get fucked, what about the rest?

“Interesting.” Hoseok’s eyes darken by the minute. “And do you prefer clitoral stimulation to penetration?”

“I-” You pause and struggle to formulate your response. Your ears feel hot. In fact - your entire face feels like it’s on fire.

The embarrassment you feel doesn’t make sense - you’ve never had any qualms discussing sex. You can talk candidly about any topic for hours on end, from the condom brands you prefer to advice on how to maintain a rash-free pussy, to the point where some people might think you’re over-sharing or being too crass. Discussing intimate topics shouldn’t be a problem.

It’s not even a real dialogue anyway, so why do you -

“Yes?” Hoseok leans forward, interrupting your train of thought. The corner of his mouth is upturned, like he can’t help but be amused by your discomfiture.

“I like, um.” You close your eyes, hoping that it’ll somehow make the admission easier. It doesn’t. The darkness makes you feel even more exposed, like all your secrets are laid bare for him to see. Your voice quivers when you answer. “I - I touch - I mean, sometimes I’ll - my fingers aren’t long enough. So just rubbing the outside is - fine.”

“Ah. You like being stuffed full, I take it?” Hoseok’s vulgar vocabulary makes your eyes snap open in shock. He smirks, not expecting you to answer. “Poor girl.”

You shake your head, your reply dying in your throat. With every word he utters, your thoughts become fuzzy, muddled.

“What did you imagine last night while you were getting off? A stranger fucking your face? Big men taking turns using your cunt? Tell me. In detail, preferably.”

“I don’t see how-” The sharp look in his eyes makes you swallow down any protest. Still. You can’t get your mouth to work correctly and you look back at him helplessly.

“Is there a reason why you can’t tell me?” He tilts his head to the side, the smirk on his face growing, canines flashing. “Oh. I see.”

You flinch, your face impossibly hot.

“Were you thinking of today’s session?” He chuckles, delighted. “That’s quite naughty of you. Although, I can’t blame you, can I? We are known to deliver the best orgasma. It’s only natural to imagine what would happen.”

That’s right, you think. You’d spent all night fantasizing about a faceless, nameless stranger’s hands all over your naked body. How long had it been since you’d felt someone’s touch? Their tongue buried deep in your cunt, fucking you until your thighs trembled? Even your best dildo couldn’t hold a candle to a hot-blooded, throbbing cock.

Hoseok taps the pen against the clipboard, the staccato sound filling the silence.

“One last question.” He makes sure he has your undivided attention before continuing. “No need to look so worried. I won’t ask you what lewd thoughts you get off to, although maybe in future sessions I’ll expect that of you.”

You don’t linger on the implication there - that you’ll undoubtedly come back for seconds - and nod your assent for him to go on.

“Did you cum hard while thinking of getting fucked by me today?”

You inhale sharply, struggling to hold his stare. “I… The sheets were so wet afterwards, I had to change them.”

“I see.” He jots something down on his clipboard but his reaction doesn’t give anything away. Nervously, you pull on a loose string hanging from the hem of your short. “Hm…”

After a few seconds of silence he speaks up again, done with his assessment.

“Well, normally for first timers such as yourself we’d recommend starting with a more soothing body massage. But I think in your case a more thorough massage is needed. It’s not a cause for concern!” He adds quickly, as if to assuage any growing fears. “But in my professional opinion, I think the massage I have in mind for you might be more beneficial than the beginner level massage.”

“Um, what does this massage entail exactly?”

“We call it the full treatment. In other words - it’s a deep tissue penetration massage,” Hoseok explains calmly. “It includes an internal massage. We’ll use a variety of methods but rest assured - all techniques are tried and tested! You’ll be in safe hands.”

You pretend to mull it over.

Hoseok waits for your nod of confirmation before instructing, “There are towels at your disposal.” He motions to the pile of fluffy white towels folded neatly on the bench. “Feel free to use them. While you change into a...less restricting outfit, I’ll go retrieve the rest of the massage equipment. See you in a bit!”

And with that he’s gone. The privacy he grants you is, of course, just an illusion. Even without looking in their direction, you know that the cameras’ lenses are all focused on you, waiting to capture the impending striptease. You’d forgotten about them but Hoseok’s absence reminds you of their presence.

Per Director Ryu’s earlier instructions, you make a show of taking off your clothes. Teasing the camera comes naturally to you thanks to your prior experience as a cam girl; you know exactly which angles are the most flattering and which ones, on the other hand, emphasize your flaws.

Your back arches as you peel off your shirt, drawing attention to the swell of your breasts and the curve of your waist. Not long after do you shimmy out of your shorts, exaggerating the swing of your hips for the audience’s viewing pleasure. You try not to show your surprise when the dampness of your crotch sticks to your folds as you pull them down your legs - you hadn’t expected how much a simple tit massage and few exchanged words would rile you up.

The denim pools around your ankles and when you bend over to retrieve the useless item of clothing, you’re acutely aware of how your wet, waxed pussy peeks out from between your thighs. You stay in position, giving the camera ample time to zoom in, and while the stretch isn’t painful (thanks to your yoga lessons!), it is a rather awkward position to maintain.

Once you straighten up, you take a few seconds to fold up the shirt and itty bitty shorts before setting them aside. Normally, you’d leave your discarded clothing strewn about but you can’t imagine your character behaving in such an uncouth way.

With that thought in mind, you wrap yourself with a short towel. Rather than covering your intimate bits, it’s so short that it emphasizes your nakedness. When you go to sit on the massage table, the towel rides up, leaving you exposed and you have to fold your hands in your lap to preserve a semblance of modesty.

It’s easy to convey nervousness while you wait for Hoseok’s return. While you’ve never attended any drama school, you have watched plenty enough Netflix dramas to know which physical cues are more or less effective - constant fidgeting, shifty eyes, audible gulping. Since it’s your first time putting your knowledge into practice, you’re not certain how convincing your acting is, but hey, isn’t it the effort that counts? You’re not here to audition for the starring role in Hollywood’s next summer blockbuster, after all.

Hoseok knocks twice before entering, stopping your self-depreciation in its tracks. He’s abandoned the earlier clipboard for a large, nondescript, white cardboard box that rattles with every step he takes. It sounds more ominous than it actually is.

If Director Ryu is truly aiming for realism, he wouldn’t make Hoseok carry back the items in a fucking box, you think privately. Who even does that? Although you suppose realism isn’t the be-all end-all, no matter how much the director insists. Sometimes viewers like to be metaphorically edged and endlessly teased, and all this guessing only adds to the build-up, making the climax more than worth it. They could, of course, fast-forward to get to the juicy sex scenes, the crux of the matter, but you’d like to believe all this extra effort is worth it.

You blink curiously back at Hoseok, feigning ignorance.

“Oh good.” He beams in your direction, his eyes drinking in your scantily-clad figure. “Now that you’re more comfortable, please lie down for me.”

He sets the box to the side, opens the lid, and takes out a bottle of oil while you settle down on your stomach and carefully rearrange your towel so that it covers your bum.

“I’ve chosen bergamot essential oil for today’s massage. It’s a nice, citrus-like scent that’s not too overwhelming because it’s been mixed in with sweet almond oil. Its many virtues include, but are not limited to, increasing the body’s energy flow and enhancing feelings of joy and freshness.”

“That sounds lovely.” You sigh dreamily. Getting massaged and getting dicked down in one go? Hell yeah. That one is a no-brainer for sure.

There’s a shadow of a smirk on Hoseok’s face when he rounds on you, like he’s somehow privy to your thoughts. That, or your eagerness is too transparent. You’re betting on the latter.

His voice lowers an octave, the low timber making shivers run down your back.

“Shall we begin?”

He moves your hair to the side, leaving your neck and back exposed. He then pulls down your towel so that it uncovers the expanse of your back and covers more of your bottom half instead.

“Is this alright?” he inquires. As if testing the waters, his fingers trace down the line of your spine, stopping right before your lower back dips into a curve.

You moan your assent. “More than.”

Hoseok takes the bottle of oil and drizzles its contents over your skin like a painter splattering ink onto a blank canvas. He spreads the lubricant all over your back, rubbing your skin in circular motions until you’re coated with it. You let out a few pleased sounds here and there that are not entirely faked or exaggerated. He definitely knows what he’s doing with his hands.

Honestly, you feel sorry towards your co-star who’s stuck doing most of the work while you’re splayed out like a starfish. It feels a bit unfair that you’re getting paid more than him when he’s the one putting in most of the effort. Had you any shame, you’d give him half of your pay for his services. Alas.

“Tell me if it hurts anywhere,” he warns, not unkindly.

Your back stiffens. You expect Hoseok to replicate the rough treatment he’d inflicted to your breasts, but contrary to your expectations, he kneads your body gently, almost tenderly. The contrast between this touch and his earlier ministrations messes with your head. When his hands outline your flank, his fingers prodding the sides of your breasts, you swallow a hopeful sigh as you wait for him to envelop your soft mounds and roll your sensitive nipples between his skilled fingers.

Betrayal brews in your gut when he fails to indulge your fantasies. You’re tempted to grab his wrist and guide his hand to where you need it the most but you miraculously hold yourself back. Since the scene doesn’t call for that much impatience and desperation on your part, you’d hate to be the reason why Director Ryu asks for a re-take.

Thankfully, he soon puts you out of your misery. Hoseok retreats, done teasing the sides of your breasts for the time being. You’re not sure it’s relief or disappointment that swims in your lower belly, but Hoseok doesn’t give you time to dwell on the question. Almost as soon as he retracts his hands from your back, he redirects his attention to your legs. His hands, warm and slick from the oil, glide over the back of your calves and thighs with ease. His thumbs rub circular shapes into your flesh as he slowly works his way up, the pleasant sensations leaving your whole body boneless.

“You loosen up well.”

Hoseok’s fingers skirt the hem of the towel. Your breath gets caught in your throat as he toys with the fabric.

“Will you open up for me, pretty? You look tense right here.” He flips the towel up, revealing your bare lower half. He wastes no time before gripping the meat of your ass cheeks, fingers digging into the supple flesh. He spreads your cheeks apart, cool air blowing against your exposed holes, and lets them jiggle back into place after giving the camera ample time to capture the view. “Hm. Looks like you haven’t been properly stretched out in a long time... We’ll fix that today.”

Bolts of pleasure run through your body. The whole situation is ludicrous and yet, for whatever reason you cannot pinpoint, moisture gathers between your thighs with every passing second, adding to the mess dripping from your folds.

“Um, like this?” You part your legs open slightly, as if unsure. In situations like these, the biggest challenge is to act diffident and coy when all you want is for your co-star to blow your back out.

He tsks, the sound sharp and reproving. It goes straight to your core and makes your belly clench with unspeakable need.

“How am I supposed to fuck your holes open in that position?” He has the audacity to sound impatient. “Work with me here.”

He grabs your ankles and separates them himself, ignoring your yelp of surprise. Unaccustomed to the stretch, the muscles in your thighs strain with the effort to hold the position.

A whine slips out your mouth. He’s so mean.

While you expect Hoseok to act somewhat distant and objective because of the role he’s playing, his fluctuating behavior gives you nothing but whiplash. One moment he’s cordial and friendly, the epitome of what a professional should be, the next he’s treating you like you’re his plaything, not his client.

His grip around your ankles is firm and unyielding. He’s got you spread impossibly wide, your legs dangling dangerously off the edge of the table with your waxed holes exposed for inspection.

“That’s good, just like that.” His hands let go of your ankles when he’s sure you won’t move from the position he’s steered you into. He strokes up your legs, the touch feather-light and fleeting. “Keep your legs spread wide. I want to see your cute little holes on display.”

His crude remarks make your body flush with heat.

Even if this is the sort of place that offers sexual gratification, Hoseok’s wording toes several lines. As his client, he should be focused on giving you pleasure, so why do his comments make it sound like you’re here for his entertainment instead?

Despite your character being fully aware of what type of establishment she’s visiting, you reckon Hoseok’s words are enough to make her squirm in embarrassment. There’s something filthy about the way he orders you around and bends you to his will. Even you’re not indifferent to the impersonal way he handles your body like a doll. Flickers of arousal lick up your spine, and with your legs extended so far apart, it’s not difficult for Hoseok to notice how much you’re wound up.

The position is far from proper. Hot streaks of humiliation burn through you when you imagine how easy and slutty you must seem to whoever is watching. You don’t dare move from the pose he’s maneuvered you into, not because you’re scared of the consequences, but because his presence demands obedience. Even without explicitly saying so, he’s made it clear that for the next hour or so, you’re his to toy with.

“Good girl. You open up so nicely.” Hoseok purrs, satisfied with your compliance. “Now let me see what I’m working with here.”

He swipes his index finger through your glossy folds, the action forcing you to stifle a startled gasp. It’s nothing like the erotic oil massage you’d experienced minutes prior. The touch is inquisitive, clinical, assessing. Like he’s testing out a new product before purchase.

You want to stay still but you’re so wound up from his incessant teasing. The slightest caress makes the hairs on the back of your nape stand straight. Hoseok is all too aware of this fact. The tip of his pointer finger comes in contact with your clit, the touch more delicate than a feather's caress. Hoseok watches with thinly veiled amusement as you jerk against the table.

“You really are sensitive,” he all but coos. “What a treat. Don’t need any oil when you’re leaking all over the table like a faucet. How long has it been since someone touched you here, hm?”

The teasing lilt in his voice borders on condescending. Heat simmers under the surface of your skin as you struggle to collect your thoughts.

“Eight months,” you squeak just as two of his fingers dip into your slicked up entrance.

“No wonder you’re all worked up.” He slides his digits right up to the knuckle, the glide so easy it’s embarrassing. “Needy holes like yours should be used more often.”

He fucks his fingers into your pussy one, two, three times, before pulling away, chuckling under his breath when your hips push back, greedy and desperate for more. Using the same hand he’d used to test out your cunt Hoseok slaps your ass once, the sharp sting making you still at once.

The damp mark on your ass is a testament to how fucking soaked you are. You can’t imagine what kind of mess the cameras are picking up on - but maybe you don’t have to.

Hoseok wipes his fingers off on you, using you to clean himself off. Although you can’t see anything because of the way you’re laying down, everything feels wet and filthy. He rubs your own juices onto your skin, reminding you of the intensity of your need.

And just when you don’t think his mouth can get any filthier, he proves you wrong.

“I can tell you haven’t been stretched recently,” he sighs, almost disappointed. “You’re just gagging for a pounding, aren’t you? It’s a shame your fuck-hole is too tight to take a big cock or I would have given it to you right away.”

Your lower body clenches as his words wash over you.

The idea sounds downright delicious. Hoseok is right. Even if it’s just for the sake of the storyline, there’s nothing more you want right now than a good, hard fucking. It would take him less than ten seconds for him to pull his hard cock out from his scrubs and make a home for himself between your thighs. Images flash through your mind of Hoseok’s hands on your breasts, in your hair, around your throat. You want him to cover you, smother you, as he forces you down against the table and takes his fill. You want his lips on your skin, hot and possessive, as he uses you like the cocksleeve he needs you to be.

God, you want that. You want to be used hard, to be fucked full until you break. You need this - your character needs this.

You whimper, high-pitched and needy. “Please. Please, I want it. I want - I want your cock.”

“I’m sure you do.” Hoseok all but scoffs. “Why don’t you just sit still and relax for me? I’m going to massage you until you’re nice and loose, alright? First-timers like you could get hurt if they’re not prepped properly but I’ll get you ready, don’t worry. By the end of this, you’ll be able to take big cocks in all your holes like a pro.”

“Shit.”

You bite back a moan, startled at how much you’re turned on.

Porn dialogue is rarely arousing. You’re the first to tune out your partner whenever they talk for longer than a minute. It’s because you hear the same exact shitty lines repeated so often that you’re half-convinced there’s a porn acting for dummies handbook being circulated around.

Although… Maybe if Hoseok’s lines had been delivered by someone else, they wouldn’t have the same effect on you. That’s the difference, you think to yourself. Hoseok’s delivery. The cockiness that infuses his every word, the way he confidently carries himself… He does it all so convincingly - nothing like the wooden and awkward memorized performances you’ve witnessed from fellow actors.

While you’re lost in thought, Hoseok rummages inside the cardboard box. Without his touch or words to distract you, it’s harder to ignore the building arousal between your legs. As the seconds tick by, your shameful desire only worsens.

Before you can crane your neck or voice your confusion, Hoseok returns, humming under his breath.

“We’re gonna try a different massage technique now. This method will help with lubrication,” he explains evenly. “I’ll use a special vibrating tool that will massage hard to reach areas.”

“Um…” You swallow, blinking rapidly. “Okay.”

“It’s not as scary as it sounds. We’ll start off slow and I’ll gradually up the intensity once I deem you ready for the next stage. How does that sound?”

A click, followed by a low buzzing, fills the room.

You gasp when the vibrating object comes in contact with the back of your knee. Hoseok’s free hand settles on your leg - a nonverbal reminder to keep your legs wide open for him as well as the cameras.

“See? Nice and easy. Nothing to be scared of.”

He rotates the tool in slow, even circles. You force yourself to relax and accept the foreign massage, disregarding how strange it feels to have small vibrations travel up and down your leg. After a few minutes of him repeating the same motions on your other leg, he slowly makes his way up your thighs, the rounded tip of the tool dangerously close to your drenched pussy.

A pleading whine reverberates in your chest. The electric whirring of the vibrator is not enough to soothe the burning between your thighs. If anything, it makes it worse. You need more, you think urgently.

Hoseok moves to the side of the table so that the cameras can get an unobstructed view of your clenching hole. It’s the first time you’ve seen his face since he made you lie down. From his voice alone, it’s impossible to tell how affected he is. More than once you’d caught yourself wondering… Does he like what he sees? Is he enjoying himself?

A dark streak of satisfaction crosses over you when you notice the hunger in his gaze, his pupils blown so wide his brown eyes look black. Drool pools in your mouth when you spot the sizable tent in his scrubs.

The fact that you’re at the perfect height to suck his dick doesn’t slip by you. He could flip you over onto your back, your head hanging off the table, and use your mouth to his heart’s content. You whimper at the thought of him fucking your face, your mouth reduced to a fleshlight for him to get off. You could probably cum like that - his cock buried deep in your throat, his fingers pressed against the side of your neck to you struggle around his length, while his other hand reaches down to grab at your breast, using it as an anchor to fuck into you harder.

“Shit, you’re really making a mess of my work table.”

Hoseok’s gaze is trained between your legs. He wets his lips and adjusts his hold on the vibrator. The sudden movement changes the angle, positioning the tool right over your dripping entrance, closer than ever to your swollen clit. The vibrations suddenly feel louder and stronger than before. If this keeps up, you reckon that it won’t be long before you’re hurtling towards the edge of a precipice.

A moan slips past your parted lips, loud and wanton. Embarrassed by the sheer need that colors your voice, you quickly shut your mouth closed, hoping that your desperation goes by unnoticed.

Hoseok chuckles, the sound sharp and mean. He comments on your obscene behavior, how you’re acting so slutty it’s a wonder you’d kept this side of you locked away for this long without people suspecting your love for cock. Every word infiltrates your mind, leaves no corners untainted, until all you can think and breathe and smell is him.

“Over the years, I’ve seen a lot of sluts parade in here and pay for my time,” he says, his dulcet tone making the degradation sweeter. You hang onto each and every word, letting yourself fall deeper into a haze of arousal and submission. “But it’s been a while since someone like you showed up. Just look at this… Your little fuck-hole can’t even take a bit of teasing without getting me dirty.”

The buzzing between your thighs switches back and forth between strong pulses and rapid, little vibrations. You keen, shaking from head to toe in pleasure. Your thighs are wet, sticky with your juices, and your clit is hard and aching for attention.

You don’t even want to know what state your sopping pussy is in. Every time your body jerks and trembles, you feel the pool of arousal that’s gathered underneath you. It’s - embarrassing. That you’re this soaked and close to cumming when he hasn’t even touched your clit or fucked you with his cock.

In the midst of your pleasure-induced haze, your eyes meet his. The lines of his face are drawn into a smug expression, his gaze smoldering. Embers of arousal light up his dark eyes, and you can only stare back at him, clit throbbing, as he ups the intensity of the vibrations.

“Fuck! Oh God, oh I’m-” Your legs thrash, hips lifting off the table in an effort to escape the shocks of pleasure zapping throughout your body. Mercifully - or not, depending on how you looked at it - Hoseok brought the vibrations down a few settings, until the whirring had quieted down to a low thrum.

“Feeling good, huh?” The grin he sends your way is positively wicked. “I think you’re ready to take more.”

More? you think weakly. Any more and you’ll explode, like popcorn kernels in a microwave.

For a second you think he’ll bring the vibrator up to your clit. Maybe even slide the long, phallic-shaped vibrator inside your pussy so that it’ll stretch you out like he’d promised. What you don’t expect is for him to bring it down to your other hole, the powerful vibrations rattling you to the core.

Your surprised gasp is so loud, not even the buzzing of the toy drowns it out. Hoseok places his available hand on your left hip and pins you to the table, the gentle weight keeping you steady.

“That’s right,” he soothes, voice smooth like silk. It sounds patronizing, almost like he’s calming down a dog startled by thunder or explaining right from wrong to a small child.

“Um.” You let trepidation inch its way into your voice. “You - what are you doing? That’s not - that’s dirty.”

“What is?”

“My,” you pause, humiliation coiling tightly around your spine. Hoseok presses the toy harder around your rim, its coat of arousal making the tip slide over your sensitive skin. You’re tempted not to answer but you know Hoseok wants you to voice the dirty words. “My asshole. It’s - dirty. Please - I… I don’t think you should touch it. It’s not right.”

You mumble the end of your sentence like you’re embarrassed to say such a scandalous thing out loud.

Hoseok laughs, sounding both mocking and endeared. “Oh, sweetheart. Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? I’m going to loosen up all your holes. Because that’s what you’ve always wanted deep down, isn’t it? To service cock. Even if it means letting me play with this dirty hole of yours.”

The vibrations intensify with the click of a button. Your whole body spasms, limbs flailing pathetically as the sensations run down your back all the way to the tip of your toes.

You bite down a whimper. How does he know? How can he tell? All you want right now is a nice, hard cock buried inside of you - and at this point you don’t care which orifice he sticks in it. You’re just so - empty. So empty it physically aches.

Hoseok dials down the intensity of the vibrator and with his free hand, squeezes a copious amount of oil onto the toy, slicking it up.

Surprisingly he doesn’t bother prepping you with his fingers before easing the toy into your back entrance. From your position, you can’t tell if Director Ryu signaled to hurry things along or if his own impatience played a part. Either way, your sharp intake of breath is genuine.

You try your best to relax your muscles but the toy is thicker than expected, its sides bumpy and ribbed. Even though you’d stretched yourself out beforehand with a sizable dildo, the girth of the toy still makes your breath hitch. Your bottom lip hurts as you scrape your teeth over it.

“Relax for me. That’s it.” Hoseok whispers soft words of encouragement. “You’re doing such a good job.”

Finally, after what seems like light years, the toy is fully inserted, only the base of it peeking out from between your parted cheeks. You feel full, deliciously so. It’s only now with the weight of the toy inside of you that you realize how much you’d missed being stuffed to the brim.

“There you go.” Hoseok smacks your right ass cheek hard enough for the sting to go straight to your clit. “How does that feel?”

“Full.” You smack your lips together. Eloquence is not your strongest suit in the present moment and your lack of coherency only humiliates you further. It’s like he’s rendered you cock-dumb. Reduced you to a lust-driven creature that only has dick on the brain. “I feel good.”

“Of course you’d enjoy that.” The cockiness in his voice is undeniable, like he’s drunk off the power he has over you. “Needy sluts like you only care about getting filled up, huh?”

It sounds like a rhetorical question but you answer it anyway, just in case he wanted an answer.

“Yes! I’m a needy slut. Please - could you…?” You wriggle your hips, trying to entice him into action. The rocking motion jostles the toy nestled inside of you, causing you to choke out a moan. “Hng! Use my pussy this time, please?”

Hoseok clucks his tongue and slaps your ass again to keep you still. It moves the lodged vibrator, knocking it against a spot inside of you that makes you gush. Your pussy clenches up in an imitation of an orgasm - but you know from experience that you haven’t cum just yet.

Fuck. You’re so fucked and he hasn’t even given you his cock.

Your head thumps down against the table as you take in deep, steadying breaths. You can’t think straight; every thought seems clouded by a dense smog of lust. Your body feels like a live wire, all your nerve endings crackling with electricity. How much more can you endure before you shatter beyond repair?

Hoseok takes pity on you. “The vibrating massage should have helped your muscles relax. Your tight cunt should be able to fit this in by now.”

He slides another silicone toy into your pussy, this one wider and longer than the first. Your hands grapple for purchase as your body accommodates both toys, one in each hole. You’re so wet that there’s no resistance despite its impressive size and you suck in a breath as Hoseok keeps pushing it in, inch by interminable inch.

If you thought you felt full before, it’s nothing compared to how stretched you feel now. The wall separating the two toys is stretched thin and when you tense your abdomen, you can feel both of them nudge against one another. Your stomach feels - bloated. As if there’s a bulge where the toys are nestled deep inside of you.

It’s quite frankly obscene.

You’ve never felt more turned on.

“Whoa.” He grips both of your legs and widens them even further, displaying your stuffed holes for the cameras. “Your hungry cunt ate up my biggest dildo like it was nothing.”

The fact that he admitted it was a dildo - and not some vibrating tool - just adds to your mortification.

“Okay. Two holes down, one to go.”

He releases his hold on your legs and raises a brow at you. The smirk is back on his face and that, paired with the ravenous look in his eyes, makes you want to run and hide. He looks like he’s two seconds away from devouring you whole for dinner. “Why don’t you turn around for me? It wouldn’t be a full body massage if I didn’t rub down the other side, right?”

His chuckle spurs you into action. It’s not that you’re not embarrassed by the idea of baring yourself completely for him like some sort of cult offering, but the need to get dicked down trumps all.

Your mind feels fuzzy and your body sluggish. There’s a fire inside of you that not even double penetration has managed to extinguish and it roars to life as you manœuvre into the position he’s ordered you to get into. The toys jostle inside of you, reminding you of the depraved lengths you’d go to because you’re starving for cock.

He’s right about you, you think as you settle onto your back. You’re a needy slut. All you want is for your holes to be filled. And when they’re empty, your body aches with the need to fill them back up again. Toys will do but they’re a poor substitute for what you really want.

Thankfully, Hoseok’s own patience is running out. You’ve barely gotten into a comfortable position when he’s fishing out his cock from his scrubs, not even bothering to remove his clothes.

Drool pools into your mouth at the sight. He’s just as long as you remembered him to be. Not too thick or veiny, but prettily flushed and glistening with translucent precum. How long has he been hard? The erection looks painful. Distantly, you’re comforted by the knowledge that you haven’t been the only one suffering from this prolonged foreplay. God is fair, you rejoice internally.

Your mouth opens of its own accord and your tongue lolls out, hungry.

Hoseok doesn’t comment on your pathetic state - a testament to how worked up he probably is. He guides his cock into your waiting mouth with barely repressed urgency.

His cock is heavy on your tongue, the perfect weight. He pushes in until he can’t go any further, the position you’re in giving him better access to your throat. You fucking love it.

When you swallow around his length, he hisses between his teeth. “Shit.”

He gives you little time to adjust. As soon as he’s certain you can take it, he starts to thrust his hips. His cock drags across the rough surface of your tongue as it’s pushed and pulled out of your mouth at a rapid pace. Each thrust of his hips makes you gag, drool running down the sides of your face, and the obscene sounds of your choking echo in your ears.

The rough treatment should revolt you, make you squirm or shy away, but you’ve never felt more alive. Your mind feels pleasantly blank - like your sole purpose in life is to be a glorified cum bucket, a receptacle for his cock and cum. Even when he buries himself all the way to the hilt, so far down your throat it feels like he’s reached your stomach, you’re eager for more. Logically speaking you don’t even know if you can handle more, don’t have the mental faculty to figure out if more is physically possible, but your body knows that it’ll never be sated, not fully, not until he cums inside you.

“Greedy girl,” he rasps between heavy breaths. “Look at you… I’ve plugged up three of your holes but you’re still gagging for it, aren’t you? Filthy slut.”

His words are meant to degrade and humiliate you. Instead of disgust, you can hear the admiration ring in his voice. His awe satisfies you and you hollow your cheeks, suctioning around his girth just to hear him curse under his breath. You live for the way his hips stutter and how his deep breathing is interspersed by the occasional grunt or moan. It feels good to know that you’re bringing him pleasure, that your hole is satisfactory.

Hoseok reaches over your body and grabs something from the discarded cardboard box you can’t see. You soon find out what it is though - the oil is drizzled over your torso and chest, liquid spilling down the sides of your body. He throws the bottle to the side, more interested in spreading the lubricant over your tits until they’re slick and shiny.

It soon becomes clear that he’s abandoned his earlier massage techniques in favor of a more rushed treatment. Gone is the slow build-up. He rubs your breasts, grabbing and squeezing them like stress balls, and pinches your hard nipples tightly between his fingers, pulling them out until your back arches.

The next time he slams his erect length into your mouth, your breasts bounce from the force of the thrust. Hoseok’s eyes remain transfixed on the lewd way your breasts jiggle; because he keeps your nipples clamped tightly between his fingers, your tits have no other choice but to swing around every time he rocks his hips back and forth.

Every time you gag and choke on his cock, tears prickling your eyes, you feel the fire between your legs grow stronger. Shame and arousal course through you, your head dizzy with lust. You can’t move, can’t scream, all of your moans of pleasure muffled by the cock buried in your throat.

He laughs derisively, pulling out after a particularly hard thrust. A string of saliva connects your mouth to his cock and your eyes zero in on it, finding it impossible to look away.

“You slut.”

He makes a disapproving noise low in his throat before slapping you across the face with his cock.

It doesn’t hurt anywhere as much as a real slap but it’s so unexpected you gasp, your jaw throbbing in pain. The imprint of his cock is wet and dirty against your cheek. He keeps his cock hanging a few centimeters above your face. It taunts you, beckons you closer. The seam of your mouth stays wide open, your appetite evidently knowing no limits.

“Heh. You’re really something… Never seen a whore so cock-hungry in my life. And trust me when I say I’ve seen plenty.” He sneers, walking away.

For a long second, you fear he’s gone and left you high and dry and that the scene will end like that. Except - no. He’s positioned himself at the other side of the massage table. You shudder as you realize that can only mean one thing : he’s going to grant you the fucking your body craves.

Hoseok’s lips twitch into a knowing half-smile. He grips his stiff cock in one hand, the length of it soaked with your spit and precum.

You gulp, suddenly intimidated. Perhaps it’s the angle, but he looks taller than you remember him to be, bigger, his shoulders slightly broader. His cock looks more imposing, too. Despite just having choked on it, it’s long; his hand sits loosely at the base of his cock, leaving a few good inches poking out of his fist. Your mouth goes dry, your insatiable hunger reawakened.

The impatience marring your features is probably disgustingly obvious because Hoseok makes another comment about how desperate and pathetic you look once you’re deprived of cock.

Using his left hand, he slowly removes the toy from your ass. The slide is painful because you’re clenching so hard down on it, unwilling for your hole to become empty once again.

A whimper escapes your parted lips. Hoseok laughs at the betrayed look that crosses your face at the loss of the thick dildo.

“So fuckin’ greedy.” He slaps your entrance with his cock, his grin wolfish as you wail in reply. “Stay still if you want my cock.”

Immediately you freeze, taking his words to heart. Deep down, you know that he won’t be that cruel but you’re so exhausted from the never-ending teasing, that you’re not willing to take any chances.

Hoseok holds up one of your legs and pushes it over his shoulder.

“Good girl.” He breaches your ass, both of you moaning as his cock works its way inside of you. It’s a tight fit; you can feel his cock bump into the vibrating dildo in your pussy, the feeling overwhelming you. He grunts, fingertips bruising your skin as he hold back from cumming too quickly.

His hips work up a steady rhythm, the both of you already so close to finishing. You know that a lesser man would have cum ages ago, but Hoseok troops on, eyebrows creased in concentration. He looks - hot. Ridiculously hot, even in that dumb fake masseuse uniform.

His once perfectly combed hair is now disheveled, strands of hair falling over his eyes and dripping brow. There’s something about all of it - the wild glint in his eyes, the rough way he’s fucking you, the domineering aura that he exudes - that makes you absolutely lose it.

You clench up on his cock without warning, your insides squeezing around him even more tightly because of the toy still lodged in your dripping cunt. The orgasm rips through you, fast and hard, leaving your thighs soaking. Hoseok fucks you through it, his cock relentless, drawing your pleasure out until your body goes limp.

It’s the kind of orgasm that on a normal day you could only hope to achieve.

Except Hoseok doesn’t stop to let you rest or take a breather. He brings your other leg over his shoulder, testing the limits of your flexibility, and uses the new angle to plow into you with renewed force.

“Ah - ah fuck wait!” You cry out, overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensations traveling through your body. “Oh my God, oh shit! You’re so fucking deep, ah!”

Hoseok chooses that moment to turn on the vibrating dildo. He doesn’t even start at the lowest setting, sets it straight to one of the higher level ones, and your whole body jumps. Both of you moan as the toy comes to life. The vibrations rattle your insides - and that, coupled with the fat cock that’s splitting you open relentlessly, threaten to rearrange your insides.

Arousal builds again quickly inside of you, pulsing steadily alongside your heartbeat.

You feel so fucking full you think it’s possible you’ll burst. Before, when you had both toys buried inside of you, the stretch and the fullness had been pleasant. You had even been able to tune it out for the most part once you’d got used to it.

But with the way Hoseok is now fucking into you with reckless abandon, it’s impossible not to be reminded of how stuffed your holes are. Every thrust of his cock in your ass bumps against the vibrator, pushing it harder against your bundle of nerves.

“I knew the minute I saw you,” he growls, his pace punishing. “No bra, pussy ripe for the picking. Whores like you could never be satisfied with the beginner massage. No, I knew exactly what you needed.”

He adjusts his grip on your ankles and the change in angle keeps the vibrator pressed directly the sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you.

“Fuck! Oh God, there there! Please, keep going. It’s so good. Fuck me!” You chant, out of your mind with pleasure.Your words are raw, unrefined, and in any other circumstance, you’d laugh at how ridiculous you sound.

“You’re so fucking loud,” he hisses between grunts of pleasure. “Why don’t you go ahead and cum for me. Make yourself useful and tighten up this hole of yours so I can feel good.”

He reaches down between your legs and fiddles with the switch.

You scream. Your eyes roll back and your entire body locks up. Intense pleasure that you’ve never experienced before thunders through your body. If your previous orgasm was like a building wave crashing to the shore at long last, this one is a fucking tornado determined to rip you to pieces.

Maybe you might’ve passed out. You don’t know. But when you regain consciousness, Hoseok’s cock is pulsing jet after jet of hot cum inside of your pussy. You feel it spurt inside of you, coating your already slick walls with his essence.

He pulls out quickly so that the camera can zoom in on the way the cum oozes out of you in thick globs. Instinctively you clench your walls to keep more from leaking out, but it only pushes more of the mess out, painting your inner thighs white.

When you glance up at him you notice his shirt is soaked. There’s a huge dark spot that starts from his chest to his pants. He doesn’t seem to mind the stain.

“You came so hard you passed out,” he informs you while tucking his spent cock back inside his scrubs. “I came inside of you while you were out of it but I figured you wouldn’t mind. That’s what you came here for, right?”

The smile he shoots your way looks more like a smirk. You bite your lip. He must’ve taken out the dildo - or it might’ve gotten pushed out during your orgasm, you don’t know - and you feel your holes gape a little after being stretched and used for so long. You’re tempted to snap your legs shut but you know the cameras need to record your debauchery.

“I’ll let you change. You can meet me out front to schedule your next appointment. Hm let’s see… Considering how well you reacted during this session I think we’ll have to take more, hm, drastic measures next time. I’m curious to see how far your greedy cunt is able to stretch with enough incentive. I’m positive that with you anything is possible. We’ll try fitting two cocks insides for starters and maybe - ah. I’m getting carried away.” He chuckles. “Anyways, meet me at the counter in ten minutes and we can go over the details then.”

“I…” You wet your lips. “I’d like that.”

A silence ensues and for a second you think your acting was bad or you’d said the wrong thing.

“CUT! And that, my friends, is what you call art!” yells Director Ryu, clapping his hands like a seal.

You breathe out a sigh of relief and sit up despite your muscles protesting loudly. God, your ass feels sore. Hoseok had really done a number on you.

“Hey, are you all good?” He asks, drawing closer to you in concern. He must have seen your grimace.

“Oh! Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for asking. It’s just - it was kind of intense. In a good way! I’ll probably be sore later but that’s because I’m not used to these kind of scenes yet.”

“You were really hot. I couldn’t tell this was your first anal scene at all.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Really.” Hoseok sighs dreamily. “I think I saw Jesus when I came.”

“What?” You bring a hand to your mouth to muffle your laughter. “It was a good nut, I take it?”

“The best.” He looks over at you, dimples on his cheek as he returns your smile. “I blacked out for a second and went to heaven.”

You bask in the afterglow for a few minutes longer than you usually would. Hoseok makes no move to leave either, even if logic dictates that you’re both better off washing up instead of letting the mixture of sweat, cum, and oil dry on your skin. You know from experience that it’s hard as fuck to clean up once it hardens - not to mention it stinks.

“Babe!”

You’re roused from your peaceful state of mind as your boyfriend approaches. He’s smiling but one side of his mouth looks stiff. He hands you a towel, eyes trailing down your figure, and suddenly you feel self-conscious. You hurriedly wrap the fluffy material around you, eager to hide the cum still dripping out of your swollen cunt and the red marks littered over your body from Hoseok’s rough treatment.

It’s not - you’re not ashamed. You never are. It’s just - you don’t want to hurt Jimin. Even if it does come with the job, it can’t be easy for him to see his girlfriend getting fucked by someone else.

“That was so good! You did great. The camera really loves you. I can’t wait to see how the final cut turns out,” Jimin compliments and you preen despite yourself, conditioned to suck up praise. “Are you hungry?”

Just on cue your stomach lets out a grumble.

Jimin’s eyes crease into crescents as he smiles. “I knew it. You’re always famished after a scene. It’s a good thing I booked a reservation at our favorite restaurant, right?”

You nod, thankful yet again that you have such a caring and thoughtful boyfriend. “I’m famished now that you mention it.”

Hoseok observes the exchange silently and his presence makes you embarrassed for some reason. Maybe not embarrassed but - something. You can’t put a name to the emotion.

“Um, I’ll see you around?” You say as you gather to your feet. Jimin is instantly by your side, his hand wrapping around yours tightly. “It was nice working with you again! Thank you for your hard work.”

Hoseok’s lips quirk into a half-smile. He’s still eyeing the both of you in a strange, intense kind of way and the scrutiny makes you fidgety. You try not to make your desire to flee the scene too transparent.

“It’s always a pleasure. I look forward to working with you again.”

The words he utters are tactful and diplomatic - nothing like the carefree familiarity he’d showcased minutes prior. You don’t blame him, given the circumstances.

You shoot him an apologetic look as you turn away to leave. To your relief, Hoseok doesn’t appear dejected or offended. Just - curious, maybe? Pensive? Like he’s in the middle of solving a complicated and intricate puzzle and that puzzle involves you.

The idea scares you. Mostly because you yourself don’t know what he’ll find.

As soon as you’ve rounded the corner, Jimin excuses himself. “I have to finish helping the guys. There’s still some equipment to put away. But we’ll meet out in the back like last time?”

“Sure.”

He kisses your cheek and scampers away.

Seokjin is waiting for you in the next room over. He’s holding a water bottle, your favorite silk robe, and a dark chocolate energy bar. You’re so sweaty that it feels silly to wear the robe but you shrug it on anyway, knowing that Jimin will feel better if you’re not parading around the set naked.

Your stomach rumbles loudly and it’s only then that you realize the extent of how fucking hungry you are. Non-stop sex sure is tiring, you note while ripping open the energy bar with your teeth. Seokjin calls you a savage under his breath but those types of comments are so commonplace that it’s easy to tune him out.

“God, I could kiss you right now,” you say after swallowing down a mouthful of granola. After eating spinach exclusively for the past three days, the sweetness on your tongue tastes like a slice of heaven.

“Not with that mouth, you won’t.” Seokjin narrows his eyes. “I know where it’s been.”

Still high from your mind-shattering orgasm, you giggle and pretend to kiss him just to watch him squirm. It’s not until much later, after you’d washed up as best you could with the help of baby wipes, that you check your phone. You respond to a text or two before finally checking your social media page out of habit more so than anything else.

(2) new notifications

JHOPE94 has followed you!

JHOPE94 has mentioned you in their story.

It’s the same account Hoseok had shown you earlier in the day. You follow him without much thought, grinning to yourself when you read his bio “hope on streets and in the sheets ;)”, and click on his Instagram story.

You’re surprised to learn he’s one of those people who uploads multiple pictures about just about anything - his Starbucks’ coffee cup with JAY written in black sharpie, several mirror selfies, a snapshot of his shoes, pictures of the film crew setting up the scene. You click through the pictures, a little flummoxed by the random collage, and pause when you get to the picture you’d been tagged in.

It’s you. Squinting, you realize that he must have taken the candid picture in passing. You’re sitting in the hair and makeup chair, the makeup artist applying a layer of gloss on your lips. The row of lights that border all around the vanity mirror give your figure a halo spotlight effect.

JHOPE94 : not in heaven but i saw an angel today :))

#once again the italics did not transfer over but i rlly can’t be bothered at this point ;;#i am so happy this is done but also nervous agshsisjskss #bts smut #hoseok smut #bts #hoseok #also as usual I did not proof the last 4k bc I speed wrote the last bit in one go #believe me when i say i cannot look at this draft any longer !

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infinites-chaser · 4 years ago

Note

Librarian! PH. 52 MLQC MC / Victor :)

HELLO ANON U WERE ONE OF THE FIRST PEOPLE TO RESPOND TO MY LIBRARIAN ASK GAME I’M SO SORRY IT’S TAKEN SO LONG,,, victor is just. hard to write. aLSO I'm doubly sorry since i’ll be combining this with the Victor ask from @truth-be-told-im-lying hope neither of you mind T-T i don’t think my mind could do two victor ficlets akwlfjsdkls

ANyway I love you both LOTS AND LOTS hopefully this attempt at Victor isn’t extremely out of character;;; it’s a lowkey soulmates AU if that counts for anything :> aND this fic gets the special treatment of an actual Title bc True was wonderful enough to help me by typing Victor as an Enneagram Type One

okaaay and without further ado,

49, 52 + Victor/MC

‘[He] wakes up in [his] bed, determined to begin again.’- These Ghosts Are Family, Maisy Card. (pg. 49)

‘As [he] pushes through the onlookers to meet [her], he is certain he is the only person moving.’- These Ghosts Are Family, Maisy Card. (pg. 52)

((pronoun changes in both quotes to better fit the ficlet))

spoilers for Victor/MC’s childhood!

spend my whole life searching

Victor doesn’t believe in soulmates. (After half a lifetime of searching turning up nothing, he doesn’t believe in much.)

Once upon a time, he might’ve. (He wanted to). His heart rate doubled and sped up to match hers— a carefree little girl skipping across the road, too far away to hear his nerves cry danger, too caught up in dreams and fantasies to hear his warning shout. Time slowed down so he could save her, and on that afternoon on the crosswalk, drops of rain suspended in the air, he did.

At that age, he hadn’t had the sense to wonder why a young girl like her had been crossing the street without supervision. Why her smiles had come freely, but had always looked a little sad, a little wistful. Why she’d been so eager to accept his baked treats. Why she’d been at the playground without a parent. Why she’d always been alone.

Now, seventeen years later, he wishes he did. Wishes he’d known something as simple as her last name.

He dreams of her. Of finding her again: the girl whose heartbeat matched his. The girl whose smile had slowed down time itself for him, as if short moments with her could’ve each stretched into a gentle eternity. He’d wanted them to. He’d wanted to capture every moment spent with her, to make them last, to savor them, so they’d pass slow and sweet like honey on the tongue.

Time had passed slow when he’d wanted it to. Those sunlit afternoons had been sweet, they’d been happy.

Only, time is a fickle thing. When he takes his eye off it, it races away, too fast for him to keep up.

The kidnapping. The experiments. The torture.

The escape.

She saves him. He’s too slow to save her.

And even if he can stop time, here’s the thing: he can never turn the clock back.

Still, he wakes up. Every morning, he gets out of bed. Gets dressed and goes to work. The world around him moves on, and demands he does, too, even if his heart’s still eleven years old and clutching her motionless body, eleven years old, the only sound in his ears his pounding pulse, the absence of the accompaniment of hers an accusation more painful than any hateful words.

It’s a recurring theme in his life, time. It’s ironic, really, when he thinks about it. That he can stop time without lifting a finger, and yet, when it comes to things he cares about, people he loves most, he’s always eleven years old again, always too late.

(His Evol’s time control, but perhaps, all this time, he hasn’t been controlling time, it’s been controlling him. He’s imprisoned by a single moment, a memory, a regret. A past that can never be undone.)

Whenever he has spare time, he devotes himself to searching. Resigns himself to the fact he’ll probably never find her, if all he has to go off of is a child’s face, once preserved in his memory, now fading. Hair color. Eye color. Age. A name. Nothing more.

The searches turn up nothing.

He spends late nights in the office to distract himself, builds up a capitalist kingdom of a company, if only to put off for a few hours more the prospect of returning home to face his nightmares alone.

His father praises him for LFG’s growth over dinners filled with awkward silences. The name Victor Li appears more and more often in business newspapers. Investors approach him. He gets interviews. Gets offers for TV appearances, for sponsorships.

He takes them, these material successes. Wonders if any amount of them could ever make up for the failure from his childhood. If they could bring her back. He tells himself if he finds her, when he finds her, when he brings her back, it’ll be to a more perfect world. One in which he’ll never fail her again. It’s a foolish thought, but it keeps him going. With it in mind, he proceeds to work twice as hard.

Souvenir is what saves him. A small allowance, a self-indulgence, a seed of hope planted in what he thinks is his darkest time.

It’s for her, more than any of his frantic searching ever was. A dream, a foolish one, that one day she’ll step through his memories and through the restaurant’s door, that one day they’ll share a pudding together again, their hearts beating as one.

He doesn’t get to open Souvenir often; his job doesn't let him. He made sure of that, long ago. But when he does, after the last customer’s left, and he’s put up the closed sign, he cooks for two.

(The first time, Mr. Mills had taken a single look at his silent, still face, and his expression must've spoken volumes. The older man hadn't said a word, only helped clean the kitchen after, the normally gentle lines around his mouth pulled taut in a worried frown.)

He sets the second place at the table himself: carefully places fork, knife and spoon beside lukewarm appetizers, tucks a napkin under soup bowls going cold. Watches the empty seat and the untouched meal for an eternity before finally eating his own. His technique's impeccable. It has been ever since he'd aced his culinary lessons, since he'd bought out the school. He'd used the finest ingredients. He always does.

The food still crumbles like ash in his mouth. (It always does.)

Mr. Mills will find him there, nursing a glass of wine long into the night. He knows better not to question it, but sometimes he'll pull up a chair, drink a glass, too. talk of everything and nothing, talk of his parents, his sister's family, of times gone by.

Victor will never admit it, but the older man's presence makes those nights less hard. his stories, his memories — they keep the ice in his heart from spreading any further when it feels like nothing else will.

Ten years stretch into thirteen, into fourteen, into fifteen, into a broken clock, time stopped because does the passage of time mean anything if he measures it, measured it in time with her? If she's gone?

The meals shrink. First appetizers vanish, then entrees too, until all that's left are desserts, puddings that he stares at all evening, puddings a girl had loved once, that he can almost imagine her sitting there eating, her noticing him watching her and her answering blush and smile. His smile back.

Almost, because after all these years without her, he can’t quite imagine her face. Not as she would look now. Not even as she was, seventeen years back.

(He dreams and finds he doesn’t remember what her smile looked like, exactly. Doesn’t remember the sound of her heartbeat mingling with the sound of his.

Memory is cruel. Memory is imperfect. No matter if you can stop time, no matter how hard you try to memorize a moment, when you revisit it, it’ll never be the same as when you lived it the first time.)

Then:

The day starts like any other. He wakes up, gets out of bed, gets ready for another day of work, another night of searching. He scrolls emails while waiting for his espresso machine to heat, then puts his tablet aside when the coffee's done. He eats in silence. As always, he's done five minutes before he needs to leave for the company, the perfect amount of time for him to do a last-minute check in the mirror— his tie's straight, his shirt unwrinkled, not a hair on his head out of place. The reflection that stares back at him is unchanging; these days it barely shows even the passage of time.

He sighs. Shakes the thought off like the piece of lint it is on his otherwise immaculate state of being, and heads for the door, the lock automatically clicking behind him at eight o'clock am, exactly on schedule, exactly as planned.

He's about to take a seat in his car when an inexplicable urge to walk to work takes hold of him. He pauses. Calculates and re-calculates the time it would take (fifteen minutes, not accounting for rush hour traffic making crosswalks slow), and he's about to decide it's not worth it, it's a silly thought, but the urge intensifies.

Do it, the eleven-year-old in his heart seems to be telling him. You won't regret it.

He frowns and rubs his forehead— for a moment, he wonders if all his searching, all his foolish hopes are finally getting to his brain.

He decides to take the walk, anyway.

He regrets it, not nine minutes later, when despite the sun's light shining strong through the clouds, a light rain begins to fall.

Worse still, the traffic lights haven't changed once in the past ninety seconds. He won't be late, he'd accounted for this, but he's stuck in a crowd of pedestrians, and their chatter's beginning to grate on his nerves. He's considering calling the mayor about it after exactly one hundred seconds have passed— clearly, the light's broken, this is far too long for commuters to wait— but then, finally the walk sign flicks on.

He's already across the street when it happens:

First, a phone rings.

Then, the loud honking of a car.

Tires screech.

Time slows. Time stops.

He's back on the crosswalk in a matter of heartbeats, the inattentive idiot in his arms (it's a girl, it's always a girl, hair dark, eyes wide, expression shocked).

"You..." She says, blinking up at him with those wide, almost-familiar eyes. Distantly, he registers the echo of a heartbeat overlapping with his.

"Who are you?"

Who are you? His mind asks, but deep in his heart, he already knows the answer. It can't be.

"Evolver?" He says instead, shoving down memories that threaten to surface: another rainy day, another crosswalk, another heart that had seemed matched to his. He tells himself he's being delusional, that he thinks he can hear her heartbeat because she's in his arms, wide-eyed and fragile, her heartrate skittering back and forth like a fool— this isn't like his careful, methodical searching, this is a fluke beyond flukes, it means nothing, it'll lead to nothing in the end.

But she's in his arms, warm and soft against his protective embrace, she's in his arms and it feels so right it's almost painful, his pulse pulled into a panicked pace to match hers.

He sets her down abruptly, as if burned, and turns to go.

"Someone can't come to your rescue every time."

Around them, suspended raindrops begin to fall. The world, resumed. The world, once again predictable and mundane. Except for her.

He knows, without looking back, she's staring after him, her heart, his heart, still racing.

He allows himself a smile.

He allows himself some small sliver of hope.

(His frozen time starts moving again.)

#mlqc #mlqc victor #mlqc fanfic #val writes #hNnghghg this took so Long and writing vic gives me so much stress BUT HOPE Y'ALL ENJOY #u didnt hear it from me but it was actually really interesting to explore his character like this and. i've definitely developed more of an #appreciation :> of sorts #victor is an enneagram one and rly that's all that matters thats all u need to learn from this fic #also sOULmate AUs i love them that's it does this mean i think vic is MC's soulmate;;; maybe in this universe but not generally ailsjkfd #JUST FOR THE RECORD. i am not a vic stan so it must be said #TIL that mr mills does not have a wife/family and that makes me rly sad

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universitypenguin · 3 years ago

Note

What happened to u? U okay?

Hello!

First off, thank you for your concern. I appreciate it and I needed it after the past two days. To answer your question - I'm doing great.

I don’t have a lot of context about your question, but I’m guessing your concern is due to my recent blocking spree. A day ago, I went through my followers list and found some minors. I’ve previously seen smut fanfic writers concerned by underage people interacting with their posts. Until I had to block a few of them, I wasn’t aware how uncomfortable it would make me feel.

Since the blocking spree, I've had a lot of thoughts. I'm about to spew them everywhere. You might regret asking me if I was okay. Sorry about that. No one needs to read this whole manifesto about my rollercoaster of emotions the past few days. But in the interest of transparency, I'm posting this very long note.

What I want my readers to know is the following:

Tumblr is both a place for fanfiction and a social media site.

When I interact with followers and write explicit content, I have to be careful about what I'm saying and who I'm saying it to.

I don't intend to block or purge my followers in the future.

As long as I appropriately tag and put warnings on my work, that is adequate protection for my blog. Everything I write containing explicit content is tagged.

However, I won't interact with users who don't have an age stated in their bio.

There have to be boundaries, given the content of my writing. But I've also come around to the realization that I'm not capable of policing every interaction. Tumblr is a public forum. Minors following me makes me uncomfortable. But by the same token, my work is clearly labeled at 18+ and so is my blog.

There's a lot of explicit content out there for minors if you really think about it. In my high school freshman English class we talked about the book "The Color Purple." Believe me, that was explicit and we were only 14. Any minor with a library card and a Google browser can access a lot more intense content than what I write. I hope they're all being safe, but I can't have a melt down blocking spree again.

I'm not a cop, I'm not a parent, and what minors consume is down to them and the adult responsible for them. If I know someone is a minor I'll block them, should I notice they're trying to interact with me. Otherwise, I'm not purging my followers ever again. It's too much drama. I'd rather leave Tumblr than do that twice. I'm tired and I'm starting to work on my post graduate classes, I work full time in a demanding job, I'm in the process of editing my novel, and trying to keep up with my personal life. Quite literally, I don't have time to block. Writing fanfic is supposed to be my fun time. Let's keep it that way.

Due to the fact that some people I blocked were later unblocked after I took a closer look at their blogs, I'm posting a full explanation below. A quick summary is this:

After only writing for three months, I'd amassed 500 followers. On Monday I blocked almost 200 of them. Then I reviewed my block list and editing down some people who were prematurely blocked. [I assume the anon is one of the unblocked who had me disappear from their dash. Sorry!] This blocking thing isn't sustainable. In the future I'll run my blog differently as far as interaction goes in an effort to be responsible.

Continue reading for the saga of:

The Great Blocking Spree and Existential Crisis of an Erotic Fanfic Writer.

The Blocking Spree:

On Monday I realized a thirteen year old was following me and interacting with my work. This creeped me out.

*Commence blocking spree*

Then I realized how daunting my followers list was. I had 500 followers prior to Monday. That day I blocked about 200 people (some of them prematurely - more on that later.) So after the daunting task of trying to assume, to check bios for ages, to review blog content and determine the user's age, I was tired. Today, I even took a moment to reconsider if I wanted to use Tumblr. Because if all this is my responsibility, maybe I don't have the time or dedication to manage it. When I can be chill, I try to be. This attitude also affected by blocking. It contributed to me unblocking people. When I was doing the blocking spree, I'd give people with no age in their bio a fair shot by reviewing their posts.

I blocked some bot accounts, then a bunch of blank blogs, some ambiguous people who very well could be of age. For the first 100 followers I was pretty aggressive. Then my attention span dropped off and I was a bit more ambivalent. I realized I was doing a crappy job of moderating and wondered what the point was.

The point was that the thirteen year old interacting with my work freaked me out. When I found two sixteen year old followers, it pushed me to continue the purge.

So on I go, blocking. I'm so responsible for doing this, right? But my methodology is crap. What is context for being an adult? Someone had posted about budgeting advice. I thought the budgeting advice was too good for it not to have come from an adult. But my father's a financial advisor and to be honest, I could have given that level of advice at fifteen just from osmosis. Someone had pictures of themselves entering their marijuana plants in the Oregon State Fair. Okay, you've got to be over 18. I didn't block them. Someone else complained about their stats professor and I didn't block them. But in retrospect, one of my high school friends got permission to take college level math courses when we were seniors. She was seventeen when she had a stats professor. The thought circles back - what am I accomplishing here? Next, I went back and unblocked someone who ranted about her Tinder matches being 60 year old men. I wondered if their post was even real. I've lied on the internet before. Nonetheless, I persisted and worked through all 500 followers. When I was done I had 312 followers left.

Post Blocking Spree Existential Crisis:

I know that all the blocking in the world can't stop a teenager who wants to read smut fanfic. I'm not much for posting on social media and I'm not used to a lot of anonymous interaction online. Honestly, I got rid of my SM accounts during college when I felt it was wasting my time. This is the first time I've really use a social media site to post content since college. My twitter account is unused, my Instagram is for close personal friends only, and my TikTok is for mindless consumption of cat videos. (I've trained the algorithm to feed me only cat videos, it's great and I highly recommend it.) I don't post on TikTok, so I don't consider it full use, just lurking.

Okay, Alice, get back to the point....

Right, being anonymous on social media. My blocks are a fence and it's based on self identification from the blogs that follow me. I have little faith in underage consumers to out themselves. I have even less faith in their honesty or respect for an adult's boundaries. They're at a stage in life where they want to push the boundaries. Telling them no is all but inviting them in. I did my blocking spree because I was worried about backlash from someone's parents. But what reasonable judge would come after a fanfic writer? Come on. Logical thoughts but me emotional distress was still brewing.

Why I am the one responsible for who clicks the follow button on my blog? I've always clearly identified what I write and tagged my work as smut.

That thought snapped me out of my whirlwind of anxious thoughts. So I started looking into the laws. My regular work involves medicine, not the legal profession, so I was lost. I found some state level laws that made me glad I'd gone on a blocking spree. California and Florida have specific language in their laws about 'providing minors with explicit content.' But what exactly is that? What I researched applied to the following activities: co-writing smut fanfic with other people, sexting, roleplaying and online messaging.

I run a fanfic blog with limited interaction. I've never done an ask. I don't roleplay on here and I don't want to.

The blocks weren't personal. They were partly based on the awareness that Tumblr is an interactive site and a place that's had a problem with child pornography in the past. But I'm not the smut police. I suck at blocking, and I doubt I did a good job of purging my followers list. This is when it hit me that boundaries are only what I can enforce. They've never been about how other people relate to me, only how I relate to them. (Wow. I've never sounded more like my mother in my life...) After this thought, I started considering what actions I ought to take if I wanted to keep posting fanfic on Tumblr.

My Post Blocking Spree Clarity...

It's up to me who I interact with. I don't have to reply to every comment and re-blog, but I'd like to. I'm stuck between wanting to write for everyone and handling interactions on a social media site that's mostly anonymous.

The fact remains: I can't be the smut police because I suck at it.

What I've decided is that I'll make it very clear on my blog that this is an 18+ space where I publish erotic fanfiction. Smut will always be appropriately marked. I'm not going to interact with reviews, re-blogs, and messages from accounts who don't have their age in their profile. I won't include them in my tag list either. The internet is a public forum. Just as with publishing erotica, once it's out there online for download, it's done. As a ghost writer and an author, I don't control who buys my original fiction, which is just as spicy as my fanfiction. (Trust me, it's explicit. I once had a romance editor tell me I should dial it back on the smutty parts of a novel because "it's a lot of sex for a non-erotica market.") The key difference on Tumblr is about interaction. And that's something I can control. I can decide when I reply to other users. What brought me around to this was the realization that even after the blocking spree, I can't review every single like I get. That's an amount of time and mental energy that's beyond me. Just the past two days have been exhausting and sapped my will to write. Which sucks because I need to go write the next chapter of "Restitution" before tomorrow.

I think the reasons I went on the blocking spree are nuanced. The thirteen year old freaked me out. So did the other underaged people who had ages in their bios. But it also relates to my work. In my job I've seen some nasty child abuse cases. Early on in my career, when I was a 23 year old new hire, I was working on an autopsy for a child abuse victim who'd been murdered by their parent. It was so terrible and graphic, I had to ask one of my older colleagues to take the case. This colleague didn't like me. But she took one look at my face and took the file. She closed out the review without a question and never brought it up again to anyone. I was very grateful. Where I used to work (and where this incident took place) was a major city that holds the unfortunate title of being the human trafficking capital of the US. And something I learned working there was that most human trafficking victims go with their captors willingly. In two years at that job, I never saw one who'd been kidnapped from a dark alley like you see on TV. They were all groomed on social media and thought they were escaping their families (who were often overbearing, toxic, or dysfunctional) for a get away with friends. It was a fun adventure with their internet buddies, until it wasn't.

In retrospect, the underage interaction I found on my blog made me react because of what I've been through. The autopsy case kept coming back to me today while I was at work and I've finally untangled my emotions enough to figure out what caused my melt down. When I was blocking, I was feeling an anxious motivation that I know can only stem from the stress I deal with at my job. Don't feel sorry for me about this - I know my work in medicine helps a lot of people and it's a tremendously satisfying career.

Our Saga's Resolution & How I'm Going to Deal With This In The Future...

- - - - -

In post block clarity, I offer this conclusion:

I'm writing on a public forum. My work is appropriately tagged as smut. In the future, I will also use the tag #no minors to help with filtering. I've always asked underage people not to interact. And on a public forum, what more can I reasonably do? Going forward I will only interact with those who have their age posted in their bio. But blocking sprees and policing every interaction isn't feasible.

I'll review how I'm going to run my tag lists as well. I need to think it over and let my followers know my decision as to if I'll continue using them. Because tagging is definitely interaction and my current tag list was not screened at all. *face palm*

Finally, to my readers who have blank blogs or don't have an age listed. I respect your right to privacy and I'm careful with my personal information as well. But I've also had an uncomfortable two days. If you've lasted through this venting session until now, you must understand that I'm upset by underage interaction. I'm setting my own boundaries and going forward, I'll own my side of the internet. No interaction from me, unless I know your age. Full stop - no exceptions. I think it is reasonable for me to suggest that you leave something on your blog that signifies you are not a minor, whatever that may be. Someone who I didn't block that stands out in my memory had a bio that said "90s baby." It was simple, direct, and left no doubt they were over 18. No age reveal and not even a name. If you put something like this on your blog it'll help explicit content creators feel more comfortable about their interactions.

I went on a spree this Monday and I admit to being heavy handed and aggressive about pruning followers. I had an emotional reaction due to work stress and I didn't think things through logically. I'm relieved for the chance explain myself and set new boundaries that I'm capable of sticking to in the future. But remember - the block button is on my side of the screen. At the end of the day, you might be unhappy with me for the block, but it's my button, it's my blog, and I'll use it as I see fit.

Thank you for reading.

#tw vent #tw child abuse #tw trauma #tw violence #tw human trafficking #penguin blog update #new rules #i'm sorry #its been a long week #I almost left tumblr over this #blocking spree #clarity #smut #no minors #smut fanfiction #smut writing #smut blog #I talk about my work trauma from medicine #boundaries

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sachirou-senpai · 4 years ago

Note

HI BBY💕💕!! i heard u just started this account so i’m gonna request smth to start u off!! 😚😚 recently i’ve been really stressed and falling behind work :( so is it alright if u write headcanons or scenarios on how haikyuu boys (any of ur preference!!) would comfort u after a long day of online school?? LUV U BBY ,, don’t feel obliged to write this if u don’t feel like it okk!

Hinata Shouyou

→ B E S T B O Y → kinda confused? cause all he does on a stressful school day is play volleyball → after and then he's fine so like,,,, he's kinda clueless → absolutely tries his best though → "Um, do you need snacks? Water? Umm, we could go play volleyball?" → Yes he just asked if you wanted to play volleyball after a long day of online school → I mean to be fair that's all he really knows, sleep, eat, volleyball, school, volleyball, eat, sleep → so like he's trying his best

"Hey, what's up? Are you okay?"

Shouyou had just come over on a whim, he was bored at home and wanted to say hi! He didn't expect to see you face down on your couch, looking rather beat up.

"Just a long day of school, it's just gotten to be so much, y'know? I'm really falling behind and it's stressing me out."

"Oh, I'm sorry, can I help?" He rapidly starts listing off things he could do to help you, getting more and more excited as he goes along.

"Snacks! No, water? What about candy? Oh, Kageyama always likes milk! What about those popsicles Noya-senpai always likes so much?! Oh wait! I know! Let's play volleyball! C'mon!"

He literally starts dragging you out the door until he sees the rather nonplussed look on your face.

"Oh, did you not want to play volleyball? I probably should have checked first," he says, rather embarrassed of himself.

"No Shou, I just want to spend time with you. Come cuddle with me?"

"Of course! C'mon, let's go, I wanna hold you. Or do you wanna hold me? Maybe we could hold each other. Hmmm, so many choices. We could build a pillow fort." He slowly trails off as he drags you down the hall. Your boyfriend might be a bit enthusiastic sometimes, but you honestly wouldn't trade it for the world.

→ lowkey cuddle king → yes you made a pillowfort → u fall asleep in his arms

Tendou Satori

→ Tendou high-key has a habit of just walking in to your house sometimes completely unannounced → you're not even sure how he gets up the creaky stairs of your apartment without you noticing, but really that's a story for another time → you're also not sure how he gets in because you're sure you keep the door locked → (you have a spare key you gave him a while ago you've absolutely forgotten about and he thinks it's funny so you're never gonna find out) → sometimes it annoys you that he just, comes over? without asking? → but today you're honestly kinda grateful to see him even if you were in a pissy mood, because Boyyyy are you Tired → it's not that your teachers were especially brutal, you had just been really stressed out recently and had started falling behind with your work → and you were soooo tired → and soooooooo done → you honestly just wanted to curl up and fall asleep and then wake up and all your assignments would be done and school would be over

"Hiyaaaa babyyy!" He calls into your apartment.

"Holy shit Satori you scared me! Could you like, not?" you snapped, instantly regretting it. "Ugh, sorry babe," you said, putting your face in your palms, elbows resting on your desk.

"Oh, love, don't worry about it, what's wrong? You can tell me."

"Iss stupid," you mumbled.

"Now now baby, no it isn't. Nothing that's bothering you is stupid, I promise. Now tell me, what's up?" He says, coming over to you and putting a hand on your back, holding you close.

You sigh, a big sigh and finally let all your pent-up feelings out.

"Just schoolwork. I feel like there's just so much! My teachers didn't really even assign that much this week, but I just feel so overwhelmed. I feel like I should be able to do all the work because I see my other classmates doing so well and it's honestly just infuriating. Not to mention a huge blow to my ego. I thought I was good at school."

He smiles a sweet, soft smile, and looks you in they eyes. "Baby, you are good at school. You're like, the smartest person I know! You know as well as I do everyone has different learning styles, and maybe online school just isn't yours. There isn't anything wrong with it, you're not broken, and I promise you you're not going stupid." He cups your face, "Let me do something nice for you though, how does that sound?"

You nod your head, as well as you can with his palms squishing your cheeks.

"Have you eaten yet? I'll make you dinner?"

"Oh Satori, absolutely not, you cannot cook for the life of you, you'll burn the whole world down. Have you really forgotten about the March cupcake incident? The cafeteria was closed for a week!"

He gives you another sheepish smile. "You're right, you're right, maybe I won't make you dinner." "You're right, you absolutely will not." "Okay, okay," he laughs, "Want to order take-out instead?" "Sure," you reply.

"Watcha want?"

"No idea."

"Why do I even ask at this point?"

"I'm not really sure, Satori," you laugh.

"Hey! There's that laugh I love so much." He walks over to you, hands outstretched and fingers wiggling. "I wanna hear it again!"

"Ohhh, Satori, don't you dar- AH hA Sator Ahaha stoppp, it tickles!"

He pauses for a second, "That's kind of the point, silly!"

He continues your so-called torture, which ends with you two laughing and cuddling, takeout completely abandoned. You remember it much later, when it's far too late for you to call anywhere, so you make the two of you some surprisingly healthy food. Satori complains about the tomatoes and not getting to treat you. You tell him to shut up and that seeing him was enough. All is well.

Akaashi Keiji

→ Akaashi definitely has a sixth sense when it comes to you feeling down you don't understand it (and he doesn't really either) but you're certainly not complaining and neither is he because it makes him very happy every time he can make you feel better → he's just somehow always there when you need him → one time u were just feeling down and he happened at that exact moment to send you an adorable text telling you how much you meant to him → another time you were super stressed out he happened to bring you some flowers he had found while he was on a walk → honestly just 10/10 boy → i (we?) stan → n e ways, you kinda felt like crud because you just had → so. much. work. → you were so stressed out you could barely think → you knew you were getting behind on your assignments, but you just couldn't seem to do them → it seemed so simple in your head but something about the actual doing the assignments was just hard → you felt like you were gonna scream → sigh

Literally at that exact moment, your Lord and Savior, Akaashi Keiji walked into your room.

"Hey my love, are you doing okay? I sent some texts and you didn't respond- no worries, I'm not upset. I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay."

You turn your chair to face him, greeting him with a meek smile. "I'm doing okay. Just stressed out because of school. It's a lot."

He smiled at you, walking over to your desk, setting down the bag in his hands. "I figured as much. I brought you some stuff."

You perk up at this, and he internally giggles at how sweet you are.

"So, most importantly, I brought you some cookies I made today, yes, your favorite. I also brought you some pasta."

You make a face of confusion at him when he mentions pasta, and he's quick to explain himself.

"I know sounds slightly random, I know, but I had just made some and I wasn't sure if you'd eaten or not. I figured it didn't hurt to bring it."

You smile at him and stand up from where you were sitting on the bed, walking over to him and burying your face into his chest. His arms instinctively wrapped around you. "You're the best Keiji, I don't know where I'd be without you."

"On the moon, probably."

"The moon?"

He hums in confirmation. "You're a wonderful person, I know you're going to go far."

You smile up at him, grabbing his face to bring him into a kiss. "I love you Keiji. So much."

"I love you too, so, so much."

The two of you stay like that for a bit, before he breaks the hug and goes back to the bag.

"Oh, I almost forgot, I brought you this too."

He holds up a bag of your favorite chips.

"Keiii, you spoil me. I don't deserve it."

"Mmm, yes you do. You absolutely do." He puts down the chips and comes back to you, this time taking your face in his hands, and looking you right in the eyes.

"Yes, yes you do. You deserve every little thing I get for you, every little thing I do for you, everything. I promise you, you are the most deserving person out there. And I would rather give my love to no one else."

"But my scho-"

"No. I don't care how much or how little schoolwork you've done. It doesn't change how I think. You deserve me and all the nice things I do for you. No buts. And don't you dare not eat the food I brought for you. I know what you're thinking, and it's not true. You've definitely worked hard enough to warrant the good things I give you, okay?"

You nod, and he smiles.

"Good. Come, let's heat up the pasta. I'll stay for dinner if you'd like."

You nod again. "Yes please. Can you maybe stay the night too?"

"Of course. I'd love to."

"Thank you Keiji, I love you."

"I love you too, my sweet."

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chocoluckchipz · 5 years ago

Text

Will You Help Me, Marinette?

Read it on A03, FF.net, WattPad

Halfway into her walk to work, Marinette’s phone chimed. An amused smile tugged at her lips. A new record. Usually, he’d text her first thing upon waking up. Had been for years. She was already starting to suspect something had happened.

Adrien: Help!

She rolled her eyes. If it were anyone else, she’d panic. But it was Adrien, an overgrown man-child to whose overly dramatic, exaggerated ways she was used to by now.

Marinette: I’m bringing you croissants. Don’t worry.

Adrien: U rock!

Adrien: But that’s not it. Can I ask you for a favour?

She stopped at the lights, looking around for cars and quickly ran across the street.

Marinette: Coffee? I’m about to walk by our café.

Adrien: Thanks, but not today. My photoshoot relocated at the last moment, so I won’t be in until much later in the day.

Adrien: I’ll still meet you at our cafe for lunch. Don’t order without me.

Marinette: :thumbs-up:

One end of her scarf got loose and seeing as Adrien was still typing, Marinette stole a moment to fix it, swaddling her neck away from the crispiness of cool air on the early April morning.

Adrien: Marinette, you’re my best friend and the luckiest girl I know, and you’re super smart and creative, so if anyone, you’d know what to do, and I really can use help now in something super important.

Adrien::puppy eyes: Please?

She didn’t bother suppressing a giggle, attracting a few glances from a morning crowd around her. Turning the corner, Marinette inhaled a warm aroma of fresh baked goods from a nearby café. She grew up and still lived in a bakery. She should've been used to this kind of thing. Yet this one was special. It was close to Gabriel’s office, and Adrien and she loved to frequent it during their lunches.

One of the servers waved at her, wishing her a good day. Marinette waved back, asking how their new kitten was adjusting. A brief exchange later, she walked on, a buzzing device in her hand reminding her of an unintentionally abandoned friend.

Adrien: T_T

Adrien: Are you ignoring me?

Adrien: Five minutes had passed. No answer. :sobbing:

Adrien: I thought we were friends? Friends help each other.

Adrien: …

Adrien: You do still like me, right?

She couldn’t hold back a chuckle. Such a drama queen and an incorrigible dork. Though, no one would ever believe her if she’d say that out loud that because in the public eye a supermodel, part-time CEO of a fashion empire Adrien Agreste was perfect in every sense of this word. Only his closest friends knew better.

Marinette: I beg your forgiveness, Your Highness. I was distracted by Pierre. How can I help you?

Adrien: :D You like me after all!

Marinette: I wouldn’t put up with your insufferable antics otherwise. Now, spill because I’m about to walk into the office and you’ll lose me five minutes after that.

Adrien: Okay.

Adrien: So…

Adrien: I’ve decided…

Adrien: To confess to the love of my life.

Marinette froze in her path, her heart sinking. Tightening her grip on her cellphone, she stared at the screen in shock. Adrien was in love with someone? Why didn’t she know about that? They’ve been friends for years, so how did she miss that the love of her life was in love with someone else? Her quickening-its-pace heart ached as Adrien continued to type.

Adrien: I tried to confess to her on my own many times but chickened out every single one of them because I’m terrified of ruining what we already have if she doesn’t feel the same for it’s amazing and wonderful and absolutely beautiful, but I’m also at a point where I NEED more. It’s getting too hard to be just a friend.

Adrien: So, I’m risking it and I need you to help me. As my oldest and best-est friend ever you must help me. Please, say you’ll help me?

A knife Adrien didn’t know he’d stuck into her heart twisted, ripping through tender flesh. Marinette bit on her tongue and closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. She needed a moment before she could reply, so walking into Gabriel’s building, she proceeded to the elevator and didn’t check her phone until she was safely in her office, settled in her chair.

Adrien: Marinette?

Adrien: I hope I didn’t ask for too much. You’re the only one I can trust with this.

Adrien: If you’d rather not, though, it’s fine. I’ll figure this out somehow.

Adrien: Are you upset with me? I’m sorry. I didn’t think this would be a big deal.

Adrien: … Please, say something.

Marinette read over the messages a few more times before dropping her head in her hands, propped on the table. This hurt. It ripped and crushed and devastated her, but as much as she’d love to run away and scream her pain out right now, Adrien was her friend first of all, and as his friend, she’d be supportive of him even if it hurt her.

Marinette: Sorry. I got distracted on my way. In my office now, so you have my full attention.

Adrien: T_T Don’t scare me like this. I already thought you hated me.

Marinette: Why would I hate you?

Adrien: Idk. Just a thought. So, you’re in?

Marinette: Are you sure you want me involved? Love confessions are kind of personal.

Adrien: Mari, please. I’m twenty-three. I don’t want to die an old maiden because I’m too chicken to confess to the most amazing, gorgeous girl around.

Marinette stared at the phone. She was also twenty-three, and ten of those years, she’d spent loving Adrien. All in vain, it seemed now. And yet, she couldn’t find it in herself to regret a single moment because Adrien had been brightening her days ever since their mothers became friends at a random book club meeting all those years back. She couldn’t desert him now, even if she wanted to.

Swearing under her breath, she cursed her inability to say No to him once again and typed.

Marinette: Alright. Let’s start with the name of the lucky lady.

Adrien: Can’t tell you.

Marinette: Seriously?

Adrien: Yes.

Marinette: How can I help you if I don’t know who she is?

Adrien: Keep me accountable. Bug me until I confess. Remind me every freaking minute that I can do it. Idk, threaten me or something. We’ve been friends for what? Almost fifteen years now? You know how I work and how to make me do things. That’s why I’m begging you and not Nino.

Marinette wished he’d asked Nino instead because helping Adrien confess to some girl was the least of Marinette’s desires.

Marinette: It’s going to be hard to suggest anything specific if I don’t know who she is, but fine. We’ll think of something. I get the front row seat at the wedding, though.

She wanted nothing less but Adrien couldn’t know that.

Adrien: Thank you! I’ll save you the best seat in the house… IF she accepts.

Marinette: Oh, please! You’ve got looks and money. Who would refuse you?

Adrien: See, that’s the issue: she knows me too well. She won’t be swayed by my looks or money. T_T Why do you think I’ve been stalling?

Marinette: Your dorkiness is finally catching up with you?

Adrien: Meanie.

Marinette: :P I’m sure everything will be fine. Now, is there anything you can tell me about her?

Adrien: She works at Gabriel.

Marinette tried to swallow the knot in her throat. Of course. Adrien must be in love with one of the models. He worked amongst the most beautiful girls in France every day, and who was Marinette? A junior designer in his father’s company? Not ugly or a failure per se but she was nothing to be proud of also. Marinette was just a girl whom he’d known her for most of his life and whose every fault he’d witness more than she’d like to admit. Nothing new and exciting to catch his attention. She was an idiot to ever dare to dream of him.

Yet, gritting her teeth together and pushing the thought aside, Marinette typed a response because he was her friend and he needed her help.

Marinette: You can ask her out to lunch for starters? Take her to our cafe. I’m sure she’d love it there.

Adrien: …

Adrien: But we always have our lunches together. I can’t betray you like that.

Marinette: I’ll be fine. I have a few designs I need to finish today, so I’ll eat at the work cafeteria.

Adrien: They don’t have your favourite.

Marinette: I can survive one lunch without an eclair. Or I can call Alya and meet up with her.

Adrien: Shoot. Gtg. Ttyl.

Marinette: Good luck.

Adrien: <3

Marinette put the phone away. dropping her head onto the table. They’ve been so close for years. How could she have missed that Adrien was in love with someone? Was she that blinded by her own feelings for him? If she wasn’t, maybe then she would’ve noticed and could’ve prepared herself and not feel this excruciating pain in her chest now.

Her phone chimed again. This time it was Alya, reminding her of their Friday night plans. Marinette briefly responded, not paying close attention to what she was saying, adding an invitation for lunch at the end. Not that she was eager to be in anybody’s company today, but it was better than sitting alone and obsessing over who Adrien’s lady-love was. She knew herself and right now she needed a distraction not to fall apart. So, pushing misery aside, Marinette pulled her work files and started on finalizing her sketches due by the end of the day.

Closer to noon, Adrien texted again. As he always did.

Adrien: Guess who’s all done and who’s so nervous about today, it showed in pictures and drove my photographer insane?

She bitterly chuckled. Classic Adrien.

Marinette: Nothing to be bragging about. I thought you were a professional?

Adrien: I am. That’s why I’m done already. All you have to do is to imagine spaghetti. :3

Marinette: Dork.

Adrien: Proudly so.

Adrien: Marinette, thank you. I REALLY appreciate you being with me on this one. Honestly, I just can’t do this alone, and I wanted to do this for so long now, I’m desperate. So, your help means a lot.

I don’t want to help you, Marinette grumbled to herself.

That’s what friends are for, right? she wrote instead.

Adrien: She’s just so amazing, it terrifies me to lose her, but I can’t imagine myself being with anyone else. We’re perfect for each other. I hope you’ll agree with me once you’ll see who I’m talking about.

Adrien: Okay, I’m downstairs. I’ll drop by after I see Father.

Marinette: Cool. See you soon.

She put her phone on the desk, pushing her designs away. Tears, successfully withheld by the distraction of work, surfaced at the corners of her eyes, as the reality of what was going on hit again. Adrien was in love with someone and that person wasn’t her despite Marinette’s most daring hopes because otherwise, Adrien wouldn’t be asking her for help.

Someone opened the door, walking in without an invitation. Marinette quickly wiped away the lingering moisture in her eyes. Adrien couldn’t see her crying or he’d know she was less than happy about this confession of his. She was heartbroken, but for his sake, she'd keep a brave face and smile until the end.

“Lila?”

“Didn’t except me?” The woman walked closer and settled in a chair opposite Marinette, a mug of coffee in her hand.

“Not really,” Marinette replied coldly. She hated Lila for lies and manipulations. Why M Agreste hired her as a model was beyond her. “What do you want?”

“I’ve come to warn you,” Lila said, ceremonially checking her nails.

Marinette quirked an eyebrow. “About what?”

Lila smirked, putting her mug down on a table. “Adrien and I are going public today, and we’d like you to stay out of it.”

Marinette inwardly growled. There was no way that could’ve been true! Yes, Lila was not so subtly trying to get Adrien’s attention for a while now, but as far as Marinette knew, Adrien was tolerating her antics only out of innate politeness and kindness of his heart, not affection.

“You’re lying,” she seethed. “Adrien had never mentioned—”

“That’s because he knew you don’t like me, and he wanted to spare your feelings since you’re his friend and all.” Lila shrugged. “But we’ve been secretly dating for a while now. Not anymore, though.” She smirked. “Adrien’s taking me out for lunch on our first official date today. But, to make it easier for everyone, I thought I’d warn you”—Lila’s face became stone-cold, her voice and glare matching—“stay out of my boyfriend’s life or you’ll regret it, Marinette.”

“What if I won’t?” Marinette barked without thinking twice. “He’s my friend. I have a right to—"

“You have absolutely no rights when it comes to my boyfriend.”

“I won’t believe it until I hear it from him personally.”

“You shall see it on the news tonight."

Lila’s sly smile promised nothing good as she stood up, picked up her coffee, and turned around to leave. Her hand swayed. Marinette’s blood ran cold because the mug in Lila’s hands tipped over, all of the coffee inside spilling all over Marinette’s desk, her sketches and her outfit. “Oops! Clumsy me.”

“You!” Marinette rushed to save what she could of her work.

“Stay away from Adrien or this will only be the start,” Lila whispered, leaning closer. “He’s mine.”

“Oh my gosh! What happened here? Marinette, are you alright?” Adrien suddenly appeared by her side.

“Adrien,” Lila cooed. “You’re just in time. We have to help Marinette. She spilled her coffee all over her hard work.” She picked up a few coffee-drenched papers, making a show out of trying to save them. “You’re such a klutz, girl. Let me help you before you do any more damage.”

Marinette glared at Lila, pressing her lips into a thin line.

“Marinette, are you okay?” Adrien took her by the shoulders and turned to face him.

“Of course, she isn’t,” Lila interfered. “Just look at her: the poor thing’s all soaked. And doesn’t she look pale to you? She might be getting sick. We should ask your father to give her a day off. Or better yet send someone to do that. We don’t want to be late for lunch. I'll go call someone.”

The moment Lila stepped out of the room, Marinette looked at Adrien and asked, “Are you really taking her out for lunch?”

Adrien pressed his lips together, looking away as he nodded.

Lost for words, lost for actions, lost for anything, all Marinette could do was to stare at the ground.

“It’s not—”

“Oh my gosh! Marinette, what happened?” Alya pushed Adrien to the side and took her friend by her shoulders. “You’re all soaked.”

“Found her wandering down the hall,” Lila looped her hand around Adrien’s arm. “She’s here to pick up Marinette for lunch which reminds me that we need to go now or we’ll be late for our reservation. The girls can take care of this mess by themselves, right Marinette?”

Marinette wanted nothing more than to slap Lila and take Adrien away. He deserved so much better! How could he fall for Lila? Didn’t he see what kind of a person Lila was? Didn’t he know how she felt about her? How could he ask her advice on this? Tears pooled in her eyes. Adrien was her best friend. She loved him, but this hurt too much. It felt too much as a betrayal, and if Adrien cared for her so little as to ask her for advice on how to woo her enemy, then Marinette didn’t want him to see how much that pained her.

“I’ll be fine with Alya.” Marinette turned away to gather her papers. “This is my mess; I’ll clean it up. You should go.”

“What’s going on here?” Gabriel Agreste himself appeared behind them.

“Marinette spilled coffee all over herself and her work,” Lila rushed to explain.

“Father, I think—”

“You should clean up and take a day off,” Gabriel interceded. “I’ll give you an extension on those. Now, Adrien. Why are you still here? Don’t you have lunch to go to?”

Adrien glanced at Marinette, then to his father. His lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes, I do.”

"Then off you go. Mlle Dupain-Cheng would be fine without you.”

“Right.” Adrien reached forward to lightly touch Marinette’s elbow. “I’ll call you later,” he mouthed and walked out the room with Lila Rossi on his arm.

Adrien didn’t contact her until the very evening when exhausted from the day, Marinette put the work she took home away and went for a stroll.

Adrien: Hey. Sorry, I had a few things to settle. How are you?

She closed her eyes for a moment, before looking back at the Seine. The gentle lure of waves calmed. It mesmerized and relaxed. Marinette always came here when she was stressed, or tired, or needed a pick me up. She couldn’t explain it, but there was something soothing and healing about gazing at the passing-by waters of the Seine. Her own safe haven, a little oasis in the desert of stress and chaos. Today, Marinette needed it more than ever.

Adrien: Marinette? Is everything okay?

No. Nothing was okay, and she’d rather not talk to him now, but… years of friendship and her treacherous heart demanded otherwise. He hurt her, but it was also him, who she wanted to comfort her right now. Pathetic, she knew that, but better texts than face to face.

Marinette: Everything’s fine. Taking a walk.

Adrien: Where are you off to?

Marinette: [image 1509]

Adrien: Pont des Arts?

Marinette: You know your Paris well.

Adrien took five minutes to reply, but when he did, he did so in person. “I know you well. You always come here when you need to calm down or to think things over.”

Marinette whipped around. Adrien was standing just a few meters away. Trying to catch his breath, he ran his hands through his dishevelled hair to fix it back in somewhat decent shape.

“Adrien? What are you doing here?”

“I need to ask you something.” He walked closer, stopping only when Marinette was pressed flash against the bridge, his hands on either of her sides, his face inches from hers. "Why didn't you expose her?”

Marinette blinked. “What?”

“You didn’t spill that coffee. Lila did. And don’t even try to deny it. You never bring drinks in your office unless it’s in an air-tight container because you think you’re too clumsy.”

Marinette shifted her eyes to the side. “I am clumsy.”

“Just a tiny, adorable amount. Nothing serious.” He cocked his head to the side. “So? Why did you let her get away with it?”

Marinette looked away. She hated Lila and Adrien knew that. What did he expect her to say? Why did he even come here? He should go back to that liar girlfriend of his.

“It’s so unlike you. I want to know what’s going on.”

She didn't know what to answer him, so she remained silent.

“Marinette, please? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Then look me in the eyes and repeat that.”

She tried and failed. Adrien sighed and pulled her into his arms, whispering into her ear. “Marinette, please. Why did you allow her to walk all over you? You never did that before. What’s happened? You know I won’t leave you alone until you tell me.”

She closed her eyes. The gentle tone of his voice, the comforting wrap of his arms around her, his body’s warmth so close to hers… It stirred those damn butterflies at the pit of her belly, ripping through her heart at the same time… because he’d betrayed her. He’d fallen in love with the only girl whose guts Marinette hated more than anything and there was nothing either of them could do because who could control their heart? Adrien couldn’t help loving who he did… which, however, didn’t mean he could be so inconsiderate of her. He knew she hated Lila!

“Marinette?”

She pushed him away. It hurt to remain in his embrace any longer.

“Mari…”

“Leave me alone. Go to your girlfriend.”

His eyes widened as he stared at her in shock. “My girlfriend?”

“Lila.”

“Lila?!”

“Yes, Lila,” Marinette huffed, turning her back to him, her face to the Seine. “Can’t believe you had the audacity to ask me of all people for advice on that. You know how I feel about her!”

Her eyes focused on the rolling waves as Marinette waited for an answer that didn’t come for a few moments and not until Adrien walked to stand beside her, searching her face with his eyes.

“Just to make sure I understood you correctly: you think I’m in love with Lila?”

“Aren’t you? You took her to lunch just as you said you would.”

Adrien laughed, leaning on his arms to rest on the bridge. “Marinette, you know me better than that. I took Lila to lunch only because my father blackmailed me to do so.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “A likely story.”

“No, really. He said Lila dug some dirt on him and her price for silence was me. And Father, knowing you’re my friend, threatened to fire you if I won’t comply.”

Marinette looked at him, her eyebrows knitted into a frown. “What?”

“Don’t worry, your job is safe, and I made it clear to both of them that I’m not taking part in any of their bullshit. If Father wants her silence, he’d better pay for it some other way.” Gently, Adrien cupped her shoulder, turning Marinette to face him. “Seeing what she did to you… it made me angry. I wanted nothing more than to protect you at that moment, and the best way to do that was to deal with the cause once and for all. So, I trusted Alya to take care of you, and I went with Lila only to ensure she won’t be troubling you again. And after that, I visited Father and we had a long talk about the situation. He won’t be bothering either of us again as well.”

Marinette stared at him for a few seconds before muttering without thinking. “What did you do?”

“Nothing significant. I explained to Father how serious I was about quitting Gabriel the moment you’re fired and we both know he can’t afford me walking out. Not with me owning half of the company in my mother's shares. Lila, though, was harder to get through. She kept dismissing me until I pretty much avenged you. Then she got the message loud and clear.”

As in a haze, she echoed, “What did you do?”

Adrien grinned. “I might have placed my plate of spaghetti in a strategic place for it to be accidentally tipped over and end up all over Lila.”

Marinette gasped. “What?!”

His grin widened. “I only placed it in the spot. She did all the job herself, and”—he leaned closer—“there might have been a reporter close by and he might have taken pictures if you are interested.”

“What? How?”

Adrien chuckled. “Lila hired someone to ‘witness’ and report on our ‘first date’. The guy reached out to me later to see if I wanted to buy the embarrassing pictures of ‘my girlfriend’ from him. I wasn’t interested, but I saved his card in case you are.”

Marinette stared at him for a moment, then erupted with laughter. “You’re horrible.”

“She deserved so much more after what she did to you.”

“Still, spaghetti?”

“Just using her own methods against her, and only because she wouldn’t listen to me when I was nice.”

Marinette chuckled. “Dork.”

“And you like me that way, don’t you?”

“I do,” she smiled, relaxing against the railing. She looked up at the stars and breathed in. So many worries for nothing. She should've trusted Adrien more.

“Marinette?”

She hummed, turning to him.

He looked hesitant, moving closer. “Were you jealous?”

Marinette squeaked, her face flaring crimson, as she shook her head. “No! Why would I be jealous? I—”

“You looked like you were jealous.”

“No, I wasn’t!” Her face burned hotter with every moment.

Adrien chuckled before turning serious and reaching out to cup her face in his hands. His touch, gentle and warm, sent electrical current down Marinette’s body. He slowly started to lean in. Her eyes widened with realization, fluttering close the moment his lips hesitantly brushed against hers.

“The girl I’m in love with is you, Marinette,” Adrien whispered, searching her face for a reaction. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met, and I’m the fool who couldn’t find the courage to confess to you for years without asking you to keep me accountable because I’m terrified my feelings will ruin our friendship, but I can’t keep it in anymore. I love you, Marinette.”

Dumbfounded, Marinette stared back at him wide-eyed. “Me? You love me?”

His lips tugged in a hopeful smile as he nodded. "Will you give me a chance? I promise I’ll make you happy if you’ll let me be more than just a friend.”

Marinette forgot how to breathe. “Adrien—I… I don’t understand. You said—I thought—”

She froze, seeing his face saddened, and shook her head. No! What was she doing? She’d dreamed of this moment for years and now that it was finally here, why was she stalling?

He slowly pulled his hands away.

She couldn’t let him misunderstand her even if her reaction was puzzling to her herself, so she grabbed the collar of his coat and pulled him down, crushing her lips against his.

Adrien stilled. Then wrapped his arms around her and angled his head to deepen the kiss. She let him press forward, pushing her against the railing of the bridge as their lips moved heatedly in tandem, years of pinned-up love and desire spilling out. It was only when the air became a necessity, she pulled away breathless and smiled at him.

“I love you too, Adrien. Have been for years.”

His face lit up.

“And just like you, I was too scared to confess. Looks like we’re both hopeless idiots.”

Adrien pulled her closer, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he pressed a lingering kiss to a patch of exposed skin he found there.

“I’ve wanted to do this for years,” he whispered.

“You could’ve if you��d asked,” Marinette replied, running her fingers through his hair.

He leaned into her touch, almost purring from the pleasure. “Can I now?”

“Yes.”

He growled lowly, tightening his hold on her. “Mine.”

She giggled, wrapping her hands around his neck. “Possessive much?”

“Very.” He grinned. “Marinette?” Without letting her go, Adrien pulled a key with a ladybug keychain on it out from his pocket. “Will you also consider moving in with me?”

“What?” Marinette blinked. “Right away?”

He shrugged. “It’s not like we need time to get to know each other better. We grew up together. We know what makes us tick and what we like. Why wait?”

Marinette smiled. Adrien was right. They did know each other well. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t dreamed of sharing her days, her nights, her happy and sad moments, her dreams and fears, her life, her everything with him for years. Why wait indeed? “I’d love to move in with you.”

Adrien grinned harder and pulled her in for another kiss. Slow and sweet, filled with longing, and need, and desire.

“In that case,” he added, his voice raspy as he drew away and, pulling a small box out of his pocket, dropped on one knee. “Will you also consider marrying me?”

Marinette gasped as Adrien revealed a gorgeous ring inside.

“Adrien, you’re insane. What are you doing?”

“I thought I’ll ask everything in one go,” he admitted. “It took me years to confess, and I don’t want to wait that long for the next step. So why not? We can have a long engagement if you want, or you can say No now and I’ll ask again la—”

“No, you really are insane,” Marinette kneeled beside him, cupping his cheeks and kissing him slowly. “How can I say No to you?”

He grinned. “Is that a Yes then?”

“That’s a Yes.”

He held her gaze for a few moments, giving her that goofy, happy smile of his before shaking off his stupor and sliding the ring on her finger. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy in my life.”

“Me too.”

“I already looked up hamsters in my local pet store. They’re keeping a few for us to choose from until next week,” Adrien murmured. “You did want a hamster, right? Three kids and a hamster. We'll start with the hamster and add kids later—"

Marinette laughed and grabbed him by his coat’s collar again, pulling him closer.

“As much as I’d love to talk kids and hamsters with you,” she whispered. “Right now, I need you to kiss me senseless. Leave the rest for later.”

A lovesick smile tugged at his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Marinette echoed, weaving her arms around his neck, losing herself to the caresses of the man she loved more than anything.

#miraculous ladybug #adrienette #adrinette #mlb #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #fluff #dorks #miscommunications #but quickly solved #engagement #short #shortstory

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saintobio · 4 years ago

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ai, that was so beautifully written omg

i have no fucking clue who megumi is but i’m such a sucker for romeo and juliet or royalty au and this was AH I don’t even have words. you continue to put out literal masterpieces pls I open tumblr and always check what’s going on on your account

anyway i’m going to start jjk because of this

jsnsj omg thank u for reading even if u aren’t familiar w the characters yet !! and pls do watch jjk or read the manga u won’t regret it <33

it’s so cute how the r+j fic made u wanna start jjk aaaaah :’D

#saintobio.asks #oneshot.romeo + juliet

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akechicrimes · 5 years ago

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Prompt 37? Futaba and Akechi platonic/Futago siblings?

37. “Follow me. It’s okay, just hold my hand.”

after akira leaves tokyo, futaba does just fine without her key item, except for when she doesnt.

(one of them AUs were goro survives the engine room and rejoins the phantom thieves. no i will not explain. persona 5 canon AND persona 5 royal do not interact. for reference in this universe futaba and akechi are half siblings but only akechi knows that)

“Next time you see me, I’ll be a whole new person,” Futaba tells Akira excitedly on his second-to-last day in Tokyo. “I’m going back to school, I’m out and about by myself—oh! Oh! Did I tell you I said yes to Kosei? I told Kosei I wanted to go to Shujin and they offered me scholarship! And I went to the subway station by myself yesterday!”

They’re crammed into Akira’s Leblanc attic, sitting around a cake that literally none of them were capable of baking themselves, so they’d bought the thing from a bakery and decorated it with little black and red hearts. Ryuji is passing around his gross soda, while Ann is recounting some story that doesn’t matter with incredible enthusiasm. Makoto looks like she’s determined to enjoy herself and will hear no argument.

The whole thing is incredibly morbid, if you ask Futaba. It feels less like they’re waiting for Akira to leave Tokyo and more like they’re attending Akira’s funeral. Akechi in particular looks like he’s regretting attending, which honestly tickles Futaba more than it should, that the most dishonest Phantom Thief seems to be the only one looking as honestly put-off by the entire affair as everyone else is determined not to be.

That’s everyone else’s problem. Futaba might not be happy Akira has to leave, but she’s proud. She’s sad that Akira has to leave, but also she promised Akira that by the time that he had to leave, she’d be able to get around on her own, without clinging to him for support. And she is able. She kept her promise.

Tomorrow might be the day that Akira has to go, but today is the day that Futaba is Officially Recovered.

Akira does that annoying thing he does where he puts his hand on her head and messes up all her hair, like he’s a human cat showing affection by pissing everyone off. Futaba yelps. “Look at you. You don’t need me at all.”

“I told you that I’d be ready to say goodbye by the time you had to go back to your hometown,” says Futaba. “I haven’t broken my promises yet, have I?”

There’s a burst of laughter from Haru over something Yusuke said, who looks rather surprised to discover that he said anything funny. Both Makoto and Akechi snicker at him, and then stop immediately to glare at each other the second they realize they’ve accidentally wound up sharing an opinion.

Akira ignores them. “Well, you can still text me if you need me. Or call.”

“I’m trying to tell you I’m getting better and I don’t need you,” Futaba grumbles. “Also, what kind of psychopath do you think I am to call someone on the phone?”

“That’s what phones are for.”

“Calling people is scary.”

“I thought you were getting better?” Akira teases.

“I am!” she says, pointing a finger at him. “I am! Just you watch, Akira. I’m getting better every day.”

Six months after joining Kosei, Futaba locks herself in her room and does not reemerge for seven days straight.

She tells Sojiro that she’s sick. Sojiro tells the school that Futaba told him that she’s sick. She definitely fakes a hell of a good cough, and the school lets Yusuke send her her all the homework that she was supposed to be doing in the first place, but Futaba already knows it’s only a matter of time before Sojiro rats on her, and she won’t even blame him because it’ll be for her own good.

In the meantime, she has stashes of crackers and peanut butter from back when she was a full-time hermit. She hates the taste of peanut butter within three days. Her bed is a relief, soft like a home she never left, up until it isn’t anymore. It’s too soft. No matter how she lies on it, no matter how soft it is, a mattress just isn’t comfortable when you’ve been lying on it for seventy-four hours. It’s hot. Smothering. She feels like she’s going to drown in the blankets and they’ll have to fish her moldy, sweaty corpse out of the bottomless quicksand pit of her too-soft mattress.

The thing about being a shut-in is that you don’t actually like your room very much. It’s not a relief, or an oasis, or even a place you enjoy. You’re just terrified of everywhere else more.

She plays a lot of video games that she doesn’t even like. She watches a lot of Twitch streamers she doesn’t even like. She doesn’t do her homework. She ignores Sojiro. She pretends she’s alright to everyone who texts. She wakes up and goes to sleep and thinks about going outside and goes to sleep and wakes up and wonders if the whole last year and her cautious baby steps back into the world outside was all just a hazy dream.

There aren’t a lot of Thieves left in Tokyo, weirdly. Haru and Makoto both graduated, off doing business and law junk that honestly makes Futaba’s brains want to crawl out her ears, but all the numbers check out and Haru’s not in the red yet, and Futaba’s looked at enough people’s dirty laundry to appreciate Haru’s clean ledger. Akira’s back in his dinky hicktown, where there’s barely anything electronic connected to Wifi worth breaking into for surveillance, which is really boring.

Ann’s been doing so many modeling gigs that she might as well not be attending Shujin anymore. She’s practically surrounded by electronics, and all of them are connected to the internet. On any given day, Futaba can snoop through the internet trail of electronic file cabinets full of images of her face, emails about her face, paychecks for her face. Futaba sends Ann more than one email about creepy old dudes making gross comments about her, along with a bunch of other illegal shit they’ve done, plus their offshore accounts full of cash if Ann wants Futaba to sic a lawyer on them.

Ann looks like she’s having fun. Ann looks different on the other side of the computer screen, like she’s less real. Like she’s not someone Futaba really knows. Like Ann’s not someone Futaba’s literally cried on at one point in her life.

Ryuji is definitely attending Shujin, but between physical therapy, catching up on a whole year of track, athletic scholarship hunting, and studying for college admissions tests, Ryuji seems to have been swallowed whole by Shujin, really. Out of boredom, one day, Futaba went down that rabbit hole of researching what it takes to get recruited for track in college, and holy shit–apparently Ryuji’s coach was supposed to be helping him with that whole process, but of course Ryuji barely has a proper coach ever since Kamoshida left Shujin’s track program in pieces. The amount of networking he’s doing is insane, especially for one teenaged boy who barely remembers his homework every night.

Sometimes, when Ryuji’s forgotten to check his email in a while and there’s a message from a coach sitting in his inbox, Futaba will send him a text to make him check it. And then it’s all, What were you doing looking at my emails, Futaba and Which of my other passwords do you know, Futaba, as if Ryuji doesn’t just use the same password over and over and has literally nobody but himself to blame.

So it’s really just Futaba, Yusuke, and–weirdly–Akechi, who’s off doing his gap year and said he was going to go abroad, but then he never did. Not to be a huge snoop, but Futaba went digging through his junk for about five seconds and then she never did it again, because she felt really weird about finding out that the guy that killed her mom is looking into social work, volunteerism, and reforming the justice system.

Like. The man who killed the Thieves’ leader is now literally out there saving orphans. It’s wild.

She might’ve been the one to tell Akechi that he can start over again and do better, but she reserves the right to at least feel weird about it.

She does not call Akira. She talks to Yusuke at school, but she refuses to ask him to accompany her on the subway. She should be recovered by now, shouldn’t she? She was supposed to have gotten over all that when Akira left Tokyo. She’s doing fine. She’s just looking out for her friends. Her, living vicariously through her friends, who’re growing up and growing away, flourishing into young adults? Never.

Everything is the same.

Didn’t she help kill a god last year?

Didn’t she work so hard to get out of her room, to make friends, to reconnect with Kana-chan?

Didn’t she work so hard to change herself?

Didn’t she help change the world?

Everything is the same.

Tuesday, 1:43 PM

YUSUKE: Futaba?

FUTABA: yo inari

FUTABA: u got more homework for me or what

YUSUKE: Ah, no.

YUSUKE: I think your teacher finds it suspicious that I’m sending you homework when I’m not in your grade, as it is.

FUTABA: oh no

FUTABA: what a shame that we didn’t have an entire year of experience with getting away with wildly illegal magic brain crimes without raising any suspicion

FUTABA: truly emailing me like four pieces of paper a day is far too difficult

YUSUKE: Well, I can’t get your homework from your teacher, but I can give you more homework if you’d like.

FUTABA: ok bucko that wasn’t a challenge

YUSUKE: There’s a math problem set that’s been incredibly dull to get through when I have more important pieces I could be working on…

FUTABA: inari im sorry to say but

FUTABA: me literally doing your homework for you is about a thousand times more illegal than you giving me my homework when ur not in my grade

YUSUKE: Oh, is it?

FUTABA: wh

FUTABA: are y

FUTABA: what do you mean OH IS IT

FUTABA: did you not KNOW ur not allowed to have other ppl do ur hw????

FUTABA: inari have u been making other people do ur hw for u so u can have more time to do art?????????

FUTABA: no shut up i dont want to know

FUTABA: i will not be ur accomplice

FUTABA: i see ur little speech bubble thingamajig yusuke i said stop typing forever and ever

YUSUKE: I can’t invite you to the art gallery tomorrow if I can’t type.

YUSUKE: It also seems impractical for you to outlaw me from texting forever.

FUTABA: i literally did not say that

YUSUKE: You said, and I quote,

YUSUKE: “Yusuke, I said stop typing forever and ever.”

FUTABA: ok i know it looks like i said that but please im begging u it’s literally just an exaggeration

YUSUKE: As Makoto would say, it’s hardly an enforceable law.

FUTABA: u literally texted my sick and crusty ass just to give me a hard time

YUSUKE: Are you about recovered from your cold?

FUTABA: and now u have the nerve to ask me to go to ur art show thing

YUSUKE: I didn’t say that.

FUTABA: oh really

FUTABA: what were u gonna ask me about then

YUSUKE: The art show, naturally.

YUSUKE: But you could have done me the courtesy of letting me ask.

FUTABA: all that on the day of my daughter’s wedding and now u want me to do u a solid

FUTABA: well i have news for u

FUTABA: the answer

FUTABA: is yeah

FUTABA: sure why not

YUSUKE: Oh, excellent.

YUSUKE: I thought that you might decline on account of your illness.

FUTABA: i’m not a punk bitch

FUTABA: i’m going

FUTABA: u were only working all those paintings for like two months i wanna see their oily faces in person

YUSUKE: Just because they were made with oil paints does not mean that they are oily.

FUTABA: cant wait to see my oily boys

YUSUKE: Unfortunately, I have to set up the event beforehand, so I will not be able to accompany you on the way here.

YUSUKE: Will you be alright by yourself?

FUTABA: uh

FUTABA: hmm

FUTABA: how oily are these boys in case i need to call a rain check

YUSUKE: Hmm.

YUSUKE: Perhaps someone else can go with you.

YUSUKE: Let me see if I can find someone.

FUTABA: what like one of ur art friends

FUTABA: i’m not going with anyone i dont know sry

YUSUKE: I’ll keep it in mind.

Tuesday, 1:59 PM

YUSUKE: Unfortunately, Ann and Ryuji were not available. Both of them will be coming late to the art show.

YUSUKE: Fortunately, Goro is.

FUTABA: whomst

YUSUKE: Goro Akechi?

YUSUKE: Crow, in case you know multiple Goro Akechis.

FUTABA: no like why u callin him goro

YUSUKE: I asked him if I could and he said yes.

YUSUKE: There’s not many people left in Tokyo who were part of the Thieves.

YUSUKE: I’m not exactly popular at school myself, so I thought it prudent to hold onto the connections I already had.

FUTABA: hhhhhhhhhhhhh

FUTABA: but why him……………………………………….

YUSUKE: Has he done something wrong?

YUSUKE: Well.

YUSUKE: Besides the obvious.

YUSUKE: Last I heard, you were quite vocally supportive of Goro making a change for the better,but have you prehaps reconsidered?

FUTABA: i mean he’s always been nice to me

FUTABA: like even before he was on the team as crow

FUTABA: and then later after he like lost his shit and tried to kill us

FUTABA: he was also like weirdly nice

FUTABA: even if he was dressed as a tokusatsu villain

FUTABA: but

FUTABA: i

FUTABA: ok this is gonna sound really weird but like

FUTABA: you know how i said that the person to take me to the art show has to be someone that i know

YUSUKE: Yes.

FUTABA: even though akechi was one of the thieves at the end

FUTABA: i feel like i dont really know him

FUTABA: he like had that whole breakdown where he spilled all his kylo ren sadstuck junk and then he peeled his dumb ass up off the floor and then we beat up his dad in a dark alley

FUTABA: and then i guess akira likes him a bunch and hangs out with him and i guess probably talked to him about all that stuff that happened

FUTABA: and also i think ann talks to him

FUTABA: and also haru i think for some reason……………………..

FUTABA: but like i feel like. we as a group. never really uhhhhhhh

FUTABA: got to know him very well i guess

FUTABA: because he spent like the whole year being a fake ass bitch

FUTABA: and then by the time he wasnt, the thieves were busy literally fighting god, and it was all business business business

FUTABA: ughghfhg i guess this is just a really long way of saying that like yeah ok i guess i do know him but i dont think i really do

FUTABA: even when he was off the shits in the engine room it was like

FUTABA: somehow that was not……………………………….. really him

FUTABA: idk maybe this is just my Thoughts but like

FUTABA: idk some people are like “your true self is who you are at your worst” and

FUTABA: yeah maybe you are some PART of urself when youre at your worst but like

FUTABA: also not???

FUTABA: that can’t be it

FUTABA: that’s not ALL of you

FUTABA: so all i ever saw was him when he was being a fake ass barbie prince and then when he was like actively losing his shit

FUTABA: and both of those were like. two types of fake ass barbie prince

FUTABA: except obviously the one where he started screamin about murder and trying to kill joker was like, fake ass serial killer barbie prince

FUTABA: anyway i dont buy it for a second that seeing akechi at his worst means that i know the first thing about his “”“”“”“”“true self”“”“”“”“”“”“

FUTABA: like i know that i technically met him but also at the same time i dont think ive ever really actually met this dude

FUTABA: uh tldr what’s the truth crowboy

FUTABA: second tldr do you got anyone else i can go to the art show with because im not unpackin all that junk in the trunk while also trying to fend off a panic attack in the subway

YUSUKE: Well, to speak to "what’s the truth, crowboy,” I’d say he’s actually really funny.

FUTABA: WHAT

YUSUKE: Yes, actually.

FUTABA: YOU TRYNA TELL ME YOU SHARE A SENSE OF HUMOR W AKECHI

YUSUKE: As everyone knows, I don’t have a sense of humor.

YUSUKE: But if I did, that might not be inaccurate to say.

YUSUKE: Either way, we could ask Boss if he’ll take you to school.

FUTABA: no

FUTABA: im not makin him shut down leblanc for the day just cause i cant get my shit together

FUTABA: and i go to school by myself all the time now i dont need to be walked there by my dad like a four yr old

FUTABA: r u sure u dont have anyone else who can take me

YUSUKE: You said it had to be someone you know.

YUSUKE: I can take you.

YUSUKE: But I’ll be getting to Kosei early to prepare.

FUTABA: how early is early

YUSUKE: Four in the morning.

FUTABA: PLEASE INARI

YUSUKE: The people you know is a quite limited pool, Futaba.

FUTABA: shut the hell ur face i dont need u tellin me to make kosei friends too

FUTABA: i get my butt to school every day i’m already a hero

FUTABA: ok alright

FUTABA: crow-san it is

FUTABA: hhh

FUTABA: no shut up stop typing i’m fine

FUTABA: i already saw his dumb ass get inflicted with Horny from Yaldy God Himself i ain’t afraid of no crows

FUTABA: actually now that i remember that that was pretty funny mwehehehehehehe

FUTABA: OKAY send me the who what when where why

YUSUKE: There’s a PDF flier. I’ll send it to you.

YUSUKE: But I will have to type the email to send it to you.

FUTABA: oh my GOD inari

FUTABA: i swear to god ur not actually this dense and youre just pretending u dont know what an exaggeration is just to drive me up the wall

YUSUKE: Oh, that is a possibility, isn’t it?

FUTABA: WH

YUSUKE: Ah, last period is starting. I’ll have to talk to you later.

FUTABA: WHAT

FUTABA: NO WAIT

FUTABA: HELLO????

FUTABA: YUSUKE NO COME BACK

Tuesday, 2:53 PM

FUTABA: YUSUKE HAVE YOU BEEN MAKING AKECHI DO UR HW FOR U SO YOU CAN DO MORE ART??

FUTABA: IS THAT WHY UR ON A FIRST NAME BASIS W HIM

FUTABA: ANSWER ME STRINGBEAN

In Futaba’s opinion, there’s an infinite amount of more embarrassing reasons to pull yourself out of your depression pit than “I needed to yell at my friend for being a snotty bastard,“ and there’s worse escorts to have than the weird guy who went from being a professional murderer to their weird awkward friend. Firstly, if there’s anything that can motivate Futaba Sakura, it’s the primal urge to dunk on her friends for spite and memes. Secondly, there’s no chance in hell Futaba’s going to have a breakdown in front of Akechi.

She can do this. She got herself out of this grave once; she can do it again. Even if Akira isn’t here. She’s getting better. She promised him.

On the eighth day of her almost-return to hermithood, Akechi texts her:

AKECHI: I’m here.

AKECHI: Are you ready to go?

Futaba is wearing only an old shirt, no bra, sweats, and vaguely greasy hair from all the showers she’s skipped.

FUTABA: i’m SO ready

FUTABA: the readiest

FUTABA: ultra mega super ready

FUTABA: featherman ranger code name Ready

AKECHI: Oh.

AKECHI: Alright.

Hell yes alright. Time for Futaba to save her own life from her gravesite of a room.

With… Goro Akechi. Wow, life is weird, huh?

She drags on her Kosei uniform like a skin discarded long ago. It feels stiff. Maybe because it feels wrong to wear school clothes like a functioning human; maybe because she just hasn’t washed it in a week. The very idea of explaining herself to Sojiro stresses her out, so she doesn’t do it. The idea of not explaining herself to Sojiro, when he deserves an explanation and also would probably have a heart attack if he realized that she’d disappeared from her room without his knowing, also stresses her out, so she still doesn’t explain herself to Sojiro.

I told Akira I’m better now. I can do this. I did this for more than six months. I was out of my room in the real world, I went to the school festival, I changed my own heart…

She creeps down the stairs like a thief in her own house and pokes her head out the door. Goro Akechi is fiddling with his phone in the sun outside her house, looking like he, too, has only just managed to pull on his Human Suit and look like a guy who didn’t make shadows beg for mercy for fun, so it looks like this whole expedition is going to be a lot of fun.

"Futaba-chan?” says Akechi, only just noticing her lurking in her own doorway. “It’s been a while since we last saw each other. How are you?”

Futaba opens her mouth. No noise comes out.

Akechi’s eyebrows slowly begin to knit together.

“I’m good,” she says squeakily. Clears her throat. Holy shit, she’s not afraid of Akechi after all that junk they went through in the Metaverse. She saw him as a rat. She saw him visibly want to break his father’s face when Shido tried to apologize to him on live TV. Once, Makoto and Akechi got into an unironic, passionate, hour-long argument about whether or not it’s beneficial to color code your notes.

“I’m alright!” Futaba announces louder, maybe a little loudly, considering the way he looks only more concerned. “L-Let’s hurry up and get this sidequest over with!”

She pulls her hoodie over her head and jams her hands into the pockets and makes herself as small as possible and inches out of the doorway. “If you… say so,” says Akechi, and eventually matches her incredibly slow pace as she shuffles her way towards the main street.

When the noise of Yongen-Jaya’s street hits her, her heart rate (already high as hell) spikes even higher like the first day she’d come out of her room, but the old coping mechanisms come back like second nature: Breathe slower, avoid eye contact, remember her mission, stick to the sides of the streets. Breathe slower. She’s still got it. It’s still hard, but she’s got a whole arsenal of ways to deal. She can do this. She will kick Yusuke’s ass for being a dick, if only out of sheer spite.

If Akira were here, I could hide behind him and…

No, shut up, shut up. All she has is her hoodie and Goro Akechi. Akira’s not here. She can do this by herself.

Akechi makes precisely two attempts at small talk (“How has Kosei been?” “Have you seen the pieces Yusuke submitted to the art show before?”) before he realizes that Futaba isn’t going to respond by virtue of barely holding onto her shit by her fingernails. He shuts up and sticks close by. Futaba makes her way down the streets towards the subway like walking on a tightrope. The subway station isn’t busy, but she puts every step in front of her like she’s going to fall. Getting on the subway might as well be a highwire. Futaba and Akechi wait for the train in mutual silence to the sound of other commuters murmuring amongst themselves, like a toothless echo of Mementos’s depths.

When they get on the train, people around her are quiet, thank god, but all of a sudden she’s convinced that she smells because she hasn’t taken a shower in literal days, and she tries to pack herself into her seat as tightly as possible. The guy in front of her is scrolling through something at a ferocious pace and his thumbnail keeps hitting the screen with this incessant clack, clack, clack noise. The subway voice announces their next station as the doors begin to close, and a girl suddenly sits bolt upright, having realized that this is her station after all, and bangs Futaba’s knees hard as she passes. Futaba wants to curl her legs to her chest, but she’s wearing Kosei’s uniform skirt and it’d just make everyone stare at her if she did that on the subway. She curls her fingers into the skirt hem. She stares down at her knees and lets her hair drape around her like a curtain. She can do this. She can do this. Breathe slower. Even slower. I did this for more than six months, I told Akira I’m better now, I changed my own heart…

Akechi pulls out his phone. Futaba’s phone buzzes.

AKECHI: Are you alright?

FUTABA: i said i was ready dude

Akechi types and retypes an answer, which technically Futaba could just look over his arm and read, but instead Futaba flips through apps on her phone and pulls up a shitty mobile dungeon crawler. She dies four times before Akechi puts his phone away without sending anything.

They pass multiple stations like that. Futaba sure as hell hopes that Akechi’s watching which station they’re on, because she isn’t. After the millionth time she dies, Futaba just closes the app altogether. Concentration’s shot. Can’t focus on anything. Heartbeat’s too loud. Breathing’s too loud. The guy next to her is breathing too loud. Everything is too loud.

New text:

AKECHI: Yusuke said you’d recovered from your cold, but you still look a little unwell.

Futaba doesn’t respond to that. She doesn’t need Negative Nancy over here telling her she’s gonna crack. Because she isn’t gonna. The subway starts to slow, and the voice announces the station for Yusuke’s school. She’s literally almost there, she’s right there, she might die in three seconds because her heart is going to pound of her chest but at least she’s going to make it, she promised Akira that she was alright—

The subway doors open. Passengers stand to get off. Akechi stands up. Futaba drops like a rock.

“I can’t,” Futaba’s voice says. She sounds like she’s crying. “I can’t, I can’t do it, I—”

“Futaba—”

“I’m can’t do it, I—”

She buries her face in her knees on the dirty subway floor. Oh, she really is crying. “I’m sorry,” she says, “I’m so sorry, I couldn’t…”

Around her, people’s feet stop moving. They’re staring at her. She’s crying on the subway and everyone is staring at her. “Shh,” says Akechi, like Futaba doesn’t know she’s being a loud and irritating pest, but then he takes off his winter coat and covers her with it. Suddenly everything goes dark. It’s a huge coat, too; it wraps around her whole torso with enough room to spare to cover her entire head. Inside, it’s like she’s back in her room, only listening to the sounds of real life somewhere on the other side of a computer monitor, where it can’t hurt her. It’s so surprising she hiccups to a stop. Two hands pull her up by the shoulders and guide her to stand. “Up. Let’s go.”

“Is she okay?” says a voice.

Futaba’s entire body seizes with fear. She ducks into her own knees, trying to disappear.

“Hey, little girl, are you alright?”

“She’ll be fine,” says Akechi’s friendly, super fake ass barbie prince voice. “My sister just had a hard day. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“A hard day?” Now the stranger’s voice is accusatory.

“For your information, our dog was recently brutally run over in front of her eyes.”

“Young man, are you serious right now?”

“Oh, yes. There was blood everywhere. Its intestines squelched horribly under the tires less than six feet away from her,” Akechi goes on. Futaba chokes, and then hiccups in what she realizes is almost a laugh. “Please excuse her. Thank you.” And before the literal complete stranger can follow up on that awful statement, Akechi takes her hand and pulls her up.

Futaba stumbles to her feet. If she has to take the coat off right now, she will actually die.

“It’s okay. Just hold my hand and follow me.”

Blindly, she lets him lead her out of the subway, weaving through people with only minimal contact with other people’s shoulders. There’s a whole awkward period where Akechi has to walk her up the stairs out of the subway station while she can’t see anything, but eventually the noise and bustle of other people around her seems to die away, and the air grows cooler in the way it does in the shadows between city buildings. Then they stop walking altogether. When Akechi lets go of her hand, she almost tries to grab it back before she catches herself.

“Okay. There’s nobody else around, now. It’s safe.”

Futaba doesn’t come out of the jacket. In the dark, her eyes dart back and forth, trying to see even as she blinds herself.

“Sorry for grabbing you so suddenly like that,” Akechi’s voice goes on after it becomes obvious she’s not going to come out.

Futaba wipes snottily at her own face. Oh, this is so gross, she’s got snot and tears on top of five days worth of grime and body juice because she hadn’t taken a shower. She’s disgusting. She really actually wants to die right now. She can’t show her face like this.

“Er,” says Akechi. “Do you want…. water, or…?”

Futaba folds up right there on the city pavement, probably dragging Akechi’s nice coat all over a dirty alleyway. She tucks her face into her knees, where she feels safest, and pulls the coat flaps even tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I’m sorry for not being okay,” she mumbles.

There’s a short silence. “You really don’t have to be.”

“I do,” Futaba says. She feels like she’s nine years old again, a petulant kid who needs to hold people’s hands and be escorted around Tokyo. “This is—it’s stupid, and I can’t believe I-I’m still doing this, a-and even a-after everything that h-happened last year, I’m still just a… I’m still…”

“It’s fine,” says Akechi. Even he sounds overwhelmed, and at the first sound of weakness, she pulls the coat off her head and glares at him furiously, red-faced and covered in tears and snot and gross depression juice crust and all.

“I’m not supposed to be this way anymore!” she says miserably. “I’m supposed to be better! Moved on! Doing literally a-anything else but crying over t-taking a subway! It’s stupid and nobody else is like this and I just want to be over this already and I just want to be better already and—!“

She covers her face with her hands again. God, even when she says that, it sounds pathetic.

After a moment or two, she hears Akechi moving again. She peeks at him. He’s crouching in almost the exact same pose as her, looking like he’s resigning himself to neither getting his coat back, nor moving from this spot any time soon, nor getting to Yusuke’s art show on time, but also looking archly and entirely unperturbed about it. Actually, it looks like he’s writing a work email on his phone.

Futaba was right about being in an alleyway, but it’s so cold because they’re shielded by a trio of vending machines selling canned coffee and wrapped sandwiches. "Our dog was recently run over?” she says.

“People can mind their own damn business,” says Akechi in his Pleasant Boy Voice, without looking up from his email.

“He was just trying to help.”

“Oh, yes, let’s help the crying girl by crowding her and suffocating her in a crush of public transit.”

Futaba snorts. “That was really mean of you.”

“Oh, absolutely,” says Akechi.

Futaba sucks a truly disgusting gob of snot into her nose. “Ugh. I wish I could’ve seen the guy’s face when you told him that.”

“It was like I’d spat on his shoes. I should’ve kept going. Or had a camera.”

“Futaba giggles wetly into her forearms. "Like one of those—those prank videos online… Get Yusuke to film it.”

“Yusuke, as the cameraman? I’m not trying to make a documentary.” Akechi flips to a different screen on his phone. “I already texted Yusuke about our poor dead dog, by the way, so don’t worry about it.”

Suddenly Futaba feels like literal garbage again. “Why are you always so nice to me?” she mumbles.

Akechi makes a weird face, like he’s trying to do his old Pleasant Boy shtick while having swallowed a lemon whole. “You say that like me being nice is somehow unusual.”

“Uh, yeah. Because it is. You literally were just being a huge asshole to a guy you’d never met over a fictional dog.”

Akechi has this increasingly disgruntled look on his face like he kind of wants to punt Futaba down some stairs, which, frankly, is the best sort of reward, in Futaba’s opinion. “I’m working on it,” he says grumpily.

“How’s that been?” says Futaba.

“Which part?”

Futaba has one whole moment of self reflection on this idea as maybe not a good course of action before she barrels on anyway: “The part where you’re turning your life around. Starting over. Trying again.”

“It sucks dick,” says Akechi.

“Oh, right on,” says Futaba, and then before she can stop herself: “Wait, I thought you liked dick?”

Akechi makes a noise like a strangled cat.

Futaba cackles. “Dude, incognito mode when you’re browsing for porn does not save you from people like me.”

“Have you been spying on me?”

“Uh, yes? Obviously?”

“You know you could get arrested for that sort of breach in privacy.”

“Oh, boo hoo, so sorry I know all about your weird orphan-saving night job and your smutty Featherman doujinshi collection. You’re not gonna narc on me.” Futaba stops. “Are you?”

“Stop looking at my internet history.”

“No. You better not narc on me.”

“Then stop looking at my internet history.”

“You had to google how to change a SIM card last week, crow-boy; you couldn’t stop me if you tried.”

“I will narc on you.”

“No you won’t. You’re the one trying to not be an asshole.”

Akechi makes a face like a cat being slowly submerged in cold water. Futaba laughs in his face.

“If you’re quite done,” says Akechi grouchily.

“No, never. You’re made for being made fun of,” says Futaba. “I’m gonna be making fun of you for years and years, crow-boy; you’re never going to get rid of me.”

“Great.”

“Gonna be creeping on your weird orphan-saving night job until the day you die.”

“Wonderful,” says Akechi without inflection whatsoever.

“Mwehehehehehehehehehe.”

“If you’re quite done.”

“I will take a well-deserved break from my endless duty to troll you both on and offline,” says Futaba. “Because I really really really wanna go to the art show.”

Akechi has the nerve to look relieved that he no longer has to squat in a dirty alleyway listening to a high school freshman bully him. “Then let’s go.”

Futaba hugs her knees tight. “But I wanna keep your coat.”

“Aren’t you wearing your own coat?” says Akechi, trying to look like he isn’t shivering. “Aren’t you getting hot?”

“I’m keeping it.”

“It’s my coat.”

“I’m keeping it.”

“Fine, then. Keep it. It’s dry clean only.”

“Oh, ew. No, take it back, gross, gross,” and Futaba peels the snotty, tear-stained, dirty winter coat off and dumps it back in Akechi’s arms, who looks at it with the expression of someone long-suffering and without hope of escape.

“And,” says Futaba, “I wanna see it if you tell anyone else that our dog got run over.”

Akechi smirks. “You’ll have to film it, then.”

“Oh my god, like I wouldn’t.”

Futaba scrubs her face one last time. She still feels like she’s covered in a grimy layer of slime, but maybe she can wash her face at Kosei. When she gets there. Because she’s gonna get there.

“Uh, one more thing,” says Futaba.

“Not like you’ve bullied me into doing literally everything else you’ve wanted,” says Akechi.

“You can’t laugh at me.”

“Good thing I don’t have a sense of humor,” says Akechi, which horrifyingly confirms to Futaba that Akechi and Yusuke, of all people, really do share a sense of humor.

Futaba hesitates. “Please, um… please don’t tell Akira about this.”

“Why would I tell Akira?“

"Nice. Good answer.” She smooths her hair down, trying to make herself presentable, or just have something to do with her hands. “I… told him I was gonna be okay without him and all that, so… I don’t wanna let him down, you know?”

Slowly, almost shyly, Akechi smiles. “Oh, yes. I know.”

“Our secret. Secret-keepers.”

“Secret-keepers. Are you ready?”

Futaba takes another deep breath. Pushes herself up, brushes herself off, and sighs. “Absolutely not. This is gonna suck so much dick,” says Futaba. “Let’s go anyway.”

#mine #slams hands on table FUTAGO SIBLINGS #futaba's dubious mental health cw #Anonymous

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