#maybe I should shave it all off and never feel vanity again

[gaynasa]

torn between redoing my split dye or getting a perm

[jji-lee]

how about something like their s/o loving their mustache look and don't want them to shave?

sorry that this is so late, and that i made it kinda long!!! i added the other part you mentioned too! i spent hours looking at dreamies mustache pics, hope you enjoy! ☺

❀༉‧₊˚. mark’s facial hair grew back quite quickly, but mark was quicker, shaving off any stubble that made an appearance.

but with the recent comeback, having to wake up early and rush to practice and coming home only to eat and sleep, simply wearing a mask outdoors would have to suffice. after a busy couple of weeks you had been dying to see your boyfriend, inviting him over to spend the night. when you finally heard the jingling of the keys you sprung out of bed to greet your boyfriend. as the door opened and you got a look at mark, a dark shadow cast over his lip and light stubble adorned his chin and jawline. you stepped back for a second to admire this new look. mark laughed awkwardly, covering his face, “dude stop staringgg, i didn’t have time to shave i wanted to see you so i just rushed over” you grabbed his hand pulling him towards the couch, “no no no, i’ve just never seen you like this, you look really good markie, you should grow it out more often” you reached up to touch his mustache, smiling at the new feeling. mark was blushing like crazy, maybe some stubble wasn't so bad after all.

❀༉‧₊˚. renjun almost never grew facial hair, it took months for even the tiniest amount of hair to pop up.

so when you went in for a kiss and instead were greeted by an itchy upper lip, you knew you couldn't leave renjun alone about it. you grabbed his face, using your thumbs to run over the tiny stubble that had appeared on renjun's upper lip. "um, babe is this some new tiktok trend you saw, what's going on with you" he pulled your hands off him looking at you with concerned eyes. "junnie you have a mustache! a real actual mustache is growing right now!" he slapped his hand over his mouth, clearly embarrassed by this new revelation. "you're a liar let me go see" he rushed to the vanity gasping when he noticed small hairs beginning to grow. "where's the razor i need this gone right now!" you giggled at your boyfriend's reaction rushing to stop him from removing his hair, "wait no no, i never get to see you like this, leave it, just for today!" renjun let out a sigh knowing he couldn't say no to you, "fine, but i'll make you so sick of my mustache that you'll never want me hairy again" he pressed his upper lip to your cheek rubbing harshly, causing you to push him away "not so nice now, right baby"

❀༉‧₊˚. jeno was always handsome, but right now how you were seeing him, no makeup, wet hair, towel around his hips, and a slight stubble growing on his upper lip and chin, jeno was godly.

"hello? earth to y/n? you're acting like you've never seen me naked" naked? that was the least of your concerns right now, jeno with facial hair was a rare sight only on a night like now, straight after practice and too tired to shave, could you see him like this. jeno gently sat on the bed next to you, reaching out to hold your chin, using it to make you face him, "hey sweet girl, are you ignoring me?" you blinked a couple times still processing the sight in front of you, now much closer, "sorry, sorry, i just, i don't get to see you like this often" you blushed looking away from him. jeno still confused by your reaction, "shirtless? baby we've been dating for years, did my muscles get bigger?" he chuckled at his own comment slightly flexing his biceps. you slapped his arm laughing at his silly movements, "no jen, your mustache, you look so handsome like this." now it was jeno's turn to blush, eyes growing wide at the realization that your focus was on his stubble. he reached up to cover his face, "sorry i need to get new batteries for my razor" you pulled his hands away from his face leaning towards him to plant a kiss on his chin stubble, "don't worry about it, you look really good like this puppy."

❀༉‧₊˚. haechan hated that his facial hair grew back so quickly.

he'd shave at night and the next morning a shadow would be cast over his lip and on his chin, hair already growing back. but what he hated more was how you avoided him when he did have facial hair. what he didn't know is that you loved seeing haechan with facial hair. haechan had been busy, his razor laying cold and alone on the bathroom counter, his mustache and chin hair dark and prominent. as he joined you in bed, pulling you by your waist to face him, you tried you best to not ogle at your boyfriend's facial hair, looking anywhere but his face. he noticed you avoidant gaze, reaching up to force you to look at him, "do you really dislike my mustache that much, you can't even look at me baby?" heat began to rise to your face, finally fully looking at your beautiful boyfriend, "wha-what, of course not! i- i actually think i like it a little too much" your hand reached up hesitantly to brush against his chin hair. haechan was more than pleased with your response, leaning into your touch, "oh my baby, why didn't you just say so, had me nervous thinking you hated my hair," "no! i could never hate your facial hair, it's, it's actually a really good look on you" he smiled wide, an idea popping into his head, "well, i will definitely be throwing my razor away" he leaned his face closer to you rubbing his prickly chin against your neck, laughing when you tried pushing him away, "hyuck please, that tickles!"

❀༉‧₊˚. jaemin could not believe what he was seeing.

he had been going through your phone trying to find an image of lucy, luke, and luna to send it to himself when he stumbled upon a photo of himself. actually, not a photo, a whole folder titled, 'nana no shave,' he had to give it to you, it was clever, but the countless pics of him with stubble was not just shocking, but concerning. jaemin had no idea that you had liked his stubble so much, let alone have a collection of pictures of it. he decided to put your love for his mustache to the test, letting it grow out for a week. he had been relaxing on the couch watching a drama you had recommended when from the corner of his eye he sees you quickly holding your phone up ready to take a picture, but he was quicker reaching across the couch to snatch your phone from you, "aha, i finally caught you, you were taking pics of my stubble weren't you!" he pointed his finger at you, you sat there shocked that you had been discovered, not knowing that jaemin had caught on to your hidden obsession, you weren't ashamed though, "yeah, and what if i was, what are you gonna do about it jaem?" his shoulders sagged his lips forming a pout, "huh, well i guess nothing" his shoulders perked up again, a smirk on his lips "but stop taking hidden pictures of me! next time just ask me princess, i'll give you all of my mustache pics"

❀༉‧₊˚. chenle loved to annoy you with his stubble.

Every opportunity he got to rub his prickly cheek against yours he would take it. you would always push him away, pretending that you were annoyed by his actions, when in reality you loved to see chenle with his stubble. today was no different. chenle was on week two of no shaving, stubble having grown significantly. you were laying in bed scrolling through your phone when you felt the bed sink next to you, your very hyper boyfriend ready to interrupt you relaxation, "hi lele, is there anything i can help you with?" all you heard was, "nope" before your phone was snatched from your hands and your boyfriend was hovering over you grinning widely, "like my mustache baby?" he wiggled his eyebrows at you struggling to hold back his giggles. you reached up to rub your fingers against his stubble, gently pulling at the hair, "actually, yes i do like your little mustache, makes you look handsome," chenle froze for a second shocked by your sudden confession and then a frown formed on his face, "no fair, if you like it how am i supposed to annoy you now!" he leaned down to rub his cheeks against yours causing you to squirm under his hold. you giggled at him trying to push him away. He sat up, straddling you, "see you're enjoying this, i need a new plan now!"

❀༉‧₊˚. jisung would not be caught dead with stubble in front of you.

the relationship was relatively fresh, he had confessed in june and by august you two were going steady. now it was the start of november and jisung still didn't feel ready to let you see his facial hair grow out, yes it was normal but what if you hated it? that's why when you came up to him asking him to participate in 'no hair november' proudly showing him your week build up of armpit hair, he was hesitant. but god you looked so pretty like this, bushy brows and prickly legs, so what could be the harm in growing some hair himself? it took 4 days for jisung's stubble to finally appear. when he looked in the mirror and saw the light shadow on his chin he was nervous to go and show you, but you beat him to it, his phone rang loudly, your contact name, 'my star💫' shining on him screen. when he picked up your smiling face appeared on the screen, "ji baby look at how much my hairs grown!" you pointed the camera at you legs showing off how the stubble has turned into soft leg hair. jisung smiled warmly at your happiness forgetting that his face was on screen, "oh my goodness sungie look at that stubble!" he quickly moved the camera, only showing his forehead on the screen, "ahh stop it, it's embarrassing" he heard you giggle, "you look so good sung, and it's for a good cause, show it off!" you saw the the camera slowly pan out, his full face coming into view, a shy smile on his face, you were definitely going to start hiding his razor from him.

[tenswrld]

old enough to understand

mark lee x reader, childhood friends to lovers, fluff

summary: now that you’re older, you seem to finally understand how mark makes you feel

a/n: came up with this at 2am while listening to my mark lee dedicated playlist and pluto projector came on and u already know that one part made me emotional also do u like my doodles i made on the photo ^^

growing up, you were surrounded by the concept of love. you witnessed it with your parents, when you got your first pet, and even when you took your first bite into your favorite fruit.

when you first met mark lee at the age of 6, you didn’t think that the word love would apply to him. at least, not in the way that you knew it. 

“no! it’s mine, i don’t want to give you any!” the young boy yelled.

“you can just go get more! i just want some watermelon!” you screamed back.

“go get some yourself!”

angry, you stomped away towards the table of adults. “mrs. lee, mark won’t give me a piece of his watermelon.”

the older woman laughed softly before getting up and leading you to the table of fruit. “forgive him, watermelon is his favorite. i’ll be sure to make sure he shares next time, okay?”

while you ate your own fruit alone in the grass, mark came up to you scratching his neck awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. “i’m sorry for being rude...i just really like watermelon...”

you narrowed your eyes at him before bursting into a fit of giggles, offering your own watermelon out to him. “it’s okay, mark, i like watermelon too. i understand.” he took the piece that you held out to him and took a seat next to you.

when you first met mark, you didn’t think anything of him except for that he was the dorky boy next door who seemed to reserve the concept of love for his favorite fruit.

in middle school, you and mark seemed to clash heads more often than not, and you found it hard to stick around him. desperate to seem cool in front of the new friends that he made, mark steered away from you and teased you whenever he saw you in the halls. you almost despised him in your middle school years, but no matter how much teasing he did mark always waited for you outside of the school gates and walked you home safely. 

though he was still unsure of the role you had in his life, mark knew that he wanted to keep you around.

in high school, your parents fantasized about the idea of the two of you dating, but you and mark always recoiled at the thought. friend groups and social status set you and mark even further apart and before you knew it you became a messenger to girls who wanted mark to call their own. when you got your first boyfriend in sophomore year, mark tried to warn you that the guy was no good, but like always you never listened to him. when he broke your heart, you expected mark to scold you and tell you he told you so, but he provided you comfort in his arms instead.

though he didn’t love you then, mark vowed that he would never let your heart get broken again.

when it came time for you and mark to go off to college, you found yourself a lot more upset than you had initially thought you would be. you were excited to go off and find yourself elsewhere, but something about not having the silly, brown haired boy by your side 24/7 felt strange. granted, you two weren’t as close as your six year old self thought you would be, but you found that you and mark held a special type of bond that you feared you wouldn’t find anywhere else. 

you still hadn’t figured out your love for mark lee, but you knew that leaving him was one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do.

“just...promise to call often, okay?” you told him as you walked with him to his car, a box of his things in your arms.

mark’s lips curled up into a smug smile. “why? gonna miss me that much?” 

you rolled your eyes. “you’re making me regret saying that. you’ll be lucky if i don’t block you after this, idiot.”

mark laughed loudly and you found yourself smiling softly at the sound. you placed the box in his truck before you both turned to each other. “i’ll text you everyday and call when i can. don’t worry, you can’t get rid of me that easily. you’ll probably be hearing about my uncontrollable gas everyday so if that’s not what you’re looking for then...”

you laughed and shoved his shoulder, mumbling for him to shut up. “it’s gonna be weird without you, i think.”

mark shrugged. “yeah, well, we’ll see each other again. just think about it like that time where you got so mad at me for blowing up your house in minecraft that you ignored me for a week!”

mark expected you to laugh but became concerned when he saw your lip quivering and your eyes threatening to spill tears. “y/n? sorry, is that, like, a sensitive memory?”

when you suddenly wrapped your arms around his torso and mumbled a soft ‘i’ll miss you’ into his chest, mark cursed at himself for being the first one to fall in love.

___

“isn’t it like 4am for you? you should go to bed,” you scolded him half heartedly. you sat at your vanity on facetime with a sleepy mark as you did your nightly skincare routine.

mark groaned through the phone and shook his head. “but i wanna talk to you,” he whined groggily. “i miss you.”

your cheeks heat up and you smiled shyly. “i miss you too, mark.”

mark blinked slowly with a tired look, his hair all messed up and his face in need of a shave. he watched you silently as you rubbed your moisturizer into your skin, smiling at the sight. “...you’re really pretty you know that?”

you froze and chuckled nervously, keeping yourself busy with your moisturizer so you didn’t have to see the way mark was looking at you. “you’re talking nonsense again.”

he grumbled, “i’m not talking any nonsense. you’re so pretty, y/n, i miss seeing your face. i hate facetime and my shit wifi.”

“you’re rambling, marky, go to bed,” you ushered him, this time grabbing your phone to look at him.

he smiled fondly at you. “i like it when you call me marky.”

“okay, i’ll call you it more if you go to bed.” 

mark huffed and complied, bidding you one last goodbye. “fine. i miss you so much, y/n, call me tomorrow.”

“okay, i will.”

“promise?” mark asked softly, peeking open one eye to look at you.

“i promise, you big baby.”

“okay, goodnight. love you,” mark mumbled softly into his pillow, already half asleep.

your breath hitched in your throat at his words. you two hardly ever said that phrase to each other but you began to realize that nowadays mark seemed to say it quite often. before, you’d probably make a face in disgust at the cheesiness, but now it only made your stomach sick with butterflies.

“yeah, love you too, marky. sleep tight.” 

already fast asleep, mark stayed silent. your thumb hovered over the ‘end call’ button, but you waited a few more seconds just to look at how peaceful mark looked. you could see the sky turning from a dark black to a paler blue from his window, making you frown since the boy had stayed up so late. before you could look at him any longer, you ended the call and sat back in your chair.

loving mark lee had always seemed impossible to you, but now you realized that it was the one thing that you wanted to do for the rest of your life.

___

you spent a lot of time thinking about your feelings for mark while you were away and most of it was you being in denial. you thought that maybe it was just because you weren’t used to being so far away from him, but deep down you knew otherwise. your friends had tried setting you up on blind dates, yet no one seemed to fill in the gap that you felt you had in your heart.

after you finished your first year of college, your mother began to pester you about having a boyfriend for you to bring home for the holidays. yet no matter how many guys you thought about, your mind would always bring you back to mark.

it was now christmas time and your family and mark’s family were going to have a small get together, meaning that you and mark would get to spend time with each other in person again. you weren’t sure if you should tackle mark at the sight of him, but you figured he would do the same to you anyway.

“y/n, sweetheart! my gosh, it’s been so long! you’ve grown up so well,” mark’s mother cooed as she gave you a warm hug.

you chuckled and returned her hug, replying with, “thank you, mrs. lee. it’s nice to see you again.”

she playfully nudged your shoulder. “any boyfriend yet?”

you laughed awkwardly and shook your head, looking away. “oh, um, no...not yet.”

she beamed. “mark will be happy to hear that.” she said it so fast that you almost didn’t catch it. “he’s out back waiting for you. i told him i’d tell him when you got here, but it’ll be a nice surprise for him,” she winked.

you thanked her briefly before making your way to the backyard excitedly. you thought that you’d be more nervous facing the boy you loved but, frankly, all you wanted to do was finally tell him that you loved him.

when you opened the door mark immediately turned his head, expecting to see his mom, but his facial expression completely changed when he saw you. he ran up to you with the brightest smile on his face and engulfed you into his arms. you laughed joyously into his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you as close to his chest as humanly possible.

“you have no idea how long i’ve been waiting to do that,” he mumbled into your hair.

you smiled against his shoulder before pulling away to look at him. the two of you held eye contact for what felt like an eternity before mark finally returned his arms back to his side.

“even though we call everyday, it feels like i’m meeting you for the first time all over again,” mark said with a light laugh.

“i hope i lived up to your expectations, then,” you joked.

mark smiled fondly at you before brushing snow out of your hair. “definitely above expectations.”

you blushed at his comment but thanked the cold weather for hiding your rosy cheeks. before you could make more small talk, mark burst out into another sentence.

“y/n, i have to get this off of my chest before i explode,” he blurted.

your eyes widened and you nodded your head. “oh, um, okay, what is it?”

he gripped at his hair and turned around, beginning to whine. “oh my god, i’m gonna sound like the biggest idiot on earth. please don’t hate me after this.”

“...what did you do, mark?”

“i didn’t do anything! well...” he faced you again with a sigh and grabbed your hands taking you by surprise. “y/n, i’m in love with you. and i know you probably just see me as that stupid annoying boy your mom forced you to be friends with but i’ve loved you for over a year and it’s driving me crazy and i-”

“mark!” you interrupted him, placing a hand over his mouth. he looked at you with wide eyes while you smiled at him, practically glowing with happiness. you removed your hand from over his mouth and he sighed again.

“just reject me so i can go cry in my room.” mark shut his eyes and prepared himself for rejection but it never came.

“i love you too, mark.”

mark opened one at to stare at you suspiciously. “...really? like, seriously?”

you chuckled. “yes, really. for a few months now.”

“wait, you’re not pranking me or anything, right?” mark asked with a small laugh.

you glared at him. “mark...”

“i’m sorry, i’m just really surprised!” mark opened his mouth to say something but then gasped and dug into his back pocket to grab something.

when he pulled out a small piece of mistletoe you seemed to fall in love with the brunette boy all over again. he grabbed one of your hands and gently pulled you closer to him, using the other hand to hold the mistletoe over your guys’ heads. 

“i brought this just in case. i know that you’ve always fantasized about a moment like this so...” he said sheepishly. “kiss me?”

you laughed and brushed his hair out of his eyes before cupping his cheeks and placing a soft kiss on his lips. you felt him smile into the kiss, making you laugh and pull away.

“been waiting for that one too, huh?” you teased.

mark waved the mistletoe above the two of you and shook his head. “less talking and more kissing please...”

it took you over 10 years for you to realize that you loved mark lee but, if you had to, you would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

[elfwoodfae]

Writing’s On the Wall Harrison Eo Wells x reader.

Chapter 2- Specter.

Author’s note: I am so happy and excited for this new series. I hope sincerely that you all like it and let me know your thoughts, this new series will touch on darker themes up ahead in the future. Also tumblr is being annoying with the paragraphs that’s why they are so far apart.

I made this moodboard. I looked up and searched the photos and edited them. I don’t mind if you use it.

Part 1 (here)

A strange calmness falls over him; he turns around, opening his eyes for the first time in hours. He feels exhausted, having spend the majority of the night observing you. He chastises himself, he shouldn’t have done that, there was no other option, he reminds himself, he is desperate and frustrated. The sudden reminder of your presence this early in the morning angers him, a growl escaping his mouth as he sits up, the white linens of the bed pooling around his hips as he rubs his face with one hand, turning his head and doing a double take at the door, making sure is locked, he knows he locked it last night but the paranoia your presence has brought him makes him second guess himself.

His feet touch the floor first, he stretches his arms over his head, moaning at the relief it offers, his white shirt riding up enough to expose a gleam of milky skin; his hair is a mess of black curls, the expression looking back at him thorough the mirror is annoyed, tired, he splashes water on his face, he needs to wake up. The shadow of a beard is starting to appear on his chin, along his jaw and cheeks, he closes his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck and sighting before gripping the sink in a moment of fury where he wishes he could rip it out of the wall and throw it, shattering it into pieces.

How hard could it be to get rid of you? It wouldn’t be hard at all, it would be done before you could even draw your next breath, it would bring him more pleasure than beating Allen, but the consequences would be devastating, his rational side reminded him, there was not possible way to free himself from the torture of your existence without dooming his. Had Joe not met you things would have been different but he could see as clear as day the picture waiting back for him at the lab. Barry most likely knows about you by now, he knows there will be questions once he gets there, they will be innocent in nature but they will only serve to cement your presence into his mind.

He looks at himself in the mirror, admiring every detail of his clothes before he turns around, spotting his chair exactly where he had left it last night; he walks to it, looking at it so intently as if his gaze alone could burn it, hating the thing he punishes himself with. It’s for a greater good, he remembers. Wheeling into the main area of the house he notices all the lights are still off, he takes solace onto the fact that you are still sleeping, freeing him from your presence even if he knows it will only be for a few hours. He decides to leave, not wanting to take the chance of you deciding to appear and tag along, he doesn’t think of himself capable enough to not pull a Brutus a gut you in the middle of the day. This are also the only quiet moments he will get to think, to work on his suit, he sighs, there is so little time for him to use even when he is always alone.

The room is unfamiliar to your eyes, the bed linens are soft, warm, they smell of fresh cotton and clean clothes, it takes a moment for your memories to return, reminding you where you are. The room is dark, the curtains successfully blocking any sunlight from peaking in, there is no telling the time as you look around trying to get at least a sense of how rested you are. The clock reads sometime after 8, Harrison has more likely left by now and a slight disappointment settles over you, you wanted to see the labs, maybe he will want to take you tomorrow. The bathroom is spacious, glass doors decorating the shower as a black marble vanity rest on the wall, its too big for one person, it feels too luxurious for a guest room. Your mind reminds you of a forgotten fact, Harrison was never a showoff kind of person, he liked his house to feel welcoming and cozy, completely opposite to this place.

Walking out of the room is impossible not to notice the eerie silence that accompanies you, all the lights are off but the sun seems to illuminate the whole place through the skylight. A feeling of anxiety settles in your stomach as your eyes scan the expanse of the room, a corridor shielding doors you haven’t explored yet calls to you, maybe it would be best to wait for him to come back and show you around. You look around once again, scanning the walls and every available surface, your brows furrowing once a detail settles into you that you hadn’t taken into account the previous day; there is not even a single photo of Tess or himself anywhere. Maybe he has them in his room, or perhaps in his office, you think, the anxiety of walking into his space long forgotten, replaced with curiosity.

With fast steps you make it to the first door, its unlocked. The wood doesn’t creak when you open it and you wish it had, any sound would be better than this silence. Peaking your head inside, rows of shelfs of books welcome you, a dark desk sits in the middle, random papers and pieces discarded around it, nothing you would be able to recognize. A leather chair sits behind it and for a moment you wonder what could he need it for? Scanning the surface for any photos, any memories of Tess you could find but is empty, not even a photo of her in any of the walls.

Moving along you walk to the last room, the one on the end of the hall; opening the door, the room is dark, no light peaking into it, the bedsheets are a dark grey, almost black, nothing is out of order, a smell that could only be described as a freshly shaved man and clean clothes hits you, its pleasant, fresh. There is once again no photos to be seen, you should turn around, walk back and continue with your day but curiosity gets the best of you; the walking closet is big, rows of clothes hanging, color coordinated and perfectly ironed. A mirror from floor to ceiling adorning the wall in front of you. Walking closer to his clothes you grab the sleeve of one of his expensive white shirts, wanting to feel the softness of it, you don’t recall ever seeing him wearing one. Out of impulse you bring it to your nose, clothing your eyes as the smell of his cologne hits you, causing a blush to rise up your cheeks; he probable sprays it on himself here, impregnating everything around him.

Abandoning his room you walk into the kitchen, there is so many things about him you wish you knew, things that have probably changed and things that you don’t remember. He seems so distant, so cold, so unavailable to you, it made you wonder why he had allowed you to stay with him, perhaps it was not you, it was your attachment, the last piece of her memory he had, you were like an heirloom, one he refused to throw away, and that realization made you sad.

He didn’t seem happy, he seemed lonely, used to being by himself, making you question if he had any friends, if there was anyone caring for him. The man you remembered was always accompanied, always surrounded by people, always kind, always loving; where had that man disappear? You wondered, remembering how he hadn’t even known who you were once he picked up the phone that night, but what could you expected? You had never reached out, staying like a ghost, gone and hidden from his life.

Sighting you shake your head, forcing these thoughts to abandon you, having had enough of their torment for a day, there are things after all to be do today. Her face attacks your memory, you remember her from the times Tess and Harrison had brought her over, Christina is her name, she was close to Harrison and she had been very close to Tess, urging the obligation of a visit in you the moment you had decided to visit Central City, certain guilt at staying so out of touch to both of them fills you.

Perhaps you should have called her office before hand, you think, she is a busy woman after all, but after a few name drops from her past her assistant informs you that she will see you shortly. The door opens to the conference room she asked you to wait at, her face haven’t changed, a few wrinkles here and there, but the same determine eyes started back at you.

“Y/n” she says your name, surprise lace in her voice, she seems excited to see you. She hugs you, before commenting how much you have changed since she last saw you approximately fifteen years ago.

“I am so glad you could see me, I’m so sorry I never reached out, is just after the death of Tess so many things changed.” You begin, feeling the sting of tears coming to her at the emotion of relieving those memories, at being so close to someone that knew her.

“I’m surprise Harrison didn’t mention that I was visiting, I assumed you both were close friends.” You say nonchalantly, catching in the way her face contract, she seems uncomfortable at the mention of his name.

“Well yes we were.” She says, taking in a breath before continuing.

“You see, after the accident Harrison and I fell out of touch.” She says, seemingly leaving it at that, but curiosity is a powerful feeling, pulling its strings inside of you, forcing you to ask.

“Oh, but don’t you both keep any contact at all?” The question seems innocent, you genuinely want to know. She understands that, concern for you raising in her as she decides to open up more to you.

“I’ll be honest with you y/n, after the accident Harrison changed so much, that loving, caring man disappeared, he became cold, calculating, manipulative. I understand how grieve can change a person, but he, is like he is not even the same person anymore.” She tells you and you get the feeling she is not speaking in a metaphorical way.

You decide to confide her in your worries of him, in your confusion when he didn’t know who you were, when he didn’t even recognize your name. You can see the concern raising in her eyes, at you being alone with a man neither of you know any longer, but you assure her is fine, you will be fine, how bad could he be? He wouldn’t hurt you, this was Harrison you both are talking about, even if neither of you believe it completely.

@twilightlover2007

@austarus

@harrisonwellsisdaddy

@wintersire

@reallystressedhoneybee

@fanfiction-and-fantasies

@saltykidcreation

@dumpeetintofyre

@yetanotherwells

[inthehytes]

Bratpack & 22 if you're still taking prompts ✨

Bratpack my beloved 🥺💗💗 I’m always taking prompts angel, I love watching them pop into my ask box!

22. Give me a brush. I’ll fix your hair for you.

—-

Synthia was nearly on the verge of tears as she raked the brush through her hair. She’d always had curly hair, something her mother had never understood how to care for so neither did she by default. She’d spent years straightening and being rough with it until her scalp was tender and she was too frustrated to do anything else but throw it in a bun.

As she grew older she’d learned how to care for her hair and what products to use when, but sometimes she got lazy and fell asleep without doing her routine. The mornings after should be punishment enough for her to not do it again but she never seemed to learn her lesson.

“Here’s your smoothie Syn- baby what’s wrong?” Synthia met Kendall’s eyes miserably through the vanity. The green smoothie in her hands looked so enticing but she knew she couldn’t drink it until she finished her hair or she’d never do it.

“My hair,” she whines, attacking it with the brush once more and ignoring the awful sounds coming from it. “It won’t cooperate and I’m about to just shave it all off!”

“Easy now, give me the brush, I’ll fix it for you.” Kendall holds out her free hand for the wooden brush in Synthia’s grasp, trading it for her smoothie.

She kisses Synthia’s cheek and brushes at the tears of frustration that had gathered in the corners of her eyes before straightening up to get to work. Synthia drank her smoothie slowly, watching with wide nearly reverent eyes as Kendall brushed through her hair with such care. Her gentle hands combined with the sweet smelling leave in conditioners Synthia used soon had her wet hair laying neatly against her shoulders, or as neat as her unruly curls ever could.

“There sweet girl, all combed out. Do you want to let it air dry a bit more before we fix it up or do you want me to go ahead?” Kendall sets the brush on the counter in front of the blonde, wrapping her arms around her shoulders from behind, lips trailing gentle kisses to her jaw as she decides.

“Can’t you just do that forever?” Synthia pouts, turning her head at the last minute to steal a kiss from Kendall. She feels the brunette smile against her lips, letting Kendall deepen this kiss and take control of it immediately.

“Don’t you think Gia will get jealous?” Kendall teases when they pull apart, pressing one last short kiss to Synthia’s lips as she straightens up. Synthia gives a little shrug, downing the rest of her smoothie as Kendall grabs what she needs to style Synthia’s hair. She smiles to herself in the mirror, loving when Kendall makes the little decisions for her that Synthia would sometimes overthink for hours.

“I’m thinking a pretty bun, maybe even with some ribbon, does that sound okay?” Kendall’s beginning to gather Synthia’s hair into a ponytail, her long nails scratching pleasingly against Synthia’s scalp.

“Yes please!” She agrees and settles in with a happy sigh, her chest feeling warm and full at being so cared for. She couldn’t wait to go downstairs and show Gia Kendall’s hard work, knowing she’ll look so pretty when her girlfriend is finished.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 14 - ao3 -

If Lan Qiren hadn’t had any idea on what to do with Cangse Sanren to begin with, he had even less of an idea of what to do when he received a letter from his sworn brother which, after some deciphering of the small talk and insincerely meant pleasantries that could just as easily be read as implicit threats, seemed to boil down to so I hear you have a lover now? and also come to the Nightless City at once.

I do not have a lover, Lan Qiren wrote back crossly. You should send whatever spies you have packing because they are clearly completely useless to you. Also, I have classes that I have no intention of missing. If you want company, recall that you have a wife.

That won him a few weeks of blissful silence, possibly due to Wen Ruohan’s shock but more likely due to Lan Qiren having spitefully chosen to send his reply by usual post rather than by special post, which was more expensive and also generally reserved for important sect matters and not for obvious fishing attempts for gossip about the personal lives of juniors.

Which Wen Ruohan should be above, anyway. What did it matter to him?

The response, not long after that, went something along the lines of so what you’re saying is that you haven’t won the immortal mountain’s disciple yet? if you come to Qishan, I can advise you and that irritated Lan Qiren most of all, because right up until that point he hadn’t known that Cangse Sanren was a disciple of the famous Baoshan Sanren, the best-known immortal still in contact with the mortal world.

Mostly because Cangse Sanren hadn’t ever bothered to introduce herself.

It bothered him, a little. More than a little. She knew how much he valued people acting according to the rules; even if she didn’t care for them, shouldn’t she respect his inclination?

(It turned out that she didn’t introduce herself because she didn’t have a proper name, just the title that everyone used for her. Baoshan Sanren let everyone keep the name they came to the mountain with, but Cangse Sanren had come too young for any name at all, and so she’d never gotten one in all the suspiciously unspecified years she had spent on the timeless mountain. It was a pretty good reason not to introduce yourself, as such things went, and it also belatedly explained why she took offense to people calling anyone old.)

I am not trying to win anyone, he wrote back to Wen Ruohan. And even if I was, which I am not, I would still have classes and am not currently at liberty to travel. Has there been some sort of terrible tragedy such that your Wen sect is so desperate for additional people in the Nightless City?

You are not just any person but my sworn brother, Wen Ruohan responded. Am I not entitled to see you? Maybe I want to see this beard you’re reputedly growing.

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes and threw the letter into the box he was keeping all the others. He was trying to grow a beard, as it happened, though being a newly-turned eighteen it was a slow and frustrating process. He wasn’t entirely sure he liked the itchy feeling of it growing, either, but stroking his chin as if in thought was nearly as cathartic as waving his hands, only more socially acceptable; he liked that part very much.

He’d always had a tendency towards strange motions – moving his hands or arms, tapping on things, or rocking back and forth when he was especially distressed – but his brother had always hated it especially, always quoting Do not move arbitrarily at him even though he knew that that wasn’t the fundamental meaning of that rule. That wouldn’t have been so much of an issue, except most other people seemed to agree with him, citing the importance of acting in a dignified and restrained manner, limiting unnecessary movement and remaining still and calm as a placid pool of water no matter what the circumstance.

The beard was an acceptable compromise. Given how common beards were in the sect, it would be hard to criticize Lan Qiren without accidentally insulting an elder – and it felt so good to be able to move freely, the action serving as an aid for emotional regulation that he desperately needed.

Of course, Cangse Sanren thought it was ugly.

Lan Qiren didn’t agree, but he also didn’t think it was any of her business what he did with his face. Even if it was ugly, so what? He wasn’t particularly egotistical.

Accordingly, he thanked her stiffly for her opinion and then proceeded to ignore it.

Apparently, that didn’t sit well with her, a fact Lan Qiren only discovered when he woke up one day, groggy and unclear as to what had happened the night before, to find himself shaven clean and Cangse Sanren beaming at him from within his own room, to which he had never invited her.

He did not react well.

Stories of your shouting have reached even Qishan, Wen Ruohan’s next letter said. Was what your little lover did really so bad? I hadn’t known you were so sensitive. It’s not as if it won’t grow back.

This is your fault, Lan Qiren wrote back, irrational and upset, his calligraphy rough from the way his hand shook – though whether in rage or something else he couldn’t quite tell. I don’t want to hear from you.

Truly his reaction had been out of proportion with Cangse Sanren’s offense. Shaving a beard, especially a half-grown thing like that, was little more than a childish prank, even if it had taken him several months to get as far as he had; in the end, it was really only a blow to his vanity, and perhaps the loss of a convenient emotional crutch.

And yet, when he’d woken up and seen her there where she wasn’t welcome – when he’d realized that he couldn’t remember the evening before, just the way he couldn’t remember what had happened in the Nightless City that day, waking up to Wen Ruohan smiling at him and an oath he didn’t know nor want – when he’d tasted the sour taste of day-old liquor on his tongue –

He’d panicked.

She’d realized it, he thought in retrospect; the ever-present smile had slowly dripped off her mouth as he stared at her blankly for the first few moments, frozen, and had morphed into an expression of shock when he had broken through his paralysis to start screaming at her to go, get out, leave – he’d even picked up some of his own things to throw at her, just to make her leave faster.

He continued smashing his things after she’d gone, unthinking in his frenzy and unsure why he was so upset, and in the end when clarity had returned and he realized what he’d done he’d been so ashamed that he’d grabbed his guqin and slunk away, retreating to the rooms where the Lan sect entered into seclusion. He couldn’t go into real seclusion with so little preparation, of course, but he was practiced enough at inedia that he could skip meals for a few days and not need to see the world for at least a week.

Part of the feeling of shame was that he didn’t know why he had reacted so badly. Wasn’t it normal for peers his age to play that sort of trick on each other? It hadn’t been meant as a real insult.

He had no right to feel so betrayed.

And yet, he did.

Cangse Sanren had visited later that day, her hand tapping lightly on the door bound by wards and her normally brash voice murmuring explanations and not-quite apologies – saying that she hadn’t realized what it had meant to him, that she wouldn’t have done it if she’d known, asking if he wouldn’t come out to talk to her about it and let her apologize properly.

He ignored her.

He ignored her the next day and the day after, too. His hands were unsteady when he tried to play calming songs for himself, his music tangled and knotted up like the feelings in his chest.

On the fourth day, she came and sat by his door in the evening, late and near to curfew.

“I didn’t know, you know,” she finally said after sitting there for nearly a shichen. “About what happened to you in the Nightless City.”

His hands froze over the guqin.

“Drinking liquor comes as easily to me as breathing,” she continued. “No one’s ever been able to play a trick on me because I got drunk – it’s everyone else who falls over in the end, not me. Maybe what why, when someone told me how badly your family handles its liquor, I thought only of how funny it would be…and not how it would feel, waking up and realizing that you didn’t know what happened. What someone could have done to you.” She was silent for a moment. “What I did do.”

Lan Qiren shut his eyes tightly.

Yes, he thought to himself. She was right. That was why he was so upset.

It wasn’t about the beard at all.

“An oath made when you didn’t know it doesn’t count, you know.”

He laughed harshly, the sound catching in his throat like thick mud. “It does,” he said, and his voice was hoarse from the lack of speech. “Of course it counts. It’s my honor, in the end…anyway, there’s no reason for me to lose my head over it. Sect Leader Wen’s powerful and influential; there are those who would cut off their right hands for a connection with him, much less an oath of brotherhood.”

He wasn’t even all that angry at Wen Ruohan for doing it, either, not really. There wasn’t much point – his few experiences with the other man so far showed that that was just what he was like, always taking instead of asking, and scheming was as innate to inter-sect politics as fighting. Might as well be angry at his grandfather for the ancestral weakness to liquor in the Lan lineage.

It had only been the shock of Cangse Sanren’s unexpected actions that had made it feel like a knife stabbed into his back, a scabbed-over wound suddenly ripped open again.

“You didn’t trust him,” Cangse Sanren pointed out. “You trusted me. And I scared you.”

Perhaps that was true.

“You’re still you, you know. Even while drunk.” She chuckled. “You talk more, care less what people think of you; you’re a little more willing to stand up for yourself, a little more bitter, a little less consciously kind. You told me all about music, something that went over my head, then went to sleep in just the right and proper way, albeit right on the floor. I had to wait until you were asleep to shave you.”

That was a relief to hear. Lan Qiren hated the idea of being so vulnerable.

Although – perhaps he wasn’t. According to Lao Nie, he’d apparently kneed Wen Ruohan in the balls that night for bothering him with nonsense or possibly for trying to leave before he finished explaining something, sometime either before or after their oath.

(After, he assumed. If it had been before, it seemed more likely that he would’ve ended up dead.)

“Anyway, I wouldn’t have done anything serious,” she added. “You wouldn’t have woken up married or anything.”

“It’s not you,” he assured her hastily, alarmed by the thought. “I didn’t mean to imply anything about your character, which I know is good; I know you wouldn’t have done anything like that. It’s only – you don’t always know what people think is enough, coming from the immortal mountain as you do. If someone really wanted to push the issue, or if you didn’t have the background you did, just you being in my room unattended might’ve served as an excuse. And then where would we be?”

She was silent for a while.

“You really don’t want to be married to me,” she finally said. “You’re not playing games or anything; you really don’t.”

Lan Qiren felt something lurch in his chest.

“No,” he said, painfully honest. “Did – did you?”

“Maybe a little,” she said, and Lan Qiren winced. The possibility hadn’t even occurred to him, not even when others had suggested it.

“I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” she said, and her voice was warm. “Don’t worry about me, Qiren; I’ll get over it soon enough. There’s no pain I won’t forget a day later, never learning anything, it’s just the way I am.”

He gnawed on his lower lip. “…can I ask why?”

“Why you, you mean?” He could hear her shrugging through the door, the fabric of her clothing rustling against the wall she was leaning against. “You care about things, deeply and truly. Rules, honor, the right path…I like the way you think, the way you care. You have a good heart and a good brain. Why not you?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and felt rather a wretch over the whole thing. “I didn’t mean to…to…”

She laughed. “You didn’t lead me on, Qiren! You only ever treated me as a friend, and I was, I think. Maybe still am?”

“You are,” he said, and looked down as his guqin, then sighed, picking it up and going to the door. There was no point in pretending to be in seclusion now that the knot in his heart had loosened, and he was starting to get hungry. “Come on, let’s go. I feel a need to graze on the kitchen’s leftover vegetables, as if I were a wild rabbit.”

She beamed up at him, round face shining like the moon.

The next day, after he finished doing penance for missing classes without advance notice �� two dozen strikes, but no more – Lan Qiren went down the mountain and purchased some tea said to have especially strong stimulant properties, and gave it to Cangse Sanren.

She blinked at it, then looked at him.

“If you brew this in the morning, you won’t be so tired all the time,” he told her, and shrugged. “Since we’re friends and all.”

He didn’t have that many friends – so few as to not even have recognized her as being one. He was determined to cherish them.

She smiled.

The next day after that, there was surprising news in the Cloud Recesses, the gossip reaching the classroom faster than the messenger sent there specifically for that purpose.

Wen Ruohan had come to pay a visit.

[neon-junkie]

Vanity is a Sin - Chpt.1

Summary: The last person you expected to fall for is that pretentious man, Javier Escuella, but maybe you're not so different from him after all?

Pairing: f!Reader x Javier Escuella

Word Count: 2709

Rating: SFW

Tags: Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Arguments, Bickering, Denial of feelings, Reader has a lot of self-doubts.

Notes: I’ve wanted to write a Javier multi-chapter fic for aaaages, but wanted to do something different for it. So, enemies to lovers it is, my fave trope hehe, but we don’t see much of Javiers negative side, so let’s explore that :0

Next Chapter

It's another chilly day at Horseshoe Overlook. Despite your occasional shiver and constant goosebumps, you're thankful that you're still not stuck in Colter, but that still doesn't mean you can't wish to be somewhere warmer. It seems no matter how many layers you put on, you can't quite get warm, and you question how other gang members are walking around in their summer attire, especially Arthur.

You shiver again and accidentally manage to prick your finger with the needle you're using to sew somebody's patchy pants. "Fuck sake," you mutter under your breath, looking at your finger to inspect the damage. It's nothing, and you know it's nothing, but you're in a grumpy mood, so everything feels tenfold, especially the sting to your fingertip.

You sigh, looking up at the sky, questioning why whatever being that lives up there continues to rain on your parade. It's not just you that's in a bad mood, the whole camp seems off, but Dutch continues to attempt giving his many uplifting speeches whilst he poses in his tent with a cigar in hand, not lifting a finger to do even some basic camp chores.

He's doing the same now, and your eyes gaze over him as you stop staring at the sky. There he is, the man himself, the big boss, his voice cracking every so often; that always brings a smile to your face. Your eyes follow around the rest of the camp: Hosea is the only one stood listening to him. Molly's on the other side of her tent staring into her pocket mirror because for some reason, she no longer has to pull her weight. Bill is still asleep. Mary-Beth and Tilly are beside you, still sewing away. The O'Driscoll is still tied to the tree. Strauss is... doing whatever he does. And there's Javier, gussying himself up in Arthurs mirror, no surprise there.

You'll never understand how these boys get away with doing the bare minimum, whilst yourself and the other women are the only thing keeping this camp together. Everybody knows that if the women decided to up and leave in the night, the men would end up setting the camp on fire, probably attempting to cook their own dinner... no offence to Pearson. There's a fair few, such as Arthur and Hosea, who are able to survive on their own, but you've seen Arthur attempt to do tedious jobs before and just like you, he pricks his fingers every time he sews. At least Hosea has an excuse, being in his grey years, his bones not able to move as they used to, but he makes up for it in other ways.

But Javier? What does he do? Apart from prance around the camp in his designer crocodile boots, spending an hour shaving his moustache every morning... why does he even shave his moustache like that? You asked him once, and he replied "It rubs off from all the friction." Sure, Javier, because you're obviously a very wanted man.

Unfortunately, Mary-Beth and Tilly take quite a liking to him. They've confessed what you would view as sins before, saying they both have a soft spot for the man, to which you scoffed then laughed, and ended up choking from laughing too hard.

"Why are you laughing? I don't see why you two don't get along? He's real sweet and..." Mary-Beth had begun droning on, and you eventually interrupted her with a "Where do I start?"

Needless to say, neither of them agreed with any of your opinions of Javier, apart from him not pulling his weight as much as he makes out to. But oh, he plays guitar, so that means he doesn't have to do any chores because he blares out his music all hours of the night. You've told him to quit playing so you can sleep many times, seeing as your tent is right by the campfire, to which he always glares at you and plays louder. He once even had the audacity to wake Uncle up and begin shouting Ring-A-Dang-Do.

You took your revenge by waking up early and pouring water in his boots. He knew it was you the second he put them on, sighing and glaring at you, but not being confrontational for once. At least he started putting a curfew on his music after that.

You've been manifesting in your thoughts for a while now, not realizing your name is being called out. "Huh?" you almost yelp as somebody taps your shoulder.

"Are you alright?" Tilly asks. "You've been staring into the distance again, didn't even hear us callin' your name."

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I was just thinking," you explain as you turn your attention to them.

"About what?" Mary-Beth questions.

"Nothing that's worth my time."

"Oh, boys?" Tilly questions, making all three of you laugh.

"Unfortunately."

"Well, Mary-Beth and I are all finished here. We're gonna make ourselves look decent and head into town, you coming?"

"Yeah. Let me finish up this, and I'll meet you by the wagon," you reply.

"Alright."

The pair excuse themselves, heading over to their tents to begin looking 'presentable', even though you would happily argue with them about that. They always look incredible, flawless yet effortless, whereas you constantly feel like a drowned rat...

You watch as they wander off, saying hello to Javier, who's still stood in front of Arthurs mirror. He's not even having a shave, he's just been stood there checking himself out for the last ten minutes, or however long it's been. Your brows furrow and you force yourself to tilt your head down, focusing on your final stretch of sewing, eventually finishing up, so you can put them back on the laundry pile and begin getting ready for your day out.

Going into town with your girl friends is always relaxing, something to get you out of camp, when you're not trailing in and out on your own accord. Yes, you know damn-well how to shoot a gun, along with all your other basic survival skills like hunting and fishing. Dutch was reluctant to take you on heists at first, calling you "another Karen, a woman who wants to get her hands dirty when she's needed here."

Dutch wasn't expecting you to put your money where your mouth is, trailing back into camp a few days later with more than enough cash to keep the camp happy. Only that was somewhat of a waste of time now you look back on it, your share being lost somewhere in Blackwater, along with the rest of the camps hard work and progress. Back to square one, yet again...

The sound of a thud startles you, looking over your shoulder to see that the final crate has been loaded into the wagon. The shop helper gives you a wave, and you beckon him over to tip him; he pours out his thanks before going back inside.

"Back to camp?" you question as you turn your focus to Mary-Beth and Tilly, who nod in agreement.

With a flick of the reigns, the three of you begin leaving Valentine, only popping into town to grab a few camp supplies and treats for yourselves. You've fancied a new outfit for a while, and you're excited to try it on later, maybe make yourself look nice so you can... sit by the campfire...

What else is there to enjoy in camp?

The path you're following leads you straight back to Horseshoe Overlook, and you warn the girls of the bump before crossing over the train tracks. A familiar figure can be seen in the distance, and as they approach, you realize it's Arthur on his new mount. He pulls up beside you as you stop the wagon, tipping his hat to the three of you.

"Where are you going?" you question.

"Just headin' into town. I didn't know you girls had just been there," Arthur explains.

"We only went to pick up supplies. What are you going for?" Tilly questions.

"Javier and Charles wanted to meet me at the Saloon, said I'd drop by this afternoon. They must already be there."

"You should get going then, you know what Javier is like," you complain, the words slipping from your mouth.

Arthur laughs at your statement. "You're right," he agrees. "But you two will learn to get along one day, you've gotta if you're gonna be in the same camp together."

"Arthur, there are plenty of camp members that don't get along. You and Micah, for instance?"

"...Yeah, you're right," Arthur hums in frustration. "Forget I said that then... Well, I best be going."

"See you later," the three of you reply.

Arthur gives another little nod and taps his spurs, heading into town, whilst you whip your reigns again and begin your return to camp. 

 By the time you arrive, it's almost sundown, and your evening is spent unloading the wagon and scoffing down your dinner. The night is free to do as you please, so just like you told yourself earlier, you get changed into your new clothes and make yourself look presentable, taking a seat at the campfire with the others and joining in on their story telling.

The evening is going well, relaxing and peaceful for once, even with Uncles banjo playing. All until the sound of heavy hooves come thudding back into camp; you turn to see a handful of the gang members returning from their night in town, only they don't seem too happy. They're huffing and grumbling, nursing what appear to be wounds, and it's easy to piece everything together and realize that they been in a bar fight.

A few of your fellow camp members get up from their seats at the campfire to go and check on them, and as much as you do care, you don't want to overcrowd them. You get up and make your way over to Pearson's wagon, picking out another bottle to drink. You're spoilt for choice, a nice selection of whiskeys and gins at your service, something different from cheap, warm beer.

You pick up a bottle and begin reading the label, checking the alcohol percentage and debating how drunk you want to get tonight. You don't overhear the sound of footsteps approaching, your mind paying no attention to sounds like that as you hear them all the time, but the sound of somebody speaking directly behind you makes you jump.

"That for me?" they ask. You peer over your shoulder to see Javier standing there, his hand rubbing his chin where a bruise is beginning to form.

"Why would this be for you?" you scoff, turning your body to face him, the bottle in your hands.

"Your poor camp member has just been in a fight, yet you won't help nurse them?" Javier questions with a laugh.

"That's your own fault, plus I ain't your mother."

You begin to walk off, but the comment Javier makes forces you to stop in your tracks. "Mary-Beth and Tilly would."

"Go and ask them then," you roll your eyes, turning to face Javier again. Who does he think you are? He begins to softly laugh and the sound makes you gag, so artificial, just like the rest of him.

"But what if I want you to help me? Surely you don't dislike me that much."

"I do, so I'd suggest you ask them."

You try and walk away yet again, and Javier mutters something under his breath. "You'll learn to like me eventually." Another scoffing sound escapes your lips as you frown at him, leaning against Pearson's table and crossing your arms, your bottle in hand.

"You know, I've never seen you wear purple before. It suits you," you smirk.

"Oh, very funny," Javier says as he raises his eyebrows. He approaches you, his strides small and slow, stopping right before you. His hand moves away from his bruise, his skin turning a deeper purple as every second passes, but your eyes are drawn to his; They're dark and blown, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, staring into yours. He's too close for your liking, you can smell the tobacco in his system with every exhale, his breathing deep, still clearly worn out from the fight.

"What's your issue with me?" Javier asks. "I mean, I've never done anything to upset you, not that I know of, but you've always had something against me."

"I've told you before," you begin as you uncross your arms, placing your bottle down on the table and resting your hands on your hips. "You don't do shit around this camp. You'll drag a sloppy score in here and there, but your vanity distracts you from doing some proper work, chores and what-not."

"Vanity?" Javier repeats the word with a laugh. "There's no harm in looking good, at least you're putting some effort in tonight. Did you buy this today?" Javier asks as he goes to tough the fabric of your blouse, but you swat his hand away.

"You're as bad as Micah," you spit at him.

"Mhmm, we both know that's a lie. For starters, I do a lot more than him around here, and you know it-"

"Please, will the pair of you quit it already?" Dutch calls out as he approaches. He must have noticed the way you two were stood so close, squaring up to each other, both too egotistical to let the other talk them down.

Dutch puts his arm out between your bodies, lightly pushing both of you away, forcing you to take a few small steps back. "I've said before that you don't have to get along, but these pathetic arguments happen far too often. Either you both drop this, or I'll have to find a way to make you get along," Dutch threatens, and you know he'll stay true to his word.

You don't bother saying anything, glaring at Javier once more before turning heel and walking away. "You forgot your drink," Javier calls out to you.

"Seems I've lost my appetite," you call back, and you overhear Dutch sigh at your comment.

Part of you feels sick, and you're unsure if that's from the adrenaline pumping in your veins, or the nerves Javier has shaken into you. Why was he stood so close? Your noses were almost touching, and you wouldn't be surprised if he kissed you just to wind you up even more. You try to keep your mind clear as you enter your enclosed tent, taking off your makeup and getting ready for bed, but you can still feel Javier's hot breaths on your skin.

You debate having a towel bath, wanting to wipe away the sin of being so close to that irritating man, but you're already in bed with no motivation to move. As you roll over, the sound of his guitar grows outside, forcing you to place your head under the pillow in an attempt to drown the music out. He's a good musician, and you're happy to admit that, but why does everything about him have to be so... him?

The perfectly coordinated outfits, the way his steel toe boots are always shining, the effortless yet pristine ponytail he always wears, the confidence and vanity in everything he says. He's like one of those flawless characters you've found in awfully written books, no weaknesses or downfalls, no ugly days, everybody loves him, yet his artificialness makes you sick.

And he knows it makes you sick, and he loves to play on it. Tonight isn't the first time he's got up close and personal with you. You know he studies your every move, watching your body language, checking to see if blush grows on your cheeks, searching for your insecurities. The comment he made earlier is still on repeat in your mind... "at least you're putting some effort in tonight." What a smug bastard. He knows how low your self-esteem is, yet you weren't expecting him to pull a Micah and make a comment like that.

But this is what he wants. He wants it to settle in your brain, to weigh you down and make you feel even worse. You just have to not let that happen, but that's easier said than done...

[riverkloss]

My entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie for her 500 challenge! My twist on Hansel and Gretel! Plus I made a moodboard which is super nice if I say so myself. ❤

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I hated the dress, it was pretty but the way it hung on my body, the color, for what it stood for.

Purity, Marriage, to be chained down to a man, one I didn't love.

Harold's mother Mary was fixating on my hair, near pulling it out at the roots, I fought back the winces, at one point I thought about turning around and grabbing her hair to yank it out of her scalp.

She was tall, thin, she reminded me of a spider, her dark hair pulled into a bun, neat and tightly. A dark dress as if she was in mourning, I was.

She was acting as if I was her porcelain doll to dress up, one without a mind.

The reflection was haunting me, this girl staring back at me. Blank eyes, a trembling lip. It didn't look like me, she looked like a stranger, she looked lost.

Mary yanked again at my roots while braiding my hair, a burning pain running alongside my scalp, I hissed in pain. "Stop moving." She scolded me as if I was a child, I huffed out a breath of anger.

Hero's head perked up watching carefully with those big brown eyes of his, alerted and waiting. He was a very intimidating looking dog, but a big baby to me. He was a mutt, half sure he was a German Shepherd, and a Husky, his eyes always on me watching everything I did.

The last of his litter, the runt. Once I got him he grew and grew, he seemed to get bigger everyday.

My best and only friend.

"Is that what you have packed?" Her voice had a distasteful tone. I turned my head to follow her gaze on my trunk, a box full of books neatly stacked on top.

"Yes, May I ask why?"

I looked at her confused, I shifted the front of my body towards her, relieved that my hair was free of the clutches of her fingers.

"You won't be needing all those books, you won't have time to read once you have children." Her eyes look for an imperfection in my face, ready to fix it.

A sickening feeling turns my stomach. I will have to lie in bed with him, have his children.

The thought makes me ill.

"We need the money." The sentence my mother told me runs in my head.

"You should feel grateful for marrying my son." She states, her lip almost upturning in a snarl.

I want to tell her that her son is a pig, a ugly little repulsive pig with his head up her ass, the words die in my throat, I felt incapacitated by my own words, my mind, constantly double thinking over myself.

"Tell your husband that my dog likes to sit in the front seat." It felt good to push back even the slightest at her.

"Didn't your mother tell you? The mutt isn't coming with you, Harold has never been fond of dogs or any pets, dirty things." Those words pushed me back more, I actually let out a laugh in disbelief.

"I've seen dirtier." I smirked at her, I watched her open her mouth to say something as her face switched to spite.

"Mary? The guests are arriving." I hear her husband call out from behind the closed door.

Her hateful gaze doesn't intimidate me.

If anything it fuels me more.

"You best pray to God before the ceremony." Is all she says before she leaves me alone.

I bite back the untasteful words to tell her to shove God up her ass.

I turn my body towards my mirror once again, laying my palms flat on my vanity, so many emotions running through me.

Alone.

There was no stirring through the house, everyone was outside in the front of the house, my chance was open, and I was a fool if I stayed, lived in misery.

I was a fool to take it too, but a free fool was better than one who had none and was still a fool at the end of the day.

I needed a sign. A sign from any of the gods, I pleaded to any of them who would listen.

Then I heard the chime of bells, from the windchime against my window. There it was.

The last gaze I had in the mirror, at the girl who had the glint of a spark in her stormy eyes, a soft smile on her lips.

I darted for my carry bag, shifting my books off my trunk and stuffing clothes in, the few dollars I had, along with the few books I could take, feeling a loss for the others I had to leave behind.

"Let's go, Hero." I waved my hand, he sprinted up quickly to follow behind me, as I moved through the house quickly and quietly, to the kitchen. I opened the back door, the warmth of the spring air hitting me, as I stepped out the door. Hero was at my side as I closed the door behind me.

I turned my head, and my Uncle was leaning against the house smoking a cigarette, he looked at me, panic ran through my body.

And as I thought my freedom was vanishing through my fingers.

"Keep to the trail." He nodded to the woods, he took a deep inhale of his cigarette.

A breath of relief escaped my chest.

"Thank you."

He waved a hand. "See you later, Kid."

I smiled softly. "See you later."

I knew there wasn't a later, but it was better that way than saying goodbye.

The woods were only steps away, and I ran for life, for freedom.

I was a free fool.

~~~

Dark clouds came overhead, the night rolling in as the sun went down, the birds quieting.

My legs were heavy and burning, and Hero kept at my side, patiently.

"Are you lost?" A smoky voice says, making me jump with a gasp, my heart felt like it was going to pop from my chest.

I turned my body towards the trees. A tall man stepped out of the tree line, but didn't step on the trail, his hair was dark, braided and shaved at the sides, scuff lining his boyish features. I noticed a small birthmark on his cheek near his nose. He looked familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. He was quite handsome.

"No, I'm not lost." I stated confidently. Hero didn't react to him, which was odd because Hero didn't like strangers. It made me slightly uneasy.

He perked up a dark brow at me, a charming smirk.

"Are you sure?" He was looking at my dress, his smirk getting slightly bigger.

"I would think you would be at a wedding."

I held onto my bag tightly, ready to strike first if it came that way.

"You should know that they are waiting for you at the end of the trail, they thought they would let you walk to defeat." He turns his head briefly to look down.

My face morphs in surprise for a moment, but it's something that my mother would do. That I believe.

"Why are you telling me?"

He bite his tongue with his sharpest canines.

"You're pretty."

I scoffed. I knew what I looked like, yes I was pretty, but men didn't want wives that outweighed them, or intimidated them.

Weak men.

"I know a way off the trail, one you won't get caught."

I pressed my lips together.

"How can I trust you when I don't know you, you're a stranger in my eyes.

"My name is Hvitserk, now we aren't strangers." He smiled at me.

He outstretched his hand for me to take, but I was still weary of him.

"If you try anything Hvitserk, I will let my dog tear you apart." I stated.

I reached for his hand, and he helped me step from the trail into the treeline, Hero followed and began walking in front of us.

"I'm curious, why did you run away, was the husband-to-be grotesque?" He is toying with something in his pocket and pulls out a few wild berries, he pops one into his mouth.

I laughed at that. "I don't want to be held down in a loveless, freedomless marriage, I want more."

He nods, listening to every word, while popping berries into his mouth.

"My father is pushing us boys to find wives, he is more in the old ways about it, stealing a woman and taking her to the underworld." I laugh a little at the underworld part.

"Like Hades and Persephone?"

He raises his eyebrows at me.

"You know that story?"

"I've always liked that story, My parents hated when I read books like that, they thought it would tamper with my mind." I whirl my finger around my temple.

"He stole her away, but they actually loved each other, he treated her with equality and respected her, never cheated on her, or had stray eyes for another, he would destroy the world if she asked." I continued.

He held out his hand to offer me a red berry and plucked one with my finger. I put the berry in my mouth, it was so sweet and ripe against my tongue, almost a cinnamon hint to it.

"If you asked me, I would too."

I playfully rolled my eyes, taking another berry, then another.

"Though my Mother doesn't want to admit it, I think she went willingly as well."

"Oh?" I peer at Hero who is still walking ahead. I paid little attention to what he said, but I should have.

"She ate the berries my Father offered to her, and she became tied to the underworld."

I stare at him like he's grown two heads.

And my gaze goes to the berry in my fingers,

Red and plump, I feel drunk all of a sudden and light like I am floating.

He curls himself around me, and I gasp.

"I think Cerberus will be glad to see his son again." He chimes.

He holds onto my full hip with a heavy grasp.

"I'm sure you'll give me sons too." His gaze darkens on me, he leans down to my lips and my heart feels heavy.

He presses his lips to mine, and I'm engulfed in hellfire.

Maybe being in the Underworld won't be so bad.

[whirlybirbs]

✩   --   BLEACH ON A BUZZCUT    ;   1 / 1

summary: captain rex needs to fix his hair. you help. pairing: captain rex x war correspondent!reader, established relationship warning: angst! and tenderness! mention of fives’ death. word count: 2.2k a/n: dedicated to @cyber-nya. i will probably write more about these two if people are interested. i really love this idea of a war correspondent for the HNN! would be fun. 

Captain Rex, in all his years, has always ensured one, simple thing through the long, grueling tide of war:

His hair will always be blonde. 

Save for that three month campaign on Kashyyyk, that is. Back then, dying his hair was the last on a long list of concerns. Food, shelter, and not drowning in the heavy monsoon months were at the top. His hair had grown out into angry little blonde tipped tufts, then. The roots of his hair looked like that of his brother’s. His beard, just as dark as the roots, itched. General Skywalker had laughed, citing the fact he’d never seen Rex with anything but his usual bleach blonde buzz. 

“You don’t look like the Rex I’m used to.”

He sighs and runs a hand over the grown-out buzz in the barrack’s bathroom mirror. 

The words stuck.

Anaxes reminds him of Kashyyyk. Different, but... 

He feels the same. Tired, weary, and alone. 

You plant your knuckles on the open archway of the bathroom as if you’d heard that thought from across the clamoring airbase. The rap-rap-rap snaps him from his stint in the land of self-pity. Rex’s eyes, warm and soft, land on you leaning in the doorway. 

You frown. You know that look on his face.

“Been looking for you.”

Rex, fresh out of the shower, moves to the bench where his blacks sit. Beside those, a half-used bottle of bleach that’s been living in his foot locker for the last month. Beside that, a cup he’s stolen from the mess. Kix had lended him a pair of mint-colored surgical gloves, as per usual. Sure, maybe it’s a gross disuse of GAR medical materials, but... His vanity outweighs his guilt. 

First though, he needs to shave. The three day old stubble is begin to rub the inside of his helmet wrong.

Rex, GAR issued towel hanging on his hips, snags the razor on the edge of the bench and turns back to run the water of the sink.

You’re moving across the room. You’re quiet -- and you’re watching the way the Captain wets the razor. You’re quick, snagging the GAR issued travel tin of dry-to-wet shaving cream from atop his folded blacks. You hand it to him, and Rex’s eyes sit on your for a moment. 

“Everything okay?”

You lean against the mirror in the space between his sink and the one behind you. Your arms are crossed tightly. 

Rex, ducking his chin and snagging a dab of the shaving cream, smears the foamy substance across the sharp curve of his jaw. You watch a bit enamored with the gesture, following the trail of white that paints the planes of his cheeks. Only when it’s even does he speak.

“Fine,” it’s tempered and slow, “You?”

You almost snort. “Rex...”

“Tired,” he supplies, then, realizing yeah, he’s being a little unfair, “I’m... tired.” 

“You’re being called a hero,” you push yourself off the wall, spreading your stance and tilting your head, “You and Echo and --”

“Yeah.”

Oh. Your mouth closes almost immediately. Guilt washes over both your faces. 

Rex drops his head again. “Sorry --”

“No,” you shake your head as he leans to grab the plastoid razor. The handle is battered and chipped. It’s his trusty one -- one that’s followed him in his pack on nearly every mission he’s run. It fits in his hand neatly. He drums it against the sink as you shake your head, “I... I know it probably sucks... Seeing him go.”

Rex snorts. Then, with an incredibly steady hand, carves a clean shaven path through the shaving cream along his cheek. He finishes the swipe, flicks off the foam, and huffs. 

“He’ll be okay,” Rex says, voice wavering, “Just, uh... I’d thought it might be like old days.”

Your heart whines. Hurt pulls at your features. Rex ignores his own heartache. 

Things are different. This isn’t Kashyyk. Not like when he had Fives and Echo and Jesse and Kix and Hardcase by his side. Not like when Torrent was whole, or when Ahsoka minded his recklessness and him hers. Everything is different. 

And he was stupid to think it could be the same.

Rex is quiet while he finishes shaving. By the end of it, he feels a bit better. Cleaner. Less run ragged. The blonde, bulky and wide with muscle, bends over and splashes his face clean in the sink. 

You touch his shoulder when he stands up. 

“Hey,” you say, “I’m not goin’ anywhere, you know.”

Rex’s lip quirks. 

You have long since become a fast fixture in his life. The affections between you both had blossomed and bloomed and... it had culminated in nights spent together in small cots on planets near and far. It was an unspoken bond -- one that was sewn together with stolen kisses and wandering hands in the final hours of war torn nights. 

You’d met him months ago -- before the Outer Rim sieges had risen to the escalation they sat at now -- when you’d been working public relations and doing press releases for Senator Amidala and the other Republic aligned senators. 

You’d shook hands with General Skywalker on the terrace of the Naboo Senator’s balcony, and then his Captain’s. The Jaigeyes on his helmet betrayed the kind eyes beneath. 

(You were beautiful, standing there in the sun before him. Even now, in the humming overheard lights of the Anaxes barrack bathroom, you’re beautiful.)

Two weeks later, you’d been sent to tail the 501st and report on the war for the HoloNet News in juncture with the Outer Rim Node. HNN had been wanting a reporter in the field for a while now and... Padmé had put in good word.

“Keep an eye on Anakin,” she’d smiled, “And Rex, too, will you?”

You kept that promise you made. 

Rex is standing before you now -- tanned skin marred with starlight colored scars. They dash across the planes of his chest and abdomen like comets in the sky. One scar, a large circular hole that swirls in the center of his chest like a collapsing star, has its own gravity. The scars on his body paint a universe in and of itself. Mapped and ever expanding.

He touches your cheek. His hands are warm and calloused.

“I know.”

The smile you give him is reserved for moments like this. Tender. Quiet.

You lean into the touch and kiss his palm. Rex chases the touch with a sturdy press of his lips to your forehead. He speaks against your brow.

“Gotta fix my hair.”

You laugh. “I do love blondes.”

Rex’s chest rocks in amusement. He moves away, towards the bench -- you linger. The electric buzzer, copped off Jesse, hums alive in Rex’s hands. You touch his forearm. Brown eyes look up in question.

“I can help,” you say, “I don’t mind.”

He lets you take the clippers from his hands. And then, he move to stand in front of the mirror again. You trail behind, a head shorter than the trooper, and crack a wry smile when Rex bends -- with an expression of haughty pride -- so you can reach his head. 

The peek of brown has climbed up his short bleached hair. It feels odds to reveal a trail of dark brown hair when you run the clippers over his head. You teeter on the balls of your feet, catching a smirk in the mirror on the Captain’s face at the need to get a better view of his head. You swat at his back. He laughs. 

The work is easy enough -- and in a minute or so, Rex looks more like Cody than himself. It’s disorienting. His hair was so... his... that the absence of the blonde made him look so much like his brothers. You’d not thought of him as a clone for a long time, now. This moment serves as a reminder.

It’s a bit of a punch in the face.

His life -- as treasured as it is in your hands -- is nothing to the Republic he fights for. The thought is one you’ve bitterly swallowed down for months. All of them... hundreds of thousands of men. Nothing but canon fodder. Nothing but numbers on a datapad. 

Rex notes the discomfort on your face. 

He runs his hands over his fresh buzz and drops his hands to his waist. The defined muscles of his stomach move as he exhales.

“I hate it, too.”

“Does it bother you?” you mumble, “Looking so much like...”

“Like Jesse?” Rex snorts, “Sure does. Ugly sonuva --”

Your laugh makes him sport a wry grin. You shake your head, moving to eye the job. You did a decent enough buzz. The bleach will hide the imperfections, of course. You swipe at the back of his head and brush some hair from his shoulders. 

"Why do you think I bleach the life outta my hair, huh?” Rex supplies as he leans around to grab the half used bottle of bleach -- the tube is blue and reads Fancy’s Hair & Dye down the side in Aurebesh. It’s the best brand he’s used; a favorite. No need for two rounds. Does the job in one sitting. 

“Because I like blondes?”

A joke.

He laughs. You snag the bottle out of his hands, then point to the bench as you read the label. 

“Sit.”

“Didn’t know you were a stylist.”

You swat his shoulder. Still, you’re reading. And when you finish, satisfied with the thirty minute wait time outline on the bottle, you hand it back and reach for the gloves.

“... You don’t have to --”

“Rex,” you mutter, “Shut up and let me dye your hair, will you?”

His smirk digs into his cheeks. “Why should I?”

You snap the gloves on and brace a knee on the bench beside his hip. In the mirror across the room, you can see the wrinkles along his cheeks return with his amused expression. You plant a sturdy kiss to his temple. 

“This,” you say, opening up the bleach and quickly making work at spreading it along his scalp. It reminds you of shitty bleach jobs you did in university -- drunk in communal bathrooms surrounded by your classmates. It’s not neat, but you try to make the bleach even along his head, “is the most relaxing thing I’ve done in weeks.”

“War’s hell.”

“Eugh,” you recoil, “This stuff smells like hell.”

Rex grins. “Extra strength.”

“It’s that Mandalorian hair,” you chirp, smoothing the bleach. Rex’s eyes lull shut, “I never realized how dark it was.”

“It’s deceiving.”

“I like the blonde better,” you say, then adding, “On you, I mean.”

"Not a fan of Crys’ hair?”

You scoff. The 212th trooper had sunshine colored hair. Not like the near silver of Rex’s. His look was high-maintenance. Rex’s was... battle-ready. Easy. Handsome. Not pretty like Crys tried for. 

“Despite the brotherly similarities,” you grin, satisfied with the now purple colored head before you, “I really do only have eyes for you, Cap.”

Rex rolls his eyes. “As if you wouldn’t drop me for Wolffe in a heartbeat.”

Another swat. Rex is going to start keeping count. You chuck the gloves in the trash, moving to prop yourself up on the bench next to the Captain as the bleach sets. “That was before --”

“Before you realized I was this handsome under the bucket?”

When you’d first began operating within the 501st, you’d had a few run-in’s with the Wolfpack. Their commander had readily stolen your attention, much to Rex’s dismay. He’d been pining for weeks by that point, and to hear you vocalize your evident attraction to the gruff vod’ika ticked a blonde right off. You still haven’t lived it down. 

“Wolffe is... mysterious,” you shrug, “His holonet segments got a lot of traction, you know. Almost as much as -- ...”

Almost as much as Fives.

Charismatic, kind, and handsome. Funny, too. 

Rex squeezes your knee. “Hey.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Still hurts.”

“Kills.” 

His arm snakes around your shoulders. Your cheek knocks his bare shoulder. The shared grief ripples around you both tightly. But there’s comfort there. Two souls, hurting -- together. Better than before, and Rex certainly doesn’t feel as lonely as he did when he first set out to fix the blonde on his head.

The kiss is a little jumbled. Your nose bumps his and your teeth clack. It’s sweet and tender and you have to laugh into the gesture. No matter how often you two come together like this, in comfort and in passion, it still yields lovesick results. The 501st Captain has you wrapped around his thumb. It shows, especially when you lean in to steal another moment of the kiss. 

Anaxes reminds him of Kashyyyk. Different, but...

He didn’t have you on Kashyyyk. 

Now, he’s not so tired, weary, and alone. 

But, still blonde.

[cheri-translates]

Poetry in the wind (a translated one-shot)

This one-shot, 我知道风里有诗句, was originally written by 你想笑死我继承我的公主裙 on Weibo, who has given me permission to translate it!

Mildly suggestive, but nothing graphic!

[ 1 ]

“Boss, are you heading back to your own place today?” Kiki’s voice drifts to your ear.

Walking inattentively with your head lowered, you’re caught off guard. You nod. “Huh? That’s right.”

From a certain point in time, everyone started assuming that you were cohabiting with Gavin.

It was probably due to the increasing number of feminine jackets, towels and clothes you’ve been leaving behind in Gavin’s wardrobe, which previously only contained his uniforms...

Or maybe it was how whenever Gavin set out on missions, you'd make a rare trip home and realise that your most frequently used lipstick has been left in Gavin’s bedside drawer...

You recall that early morning - how he was shaving in front of the mirror, pyjamas not worn properly. It was almost impossible for you to look away, eyes drawn to his faintly discernible pectoral muscles...

The lower half of his face is hidden behind the razor and foam. His gaze meets yours in the mirror, trying his best to maintain a veneer of calm while his ears and the back of his neck redden.

Just when you’re about to tease him, you’re lifted off the ground and set atop the ice cold vanity unit. Your hands instinctively shift backwards, trying to reach for something. But all you manage to grip is a tube of lipstick.

He holds onto your shoulders, giving you a deep kiss tasting of peppermint. A cooling breeze surrounds you.

In a hazy state, you hear your own voice, sweet and cloying. “Gavin, mm, it’s very cold. I don’t want to do it here.”

While coquettish whines leave your lips, your body is less dishonest, clawing uninhibitedly at the large opening of his pyjamas.

As though he has reached the limits of his patience, Gavin huffs softly, his hand supporting the back of your head as he leans down, sucking and biting lightly on your neck repeatedly.

At this moment, your Evol channels a premonition of imminent danger, so you attempt to pull away for a break. But he doesn’t give you a chance to back out. 

In the end, he forces you to call him “Senior” again and again.

Afterwards, he helps you put on your nightgown, and makes a call to your office to apply for a day of leave on your behalf. In your hand, you’re still clutching onto that tube of lipstick.

Your face involuntarily heats up at the memory.

In fact, your Mr Gavin has never expressly invited you to cohabit with him. Instead, it appears as though you’ve forcefully integrated yourself into his life.

“Then again... there’s nothing wrong with a girl taking the initiative!” Although you comfort yourself with such a notion, you still feel pangs of unhappiness surging in the depths of your heart.

Which is why you’re quietly returning to your own apartment now that Officer Gavin is out on a mission.

-

[ 2 ]

It’s the first night since Gavin left for his mission. You’re lying on the pink bed you haven’t seen in a long time. But sleep doesn’t arrive.

“I really want to hear Gavin’s voice. He should be busy - that’s why he hasn’t called...” You assuage yourself.

But without the sense of security typically provided by the cushioning of his arm, the sense of loneliness is almost unbearable.

At this moment, his special ringtone sounds. Your body moves more quickly than your brain, and you answer his call in the next second.

His voice is both soft and gentle. “I called home just now but no one answered, so I was a little worried. Did I wake you?”

“Ah... that’s because I... I went back to my own place.”

For some reason, you feel slightly guilty, so you hurriedly divert the conversation.

“Gavin, is the situation going smoothly over there? How many days would you take?”

Officer Gavin refuses to let go of the topic. “Did something happen? Why did you return to your own house?”

You stammer, and every word you manage to squeeze out is tinged with unhappiness. “But you never said that I could stay in your house...”

A voice drifts from the other end of the line - no matter how many years have gone by, it’s as clear as always.

“All right, I was wrong.” He admits his mistake sincerely and directly.

He pauses, seriousness seeping into his voice. “Is my Princess willing to give me a chance, and move in with me?”

“Of course!” You cheer, leaping out of the bed, the cloudiness that has been weighing on your mind for days dissipating in an instant.

He continues. “Mm... I didn’t mention it because I thought you understood why there are so many ginkgo trees in the yard, why there’s a grand piano in the bedroom, and why there are so many photo frames in the house containing the pictures we took together. This is a house for the both of us - it’s always been from the start. Go home. Mm, be good. Where else do you want to run off to?”

His voice is flooded with unconcealed affection. With every sentence, and every promise, your heart grows warm, and you feel yourself tearing up. 

As the master of ruining the mood, you suddenly ask, “What about my dressing table?”

“What?” 

When he finally reacts to what you just said, you hear a soft chuckle. “I’m not good at buying furniture. But you could pick one you like. I’ll be back in a few days. When I’ve returned... I’ll build it for you.”

-

[ 3 ]

You’re lazing on the sofa, mindlessly flipping through a comic called “Love and Producer”, while your other hand is gripping a cup of milk tea. Bringing the straw to your lips, you give it a suck.

Your gaze is on Gavin, whose back is facing you. Wearing an I-shaped vest, he's currently installing a dressing table on a rug. Following the instruction manual, he screws the pieces together, his muscles appearing distinctively. Even the scars on his back exude sexiness.

Feeling mischievous, you remove your bunny slippers, stepping onto the rug. 

A pair of delicate hands snake around Gavin’s waist, burrowing into his vest.

“Don’t... do that.” His voice is a little hoarse.

You lean in, noticing the evident beads of sweat on his forehead. Pressing yourself even closer to him, you deliberately ask, “Gavin, why are you so hot? Let me wipe you dry~”

With one hand wrapped around his waist, your other hand slowly inches downwards. Gavin finally gives in, pausing his installation work. He whips his head around, coarse hands stopping your misbehaving ones from roaming further and igniting flames on his skin.

Now that he’s facing you, you can see the deep, unconcealed desire in his gaze. Forcing yourself to maintain eye contact with him, you say with false bravado, “I’m helping you wipe the sweat off. Why are you being so fierce! I’m going to watch the television. Fix it quickly.”

“All right,” he chuckles.

Planting a quick kiss on his collarbone scar, you get to your feet and rush to the sofa. Only then do you heave a sigh of relief while patting your chest, as though you’re a little bunny which barely escaped from a fright.

At the sight of your adorable antics, Gavin smiles. In his eyes, what’s reflected is genuine tenderness, as well as the resplendence in his world.

During his years as a student, he had kept a secret deep in his heart. It was one he never shared with anyone, and it was one he never dared to anticipate. 

Although he had pictured hundreds and thousands of futures, he never expected that his present reality would be even more complete and perfect than imagined.

All the unfairness, coldness and pain he persevered through were healed the moment he met you.

Ever since, he has never again blamed fate, since it led him to you.

-

More translated works: here

-

[ Permission to translate ]

你想笑死我继承我的公主裙: Can~ Thank you for liking it

[winetae]

wall to wall (m.) 01

↳ in a pornographic movie, refers to a series of sex scenes with no plot.

⇁ female reader x hoseok 

⇁ smut, porn star!au

⇁ sex work, insecurity, jealousy, slut shaming/objectification (not the sexy kind), role played scenario that includes: d/s dynamics - dom!hoseok, porn star level dirty talk, stuff that should never happen in a kitchen bc hygiene, daddy kink, impreg kink, rough sex, spanking, a lot of finger sucking, this fic is a poor attempt at social commentary

⇁ 22.5k

. . .

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

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

part 01 | part 02 | part 03

author’s note | inspired by the piece ‘slut-shaming: pornstars are humans too’ & the life after porn documentaries on netflix. thank u to jordan, eva, amy, venus, addie and lu for being a part of this collab !! *inserts a million heart emojis and a big fat NUT emoticon*

re:warnings, the slut shaming is done by others and can also be considered as internalized oppression. it’s something the reader struggles with and eventually works to overcome. this first part isn’t as smutty as the second but regardless i hope u can bear with me lol. ty, as always, for giving my writing a chance. i hope u enjoy it or at least take something from it !

wall2wall can be read as a sequel to my fic money shot. same disclaimer applies: this story does claim to accurately portray the world of adult entertainment

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SCENE 01 - YOU’VE GOT MALE. TAKE 01. ROLL A.

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Today is just one of those days you wish you had slept straight through. Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t be dying from the sheer dullness of having nothing to do.

You huff out a sigh, bored out of your goddamn mind.

Head cradled in the crook of your left palm, you use your available hand to refresh your instagram feed. Much to your disappointment, nothing new shows up. The same video of a dog chasing its own tail plays on but you pay it no heed, the novelty having worn off after the first few times.

The next half hour passes by in a similar fashion, each result proving to be as unavailing as the last. You’d think that after a while you’d give up and find a new distraction to pass the time but whether out of habit or boredom-induced insanity, you persist with your fruitless attempts.

Today really fucking blows, you think glumly, the curve of your mouth thinning into a grimace. As the adorable corgie keeps the infernal cycle going, yapping and running around incessantly, you’re struck with a terrifying thought. Maybe this is how you will die - condemned to live your life stuck in the worst sort of monotony imaginable.

What you had expected to be a “quick and easy” shoot has turned into a tedious ordeal that you don’t see ending anytime soon. And whilst on-set complications and prolongations are frequent enough that they’re almost expected, today really takes the cake. Even during your rookie days, you can’t recall running into delays of this scale.

To top it off, the weather app announces a record-breaking heat - which in itself is bad enough. As luck would have it, it gets worse. The place rented out for today’s filming lacks proper air conditioning, equipped instead with electric fans that look like they’ve been around since the 1980s.

A quick glance into the vanity mirror confirms that you look as frazzled as you feel. Because of the humidity level that weighs down the air, your hair is in a right state. You fight a grimace off your face. The straggly hair coupled with the oily sheen on your face...it’s far from your best look, to say the least.

And to think thousands of people will get to see it up close in 1080p resolution... It’s a terrifying concept.

You’re already dreading the upcoming sex scenes that you’ve yet to film. It’s always a messy affair - fluids of all kind end up literally everywhere - but the sweltering heat undoubtedly makes it ten times worse. A shudder works its way down your spine.

Frankly speaking, the mere thought of having hot and wild sex in these less than ideal working conditions kills your libido. Under the glaring studio lights, surrounded by sweaty crewmen and pressed up an equally feverish body - it’s basically the porn equivalent of a fuckin’ barbecue party.

Yeah, no thanks. You’d rather be at home, with the air conditioner at full blast, nestled in the comfy cushions of your sofa as you marathon a series of your choice on netflix. Only the promised sum of money keeps you from bolting and calling it quits altogether.

“So when are you gonna drop the new boy toy?” a voice buzzes in your ear not unlike a pesky fly.

Tempting as it is to ignore it, you peel your eyes away from your reflection just in time to catch Seokjin shoot you the most unimpressed look in his repertoire, one perfectly groomed eyebrow arched in judgment.

In the background, an old ceiling fan whirs on but does nothing to cool you off. If anything, its constant rattling only exacerbates your growing headache.

“What are you talking about?" You flick a piece of imaginary lint off your dressing robe, your tone neutral.

Seokjin’s brown eyes see right through your feigned air of indifference. Months of working by your side have made him an expert at reading your body language, be it naked or clothed. A wolfish grin adorns his face as he swoops in for the kill.

“Oh come on. You know exactly who I’m talking about. Jongmin. He’s short - comes up to right about here.” Seokjin holds a hand up to his chest to illustrate his point, deliberately shaving off a few inches off your boyfriend’s height in order to antagonize you.

You bite the inside of your cheek, careful not to spit out the retort that’s perched on the tip of your tongue. It takes a great deal of effort to unclench the muscles in your jaw but you manage to school your features into an expression of polite confusion.

Seokjin frowns, dissatisfied with your lack of response. You don’t need to be a mind reader to know that he’s currently thinking of new ways to provoke you.

When the silence stretches on and he’s yet to riposte, you allow yourself  to relax again, believing that he’s given up on being an asshole.

To your chagrin, you’re sorely mistaken. The last of your self-restraint is finally put to the test as his next words do nothing to quell your irritation.

“Jongmin.” He repeats slowly, like you need it spelled out for you. “He follows you around everywhere like a lap dog. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so, you know, pathetic.”

“His name is Jimin,” you correct for the nth time.

Instantly, you reprimand yourself for playing into his games and granting him the attention he so craves. Fulfilling his twisted desire is the last thing you hope to achieve. Staying silent would be the sensible thing to do but your brain completely bypasses the memo. The moment your mouth opens it’s impossible to quash the urge to justify yourself.

Maybe it’s your pride coming into play. Maybe it’s Seokjin’s uncanny ability to get under anyone’s skin at will. Whatever the case may be, you stammer out, on the defensive, “And he’s not my 'boy toy'. We - it’s not - we’re dating.” But the word feels like a weight on your tongue. You swallow.

The statement earns you a scoff of incredulity. “Dating? Him?”

You finally set your phone down and aim a glare his way, abandoning all pretense at being indifferent because—Jesus. Is the idea of you dating that unfathomable? He’s never been this worked up over any of your other relationships. Granted, none of them have ever lasted this long but is it really any of his business who you choose to see in your free time?

“I don’t get what your problem is. What’s so wrong with me dating?”

“Have you seen who you’re dating?”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?!”

While this isn’t the first time your agent lets a judgmental comment slip from between his pearly white teeth, it’s usually not laced with spite. Seokjin is never outright hostile, preferring sweet words of manipulation and thinly-veiled insults to shows of aggression. The attempt to get a rise out of you does not go by unnoticed. His anger, this time, feels personal.

You wrack your brain, quickly sifting through your recent memories to try and figure out why he’s chosen to be such an ass today. You’re certain that you’ve filled out all the necessary paperwork required to proceed with today’s filming, and yes, after thinking it over, you know that you went to the obligatory medical checkup last week. So there really is no reason for him to bitch at you unless—

The proverbial light bulb flickers on and it all suddenly makes sense.

You’re willing to bet a hefty sum of money that the high-paying gig you turned down two weekends ago is to blame for his abnormal crotchety behavior.

Yes, that would explain it.

Due to Seokjin's well-known propensity to hold a grudge for longer than average, the odds that he’s still hung up over the lost deal are pretty high. And as much as his disappointment and frustration are understandable from a business standpoint, you don’t appreciate being used as a verbal punching bag for him to expel all those pent-up feelings.

Seokjin hums, a knowing smirk pulling the sides of his mouth upwards. Fleetingly, and not for the first time, you find it a shame that his cockiness tarnishes his otherwise handsome face. “I give it another couple of days until you get bored. How long has this gone on for? A month? How are you not yanking out your hair from the sheer boredom of dating...that."

A muscle in your jaw ticks.

“He’s not Voldemort, you coward. Would it honestly kill you to say his name?” Seokjin’s expression begs to differ. You cut him off before he can add fuel to the fire. “And I won’t get bored. Jimin’s - he’s a perfectly nice guy. We’ve been seeing each other just fine—not that it’s any of your concern.”

“Yes, he’s nice,” Seokjin concedes easily, brushing off any attempts at putting an end to the conversation. He grins, wide and smug, like he knows you can’t refute what he’ll say next. “Perfectly nice and boring. The kind of guy you’d bring back home if your parents were straight-laced folks that wanted to marry you off to a choir boy. Seriously, how the fuck did a guy like him end up in the porn industry? He belongs in a church or, I dunno, maybe some neighborhood book club - not behind a camera filming you getting flogged by a daddy dom.”

You sniff. “Just because he tucks his shirts in doesn’t—”

“It’s not just the shirts, honey.” He leans over to pat your hand in a gesture of consolation. Used to his antics, his attempt is easily blocked by a swat of your hand.

You muster the dirtiest look you’re capable of, the kind of look that sends men to early graves, but he simply smiles in response, completely unfazed.

Any person with the minimum amount of tact would know to politely change the subject. It’s unfortunate that your agent does not belong to that pool of individuals, choosing instead to be selectively blind to overt social cues.

He continues on, unperturbed, like he has a point to prove. “Believe it or not, I know you. Sometimes, for whatever reason, perhaps a lapse in judgement but who the fuck knows, you like to venture out of your comfort zone and experiment. Like with the chickenshit gingerbread spice concoctions they come out with at Starbucks to celebrate turkey season and Christmas or the cream cheese makis they make for the white crowd who want to eat sushi but don’t like anything other than white rice and seaweed. And, trust me, while I’m all for diversity and broadening your personal experiences, don’t you think there’s a reason why you always go back to your preferred choice of an iced latte with two sugars?”

“Did you just compare Jimin to a gingerbread latte?”

Okay, so admittedly you’ve made some questionable food and beverage choices in the past, but the comparison is a fucking reach. 

“You’re absolutely right." Seokjin gives a firm nod of his head, his expression serious. "Now that you mention it, he’s definitely a vanilla soy. Bland and boring. Targeted towards the middle-aged soccer moms that think veganism is a trend, not a lifestyle. Wants to be a people-pleaser but misses the mark.”

“I didn’t know it was Share Your Unwanted Opinion Time,” you grind out from behind a strained smile. “If I had, I would have said something about your receding hairline earlier.”

It’s a low blow but the way Seokjin’s plump lips curl in displeasure makes the dig worth it. One of his hands automatically shoot up to flatten the bangs that are usually slicked back with copious amounts of gel.

Offended, he spits, “It’s not receding! There’s a difference between premature balding and a bleach job gone wrong.”

"I'm not sure people care to differentiate. Looks like a receding hairline to me." You shrug while picking at your nails. “You’re nearing that age, too, so.”

“You just try looking this good at 30. Fucking try.” 

He waits for a reply but your interest has already waned. You scroll through your phone, bored once more.

Seokjin makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat at the clear dismissal. You swear you hear him grumble under his breath - something along the lines of never going blonde again - but can’t find it in you to care, not when he’s finally ceased his nagging.

"Filming in twenty!" someone shouts from outside the door.

"They’re running behind schedule," Seokjin notes after glancing down at his gold wristwatch. "How can they take more than an hour to fix the lighting? Tch. Bunch of fuckin’ amateurs."

He aims a glare in your direction as if their incompetence is somehow your fault. 

You have half a mind to glower back but miraculously withhold your sentiments. Admittedly, he isn’t wrong - the team you’re working with today keeps committing blunders even rookies wouldn’t dare perpetrate - but you’d rather get your driving license revoked forever than to acknowledge that Seokjin’s right and inflate his already unnaturally huge ego.

Something heavy plops into your lap. When you look down, the glossy surface of a magazine reflects the harsh lights suspended over the vanity table back at you.

“I didn’t want to resort to this but you leave me no choice,” he says in response to your look of confusion.

“What’s this?”

You hold up the magazine expecting the worst. It’s heavy in your hands, the pages thicker than the gossip rags you’d find in a dentist’s waiting room. 

“’s the newest issue. Came out this morning. I’d actually like it back once you’re done because I haven’t finished reading it and God knows how hard it was to get my—hey, you can stop flicking aimlessly, I saved you the trouble and bookmarked the page,” Seokjin explains a bit impatiently.

When you shoot him a glance, his attention is trained on your face, not the magazine. He barely blinks. Like a snake honing in on its prey. And that kind of intense focus - that can’t be good. After all, you’ve known Seokjin long enough to suspect that whatever trick he has up his sleeve will give him the advantage he needs to deliver the killing blow.

Gingerly, you flip through the pages like you’re afraid the magazine might self-destruct in your hands. Which would be a waste, in your opinion, since Exquis is a damn good magazine - perhaps less intellectual than Playboy, but definitely classier than Hustler. Its reputation speaks for itself. Known for hiring the best photographers and carefully combing through their models, it’s selective, only picking the cream of the cr—

Everything around you stills.

Your eyes narrow at the spread because there, on the page Seokjin’s taken great care to bookmark, a model poses provocatively on a lounge chaise near a crystal clear pool. It’s similar to a shoot you’ve done in the past but you can tell right away that the quality of this is above and beyond anything you’ve ever done. The lighting is better, heck even the barely-there-swimsuit looks like it costs ten times more than whatever you had been told to throw on at the time.

The vexation you feel only worsens once it finally registers who the model is. Her youthful and pretty face carries a permanent haughtiness that not even makeup or acting can entirely mask.

The pages crease in your hold as you flick through the rest of the spread dedicated to the up and coming talents. With every new page that has her plastered on its glossy surface you feel your stomach sink. 

2...3...4...

“Five pages,” you curse under your breath. For a magazine this renowned, it’s...a lot. Commendable, even. Your nose crinkles. “Well, fuck. me. sideways.”

Seokjin gloats, reveling in your outrage. “Hmph. I told you, didn’t I? Passing up the opportunity to work with Kim Namjoon would come and bite you in the ass.”

“Aha! So you have been a little bitch because I refused to shoot with Namjoon.” You whirl around in your chair and use the magazine to jab him in the chest. He easily steps aside, avoiding your attempt at wrinkling his trademark Armani button-down shirt.

“It was the chance of a lifetime and you knew it.” He turns his nose up and sniffs.

“That’s what you said about filming with Min Yoongi last month.” You roll your eyes. “I can’t take you seriously if you’re gonna say the same thing every time a new guy shows up.”

“Shooting with Agust D did help you gain some mainstream popularity. You’ve gotten love calls for catalog printings and your name is now automatically on the invite sheet for every C-list event in town. Namjoon would have given you another needed boost.” Seokjin folds his arms, lecturing mode switched on. You struggle with the instinctive urge to tune him out. “Sure, he’s got a niche audience, but he’s famous in his field and it would have helped expand your fa—“

“Not to kink shame or anything because we don’t do that, but Namjoon is a freak. And don’t deny it, I’ve seen his videos.”

“He’s specialized in particular—“

“You were the one telling me not to film all sorts of shit right off the bat,” you cut in, refusing to back down from your stance. There’s no way you’ll let him sweet-talk you out of this one, not after the multiple videos of Namjoon you’d binged one weekend. “Stick to one story.”

“Well, we’re not exactly ‘right off the bat’ anymore, are we? We’ve passed that stage. Right now is a crucial time in your career so you’ve got to make it count. Filming rehashed videos of the same pizza delivery guy scenario gets boring and fast. As pretty as you are, you’re not offering anything new to the table, are you?”

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

Still. “I refuse to work with a guy whose porn alias is Cock Monster.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Well I said no,” you insist stubbornly.

“Well if you had said yes, maybe it would be your ass cheeks getting their own two page spread in Exquis instead,” jabs Seokjin, hitting you where it hurts. 

Ugh. The reminder that Joy’s bested you yet again riles you up even more. That, coupled with the likelihood of your career ending imminently, makes you stop and think.

Your agent goes on to say, “Don’t you want the AVN for best newcomer? Where did that competitive edge go? At the rate this is going, Joy’s going to steal it from right under your nose.”

“Like fucking hell,” you hiss. The magazine bends under the strength of your grip. “That one’s mine.”

You absolutely refuse to lose out to her. Every fiber of your being rejects the idea of letting her one-up you again.

“Not if you don’t start branching out. The last time you did anything substantial or interesting was about a month ago. It’s already old news. People are going to forget you shot that sequence altogether if you don’t do anything that puts you back on the map.”

A pause. “…I really don’t want to film with someone who willingly named himself Cock Mons—”

“Fine.” Seokjin heaves a resigned sigh. “You don’t have to fuck the monster willy. Willy monster? Hm. Wouldn’t it make more sense to name himself Monster Cock and not Cock Monster? Wonder why he does th—”

You suppress a snort. “Please spare me while you can. It’s amazing, that talent for making everything sound a lot worse than it already it is.”

“Why, thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“You trying to insult someone who’s willing to find you someone else to work with? I can always ask Monster Meatstick if he’s up for—”

“No! No, that’s - not necessary.” You force out a smile that wouldn’t fool anyone into thinking its genuine. “Why would I ever insult you? You’re the best agent one could ask for.”

“That’s what I thought.” He takes your compliment, forced or not. When he smiles, smugness rolls off of him in waves. “One day you’ll realize you’re taking my talent for granted. I’ll find you another onscreen partner even though you don’t know what you’re missing out.”

“Thank you.”

“But!” He interjects and this time you don’t bother swallowing down your groan, already dreading the stipulations he has in store for you. “You have to promise to hold up your end of the bargain and try your best.”

Indignation colors your face. Your mouth falls open, retort at the ready. “When do I ever slack off on the job?! I’ve never given a half-assed blowjob in my life - and trust me, the temptation was there. Do you have any idea how hard it is to stay focused when the guy can’t cum on command? I once had to get my jaw realigned.”

“I’m not saying you’re slacking off,” he backtracks, switching tactics. His expression is soon replaced by the business-like smile you’re used to seeing on the regular. Tone buttery and appeasing, he tries to convince you through flattery instead. “You work hard and do a good job… I wouldn’t have signed you on otherwise. The problem isn’t with the quality of your work but with - all the rest.”

“The rest?” you parrot back dumbly, trying and failing to comprehend.

Seokjin scowl returns, unable to keep his genuine emotions under wraps.

“D’you honestly think you’re at a point in your career where you can pick and choose your jobs like this? Ever since you started dating that - that thing - your workload has significantly decreased. And not because you lacked opportunities. You had them but you turned them all down.” Visibly getting worked up over the issue, his voice rises an octave, then two. “What should’ve been a good spring board, only brought you back to square one. I know I can’t force you to take jobs if you refuse to, but I can say that your potential is going to waste. I’ve never seen someone sabotage herself like this before and it’s driving me up the wall. While I get that you’re under the delusion that you’ve found true love or whatever Disney fantasy Jungmin has sold you, you can’t turn down projects over and over again without there being serious repercussions. You’re smart enough to know this. I shouldn’t have to remind you.”

Seokjin’s chest heaves as he takes in several big gulps of air, visibly out of breath after his monologue.

For him to explode like popcorn kennels in the microwave... You reckon he’d let his feelings pile up inside him for a while, silently stewing.

You’ve never seen your agent look so visibly distressed. He’s normally the picture-perfect image of composure so the sight that greets you is enough of a shock to render you speechless.

Deep down, Seokjin probably means well. There aren’t a lot of agents like him; you’re one of the lucky ones. Most girls are discarded by their agencies as quickly as used tissues once they get milked for all their worth. 

Thankfully it’s never been that way with Seokjin. He claims that he’s in it for the long run. According to him the quick buck isn’t worth seeing the light die out in girl after girl. Perhaps that’s why he takes the task of ensuring your safety so seriously. How many times has he warned you to steer clear of this or that seedy director or ban you from attending drug-heavy parties? While his behavior can come off as overbearing on the worst days, at least he cares.

Sadly, it’s more than you can say for most.

In a way, he’s the only one in this business rooting for your success—if only because his paycheck depends on how well you perform. You like to pretend there’s more to it than that.

“I’m not - what’s Jimin got to do with any of this?” you splutter, still digesting the long tirade you’ve just been subjected to. 

“Are you serious? That’s all you got from what I said?”

“Well, no, but I still fail to—”

“Do you think me a fool?” He crosses his arms tightly across his broad chest. “The only scenes you’re willing to shoot are when he’s on set. Are you a kid or something? Since when do you need supervision to shoot a sex scene?”

“N-no. It just worked out that way, okay?” In reply to his dubious expression, you force yourself to explain. “Okay, okay - I get it. Maybe I might’ve lessened my workload recently but it has nothing to do with Jimin, alright? My vagina needs rest from time to time. Just because it’s my job doesn’t mean I don’t need a break. I’m human too, not some blow-up doll.”

“You expect me to believe that he has nothing to do with it? You were perfectly fine before he entered the picture. And now that you’re all loved up you only pick—”

A knock, so timid you barely catch it, cuts off the rest of his sentence.

“Yeah? Come in, I’m decent!” you yell - not that you care whether someone sees you naked or not. The concept of modesty has long been lost on you. Some might call it shamelessness or vanity, but you take pride in how you look. And why wouldn’t you? Your body is your bread and butter. You spend hours in the gym every week so that your ass looks good no matter what camera angle.

“It’s me.”

The door opens a crack and the speaker tentatively sticks his mop of hair through the small opening. As soon as you recognize him, your heart leaps at the sight and you quickly tighten your robe together.

“Oh, speak of the devil,” Seokjin mutters under his breath.

You resist the urge to throttle him and plaster on your brightest smile instead.

“I wanted to see how you were doing. Sorry I took so long... I would’ve come earlier but they needed my help.” Jimin scratches a spot behind his ear, sheepish. “Someone tripped over the cables and smashed a camera lens so we had to find a replacement. The director threw a fit and wanted to call it quits so we’ve been trying to calm him down this entire time. He did - eventually, anyway, after he called his dealer on set.”

A disapproving frown tugs at his mouth corners and mars his otherwise perfect appearance.

You take a moment to swoon internally. You’ll never get tired of admiring your boyfriend. Unlike the majority of the on-set personnel, he doesn’t reek of weed or booze or stale cigarette smoke. His ironed clothes and immaculate appearance always make it easy to spot him amidst the hungover crew.

“That’s fine! I kept myself busy.”

Jimin returns your smile, his eyes creasing into beautiful half-moon crescents. You don’t know what kind of love-struck expression covers your face but next to you Seokjin makes a noise that sounds like a cross between a gag and a cough.

“Oh! Here, I brought snacks. I didn’t know what you liked so I just grabbed everything I could get my hands on.” He holds up a paper plate stacked with treats no doubt stolen from the catering service. “I know I kind of went overboard but I wanted to make sure you kept your sugar level up.”

“That’s sweet of you,” you coo, reaching to take the plate from him. He’s piled on the sweets so high that it’s a miracle nothing has toppled over yet. You aren’t especially hungry but take a bite out of a chocolate candy to show how much you appreciate the effort. Its gooey consistency melts on your tongue, the taste so sweet it sticks to your teeth.

“How adorable,” chimes in Seokjin, his hand grabbing a licorice stick from the mountain of candy before you can swat him away. “Thanks Jongmin.”

“Jimin,” he corrects good-naturedly, his smile not budging an inch. You think, privately, that’s what you like the most about him. Not many have the ability to block out Seokjin’s bullshit so effectively.

“Mmh,” your manager says around a mouthful of candy. “Seokjin. Pleasure.”

You elbow him while gritting your teeth. “Can you...give us a moment?”

Seokjin swallows down the treat and opens his mouth in protest. He has the audacity to look betrayed. “You’re kicking me out of our room so the two of you can get it on? Really?” 

Jimin’s cheeks flush and you quickly cut in before your agent can make matters worse.

"I just want to talk without you breathing down my neck. Weren’t you going off earlier about how I didn’t need adult supervision anymore? Well?”

“Fine. Fine! But you owe me. Again.” He grabs his portable phone charger from the vanity table before making his exit. “And don’t forget what we talked about!”

What a fucking drama queen. You have no idea why he always insists on making a scene when you know for a fact that he would’ve left of his own volition in five minutes anyway. For reasons he has no trouble disclosing, he can’t stand Jimin’s presence.

“I won’t,” you grumble just so that you can get him out of your hair faster.

The door slams shut with more force than strictly necessary. Silence hangs in the air for a brief moment before Jimin turns his warm gaze towards you.

“What was that about?” 

“Uh, nothing. You know how he is...” You play with the ends of your braided hair. “He can’t go very long without throwing a tantrum.’

“He seems very protective of you,” remarks Jimin, a thoughtful expression painting his angelic face. “I think that’s why he’s not that fond of me.”

“Nonsense,” you rebut immediately as you take his hands in yours. “Who could ever not like you?”

Jimin allows his lips to quirk into a small, self-deprecating smile that you promptly erase with a kiss. His lips feel pillow-soft against yours, and you let yoruself indulge in the feeling before pulling back.

You sigh, remembering the scene you’ve yet to film. “If only my co-star was you.”

He laughs at that. “Seokjin would probably throw a fit, huh?”

.

.

Jimin treats you to dinner that night.

He chooses the restaurant. It’s a small, quaint place, tucked into a hidden corner just minutes away from the bustling main street of the shopping district. It’s not the kind of place people stumble across by accident but judging by the occupied tables, business is doing fine by reputation alone.

The owner comes out to greet Jimin by name. They exchange warm greetings, the woman asking him how his brother’s been doing and whether he’ll stop by anytime soon.

“Ah - I’m not sure... You know how he is... I’ll let him know you said hi.”

“Tell him I’ll give him an extra serving of ribs. That was his favorite, right?”

When her eyes trail over Jimin’s shoulder and spot you, she grins so wide you’d think she won the lottery or something. “Park Jimin! You’ve gone and found a girlfriend! And so pretty, too. Ah, really...time sure flies by. I remember when you first started coming here - and now!”

You smile back, greeting her with a polite handshake. The owner is quick to usher you into a small booth in the back. She hands you the menus while patting Jimin on his shoulder. “I’ll get you drinks. It’s on the house.”

“You don’t have to do that!” protests Jimin, shaking his head. “Really. It’s not—”

“Nonsense.” She waves a hand at him. “You’ll get two more if you keep that up, Park Jimin.”

Once she knows she’s earned Jimin’s compliance, she leaves with a satisfied smile. You can tell by their genuine interactions that she’s close to Jimin. Family, perhaps? Either way, this isn’t a place Jimin tracked down on yelp. He flips through the menu with ease, like he’s done it hundreds of times before. 

“Sorry about that,” he says once she’s out of earshot. “I used to come here all the time with my family when we all still lived here. They moved and live in a different town now so we haven’t had a meal together here in years, but. I still come here. The food is good, of course, but - I dunno. I have good memories here so I thought I’d share it with you. It sounds stupid now.”

He laughs quietly, cheeks flushed a pretty pink. 

“I love it.” You can’t help but smile, cheeks hurting from the force of it. Invisible liquor runs through your bloodstream, a ball of warmth unfurling in your belly. “Thank you.”

A pause ensues. It’s one of those moments in which you’re unsure if you’ve said too much or not enough. Being here with Jimin means a lot. You’re not the most verbose person but you hope that Jimin can feel your sincerity.

Maybe your stare comes off as too intense because Jimin breaks the eye contact and clears his throat.

He fiddles with his earring and says, “The food is really good!”

Pink dots his cheeks as he attempts to change the subject. “I don’t know how long the place has been around for but the food is exactly the same. Apparently it’s the sauce they use? Auntie still won’t share the recipes with me and I’ve known her since I was a kid.”

He chatters on, gaining confidence when he notices you’re not put off or bored by his numerous anecdotes. As time passes by, he’s visibly more relaxed. His laugh is more natural, less restrained, like he’s using all the muscles in his face and not just the ones near his mouth.

It’s a stark difference from the first date, you think. Back then he had come off as quite shy, preferring to let you lead the conversation, only offering up tidbits from time to time. Now the conversation flows easily. Nothing feels forced or awkward and - it’s nice. The normalcy of it. Like a hot cup of tea before bed or the scent of the fabric softener your mother uses. It’s something you find comfort in, that you can see yourself coming back to and not growing tired of.

Seokjin can say what he wants - that Jimin’s too uninteresting, that you’re too mismatched of a couple - whatever. 

Jimin likes you for you.

When you’re out on dates or when the two of you talk on the phone late into the evening, he rarely brings up your job. Instead, he asks you questions about your favorite TV shows, your dipping sauce preferences, the first album you purchased. These small details might seem inconsequential to others but to you, they’re a welcome breath of fresh air.

For all the talks of Jimin being too average and too normal, men like him are in reality surprisingly hard to come by.

Because what you haven’t failed to notice since you began your career as a porn star is that people love the idea of you. People who avidly watch you from their laptop screen in the comfort of their own home think that you’re some type of sex goddess - that you’re basically up for anything. In their minds, you’re a fun girl who loves sex, all kinds of sex, any kind of sex, and who doesn’t have any qualities or attributes other than making people cum until their limbs go numb.

Your feelings? Not really important. Feelings would make you human and being human would ruin their favorite fantasy.

That’s what takes you a while to learn - you don’t get paid to have sex, you get paid to sell dreams.

It doesn’t bother you at first. In a way, you think, it’s like acting. The porn star people jerk off to daily is a character you play, a mask you can take off at your leisure once the camera director yells ‘cut!’.

Very quickly, you learn people don’t share the same sentiment. To them, the line that distinguishes you from your job persona isn’t blurry - it simply doesn’t exist.

In the beginning, you’d stayed optimistic. Once people get to know you past the image they’ve built up in their heads, surely they’ll realize you’re not a sex-craved addict who only has dick on the brain, right? But with every new date you accept to go on, the reality of your situation only leaves room for disappointment and barely reigned in revulsion.

Even in non-romantic situations, people let you down. Old classmates, neighbors... It pisses you off that they assume you have no self-worth just because you’re a sex worker. Stevie from 308 down the hall once tried throwing crumpled bills at you, expecting you to crawl over to him for a fifty. The memory is enough to set your blood boiling. You can’t wait until you earn big enough bucks to move out of your shitty apartment into a nice high-rise penthouse, away and above all the scum of the Earth.

“You okay?” asks Jimin, noticing the crease that burrows your brow. “The food alright?”

You blink several times, belatedly realizing you had zoned out. Guilt and embarrassment well up within you.

“M’yeah,” you swallow down the spoonful of stew stuffed in your mouth. “Sorry.”

Jimin chews his bottom lip. Finally, he settles with, “Tell me if I’m boring you.”

“No, no! You’re not.” His evident doubt does nothing to alleviate the sudden nausea swarming your lower belly. “I’m serious, Jimin. I’m - Sorry if I gave off that impression. I just - I have a lot on my mind but you’re lovely. I’d tell you if you were - you know. Promise.”

“Would you? Sometimes I think you’re too nice.” It’s not delivered as an insult, but it doesn’t exactly sound like praise, either. 

You force out a snort. “Heh. Wish you’d tell Seokjin that.”

“He’s not too cross with me, is he?” Jimin’s expression looks awkward, like he’s forcing his facial muscles to stay relaxed and mien nonchalant.

“Wh- oh, you mean because of earlier? He isn’t. That’s not him being angry. It’s not even you. It’s me. We just have - a slight difference in opinions, I suppose. If you can even call it that.”

“He doesn’t want you to date me,” concludes Jimin.

The frustrations you’d repressed earlier in the day come back. Why does Seokjin’s opinion matter? You huff, putting your spoon down.

“He’s not my dad. And even if he was, I’m grown. I can make my own decisions.” You roll your eyes. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll get over it... It’s not like it’s any of his business in the first place.”

“Still...” Jimin says, unsure. “He’s your agent. I wouldn’t want the relation between you to sour because of me.”

“Honestly, I’m convinced it’s not even you he has a problem with. We talked about it today and I think he’s getting antsy because, um, you know, I haven’t accepted any big offers lately. Like, I’m staying too much in my comfort zone or something. He says that in the long run that can be detrimental to my career.”

It’s a bit strange, discussing your work with Jimin. You both work in the same industry, Jimin as a second camera assistant and you as an adult entertainer, but outside of filming sets, you rarely acknowledge what the other person does for a living.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. He wants me to branch out and try new things.”

“What, you mean anal? Gangbangs?”

“Um, yeah. All that, probably...” You have to blink several times because of the shock of hearing Jimin say that so casually. “...Is that okay?”

“Huh?” Jimin in turn blinks at you, like your question doesn’t properly register. “Oh, yeah, sure. I’m fine with it. You said it’ll be good for your career?”

“Apparently.”

“Then, yeah.” He shrugs like he isn’t bothered by the news at all. “Of course that’s okay.”

A part of you wants to push the issue, ask him why he’d be fine with his girlfriend filming intense sex scenes with random men, but that inner voice is snuffed out before the poisonous thought has time to take root.

Isn’t this what you always wanted? A boyfriend who is accepting and understanding of your profession?

You wash down your worries with a gulp or two of soju, determined not to let your own insecurities ruin the rest of your night.

.

.

Less than 24 hours after you’ve agreed to work on a worthwhile project of Seokjin’s choosing, a slew of texts blow up your phone. 

Unsurprisingly, it’s your agent. A quick scroll through your phone reveals that your agent has left you with no less than 15 messages, 1 voicemail, and 3 e-mails.

It’s...a lot. You’ve grown to expect that kind of fanfare with him. Like any man who deals with legally binding contracts on a daily basis, Seokjin ensures that you keep your word. He can be extremely persuasive when he sets his mind to it. You’ve seen men and women alike succumb to the force of his magnetism. Back when your filmography had solely consisted of amateur sex tapes shot in bad lighting with low-grade filming equipment, Seokjin's charms alone had been sufficient to win over lukewarm casting directors and book you jobs.

SEOKJIN : hey!!!!!!!!

SEOKJIN : ???

SEOKJIN : wow. you’re leaving me on read.........the audacity. 

SEOKJIN : i raised you on my back and this is how you repay me?

SEOKJIN : do you not respect your elders in your household?

SEOKJIN : i swear if you’re blowing me off for jimmy instead of answering your calls .........

SEOKJIN : or blowing jimmy. either one.

SEOKJIN : ok it’s been 10 min. i’m chill but not that chill.

SEOKJIN : can you please stop sucking dick and read your emails. it’s important.

YOU : ever heard of multitasking? god gave us two hands for a reason

SEOKJIN : oh. nasty.

SEOKJIN : way to ruin my lunch.

SEOKJIN : well. suck down that nut sauce asap

SEOKJIN : cos what i sent you needs your undivided attention

YOU : i’m nasty?? me????

YOU : you don’t hear me saying nUT SAUCE you freak

SEOKJIN : nutté sauce

SEOKJIN : there. fixed it.

YOU : ...that’s not even a thing

SEOKJIN : well it should be!

SEOKJIN : adding accents makes it instantly classier, don’t you think? nutté sauce. has a nice ring to it.

SEOKJIN : honestly. sounds like some fancy four star french starter now.

YOU : ???? it absolutely doesn’t but ok

SEOKJIN : imagine. during a scene you just yell out

SEOKJIN : “i’d like a serving of your nutté sauce to go”

YOU : dicks would shrivel up on the spot

SEOKJIN : what? i think it’s brilliant!

SEOKJIN : my talent is wasted as an agent. should’ve been a scriptwriter instead.

YOU : yes i’m sure the oscars are weeping over the missed opportunity

He takes your sarcasm at face value, feeding you more ridiculous variants of faux french cum lingo—that which you very wisely choose not to reply to. Instead of humoring him, you open the .pdf file he’s sent your way, ignoring the near-constant buzzing of your phone as he’s no doubt pestering you for an immediate answer.

Had it not been necessary for business, you’d have blocked his number ages ago. In fact, after that nut sauce comment you’re seriously reconsidering, business obligations be damned. 

To his credit, the film project he suggests you work on doesn't sound half-bad despite its questionable title. Why anyone would choose to name it THE SPERMINATOR is beyond you.

As you read through the proposition, you’re surprised to find it’s tamer than the initial imaginary scenario you’d played out in your head. Expecting to read through a long list of unnameable kinks and dicks, the scene description is rather domestic all things considered.

Your shoulders sag in relief. You enjoy sex as much as the next person, but even you have limits you’re not willing or eager to cross. You’re a human being, first and foremost, and, contrary to popular belief, not competing in the sex olympics.

From what you’ve read so far, nothing in Seokjin’s offer seems too strenuous or perverse. The scene in question is centered around a young, newly married couple trying to conceive for the first time and the sex acts are described as “romantic insemination” - whatever the fuck that means. The only complication you can think of is that you’ve never played the part of a married couple before. None of your previous films specifically target couples or women. Is romance something you can sell accordingly?

You’re quick to shake the concern off once you remember that no one cares if your acting is shit or not. All you probably have to do is yell out ‘Daddy’ a few times mid-thrust and call it a day.

Honestly, you’re a bit disappointed in Seokjin for choosing such a safe, no-risk project - especially since he constantly advocates the risk-return trade off as the way to live by. But you’re not about to start complaining. You’d rather shoot this type of innocuous scenario than ridiculous, hentai-like scenes involving freakish get-ups and toys of monster proportions not realistically made to fit in a vagina.

The deal is perfect. Almost too perfect.

Subconsciously, you must realize something is wrong. Maybe Seokjin’s many lessons have finally rubbed off on you because there’s a persistent voice in your ear warning you that the film proposition is a trap, one that you’ve unfortunately walked straight into.

Your wariness increases when he refuses to send you the script upon request. Alarm bells ring off but by then it’s too late.

“The thing is... Director Ryu wants to try a new type of project," Seokjin says over the phone once you call him up for answers. "He thinks he’s going to pioneer a new genre of porn and revolutionize the industry - his words, not mine.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“How do I explain this without you getting the wrong idea..."

“Is this meant to reassure me?!” Dread drips from your tone. You should’ve suspected something was off from the very moment Seokjin suggested to shoot vanilla porn as your next big project. What a joke.

“Calm down, it's not as bad as - whatever you're thinking.” Too bad that his attempts to calm you down have the opposite effect. “He’s been wanting to try out a new improvisation format for his porn movies.”

“Come again?”

A beat of uncomfortable quiet passes. Reluctantly, Seokjin explains, “Which means - there isn’t an actual script to go off of. That’s why I couldn’t send it to you - because there is none. He wants it to be as realistic and natural as possible so he’s looking for actors who can go with their gut and create their own scenario instead of ones who need to be directed.”

Your resounding silence speaks for itself.

Sure, sometimes they provide scripts to act as guidelines, roughly giving the actor an idea of how the scene will unfold, but no one is expected to follow it word for word. Most porn films rely on improvisation rather than scripts because of how notoriously bad porn stars are at acting and memorizing more than a few lines at a time, and the introduction scene never lasts very long anyway for it to make a noticeable difference. Besides, after filming a handful of movies, you’ve noticed the dialogue is more or less all the same.

What bothers you is that this director wants you to carry out a movie that relies heavily on improvised dialogue. Convincingly.

“C’mon,” Seokjin tries when you refuse to deign him with an answer. “It’ll be fun. You like acting, right?”

“Seokjin...” You pinch the bridge of your nose and try to keep your composure in check. “How do I break this down for you? I think you’re forgetting the most crucial detail here - I can’t act! The closest I've ever gotten to acting is faking an orgasm and I’m pretty certain that doesn’t count."

“And you do that very well!" says Seokjin encouragingly. "You'll be fine. Don’t stress over it. Your scenes with Min Yoongi last time were perfectly acceptable!”

“That’s the thing.” Stress makes your voice raise a half-step. “He did, like, 90% of the acting! Back then, all I had to do was moan and act like a slut! Which hardly counts - I was being myself. Whatever this - thing - you’re attempting to rope me into - I’m not qualified for it.”

“Sweetheart, we’re not aiming for the fucking Oscars here.” When he laughs, it’s practiced enough to sound sincere. “At the end of the day, it’s still porn. Nobody’s expecting you to be the next Meryl. And besides,” he presses on, clearly refusing to change his mind. “This is exactly what you need right now. Something fresh, something new. If you pull this off, you’ll gain exposure.”

“If I pull it off. Big if."

“I know it sounds like a gamble. I get it, I do. But remember what I always say? High risk—”

“Yes, yes. High reward. I get it.” Your frown deepens. “There’s no way to know this will work, though.”

“A good co-star already guarantees you half of the success. And luckily for you, the guy they signed on seems like the real deal. He’s hot, you’re hot. People will pay money to see you two fuck regardless of how good or bad the acting is.”

“Well. That’s reassuring,” you say, voice as flat as a board. “Although I suppose watching porn on mute is always an option if it comes to that.”

“It was a joke!” What worries you is that it doesn’t sound like it is. “You have nothing to worry about. I’ve seen some of your co-star’s tapes. He’s got a mouth on him, if you know what I mean. Just let him lead and it’ll go swimmingly.”

“It’s one thing to follow someone’s lead during sex but you want me to - to improvise for God knows how long! That’s just asking for a disaster to happen.”

“You said you were up for a challenge!” Seokjin throws your words back at you, his tone accusing.

“And you said this would be beneficial for my career! How is making a fool out of myself going to help me any? I don’t want to be remembered as the girl who can’t act to save her life.” You want to cry in frustration. If you had wanted to act you would’ve chosen that as your major in college. “I don’t - I can’t do this. I’m not - this isn’t what I signed up for! How do you expect me to convince viewers what they’re watching is real...”

“Just—” Exasperated, he takes a deep breath. Exhales. “Trust me. When have I ever been wrong about film projects.”

Is putting your career at risk really worth it? You’re not sure anymore.

On the bright side, it’ll finally get Seokjin off your back, you reason, trying to remain positive. That in itself is worth celebrating, right?

Fine. You’ll agree to it out of pettiness. Once Seokjin realizes what a terrible idea this entire ordeal is, you won’t hesitate to rub it back in his face. He’ll never hear the end of it.

"Who am I working with, anyway?”

"Ah, hm, well." Hesitation creeps up his voice for the first time, putting you instantly on edge. "...You won't know him. He's new to the scene - got started a month or two ago, I forget."

"Great. Not only am I being used as a lab rat for this director to experiment on but you're also pairing me with a fucking rookie. Jesus.”

"He’s not half bad! He’s not bad at all, actually. I wouldn't be insisting if I didn't trust him not to blow his load early."

"Aren’t I lucky,” you deadpan. “So I don't have to worry about him busting a nut before the director gives the signal?"

“All you’ll have to do is act like a married couple with baby fever,” he talks over you, ignoring your overflowing sarcasm. “And how hard can that be? You’ve been loved up with Jumin for a month now - that’s plenty enough practice if you ask me. I know you’ll be able to sell that romantic shit to the public without too much trouble.”

“It’s Jimin,” you correct from force of habit.

You’re promptly ignored — not that you expected anything less from him.

"Just give it a thought? And get back to me when you make up your mind. The sooner the better. The offer won't stay on the table forever." Even over the line, you can picture Seokjin raising his eyebrows at you, expectant. “If you’re serious about this job, you know what you have to do.”

You both know that you’ll accept the offer. Seokjin’s got you all figured out. As much as you don’t like being pushed around, the need to prove yourself is your main driving factor. The acquaintances who sneer at you, the family members who’ve shun you, the peers who expect you to burn out after the five month mark—you’d rather roll over and die than prove their misconceptions right.

It’s a matter of pride when you sniff and reply, “I’ll think about it.”

But the decision is already made before the call ends.

.

.

SCENE 02 - THE SPERMINATOR. TAKE 02. ROLL B. 

.

Eight days later you find yourself squeezed into a brazenly short dress that zips in the front, more fit for a night out in a club than a dinner at home. It’s so ridiculously tight, you feel like a prey being swallowed down by a snake. There’s no room to breathe. You can’t wait for the scene to start, if only so you can dispose of the piece of fabric and never wear it again.

Unfortunately, your outfit gets worse because thrown over the clubbing attire is a frilly apron with small hearts embroidered along the hem. The mismatch is jarring. You’re not sure what look the stylist is going for but the end result is very...peculiar.

You comfort yourself with the knowledge that it could always be worse.

A quick glance at the digital clock on your phone confirms that you’re running on time. Good. After your last gig, the last thing you want is to spend hours waiting for the personnel to set up the cameras and sound equipment correctly.

Thankfully, today’s team works like a well-oiled machine. All that’s left are the last-minute preparations before the shoot begins.

Your false eyelashes are still drying when Seokjin elbows you sharply in the ribs. You crack open an eye to glare at him. “Ouch - ah, seriously? What is it now?”

“That’s him, that’s him!” Seokjin whispers under his breath, his gaze glued to a point somewhere beyond your shoulder. “Wooow. Aren’t you a lucky bitch? I’d gargle his nutté sauce for breakfast, if you get what I mean. He looks way better in person, damn.”

“Firstly - please never say that out loud again.” You fake a gag. “How do I buy myself a new set of ears?”

Seokjin ignores your dramatics. He shoots you a look. “You let that last guy draw a starfish on your face with his crème de la nut but did you hear me go sick?”

“That’s not the same and you know it!” Your jaw drops in indignation. “And can you stop trying to make nut cream a thing for the love of—”

“What’s this about nut cream?”

You whip your head around, mortification already etched onto your features. Your mouth opens, defense at the ready, only for your throat to clamp up.

“Oh.” You blink up in surprise because - well, Seokjin’s earlier assessment isn’t embellished. The guy is fit as fuck.

You’d seen photos in passing, had even googled his name out of curiosity, but the two-dimensional version of him pales to his real life physique. There’s a sharpness to his features that the camera fails to pick up on, a vibrancy that gets lost in the medium. 

“Hey. I’m Hoseok.” His grip is firm, assertive, and your eyes naturally wander over his form. The loose muscle tee he’s thrown on puts his toned arms on display and makes it easier to admire the seemingly endless expanse of sun-kissed skin. He’s neither too thick nor too spindly, his muscles lean and firm instead of bulging. Strong but not intimidating. “I look forward to working with you.”

“Likewise.” You swallow, mouth dry.

You expect him to leave it at that like most of your past co-stars usually do. Or worse - for him to abandon all pretenses and cross lines that aren’t meant to be crossed. As someone who has experienced it all - from standoffish to creepy and vile - nothing surprises you anymore.

But unlike your, admittedly low, expectations, his gaze is warm and friendly. He speaks smoothly, leaving no time for an awkward silence to instill itself.

“Yeah, I know who you are! I saw a video or two of yours before - you were featured on the agency’s main page last month, right? Fuckin’ genius, by the way. Best stuff I’ve seen in a long ass time.” An easy grin sits on his face, nothing about it fake or contrived. “I hope we get along today. I haven’t done much work myself - yet anyway - but I hope this can be a good experience for the both of us.”

“You’ll be in good hands,” Seokjin assures, patting your shoulder like a proud parent. “_____ here is the best talent I’ve signed on.”

“That I can believe,” Hoseok chimes, his smile never waning. “I’ve heard good stuff about you. I won’t lie - it reassured me a fuck ton when I heard I’d be working with you. The stuff we’re doing is, well, it’s a bit of a gamble at this point, but I’m sure it’ll go well because I’ll be working with you.”

For a brief, embarrassing moment, you’re robbed of words, unable to respond to his flattery. From experience, you know to be wary of guys like him. Whenever someone lays it on thick they always have an ulterior motive. But what could possibly be his?

“Seokjin’s saying that because I’m the only one who can stand his nagging,” you finally say, your shoulders stiff. Maybe it’s because you’ve just met, but it’s hard to figure him out and it doesn’t help that you’re naturally wary of strangers.

“Oh hush. You love me.” Sensing how guarded you’ve become, Seokjin mercifully offers you an out. “It was nice meeting you, Hoseok. Wish we could stay and chat but she has to get ready to film the pre-interview portion.”

“Oh yeah, that’s cool. Catch you later.”

You offer a quick smile he returns tenfold, its brightness momentarily dazzling you.

Slightly dazed from the intensity of it, you stagger behind Seokjin, sun spots dotting your vision. Your surroundings blur together as your mind tries to recover from the interaction.

“Sooooooooo?” Seokjin sing-songs once you’ve walked far enough to be out of earshot. His brows are raised knowingly, an infuriating type of smugness clinging to his features. “What did I tell you! He’s hot enough to single-highhandedly melt a glacier, huh?”

You scoff, not willing to admit anything. “He’s okay.”

“Oh c’mon. He’s baby daddy material for sure. Which works out well for you since he’s gonna pump one into you later.”

For once the grimace that crosses your face isn’t exaggerated. “Please. Stop. Talking. I’m this close to heaving out my lunch.”

You’re not even joking with that one. Attractive as Hoseok may be, any talk of baby-making is enough to dissipate any smidgens of lust.

The reminder of what the upcoming scene entails and the expectations people carry crash down on you like a pile of bricks. Although you’ve done your best to ignore the fact you’ll be acting today, the meeting with Hoseok yanks you harshly back to reality.

You’re going to act. As a married couple. Trying to conceive a baby.

Three things that have never, ever been on your bucket list are now about to be crossed out in the span of the same afternoon. To that you can only say - what the fuck is my life.

Like a mounting wave before the inevitable crash, panic crests within you. You feel it gradually build and build, flooding your lungs and every crevice of your body with overwhelming anxiety.

Seokjin sighs. “How are you going to make it through today? The whole point of the sex scene is to get you pregnant. Or fake pregnant. You know what I mean.”

“Um...” You try to laugh but it comes out shaky. Seokjin shoots you a concerned look. “I’ll be fine! Really! I can do it. It’s just acting like you said, right? It’s not like he’s actually gonna knock me up in real life. So. Totally fine. It’s fine. Perfect.”

Seokjin’s concern grows. His eyebrows pinch together and his expression turns serious. He asks with no trace of mockery, “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay!” you reply. It’s too rushed of an answer to convince him. Your palms feel clammy and you wipe them off your damned apron. “Just. Nervous. Y’know.”

His steps slow to a halt and he places a warm, heavy hand on your shoulder. The weight, familiar and comforting, grounds you to reality. “Hey. What’s there to be nervous about? You got this.”

“Yeah.” You nod. Maybe if you say it enough times you’ll trick yourself into believing it. “I’ve got this.”

“Look. Let me be honest for a second. I’ve been an agent for eight years now and I’ve seen a lot of talents come and go. No pun intended.” You smile back at him weakly. “You’ve got something...extra a lot of them lacked. I knew the moment I saw you on film you’d go far. The energy you bring onscreen is insane. I know today might seem new and strange - but so was your first ever professionally shot film, right? And you got through that fine. You’ll do great. I know it. And, not to toot my own horn, but I’m always right.”

That earns him a laugh. The nerves are still there but thanks to his pep talk it’s easier to breathe.

Despite being a big pain in the ass, Seokjin is exemplary at his job. Without him, you’re acutely aware you wouldn’t have gotten half as far as you have. Having him by your side is a reassurance in itself.

Someone calls your name, pulling you from your thoughts. When you turn around, you’re face to face with the round, bespectacled face of Director Ryu. You reckon he’s in his early forties but he acts younger than his age. It’s your first time working with him but so far he’s been nice enough, if a little full of himself. Not that you’re unaccustomed with working alongside conceited colleagues.

“Oh good, you’re back. You can get seated for the interview bit.” He points over to a chair placed in front of a pale yellow wall. From close up, you can see a paint job is in order, the old coat chipping off in several places. “Alright, this won’t last long - just need you to answer some questions on tape and we’ll be good to go.”

“Sure thing.” You nod and follow his directions, sitting still while the hair and make-up artist steps up to give your lips a final touch-up.

Strictly speaking, the before and after interviews aren’t a necessity. In your experience, directors mostly film the short question-and-answer sequence when you’re set to film hardcore sex scenes as a way to show viewers everything is consensual and that you thoroughly enjoyed the experience despite whatever might have transpired on screen.

You reckon the director wants to film you today to document the process behind his “groundbreaking film project”. Cue roll of eyes.

Somebody needs to tell him he isn’t inventing anything, you think while watching him fiddle with the camera until he’s completely satisfied with the angle. All he’s done so far is add unnecessary pressure on you. You hope Hoseok is faring better because the amount of performance anxiety you’re experiencing is an instant boner killer.

“You nervous?” the director asks once he’s done adjusting the camera lens.

While by some standards you’re still considered a newbie in the industry, you’ve done this enough times to fall into a routine. Wake-up, breakfast, get ready, arrive before call time, fill out all the paperwork and get ready to shoot your solo stills. It’s familiar enough that you’ve long stopped getting pre-performance jitters.

Today’s rush of anxiety is as surprising as it is unwelcome. They don’t want to hear that particular truth though, so you keep your reply sweet and bubbly.

“Nah,” you grin, wide and easy. “I’m super excited to film today!”

“Oh yeah? Is it perhaps because of your co-star?”

Your smile freezes for a second. Somewhere over the director’s shoulder you can see Seokjin nodding enthusiastically while giving you the double thumbs up. “Hoseok? He’s hot, sure.”

“Ooh. Already on a first name basis?”

“Hm?” you let out a noise of polite confusion, only belatedly realizing that his viewers know him better as his porn alias, J-Hope. But there’s no way in hell you’re going to yell that out loud while he’s fucking an orgasm out of you. Not only does it sound ridiculous but it’ll shatter whatever carefully crafted illusion you manage to build. “Um, yes. We’re getting to know each other. He’s very friendly.”

“I’m sure he is.” And there’s an implication there that doesn’t sit too well with you but thankfully Director Ryu chooses to move on and put that particular subject to rest.

“You ever shoot an insemination scene before?”

“Not yet.” You make sure to keep the smile on your face even if your cheeks are beginning to hurt. “I can’t wait to get to it. It’s a fantasy I’ve always had but never tried out for myself. I’m excited to film a first on camera!”

The director has yet to call you out for your bullshit so you slowly start to relax. Acting is a bit like lying, isn’t it? Maybe you can get through today after all.

You breeze through the rest of the questions, forcing out practiced laughs here and there all whilst keeping your voice syrupy sweet. It’s quick work, especially when you know what to expect. Before you know it, it’s already time to film the pièce de résistance. Everyone that’s allowed on set during filming filters into the kitchen, conversations between crew members dying down as they use their last recreational moments to check their phones.

The director’s filming style exempts you from shooting the customary pre-shoot sex stills which are essentially promotional pictures of you and and your partner in every sex position that you’ll be filming for real later on. You’re thankful for that, at least. Even with all of your on-camera experience, staying perfectly silent and still with someone’s dick inside you is no easy feat. It’s worse when you have to keep eye contact with your co-star and fake sexual gratification because the shot calls for it.

Hoseok waves at you from the other side of the room, the hair and makeup artist dusting some powder across the slope of his nose.

How can he look so relaxed?! You’re barely holding your lunch down. Honestly, it’s a miracle you’re able to now tat the butterflies are back in full force, making a mess of your stomach.

You feel queasy but try not to make it too obvious even as Seokjin comes around to check up on you. The last thing you want to do is make a scene, especially when your onscreen counterpart's demeanor is making you look amateurish in comparison.

Maybe Hoseok is a better actor than you’re able to give most porn stars credit for because try as you might, you fail to detect any nervous undercurrent in his tone. For someone who is supposedly starring in his first major project, he doesn’t seem all too bothered about how it might play out.

How does he do it?! In all honesty, if Seokjin hadn’t informed you of his rookie status, you would be none the wiser.

There’s an ease with which he carries himself, a fluidity in his movements that belies no anxiety or awkwardness. Even from this distance you can tell that there’s never a hint of hesitation in his movements or speech; he doesn’t seem self-conscious in the least. He talks and moves with the assurance of someone who has been in the industry for months, not weeks.

In that moment you envy him. You’re so nervous about the upcoming scene that it’s hard to feign an air of professional detachment.

His boisterous laugh is loud enough to carry across the room and interrupt your line of thought. When you look over at him again, you find him folded in half, hands clutching his sides, and wearing a grin so bright it eclipses the entirety of his face.

“He seems nice.”

You jump, startled by Jimin’s sudden appearance. You hadn’t even heard him draw near. With a sheepish expression, you turn to look up at him only to find him already staring off into the distance. There’s a strange look painting his face, and a small crease in his brow that usually isn’t present. When you follow his line of sight, you’re met with the image of Hoseok talking animatedly to the the small crowd that’s flocked around him.

“Yeah.” You aren’t sure what else to say. Although there’s no sarcasm attached to his words, you can’t help but find Jimin unnaturally tense.

Which makes sense, you concede guiltily. A mere stranger is minutes away from dicking down his girlfriend. You’re not sure how you’d feel if you were to stand in his shoes.

You breathe in deep, silently willing away the knot of distress in your belly. There’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing. It’s just a job. A profession that Jimin has always been fully aware of, even before you’d begun dating.

Even as you remind yourself of the facts, it does little to dispel the lingering feelings of doubt and guilt.

“Hey.” Jimin frowns at you in concern. “You alright?”

“Yep!” you say then immediately sigh, knowing that lying to your boyfriend is pointless. “I’m just a bit nervous.”

“Nervous?” Jimin’s worry grows, the crease in his brow deepening. “What about?”

“Just—” You gesture around with your hands. “All of this.”

“Oh.” He looks genuinely surprised. “But you don’t usually get nervous... Is it the impregnation thing you’ll have to do? I know you’ve said you’re not a big fan of that. Or... Is it something else?”

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully. It’s a bit of everything yet at the same time nothing you can clearly pinpoint and put a finger on. In all logic, you know that you’re feeling disproportionately stressed out but you can’t stop yourself from feeling how you feel. “It’s not that I don’t want to film. I just - I’m worried I won’t do well.”

Jimin takes your hand between his, running a thumb in soothing circles across the surface of your skin. He repeats the motion several times until your heartbeat is completely synced to his touch.

“You’ll do great. You always do.” The lines of his mouth bend into a smile. “I’ll be on the sidelines cheering you on.”

“My very own cheerleader.” You allow yourself to relax and and smile back fondly.

As much as you worry about Jimin being upset with you filming sex scenes with other actors, he’s never been anything less than the supporting boyfriend you’ve always dreamed of. Seokjin calls Jimin’s constant presence on set maddening, but you’re thankful that your boyfriend sticks by your side while others might flee or shame you.

Suddenly, you’re overcome with emotion. Maybe it’s the stress, or maybe today you’re more hormonal than usual, but your eyes threaten to well up as you grip his palm tightly in your own. “Jimin, I—”

“Okay, lovebirds!” Seokjin claps his hands once, effectively ruining your moment. “Hand-holding time is over. We’re moving onto the more R-rated stuff.”

“Seokjin!” you hiss, upset over his horrible timing.

“It’s fine.” Jimin shakes his head. “He’s right, shoot’s about to start anytime soon. I need to get ready, too.”

“Right.”

Reluctantly, you let go of Jimin’s hand.

“Don’t pout.” He laughs and presses a quick, chaste kiss to your mouth. “I’ll wait for you after filming and we can go grab dinner. Italian sound fine?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” You bob your head eagerly. “I’m literally dying for carbs. Italian sounds more than perfect.”

“Good.” 

You can’t resist sneaking in one last peck before Jimin retreats behind the cameras and you’re pulled to stand in front of a granite kitchen tabletop. Director Ryu is waiting for you, Hoseok already by his side.

From close-up, your co-star looks even more striking. The make-up artist’s work highlights his features without going overboard. The lines of his face are sharp, like every single one has been meticulously drawn. What usually would give someone a hostile and unapproachable impression is balanced out by the liveliness that lights up his eyes and his wide smile that looks almost too big for his face.

“It’ll start in the kitchen and then we’ll work out way to the bedroom.” Director Ryu points down the hallway. “I was thinking of keeping it all in the bedroom but nothing screams domesticity more than kitchen scenes, right?”

“Uh-huh.” You give a polite nod. Next to you, Hoseok coughs into his fist.

“Depending on how this goes we might have to take several takes - just keep that in mind.”

That’s nothing out of the ordinary. Sex scenes are never filmed in one take. There’s always one thing or another - a smoke break, a flaccid dick, a lighting fixture that needs to be changed. A 45 minute porn movie is the result of the editing team that painstakingly goes through, cuts and assembles hours of footage.

“Remember,” Director Ryu instructs, one hand cocked on his hips. “You’re still stuck in that honeymoon phase. All the two of you want to do is fuck like horny bunnies but your husband’s been away all day. Both of you have been waiting for this reunion for hours and hours. I want to feel that level of tension, got it?”

Hoseok nods like a dutiful student, his expression comically serious. You’d laugh if it wasn’t so inappropriate.

“Yep. Ok. Got it.”

You just want the director to stop talking so that you can get this over with quickly. The monologue is just delaying the inevitable.

Director Ryu spends extra minutes setting up the scene, emphasizing how in love and passionate the two of you should behave, describing how long you’ve been wanting to try for a baby, going into explicit detail about what the sex scenes should convey to the viewers. He just goes on and on and on with no end it sight.

At this point even Hoseok is growing restless. His feet refuse to stay still and his eyes dart around the room as if his attention is drawn elsewhere. It’s Hoseok’s constant fidgeting that draws Director Ryu out of his monologue. He finally senses that there’s a unanimous decision to start filming and retires behind the camera to settle himself in his appointed chair.

Hoseok shares a long look with you. “Is he always like that?”

“God, I hope not.” You lower your voice to whisper, “Seokjin - my agent - he says apparently Director Ryu wanted to make a career off of documentaries once he graduated from film school but quickly switched genres once he saw how little filming the mating habits of koalas was earning him.”

“Ah,” Hoseok nods conspiratorially before his features shift into something more serious. “Hey. Before we start, is there anything you’re not comfortable with? I know this scene is supposed to lean towards vanilla but you never know... I’d rather make sure. Just in case.”

You blink, taken aback. Hard limits aren’t really discussed outside of hardcore scenes. Sure, everyone is given a safeword before shoots begin but even screaming out “STOP!” or “Can we take a break from filming?” is enough to put the filmed scene on hold.

“Ah... No. I’m okay. But thanks for asking.” A moment passes and you add, “Is there - are there any words or kinks that bother you?”

Hoseok shakes his head. “Not for this one. Just - if there’s anything you’d rather me not say or do, don’t hesitate.”

You nod in reply, not sure of what else to say. Unfortunately your past experiences with men have made you suspicious of any form of flattery or kindness.

Soon, though, you relax. What reason is there for Hoseok to deceive you? Maybe he still has that rookie mindset. You can relate to the eagerness and the desire to do well you’d had in your early days of filming.

“Alright. Good luck, Hoseok.”

His smile is so bright that it erases your previous doubts. Surely someone with ill-intentions wouldn’t be able to smile like that, right? You return a tentative smile of your own. Something akin to understanding seems to pass between you. Although you don’t know Hoseok and he doesn’t know you, you trust him enough for this scene.

The moment is broken when Director Ryu directs Hoseok to wait outside the camera’s line of vision and you’re left alone in front of the kitchen stove.

Any moment now, you think. A telltale silence falls over the staff members as they all anticipate the director’s signal for the scene to start.

The first few seconds are always tricky. You’re no actress. There’s no switch inside of you that flips on and off as soon as the director commands “ACTION!” and “CUT!”. The world around you doesn’t fade out, your ‘porn star persona’ doesn’t claw its way out from within you and lunge for the nearest available dick. Sometimes, if you’re not attracted to your onscreen partner, you find your mind drifting off, making an inventory of your fridge and wondering what you’ll be able to cook up for dinner with two eggs and leftover rice.

When Director Ryu shouts “ACTION!” and slams down the plate, you freeze up. Usually you have an idea of what to say or do, but the words and actions won’t come to you this time.

Someone behind the cameras lets out a light cough. Oh right, you blink down at the simmering pot of water in front of you. The cameras are recording you making an utter fool out of yourself.

The spike of humiliation forces you into action. You’re more professional than this, damn it. You give the water a tentative stir, movements wooden and stiff. It’s hard to concentrate. All you can do is watch as the water simmers to a boil, the sound of bubbling water like a roaring current in your ears.

A door creaks open, signalling your onscreen husband’s return home.

To your horror, you find that you’re unable to move, as if your limbs had forgotten their primary function.

Before the scene had started, you had envisioned yourself throwing yourself into the arms of your loving husband and welcoming him home with a shower of kisses and words of affection. You had internally rehearsed it, had even thought of what you could say to him between pecks, but the reality is far removed from what you had practiced.

“Darling?” Hoseok’s voice is soft but loud enough for you to hear him over the angry sounds of boiling water. The vowels he uses are rounded, different from the bright pep in his tone from earlier. 

You want to respond but your tongue feels like lead, too heavy in your mouth to articulate and form the proper reply. What are you supposed to call him, anyway? Honey? Hoseok? A nickname derived from his name? What do newlywed spouses call each other? Why couldn’t you give this more thought before the cameras began rolling?

Panic balloons inside you, threatening to burst. For a terrifying and mortifying second, you think that you’ve gone and ruined everything. The muscles in your shoulders bunch up and you half-expect the director to shout ‘CUT!’, give you a public scolding for missing your cue and berate you for your overall ineptitude.

Hoseok’s arms wrap around your middle before you have time to agonize any further. Just as you suspected, his arms are strong, the lean muscles flexing as he readjusts his hold around your waist. What you don’t expect, however, is the unadulterated warmth he radiates. His body burns hot; even through the layers of clothing separating the two of you, his warmth seeps through. But it’s strangely comfortable, not unlike basking in the afternoon sun during the last days of summer. You let yourself melt into his embrace.

“You’re not even going to say hi?”

With your back turned to him, you can’t be sure, but you imagine the pout playing at his lips. He tucks his chin in the crook of your shoulder. If he feels any awkwardness, he doesn’t let it show.

Miraculously, your mouth seems to be in working order again. It takes you a few seconds too long to find the appropriate answer, but it finally comes before the director can cut in to make any remarks.

“If I turn around right now, I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you,” you explain. “And - I don’t want to ruin our dinner.”

Just to keep up the pretense, you add a handful of spaghetti into the pot of water.

Hoseok lets out a hum from behind you. He’s standing close enough for you to feel the vibrations low in his throat.

“I hate it,” he says after a stretch of silence.

You pout. “What? My cooking? What’s wrong with it?”

“No, silly. I hate -” he sighs, buries his face in your neck before looking back up so the camera can capture his expression. “I hate not being with you. I missed this.”

He hugs you from behind before kissing your neck. It starts off innocuous - his lips pressing short, chaste kisses down the column of your throat. Quickly, however, his mouth lingers on your skin.

“Ah - don’t. I’m cooking!” you shriek when his teeth scrape over a sensitive spot under your jaw. Your protests are half-hearted and go by unacknowledged. The pot of pasta could overflow right now and no one would care, least of all you.

Hoseok noses your neck while he tightening his grip around your waist, the movement bringing his hips flush against your lower back. You give the pot in front of you a very unenthusiastic stir, attention focused instead on the way his lips tenderly skim the surface of your skin, testing and teasing. The sensation feels nice - and keeps your mind off of the several cameras directed your way.

“But I went all day missing my princess,” he sighs, open mouthed against your neck. “Spent all day thinking about you.”

“Y-you did?”

“Mhm.” He gives your exposed shoulder a peck. Then another. “Thought about your cute little laugh.”

His line catches you off guard. Your mouth opens but no sound comes out.

Porn is often crude and to the point. You’re used to men complimenting your body parts or praising your skills in bed. You’d never minded, either. But Hoseok’s choice of words make you eager in a different way.

“What else?”

“Well, your cooking, for sure. Without you I’d be eating out of ramyeon packets for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

You let out a snort.

“That’s true. Your cooking is so horrible it’s offensive.”

“Hey now. Don’t be mean.” He pokes your cheek before pinching your chin to turn your head towards him. “I can cook a decent omelet.”

Hoseok’s a good few inches taller than you so you have to strain your neck to be able to look him in the eyes. The slight discomfort barely registers. You’re too transfixed by the way he stares at you. It’s hard to place the expression because you’ve never seen it on a fellow actor before. Normally, the men you work with stare you down with hungry and lustful intent, but there’s none of that in Hoseok’s gaze.

The expression on his face cannot be described as innocent, either. He licks his lips, drawing your attention to the pretty lines of his mouth delicately curved into a smile.

“I missed the way you feel in my arms.” His voice sounds deeper, this time. “I missed holding you close to me. Kissing you. Reminding you how much I love you. I missed the look in your eyes when - “

“When?”

He smirks. “You sure you want to hear it? What if you can’t keep your hands off of me after? I don’t want to be held responsible for soggy pasta.”

“Hoseok,” you whine, one of your hands reaching down to slap at the hold around your stomach. 

He tightens his hold around you and your breath hitches, suddenly all too aware of how firm his body feels behind you. The smirk on his face widens as he leans forward to confess his next words.

“I was thinking about how I miss the look on your face whenever I make your pussy sloppy with my cum.”

“Hoseok!”

One moment he’s crooning sweet words of affection, the next he’s spitting out filth. The quick back-and-forth gives you whiplash but you can’t say you dislike it. Unlike the tired and overused clichéd porn scenarios you’ve filmed in the past, Hoseok’s unpredictable behavior has the advantage of keeping you on your toes.

“You missed it too, hm?” He kisses your neck, lips soft and warm. “Kept thinking about how pretty you sound. So, so pretty. Especially when I give you what you want.”

“How would you know what I want?” You turn your head forwards so you can pretend to check up on the cooking pasta. “You were away all day.”

Hoseok’s eyes flash dangerously.

“How would I know?” he parrots back, his tone sweet and mocking. Something about it sends tingles down your spine and has you standing up straighter. “I always know what my pretty wife wants. I know because your body can’t lie to me.”

His hands wander, one of them inching up the material of your frilly apron to reach between your breasts. The movement is slow enough for a camera to zoom in and follow its trail. Hoseok rests his hand on your left breast and gives it a squeeze.

“See?” He repeats the action. “Your heart’s racing like crazy.”

You swallow audibly, finding it hard to come up with a witty riposte.

He continues with a chuckle, “You can’t deny it, can you? Your body’s too honest for your own good. It’s okay. You don’t have to say you missed me. I know.”

His self-assured way of talking makes it easier for you to react. This - the cockiness, the playfulness - you’re familiar with.

You roll your eyes and continue to give the pot in front of you a few additional stirs only for your breath to hitch when he starts to grind his hips against your lower back in time with your stirs.

Fuck is your only coherent thought. He rolls his hips so well it’s impossible not to imagine them doing something else. Your bottom lip grows numb from how hard you bite it.

“Of course I missed you.” You keep your tone as light as possible, determined not to show that his words and actions affect you.

Hoseok’s eyes narrow. He removes his hands from around you but keeps his front pressed against your back. He smiles again, dimples poking through.

“You don’t sound convinced... That’s fine.” It sounds like the beginning of a challenge and you soon learn why.

His nimble fingers play with the knot of your apron and you tense, expecting him to make quick work of your clothes and dive straight into dessert, so to speak. Once again, he surprises you by leaving the apron alone, hands falling to his sides.

His knees hit the floor, the noise startling you. Before you have the chance to truly react, he’s quick to pull your hips backwards until your back is arched. The sudden change in position forces you to adjust your stance so as to keep your balance.

“Hoseok?” you start to question but he cuts you off with a tut and light smack to your ass.

“You just keep your eye on dinner like you were doing before.” His fingers play with the hem of your short dress, stretching the fabric until it bunches up around your hips and leaves your lacy thong on display. “You can do that, right?”

Flustered by the position he’s maneuvered you into, with your hips thrust back obscenely, legs splayed wide and pussy on show, you grip the wooden spoon in your hand with more force than necessary. “It’s just pasta. I can manage.”

Maybe you sound less indifferent than intended because Hoseok seems more amused than offended by your feinted nonchalance. He barks out a laugh, his hands spreading the meat of your cheeks aside to get a better view of your lace-covered bits.

Privately, you wish you could witness his reaction. If there’s anything that turns you on, it’s knowing how much someone else wants you. If feels good to know that you’re wanted and desired. Even if fucking is part of your job description, the act needs to be mutually enjoyable for you to be completely satisfied.

“Sure.” The lilt in his voice is so sweet that it borders on condescending. “While you do that, I think I’ll have my appetizer.”

It’s corny, overused and a little degrading - exactly the type of one-liner you’d ordinarily find in porn - but he gives you no time to call him out for it. As soon as he’s done talking, he wags his tongue out and drags it across the red lace, and the repeated up and down motions quickly dampen your panties.

You notice with great frustration that he takes care to avoid your clit, focusing instead on licking broad stripes over slit and, to your surprise, around your rim.  He doesn’t stop until your underwear drips with the accumulation of your essence and his saliva. The soaked lace rubs against you, the rough texture adding pressure to your most sensitive zones, until you can’t tell if the extra sensation is a blessing or a curse. Your hips jerk forward every so often, unsure if you’d rather lean into or escape his torturous games. Because as amazing as Hoseok’s tongue feels, you know your body well enough to be able to tell that this particular tempo won’t bring you to your peak.

An appetizer, he had called it. That’s exactly what the teasing ministrations feel like - a small sampling before the main course. It’s satisfying and maddening in its own way. Good, but not enough to satisfy your ravenous appetite.

He unearths himself from your dripping core, chin shiny with your juices.

“Keep focus,” he instructs as he slots two fingers inside of you. You’re wet enough that they slide in without too much difficulty, the stretch making your stomach clench. “I thought you said you knew how to cook pasta.”

Against your will, you force yourself to focus on the bubbling water in front of you. As much as you want to push your hips back and ride his fingers until you’re pushed over the edge, you can’t take the humiliation of messing up pasta - even if it is for the sake of a porn scenario.

It’s fucking pasta! You have to be seriously inept to mess up such a simple dish...

But what should have been an effortless task becomes more challenging than expected. Hoseok refuses to go easy on you. If anything, your stubborn silence is all the motivation he needs to thrust his fingers inside of you harder, curving them at an angle that makes your knees wobble. You struggle to keep any incriminating noises at bay but despite your best efforts, several muffled moans slip out one after the other.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, the logical side of you points out how dangerous all of this is. What if, during your impending orgasm, your body seizes up and knocks the boiling water everywhere during the process? You quickly switch off the gas stove at the thought. Better be safe than sorry.

Just then, Hoseok adds his tongue to the mix, his fingers relentless in their pursuit of your pleasure. You bite back a curse as the wooden spoon slips from your hold and clatters to the floor.

“Ah fu - Oh God,” you stutter, hands holding on to the edge of the counter for dear life.

You’ve been eaten out God knows how many times in your life, but not many have instinctively known what really gets you going. Hoseok laps at your core, tongue collecting the moisture that seeps through the fabric of your ruined panties, while his fingers scissor you open for his cock.

Your stomach clenches as you imagine how well he’d fill you up. Who the hell would ever want pasta for dinner when Hoseok could feed you his cock instead? Definitely not you, that’s for sure.

It’s easy to picture it. All he’d need to do is stand up, unzip his pants and spear you open with a practiced roll of his hips. Maybe he’d make you toss a salad while he fucks you from behind, slapping your ass whenever you forget to keep stirring the ingredients together. Or perhaps he’d let you ride his dick on the kitchen floor, too impatient to make it to a more comfortable surface.

Your imagination knows no bounds. Once you start, you can’t stop thinking of more lascivious scenarios, each one more daring and debauched than the last. The heat between your legs becomes unbearable and still, you ache for more.

Hoseok pulls away from the apex of your thighs and snorts, the sound pulling you out of your depraved thoughts. The pace of his thrusting slows down without stopping completely, his fingers still pressed deep within you. Your arms tremble as they try to keep you upright, knuckles white from the strength of your grip around the counter’s edge. You exhale shakily.

A whine works its way into your voice. “Why - why’d you stop?”

Ignoring your protests, he pops his fingers out of you and indulges in one last lick of your swollen pussy, before gathering to his feet. He rolls down your dress back over your bum and peers over your shoulder, acting as nothing had ever happened.

“Thought you said you’d take care of dinner, hm?” Hoseok has the gall to hum in disappointment.

Your mouth opens in outrage. “You!”

Hoseok pouts. “I thought we said you wouldn’t blame me for any soggy pasta.”

“You’re impossible,” you say without any real heat to your words.

“But you love me that way.”

He smiles as he leans in to kiss you, lips sticky and warm. You follow the pace he sets as best you can, unaccustomed to the way he takes his time - like you’re a delicacy that demands to be savored and not gulped down. On-screen kisses are usually rushed, messy, with too much tongue. They’re a scripted affair, more for show than out of real affection. When men tuck back your hair behind your ear or palm your cheek, it’s only to better angle your face for the camera.

There is something intimate about the way he holds you, the way he looks at you. Inwardly, you can't help but admire his acting skills. There’s something tender about the way he handles you that’s distinctly different from any of your previous onscreen partners. Sure, you’ve shot vanilla sex scenes before, but never of this variety. None of the male actors’ performances have made you wish, even fleetingly, foolishly, that the scene was real.

Hoseok pulls up for air before your mind can wander off completely, his panting mouth a hairsbreadth away. Lips touching but not quite.

Blearily, you blink your eyes open. You’re close enough that your noses brush against one another, your breaths mingling together. Hoseok’s eyes remain closed throughout, like he doesn’t want the moment to end. He looks so content that you can’t bring yourself to do anything else but melt further into his embrace, gaze drinking in the minute details of his face - like the tiny moles dotting his cheekbone and upper lip and the pretty curve of his eyes.

“And cut!”

You both jump away from each other, startled. For a second there, the storyline you’d been instructed to follow had slipped from your mind. You’re unsure if the lapse in judgement is good or bad but you don’t let the question linger in your thoughts. You’ll have plenty of time to dissect your performance at a later time.

“Good, good. That wasn’t what I was expecting but I don’t think anyone has any objections?” Director Ryu claps his hands. “Fifteen minute break sound good everyone? Then we’ll relocate to the bedroom to shoot the next part.”

There’s a general hum of agreement from the crew members. Chairs and various other equipment scrape the floor as the personnel prepare to migrate to the other room for filming. Jimin’s gaze meets yours briefly but all he can do is smile weakly in your direction before he’s ordered to help push some of the equipment down the hall.

Someone comes up to you with a bottle of water while another steps closer to blot the beads of sweat near your hairline and reapply a layer of lipstick. The make-up artist knits her brows in concentration until she’s satisfied with the touch-ups. She then moves on to Hoseok, make-up palette and brush at the ready, and grumbles loudly about the sticky residue covering his face. You hear Hoseok bellow a laugh, the sound so infectious that even the make-up artist joins in. 

You sip your water through a straw, careful not to smudge your freshly applied lipstick, and check your phone for any missed messages.

“Was all of that okay?”

“Hm?” You look up and are surprised to see Hoseok stare at you expectantly. “I, uh, know some girls aren’t into ass play. I’m sorry. I should’ve asked before jumping the gun but I figured - since you said there wasn’t anything major you were adverse to filming...”

His voice trails off.

“I liked it.” The admission is an easy one. “It did take me by surprise, but - I don’t have any complaints.”

“Ah, really?” Hoseok’s mouth corners upturn in relief. “That’s good to know. I was thinking - for the next scene - what if - I mean, are you okay with calling me Daddy?”

You tilt your head as you mull over the proposition.

“Daddy?”

“It’s not - you don’t have to. But listening to Director Ryu go on earlier made me think of something we could do. I think it fits well with the general idea. What do you think?”

“I’m fine with it.” Using the title doesn’t make you squeamish so you shrug in compliance. It’s not the first you’ve had to incorporate a daddy kink into the scene and it likely won’t be the last. You don’t see why you wouldn’t or shouldn’t do it with Hoseok. “I’ll follow your lead like I’ve been doing.”

It’s only as you’re following him towards the bedroom that you recall that you’ve yet to get to the crux of the scene - the damned impregnation kink. Even though you’re considerably less nervous than you’d been an hour or two ago, the thought of begging someone you barely know for something so intimate makes your stomach flip-flop. You don’t even have unprotected sex with Jimin and he’s your boyfriend.

Speaking of Jimin, you try to sneak in a peck or two before filming but Director Ryu intercepts you before you can make a beeline to where Jimin’s stationed behind a camera.

“How are you feeling?” The overhead light reflects off his round glasses and makes it impossible to hold eye contact unless you want to become semi-permanently blind.

“Good---”

“Wonderful. Well, we’ve positioned cameras here, here, and over there. There’ll be another camera man who’ll film with a handheld camera for closeups. Just keep that in mind. I know we’re giving you free-range to do what you feel is best and most natural but I’d hate to ask you to re-shoot because the camera couldn’t capture the both of you properly.”

You nod and he continues, “Also - please remember that you’re acting as a horny young married couple. I remember at that age I was up for anything, you get what I’m saying? People think just because you put a ring on your finger the sex automatically becomes stale. Fuck that. Show people married couples are freaks in the sheet.”

“Uh... Alright. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He claps a hand over your shoulder. “That’s the spirit.”

Freaks in the sheet? What did he expect you to do? Try out all the sex positions in the Kama Sutra?

“What did he want now?” Hoseok leans over to whisper once you’re seated comfortably on the bed. You’re hoping the mics don’t pick up the conversation but would rather not take the risk of being overheard bad-mouthing the director.

Shrugging, you say, “Just that this scene should be spicier.”

Hoseok raises his brow, lips quirking into a smirk. “That so?”

The same cockiness you’d caught a glimpse of during your escapade in the kitchen is back and the memory you associate it with makes the back of your neck prickle with heat. You clear your throat and avert your eyes.

Thankfully Director Ryu interrupts before Hoseok has the chance to fluster you further. You follow each of the director’s voiced directives until you’re comfortably seated on Hoseok’s lap, dress hitched around your waist because of how far your knees are spread on either side of Hoseok’s thighs. There’s a quick, last minute adjustment as Director Ryu ensures that the camera in the left corner picks up on everything it’s supposed to.

Satisfied, he lets you take the reins from there, then gives the cameras the signal to begin rolling.

You don’t waste a moment, taking his earlier commentary to heart. It’s your turn to pepper kisses all over Hoseok’s golden skin, leaving faint traces of rouge behind like an artist signing their own painting. You stop a few times to admire your work. Lip prints and lavender bite marks color his skin and the sight awakens a possessive streak you didn’t know you had.

Your enthusiasm to mark him up gets a little out of hand.

"Mhm." Hoseok grunts when you lick over a sensitive spot under his jaw. "Slow down, princess. There's no rush. We have all night."

He cups his chin between his hands so you have no choice but to relent and direct your gaze up at him. You’re pleased to see that he’s not completely indifferent to your touch; despite his instructions to take it slow, the smoldering look in his eyes tell a different story.

He runs the pad of his thumb over your lower lip, the pink flesh no doubt swollen. You take the digit in your mouth, unprompted, and run your tongue against its underside, wishing that his cock could fill your mouth instead.

Hoseok makes a noise low in his throat, not quite a growl but close.

"And I intend to take my time with you." The look he levels you with promises a night full of mind-numbing pleasure. Ribbons of heat curl around the base of your spine. "Want to make you feel good."

"You do," you agree, words muffled around the thumb you refuse to let go of.

You take a hold of his wrist and free your mouth, only to quickly replace it with his forefinger and middle finger. The stretch of two digits makes you moan lewdly.

Hoseok’s eyes darken. He lets you play for a few more seconds before he takes back control, his fingers pushing deeper into your mouth until they hit the back of your throat. You swallow down a gag, but his fingers don’t let you rest for long. He drags them over the flat of your tongue, watching as spit dribbles down past the sides of your mouth, and repeats the motion, pumping into your mouth steadily like he would a cock.

As nice as it feels to be filled with his fingers, whether in your cunt or mouth, you’re ready for more. Subconsciously, your hips grind down in his lap, shifting this way and that until you’re perfectly seated over his hardened length.

Drool is pushed out of your mouth as Hoseok squeezes a third fingers in with the other two. You suck harder, hoping that all your efforts will spur Hoseok into finally fucking you. The knowledge that he has to, at one point or another, keeps you from whining and begging pathetically for his cock. You can exercise patience if you put your mind to it; you’re sure of it. 

Your on-screen husband decides to test that resolve.

His other hand starts to wander south, his fingers toying with the short hem of your dress that’s been rucked up even higher with all your rocking and grinding. The movement of your hips slow, your brain unable to keep up with the stimuli coming in all directions.

A crack resounds in the room, the sharp sound startling you more than the sting that accompanies it. Hoseok’s palm rubs over the heated area, only inflaming it further.

“And who told you you could stop?”

The second slap is notably harsher than the first, and your hips automatically lurch forward hoping perhaps to lessen the impact of the sting.

You know he doesn’t expect a verbal answer; his second hand keeps your mouth plugged up, making any attempt at talking unintelligible. It doesn’t stop you from trying, only because you know the muffled protest are greatly appreciated amongst viewers. And if the way Hoseok’s digs his fingers into your smarting ass cheek is any indicator, you’re confident that he also enjoys your squirming and messy display.

“Keep moving, princess. I need both your holes nice and wet.”

The way his voice dips an octave makes your stomach twist in arousal. You long to tell him that you’re sufficiently wet enough for him to slide his cock inside right away but all you manage are pitiful garbled words.

He raises an eyebrow at your delayed response and your hips move before he can smack the globes of your ass for a third time. You have an inkling he’ll only hit harder with the intention of leaving marks of his own all over your skin.

It’s a careful balancing act, but you figure it out as you go. Bounce too fast and the fingers in your mouth will make you gag. Move too slowly for his liking and he won’t hesitate to add to the collection of handprints on your ass.

You lose track of how long he makes you play this game. Your mind focuses on sucking while keeping your jaw slack enough to accomadate the width of three digits. Drool pools down your chin, and you’re certain whatever the make-up artist had done to your lips is now ruined. Worse off are your panties. At the stage they’re at now, you’ll have no choice but to throw them out. Hoseok’s pants might need be as unsalveagable as your thong, you think inwardly, judging by the large, dark wet spot you’re currently sitting on.

“Mmh, good girl.” 

He gently slides his fingers out, strings of saliva attached. He hums in satisfaction at the lewd sight and rubs his fingers across your swollen lips and shiny chin, spreading the fluids and what’s left of your lipstick over your mouth. You swallow, mouth sore from being used roughly for so long.

“This hole is sufficiently wet, I think,” he appraises, eyelashes fluttering before he casts a long look down your body until it reaches where you’re seated on his clothed erection. “Let’s check this one too.”

The way he smirks at you but makes no move to check himself lets you know that he expects you to do the work.

You let your hands trail down your body slowly, cupping your breasts as you do, enjoying his hooded gaze and the way his cock twitches beneath you a bit too much. When you reach the hem of your dress, you lift your hips up to pull the fabric up to your navel giving an unobstructed view of your lace-covered pussy.

Hoseok stare intensifies but you don’t feel any embarrassment from the scrutiny. “Well you certainly look ripe.”

His fingers toy with the delicate string of lace around your hips. He lets the material snap against your skin a few times before he grows bored or impatient with his own game and gives the lace a harsh yank. It tears easily and the leftover scraps fall into his lap.

“... But just to be sure -” His hands grip your waist and manhandle you onto your hands and knees. Your head spins from how suddenly he’s moved you around to his liking that your arms give out and you fall face first into the clean smelling bed sheets. “Gotta give my favorite hole of yours a better look.”

His hands hoist your hips at a higher angle so that your soaked center is visible for the cameras to pan onto. Hoseok slides in two fingers easily, then a third. Loud, obscene noises echo in the otherwise quiet room, noises that are quickly joined by your unabashed moans of pleasure.

Your core is on fire. Hoseok’s fingers are just as good as you remember them to be. No, better. The three fingers pump into you in measured strokes, the drag slow enough to keep you dangling over the edge without pushing you over.

Hoseok spanks your ass, hissing between his teeth as you clench around his fingers, no doubt imagining your inner walls hugging his cock instead. 

“Christ. You’re always such a soft, wet little thing down here,” he croons in dulcet tones. “I could play with you all day.”

You thrust your hips back, shameless.

“Please! Please Daddy, I’ll be so good, I just - please - I nuh, need it. Need your cock fucking me full. I’ll take it so good, you know I will. Want you to - please! Daddy, I need your cum.”

“Shit.”

He fumbles in his haste to flip you onto your back. He crawls over your body, and you watch fascinated as he dives down to kiss you like a man starved. He looks almost feral, pupils so dilated the brown of his eyes is almost gone.

Heat blooms in your stomach as he kisses you deeply. The press of his lips against yours renders you a little less coherent as time ticks on, every brush of his tongue making you a little more dizzy with want.

Everything about him burns. It feels like being kissed by the sun itself. Every caress, every lick and nip leaves you feverish all over, like your drunk off his touch.

"Let me," he says, pinching the zipper of your dress between his thumb and index finger.

You wrap your hand around his and guide his movements. His gaze never leaves yours and it makes shivers run down your back. Even though you're the one controlling his movements for the time being, the look in his eyes makes it abundantly clear that the control you wield is only temporary.

When your dress finally falls open, you try not to preen too much under the reverent look that falls over Hoseok’s face. Your back arches a little off the bed, pert breasts thrust towards him - an appealing offer he doesn’t dare refuse.

Hoseok circles a thumb around your nipple, rubbing and flicking until it hardens into a stiff peak.

You wonder, distantly, how this looks like from the outside looking in. The man in front of you is a stranger in all senses of the word. Yet the way he touches you - like there are years of built-up affection behind every gesture - makes you second guess everything you know.

"Fuckin' love your tits.” He sighs, awe reflected in the dark of his eyes. "Love playing with them. Love how wet it gets you, how hungry your little pussy gets."

"Please,” you mewl, his words igniting a new wave of heat. It rolls over your body, leaving no extremity untouched. You burn from the inside out with raw desire.

You squeeze your own breasts in a bid to get him to touch you more. Hoseok merely chuckles, finding your desperation entertaining. One of his hands reach down between you to play with the wetness that clings to your core like a second skin and it takes everything inside of you not to rub yourself against him like a bitch in heat.

"What is it, princess?" His lips quirk into a smirk like he already knows the answer. "You're looking quite needy. How did you manage to hold it in all this time?"

“Stop teasing,” you growl, the lack of friction making you irritable. "I need your cock. And why - why do you have so many fucking clothes on?”

He chuckles, chest vibrating in amusement.

“Take them off,” you insist. Then, you grudgingly tack on a “Please” for good measure.

As hot as Hoseok looks like in his “work clothes”, he looks infinitely better naked, you decide as he chucks off his button-down shirt and gets started on his leather belt. With each new piece of clothing that gets discarded, the anticipation building inside of you skyrockets.

You take a moment to soak in his lithe figure, not bothering to hide how affected you are by the view. He’s nicely sculpted; you can tell right away that he takes care of himself. Swimming or dancing maybe? You hesitate between the two. His muscles are lean, nothing like the bulging biceps and thick forearms typical of the stereotypical gym rat.

Hoseok’s dick is, unsurprisingly, as pretty as the rest of him. It’s long and curved, a prominent vein running along its underside. The thatch of pubic hair that rests above his dick is neatly trimmed, the dark hair contrasting with the tan skin of his abdomen and the rosy hue of his erect length. Your eyes swoop down his thighs, licking your lips unwittingly at the alluring sight presented to you.

“Daddy,” you say, the whine in your voice unmistakable. “Want your cock.”

For a brief moment you’re tricked into believing he’s given in to your demand, but find yourself disappointed when he contents himself with rubbing his hardened member between your thighs, the glide slippery thanks to the copious amount of your essence that’s pooled there.

“Like this?” Hoseok asks, tone too sweet to be anything but mocking. The head of his cock bumps into your swollen bundle of nerves one, two, three times. You keen, your hips canting upwards in a bid to get more friction. “Want to rut against me until you get nice and creamy?”

He uses his right hand to spread your slick lower lips so that he can nestle his cock snuggly between them. He rolls his hips, the undulations fluid and dirty, and smirks at how you moan brokenly beneath him.

Your stomach clenches. “Need it in me."

"You'll get it," he promises after kissing you sloppily, lips sucking on your tongue. His breath is ragged but his voice steady, firm. "I'll give you everything you need. Make you cum so many times you know who owns this sweet pussy."

He speaks so surely, carries himself with so much confidence, that in the moment you can't help but believe him. The line between staged and reality blurs and you find yourself nodding eagerly, begging him as best you can to give you what you want.

The first tentative push of his dick wipes you clean of coherency. He slowly eases himself into you, reaching forward to lace his fingers with yours. It’s - more intimate than you expected. He squeezes your hand tightly in his when he finally manages to bury his entire length inside of you.

“Perfect.” He kisses the side of your temple before drawing back, his hard cock dragging deliciously against you. With a fluid hip thrust, he slides back in and you feel the stretch moreso this time around. The curvature of his cock has him pressing up against your walls in a way that robs you of breath.

"Daddy! Hh - ah, oh God. You're too b-big."

"Mhm, that's right. Daddy's fat cock is splitting you open. I'll plug you up with it later so none of my cum will leak out."

Every time he pulls back, your pussy clamps down tightly around him, unwilling to be empty even for a second.

Hoseok’s nostrils flare in arousal. He grabs your left tit and squeezes, using it as a hold to better fuck into you. With his body hovering above yours, his hand staking claim of your breast, and his cock drilling into you, you have nowhere to go. Pinned to the bed and unable to do anything but take everything he delivers, you wrap your legs around his waist and moan.

"Daddy's gonna fuck some babies into you,” he rasps, his eyes dark pools of lust. "Gonna breed your sweet pussy over and over. You'll be so full of my cum that you'll be pregnant with my babies for sure."

“Oh fuck. Yes, yes - oh my nhhg.” You sob as Hoseok drives his cock into you with more force. While the piston of his hips isn’t rushed, he pulls out to the tip only to slam back in to the hilt every time. The stretch burns in a good way and the sound of your moans are rivaled only by the wet, obscene sounds from your coupling.

"Fuck. Your cunt just - shit." He cracks down a hand against your ass and you shriek, not expecting it. "You're so tight, holy shit."

"Want it. Want you to fuck me good."

"I will," he says lowly, the promise reverberating deep in his chest. "I'll fuck you until you're begging me to stop. Fill you up so much, you'll be bloated with it."

And it should freak you out, the imagery he paints with his words, but the thought of laying there and him fucking you so well that you won't be able to feel your legs has you gushing out more wetness.

"Mmmh.” Maybe he can feel how soaked you are because he comments, “This is my favorite hole of yours, princess. Always so fuckin' drenched. I bet we’ll have to throw out the sheets again." He chuckles. "You must be hungry for it, right? I made you wait so long. No wonder your pussy is clenching like that. It needs a big, fat cock to milk dry."

“I missed it,” you cry, body skidding a little higher up the duvet each time he fucks into you. Your eyelashes flutter, lids heavy. It’s hard to concentrate, let alone form words, when your brain feels like complete mush. “I - I need your cum. Daddy, please.”

"Don't worry, gorgeous. I've got you. Daddy will feed your cute pussy his cock."

"Th-thank you, Daddy."

"Love you," he murmurs. It’s a quiet confession, lost somewhere in between the mattress creaks, the loud slaps of Hoseok’s hips slamming against yours, and the string of whimpers and groans pulled from your throat. It’s quiet but you hear it.

One of your hands reach up to pull him down by the neck so that your lips meet. He kisses you open-mouthed. It’s a filthy kiss, one that makes you moan into his mouth. You’re certain that if you had been standing your knees would have wobbled.

When you let up for air, Hoseok’s staring you down, his red-bitten lips plump and shiny.

"Love this pussy. So sweet and wet for me. Always for fucking swollen, like it's waiting to get a pounding. Love that. Love how eager you are to be bred by my thick cock."

The impregnation kink is - a bit much. You've never really imagined having kids, at least not anytime soon. You can’t even keep your plants alive for fuck’s sake.

But the way he suggests it is nothing like what you had imagined. His suggestions are - vulgar and primal. Like the urge to fuck you full of his cum is biological and he can’t smother it.

For a moment, you let yourself entertain the thought of being his breeding bitch - of laying on your back and letting him fuck load after load of cum inside you until your pussy physically can't accommodate any more. Of not having any other worries or thoughts but take his cock every moment of the day.

"You just got tighter.” He curses under his breath, voice thick with arousal.  "Such a warm little hole. Taking everything I give it. You'd take anything if it meant getting bred by me, right?"

“Yes, yes,” you chant, pleasure coiling inside of you. “Give me more! I need it."

"Shit. You can't handle more, princess," he tries to reason. "Daddy needs to be gentle with you. Your hole is so small, it'll hurt if I go harder."

"Daddy promised to fuck me.” You whine, uncaring if you sound too bratty and demanding. "B- Breed my hole. It's yours. Puh-please use me."

"God." Hoseok groans, his features twisting in what looks to be pain or pleasure. With tremendous effort he pulls himself out of you and your eyes widen in panic.

“What? Daddy why? I thought—”

He shushes you, reaching somewhere overhead to grab a fluffy pillow. "Just wait a sec, okay? There you go.”

The pillow is placed underneath your hips, keeping them elevated. When Hoseok takes his glistening cock in hand and directs it back in, you both moan in unison.

"Oh fuck, I’m gonna, ah,” you gasp as your mind goes blank with pleasure. The new angle is heaven on earth. It’s almost too much, too quick, but Hoseok’s firm grip on your hips prevents you from alleviating the pressure.

"Take it." He grunts, brows knit together. Every powerful snap of his hips makes your breasts bounce, your breath hitch. Without his hands keeping you pinned down, your head would have collided with the headboard by now. "Be a good princess and take your fucking."

He gains momentum, the new angle facilitating the slide of his cock. He drags the flat of his palm down your thigh and takes a hold of your knee before hoisting it up over your shoulder. The stretch burns the back of your calves but you’re so fucked out, you can’t even find the words to complain.

When you glance up, it’s to fall upon the sight of Hoseok brushing his sweaty fringe out of his face. His cheeks are flushed pink, his skin dewy from the film of perspiration wrapped around his body. Beads of sweat trickle down his heaving chest but he chooses to forgo a quick break. On the contrary, he pushes in deeper like he’s determined to carve out a permanent space for his cock.

"Just gonna keep you here,” he huffs, his eyes the shade of cloudless night sky. “Everyday I'll fuck my cum back inside of you so that you'll always stay full. Want to fuck you forever. Don't want this to end."

"Want it too," you sob, orgasm hovering just on the periphery. "Want you to keep me full forever. Ugh - oh fuck! Hoseok- I'm—"

"You gonna cum around my cock, princess?" He angles his hips downwards, relishing in the wanton cry it elicits. "Gonna give me everything?"

"I'm yours," you profess, jaw slack with pleasure.

It doesn’t take much more for the orgasm to crash over you, Hoseok fucks you through it, groaning as your inner walls spasm around him. He breathes out curses, lip drawn tight between his lips, and doesn’t wait for the last waves of your orgasm to abate to chase after his own end.

In the throes of your pleasure, it doesn’t register then that Hoseok has been holding back all this time. If you thought he had been fucking you hard before, it’s nothing compared to now. He growls and bends forward, forcing your leg to stretch even more, and pushes in and out of you at a pace that makes you scream.

You don’t even have time to come down from your first high that you’re already thrown towards your second. Hoseok plugs your mouth up using two digits, his fingers a firm pressure against your tongue. Your eyes roll back, too overwhelmed from the feeling of being stuffed on both ends.

“God, I could fuck your holes all fucking day.” His rhythm begins to falter as the pressure inside of him grows, his movements frantic and less controlled than they’ve ever been. “How about that? I’ll fuck my princess’ mouth properly next time, stretch it out nicely. Then you’ll let me have your ass, hm?”

Shit, shit, you whimper around his fingers, spit bubbling down the sides on your mouth. It’s scary knowing you have no way to stop the oncoming destruction.

“Yeah, I can tell you love that. You’re gonna cream my dick again, aren’t you?” You can’t tell if the sound he makes is a laugh or a grunt. All you know is that you feel like you’re about to burst. “C’mon, be a good girl and milk my cum out. You better get every last drop.”

There’s an underlying threat in his command. You do your best to obey his words, not wanting to disappoint.

Hoseok pushes his cock in as deep as it can go and grinds his hips into yours. His cock reaches so deep that you swear he might hit your cervix. And considering the nature of the scene you’re portraying, maybe that’s what he intends.

He swipes his fingers through the mess of your cunt, zeroing in on your sensitive clit. He swirls some of your fluids over it before giving it a sharp pinch that makes you cry out. Your hips fly off the pillow but Hoseok is quick to pin you back down. The never-ending drag of his cock along your walls paired with the rough ministrations to your clit is all you need for the pressure inside you to snap.

Above you, Hoseok moans, low and throaty, as he finally dumps rope after rope of warm cum inside of you. He throws his head back, exposing the collar of purplish bruises you sucked onto his skin earlier. Something about the view satisfies you immensely - not that you’d dare voice these thoughts out loud.

Hoseok’s strength gives out and he sags onto your body, his breath warm against your skin. He feels hot, like a furnace, but strangely it’s not uncomfortable. It’s almost like having a personal heating pad; the soreness of your muscles melts away with each passing moment.

Much to your displeasure, your post-coital bliss doesn’t last forever. He's given the signal to pull out and obeys, careful to keep your hips propped up so that his load of cum won’t slosh out. He’s still got a role to play, after all, and the end goal is to get you pregnant.

A cameraman walks forward to zoom in on your swollen and used pussy - physical proof of your exploits. The haze lifts. You become more aware of the people standing on the outskirts of your vision, lighting or sound equipment in hand.

“And that’s a wrap!” Director Ryu calls, his cheeks stretched to accommodate the width of his grin. “Good job everybody!”

You breathe out a sigh, glad your day is finally over. Seokjin walks up to you with a robe for you to throw on and you nod in thanks, slipping the satin gown over your sweaty body.

Around you, the staff start milling about, putting the equipment away and gathering their belongings. You pay them no heed, your attention focused on getting changing into showering and changing into comfortable clothes. You’re in the middle of taming your messy hair when your stomach erupts into growls, reminding you of your hungry state. What you’d do for a big slice of piz—

You remember your date with Jimin and speed up, not wanting to make him wait around for you any longer. It’s not hard to spot him - he’s waiting outside of your dressing room, can of coke in hand.

Something about his smile feels off.

Maybe it’s the way his eye corners don’t crease or the slight strain the curve of his mouth that betray him.

Your expression falls. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing - it’s nothing, don’t worry,” he says after a short, tense moment of silence. The look on your face must have reflected your feelings of doubt because he proceeds by reaching out and pulling you tight against him. Pressed up against his shirt, you can smell the faintest trace of the fabric softener he uses and its scent, familiar and sweet, mollifies you somewhat. “You did amazing today, baby. As usual.”

The compliment you’ve been waiting for makes the sides of your lips rise automatically. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Almost too well.” He hums, one of his hands stroking the back of your head.

“Well, I can’t take all the credit, “ you admit. “The results wouldn’t have been half as good if Hoseok hadn’t been my partner. He’s new in the game but he doesn’t act like it, does he?”

“He doesn’t, no.” Jimin agrees. “He’s... he’s something, alright.”

Your grin widens. All your worrying had been for nothing, in the end. The shoot had gone without a hitch, all of the set members coming up to you with praises of a job well done. You can’t recall the last time any of your performances had elicited such a response post-filming. Even Director Ryu looks particularly pleased, a permanent grin etched onto his features as he reviews the tapes. The knowledge that you’ve done well fills you with a pleasant giddiness that warms your insides and makes your cheeks hurt from how wide your smile stretches.

“Oh good, you’re still here.” Hoseok beams. A damp towel hangs around his neck and the ends of his hair are wet like he’s just gone and doused his head under the bathroom faucet. “I was worried you had left. I just - thanks for earlier. I had a lot of fun! If the chance presents itself, I hope we can work together again.”

“Thank you.” You want to praise him too, know that his performance deserves it, but your next words are cut off before they have the chance to form. Jimin steps closer to you, his grip on your hip tightening suddenly.

When you glance up to check on your boyfriend, he’s sporting a serious expression that you’ve rarely seen before. He doesn’t look angry, but it’s clear as day that he isn’t too pleased with the present situation. His face is closed off, cold, unwelcoming - so drastically different from the usual cherubic sweetness you’re accustomed to seeing.

You’re at a loss for words, unsure of who to address first. What’s going on?

Hoseok senses the sudden change in atmosphere and chooses to tactfully retreat.

“Good work, man.” He nods at Jimin and then shoots you a wave. “See you around sometime, ______ !”

Your eyes follow his exit before you turn to face Jimin again, hoping the smile on your face masks the worry you feel bubbling on the inside.

“Jimin what - I mean, are you sure you're okay?”

Jimin returns a strained smile of his own. “I’m fine.”

Your gaze lands on his right hand that’s still squeezing your waist. It borders on uncomfortable but you try not to let it show. You must not do a very good job at schooling your features because Jimin quickly apologizes for his behavior.

“Sorry.” Jimin lets you go once he notices your discomfort. “I just - I don’t know. You’re right, I’m not acting like myself. I think...seeing you say that stuff and act that way just - I’m not sure why, I guess - Since usually the sex isn’t like that, it caught me off guard.”

“You didn’t like that I acted like I was in love with him.”

“Would anyone?” he shoots back, smile sardonic. “It just looked so convincing in the moment. I guess it got me worked up.”

Sure, Hoseok is hot. If you had to work with him again, you would in a heartbeat. It’s not often you land a colleague you’re so sexually compatible with, who also happens to be so well-mannered and good-looking. It’s like hitting the jackpot, really.

But - just because you’d fuck him again for professional reasons, doesn’t mean that you’re interested in him beyond that.

“Jimin. I don’t want to be with anybody else but you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” The muscles in his face relax. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

.

.

It’s not until later, as he fucks you uncharacteristically hard in the backseat of his car parked in the back lot of the film studio, that you begin to wonder if things really are as idyllic as you believe them to be.

.

.

.

[elizaisthetruehero]

Singing Like a Bird 'Bout It Now Chapter 1

So, I started writing another Eureka fic. Even though I have a WIP that isn't finished yet. What's probably going to happen is I'll get stuck on one and then switch to working on the other to beat procrastination. That's the plan anyway.

But here's the AO3 Link, that I posted there last night, and forgot to put here and on FF.Net. I'm doing FF.net because Eureka is an older fandom, and I think there's a couple people there who never made the switch.

Summary: Jo rushes into the Sheriff's station after 1947, and is greeted by a Zane who does not remember proposing to her that morning. But they're definitely still together. It just seems that Jo can't figure out what they hell they are, and why he's still going on dates with other women.

Zane doesn't understand why Jo's suddenly done an about face, but if it gets her to stop acting like nothing's going on between them, he can work with that. He just wishes he knew why she looked so sad when she looked at him.

Chapter 1

Jo strode into the Sheriff’s station, heart hammering against her bruised ribs, terrified of what she would find. The statue had changed. God, she hoped that was the only thing they’d changed. It would be a ridiculous change they would have made, back in 1947, but one Jo would have no problem living with.

There Zane was, sitting in her cell like he’d been that morning, casual and cool, like she hadn’t ripped his heart out and thrown it in his face. Hope bubbled up in her chest, and Jo could feel it showing in her smile. Maybe they’d be okay. She could feel the weight of the ring still in her pocket. They could still have their happy ending, walking into Café Diem, congratulations from all their friends, phone calls from their parents. Everything would be okay.

“Zane. I can't believe you're still here.”

He didn’t even look up at her, just kept thumbing through his magazine, “Where else would I be?”

“I thought after the way that I reacted,” she broke off sighing, not sure what to say about what she did that morning, or how to fix it. She’d never been good with words. “I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe I was just thinking too much. You know, I... I do that sometimes and...”

He cut her off, disinterest in his tone, “Lupo, what the hell are you trying to say?”

“I'm trying to say, ‘Yes.’”

“Yes? Yes, you’ll what, stop hogging the covers? Seriously Jo, what’s gotten into you?” he asked as he threw down his magazine.

“What we, this morning, you,” she cut herself off, dread filling her stomach like a weight. She looked around the room and saw that while Zane was in the cell, it was empty. None of the trappings or reminders of how they met that had been there when she'd first walked in that morning, before 1947. No framed poster, no bedding on the cot, no damn Panini press, no, no Liza’s box. And… Oh.

The cell door. It was locked, likely with the key that was on her belt loop. Why the hell was Zane in a locked cell?

“This morning you kicked me out of your bed at 3 am when I asked you to stop hogging the covers. And then this afternoon you threw me in jail.” Her bed. She’d kicked him out of her bed. Not their bed anymore. They didn’t live together?

Jo sat down at her desk, no able to look Zane in the eye while she tried to process everything that had happened. "Yeah, well, you shouldn’t bother me when I’m trying to sleep. You should be smarter than that," she said, forcing a smirk to her face, slipping into the familiar biting banter she and Zane had when they were fighting. Had she and Zane never gotten serious? He certainly wasn't looking at her the same way he had that morning.

“Look, Dungeon Master, when am I getting out of here?”

She played with her hands, picking the dirt out from under her nails, “I don’t know, what’d you do?”

“Nothing, you just like throwing me in jail,” she fixed her least impressed look in his direction, careful not to look in his eyes, but just above his head. If she did that, she might do something irrational and ill-befitting of a Deputy of Eureka. Like start beating prisoners. “So I unlocked a few cages, those monkeys deserved some freedom. Look, could you just let me out? I’ve got a date."

What? "Really? A date? With who?"

"Yeah, I'm meeting the blonde chick with the Ph.D. in Reproductive Biology. We're going to play doctorate," he smirked, without any of the soft and nervous affection he'd had that morning. Just the sarcastic bravado he’d had when he’d bought her lingerie to get under her skin. Did he even remember doing that anymore?

"Seriously?"

"Come on, Lupo, don't start acting like you care what I get up to or who with. We both know what's going on here, and what we’re not." No, I don’t know what we are, or why you’re sleeping with me but going out with other women. Why the hell wouldn’t I care about that!

She rushed to his cell door to unlock it, desperate to get him away from her, “Go. Get out.”

“You gonna taze me in the ass again?” and there was that grin, charming and handsome, that had caught her eye two years ago. Obsession with firearms can be a sign of an unfulfilled sexual appetite. I'm not saying that's you. But if it is, I'm at your service.She’d had to be talked out of shooting him back then. Now she wanted to shoot him, whatever blonde chick he was meeting up with, and maybe herself.

"Just get out," she snapped at him, blinking back tears that she couldn’t let fall. He walked out the door, facing her, clearly puzzled, his eyebrows drawn together in a way that she normally found cute, but right now, made her want to punch something. Anything would do.

The door shut behind Zane with a click, and Jo leaned against the cell bars, took a breath, and winced. She’d managed to clean up the blood on her face while Henry and Fargo were repairing the phones, but her ribs still needed to be taped, and the scrapes on her hands and head needed to be cleaned. She should still have an almost full tub of GD-grade bruise gel at home. Hopefully, it was still there.

Jo unlocked her door and stepped into her house, shutting the door behind her before leaning against it, letting her breath rush out of her. She took moment to close her eyes and just breathe after the chaos of the day that wasn’t even over yet. But she knew her peace couldn't last. She would have to go through her house to try to put together the pieces of the picture that made up her life, and figure out where everything went wrong.

Well, she had her minute. Time to face the music. She pushed off of the door, opened her eyes, and headed to the kitchen. She glanced around, her fingers trailing along the cool counter, taking it in. Didn’t look any different than it had when she had left that morning. Except…

She peered into the dishwasher and sighed in disappointment. Gone were Zane's plates with dried-on eggs, or his TARDIS-shaped mug, and she didn't think that was because he'd washed them already. They were probably at his old apartment, the one he'd barely spent any time at after they got together. Oh, they hadn't officially moved in together until after he'd gotten home from the Arctic, but that had been a formality, almost. Like he'd thought his question that morning had been. So let’s make it official. He’d really wanted to marry her. Spend the rest of his life with her, like she was the obvious choice.

Jo shook her head. She couldn’t think about that, the proposal that had never happened. She didn’t know how to fix the timeline, so she had to deal with this Zane in the meantime, if not forever. She really hoped she didn’t have this smarmy asshole forever.

She moved onto the living room. It looked like it had before Zane moved in, same décor, same pictures, and the same piano along the wall. The books on the shelves and her coffee table were just her books here, no physics journals or sci-fi novels or comic books. Just the thrillers and murder mysteries she liked to read on the rare occasion she had the opportunity. And, she checked the ottoman with the small storage space, some romance novels with shirtless men on the cover that she did notpull out in public. Zane had teased her the first time he’d seen her reading one, but she’d come home early one day and saw him on the couch, curled up with the blanket his mom had sent as a housewarming present, reading one. He insisted he was just being a good boyfriend, taking interest in her interests. And then he cracked a joke about the cowboy on the cover and positions. She’d been mad at him, but he made up for it.

She moved over to the stairs, heading up. At the very least, she would have to get changed and clean up, get 1947 off of her as quickly as possible. Hope that when she got out of the shower and back to town, Henry would have figured out a way to fix this.

Jo opened the door to her bedroom and stripped off her costume, heading straight for the en-suite bathroom. She showered quickly and efficiently, noting that, like most of the house, Zane's belongings were not there. She got out, wrapped the towel around herself, and headed to the sink to check the scrape on her temple. She applied GD's liquid band-aid to the cut, ignoring the sting, and went to put it away in the cabinet when she stopped, heart in her throat.

A used men's razor. She lifted it off the counter delicately, noting the short dark hairs caught between the blades. Zane's. Jo took stock of the rest of the vanity and felt a glimmer of hope that she hadn't felt since Zane spoke, back in the station.

Two toothbrushes in the holder. A can of his shaving cream. His aftershave, cap off because he could never remember to put the lid back on. She checked the shower again, and saw the bar of soap in the corner of the caddy, the kind that she never used, but, had clearly been used by someone.

Okay. Zane didn’t have any of his stuff downstairs, but he was over often enough that he had some space on her bathroom counter. Though not over enough for them to be exclusive. She really hoped she didn’t have to see him on his date. Her self-control was good, but not that good, she thought as she taped up her ribs and smoothed gel over her bruises. Those needed to fade, and quickly. The last thing she needed was someone asking what happened to her arms.

After giving the gel a minute to dry down, Jo walked back into her bedroom and got dressed, jerking open her drawers to see what was in each one. Her underwear, tank tops, T-Shirts and sweats all still in drawers. She yanked the last one open, wondering if it was empty if it was still being used for her sweaters, or…

Zane's clothes. Not all of them, his wardrobe probably had more than just a pair of jeans, two pairs of boxers, a couple of V-necks and, a crumpled-up plaid shirt. But he kept clothes here. Not enough to be living here, which the bottom floor had told her. But clean clothes for those rushed mornings when he wouldn't have time to run home before heading to work. He'd probably shown up to GD too many times wearing yesterday's clothes, thick stubble on his face.

Who had suggested it? Had she cleared it out and offered it to him? Had he brought them over in a backpack or duffle, slipping them into the drawer with a nervous grin? Were they the result of lazy weekends spent in her bed, ignoring the world outside?

She pulled her jeans on before picking up her dirty clothes and bringing them over to her hamper, and right on top of her clothes, was a pair of his boxers. Just more evidence that Zane was part of her life, but she didn’t know how she fit into his. If she went over to his apartment, would she find similar signs of her presence? Travel-size versions of her shampoo and conditioner, a change or two of clothes, maybe part of a spare uniform? Would her robe be there, or, no, she caught herself. He was fucking other women. If she got cold over there, she’d borrow one of his hoodies and a pair of his sweats.

And that was if she even went over to his place. She really needed to stop dawdling and get back to town so she could talk to Carter and Henry, see what was going on, and if they could fix this. And if they couldn’t, well, she’d been a Special Forces operative and was now a Deputy in Eureka. She could adapt. Maybe she could get Zane to adapt with her. Maybe, she thought as she slipped the ring onto a chain and placed it around her neck, not willing to be without it in case Henry found a way to fix this, maybe he’d even try to put this ring on her finger again. But that wasn’t happening tonight. Because she froze.

[spiritofchaoticdreams]

Gotham’s Puppet Princess, PART 3

(PART 1) (PART 2)

Manny/Mandrake belongs to @kelelamentia, thanks again for letting me borrow his character!

________________________________________________________________

After a long walk Marinette had made it back home. A.K.A Pops’ brand new hideout, which originally was an old abandoned toy factory. Honestly, it was a miracle that Batsy hadn't found them yet. But hey, if he’s not even looking for them then should she really care? Shrugging her shoulders she walked over to the secret entrance door, and knocked to the rhythm of Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits. Then it opened slightly to reveal Punch, who was waiting for her to say the password. They both knew that she didn’t have to, but Punch had a job to do.

She smiled and said, “cottontail.” That’s right the password was the name of her beloved stuffed toy that was lost to HER. She resisted the urge to growl, and tried thinking of puppies, glitter bombs, and rainbows. But all she wanted to do was smash anything that had reminded her of HER. Yes smash. Smash her head with the mallet. Make her scream. Pops can join in  too! Then she can get...Cottontail. Cottontail. Cottontail. Suddenly, all her rage had dissipated and she was left feeling happy. 

Cottontail always made her happy. 

Pops had said that he would get her a new Cottontail, but he’s been busy so he hasn’t gotten a replacement bunny. Which is good, nothing could ever replace her beloved bunny. 

Punch nodded, took a step aside and she walked in, “Hey Punch, could you take this to my room, please?”, she asked, gesturing to the bolt of fabric she was carrying. He nodded, and took it from her arms and walked away in the direction of her room. “Thanks a bunch, Punch!” She yelled over her shoulder as she walked towards Pops’ office. 

Did she hear Pops yelling?

The closer she got to the door, the more she heard. Why did she hear arguing? She definitely heard Pops yelling, but she couldn’t make out the words. She recognized Pops’ voice, but there were two distinct voices that she couldn’t put her finger on. Hmm. The door was closed...Arguing...Pops’ office...Pops must be in the middle of planning something! The perfect chance for her to step into the spotlight and make her second debut into the crime world. Hopefully, they can squeeze that into whatever Pops is thinking up.

Giggling, she knocked twice on the door and waited. After a minute or so, the voices died down and she heard her Pops say “It’s open!” Smiling, she opened the door and walked in to see Pops, looking angrily at...Uncle Eddie and Uncle Harvey. Visitors! Yay! But why was Pops yelling? M-maybe they were here to help with whatever Pops was planning? Yeah! That’s it. 

Squealing, she ran over to Uncle Eddie, wrapped her arms around him and placed her head on his chest, “Uncle Eddie! It’s been forever since you’ve come to visit!”, she cheered. 

But he was stiff and unmoving, shouldn’t he be hugging her back by now? She stopped her hug and looked up at him, he was staring at her looking horrified. She  asked, “Uncle Eddie? You okay?”

“Yeah Riddler buddy. You’re looking kinda pale. Right, Two-Face?”, Pops’ voice came from behind her, she looked over Uncle Harvey who flinched when their eyes met. He looked away and just kept looking over at Pops. 

“Uncle Harvey?”, he flinched, Mari took a step back and looked at Pops, silently asking him what was going on? Why were they doing this? Why was this happening? Pops smiled at her and gave her a look that said not to worry. Okay then, she won't worry. She trusts Pops. She looked back at her Uncles and noticed that they were just staring at her. Gee, with the way they were acting you think they thought...that she was dead.

She looked over at Pops who was still smiling “Pops!”, she yelled. He turned to her and said, “Yes Dolly?” 

She glared at him, “Did you forget to tell them that I didn’t kick the bucket?” Pops had a look of realization on his face, and shrugged his shoulders. He smiled like it was no big deal. Yeah no big deal, it’s just most likely her entire family thinks she bit the big one. No wonder she never got any letters! Then again she never really sent any out either. 

But that’s not the point! Marinette was about to yell at him when  Uncle Eddie began to do something. He walked over to her, bent down to her level, and looked her in the eyes. She recognized looks of disbelief, relief, and  joy.  Slowly, he reached his hand out and gently cupped her cheek. His eyes then started looking a bit watery.

“It’s you. It’s really you.”, he said, small tears now streaking down his face. Uncle Harvey snapped out of his trance and followed Eddie’s lead. He bent down to her level and smiled, his bad side’s jagged smile looking less menacing than usual.

“I missed you Princess.”, Uncle Harvey said in his good voice. His bad voice adding, “Don’t go doing that again.”

“Of course it’s me.”, Marinette smiled. Then both of her uncles wrapped her up in a hug and she welcomed the touch. When the hug finally ended, Marinette stood up. She looked to her Uncles said, “I thought Pops would’ve told you that I had lived.” She laughed nervously, “ Although that would explain why no one came to visit me.”

“It was for your own good. We couldn’t have any info spilling to Harley that you were alive.”, Pops spoke up. Marinette watched as he walked over to her, her uncles both quickly moving aside so that Pops could bend down to her level. “I mean, if Harley knew that you were alive. She probably would’ve hunted you down, and heaven forbid, finish the job.”

Marinette froze, the image of HER  standing over her while holding Pops’ severed head flashed in her mind. “Hey Babygirl.”,the familiar voice rang in her ears. Marinette trembled and felt her eyes start to water. She looked at Pops, and saw him wiping a tear from his eye. She threw herself into Pops’ arms. “I’m sorry Pops! I’ll never question your reasons again! I should’ve known you were doing it for my safety.”, she sobbed into his jacket. 

Pops wrapped his arms around her and said, “There, there.” His soft voice made Marinette cry harder. Then Pops gently grabbed her shoulders and pushed her away so that she could look up at him. “Chin up Dolly, or the crown slips.” 

She quickly wiped away any tears she had and began trying to calm herself down. But her eyes were still watery and her breathing was still a bit labored. “How was the city? Did you have fun?”, Pops asked. His tone was weird, but whatever. It's Pops, he’s always been a little weird.

Marinette nodded, “Y-yeah!”, She smiled and when he grinned at her she continued, “I think I found a toy that could provide a good laugh! She’s making some very bold claims, and I want to see how it plays out.” Pops smiled at her and ruffled her hair. 

“That sounds...fun.”, he grinned at her, “Now run along, and get ready for dinner.” Marinette nodded and made her way to the door. 

But then she stopped in her tracks, spun around and Marinette smiled, “Oh! What do you think of my hair?” 

Pops looked at her closely, he placed a hand to his chin, “You dyed your hair green?” 

She nodded excitedly, and then pouted, “Well I tried to, but my hair is so dark, it looks more like there's a green tint to it. I wanted to match you, you know ‘cause I’m your sidekick and all.”

Pops tsked, walked a few steps closer and booped her nose with his finger, “You are my partner, not my sidekick.” Marinette’s eyes widened, partner? Partner! That means she’s equal to him! She felt giddy. She thought of her knocking Harley off her pedestal, taking her spot and then rising until she was right next to Pops. It made her so excited! 

“Partners?! Hell yeah!”, She cheered. She punched the air and ran out the door, and giggled as she skipped happily up the stairs to her room. As she was passing by Bud and Lou’s beds she threw them kisses and couldn’t resist spending a few minutes playing with them. “Bud! Lou! I missed you guys!”, she cooed as she sat down with them. “It was such a long day!” They gave her kisses and she couldn’t help the smile on her face. “Oh you guys are the best brothers ever!” She rubbed her face against theirs. As much as she wanted to stay with them, she had to get ready for dinner. She stood up and her heart broke when they whined. 

“I’ll be back after dinner, okay boys?”, they pouted and she frowned. “I know. I’m sorry...What if I snuck you guys some steak after dinner.” They laughed and their tails were wagging excitedly. “It’s settled then, I’ll bring you guys steak 

She threw the doors open and spun around in the room that had once been her prison so long ago.She sighed contentedly, “This’ll be so much fun.”, she smiled, then her eyes landed on Harley the mallet. Harley's smile stared back at her, “You knew this day was coming. So don’t give me that look!”, she grabbed the mallet roughly by it’s handle.She growled, “This just goes to show that I’ll be the better villain than you! I’m worth more! I’m Pops’ partner! Y-you were just a henchman!”

Still Harley the mallet smiled, the sight of it was beginning to piss her off. So she chucked it out the door of her room. The crash of the mallet hitting something as it landed made her jump, huffing she plopped herself down on her vanity and pulled out her make-up and face paint. It’s true she’s so pale that she doesn’t need the white cover-up, but it helps her hide any identifying blemishes like her freckles. Plus it makes her eyes pop!

She blew a kiss at her reflection, and smiled when her movements were copied. She smiled at herself, and then she noticed it. Her smile. W-was her smile always so fake looking? M-maybe it’ll look more genuine when she and Pops hit the town, or whatever he was planning with her uncles. Yeah! That’s it. 

Or she’s just overthinking it. Yeah that seems like the more reasonable option. There was nothing wrong with her smile, she’s just a bit nervous about reentering the spotlight. 

Just as Marinette was about to change into something for dinner, her phone vibrated. She unlocked it and was shocked to see a text from an unknown number. It’s most likely a client. ‘Who knew I’d be so popular?’, she thought to herself. She shrugged and clicked on the text. 

Unknown number: Hey, this is Lila Rossi 

Unknown number: Damian Wayne’s fiance? 

Unknown number: Your card said you're a dress designer, but I’m assuming you also make them. My class is going to the Wayne Gala in a few weeks. I was hoping you could make me a dress since we’re friends.

Marinette thought it over. Lila’s an obvious liar. She is on a class trip. Most likely, Lila can’t pay for the services. It would be bad for business if she made a free dress  for a girl who is obviously lying. It would make Marinette D. Levi  seem like a gullible fame seeking idiot. Unless...She said that it was a gift.A gift for a girl she thought was a friend. She doesn’t even have to make her a new dress, why waste such valuable fabric on her.  Just find an old dress that a previous client never paid for and adjust it to Lila. Maybe the peacock dress. This will just be a long game of dress up.

Smiling, she typed her response:

Me: You assume correct!

Me: Of course! I think I have just the dress for you. All I would need to do is adjust it to your size.

Unknown number: Oh that sounds so nice! 😌 I knew it was fate for us to have met! Damiboo will be so happy!

Me: How do you feel about birds? Specifically peacocks?

Marinette grinned as she walked over to her closet. It was kept in a protective sleeve and was mostly forgotten in her clothes. She grabbed it and slipped it out of its sleeve. Finally it saw the light of day again, The Peacock Dress, one of her first commissions. It seemed like the perfect dress for Lila.

The client had been meaning to pay for it, but then they got caught up in a Superman fight while in Metropolis. Their family didn’t want it because it brought up memories, but paid for her time and services, but never paid for the dress. “Keep it”, they told her. So she did.

Why was she giving this to Lila? Such a precious dress, maybe she should send a picture and-

Her phone beeped, she unlocked it.

Unknown number: ❤️❤️❤️ I love peacocks! It’s my favorite bird! How did you know?

Marinette’s heart sank, she looked at the dress. The client would’ve wanted the dress to have been worn. But not by Lila. Was she taking this game too far? Or was she taking it too seriously? 

N-no. It’s just a game with a  toy. That’s all

She stroked the embroidered feathers on the shoulder, the client had been such a nice person. A light that had been taken too soon. She narrowed her eyes, those damn so called heroes. Not caring of the world they destroy in their quest for “justice”. She frowned.

She sighed and put the dress back in it’s sleeve. She put on a coat and rushed back to Pops’ office. She popped her head in and surprisingly scared her uncles. “Popsicle! I’m going back out! Meeting with a client!”, she said, and then ran out the door. 

She heard him yell, “B-but Dolly! Judy made you your favorite!” as she ran back into the outside world.

___*****Line Break*****___

“Smile, darn you, smile.”, Marinette sang softly, “Everybody loves to grin. Follow my lead, recite my creed and smile!” 

She skipped merrily to her destination, The Wayne Hotel, a.k.a where Lila’s class was staying. The dress she promised Lila was safely tucked away in a protective sleeve, which she carried via hanger. Honestly, the dress was too pretty and too nice for Lila, but isn’t that what you do with toys? You dress them up and pretend they're something else?..Because that’s all she is to her, a toy, something for her to play with until she’s bored! She doesn’t need another “friend” that will just leave her behind to die under a crumbling building!

 Sighing, she entered the building and then she heard someone say, “Please hold the do-” Marinette spun around and saw the girl with the glowing earrings running toward her, “ Hey! You’re the girl from earlier!” 

Marinette smiled, “Yup! That’s me!” Throwing a thumb pointing at herself, which flawlessly turned into her extending her hand out. “My name’s Marinette!” 

The girl smiled and took her hand, “I’m Alya, it’s nice to officially meet you!”  Then Alya’s eyes traveled to the dress and her eyes lit up. “Oooh what’s that?” 

Marinette perked up, “It’s a dress commission for...a client.” Judging by the girl’s previous response to Lila’s lies, it was obvious she wouldn’t be pleased if she said the dress was for Lila. 

“Client? Oh you’re working! What’s the name of the company? My class is going to the Wayne Gala in a few weeks so I’m kind of in the market for a dress. Our class representative didn’t bother to let us know beforehand.” Alya said, her tone becoming a little irritated towards the end. 

“MDL Boutique! The DL stands for don’t keep us on the downlow! Spread the word!”, she grinned excitedly, meanwhile Alya stared at Marinette with a confused look on her face. It was so funny and so adorable, it made Marinette giggle. 

“That’s what happens when you have talent and everyone can see it!”, She winked, and handed Alya her business card. “Pretty soon my name will be all over Gotham! Marinette D. Levi, dress designer, dress maker, and matchmaker!” she cheered with the biggest smile. 

 It was nice for Marinette D.Levi to have a dream to aspire for, even if it was unlikely for it to ever come true. Soon she’ll officially debut as Puppet Princess and she’ll be Pops’ partner! A-and that’s for the best, who needs work? All work and no play would just make her dull. Right?

Then Alya snorted, gaining Marinette’s attention, “The “D” wouldn’t happen to be for Dolly would it? I used to love that movie so much when I was younger!” Marinette beamed, Alya was now the second person to get the reference in her name.

She laughed, “My po-apa is a comedian of sorts. He loves a good joke, and since his nickname for me is “Dolly” I figured it would be a good tie in to my love for him! Ya know?”

Alya smiled, “that’s so sweet! My dad’s a zookeeper and he takes care of all the animals.” Before Marinette could respond, her phone beeped, she pulled it out. 

Pants on fire: Are you here yet? My room’s on the 12th floor

Pants on fire: Text me when you get here😁

Marinette frowned, she put her phone away and looked to Alya. “Sorry, my client is expecting me.” When Alya nodded, Marinette continued, “You have my card. If you want to ask about a dress or whatever while you’re here in Gotham, feel free to give me a call.”

Alya smiled, “Of course! Thank you so much!” Marinette extended her hand for a farewell handshake and then Alya pulled her in for a hug. Marinette froze, she’s hugging her? Without her asking for one? And it felt...nice, kind of heartwarming? Slowly Marinette brought her hands up and returned the hug.

A few seconds later, Alya pulled away and grinned at her excitedly, “It was so nice to meet you. I will be sure to give you a call later!” Then she winked, her glowing earrings were so bright that they illuminated around Alya like a halo. Then Alya walked away towards a blonde boy and a bespectacled boy in a red cap, leaving a star struck Marinette behind. 

“Y-yeah! I'll pick it up!”, Marinette exclaimed excitedly, maybe certain people weren’t toys. Maybe they were friends. She smiled and it felt right. Friends. She has a friend! She ignored the flashes of Manny’s face as she looked at the retreating form of Alya. 

Manny wasn’t a friend, he was...he was... then memories of their time together were all that she could think about. Them laughing at something that one of them had said. Singing along to cheesy pop songs that came on the T.V. Them chasing each other around either from anger or a game of tag. The moments they shared planting little flowers in his garden. Lying around and watching cartoons. Those rare minutes he would become a human pin cushion for her growing fashion designer dream. 

Then the moment they officially had become friends was brought up.

“I don’t usually play with girls, but you don’t look like you have cooties. So I guess we’ll be friends.”, He had said as he looked at her with a cautious look. 

“I usually never play with anyone besides Cottontail!”, she grinned at him, she extended her hand out towards him, “Do you wanna be my friend Sir Poop head?”

He grinned back at her, “Yes Princess Dumb butt!”

Okay...Manny had been a friend, but then he left her to die under a crumbling building. Last she checked friends don’t do that! So when did he stop being her friend? And how can she keep that from happening...with Alya.

Are they even friends? Maybe acquaintances, yeah. Not friends yet, just acquaintances. She smiled and began her trek to the elevator.

Me: I’ll be there soon

Crap! She forgot to ask her why her earrings were glowing! Oh well, she could ask her next time she saw her.

___*****Line Break*****___ 

Here she was, Lila’s room. Was it too late to turn back? Lila still hadn’t replied, or heard her knocking. Speaking of which she's knocked three times in the last ten minutes. Was Lila here or not? Sighing, she twisted the door knob, and it was open? ‘I swear if I find a dead body in that room I will scream and sic Bud and Lou on the killer!’, she thought as she walked into the room.

“Yes of course he is, Mama!”, Lila’s voice appeared. “He wants to take me shopping to all the finest stores in Gotham! I told him that he shouldn’t feel obligated to do that, but he insisted on treating me like a princess! Luckily I managed to convince him to take me to a nice restaurant instead. The Midnight Paradise!” Lila paused to let her mom talk and Marinette took this chance to walk further into Lila’s hotel room. “Yes that restaurant! The food was to die for! Also, I think we saw the Wayne family while we were there. Adrien offered to introduce me to Bruce Wayne at the Wayne Gala.” 

Marinette blinked, ‘Who the hell is Adrien? I know she's not dating Damian Wayne but...Keep your lies straight! Unless...This Adrien is a classmate of hers, which would explain why she was lying about Damian Wayne.’ Marinette was now staring at the back of Lila’s head, ‘This is going to be a messy game.’

“Oh...Okay. Okay. Goodnight Mama. I love you.”, Lila said. She gave  a few air kisses and ended the call. She threw her phone on the bed and gave a loud, “UGH! She sure loves to hear herself talk.” 

“That’s a bit harsh wouldn’t you say?”, Marinette spoke up.

Watching Lila jump was absolutely hilarious, she spun around and various emotions flashed in her eyes. Marinette recognized shock, fear, annoyance, anger, and fake joy. ‘Impressive. The girl can really act.’, Marinette wanted to snort. 

“Marinette! Oh you’re here!”, She smiled, Marinette immediately saw through the act. “Why didn’t you text me you were here?”

“The door was open. And I did.”, Marinette smiled, “Multiple times actually.”

Lila pulled out her phone, and Marinette saw her grimace right before it turned into a look of guilt, “Oops! My bad! I’m so sorry Marinette! It’s just my mama called and I guess I was distracted.” She pouted, “Can you forgive me?”

Marinette smiled, “It’s fine. I understand completely!” Marinette waved her hand, “Anyhow, I brought the dress.” Lila’s eyes widened and the bluenette fought the urge to roll her eyes and kept smiling. She freed the dress from its sleeve and Lila lit up. 

“I-I love it!”, Lila squealed. Marinette studied Lila, for the first time since she’s met this girl. This is the first time she looks genuinely happy. Is it that she’s happy to get a dress like this, or that she “fooled” me into giving it to her? Lila looked to Marinette, “Do I really get to keep this dress?” Marinette nodded. Lila smiled so wide, she looked like a child in those christmas movies. Then the smile disappeared, Lila looked a bit serious and now stared Marinette in the eye. 

“What’s the catch?”, she asked with an angry look in her eye. Marinette shook her head, and handed Lila the dress. She smiled, “I wouldn’t say catch. I mean I’m just doing a friend a favor after all.” 

“You want me to do you a favor as well?”, Lila asked, she laid the dress out on her bed and crossed her arms. “Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt.” She looked back at the dress, “What do you have in mind?”

“I was hoping you could get me into the Wayne Gala. As your plus one?”, Marinette smiled sheepishly. 

Lila smiled, Marinette saw the look of smug victory in her eyes. “Of course! What are friends for?” Marinette smiled and cheered! 

“Oh thank you! Thank you so much Lila!”, Marinette extended her arms out and Lila pulled her in for a hug. “I should be thanking you, you’re giving me this dress for free after all!”, she responded happily.

Marinette smirked into her shoulder, then she felt her phone vibrate in her back pocket. She pulled away from Lila and unlocked her phone.

Popsicle: Almost time for curfew. Come home now!

Marinette pouted, “Sorry Lila. My dad wants me to start heading home before it gets too dark outside. Lila’s eyes held a look of annoyance, hidden away by her pouting face. “I’ll be back tomorrow with my tools, do the proper measurements and adjust it to your figure!”, Marinette waved as she walked out the door.

“Okay then! Goodnight Marinette!”, Lila cheered. “Wait! You forgot the dress!” 

“I’ll be back tomorrow. Goodnight Lila!”, Marinette continued walking down the hall.

___*****Line Break*****___

It times like this she’s happy to have an alter ego. Free to walk around without the threat of someone calling the cops. Sweet little Marinette Dolly Levi was nothing like the fabulous Puppet Princess. Oh well, better go home and sneak her brothers some steak.

She walked merrily towards the entrance doors and was about to take her first step out the door. “Marinette?”, a voice said, and she froze. 

She then spun around and was met with a familiar pair of emerald eyes. “Damian?”

Apparently she’s more recognizable than she thought.

________________________________________________________________

(Author’s Note) Hey guys! Thanks for reading part 3! If you want to be tagged please feel welcome to ask in the comments! And if you have any questions feel free to go and ask in my ask box! 

Also Manny’s reason for becoming friends with Mari was kinda based off my brief best friendship with a boy from K-1st grade. Now that I’m thinking about it, that was the weirdest friendship I ever had. We mostly just tried to gross each other out with dumb nicknames. What even was K-1st?

Taglist: @thestressmademedoit @enchanted-nerd @brokenwordsarehard2 @tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff @mochegato

[lilmissbeanie]

Navigation Haikyuu Masterlist

Toru Oikawa x F!Reader Song ~ Marry Me by Jason Derulo Genre ~ SFW Fluff Warning - Swearing, hinting at smut. Word Count ~ 3.3K

Part 1 | Part 2 <you are here> | Part 3

I have changed Iwaizumi wife’s name since Wedding dress to Emiko it was Mako or Miko I can’t remember now :’) this one did start leaning towards smut but I stopped myself, I’m not ready for that yet!

Y/n and Toru had returned to Argentina a few days after Emiko's and Iwaizumi wedding, they were still talking about how beautiful the day was. 

"Oh, Toru! Emiko just looked so stunning!" Y/n gushed as she fluttered around the kitchen, making dinner. Chuckling as he watched her, he loved watching her cook. She did it with such grace even if the kitchen always ended up a bomb site.

"Baby girl, you know you don't have to use every single, pot, pan and piece of kitchen wear we own right?" 

Shrugging, she pulled the milk bread rolls out of the oven, placing on a cooling rank. Watching out the corner of her eye as Toru crept closer, reaching out for one of the rolls before he could even touch one a wooden spoon flew over and whacked him across his knuckles.

"Y/n! That hurt!" He whined, rubbing his knuckles. 

"You just watched me take them out of the oven." She scolded him waving the spoon in his face pointedly. "Sometimes I wonder if your my boyfriends or if I'm just your babysitter." 

"I love you too, baby girl." He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind pulling her securely against his chest, as buried his face in the crook of her neck. It was the little things like this that made her happy, the little touches, the way he would brush her hair from eyes, it always made the butterflies erupt in her stomach. After three years of being together, they still had the butterflies and fireworks, the fire that would ignite in her belly when he said her name. "Trust me, I'm definitely your boyfriend, or do you need me to remind you?" 

"Perhaps I do." Y/n winked at him over her shoulder, which caused him to growl spinning her around and trapping her between the counter and his body. His molten brown eyes held an intense gaze, the tip of his tongue darting out over his bottom lip before his head dived down, locking his lips with hers in a searing kiss. This kind still made Y/n toes curl after all this time, damn he was a good kisser, he always had been, it wasn't too rough or soft, but without fail every time Toru kisses her it would always be passion taking his time, he will never rush. Toru Oikawa would always pour all his love and emotion into every kiss. He wanted Y/n never to forget just how much he loved her. His left hand cupping her cheek as he continued the slow sizzling kiss, he loved when he pulled away from her that she chased after his lips for more. 

"How long till dinner?" He questioned cheekily at her dazed, breathless look. He loved that he still had that effect on her. When she saw the proud look on his face, she didn't answer. Y/n just wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, pulling him back down into another heated kiss shocking, giving her full control. It was deep as their lips danced together. Her tongue had snuck into his mouth, running it against his before pulling away.

It was her turn to give him a proud look even though her heart was still beating rapidly in her chest from his kiss. The red tint to his cheeks made him look even more handsome. She planted another delicate kiss on his cheek before slipping past him she went over to the slow cooker she put on this morning before she left for work.

"I'd say ten minutes, I just need to cook some green beans, and we'll be good to go." stirring the bœuf bourguignon, before tapping the wooden spoon against the side of the pot, removing the excess juices before putting the lid back on.

"Wonderful, I'm just going to take my contacts out, and I'll lay the table." Kissing the top of her head before smacking her ass, "Toru!" the grin grew over his lips as he heard her squeal from the contact as he headed towards the bathroom.

Once inside and the door shut, he whipped out his phone. He quickly called back the number he missed a call from, so glad it was on vibrate in his pocket.

"Hello?"

"Hi Mateo it's me Toru Oikawa, you called is everything okay? Sorry I couldn't answer before."

"Oh Mr Oikawa, yes, yes everything is perfect. I was calling to say everything is ready for you. You can come and collect it tomorrow."

"That's great news. Thank you, Mateo, I shall see you tomorrow." Oikawa couldn't help the grin that spread across his lips, he said goodbye before hanging up the phone and calling Juan.

"Good evening Blue Beech, Juan speaking how may I help you?"

"Juan, hey its Toru, Friday at eight pm."

"One bottle of Cristal and her favourite table. I'll have it ready."

"Thank you." And just like that, everything was set in motion. Taking his contacts out, he slipped on his glasses and ran his fingers through his hair, letting it fall naturally against his forehead.

He sent a quick text to Iwa saying everything was falling into place and it was going to happen on Friday.

"Hey, baby girl, I thought maybe we could go out for dinner on Friday. We haven't been to Blue Beech in months since you were so busy with helping Emiko with the wedding and me with training." Toru said as he grabbed the cutlery from the draw and taking it set up on the table on their apartment balcony as Y/n followed after him with two wine glasses and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.

"It has been forever, and I am craving Moules, are you sure you'll be able to though? Your practices have been late recently."

"For you, I'll always make time. Don't worry. I'll call Juan tomorrow and book it for eight then you can come home and have plenty of time to get ready." He smiled at her as he pulled the cork from the bottle, letting it breathe a little.

"Okay if you're sure." Y/n said before disappearing back inside to get the bread and plates of food.

"French tonight I see." 

"Yep," She grinned as he poured her a glass. Toru loved her new passion for cooking food from everywhere. Y/n was obsessed with French food at the moment. It was a different recipe every night. His favourite so far was bouchée a la Reine, well her's as well, Y/n complained though it was never as good as the one she had on holiday in France with her family back in high school.

The days flew past in a blur, Friday rolled around quicker than expected, once five a clock rolls around Y/n was out of her office door in a flash excited to go out to dinner was Toru. At her favourite restaurant Blue Beech, it was a fancy place but with Toru being a pro volleyball player and Y/n was an up and coming interior designer they could more than afford it. 

She walked through the door around half five after stopping at the dry cleaners to pick up her favourite turquoise dress. Jumping into the shower, the second she got home as she knew Toru would want one when he got back from training at half six. Washing her hair with her peach-scented shampoo and conditioner, before moving on to her raspberry body wash. Groaning when she realised she should shave as well, it wasn't bad but the hairs where beginning to return.

Wrapping the towel around herself before wrapping her hair up and heading into their bedroom taking a seat at her vanity, rubbing the excess water out of her hair, before grabbing the hair drier. Running her fingers through her hair as the hot air blew through her h/c tresses, her eyes closed as she enjoyed the feeling of the warm air. It wasn't until a soft hand pried her fingers away from the device taking into his own hands.

"Hey, baby girl," Toru said, leaning down and kissing her shoulder blade before continuing to dry her hair for her. 

"Hello, my love," Y/n hummed in reply eyes closing once again feeling him massage her scalp. Once it was all dry, he turned off the hair direr back on the hook. "Thank you." Gentle eyes met in the mirror. 

"Imma take a shower." Planting a kiss on the top of her before he disappeared out of the door. Watching him as he went Y/n just smiled after him. Switching on her curling wand as she waited for it to heat up Y/N slipped on her dress before she began to do her light make up, matching her eye shadow to her sliver jewellery she was planning to wear that matched her turquoise knee-length a-line dress with a square neckline. 

Toru reappeared not long after Y/n had finished her makeup and was moving on to doing her hair, he slipped on a pair of black slacks, with his favourite fitted turquoise blue shirt that reminded him of his Seijoh days and gave him that extra confidence boost he was going to need. His head flicked in the direction of the giggling, where he found his other half sat curling her hair with bitting her lip looking at him through the mirror. When spotted her matching turquoise dress, he couldn't help but chuckle himself.

"I can wear another shirt if you like," He asked as he wandered towards her, shirt hanging loose on his shoulders where he hadn't buttoned it up yet and his chiselled abs and muscles on full display for Y/n to see, she would never get tired of that sight.

"No, it's fine, I think it's cute how we accidentally match." Y/n said as she unravelled the last piece of hair, she was curling. Before she started to pin half back and grab the can of hair spray.

"Give it here," He slipped the can out of her hands and set her hair in place. "There, beautiful as always." 

They both finished getting ready, and Y/n slipped out to the cloakroom to grab the super comfy black heels. While Toru opened the top draw of his dresser and grabbed the little black velvet box that was hidden in amongst his ties. He tossed the box up with a grin before slipping into the pocket of his slacks. Grabbing his jacket from the bed before noticing Y/n jacket was there too, lying them both over his arm before going to look for Y/n. 

He found her by the front door going through her handbag, making sure she had everything. Mumbling to herself, saying what was in her bag. 

"Ready to go, baby? The Taxi is here."

"Yep, I just need to grab my coat." 

"I got it. Come on, or Juan will be mad we are late." 

"No, he won't he loves me." Y/n winked as they walked down the steps of their apartment block and getting into the Taxi. 

"Y/n, Toru, Welcome back! It's good to see you both again," Juan cheery voice carried over to them as the pair stepped through the entrance of Blue Beech. 

"Hello Juan," Y/n smiled at him, Toru giving him a nod, as Juan took their jackets. 

"Your usual table is ready for you." Juan guided them through the sea of tables, and people they were seat at their regular table on the balcony under the heat lamps, the tabled was laid up just as beautiful as always, the cutely sparkling to perfection, the crystal glasses twinkled under the fairy lights.

"I'm loving the fact you two are matching." Juan gushed over them as he passes the menus. 

"It was by pure coincidence, thank you, Juan." Y/n laughed as her head dived into the menu.

"I will grab you a bottle of the Picpoul de Pinet." Smiled as he disappeared to fetch their usual bottle of wine. 

"Ooo, Toru they have the moules on the menu." 

"Get whatever you like sweetheart." He said, reaching over to grab her hand that was on the table as he looked over the menu. 

"Are you ready to order?" Juan questioned as he poured their wine and water.

"Yes please, Juan, I shall have the Crab and prawn cocktail to start followed by the moules." Y/n replied, passing the menu back to the waiter as he turned to Toru.

"I shall get the scallop tartlet followed by the lobster please." Handing back his own menu. He was starting to feel nervous now, the time was approaching he planned to ask her after the main course while they had a break before pudding. He wasn't going to let on that he was nervous though, he relaxed, and the pair fell into a natural conversation about their days and how work was. They thoroughly enjoyed their meal, Y/n devoured the moules like they were going out of fashion, Juan had brought her over extra fries for the white wine sauce without her even asking, he just knew her that well with how often his favourite couple came to the Blue beech. 

"I'm just going to pop to the ladies, I'll be right back." Y/n smiled as she kissed his check walking pass him running her hand over his shoulders, he caught it, planting a kiss on her knuckles. When she was out of sight he sighed in relief, she had flawlessly timed her bathroom break, he had a moment to collect his thoughts and called Juan over. 

"It's time." Juan's eyes lit up, and he nodded running off to get the champagne and have it ready on the table for when Y/n reappeared. 

"My pretty boy, why do we have champagne?" Y/n questioned as she retook her seat, giving him a questioning look "And Cristal at that. Toru, what are you planning?" 

He smiled, the little velvet box twirling in his fingers under the table as he stood up and went to her side, 

"Y/n, my love, my other half, my queen." He began has he got on one knee, he watched as her eyes widen and a gasp slip past her lips as her hand rose to cover them. "I knew from the second that Emiko introduced us all the way back in high school that you would be the one I would fall so deeply in love with, you laughed at my jokes all that night, sat and talk about aliens and conspiracy theories with me. I love the way your e/c eyes sparkle with excitement when you are doing something you love,  I love the way that when you smile at me, I still get those butterflies when I kiss you it's like fireworks exploding, I love the way you snuggle into me in your sleep." 

His tender loving smile also reflected in his eyes as they locked ith her joyous tear-filled ones,  "I love coming home from a long day of training to find you there on the sofa watching some kind of trash on TV or cooking the most delicious meals, the way you listen to me complain about everything that went wrong that day and not every saying, just letting me rant as you always run your fingers through my hair. I want to come home everyday to you but I want it to be with you as my wife,"

Toru popped the velvet box open showing the blue topaz gem sat on the platinum ring, the gem was surrounded by diamonds, "So will you please, make me the happiest man ever and marry me?"

"Yes, Toru, I would love to marry you!" She flew out of her chair, tackling him to floor as the tears of happiness flowed down her cheeks, neither of them paid attention to the crowd watching them and clapping. Juan had been taking photo's on Toru's phone as he had asked him too. Standing up, Toru slipped the ring on her left ring finger before cupping her face and pulling into a deep romantic kiss. 

"Congratulations you two!" The pair pulled away at the voice gawking.

"You finally got the balls to do it then, huh Shittykawa." 

The newly engaged couple just stood there gaping like fishes at their best friends.

"W-what are you doing here?" Toru said, pulling Iwa into a hug as Y/n and Emiko gushed over the stunning ring. 

"Did you really think that we would miss you proposing to Y/n, we got you together we need to see you propose to her. I recorded the whole thing so you can always remember it, Emiko brought her camera, so she got loads of professional photo's of you both too."

"Thank you." Toru felt the blush form over his cheeks as he rubbed the back of his neck, he glanced over at this fiancee who was excitedly talking to Emiko, as they looked over the photos on the camera. "How did you know we would be here?" 

"It's Y/n's favourite restaurant, of course, you would bring her here. The last time we visited, all Y/n could do was rave about how much she loved this place and how it was her favourite restaurant" Iwaizumi scoffed, shaking his head.

"I thought you two were still on your honeymoon for another week, how come you're here and not Italy?" Y/n and Emiko had joined the boys again snuggling into their sides, both of them had their rings on full display as they rest there hands on the partner's chest, proudly showing off that they had managed to bag these incredibly handsome men for the rest of their lives.

"Oh, when I got the text from Loserkawa the other day saying everything was, planned for Friday cancelled the rest of Italy and we booked the first flight to Argentina, we wanted to be here for you just like you were for us when we got engaged." Emiko explained, "We'll be in Argentina for the rest of our honeymoon."

"Well, shall we all finish dinner together?" Toru offered, "Juan, can you please make this a table for four our dear friends will be joining us, oh and grab two more champagne glasses." 

The four enjoyed the rest of the evening, drinking champagne, eating desserts and celebrating the event that took place, they laughed at the fact that Y/n had tackled Toru to the floor. Emiko took more photo's of them on the beach, showing off the ring and some engagement photo's so the pair could put it on their social media, Y/n had quite the following because of Toru, and they were very excited to announce it, they also wanted some to send to their parents. Y/n favourite picture was the one on the beach with the moon behind them, reflecting off the water. Toru had his arms wrapped around Y/n waist, and Y/n was cupping his face, the ring sparkling under the starlight, as they kissed, there was one where their foreheads were leaning against one another. Soft smiles of pure love spread across their lips as they stared into one another's eyes. 

Laid in bed together that night, naked bodies tangled together after a slow passionate session of lovemaking, Y/n head was rested against his chest as she stared at her ring.

"Do you like it?" Toru asked as he watched her hypnotised by the ring, as he played with her hair.

"Like it? I love it Toru, it's stunning thank you." She said as she sat up, letting the sheet slip from her body as she straddles him smirking at him, as she leaned down trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses up his chest to just below his earlobe "So much so I think you deserve a treat." She whispered into his ear before nibbling on the shall. His hands slid up her thighs as his breath hitched in his throat, knowing exactly where this would lead.

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[georgia-jereau]

Not Again.

The day had been a long one. The drive back from New Orleans wasn’t difficult, but Georgia felt drained from a day spent in meetings. It was a good kind of drained, though; the kind that came from feeling like you accomplished something. She was fully content just to change into something cozy and relax for a while. Her heels clicked on the wooden stairs as she went, echoing against the bare, white walls of the foyer. In a matter of minutes, Georgia was stretched out on her bed, wearing yoga pants and her favorite cream, cashmere sweater; with a book in her hands and her wireless headphones in. Her feet were bare, and she glanced over the top of the book for a moment, wondering if she should switch from her signature dark red nails to something else, but she never did. With a small sigh, she went back to trying to read her book, for what was going to be the third night in a row. It was some trashy romance novel, and she’d picked it up telling herself it was somewhere between a pleasure read and work research. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d skimmed a trashy paperback for a good scene idea for the studio. The main heartthrob of the novel was a thief, and try as she might, Georgia couldn’t help thinking about Mal. Putting the book down beside her she stared at her hand, her eyes lingering on his initial tattooed on her finger.

She remembered getting it- Wandering into a tattoo parlor on the strip, a little tipsy but so sure that even if she got angry enough to throw the ring in his face, or into the desert, that she wanted to be his wife. Jewelry or no jewelry. Mal was the family she had chosen. Standing up now, she walks across the room to her vanity, opening her jewelry box and pulling out her wedding ring. Georgia sank onto the small, vanity stool and stared at the small circle of metal in her hand. She’d taken it off after Rosie’s memorial service, not seeing the point in wearing it. The promises behind it felt hollow, the memories tarnished by the fire and their little girl’s death. Still, Georgia knew, in her heart, that Mal would sooner have stood in that house and burned to death willingly, if he thought it would have saved their daughter. She gently slipped the ring onto her finger and closed her eyes tightly. The memories all felt jumbled inside of her now. In her mind she could still remember first laying eyes on Mal, the way her stomach had flipped and her pulse had raced. Tangled with all of her memories of the good, were the bad. Sometimes she felt like she was still there on the front lawn, confused and struggling to breathe, coming to the realization that there was a fire roaring around her and her husband was screaming, begging for her to be alive. She could smell gasoline-

She could smell gasoline.

Her eyes snapped open. This wasn’t some night terror that she needed pills and wine to get through. Georgia could smell fumes, faint, but definitely there. She pulled her headphones out and gently laid them down, straining to hear anything at all. Anything that was out of place. She heard footsteps, and the slosh of liquid in what was supposed to be her empty house. Hadn’t she locked the front door? She always locked it. Had someone been here when she walked in? Had someone been waiting for her to get home? Adrenaline began to pump steadily into her body, her jaw tightening as she tried to quickly pull herself together. Fuck her phone. Who could she call, the cops? Seth? The auto shop? Even if she did call for help, there was no way of telling if they’d get here before whoever was downstairs either finished what they were doing or came for her. No, she was going to have to handle this. Georgia slipped the phone into her pocket. There was no way she was going to let this happen, not again. Quietly as she could, she moved to her bedside table where she had dropped her purse, pulling out her gun, momentarily grateful for the paranoia that had made her keep it on her at all times. 

She stood there for a moment, frozen in her bedroom with her heart racing, wondering with every impossibly long second if she was going to hear the roar of a lit fire again. She hadn’t experienced this the last time. Rosie had been up for three nights with a cough and a low fever and Georgia had been staying up with her, too pissed off at Mal to let him help much. She had been so grateful when the little girl had fallen asleep without too much fuss, snuggled in her crib wearing pale yellow pajamas with tiny white elephants on them. Georgia had stayed there over her crib, humming and rubbing the top of Rosie’s head gently until her little chest rose and fell in a regular rhythm. When Georgia finally dragged herself to her own bedroom down the hall, she hadn’t even gotten under the covers. She’d simply laid down and shut her eyes before falling asleep. When she’d woken up, she had barely been able to breathe, her chest tight from smoke and soot. Mal had been screaming, maybe crying, it was a blur. Her mind had tried to process too much too quickly. The house on fire, her and Mal on the front lawn, the sound of sirens approaching. No Rosie. Georgia walked to her closet and reached her free hand onto one of the top shelves and quietly pulled down the small, sealed box with a rose embossed on the lid. If this place goes up in flames, there’s no way in hell she’s leaving what’s left of her daughter inside. Not again. Not now that she had a choice. 

With one arm hugging the box of ashes close to her chest, she began to move. The hand with the gun was pointed straight out as Georgia made her way down the hallway, moving slowly and her eyes wide, like it might help her spot the barest hint of movement and give her an edge of some kind. When she heard the sound of glass breaking she very nearly screamed. Instead she froze at the top of the stairs, listening as whoever was in her house began breaking what she could only guess was her bottles of liquor and wine. There was no way for her to know how many people were in here. Taking the stairs quietly, she kept listening. There was no talking, or laughter that she could hear, but the sound of movement was becoming clearer. One set of footsteps crunching through broken glass was her best guess, and she hoped she was right. Very gently, she put down Rosie’s ashes on the table by the front door. With both hands now wrapped around the gun, she moved carefully. The smell of gasoline was making her nauseous and the floor was wet under her feet. If she slipped and fell she was fucked. Just as she made her way towards the living room, she saw the back of his head, dark hair shaved close on the sides with a mop of it on top. He was wearing a cut she didn’t recognize and that’s when she realized what was going on. The Rogues were making another move.

“Turn around or I’ll shoot.” Georgia snapped, relieved her voice wasn’t shaking even though her throat was tight with fear. The man raised his arms and turned slowly, looking more annoyed than frightened which pissed her off. His eyes were a pretty blue, but too bright like he was on something or just really enjoying himself, and he had freckles across pale skin. There was some kind of ink on his neck, and it looked like a pitchfork with flames but that didn’t mean anything to her. He looked young and that made her more nervous than anything else. In her experience, young meant reckless. “The fuck are you doin’ in my house?” she asked, her accent more pronounced as her focus was set on what was directly in front of her. She could see what he was doing, the question was why her house. Did he know about her? Was he sent here to just burn the house to send a message or to kill her? She couldn’t risk assuming that he hadn’t known she was upstairs. 

“Put the gun down, sweetheart. You’re not gonna shoot me.” he said, taking a step forward. This wasn’t a fucking game. This wasn’t a joke, or a scare or something that he could charm his way out of. What happened if he rushed her? The floor was covered in broken glass, gasoline and spilled liquor and she wouldn’t be able to fight him off. Georgia squeezed the trigger and the bullet hit the sliding glass door over his shoulder, the glass shattering onto the floor. The man jumped and his eyes widened and Georgia wanted to smile, glad that he realized she wasn’t fucking around, but she was still too frightened. 

“I’m not your fuckin’ sweetheart, and you wouldn’t be the first prick I’ve shot.” she said, and she meant to shout but her voice just came out rough and angry, too constricted to give her any real volume. The man looked at her and then glanced over his shoulder, towards the now broken door that led to her patio and yard. “Don’t even think-” she began, but he did. The man bolted for the doors and Georgia fired again. It must have grazed him because blood hit the floor, but he kept moving. The would-be arsonist jumped through the empty door frame and began running. Georgia moved quick, adrenaline pumping so hard she was only distantly aware of the glass underfoot. He was running across the patio and then down to the open gate. She got to the patio and fired the gun one, two three more times as he ran. There was a grunt and he stumbled a bit, but he didn’t stop running. Georgia turned, trying to get to the front door, to see where he had gone. She couldn’t just let him get away. If he was alive that meant he could come back, possibly with more people. Too much was going through her mind and her body was demanding she defend herself. Kill or be killed. There was too much glass, blood and gasoline on the floor beneath her, and as she reached the front foyer she slipped, falling hard on her hip. There was a crack as she landed on her phone and the gun went off again as her elbow hit the ground, a bullet lodging in the hall closet door. Pulling herself up, wincing, she flung open the front door just in time to hear a distant revving of a bike coming to life. “I will fucking kill you!” she shouted after him, though her lip was trembling and her voice shook with emotion and adrenaline. “You come back here and I will fucking BURY YOU, motherfucker!” she shouted, tears biting at her eyes. 

Georgia stood there for a moment, staring and looking around, wondering if more were going to show up or if that asshole was going to come back. The adrenaline began to wear off and she lowered herself onto her front steps, wincing as she took pressure off her feet, bloody and embedded with bits of glass. Her cream sweater had blood and gasoline all over it and her hip was throbbing. As her body began to come down from it’s fight or flight, her body began to shake and she had put the gun down carefully beside her before pulling out her phone, the screen cracked but luckily still usable. She scrolled and punched a button to dial, raising the phone to her ear with one hand while the other began to pick glass out of her feet. The blood that dripped onto her white wooden steps matched her nail polish. The usually cool brunette sniffed a bit and tried to calm herself before speaking as the person on the other end finally picked up.

“Hey, it’s Georgia.” she said, trying to sound more together than she felt. “Something’s happened. I need some help.”

[somecallmejohn]

Here's a triple collab between me, @gabiwnomagic and @frozenwritingcorner. Gabi drew it, I colored it and Jilly wrote a nice smut fic out of it.

Hard day's work

Rating: MA

Words:2778

Summary: After a day of boring queenly duties, Anna is surprised with a show given to her by her hardworking fiance Kristoff.

Anna absentmindedly chewed on the tip of her pinky as she looked out the window, resting her chin in her palm. The sun had long since set behind the mountains, but she still watched them as if she could will Kristoff to come home faster.

“Your majesty?” One of her advisors spoke up, breaking her out of her daze.

“Hm? Oh!” Quickly jumping back to attention, Anna turned away from the window. “I’m sorry...what were you saying?”

“The...the meeting has been adjourned, Queen Anna. Have a good evening.”

Looking around her, Anna was shocked to see all the empty chairs around the table. Everyone had already left; how long had she been distracted? “Oh, right! Um, thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her advisor bowed his head and walked through the large double doors, leaving Anna alone in the room.

She sighed loudly and slid down in her chair the slightest bit, suddenly fidgety. She held up her hand to look at the beautiful engagement ring and sighed again. She knew she was acting immature, but she missed him. Kristoff. Her fiancé and the love of her life.

She was so proud of him for getting the ice trading business up and running again after Elsa left, but she didn’t like when he had to leave her. He was the most capable person in all of Arendelle for this job and she knew how much he’d missed going up to the mountains, so she’d never say anything against his new position, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be dramatic about it when she was alone.

Pushing herself up, Anna stretched her arms above her head as she looked at the ornate clock on the wall. It was only eight-thirty, but maybe she should try to get an early night.

Kristoff would be coming home the next evening and she wanted to be wide awake for him.

Anna said her goodnights to the staff as she passed them in the hall and headed straight to her room, excited to get out of her heavy dress and settle in for the night.

When she came to her bedroom, she gasped as she opened the door. “Kristoff!” He was stoking the fire, still in his harvesting gear. He turned around at the sound of her voice and smiled.

“Hey, baby.”

Anna slammed the door shut and nearly tripped over her heels as she ran across the room, throwing herself into her fiancé’s arms. “I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow!” Anna said, pulling back the slightest bit to smile at him.

“I cut the trip a little early. I wanted to surprise you.”

“Consider me significantly shocked.” Grinning wildly, Anna leaned up and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

Kristoff’s arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her close. Anna only held him tighter, humming in the back of her throat. “Easy, feisty.” Anna felt him grin against her lips. “I just got back; haven’t even had time for a bath, yet.”

“Mm.” Humming again, Anna leaned back, her eyes studying his face. His hair was disheveled, clearly in need of a comb. Stubble lined his chin and cheeks as he hadn’t had a proper shave in a few days. And the corners of his dark eyes creased as he smiled at her, the love and affection in his gaze nearly knocking the wind out of her. “Good,” she said, biting her lip as she grinned at him. “As much as I missed you, I really missed this rugged mountain man look.”

“Oh, yeah?” Kristoff kissed her again, his hands sliding down her back to grab at her ass. “Maybe I should head up there more often.”

“Don’t even joke about that. I’m just going to enjoy it for right now.” Sliding her hands down his chest, Anna ran her fingers down the worn leather. “Although we do need to get you out of those clothes. You know, to wash them.”

“Think you can help with that?” Kristoff asked, smiling down at her.

“Actually…” Anna trailed off, slipping away from his grasp. She turned around, trying to walk as sensually as she could in her heels before reaching the bed and facing him again. “I’m feeling a little tired. I’ve had quite a long day.” She sat down on the end of her bed and crossed one slim leg over the other. A strand of hair had fallen out of her styled updo and Anna twirled it around a finger as she smiled at him across the room. “Will you put on a show for me, Kristoff?”

The oil lamps were turned down low and the fire blazed in the hearth. Kristoff’s form seemed larger than life as he slowly made his way over to her. Bending down, he gently took her face in his hands and gave her a long, lingering kiss.

Anna sighed as his tongue licked her bottom lip, warming her from the inside out. She couldn’t help but shiver as he slowly pulled away, dropping his hands from her face.

“As you wish, your majesty.”

Anna felt her breath catch in her throat as he backed away from her, his eyes never leaving hers. He began to untie his sash, sliding it off his waist. His hat and mittens were already laying on the carpet, probably haphazardly thrown down as he went to make the fire. His sash soon joined them on the floor.

“Slower,” Anna said, her voice breathy. Maybe it was the fire, but she felt herself break out into a sweat as she watched Kristoff’s lips curve into a smirk.

Reaching behind his head, Kristoff leisurely pulled his tunic over his head and tossed it to the side, running a hand through his hair afterwards to smooth his too-long locks out. He needed a haircut; he wiped his bangs out of his eyes, and the intense look he gave her made Anna suck in a breath.

His sweater was tight around his shoulders, chest, and upper arms. God, it looked like he could split the seams if he so much as stretched.

Kristoff’s shoulders shifted as his thumbs hooked around his suspenders and slid them down his arms. “Enjoying the show so far?”

“Less talk and less clothes.”

Kristoff laughed, but Anna didn’t find it remotely funny at all. She slid her leg off the other and stood up, leaning against the bedpost. She crossed her arms and gave him a fake-stern look. “Your Queen is waiting.”

Kristoff began to pull up his shirt. “I come home early and this is the thanks I get?” But he smiled as he lifted his sweater above his head and tossed it to the ground.

Unconsciously, Anna licked her lips before sucking her bottom lip between her teeth. Anytime she saw Kristoff bare like that, she felt her pulse pick up. Her eyes spanned his expansive torso: the golden curls on his chest that shone in the firelight and the course line of hair under his toned stomach that went below his belly button.

His lose pants sat slack at his hips, his suspenders laying useless at his sides. Darker curls peeked out above the band of his pants and Anna felt her hands dig into her skirt, trying to hold herself back. She wanted to watch him, but she wanted to touch him, to taste him, even more.

Kristoff began to unbutton his trousers, but Anna stopped him three buttons down. “Wait,” she gasped, trying to put a sentence together. “Put…put them back on.”

“Put what back on?” Kristoff’s fingers paused at the last button and Anna whined under her breath.

“Put the…the um…” Anna waved her hand around, words failing her as she watched his chest rise and fall with his breaths. She mimicked the motion of suspenders, silently begging him to understand.

“Oh,” he breathed out, releasing his trousers and slipping his fingers around his suspenders, bringing them back up to his shoulders. “Like this?”

“Mmhmm.” Anna grinned as she watched him in the flickering light. He stood tall and strong and hers, his pants low on his hips as his suspenders stretched across the broad expanse of his chest.

Anna laughed breathlessly as Kristoff hooked his thumbs under the suspenders and pulled them out the slightest bit. “What? This look doing it for you?” He was joking, clearly trying to be silly as he turned a bit to the side, but Anna couldn’t hold back anymore and practically pounced at him.

She grabbed onto his suspenders and pulled her to him, her lips slamming against his ungracefully. Kristoff responded immediately, parting his lips to deepen the kiss. Anna accepted his togue and dragged her nails down his chest, running them through the thin layer of hair.

“And here I thought you wanted romance,” Kristoff mumbled against her lips. Anna’s hands crawled their way back up his chest, her fingers curling in the soft tresses of the golden hair on his head. The way Kristoff groaned into her mouth showed he had no objections.

“Romance can come later.” Anna gasped against this mouth as his hands trailed back down to her ass, squeezing tightly. “Right now, I just want to touch you.” Kristoff groaned again and Anna tried hooking her leg around his hip, grinding against him the best she could in that position.

Anna gasped as he bent down to her neck, desire pooling deep in her belly as he bit then sucked at her soft skin. He smelled of earth and sweat and musk and before she even knew what she was doing, Anna licked right below his ear, sighing at the taste before biting his earlobe.

Kristoff growled into her neck, and Anna dropped her foot back to the floor, her heels muffled by the carpet as she suddenly shoved him back. He slammed into her vanity, various bottles and jars toppling over, but neither cared as she was on him again, lips on his. “Why did we agree to wait until marriage?” She panted through her words, so hot and painfully aroused. His feeling and scent and taste suffocated her in the best way.

“I have no damn idea.” Kristoff’s voice was muffled as his head bent back down to her collarbone, his breath hot as he kissed his way across them. His hands went back to her ass as he ground against her, his arousal just as evident.

Anna pulled away in order to give him one final, hard kiss, then dropped gracelessly to her knees, grabbing his hips in her grasp.

Kristoff braced himself against the vanity, his hands flat on the surface as he looked down at Anna in awe. “Anna…?” His voice was breathy; his stomach tightened.

Playing with the last button of his trousers with one hand, Anna brushed against his erection over the loose fabric with the other and smiled when Kristoff gasped, biting his lip to stop from crying out. “I want you inside me,” Anna said, looking up at him through her lashes. “In one way or another.” She could feel Kristoff shutter as she licked up the hair below his bellybutton, savoring his taste.

She then undid the last button, freeing his semi-hard length. Kristoff groaned when Anna took him in hand, knees nearly giving out as his elbows slammed against the vanity.

Anna used one hand to cup his balls, grinning when she heard him swear under his breath. Her hand stroked down his length, one finger trailing along his massive cock.

“Anna, please,” he begged, fingers digging to his side of the vanity, chipping its paint.

Anna gripped him tightly, her fingers barely able to fit around his girth, and slowly let her hand travel up and down, stroking him as he moaned above her.

“Sh-shit, Anna, faster.”

Looking up, she could see Kristoff’s chest heave as he squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenched as he grabbed the vanity tighter. He was rarely one to beg and Anna wanted to hear more of it.

She kissed the newly wet tip of his fully erect cock and Kristoff’s hand flew to his mouth, biting down on his knuckles to keep quiet, but a slight whine escaped his lips.

Anna felt her thighs clench under her dress, wanting nothing more than to have him inside her in every way. She licked a long trail up the underside of his shaft, squeezing his balls gently.

“Fuck, Anna.” Kristoff groaned and released the vanity, his hands immediately gripping her hair. His large fingers knocked the tiara off of her head and loosed the classy updo, leaving more of her tresses to ball in his fists.

Anna grinned and licked up his cock again, then blew on the tip. Kristoff’s hands pulled at her hair as his hips thrust up, and Anna released him from her grasp and let her hands wander up to tangle her fingers in the trail of course hair.

“An – mm – Anna…” Kristoff mumbled her name, panting as she placed little kisses along the side of his cock. “Plea – ugh.”

“Do you like this, Kristoff?” Anna teased, knowing the answer all too well as he trembled above her and wrapped her long hair around his fingers.

He was only able to groan in response, eyes pleading and dark and ravenous as he looked at her from above.

Kissing the other side of his thick manhood, Anna’s tongue dipped out to taste him again. “Do you want me to stop?” she asked before she kissed his hip bone, letting her lips and tongue lavish that too.

“God, no.” Kristoff whined. He never whined. But he sounded absolutely desperate as Anna moved back down to his member, blowing softly on the tip again.

“Or do you want me to suck your cock?” Anna nearly shocked herself; she never spoke like that. The boldness in her choice of words must not have been lost on Kristoff because he thrust his hips forward again, a deep grumble rippling through his body.

When he panted her name, it sounded like the filthiest thing Anna had ever heard.

Feeling her own wetness, Anna rubbed her thighs together as she took him in her mouth wholly, letting her lips and tongue side over his thick, throbbing cock as her hands gripped at the rest of him. He was just so big.

Slamming back against the vanity, Kristoff threw his head back, his breaths ragged and wild as Anna took him as far as she could. “God, Anna – fuck.”

Anna swirled her tongue against the head of his cock before taking him back in, reviling in his taste and how much he filled her. She let one of her hands dip back under his shaft and cup his balls once more, squeezing lightly as her other hand and mouth bobbed up and down his length.

“Anna, fuck, don’t sto – ah,” Kristoff was nearly incoherent as he swore and rambled under his breath, his strong hands holding Anna’s head in place so he could thrust into her warm, wet mouth.

Anna let her hand travel up to his navel again, letting her fingers scratch through the hair until they met back up with her mouth.

Breathing hot breath onto his sensitive skin, Anna mewled in the back of her throat, Kristoff’s grip on her hair tightening as he felt the vibrations on his cock.

Anna could feel his stomach tighten, his breathing shallow, his thrusts become sloppy and desperate as he mumbled under his breath. “I love – shit – I love you – ah! – Anna, I’m –” His body shuttered as he came, a deep, rumbling groan ripping through his throat.

Anna gladly swallowed his release, letting his warmth spill over her togue and down her throat before letting her lips drag over him one last time and letting him go.

Kristoff just panted above her, gazing down at her as Anna smiled up at him and wiped her lips with the sleeve of her gown.

“Okay,” she said, standing up and trying to fix her hair which was now absolutely wrecked. She could see and feel the loose strands falling all over her face and shoulders. “Now we can be romantic.”

“No,” Kristoff breathed out, a sated, satisfied smile on his lips. Before Anna could ask him to clarify, he picked her up and carried her over to the bed, throwing her down as she laughed.

Anna grinned as Kristoff climbed onto the bed himself and quickly shoved her skirts up around her thighs.

“Now it’s your turn.”

Romance could wait.