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taleasnewastime · 3 years ago

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Second first meeting

Summary: Four months. You’ve been speaking to, falling slowly in love with, and seemingly getting made a fool of by a man you matched with online for four months. There’s always an excuse why he can’t meet you, always some convenient reason why he can’t make something. But it’s valentines and he’s booked a fancy meal and that’s him, sat at a table, finally ready to meet you. Only it might look like the guy you know but it’s not the person you’ve been speaking to, no, this guy has no idea who you are.

Pairing: Seokjin x reader

Genre: Strangers to lovers; smut; angst; fluff.

Word count: 12.6k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content; slight dom reader; safe penetrative sex; reader gets catfished; kind of public embarrassment; relationship break up.

Authors Note: Happy Singles Day!! That’s what today is right …?

“He said he’s going to take me out for Valentines.”

“You hate Valentines.”

“Only because I never have a date.”

“Well I doubt you’ll have one this year.”

You scowl at your best friend. Camila, ever the pessimist.

“Can you just be happy for me for once?”

Camila doesn’t even bat an eyelid as she says in a flat tone, “I am happy for you.”

“Just not about this?”

She shrugs. “If he takes you out and isn’t a fifty-year-old balding man, then I’ll be happy for you.”

“He’s taking me out,” you mumble, trying to stop from grinding your teeth, your dentist said it’s a habit you need to break if you don’t want to ruin your teeth. But Camila isn’t helping.

Camila doesn’t reply, you don’t know if that’s a good thing or not. You chose not to say anything in return, don’t even think of a change in topic. You shouldn’t have even brought it up. You talking to this man is something you and Camila have never seen eye to eye on. But you were too exited not to mention it, you’d hoped she’d see past whatever she has against this relationship to agree, but it turns out not.

“Where’s he taking you?”

You look at Camila, surprised she’s willingly carried on the conversation, only to find her face full of scepticism. You need to sell her on this.

“20 Stories.”

You watch her eyes widen a fraction, try not to look too smug. She’s impressed, is just trying hard to supress showing that.

“What does this guy do again?”

“Seokjin,” you say, a name she’s heard for months, and you know she knows. “He’s a business analyst.”

She hums. “Must pay well.”

You shrug. “It’d be rude to ask.”

She gives you a look that says all the words she wants to say. He must be well paid if he can take you to 20 Stories.

You have to agree, though you don’t know much about Seokjin’s job beyond the basics, everything else either going over your head or something he’s vague about, you know he must have money to be able to afford 20 Stories. A restaurant come bar with unparalleled views across the city, it’s where the wealthy eat, the only people who can afford the prices. And not that money is what you look for in a partner, but you had known Seokjin must have money from the moment you saw him on Hinge. The smart suits and expensive looking backgrounds, even his casual clothes had a look that they cost a pretty penny.

And while he was clearly hot as hell, all smooth skin, wide toothy smile, with kind eyes, cheeks sculptured by gods and a tiny waist to balance out those giant shoulders, to top it all off he was sweet and funny. He was almost too good to be true; surely one man couldn’t be that good looking as well as that attentive to your needs.

Well, it turns out there was one snagging point. In the four months you’ve been speaking to Seokjin, you’ve never met him.

The reason Camila and you can’t seem to talk about him without someone getting pissy. While red flags seem to be popping up left, right and centre for Camila, she’s told you enough times to dump his ass and move on. And while there have been niggles in your mind, all of them have easily been explained away when talking to Seokjin. Plus, you couldn’t dump him, that would imply you were going out, which you’re not.

There were those drinks you were supposed to have after a week of matching that he couldn’t make because of a last-minute business trip. There was that pizza you were going to have that he cancelled last minute because a friend was having a mental break down and he needed to be there for them. There was a weekend away which he cancelled because his mother went into hospital, which subsequently meant he couldn’t do anything for a few weeks following.

And while Camila didn’t believe a single one or thought they were all just a bit too convenient, you had to remind her that you’re the one speaking to him. She doesn’t read the apologies, doesn’t hear the genuine tone when he calls to apologise, doesn’t hear the promises that next time he’ll make it and next time it will be perfect.

“Well I’m excited for you,” her tone becomes a drop more genuine, because you know that however much she doesn’t like this guy, it’s only because she doesn’t want to see you hurt. “Have you looked at the menu?”

“Not yet.” You don’t want to admit it’s because part of you is expecting him to cancel, valentines only days away but you still don’t want to build your hopes too high.

Camila rolls her eyes, pushes herself off your sofa. “We at least need to find something hot as hell for you to wear.”

You beam up at her, take the hand she offers. No matter what, she’s your best friend for a reason.

You’ve been sat at the bar for the last ten minutes, people watching and trying to not let the nerves take control of you. When you arrived you gave Seokjin’s name and waited nervously as the hostess’ eyes scanned the page in front of her, each second causing something funny to twist in your gut. Finally she looked up at you and while a smile was on her face you could see it was fake; you prepared to hear the worst.

“Sorry about that. It appears your table isn’t booked until 8pm.”

Your heart drops only to immediately lift. It’s only 7:30 and it’s booked in, she’s not turning you away, this could be a lot worse.

“Oh, he must have sent me the wrong time.”

Relief blossoms on the woman’s face as if expecting a fight, Valentines must be one of the worst days to work in retail. But you can still see that hint of something in her eyes as if something doesn’t quite add up for her.

“Happens all the time,” you’re sure it doesn’t but you appreciate the fact she’s trying to lessen your embarrassment. “Unfortunately, your table isn’t quite ready for you, but you are welcome to sit and have a drink at the bar while you wait.”

So here you are, ten minutes since you arrived, twenty minutes until your table is ready.

The place is as fancy as you expected. The view of the city prettier than the pictures you’d seen online. You’d dressed up but sat at the bar you wonder whether you should have done more. This place is worlds away from your normal life.

You refrain from looking at your phone, it’s only been a minute since you last looked, and you don’t want to be the loser stuck on it. Instead you sip at the seriously over priced cocktail you ordered to try and pass the time. Plus, you couldn’t exactly sit at the bar for half an hour doing nothing.

Another five minutes pass excruciatingly slowly and even your slow looks around the room and watching the bartender shake up the different drinks isn’t enough to distract you. You pull your phone out your bag, light the screen to see no messages, nothing.

If he told you 7:30 surely he’d be turning up at that time himself. Even if he told you 7:30 and realised himself that he hadn’t booked until 8, surely he’d have text you about the mistake. And besides all of that, you’ve messaged him, told him about the mistake, said you’d arrived, told him you’re sat waiting at the bar for him. He should have messaged you by now. And yet he hasn’t.

You contemplate messaging Camila, if only for something to do. But as soon as you open her thread of messages you know you’re not going to tell her your current predicament, her last message sat glaring at you. Hope you have an amazing time tonight, can’t wait to hear all about it x

Words of I told you so and further points deducted against Seokjin, you can’t do it.

Locking your phone you slip it back into your bag. Eyes wonder around the room again. It feels like every eye in the room is on you, silent in their judgement, even though you know that’s not happening. Finally your eyes land on where you know you can waste the just over ten minutes you have left.

You don’t even ask if you’re allowed out there, just slip out your chair and head to the door that will let you out to the large balcony where a few people are milling.

The air is cold on your exposed skin, a more than light gust of air threatening to ruin your hair. But it feels nice, at least you feel calmer out here.

You lean against the railing, look down at the people on the street below you. The sun has long set but luckily it was a clear day and you can just make out a few stars in the sky. The lights of the city gleam off the canal and the red bricks of the clock tower are still visible in the evening light. You’ve always loved this city, the place you came to study and have never left. Seeing it from this angle only makes your heart ache with love even more. You easily spend ten minutes gazing out at the sights, watching the world pass and tracking all the buildings you recognise for varying reasons.

Drink finished, closer to fifteen minutes passed, you decide to look at your phone before heading back into the restaurant. You’d much rather wait out here than in there.

But there are no messages.

Your heart sinks. He’s already over half an hour late for when he told you to arrive and now five minutes late to the time he actually booked. You can’t help but think that Camila was right, that this was all too good to be true.

You place your empty glass on a nearby table, not wanting to embarrass yourself by going back to the bar. You’ve given up on the evening and Seokjin when you enter the warmth of the building. Are preparing what excuse you’ll give the hostess when you ask for your coat back, when you spot him.

He’s sat alone at a table not far from you, he’s too preoccupied scanning the menu to see you. You huff out a laugh, broad smile spreading across your face despite yourself. You’re still annoyed at him, but you’d also fully given up on him that you can’t help but be overjoyed that he’s actually here. See Camila, he is real.

You almost dance over to him, heels no longer digging into your feet, all worries magically dissipated into thin air.

“Seokjin,” you raise your voice to catch his attention when you’re a few paces away.

You watch his eyes lift from his menu to you. Watch as they flick up and down your body. And then where there should be even mild appreciation, you watch as confusion seeps into his face. It’s like he doesn’t recognise you. Have you really transformed so much from your dating pictures? Camila did your make-up and though it’s a little heavier than you’re used to, you still look like you.

You keep the smile on your face, now a tad more forced, as a small humourless chuckle leaves your lips.

“Have you been ignoring your phone?”

A frown forms between his eyes as he glances down at the phone sat face up by his plate. Your blood runs cold, something feels wrong, but you still keep pushing as if nothing is wrong, though you continue to stand and don’t take the empty seat opposite him.

“Why didn’t you message me that you were here?”

“I’m lost, I’m sorry,” he says. “Do I know you?”

The bottom feels like it drops out of your world and you hear a chuckle you only distantly realise is your own. It feels like you’ve stepped into some parallel world where everything is back to front. Seriously, what do they put in their cocktails here?

“Oh come on. I know I probably look a little different, but seriously?” You almost look to the people sat on the tables near you as if in support, knowing their watching. “Y/N. Your date?”

His head jerks back, eyes blow wide, and the reaction is so genuine you know he’s not lying. What the fuck is happening?

“I’m sorry, I think you have me mixed with someone else.”

And despite it all, you can’t help but think he’s lying, because you definitely aren’t. Clear as day this is Seokjin sat in front of you. This is the man you’ve been talking to for months. And here he is pretending he doesn’t know you.

“Your name isn’t Seokjin?”

“Well … it is.”

“Are you a business analyst?” You start to pluck random facts you can remember him telling you. “Have a younger sister?”

“I’m a project manager and I have an older brother.”

“Have a cat called snowball?”

“Nope.”

“Your mum has been in and out of hospital since before Christmas.”

“Sorry,” he shakes his head, no.

Your mind is scrambled as your brain whirls to make sense of this. Finally, an idea strikes you. You pull out your phone, click around as you take a step closer to him. You push your phone under his nose.

“But this is you,” you say, not caring how shrill your voice has turned. “These are pictures of you.”

Seokjin takes the phone off you, flicks through the images, frown firmly back in place.

“I … these are pictures of me, but this isn’t me.”

He looks back up at you as he hands the phone back. His confusion has turned to pity and the effect is so impactful you have to look away from it. You take the phone back off him, struggle to look him in the eye once your phone has slid back into your bag.

“I –” Seokjin starts, cutting himself off in search of better words, but none come at least not before someone slides into the seat opposite him.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Both your eyes snap to the woman adjusting herself on her seat. From everything he’s said you know that he’s not the guy you’ve been talking to, but despite that your heart still cracks at the fact he’s on a date. That was supposed to be you.

The woman’s eyes lift, first to Seokjin and then to yours, clearly seeing both of your expressions but not understanding the context. Her eyes drag up your body, weighing you and you supress the need to shrivel inside yourself, instead try to stand a little taller and prouder.

“Are you ordering drinks already?” She continues to look at you, but the words are directed at Seokjin. They’re flat and slice through you the way you know she intended.

“Flora,” Seokjin warns his voice dropping an octave.

She just turns to look at him, the picture of innocence. You glance between them sensing the tension caused by your presence. You stutter, fumble, back a step away from the table. Both of their eyes shoot to you, Flora’s full of spite and Seokjin’s fully of pity; you can’t meet either gaze. But as you glance around the restaurant you notice the scene you’re causing. A few tables are snatching glances at you, some people clearly talking about you and what’s going on. You heat, as if this wasn’t embarrassing enough you now have an audience.

You turn back to Seokjin, the pity is still there and he looks like he might even be about to stand as if to help you, though help you do what you’re not sure.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice more level than you’d expect. “Enjoy your meal.”

You twist and half run towards the exit before you can hear a reply. You don’t look back, keep your head down to avoid any of the knowing stares from other tables. You snatch your coat off the waiting hostess, possibly harder than necessary, and opt to take the stairs rather than wait for the lift. 20 floors, you’d rather walk that alone than wait around with a room watching you.

It’s been a week since the incident, something you’re trying hard to block from your memory. You’d broken down when you got home, hadn’t bothered taking your make-up off or your fancy dress, had just lay face down on your bed and cried. You didn’t want to tell Camila, hell you didn’t want to tell anyone, but when she popped round to see you the following day to hear all the details, one look at you was enough for her to know something was wrong. She didn’t say I told you so, or scold you for being too trusting, she just held you as you explained and then bought all the junk food your aching heart needed.

Seokjin, or whoever was pretending to be him, has yet to reply. You’d waited for a reply that night, hoped that there was some explanation to it all, but you knew there was no coming back from that, whatever lie they had created they’d gotten trapped in. Still, it didn’t make it any easier.

A gloom still hangs over your head as you walk to work, it’s not only the fact that you felt something towards someone that is now not replying to you, that lied to you, it’s the fact you fell for it. Camila had voiced her fears for weeks and yet you explained them away, believed a man you’d never met over trusting your best friend. Easily done, was a phrased you’d heard since, but you thought you were better, cleaver than that.

You push into the café down the road from your building, join the back of the short queue. Caffeine was your one true love, at least it wouldn’t let you down.

Your eyes wonder around the tables as you shuffle forward. It’s a place you visit frequently, the best coffee in the area – in your opinion – and conveniently placed between your home and work. It’s small, a few tables around the outside of the room, normally all empty at this time with most customers just stopping before work. But one of the tables is occupied, your eyes naturally drifting towards them.

Your heart drops, all blood seems to drain from you as you jerk you back to them.

It’s Seokjin, the Seokjin, the one who a week ago you made a scene in front of and probably ruined his valentines.

Fuck. You’ve never seen him in your life before last week. It’s like some cruel twist in fate, when you want to meet someone you never see them and the minute you never want to see them again, there they are.

You shuffle forward, now only one person between you and the till. What do you do? You glance behind you, the queue growing and then sneak a quick glance at Seokjin. He’s looking at his phone, hopefully oblivious to you. It would probably only draw his eyes to you if you were to twist and leave now, you may as well try and act normal and hope that he continues to not see you.

Your heart bangs a steady beat, sweat starting to bead on your skin even as you feel colder than you did a few moments ago. You refrain from glancing at Seokjin. Try to focus on the menu board and the back of the person in front of you.

“What can I get you?”

You slip up to the counter, mutter your order as if your voice will draw Seokjin’s attention. The barista doesn’t even bat an eyelid, just reads out the cost and then waits for the next person to step up to the till.

You shuffle down the bar, annoyingly getting closer to Seokjin, push yourself into the furthest corner, hide yourself behind people as best you can. You’re not really sure what you’re expecting him to do or say if he was to see you, it’s more your own embarrassment that has you acting this way.

You fidget as you wait, and when your name is shouted out you leap forward as if it will get the person to shut up. You slip a sleeve on your drink, glance over to where Seokjin is sat. He’s still looking down at his phone. You dump a sachet of sugar in your cup before grasping it, ducking your head and marching for the exit.

You have to walk past Seokjin’s table to get to the exit and though everything screams at you to avoid looking at him as you pass, you can’t help yourself. And as if fate is laughing at you, of course he happens to look up at that exact moment.

He does a double take, his eyes dipping away from you before snapping back, wide with recognition. Your steps falter, this is the last thing you wanted to happen. You watch his mouth open but like the chicken you are, before he can utter a word you turn and bolt for the exit.

You hear him shout after you, a curse leaving his lips but you don’t turn back to see why. Your feet blindly take you the route they go everyday, dodging the people that litter the pavement.

You don’t want to stand around and hear words of mockery, don’t want to see that same pity in his eyes. It’s possibly the wimp’s way out, will only add points against you for him, but you’re done caring.

Everyone you look at now is someone who could be behind catfishing you. You can’t look at anyone the same.

Was it the kind looking man that smiled at you when you passed him in the street? Is it your colleague? Or maybe the old woman who lives a few doors down from you?

None of them make sense, all of them sound even less plausible than the last but isn’t that the point. They chose to hide behind a strangers pictures so they could what? That still doesn’t make sense either. Have a friend? Feel wanted? Because you never gave them money and they never asked for any. Maybe it was some sick game, something someone did just because they could, something that made them feel like they had power.

Your world hasn’t changed much; you spoke to a guy, started to like him, now he’s ghosting you. Nothing special, nothing that hasn’t happened before to some varying degree, nothing that bad. And yet you feel like everything has changed. Your trust broken, your confidence in shatters.

While Camila tries to help you brush it off, tries to set you back up with online dating, you can’t move on that easy.

One day you’ll be able to look back and laugh on this, but at the moment you can’t.

You don’t want to date, at least not for now. Find it harder to trust and open up to new people. Second guess information people tell you about their lives.

It’s because it’s fresh, it will get better with time. But you still feel like a fool for falling for it all. For spending four months of your live believing in something that wasn’t real.

You’re back in the café, you’ve avoided it for a few days, but as you walked past this morning and slowed as you did a quick scan there was no sign of Seokjin. You’re risking it, eyes continuing to scan but you can safely say he is nowhere to be seen.

You let out a breath, now you have two reasons to avoid him, as if the first wasn’t enough.

The queue moves at a steady pace, you inch closer to getting your coffee and with every step you feel the tension seeping away. Maybe you don’t need to abandon your favourite coffee shop after all. Maybe last time was a fluke, you’d never seen him here before after all.

You grab your coffee when your names called, this time take your time pouring in your sugar and watching it dissolve in the liquid. Wrapping your hands around it’s warmth you turn and head for the exit.

But before you can make it to the door a solid mass steps out in front of you. You slam on your internal breaks, have to steady your arm to make sure no liquid spills anywhere. Looking up you’re about to start spitting bars about watching where they’re going when you realise who it is.

“Are you stalking me?” Are the words that leave your mouth instead.

Seokjin smiles, amused by your response. “Merely a happy coincidence. You ran away so fast last time after all.”

“I was in a rush,” you mumble, face flushing.

He hums, not calling you out on your bullshit but letting you know that he doesn’t buy it. It annoys you enough to let you pull yourself together.

“Just like I’m in a rush now,” you say, plastering a fake smile on your face. “So if you’d kindly step out of my way.”

“Just wanted to chat. Check how you’re doing. It’s not every day your identity gets stolen.”

You frown up at him. “I didn’t steal your identity.”

“Didn’t say you did,” he says easily. “Though, I can totally understand why someone would. I mean who wouldn’t want to pretend to be this,” he does a wide gesture that points at, well, every part of himself.

Your frown deepens. This is definitely not the guy you spoke to for months. Sure, the face is the same, but the Seokjin you know would never be this arrogant.

“Yeah, well, it was lovely seeing you again Seokjin,” sarcasm coats every word.

“Please, all my friends call me Jin.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And we’re friends?”

“Well, we both did get scammed. In different ways sure, but you know, got to stick together.”

What a dick. This time you don’t let him stop you as you push past him. Turn your head slightly so you can say over your shoulder, “see you around Jin.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jin rushes after you, easily falls into step with you. “That came out wrong.”

“And how was it supposed to come out?”

“Right?”

His chuckle dies with the deathly glare you shoot him and the way your footsteps increase.

“Alright, all I meant is, do you fancy grabbing a coffee,” he clarifies when you glance down at the coffee already in your hand. “Sit down and get coffee another time. Together.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Because I’m intrigued. Because I want to know what happened. Because I feel kind of sorry for you. And because I mean really you thought you were talking to me and were going on a date with me, so why not just make that a reality.”

“This isn’t make a wish foundation.”

“I never said it –”

“And of course this is all narcissistic. I wasn’t talking to that person purely because they looked like you. They actually had a personality, I’m not so vain to only go for looks.”

“I didn’t mean –”

“There are plenty of other guys that are far hotter than you.”

“Wow, wow, wow,” he holds up his hands. “Now I know you’re lying.”

You shoot him another glare but this time the smile doesn’t easily fall off his face. In fact it only seems to brighten. The effect making your stomach flip; it’s still hard to separate him from the guy you spoke to for months, his face is what you pictured after all, was at least part of the reason you started to speak to him in the first place.

“Ok,” he laughs, sensing your annoyance. “But seriously, let’s go for coffee.”

You’ve come to a stop, both of you naturally drawn to the side of the pavement, side pressed against the building as you look up at him and frown.

“I don’t want your pity.”

He sighs, runs a hand down his face. “I feel like this is coming out all wrong. I just feel like we’ve both been through something.”

“You’ve not been through shit.”

“I had my identity stolen,” he says, his tone a bit flatter.

“And someone fucking lied to me,” you’ve put it lightly, still don’t really know how to phrase it.

“I just think maybe we should stick together.”

“Stick together?” You question, the words not making sense. “Like we’ve been through some massive ordeal together? You do realise there is no comparison between what has happened to us.”

“I had my identity stolen,” he repeats.

You don’t reply. Is this guy for real?

“So coffee?” He says, bright smile back on his face as if some weird switch has flicked inside him.

“You know, you’re nothing like the Seokjin I know.”

His eyes widen, head going backwards as if not expecting the words, but then he says, “now that is exactly the reason I want to go for coffee.”

You roll your eyes, shake your head. That’s it, he doesn’t get it, or this is some twisted way of him making fun of you. You still feel pain about the whole situation and he’s not making it any better.

You twist and start to walk away before you either start crying or punch him. You can feel him easily falling into step with you and while you try to ignore it, you can’t. You snap.

“What do you fucking want?” You stop and look at him, not caring if anyone is looking, which they definitely are. “Are you getting some sick satisfaction from this? Because I’m not finding this particularly funny.”

“I – uh, I seriously just want to check that you’re ok,” he says, his voice still level but sounding a little meeker, like he realises he’s gone a little far.

You roll your eyes though you think he sounds genuine. His hand catches your wrist, stopping you. You look down at where his hand seems to burn your skin and he must catch the glance as he slowly pulls his hand away as if scared you’re still going to dart.

You look up at him, but despite the fact he’s stopped you, he doesn’t look like he has anything to say.

It doesn’t really make sense, why does he want to talk to you about any of this, he’d have no idea that this had happened if it wasn’t for that chance encounter. This has hardly affected his life, in comparison to you it’s not affected him at all.

But then part of you agrees with him. You spoke to Camila about it, had a little cry with her, but you didn’t get too deep. She warned you about what would happen and while you knew she wouldn’t rub it in, it’s all you could think about when around her; if you’d just listened, this wouldn’t have happened. Seokjin, though not fully, can at least emphasise with you. He’s not quite been through what you have, but he’s right, in some small way you’ve both been through something together. He may be the only person who will understand in some way.

You still don’t fully buy it. Still think that he’s going to judge you or make fun of you. But you need a friend and outlet for all these feelings, need someone to talk to about all of this so much at the moment that you find yourself nodding. A smile that makes your heart ache blossoms across Seokjin’s face.

“A coffee?”

“Just a coffee,” he says and then adds. “And a chat.”

What harm can a coffee do? You think as you find yourself agreeing and taking his details. He tells you he’ll text you the details before giving you a small wave and walking away.

What the hell have you signed up for?

You feel as nervous as you did when you were walking in for your first date with Seokjin. Supposed first date. With who you thought was Seokjin. But there’s so many differences this time. The nerves are different. The place isn’t as nice or fancy. You’re just having a quick coffee together. You’re talking together as if it’s some victim support group. This isn’t even a date.

You’ve arrived early. No hostess to welcome you this time, you just order your coffee and take any table you want.

Why have you agreed to this? What is he going to ask you? You’re still not entirely sure why he wants to meet you.

You’ve been thinking about it since Seokjin asked you. It ran through your head all that day at work, why had you agreed, why were you doing this to yourself, even though you know Seokjin’s face you don’t know him. You have to remind yourself that however much your body might react when you see Seokjin, he’s not the person you know. He’s hot and he looks like the person that you thought you were starting to slightly fall in love with. It’s hard to remind your body and heart that sometimes.

You only have to wait a few minutes before he walks into the café, your coffee still piping hot; you spot him before he spots you. Standing at the door his eyes search the room and while he’s oblivious you can take him in. He’s dressed smart, or at least isn’t in sweats and a hoody. Dark jeans, top two buttons undone, and shirt’s tucked in. His hair flops down into his eyes, un-styled and yet still seeming to look perfect.

And whatever your mind tells you, however hard you will yourself to remember; you still can’t help the way your stomach flops as you look at him.

He spots you, gives you a small nod and smile in recognition before walking to the counter and getting his order. You threat the whole time about what you’re going to say that you barely let him sit down before talking.

“You must think I’m an idiot,” you say in way of greeting.

Seokjin doesn’t reply immediately, slides into the seat opposite you, his own mug of coffee in his hands. He slides a piece of cake down onto the table before easily meeting your eye contact with a smile.

“I bought cake.”

“Good for you,” you reply flatly.

“And two forks.”

You frown as he places one of the forks in front of you, a silent invitation. He sighs when you don’t say anything.

“I don’t think you’re an idiot.”

“Don’t make some joke about it being easy to fall in love with someone who looks like you.”

He smirks, sips at his coffee as if to hide his glee. It annoys you that you already know him so well. Annoys you that you already feel comfortable enough around him to snip and snap at him. Like the way you met him has broken barriers you’d usually put up.

He shrugs. “Still don’t think you’re an idiot.”

Your foot bobs under the table. You believe him when he says it and that’s what makes it hard, because you don’t feel that way about yourself. You feel like an idiot, like a fool for believing that man.

“Well, I was going to start with more lightweight conversation, but as you’ve already leaped right into it,” he says easily as your leg continues to bob. “What was it exactly that made you swipe right on pictures of me?”

You roll your eyes, the nerves at least dissipating at his god awful joke. Seokjin just looks at you, eyes squinting as a squeaky laugh sounds out.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t your personality,” you mumble.

“No,” he says when he’s recovered, smile still on his face. “But was it the face? Because let’s be honest, who could say no to this?”

You glare across the table at him. He’s barely been here five minutes and you already know this was a massive mistake.

“I didn’t come here to boost your ego.”

“No, sorry, just trying to lighten the atmosphere,” he replies, unbothered, before scooping up a chunk of cake.

Well he’s achieved that. You no longer feel nervous, just angry. It’s probably why your tone comes out snappy.

“Listen, this may feel like a joke to you, but it’s not for me. I was an idiot and started to fall in love with someone I’d never met. I got warned against it, but I’m obviously either dumb or blind, because I didn’t listen. I decided to trust a man I thought loved me back than trust my friends,” you pause, emotion rising up within you. Seokjin is at least silently listening, the smile no longer on his face, his eyes wide as he drinks in your every reaction, every emotion. “I don’t even know why I bothered agreeing to this. You’re not him, I’m not going to get any closure from meeting you.”

You move as if about to leave, but Seokjin stops you by speaking.

“Do you know who it was?”

You stop yourself from rising off your seat, keep it pushed back away from the table but make no further moves to go. You look at him, all traces of joking gone.

You shake your head. “They’ve not messaged me since that night.”

You don’t need to elaborate which night you mean for Seokjin to understand.

“And did you –” he pauses clearly debating whether to ask the question and must decide he will as he speaks again. “Did you give them any money?”

You shake your head, unable to speak the words. No, luckily you hadn’t given them any money, but you know that if they’d asked you would have. Maybe nothing big, but you trusted them enough that if they said they needed specialist treatment or care for their mum you would have considered it, would have probably helped them. You’ve wondered since finding out the truth if that’s where it was all leading, the thought makes you sick.

“Well that’s good,” he says and is quick to clarify when you shoot him an annoyed look. “I just mean it could be worse. Not that what’s happened isn’t bad, just, you know.”

It’s your turn to smirk behind your mug, as much as he annoys you and seems to rub it in, seeing him flustered like this, you can’t help but smile. Luckily he doesn’t seem to notice and by the time you’ve had a sip or your drink you’ve managed to school your features.

“Anyway, what did they tell you about me?” The question throws you; you can’t quite compute the meaning and your pause must show as he goes on to clarify. “Maybe I can help clarify all the lies.”

You take a second before starting, wonder if there’s any point. But when you start to tell him the facts you believed to be true he starts to help build up a picture of who he really is, how wild some of the lies he told you were, and like Camila said, how convenient some of them were.

He asks you about yourself too, the two of you slowly building pictures of the other’s life in your head. Maybe it’s the shock that you actually enjoy talking to him, or maybe part of you still tries to hold back from letting your defences down; you’ve been burnt before, so recently, that you don’t want to easily fall into it. But it doesn’t take long for you to fully relax.

He’s not the Seokjin you know, but you learn that that might not be a bad thing. He’s funny. He doesn’t take anything too seriously. But he’s still smart, has a job high enough to pay well, but also low enough that means he can also have a life outside of work.

You spend over an hour together and find your heart dropping an inch when he realises the time and tells you he has to go. Still, you plaster a smile on your face, try not to compare it to your past. Over the hour you’ve come to realise that they may look the same – in your mind at least – but both Seokjin’s are nothing alike. That fact is only emphasised by the reminder that Seokjin so casually drops.

“What are you doing this afternoon?” You ask as you both scrap your chairs and head for the exit.

“I’m meeting with Flora,” he says the name as if you’re supposed to know who she is, as if you’re long friends. “The girl you met in 20 Stories?”

“Ah.”

The pieces click into place. This truly was just a curiosity thing for him. And while you knew it wasn’t a date, you can’t help the disappointment seeping through at the fact he’s off to see his girlfriend now. You try not to let it show on your face.

“You up to anything?”

You’ve both come to a stop outside the café, staring at each other before you head in different directions.

“This is about as exciting as my weekends get,” you gesture to the café, try and almost definitely failing to make it sound like a pathetic joke.

Seokjin’s eyes flick across your face, his stare making you feel naked. You have to look away from it when you feel your face heating up.

“Well have a nice date.”

“We should do this again,” he says almost before you can finish your words, and any attempts to move for your departure are gone.

“We should?”

“Yeah,” he nods, seeming to gain enthusiasm. “I had a good time.”

“Oh. Ok,” you say, your voice flat in disbelief.

“Well, I have your number,” he pats his pocket, the rectangle of his phone showing.

You nod, the whole thing growing awkward. But Seokjin doesn’t seem to pick up on it, or at least just ignores it.

“See you soon then,” he says as a cheery goodbye before twisting and walking away.

You stand for a second watching before walking in the other direction. Maybe things aren’t as dyer as you thought. At least even if you don’t have someone in your life romantically it looks like you may have gained a friend.

“He’s got a girlfriend.”

“I still think –”

“He’s not my type anyway.”

“But you matched with him before.”

“Matched with someone else who just happened to look like him.”

“Still, that was before you knew their personality.”

“Exactly,” you say, attempting to end the seemingly never-ending conversation.

You’ve met with Seokjin – or Jin as he keeps reminding you – a few times now, to pick up coffees before work, for lunches and the occasional weekend errands. Weirdly you’d class him as a friend now, not something you would have predicted when you met him in that restaurant, or even after that coffee shop chat. But he’d messaged you as promised, and it’s only grown since then.

But as your friendship with Jin grows, the questions and assumptions from Camila grow.

The conversation you’re currently having has happened a thousand times before to varying degrees. The questions of if or when he’s going to ask you on a real date. The assumptions that you like him as more than a friend. And every time you have to remind her that he’s dating someone, Flora. That even if he wasn’t dating her, you wouldn’t be interested, only want to be his friend.

It’s not quite true, and maybe that’s why Camila keeps asking, because she can see the lie. Jin may be the complete opposite to who you were expecting, but he was still hot as hell and as you’ve gotten to know him you realise that he actually can be funny, but more than that, he’s thoughtful and kind and listens to everything you say and never judges you. He’s still annoying as hell but he’s also way more than the pretty face he’d like you to believe he is. So yeah, maybe you do harbour a small crush on him, but it’s never going to happen so there’s no point pinning over him.

Camila rolls her eyes. “Well at least tell me when I’m going to meet him.”

It’s another thing she’s been vying for, and again something you’ve been holding off. You love them both but can’t imagine the two in a room together. You’d also be way too nervous what Camila might say, or what information Jin would pry from her, all those blackmail worthy stories she holds about your life.

“I don’t know. He’s a busy guy,” the excuse comes easy.

“I’m starting to think you’re embarrassed by me,” she easily shoots back, small smile on her lips to show she doesn’t care.

“I’m not going to disagree with that,” you mumble loud enough for her to hear and find a pillow being thrown right at your face, a giggle sounding out in the background.

You’ve never been to his flat before and though he’s already buzzed you up, you don’t knock on his front door immediately. You’re not really sure why you’re nervous. Sure you’ve never been here before, but really there’s no difference to when the two of you hang out at a coffee shop or walk around a museum together. Just that this is his personal space, full of his things, with no one else around, literally just the two of you.

Ok. None of those thoughts are helping.

You step up to the door, thinking that he’ll come and start investigating where you are soon, haven taken too long to get from downstairs to his door.

The door almost immediately opens after your knock, as if he was stood just the other side waiting. You take a second to take him in, never having seen him in jogging bottoms and a hoody before. He still looks good, just a lot more cosy and homey. It’s kind of dangerous what it does to your heart. You draw your eyes to his face though, remind yourself why you’re here, but he looks fine. You were expecting to see red lined eyes and possibly fresh tears. You only see bright smiles and a look that makes you think he’s pleased to see you.

“I’m so sorry Jin,” the practiced apology still falls from your lips.

He waves it away before ushering you in. Looms over you as you slip your shoes off.

“It’s fine. I think we both knew it’s been over for a while.”

“Still, I’m sorry,” you say, unsure what else to say, you suck at this sort of thing.

You got a text earlier today, Jin letting you know that him and Flora had called it quits. You felt guilty for the small leap of hope your heart did initially. But it was only small and you immediately responded with your well wishes and hopes he was ok. It didn’t take long for him to reassure you that he was fine and then invite you round for pizza. You took it as his way of asking for someone to be there for him and you were so happy that he thought of you.

You’d not really over thought it until now, sat on his sofa, glass of wine in hand, pizza ordered.

You’re crap at this sort of thing. It’d probably be easier if Jin was crying, at least then you’d know what to say, know that you could hug him and rub his back. But this, the fact he’s still joking and laughing, you’re not really sure what to do.

“Did you ever find out who catfished you in the end?”

The question comes out of the blue, Jin taking a bite of pizza as if to feign innocence, but you can see the curiosity in his eyes. It’s been a couple of months since you realised the truth and yet the question still causes a ripple of something to go through you.

“Nah,” you say, acting as unbothered as he is. “They stopped replying to me.”

“You weren’t curious?”

“Of course, but how the hell was I supposed to find out who it was if they weren’t talking to me?”

He hums around his bite of pizza. You can almost see the clogs in his head turning as if trying to work out the answer.

“I wonder if it’s someone I know,” he says. “You know, because they used my photos and name.”

“Yeah, but they didn’t use all your details. Like your job and family, just the things they’d easily know from online.”

“Probably used their own. Easier to keep it up and not trip over a detail they’d forgotten.”

You hum, not convinced but also you’ve tried to give up caring about it all. You want to leave it in the past.

“Do you still have the conversations? Maybe I’ll recognise the writing style or something.”

You want to lie and tell him you deleted it. You want to say that it will be no use, that there’s not point working out what sicko lied to you, strung you along for four months. You want to tell him that you don’t want him to read through your conversation, that you said some personal things, that you feel embarrassed by the fact that you opened up so much to someone you hardly knew.

But he looks so happy, the conversation seeming to distract him from the fact he’s newly single that you end up pulling your phone out, opening the dating app and hand it over.

You wince as Jin wipes his greasy hands on his trousers, but don’t say anything as he takes your phone. A small frown appears on his face as you watch him read through your messages. Something curls and tightens in your gut and you hold out as long as you can before saying anything.

“What?”

His eyes flick up at you before going back to the phone.

“Nothing,” he says, continue to swipe through your phone.

There’s another few beats of silence, the white noise eating through you.

“You still using this?” He tries to say it so offhanded that it makes you laugh.

“Already thinking of how to meet new people?” You joke.

“I just would have thought you’d have deleted this is all. And I haven’t heard you talking about dating anyone,” he shrugs eyes firmly on the phone but you don’t miss the way his ears have gone crimson.

“Yeah, well, I guess I’ve kind of been put off it.”

His eyes raise to look at you. You hold his stare for as long as you can manage, but the pity swimming there makes you break first. Opting to pick up a piece of pizza as a distraction.

“We should send him a picture.”

“What?”

“You said you knew the truth but wouldn’t it be funny to send a picture together?”

Funny isn’t really how you’d describe it. But you find that for whatever reason you kind of want to do it. Possibly more to do with the fact you want to take a picture with Jin than that you want to send it to whoever was messaging you. Your silence and the fact you haven’t shunned the idea seems to be enough for Jin. He straightens on the sofa, pats the spot right next to him.

“Come on,” he encourages you.

You feel like an obedient dog, shuffling up to his side but are careful not to let your leg touch his. Jin doesn’t seem to care though, while his one arms lifts up in front of him, phone angled at the two of you, his other arm moves around your back, hand encompassing your shoulder as he pulls you into his side.

He captures the shocked look as you fall into his side. And then captures the smile and laugh as you settle into the feeling. And then he captures the pure bewilderment as his lips press to your cheek.

It’s quick, innocent, the soft skin barely brushing your skin. And yet the spot heats as if a flame touched the spot.

He pulls away from you, unbothered as he flicks through the pictures he’s just taken. You don’t notice, don’t see the smile on his face as he looks at your phone, don’t notice that he sends all the pictures to himself. You don’t shuffle away from him, don’t move back to your side of the sofa, say sat right up next to him, knees banging against each other as you turn to look at him.

“Why’d you do that?”

“Thought it’d be funny to send to whoever this is.”

Of course. All for a joke. Not anything else. It’s like cold water has been splashed over you, reality coming back into focus.

You start to shuffle away but Jin’s strong hand stops you. He smiles as he turns your phone to you. You look over the messages, see the pictures of Jin’s lips on your cheek, the smile lingers on your face but you can see the shock starting to seep into your eyes. The message he’s typed out below reads, all because of you, thanks x.

You nod, throw him a disingenuous smile.

“Funny,” you say, attempting a chipper tone.

He doesn’t seem to pick up on it though, the smile still on his face as he squeezes your leg and lets go.

“What film shall we watch?”

And just like that it’s forgotten, the moment moved on. At least for Jin anyway, because you won’t easily forget the way your heart rate increased, won’t easily forget the way you wished for more, won’t easily forget even that small kiss. It’s probably all you’ll ever get. You may as well remember it.

Your friendship moves from cafes to homes, both of you taking it in turns to host. Camila continues to taunt you with what you and Jin are, and you continue to bat the remarks away. Nothings going to happen. Jin is out of your league, single now at least, but not interested in you.

And the fact only makes you feel a little depressed and very lame. Like you’re hanging onto something that’s never going to happen. It’s why you re-download Hinge, why you update your profile and start to swipe through the potential pool of people looking for love.

You’re naturally more cautious, but you also realise you don’t need to be, the one rule and main difference you’ve told yourself to stick to this time being, don’t talk to the person for months without meeting them. It’s probably why everything happens so quickly, why it’s only been a few days since you updated your profile to you securing a date.

While you easily tell Camila, you realise you should probably also tell Jin, and that feels harder than it should.

He’s round yours, you stood in the kitchen while he’s sat on the sofa. You have a whole night ahead of you to get through, but you reason that you’re definitely overthinking it, that Jin won’t react badly; he has no reason to.

“I’m going on a date.”

Jin’s eyes shoot to you, and you try not to read the emotions you read there.

“Since when?”

“He asked me last night.”

His eyes narrow and you choose to look away from the knowing look, focus on your cooking instead. This is why you brought it up now, because whatever the reaction you could distract yourself with the fact you have to cook. But you weren’t quite expecting this reaction, though you’re not sure what the reaction is. You were expecting excitement, enthusiasm and happiness at the fact you’re finally moving on. Not this.

“I didn’t know you were talking to anyone.”

You shrug while you stir the pasta. It’s been weeks and you can’t exactly tell him that you’re done waiting for him. You were terrified of going back on dating apps but there is seemingly no other way to meet people, so here you are.

“Why didn’t you tell me about him?” Jin continues, sadness seeping into his tone.

“I’ve only just met him myself.”

His silence is answer enough. You give yourself a second to compose yourself as you drain the pasta.

“It’s exciting Jin,” you say, not sure if you’re trying to convince him or yourself.

You twist to look at him, smile plastered on your face and you catch the moment Jin does the same, masking whatever emotion was there before.

“I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

You roll your eyes as you turn your back to him and drain the pasta. While you had expected excitement, part of you didn’t want him to be, because then that would mean he doesn’t care. Or at least that he was excited by you dating someone else and that not being him. But this also isn’t what you wanted.

“Last time was a mistake, it’s not going to happen again,” you say flatly, dishing the pasta onto two plates, adding the sauce and carrying them over to where Jin sits.

“I didn’t mean – I know you’re not an idiot Y/N,” he amends and you just shovel a forkful of pasta into your mouth. “Just, are you sure you’re ready?”

“It’s been months.”

“There’s no set amount of time to heal from something.”

You shrug. “I’m well over it. I want to date again.”

“Ok,” he says, seeming to not buy it but he at least drops the topic.

You sit in silence eating your pasta. He’s not even asked you about the guy, doesn’t seem interested in the date at all. You don’t want to read into it, but it also upsets you that he’s doesn’t seem to care.

“You seem annoyed,” you say delicately as if it will make it easier for Jin to hear.

You wait as he eats around his mouthful, watch his throat bob as he swallows and stills there’s a second before he talks.

“How would you react if I said I was off on a date?”

Not what you were expecting and though you don’t answer immediately the answer still comes into your mind immediately. You’d be devastated. Though you know you can’t have him, you also selfishly don’t want anyone else to have him.

“I’d be happy for you,” you say instead.

Jin just hums, as if he doesn’t believe you, but he says nothing else as he puts more pasta in his mouth.

“I at least wouldn’t be a dick like you currently are.”

His eyes seem to roar as he looks at you and this time he doesn’t wait to finish his mouthful to speak.

“I’m not being a dick.”

“Could have fooled me,” you mumble but in the quiet room you know Jin will hear.

He places his still half full bowl of pasta on the coffee table and turns to look at you. You just innocently take another bite of pasta.

“Go on then. Tell me about it.”

“If you don’t want to hear then –”

“No. Go on.”

You’re kind of scared of this side of Jin that you’ve never seen before. Aren’t really sure why he seems so bothered by the fact you’re dating someone. Maybe it’s bringing back the fact that he’s single and his failed relationship.

And now he’s actually calling you out, you’re not really sure what to tell him.

“Well, we’re going for drinks,” you start, pausing a fraction as if expecting Jin to interrupt with a comment, but he doesn’t. “He’s a year old than me. Works at a publishing house.”

You stop. And Jin doesn’t say anything so there’s a long silence.

“Is that it?”

You shrug, feeling deflated. Jin must pick up on that as his voice comes out softer when he carries on.

“How long have you been speaking for?”

“Like, a week,” you say, stretching the truth that it’s barely been five days. But that’s a working week, right?

He still doesn’t look happy, so you place your plate next to his and turn to look at him the way he did a couple of minutes ago.

“I don’t get why you’re annoyed.”

“I’m not annoyed,” his tone says otherwise.

“Then why are you being like this?”

His eyes flick around your face. You can almost see him debating whether to say what’s currently going around his head. You silently will him to do it.

“I … just … I was kind of hoping I’d get to ask you out first.”

“What?” The word comes out as more of a breath. It’s everything you wanted and more. And yet it still shocks you.

“I’m annoyed at myself,” he clarifies. “That I waited too long and now I’ve lost my chance.”

“What?” You repeat, it feels like all the blood has been drained out of your body. It feels like you’re living in a different dimension.

“I wanted to ask you on a date?” There’s a small almost disappointed smile on Jin’s face, his ears crimson.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s alright,” he says, his eyes drifting away. But before his body can turn away, your hand jumps out to grip his thigh, bringing his attention back to you. You think you might see hope gleaming in his eyes.

“I mean. Are you fucking kidding me?”

He raises an eyebrow in question.

“You do realise I’ve wanted you to do that for literal weeks.”

His eyes light in surprise. “Literal weeks? What are none literally weeks?”

You can’t fucking believe him. This time you start to twist away and this time it’s him that stops you. But while you just got him to look back at you, he seems to take more drastic action. His hand on your shoulder, he physically twists you back to him and all you see is the broad, deep smile before his lips are on yours.

He kisses you, nothing like the kiss on the cheek. No, that was sweet and delicate and barely there. This is deep and intense and as if you’re water and Jin hasn’t drunk in months. It’s so intense that his body weight pushing into you causes you to fall backwards, Jin’s hand on your lower back is quick to rectify the problem, pulling you firmly into him.

You gasp into him, still fully shocked this is even happening. Your lips are on Jin’s and it was him that initiated it. Yeah, you’re fucking shocked.

Jin takes advantage of your shock, it doesn’t seem to deter him, worry him or put him off. His plump lips dive into you and finally you start to kiss him back, your lips moving against his.

You move, try to get comfier by turning your body more towards him, but that doesn’t seem to appease Jin. His had splays across your thigh, easily grasps it and then lifts your leg so you’re straddling him.

You groan into his mouth. You thought you were being stupid and horny for being so affected by a kiss but if the semi-hard on you can feel pushing between your legs is enough to go off, Jin is just as affected.

Jin’s tongue slips between your lips, as his hands go to your hips, encouraging you to move against him.

Your moans get swallowed in Jin’s mouth and you feel like you forget everything, the only thing your mind can thing about is that growing hardness between your thighs. You haven’t seen him but you can feel he’s big, well he’s girthy at least.

“Fuck, Jin,” you pull away from his mouth, grind down harder on his lap.

Your eyes flicker but you try to focus on Jin’s face, while you think this is affecting you more than him, you can still see the deep desire in his eyes and you want to remember that look. If you thought he was hot before, he’s never looked better now. And its that fact that has an almost pool of wetness forming in your pants.

This is great, you would happily keep doing this all night, but you also want more.

You stop your movements and Jins eyes immediately become more alert, snapping to yours and you know he’s worried somethings gone wrong and you’re uncomfortable. His sweetness has you smiling. Leaning forward you plant your lips on his, hoping to kiss away the worry.

“Let’s go to my room.”

The worry disintegrates as if it was never there and you giggle at the fact. As you draw away, lift your hips off Jin’s, his hands tighten where they still sit on your sides. Before you can question it, he’s moving below you, pushing up to a stand and pulling you with him.

You squeal, cling to him as he wobbles on the spot. He easily corrects himself though and then trudges with you in his arms to your room, dumping you not so delicately on the bed.

“Jesus,” you giggle as you bounce on the bed.

“You can just call me Jin, it’s fine.”

His smug smile disappears behind his top as he pulls it over his head, appearing seconds later. You roll your eyes, unable to hold back your smile as you follow suit, pulling your top over your head. But while he was quicker to pull his top off, and while he has less layers on than you, it seems you’re quicker to get naked then him. Your nakedness completely distracting him from the task at hand.

“Fuck,” he utters when you lie naked on the bed, staring up at him.

You smirk. You’re not someone that’s very confident in your looks, but the way Jin is currently looking at you, you feel like the most beautiful person in the world.

“Hurry up, Jin.”

His eyes flick from where they were inching down your body to your face.

“What happened to calling me Jesus?”

The sigh dies in your throat as Jin pulls down his trouser and pants at the same time. Just like he was distracted by you, you’re now distracted by him. He’s as girthy as you expected, still long, but really it’s all about the shear thickness that has you gaping.

“Did he send you any dick pics?”

Really? He’s doing this now? He’s bringing this up now? You frown at him, showing him that you’re less than impressed. It doesn’t seem to put you off though you know him well enough to have guessed that.

“Bet it wasn’t as good as the really thing.”

You were turned on a second ago when you watched him dropping his pants, but now, watching him stroke his cock to be fully erect, after that joke, you’re not sure.

You push yourself onto your elbows, level your stare at him. Still, he doesn’t seem deterred.

“It’s really not that impressive.”

Jin’s eyes lift to you, his hand still slowly stroking his cock. Despite the fact you don’t smile at him, that you hold his stare and don’t give anything away, you’re pretty sure more wetness pools between your legs at the look he shoots you.

“I can just go back in there alone if you want?” He nods his head over his shoulder, towards the living room you were just in.

“Alone?”

“You obviously don’t want to join.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Just going to finish yourself off?”

“I’ve done it before.”

You refrain your laugh, he’s keeping his face flat and serious, his hand still wrapped around his cock.

“Every day, I’m sure.”

His eyes darken to near black at your joke, his hand letting go of his cock, it springs up hitting his abdomen just before he lunges across the bed for you.

He lands on top of you, his body pressing down on top of you so that you fall off your elbows flat onto your back. He’s supporting his weight on his arms as his lips and fingers attack your body. Lips kissing every inch of your face, fingers tickling every side of your body until your withering and whirling below him.

“Stop,” you giggle, the word not enough to deter Jin, so you repeat it again and again.

You can feel Jin’s lips smiling into your skin as you continue to giggle beneath him.

“Stop, please,” you say one last time, pushing your hands up against his solid chest. He could have easily stayed against you, his strength far outweighing yours, but he moves with you, pulling away until he is hovering above you.

“What?” he says, all innocence.

You roll your eyes. “Just put a condom on.”

He leans down, pecking his lips against yours before pulling away. He kneels above you as he rips open the condom and then rolls it down his cock.

“I like it when you’re bossy.”

He doesn’t let you reply before pressing his lips to yours. But you imply what you would have said by pushing on one of his sides, turning you both until it’s you now on top of Jin.

“Fuck. Ok.”

You huff a laugh, but you can’t laugh too hard at him given how you feel as affect as he looks.

You look between the two of you, your hand encompassing Jin’s cock with the sound of a hiss from him. You’re too concentrated to take it in though, don’t really notice his deep breaths, or his deep dark eyes watching every moment, as you bring yourself down to him. You close your eyes with a small deep grown as you swipe his tip through your folds.

“Babe,” the nickname and the tone in which he says it has your eyes snapping to Jin. He looks completely fucked as he looks up at you. “As much as I’m enjoying this. Please. Just get on with it?”

You nod your head, unable to talk or joke with him. You look from his eyes back down between your bodies. You line his tip up with your entrance, hear Jin suck in a breath, but you ignore him, selfishly focus on your own pleasure. You sink down on him, slow but at a steady pace until your hips are fully against each other.

“Oh my fucking god,” Jin hisses, his hands on your hips as if to help steady you there. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“It’s been a while,” you say semi automatically, still trying to breath after taking him.

You can feel him literally everywhere. In you, under you, his hands on you. You weren’t lying, it has been a long time, even if you hadn’t slept with anyone in the four months you were talking to someone else, even since you found out it was all a lie, it would have been a while since you slept with anyone. That, coupled with the sheer size of Jin is a lot.

“Do you think you can move?” Jin’s voice cuts across your thoughts, his voice breathless.

You look down at him, try to concentrate as you watch that muscular throat swallow. Fuck. How have you managed to find yourself in this position with a man this good looking. You’re too distracted by his looks to take in what he’s said.

“Y/N,” your name is blunt, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Please move.”

He reiterates the words with a thrust of his hips upwards. He’s already so deep with in you that he can’t go much deeper, but the effect still has your eyes rolling. Fucking hell, who is this man and why haven’t you done this sooner?

You plant your hand on his solid chest as you draw away from him before snapping back down. Your movements are slow to begin, but you build up your pace. The wetness created between your legs by the feeling of Jin’s cock touching every inch of you only helps to make the movements smoother.

You lean forward into Jin, the new angle making him hit you slightly different so that you feel like you’re seeing stars. Jin’s hands go from your hips to your ass, his fingers tugging at the skin, pulling in opposing directions. Your movements stutter as you feel like you could come undone by the feeling and you hear Jin curse, no doubt at the feeling of you squeezing him tighter.

You hold it together though, aren’t ready to let go just yet, continue to grind down into Jin. Your pace is clearly not good enough though.

His hands move from your ass to your hips, his touch becoming firm enough that he has you stopping so you’re hovering over him.

You open your mouth to question what’s wrong but your words die in your throat as Jin thrusts his hips up off the bed to meet you. The impact causes you to fall forward into him, your arms giving out and a moan escaping you. The new angle doesn’t deter Jin, his hands remain on your hips keeping you exactly where he wants you.

His movements are faster and sharper than yours were. You can hear his breath above you over the noise of your bodies crashing together, the small mumbles of noise he lets out to let you know how much he’s enjoying this. You’re more silent in your pleasure, body grating against Jin’s as he thrusts up into you.

Your release sneaks up on you out of nowhere and this time there’s no way you’d be able to hold it back. It crashes through you like a truck, your nails digging into Jins skin as if it will help ground you, your body clenching before white hot pleasure courses through you.

“Oh fucking hell, yes,” Jin growls from above you, your walls clenching so tightly that he has to slow his pace.

Your hips grind down into him, helping you through your release as Jin slowly thrusts up into you, a guttural moan letting you know he’s also found his own release.

You both lay there sweaty and panting for a few seconds, unable to move, your body feeling like jelly. Jin seems to catch his breath quicker than you, but he’s content to stay in you and for you to stay on top of him as he makes no move to change your currently position.

His fingers draw comforting patterns on your skin and slowly but surely they seem to drag you back to reality, your mind becoming clearer, your thoughts more coherent. It may have been a while, but you never remember sex being so good.

Still, you lie in silence for a few more seconds, before you place a few kisses on his chest and push yourself up to look down at him, his now soft cock still nestled inside you. He looks up at you, a gleam on his face, but the words are not what you would have expected to say straight away.

“So, are you going to cancel that date?”

You look down at him. He looks like he’s feigning disinterest, like he wants it to sound like a joke, like if you say the thing he’s hoping you don’t, he’ll ‘easily’ laugh it off. You lean forward to place a peck on his lips. You could easily joke, but you decide this is too important a moment for that.

“Of course,” you say, and something flutters in you as you watch the broad smile blossom on his face. Maybe being catfished wasn’t so bad after all.

#btscreatorscorner #bangtansorciere #seokjin fanfic #seokjin smut #jin smut #Seokjin imagine #jin fluff #jin fanfic

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animatedrapture · 4 years ago

Text

RINTOBER: [ Achilles' Heel ]

word count: 2,222

suna rintarō x reader

tags: ambiguous end, implied major character death, angst, implied sexual intercourse, toxic relationship, detailed pain(?)

song: achilles come down - gang of youths

a/n: HALLOWEEN SPECIAL because... death...?

a HUGE thank you, once again, to my wonderful wife, love of my life, bby @toffees-main 🥺 for proofreading the final piece and preventing me from sounding like a dumbass like, twice. also, thank you to @newfriendjen and @kaitycole for beta-reading the initial draft!

"Rin, Rintarō, I love you!" You shouted from the bleachers; a proud smile decorating your features as you cheered for him right after he'd hit the ball to the other side of the net, securing EJP Raijin another point—so close to winning.

His gaze and yours were two opposites of a pole with a pull unparalleled—a pull science can only wish to decipher. He finds you as he rotates through the set up and there's a beam in his eyes, making him break out into a grin you just know he couldn't find it in himself to reserve for later.

That day, that match—Suna Rintarō was named the MVP of the game. He owed it all to you and the swell of his heart with each cheer he heard from you; your voice distinct as if it were the only one that mattered in that whole gymnasium. Perhaps, at least that time, you truly were all that mattered to him.

But not anymore.

The first—the first was the lack of replies, the dryer replies. I love you's met with Love you's and very little effort to hide the lack of sincerity beneath. It began through texts until it was the quick, snipped tone laced with the parsimonious manner he answered you. The act of it was much like an attempt to deprive you of water until you're but withering rose in his grasp that he would rather replace than try to plant again and save.

Just how long were you willing to go without the water you needed to stay alive?

"Rin, love, I'll prepare dinner for us tonight, come home early, okay? I'm cooking your favorite!"

"I'll try," was his reply as you watched each of his hasty movements through your shared bedroom.

"I prepared you a bento, too. It's on the kitchen counter," you continued as he attempted to ignore the way you looked at him similar to the way you look when you're lost and searching for something. He hums in response, and just as he was about to reach for the door, you call out to him, "Rin, where's my goodbye kiss?" in the usual tone you would pull back then when he would forget and pepper you with kisses in retaliation, offering an apology before heading out.

He looks back at you with exasperation, "I'm late, Y/N." He doesn't wait for you to answer before he has the door shut close.

That's how you know he also forgot the food you prepared on the kitchen counter.

Foolishly, the answer to the question was that you were willing to wait until your next life for his love to drown you into bliss again. It's that answer that's disrespectful to the mystery of reincarnation—but you're everything Suna Rintarō wanted you to be; that is, if it was a fool he wanted you to be, you would play the part better than any award winning actor to have ever lived could. Even if it was a miscreant he wanted you to be, some sort of heretic to the laws of the world and the conditions of love. You'd be everything he asked of you. After all, who were you if not his other half?

Who were you if not water to shape into whatever container he put you in, right?

The second—the second was the lies that slipped past such sinful crimson lips. Oh, by the heavens, as if the lack of fondness in the timbre of his voice as he spoke to you wasn't enough to put cracks to the cemented foundation of you and him. Cruel, it's so cruel—you wonder if you're lacking somewhere, have you changed? Are you no longer diamond in the sea of glitter—? Worth not of his time nor the beating of the caged heart you thought you've acquired?

Now when he speaks, even the very sound of his voice reverberates like a sharp spear piercing through your chest without mercy—as if you're Spartan in the Battle of Thermopylae. The lies that come along with them about how training ended late again, or that he's travelling for a match again—Huh? No, you don't have to come, Y/N. I need to focus.

Did he have to lie about who he's with, what he's been doing? It's laughable. As if you wouldn't kiss away the taste of anything that lingered in his lips, if it was blood, alcohol or the lips of another girl. Rintarō, did he not know you enough to know you would surrender to his will no matter what mud followed his footsteps?

Ah, but, what would admitting such things do to his pride? Maybe it's that—or maybe he liked the way the lies were like lemon and salt to a fresh wound. You think, you never thought you could be so masochistic.

Third—the third is the sharpness of his gaze. It's the same gaze, same pair of eyes you've loved for such a long time and you fail not to love to this very moment. You're softer than clouds but now most hollow in comparison to the unacquirable stars among the cosmos—you think they're there but they're just a burst of light, something that has probably died lightyears ago.

It's like chokehold, the fourth—the fourth is like chokehold and he, the assassin. Ruthless—he's ruthless when he looks at you as you're not more than a tedious chore to him and the ring on your finger held no promise of relentless love greater than what a deity could offer.

Foolish—you're foolish. Delusion is a coping mechanism to the ones whose realities have been robbed in front of them—delusion is what you're supposed to call it when you fill your head with all the excuses and all the things you tell yourself have to change. You used to be a masterpiece. A masterpiece to him; as though you're Holy Grail found in a gallery of things that could never begin to hope they would ever amount to you.

Delusion is ignoring the liquor in his lips, the intoxicating smell of his cologne mixed with alcohol and cigarette smoke. You're confused and your reality that seems to have been distorting more often than usual. You question the strings that premeditate fate when it's you feeling the drunkenness and hangover the next day when it should be Suna and the tabloids of "Suna Rintarō spotted in yet another bar." You wonder if each sunset and sunrise you watched with Suna was a mere fever dream when it's you who vomits on the toilet. You, who sobs on the bathroom floor.

"Sfumato," your friend tells you, "The gentle blurring of edges to make rendered objects appear as one with their environment." The edges blur when you call that delusion as love—you only have to wait long enough before both are truly one and the same. The pain disguised as martyr sacrifice to the greatest allegory of love to exist. This is what you're told. They say, "Y/N, you've confused love with delusion," and yet you don't listen.

You don't listen most of all when you're back underneath him but you feel like you're being bloodied all over, stained like wine to a white dress. Yet you allow yourself to indulge in the kisses he's abated you of, you revel in each time you ask him to tell you he loves you and he finally does as he luxuriates you of your desires and of your whines for love—nevermind that he was doing it for himself. After all, it is as the word suggests, a luxury.

Suna Rintarō had become a luxury you couldn't afford, therefore, he did not have any business of giving himself to you. Not unless he wanted to.

Is there such thing as a free reign over the heart of someone? Hand it over as they will but how long would they truly allow you to borrow it—? Borrow it because one never truly surrenders such a vital thing to human functioning. Yes, you are and you have been delusional to believe so.

"You own the entirety of my heart, Y/N," you're unsure whenever it echoes in your head. He brings you enough torture, why must your own brain create such clamor in your head. Was such pain necessary? Is pain to love much like Adam's rib to Eve?

"It's a promise ring, bunny," he said as he tucked your hair behind your ears—his gaze is intense, almost like you would disappear from his sight if he looked at anywhere or anything but you.

You stared at the ring that shone under the light of the restaurant, your vision blurring at the tears welling from your eyes and you try your best to choke in the sob that involuntarily escapes you.

"Hey, Y/N, what are you cryin' for?" He questioned with a chuckle, looking at you with amusement dancing in his eyes while his thumbs reached out to wipe away each tear that betrayed you—falling down your cheeks as he cupped your face.

"I-it's nothing, I—I'm just happy, love," you answer him through your tears.

There's a smile playing across his lips, he tells you, "'m just making a promise that I'll marry you one day, bunny, is all."

You nodded eagerly with a wide smile even as the tears that left you continued to fall, "I'm making a promise to say yes, Rin. No matter what," you answered him through your sobs, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Guess I should start practicing to get on one knee then, yeah?" He laughed as he pulled you closer, his arms around you, you giggled along with him—it felt like you were molded together to form one perfect piece, like the act of staying there for all of eternity, in each other's arms, would turn you into one. Entangled together in all the right ways—as if Rapture has befallen the Earth and that was your final state as did the universe.

The fifth—the fifth is the screaming, the fights. Who would have thought you would break like a mere twig stepped on in the darkest forest on this Earth? It was under his shoe did you break from; each word that left his mouth was scathing—they didn't feel like a stab or pins and needles to the human heart, they felt like burns of acid that slowly ate at your decaying soul, breaking heart, dwindling sanity.

"I don't get it, Rin! Why do you treat me like this?!" You screamed through your tears, your chest heaving as your lungs tried its best to support you, even when it's already been punctured by the shattered pieces of your heart that continued to beat in separate shards, digging further into your lungs, damaging your ribcage, piercing your throat.

"Please, God, just tell me what to do—Rintarō, tell me what I need to do to turn us back to the way we were, please," you begged, falling to your knees and you let the shattered items on the floor puncture your skin. You felt numb yet your whole body was buzzing. The pain from the pieces of glass from under you doesn't register in your brain because all you can feel is the pain that was spreading from your chest and out into your whole body.

Under his mercy had he turned you inside out and greedily taken every part of you—everything you surrendered on your own volition until you were nothing, not even a shell of yourself but more like a ghost floating through the air. It looked like a battlefield—and perhaps it was. Love was never something you come out alive from. Love was greedy, selfish, treacherous. Love is like an assailant you allowed to enter in the safety of your own home.

"Don't you get it? Y/N, I don't love you anymore!"

No. You think, no. No, it repeats in your head, over and over. Denial. You were in denial, at this conjecture, you were aware of even this.

"I stopped loving you long ago, Y/N. You were dumb enough to stay." Has he always been this truculent towards you? You wonder but you can't recall anything else but the echoing of his words. Words he used like a champion of the battlefield, liberating away the life of his enemies.

No. Don't say that. You don't mean it. No.

Suna thought you would be the arrow to his heel—the one to bring him to his knees in the most torturous of ways. In reality, maybe you were more his heel than the arrow. He was both Achilles and his actions, the arrow that brought him to his own demise.

Sixth—the sixth was sickening grief. You're so unfair. You're so selfish. How could you run away from him, only to scream his name and the tormenting shout of "I love you" that haunted him awake or in his slumber. How could you be so cruel? To let him fall to his knees in front you the way you made him to. Ruthless—you're so ruthless. The pain was the excruciating kind, crashing towards him like ocean waves bringing him farther from the shore and near to wherever you were now. How could you leave him like you did?

After all, what was he if there wasn't you?

📞 violet is calling... all content featured belongs to ©️ animatedrapture. do not plagiarize, repost, or modify.

#RINTOBER #suna rintarou #suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna #rintarou suna #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #;cloud #haikyuu angst #suna angst #suna rintaro x you #suna rintaro x y/n #suna rintaro imagine #suna rintarou x reader

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citrine-eyed-witcher · 4 years ago

Text

Give You Peace

Word Count: 1.7k

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Summary: When he can’t sleep, Geralt turns to Reader (who is a healer) for relief.

Warnings: None

A/N: So here’s my first work for The Witcher. I’ve only seen the show on Netflix, but I’m reading The Last Wish right now and I’m gonna try the game when I go home for the holidays. I do apologize if there are any errors or if Geralt seems out of character and would also greatly appreciate constructive criticism!

Geralt has fought countless monsters in his many lifetimes, but the one that always seems to come back and haunt him is the insomnia. He’ll go for stretches of days or even a week or two at a time with minimal sleep. Sometimes he won’t be able to fall asleep at all, and that alone is worse than any wound or curse he’s endured. Such prolonged restlessness leaves him irritated and desperate, seeking any source of relief that the world has to offer, even if it means toying with darker forces. Any effort is worth the slightest bit of peace.

But there is one mercy that the universe has afforded to him, and that mercy is you. On the edge of a lake, there sits a stone cottage, covered in endless tangled vines of emerald ivy. A vast garden of herbs and spices thrives on the side of the house closest to the water, and just the scent of lavender in the air is enough for Geralt to begin to relax as he urges Roach down the narrow dirt path. Once he’s close enough, he dismounts the mare and ties her to the post just a few yards from the house, leaving her to rest and graze as she pleases for the night.

Geralt is silent as he enters the house, not wanting to frighten you in case you’re already asleep for the night. Through the window he can see the silver glow of the moon on the surface of the lake, and if he weren’t so tired, he’d stand to appreciate it longer. It’s not often that he has the chance to admire such beautiful scenery. He’s used to swamps and ruins and barren lands.

He takes a few steps in the direction of your bedroom, pushing the door open as soon as he can reach it. The witcher’s brows furrow in confusion, however, when in the soft light of the fire he finds that your bed is empty. He steps further into the room, his eyes searching for you, but he’s stopped in his tracks as the edge of a blade kisses his throat. Exhaustion delays his reaction time more than he’d like to admit, but as soon as his hand wraps around the wrist of his attacker, he lets out a breath. He knows it’s you before he sees you.

“I’ll have to admit, this isn’t my favorite way to be welcomed home,” he murmurs, voice low as he releases you. Geralt then turns, his golden eyes meeting your soft gaze. The dagger falls to the floor then, and he wastes no time in taking you into his arms.

“Geralt, you can’t scare me like that. I could have hurt you,” you reply, and he closes his eyes as you cradle his face in your hands.

His lips turn upward and he hums in amusement. “I’m confident that you wouldn’t let me die at your own hand,” he says. Geralt is quiet for a few long moments then, taking in a deep breath of your scent. There’s something so intoxicating about the combination of honeysuckle and lavender. Maybe because it’s so distinctly you that nothing else could ever hold in comparison.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” he whispers, his words slurring minutely in his exhaustion, and though he’s not aware of it, he leans more and more into your touch, letting you take more of his weight.

You frown slightly, brushing a few strands of hair from Geralt’s face and sighing softly at the dark circles under his eyes. “No, but you should be. When is the last time you slept, my love?,” you ask, expression twisting in concern as you speak. You’re well aware of the restlessness that Geralt faces all-too-often, but it still breaks your heart every time he comes to you in this state.

“It’s been days. Every time I close my eyes just...nothing,” he admits, shifting to rest his forehead against yours, and all the while his eyes remain closed. By now the exhaustion has settled deep into his bones, and he wants nothing more than to be able to finally get some rest.

You sigh softly, gently running your fingers through Geralt’s long, white hair. “How about a hot bath first and then we can sleep?,” you ask, knowing that some of the oils you usually put in the water might help him fall asleep.

Geralt hesitates for a moment. He hadn’t come to you to be an inconvenience, though he knows that you would never see a bath before bed as an inconvenience, especially if you thought it would help him. Finally though, he relents with a soft sigh. “Alright,” he murmurs.

You smile softly then, slowly separating from him so that you can go to heat up the water. While he waits, Geralt takes a seat on the edge of the bed, listening as you go around the house gathering the other things you need.

Before he knows it, Geralt is being pulled up from the bed and led back to the small bathing chamber in the next room. Soon, he’s undressed and sinking into the steaming water, and he leans back against the edge of the wooden tub, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath of lavender and chamomile. “You’re too good to me,” he tells you quietly.

“You say that as if you don’t deserve to be treated well, Geralt,” you reply softly, shaking your head. You then step into the tub with him, taking a clean cloth with you. He opens his eyes as you join him, grinning at the questioning look on your face.

“Let’s just call it a luxury seldom enjoyed,” he murmurs, reaching out for you and pulling you against his chest in the water, “but one that I could get used to.” He presses his lips to yours in a slow, longing kiss, caressing your face in a careful, gentle movement.

“I can’t say I’d be opposed to having you around more often,” you whisper against his lips, threading a hand into his hair.

Geralt hums softly in response. “Witchers don’t take vacations,” he quips, resting his hands on your hips.

“Well then, I guess the next time you come in need of a healer, I’ll just have to take my time. Keep you here for a while longer just so we’re sure you’re alright,” you tease right back.

“You won’t hear any complaints from me,” he tells you.

“Good,” you say, capturing his lips in another kiss. “Not that you had a choice in the matter.”

—

Once you’re both clean, you climb out of the tub, drying off quickly before dressing in clean sets of nightclothes: you in your nightgown and Geralt in a pair of soft trousers. And while you go to find one last sleep remedy, Geralt stokes the fire in the bedroom, building it up enough that it will last the rest of the night without dying out.

You step back into the bedroom with a small vial in your hand, which you offer to Geralt as he stands to meet you. “What is this?,” he asks, taking the vial and holding it up to examine the dark liquid inside.

“Valerian. It’s what I use to put people to sleep when they’re in pain. It’ll do you some good,” you explain.

He raises an eyebrow, but pulls the small cork anyway. “Are you sure this isn’t part of your plan to keep me here forever?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’ll never suspect when I decide to do that. Trust me,” you reply, going right along with his teasing. You watch then as he takes the valerian in just a couple small sips, taking the vial from him when it’s empty. “Go lie down. I’ll be there in just a second,” you urge him, turning and leaving the room once more.

Geralt nods, more than willing to finally lie down after waiting so long for some decent sleep. He pulls back the covers, settling himself onto the mattress and sighing at the immediate comfort that it brings him. With the heat of the fire at his back, he’s finally able to truly rest for the first time in a long time. Already he can feel the valerian beginning to pull him under.

By the time you return to the bedroom, you can tell that Geralt is hardly coherent anymore. You let out a soft, contented sigh, climbing into bed next to him and pulling the quilt just over his hips. He hardly stirs at the movement, and you know then that you’ve been successful in giving him relief from the insomnia. You settle down next to him, gently caressing his face, though you’re surprised as his hand comes up to wrap lightly around your wrist.

Geralt opens his eyes just enough to see you lying there in front of him, and he hums lowly in content, pressing a kiss to the underside of your wrist. “Thank you,” he murmurs, fighting against the exhaustion that pulls him so strongly. It takes all of his will just to keep his eyes open.

“Shhhh. It was nothing,” you whisper, running your thumb along his cheekbone. Your expression softens at his gaze, at the unparalleled love and admiration held in his amber eyes.

“No…,” he trails off, his eyes slipping closed. “It was...more than that. You’re…,” he stops again, and you smile, thinking that he won’t even be able to finish his thought before he falls asleep. Your heart swells at the sight, happy to see that he can finally rest the way he needs to.

“...You’re my only peace…,” Geralt breathes out. And with that, what light grip he hand on your arm fades to nothing. And already you can see that he’s fallen into blissful slumber.

You let out a soft breath, eyes burning just slightly with the threat of tears at his admission. You place one last kiss on his temple before resting your head on the pillow next to his. “I love you, Geralt,” you whisper to him, closing your eyes and drifting off beside him just moments later.

#the witcher #the witcher x reader #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia

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wisteriashouse · 4 years ago

Text

comfort.

pairing: rengoku kyoujurou x reader

genre: fluff, comfort

word count: 2243

You’re pacing the grounds of the Rengoku family home, absentmindedly adjusting your haori and ears on the alert for anything that could indicate a need for your intervention. Kyoujurou’s little brother, Senjuro, sits next to you with a nervous expression on his face as he fiddles with his fingers. You feel awful seeing him look like that, so you take a seat next to him without warning and rest a hand on his head.

He glances up at you in surprise with those eyes that look so much like Kyoujurou’s.

“It’ll be okay.” You try to be as positive as possible, petting Senjuro’s hair reassuringly. “Your brother is a strong man. He won’t be too affected by whatever your father says. No matter what, as long as you’re proud of him, I think Kyoujurou would be happy.”

“Of course I’m proud of him! I really am!” Senjuro hesitates for a moment before continuing his sentence. “But... do you think Father will be pleased?”

You pause, weighing your replies. On one hand, you do want to cheer Senjuro up and give him hope, but on the other hand, you really don’t think Rengoku Shinjuro will have much excitement over Kyoujurou’s inauguration as the Flame Pillar.

After all, he’s the one who gave up that position willingly.

Before you’re forced to give a suitable answer, there’s the sound of the washi panel sliding open behind you. Both you and Senjuro whirl around with wide eyes, questions already forming on your lips, only to see Kyoujurou standing there with a slightly forlorn smile.

He’s holding the flame emblazoned haori in his hand, but although he’s wearing his usual cheery expression, he doesn’t look particularly joyful.

His eyes meet yours, and he shakes his head without a word.

You falter, and your words you had been about to say stay trapped in your throat. Senjuro, clearly picking up that it did not go as hoped, pipes up quietly with a crestfallen expression on his face. “Was Father... unhappy about it? If I become a Pillar too, do you think Father will feel better?”

Kyoujurou smiles at his younger brother, kneeling before him so that they can meet each others’ gazes at the same level, a gentle hand resting on his shoulder. He doesn’t look upset, but you can feel the anger welling up inside you at the unfairness of it all. Kyoujurou trained so hard, fought so many demons, all to get to this point - and yet he won’t even get to hear a word of congratulations from his own father. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

Your fist itches for a Shinjuro shaped punching bag.

“I’ll be honest.” You hear Kyoujurou say as you remain quiet, staring at edges of your frost patterned haori to give the two of them some privacy. “Father isn’t happy at all. In fact, he said it was pointless.”

Senjuro sniffles up at him with shiny eyes, looking crushed. You wonder if Kyoujurou will hold you back if you decide to beat up his dad. He probably would, but you can let yourself indulge in some fantasies once in a while.

“But you worked so hard!” Senjuro wipes at his eyes, trying to keep the tears from falling and failing miserably. Each tear he brushes away are replaced by two more, and by the time he manages to get out the rest of his sentence, Kyoujurou is already patting his cheeks dry with his sleeves. “Your ears got so badly damaged, you always get injured, and you put in so much effort! Why won’t Father just see that?”

Exactly, you want to say aloud. Kyoujurou deserves so much more than this, he deserves people who will congratulate and celebrate with him, not that sorry excuse of a father who won’t get off his damn bed to wish his son good luck before he heads off on a mission.

“It’s alright!”

Both you and Senjuro blink at the sudden energetic shout from him, only to see him smiling brightly as the sun itself. He grins as he claps his brother on the shoulder encouragingly. “My passion will not die because of Father’s words! The flames in my heart will never disappear! I will never be disheartened!”

His smile is confident, but you wonder whether he’s saying all of this to convince Senjuro - or himself.

“And besides, you’re different from me, Senjuro!” Kyoujurou continues cheerfully. “You have an older brother, who believes in his younger brother! No matter the path you take, I am sure that you will be a wonderful person! With a burning passion in your hear that will not be extinguished!”

At his words, Senjuro begins to cry in earnest, big fat tears falling down his cheeks. Upon seeing his younger brother tearing up, Kyoujurou wraps his arms tightly around him, crushing the younger boy in a bear hug. “All you need to do is your best. Your big brother will always be supporting you!”

You turn away from this intimate moment that the two brothers are sharing, feeling vaguely uncomfortable at being privy to this, and look down at your hands quietly.

Right now, you really wish you could give Kyoujurou a hug as well.

A few hours later, after you and Kyoujurou have left the Rengoku household, the two of you find yourselves at a small, pleasant restaurant with a private dining room for the two of you. Although Kyoujurou tries to pay, you insist on treating him to celebrate his inauguration as the Flame Pillar.

Throughout the entirety of the meal, Kyoujurou smiles, chatters and talks to you as he usually does between his shouts of umai, asking you about topics such as Pillar meetings and patrols, as if today’s incident with his father didn’t happen. But in the brief moments where silence interrupts, you see the lost, pained expression on Kyoujurou’s face, one he probably does not even know he’s making, mind clearly wandering somewhere other than here.

He still hasn’t put on the haori. It sits next to him on the floor, clean and neatly folded. You’re actually mildly surprised that Shinjuro didn’t raze it to ashes.

When the last piece of tempura disappears into the endless void that is Kyoujurou’s mouth, you take a moment to muster your courage to speak. The man opposite you doesn’t seem to notice your internal struggle, instead picking up crumbs of fried tempura batter with his chopsticks and tossing them into his mouth. Your hands fidget under the table, and you count down slowly from ten.

“Kyoujurou, I-”

“I would like to ask you a favour.” Kyoujurou says out of the blue, just as you’re about to speak up. He picks up the haori from the tatami mats, and holds it out with both hands reverently. Kyoujurou had told you once that it was an heirloom of the Rengoku family, passed down generations of Flame Pillars to eventually reach his father, and now him. You blink at him in surprise.

“What do you need me to do?” You ask. Kyoujurou’s smile softens ever so slightly.

“This haori,” he looks down at it, fingertips gently brushing the flame patterns dancing across the fabric before his golden eyes meet yours once more. “Since my father will not put it on for me, will you do it in his stead?”

What?

Your jaw drops open at his request as you stare wide eyed at him, completely shocked. You, put on his haori for him? Seeing your panicked expression, Kyoujurou only laughs disarmingly, shaking his head. “No need to force yourself! I can always put it on on my own.” He begins to retract the haori, but before he can pull it away, you’re already by his side in the blink of the eye, gripping his hands tight.

“No, no! I want to put it on for you!” You say breathlessly, kneeling before him, his hands warm in yours. You can feel the callouses on his palms from years of unparalleled effort, and your throat feels thick. Kyoujurou looks up at you with gentle eyes, patient and understanding. You swallow heavily. “Of course I would want to put it on for you but...” You pause, hesitant. “Are you sure someone like me should be doing something as important as this? I mean-”

“The Rengoku family tradition is to have the Flame Pillar’s parents put the haori on for them in front of the rest of the family.” Kyoujurou informs you with a smile on his face, and you look down at the stiff white fabric between the two of you. “My mother is no longer around, and my father will not do it. I could think of no other person but you.”

Right, his mother and father both... You want to smack yourself over the head internally. Be a little more sensitive!

“It would be an honor to do this for you.” You say quietly, unfolding the haori in your lap. Kyoujurou sits up a little straighter, those pure golden eyes following every action your hands make. In place of a grand, lively ceremony, it’s just the two of you in this silent, empty room. Reaching around him, you set the white fabric around his shoulders, before your hands falter ever so slightly.

Kyoujurou blinks once and looks up at you, clearly confused about why you’ve stopped. “Is something the matter?”

“Kyo...” You say, unable to find the right words to convey your thoughts. “Kyoujurou... are you really... alright?”

He smiles, because he’s Rengoku Kyoujurou, and Kyoujurou always smiles. He’s always been more of a parent to Senjuro than his father ever had, and now that he’s a Pillar, one of the foundations of the entire Demon Slayer Corps, he cannot afford to waver.

“Of course I am alright!” His hand reaches up to clasp yours reassuringly, but doing that only makes you want to cry even more. “I said today that I would not let my Father’s words dampen my spirit, and I meant it! I-”

“I wasn’t asking about your resolve, Kyo.” Your hands fist into the fabric of his haori, and he stiffens when he feels your face press into the curve of his shoulder. “I was asking about you. You’re always a pillar of strength for someone else, but who do you have to rest against when you’re sad or weary? It’s so unfair.” The word tastes like salt on your tongue. “I’m angry because you deserve so much better.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Kyoujurou doesn’t reply. You almost worry that you’ve overstepped your boundaries, but before you can pull away and apologise, Kyoujurou sags beneath you, burying his face in your hair. You can feel his steady breaths against your skin.

“No.” His voice is small, fragile, fingers weaving with yours and gripping them tight. “I’m not alright. I want my father to acknowledge me. I want him to know that it matters, that if I can save just one life from a demon, all this training would have been worth it. I want him to treat Senjuro with kindness because he deserves it. I want my mother to put the haori on me.” There’s a shuddering intake of breath, and your heart aches for him. “But all those are things that I cannot change.”

You wrap your arms around him tightly, running a hand up and down his back as he collects himself. You don’t look at him, allowing him to pour out his own grief in silence, offering only comfort in the knowledge that you’re there for him. After a few moments, his breathing calms and he pulls away from your embrace to smile at you, a real smile this time.

“Instead,” he grips your hands tightly with his as he looks up at you. Your eyes are fixed on him, as if you’re trapped in the burning amber of his gaze. “I’ve decided to focus on the things that I do have now. So, no, I’m not alright now,” Kyoujurou grins. “But as long as I have you and Senjuro, I will be.”

You stare at him for a moment with tears in your eyes before you sniffle and hit him in the chest. He doesn’t flinch in the least. “How did it end up with me crying, you stupid man?”

Kyoujurou laughs and reaches up to wipe your tears gently with the pad of his thumb. “My apologies.” He says, not sounding very sorry at all. “Now, will you finish putting on the haori for me?”

Nodding, you lean forward to do the clasp, missing the way Kyoujurou looks so tenderly at you as you adjust the haori carefully around his shoulders. “There. The finest Flame Pillar since the feudal era.”

“Surely you jest. I haven’t done anything as the Flame Pillar yet.”

You laugh. “You don’t need to, I already know.” You shift back to admire your work and the flickering candlelight dances across the flames patterned on his haori, making the man before you look as if he’s bathed in fire. His back is straight, and his eyes are proud and determined. “Kyoujurou.”

“Mmm?” He looks at you curiously, and you smile at your friend.

“Remember, no matter what your father says...” You grip his hands tight, trying to channel all your well wishes and hopes to him. “I believe in you.”

Kyoujurou’s smile is dazzling enough to light up the entire room.

“That’s enough for me.”

#rengoku #rengoku fanfic #rengoku kyojuro #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic #kyojuro #rengoku kyojuro x reader

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thecowardwrites · 4 years ago

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Fifty Shades of Gwaine Part One

Part One: The Meeting

Finally transferring over one of my favorite projects I’ve done so far!

Summary: You, a modest yet well known painter, have been commissioned by the legendary King Arthur to paint portraits of the royal court. (That being him, his queen, and his Knights of the Round Table.) With such a large workload, you’ll be working exclusively for the king for months on end. In your time in the palace, you get to know the knights and many of those who live within the city walls. One knight in particular, however, continuously draws your attention: A dark haired rebel with a good heart. Sir Gwaine is the perfect gentleman and you can’t help but get excited every time he looks in your direction.

Warnings: None

Words: 2.5k

You were a renowned artist across the five kingdoms: famous to the rich and noble, friend to those in need. Most of what you earned was sent to feed your family who was wedged deep in a lone village on the outskirts of Camelot. It was the least you could do, seeing as you were constantly traveling from place to place depending on where you were needed next.

You began selling landscape paintings in order to make a quick coin, and, eventually, a few more well-off families had asked you to make small portraits for them. From there, your name had been passed around many towns and a few nobles had taken notice of your ability. As time continued, you were more often commissioned to paint portraits for nobility.

You had seen your fair share of stuck up nobles who treated you with a kindness that was not nearly as kind as they tried to seem. Still, you took every job you were offered, and never refused anyone – no matter their social standing or income. Sure, you had been paid fifty gold coins for the portrait of a knight yet merely some cloth for a portrait of a farmer’s daughter; to you they were of equal importance. The poor deserved to remember each other just as much as the rich did.

Never before, though, had you been offered a task so important as the one requested of you now:

You were beyond ecstatic when you received a request from the king of Camelot himself to paint a few portraits of his knights and himself. Of course, you would be greatly compensated for the work (more so than ever before), but the request itself brought happiness to you and your family unparalleled to anything you’d ever felt before.

With a bounce in your step, you were strolling through Camelot’s gates a mere two days after receiving the letter. In your hurry, you had thrown together a single pack, filled with the brushes and paints you had managed to acquire through your travels, and a single red dress that would be worn on special occasions. That was the only article of clothing you could afford to bring with your limited space – aside from the work dress you were currently traveling in.

As you strolled through the streets of the city, you were in awe of the colorful stalls that lined the cobblestone road. Vibrant fabrics, fresh fruits, children playing and weaving through the crowd, it embodied a kingdom truly at peace. Your meandering, however, was cut short when a young child ran up to you and hid behind your legs.

“Well, hello,” You cooed at the young boy. His hair was a caramel brown and disheveled from playing. He looked as if he had barely turned seven, “What are you doing back there?”

You tried to turn around, but he was gripping your skirt so that he would move as you do.

“Don’t let him find me,” The child begged, and protective instincts began kicking in. If someone was after this child, you would not let them get anywhere near him.

“Who are you hiding from?” You ask, scanning the people in the surrounding area and trying to cover the boy up more. He poked his head out from behind you briefly, and pointed at a dark-haired man with stubble in chain mail and a red cape – A knight.

You nodded as the knight made eye contact with you and came your way, smiling with a bounce in his step.

“Excuse me, my lady, have you seen a young boy run by?” He asked, his voice deceitfully kind for someone after a child.

“I haven’t seen anyone,” You roll your shoulders back so that you were puffing out your chest in an attempt to make yourself look bigger and more serious.

“Are you sure?” His hands were clasped behind his back and he bounced on the balls of his feet. “I’m sure I saw him run this way; he’s always chasing the beauties of the city. And, my lady, I would definitely consider you a beauty.”

You looked at the cocky knight quizzically, “Did you check down that alley? I’m sure I saw someone darting down that way.” You were avoiding his flirtatious comment, only focused on the kid gripping your skirt.

The knight seemed to consider your offer, but a small giggle erupted from behind you.

“Ah,” The man smirked at you, “Yes you are right, maybe James went back to hide the treasure he stole from Ms. Seward’s kitchen in his hideout.”

He feigned walking away, which had you fooled for a moment. Your breath hitched – though – as he abruptly turned and, reaching around you, grabbed the child and swung him through the air. The blood roaring in your ears drowned out the two’s laughter, and you reacted by swiftly plucking James away from the knight and holding him in your arms.

“Are you so cruel as to hunt a child for petty thievery?” You cry out, holding him farther away from the knight. “If he stole food, he must need it. Let me pay for whatever it is that he took.”

The grin fell from the knight’s face, “What are you on about?”

“You-You’re trying to arrest the child for stealing, but this is a simple fix as I said I am willing to pay whatever the price is for his crime.” You jut your chin out defiantly at the man, and you watch as laughter bubbled from his lips.

“James what did you tell this woman?” He cackles, reaching for James, “Miss, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“Well, then explain it to me before I just let you take him.” You refused to let him near James still, worried it was some ruse.

“James and I stole a pan of pastries from the head chef in the palace. The brat ran off with the last one that we were going to share-“ he sent a pointed look at James, “-and it turned into a game of hide and seek.”

You let out a quiet ‘ooh’ and set James down. The boy immediately skipped over to the knight, and you had to keep yourself from slapping yourself on the forehead. Of course, it was just a game, not every place is as corrupt as you previously observed.

“I do admire your protecting the kid, though.” The knight said as he extends and open palm to you, “I’m Gwaine, by the way.”

“Y/N,” You take his hand, and he presses a chaste kiss to your knuckle.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful lady.”

James pretended to gag at the gesture and ran away from the scene, “Thanks for playing, Sir Gwaine, but I’ve got to go be somewhere less gross now!”

And with that he disappeared through the crowd.

“I’m sorry for assuming you were trying to arrest a seven-year-old.” You adjust the pack on your back and attempt to hide your embarrassment over the whole ordeal behind your hair. Your cheeks were surely tinted pink.

“It’s quite alright, Lady Y/N.” Gwaine bites his lip to hide a smile, “It’s good to know there’s someone looking after the tiny troublemakers.”

You let out a giggle at his response and begin to resume your trek towards the palace, “Someone has to.”

“I assume, by your response, that you’re somewhat of a troublemaker yourself.” Gwaine laughs as he falls into step with you, “Or, at least, a retired one.”

“Let’s just say I know a thing or two about escaping authority, so keep that in mind if you try anything funny.”

He chuckles and holds his hands up in surrender, “You have my word as a gentleman that I won’t try anything funny…

… Unless you want me to.” He leans in and whispers that last part to you. You are forced to quicken your pace so that he won’t see that the previously pink hue adorning your cheeks has gone to a bright red.

“No thank you,” Your voice is two octaves higher than it was before, “I am quite alright for now, now if you’ll excuse me –”

Basically, jogging at this point, you reach the palace much faster than you had anticipated. As you approach the entrance, you are met by King Arthur waiting with four knights by his side, as well as his wife and servant. You couldn’t help but be surprised that he would go to such lengths for a humble painter. You hardly had time to compose your heavy breathing before the king began descending down the stone stairs towards you. You dipped into a low curtsey as the queen followed, waiting for the two of them to address you before speaking.

“Welcome to Camelot, Lady Y/N.” King Arthur’s voice was warm and soothing, nothing like what you expected. You’ve heard that he was a kind and just king, but assumed you would be facing a drunken old man who was more positively ignorant than kind. To be fair, you had never been to Camelot before, and had never met anyone – aside from Gwaine now – from the great kingdom. You gathered what you could from other drunken rich men and assumed they were biased in their retellings. But no – the man who stood before you now held no resemblance to the other noble you had had the pleasure of working with.

“Your Highness,” You bowed your head, “I am truly honored to be at your service. It is a pleasure to meet you.” Yea, so you were kind of playing it up a bit for the king, but you learned that buttering up nobles made them tip a little more.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He smiled and it was blinding, “May I introduce you to my wife, Guinevere – she is a very big fan of your work. She’s positively obsessed with your landscapes.”

Queen Guinevere elbowed her husband in the side while grinning at you, “I’m not obsessed, though I will admit that I am a big fan. Your color schemes and brush details make the pictures seem more like realty than reality itself. I insisted that my husband commission you the moment he told me he needed to get some portraits done.”

You couldn’t help the enormous smile that broke out across your face. A queen was complimenting your paintings in such a way that your heart nearly burst with joy. “I thank you, my Lady. I am unbelievably ecstatic that you enjoy my work.”

“There’s no need to thank me,” She winked, “My praise does not fall on someone undeserving of it. I do hope we can become friends during your stay, though.”

It took a moment to wipe the shocked expression from your face. You had never been greeted with such humility into a place like this. Every smile seemed genuine, nothing like the ones that were faked by many noble members of society.

“Merlin will show you to your room, and I invite you to dine with the knights and I tonight so that you may get to know a few friendly faces and – Gwaine where have you been?” King Arthur clapped a hand on the knight’s shoulder as he approached him.

“I was caught up in the beautiful sights the city has to offer nowadays.” Gwaine replied, shooting a wink in your direction.

You looked away from the pair and took your time to observe the knights who were still waiting on the stairs. You tried to focus on them, but you couldn't help watching the king and Sir Gwaine from your peripheral.

“Well, I hope that view was worth organizing the armory and helping Merlin polish said armor before dinner tonight.” King Arthur beamed at the knight, who looked nonetheless pleased than he was earlier.

“Aye captain, whatever you say almighty King of Camelot.” Gwaine pat the king on the shoulder and bounded up the stairs into the palace. As he reached the doors, though, he turned and caught you watching him. You didn’t realize your eyes had fully strayed back to him, but you watched as his mouth quirked up slightly and he disappeared from your sight.

“Forgive me, Lady Y/N.” King Arthur apologized, coming to stand next to his wife once again, “As I was saying this would give you a chance to meet the mugs you will be painting beforehand.”

“That sounds like wonderful, Your Majesty,” You tear your eyes away from the door Gwaine disappeared through to smile at the king.

“Allow Merlin to take your bag, and, forgive me, but I must get ready for the feast and tend to an unruly knight.”

“Of course,” You chuckle and bow into a parting curtsey as the king returns the gesture before retreating into the castle with the knights in tow.

You turn towards the servant, Merlin, as he nervously introduces himself. “I’m Merlin, m’lady. I can take your bag and show you where you’ll be staying.”

You relinquish your hold on the bag and grinned at him, “Thank you, Merlin. You can call me Y/N, though. I’m not much of a lady.”

“You seem every part of a lady when you talk to Arthur and Gwen, though.” He said with a slight airier tone, and begins climbing the stairs.

“Isn’t that how you’re supposed to speak to a king and queen?” You ask as you follow him through the palace, trying to take note of the turns he’s taking so you don’t get lost when you’re walking through later.

“I don’t know,” Merlin admitted, laughing lightly, “If you ask Arthur, I’m the worst man-servant ever.”

“Yet, you haven’t been sacked, so he must like you.”

“It’s just because he knows he wouldn’t survive a single day without me,” Merlin stops at a wooden door and glances back at you, eyes twinkling with a joke you didn’t understand, “Here we are.”

As Merlin opens the door, you feel as if the oxygen has been sucked out of the air around you. It was much grander than any room you had ever been given before.

“This is amazing!” You squeal and run past Merlin into the room. The dark, oak bedframe looked elegant with white sheets and a table by an open window that was already covered in various paints, brushes, and canvases.

“The king and queen insisted on making sure you have every supply you could possibly need for the project.” Merlin informed you and you couldn’t help but beam at the table.

“This is more than I could ever need,” You sigh, dreamily.

“I think they felt bad asking you to do so many paintings all in one period. There’s the portraits of the five knights, the single portrait of the queen, the portrait of the king and queen, and then the larger painting with all the knights and the king and queen.” Merlin paused, “How long do you think you’ll be working on them?”

You calculated your answer, drawing from previous project times and prep time, before answering, “However long the king and queen allow me to, to be frank. It will take me nearly three months to finish all the portraits, another two months – maybe more – for the final painting. That’s not including time for a margin of error.”

“Well, Y/N, I look forward to getting to know you over the next few months. But, for now, I’ll let you get settled and ready for dinner.” And with that, he excused himself and slipped out the door as you turned to gawk at the new paints.

<><><><>

Next Part --->

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mst3kproject · 4 years ago

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Mars Needs Women

This is one of the B-movies that a lot of people have heard of, although I’m not sure how many have actually seen it. It was written, produced, and directed by Larry “They Just Didn’t Care” Buchanan and stars Tommy Kirk from Catalina Caper and Village of the Giants. Happy belated birthday to Mr. Kirk, who just turned seventy-nine in December of 2020. That’s not a bad score for a guy who’s done as many drugs as he has.

The planet Mars is suffering from a genetic problem – their chromosomes are so degraded that one hundred males are born for every one female! Clearly this is not conducive to the survival of the species, so a group of Martians have come to Earth seeking another solution: they want five female volunteers to return to Mars with them and find out if our genes are compatible! The army brass (all male, obviously) dismiss the idea out of hand, but the Martians cannot afford to fail. They will have their way with the Earth Women, with or without the Earth Men’s permission.

We all know that Larry Buchanan couldn’t come up with an idea of his own, so naturally this is a remake of sorts. Mars Needs Women was inspired by Tommy Kirk’s previous movie Pajama Party, which doesn’t sound like an alien invasion flick, but is. In it, Kirk plays a Martian named Gogo (yes, really), who comes to Earth as an invasion scout but decides not to take over the planet because he falls in love with Annette Funicello. Mars Needs Women dispenses with the teen hijinks angle in an attempt to be a straight-up sci-fi thriller, and fails miserably.

We get the normal Larry Buchanan types of suck, such as crummy lighting, appallingly awful day-for-night, a washed-out, colourless print, and copious stock footage. There’s a long bit where the air force tries to attack the Martian ship and fails, which is entirely stock footage intercut with men in uniforms staring at something next to the camera. We don’t see the flying saucer itself even once during this sequence, although they do have a model of it that shows up elsewhere and is almost definitely the best effect in the whole movie. Not a high bar, of course, but seeing as they actually appear to have spent money on this miniature, you’d think it’d get more screen time.

The Martians themselves dress like a sort of noir version of the Chicken Men of Krankor. Their costumes are black wetsuits decorated with duct tape and silver paint, with stupid antennae on the sides of their heads. It amuses me that the first thing they do after acquiring some ‘Earth apparel’ is complain about how dumb neckties are. There’s a mention about how they’ve been trained in ‘Earth slang’, which seems to have happened just so the movie would have no possible sources of humour. When I think about Attack of the The Eye Creatures, I’m kind of grateful that Mars Needs Women never tries to be funny, but it leaves the whole film relentlessly monotone.

The acting is pretty crummy, even from the main characters. Yvonne Craig (Batgirl – no, not one of them, the actual Batgirl) does her best with the material but the lines she’s given are such technobabble bullshit there are very few people who could deliver them with any conviction. Almost everybody else is bland at best. The women scream and faint, and the military guys tense their jaws and glare. The only decent acting moment actually goes to Tommy Kirk as he describes the conditions on Mars, the dying planet. His tone barely changes, and yet you can sense his nostalgia and regret.

Do I even need to ask if this movie objectifies women? Well, yes, actually, I do, and you’ll see why in a minute. The answer is a resounding yes and a good bit of run time is spent doing exactly that. Before the opening credits we see three blondes abducted in broad daylight, dematerialized by the simple means of stopping the camera, removing the actress, and starting it up again. One of these hapless victims is taken from the shower. We later learn that the beam-ups failed somehow, which I assume means the women died, but that’s apparently not worth more than a throwaway line.

Once the five Martians arrive on Earth, they disperse to go hunting for suitable subjects. The first one goes directly to a strip bar, perhaps on the assumption that the employees will not be married (he’d be amazed). We then watch the stripper dance at great length, cutting back to it repeatedly in between other threads of the storyline, which suggests that the Martian sat there for hours staring at her before making his move. He seems to have been the least choosy of the five, simply taking the first woman he gets a boner for. The others are a bit more discerning.

None more so than the leader, Fellow One (the Martians are Fellows One through Five, which did save the writers from having to come up with ‘alien names’ that sound like synthetic fabrics). He decides on Craig’s character, Dr. Marjorie Bolen, an expert in ‘space medicine’ and ‘space genetics’ (this may be 60’s for astrobiology). Her skills seem to be just what the Martians need. This character is treated terribly by the movie and almost everybody in it. A news reporter commenting on Dr. Bolen’s arrival describes her as a stunning brunette who found it hard to hide her charm behind her horn-rimmed spectacles, and only then moves on to her qualifications. She gives a news conference titled Sex and Outer Space, and the reporters who are supposed to be interviewing her have a laugh about the good time the kidnapped women will supposedly be having on Mars. The prop department can’t even bother to spell her name right – it’s written as ‘Majorie’ on a sign even though the r is clearly audible when people say it out loud.

In contrast to this, Fellow One treats her with some degree of respect. Their conversations about science are mostly nonsense, but you can tell what the script is going for. They go on a couple of quick dates, one to a planetarium and one to a museum exhibit on human reproduction (yes, this is weird and icky), and while it is rushed, their little love story is actually important to the plot in ways besides Fellow One deciding to abandon the mission so he can bone her. The movie considers Dr. Bolen a sex object, but from the beginning Fellow One sees her as more than that.

This brings us, in a sideways kind of way, to the thing I find weirdly fascinating about Mars Needs Women: the alien invaders are curiously considerate. They steal a car, but they take one from airport parking on the assumption that the owner won’t need it for a while. They request unattached women, not wanting to break up any happy partnerships. And most of all, they ask for volunteers for abduction! This makes me wonder what would have happened if they’d broadcast their message to the entire world instead of one group of soldiers. Humans being the way we are, I’m sure there’re lots of people out there who’d fuck a couple of aliens if it meant a free trip to Mars (or move to Mars if it meant they got to fuck some aliens).

The female characters even seem designed to want a trip to space. Dr. Bolen might well have helped them willingly in exchange for this unparalleled chance to expand her research, and she does find it very sexy that Fellow One speaks to her as an equal. Yet somehow, the idea never even comes up. At the last minute, she becomes the helpless princess who must be saved from peril, and Fellow One simply tells her he loves her and asks her to flee. Why not invite her along as a guest instead of a captive? It’s got to be worth a try.

The others can be made to fit this pattern, too. The stripper? Maybe she’s sick of being gawked at like meat and would welcome the chance to be among people who will treat her like a queen. The flight attendant? She might feel like she’s been everywhere and seen everything – on Earth, at least. The artist? A whole new planet to inspire her! The homecoming queen? She’s a journalism major. What a scoop if she can report back to Earth about the culture and history of Mars! I want to see a remake of this movie in which the ladies really are volunteers, who must help the Martians outwit the military so they can start their new lives on another planet.

Sadly, this is not that movie, and its exploitative aspects stand rather awkwardly alongside the embryonic feminism embodied in Dr. Bolen, overwhelming it more often than not. I do want to give it maybe half a kudo, though, for at least acknowledging that women can have interests and ambitions. I guess the point of the ending is that Fellow One has realized they need to be allowed to pursue those instead of being forced to breed.

Mars Needs Women is probably Larry Buchanan’s best movie, which is a statement on the same level as saying that The Beast of Yucca Flats is Coleman Francis’ – by any reasonable standard it still really sucks. While it has many problems, I would say that the one that kills any entertainment value is how the narrative totally lacks the urgency the title implies. The ending should be a race to stop the Martians taking off with their prisoners, but no, it saunters instead. If there were only some tension in the film, it could have been the guilty pleasure you’d want from a movie called Mars Needs Women.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #mars needs women #larry buchanan just doesn’t care #60s

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dccarserviceandlimo · 1 year ago

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bluebellhairpin · 5 years ago

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Dating BatBoys Headcanons

A/N: I had too much fun with this. - Nemo

Masterlist

Bruce Wayne

Makes a point of being in bed with you when you wake up in the morning, even if it’s only for an hour, and especially if you didn’t fall asleep with him.

It’s no secret he shows you off at galas and in public, even if he decides to be ‘subtle’ about it. Everyone knows anyway. Even Arthur can sense when he’s showing you off, and Arthur’s powers aren’t even close to doing that.

Please teach this man how to use a microwave. He can do literally anything else, and master it without a problem, but microwaves are just not for him.

Spoils you rotten as if that’ll make up for the fact he’s gone with work and with Batman stuff. You take none of it, and just make him spend time with you. Which he thanks you for because he really misses you when he’s working.

Alfred and the kid's all love you even if some of them warm up slower than others *coughDamiancough* and it just proves to him how lucky he is to have gotten you.

Dick Grayson

Teaches you self-defense because he’s a detective and a past Robin so you could be a ‘target’. Plus you could get in trouble and need to defend yourself if he’s not around. And he like having an excuse to have you close via training.

Can’t cook for his l i f e. Like, don’t let him near the kitchen at all. Before you, he survived on 2-Minute Noodles, whatever was in the fridges at work, and things Alfred would bring him on occasion. He relies on you to feed him so please do it. You don’t even have to be the best cook either.

Gives the biggest, softest hugs e v e r. They’re all huge bear-hugs, full of gentle words and absolute warmth. Even before you were dating he’d give good hugs. Like, wow. Now I need one of his hugs.

Tells such good jokes, he always knows how to make you laugh, and exactly what kind of humor you need.

PDA is definitely a thing, and at the very least he has his fingers locked with yours. He’s just a little clingy, that’s all. And show-ey off-ey. Spent too much time around Bruce.

Jason Todd

Everything in his house is his, and therefore is yours too. That includes food, books, and the bed, even his toothbrush, but God help you if you eat the leftover Chinese Take-Out without giving him the chance to get a mouthful in. Not even Alfred want’s to deal with that.

Teaches you how to ride a motorbike on your own, and as much as he loves seeing you ride on your own, he prefers it when you ride with him and hold onto him nice and tight. He lives for those moments tbh.

Is a heater. His body warmth is unparalleled in any dimension. Not too hot “But aren’t I always too hot?” and definitely not too cold. It’s the best for cold nights in Gotham.

Helpless Romantic. Gets you flowers, chocolates, takes you out for dinner because with Bruce’s money he can afford it, even dresses regularly in suits because he knows how much you love him in a suit.

Loves dancing with you, and for you. His best jam was along to Fall Out Boy’s cover of ‘I Wanna Dance With Somebody’. He should’ve been a theater kid. It’s a waste, but you’re willing to soak it all in in behalf of everyone else. “Don'tcha wanna dance with me baby!“

Tim Drake

Makes extra coffee for you in the mornings. If you drink it. And memorizes your favorite. Decaf? Got it. Soy milk? No problem. Black? He has it like that too. Three sugars? So sweet, but okay.

Has an infinite amount of movies for movie nights. You know he hacks into places to get them. But you don’t care. Free movies. And a chance to get him to not work for a couple hours. (He falls asleep in the first twenty minutes.)

Pulls the best one-liners, especially when he’s over-tired. He could have a snark-off with Sherlock Holmes or Tony Stark and win with the things he sports out, and you’re lucky enough to be around whenever he does.

Has an amazing memory, so every single date worth memorizing he has it covered. You need to worry more about you forgetting anniversaries rather than him.

Cried when he heard Avicii died. He didn’t get over it for weeks. The only reason he’s gotten back to listening to his songs is that he’s now connected them with you. Play ‘Addicted to You’ and he’ll look at you with the most lovey-dovey heart-eyes ever.

Damian Wayne

Actually an almost human when he’s around you, which makes his family want you around more, which makes him happy weird, huh?

Hates PDA, but makes a point to hold your hand whenever he feels you’d like it because “Boyfriends do that. They do things they might not like to make their partner happy.”

Gets all flustered whenever you give him a n y sort of kisses. Hand kisses? Full-face blush. Cheek? Won't stop smiling. Mouth? Can’t speak for the next ten minutes. It’s fantastic.

High-key will scare people away if they look at you in a way he doesn’t like. He doesn’t like the idea of someone taking you away, and being Robin and the son of a billionaire doesn’t help. All must R E S P E C T his love.

Gives you all sorts of pet names, but only calls you them in private because “No one will believe you.” The little twat.

#bruce wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #damian wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #dick grayson imagine #jason todd imagine #tim drake imagine #damian wayne imagine #bruce wayne headcanons #dick grayson headcanon #jason todd headcanons #tim drake headcanon #damian wayne headcanons

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theheartchoice · 5 years ago

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dean/cas | 15x13 coda | 2.6k | (ao3)

It feels strange, being back in his own clothes after wearing those of this world's Dean. Perhaps now that he's felt what is native to this universe against his skin, something from another universe, a place he called home, feels foreign in an understandable way.

But it's more than that. Even back home he always felt like he was wearing someone else's clothes, living in someone else's skin. He loves hunting, loves his family, and at the very least has an appreciation for the funded support and security their life afforded them - especially after hearing what the other Winchesters have had to contend with. But at a certain point one may take stock of their life only to realise that the person in the mirror, however familiar, is also alien, somehow.

However different their lives have been, the shock of meeting, of their paths converging, had worn off soon enough and was replaced with a respect for those differences. What this world's Sam and Dean have here is something he didn't know he wanted, and yet knows is vital to achieving true happiness. It was the very thing missing from his former life.

Freedom.

To not be dictated to, not have one's every move scrutenized, and not be restricted in the daily aspects of one's life - right down to the trivial, and moreover, the private. To wear what one wants, drink what one wants, live one's day as it comes and not be scheduled to the minute of every hour for months in advance.

He mourns the loss of his world but he can't bring himself to miss it all that much. Things may be uncertain - which is a novel feeling - but they are no longer confined by Hunter Corp. or indeed the wishes (or rather, the demands) of their father. Here, they can live however they choose, and in meeting this world's Winchester brothers, in hearing their story, in learning about their world, he knows the possibilities outside of hunting are plentiful.

For the first time, retirement is a viable option.

Laying the cherry-red-and-black plaid button-down on the bedspread, along with the dark crew-neck cotton shirt folded neatly, and the hip-riding jeans that do everything to flatter their respective bowleggedness, boots tucked in at the foot of the modest frame, he wonders if this world's Dean might allow him to keep one such outfit for himself. He's not certain if it's entirely his style, but he honestly doesn't know what his style is, yet.

All he knows is that these clothes were comfortable; he's never known any garment to feel soft in that worn-in kind of way, a way his own clothes never had a chance to become. Blood stains and monster guts don't exactly wash out, even with their layers of top quality protective gear meant to keep it at bay, so every couple of months his wardrobe would cycle out and brand new pieces would filter in to fill his closet. It was like shedding one barely-worn skin for a stiff new one; nothing ever fit quite right, despite the tailoring.

Slipping his beige jacket back on he reaches into the breast pocket and retrieves the pair of prayer-bead bracelets, sliding them back over his wrist. He hadn't wanted to remove them, but unlike his brother he heeded the warning of this world's Winchesters to make themselves appear authentic. His own clothes may not feel authentic to him - even less so now than they did previously - but these beads were chosen and paid for by him alone, with no middleman involved. They hold meaning, they are special, and perhaps the only thing not cycled out of rotation with the rest of his wardrobe when hunting made a mess of things.

When he does change clothes again, he thinks, when he finds his own true sense of style and comfort, he knows these beads will stay with him; no matter what he wears, no matter where he goes, or who he discovers himself to be.

There are three things that travelled with him through that portal that he knows are worth keeping, because they are real: his love for his brother, his love for his long-deceased mother, and his love for a lost Angel.

* * *

Dean has said, as others have written, that soup is good for the soul. Now that Jack's soul has been restored - and his true appetite returned - it seems a fitting first meal. Which is why Castiel is currently defrosting a batch of Dean's homemade chicken soup in the microwave.

He remembers the first time he tried to operate one of these machines; things did not go as planned. But the subsequent lesson from Dean had been worth cleaning up the mess. It had been just the two of them, standing side by side in the bunker's kitchen for what seemed to be longer than necessary to explain the basic functions and demonstrate to Castiel the best settings for particular needs - culinary, or otherwise.

They've come a long way since then, despite their many painful trials. Castiel has learned much, and Dean's trust in him has grown. Even without words spoken, he knows this. He can feel it through the connection they share, have always shared, the profoundness of their bond; with his Angelic perception, Castiel can sense variations of emotion from Dean's soul. He can feel Dean's trust in him through the solid walls of the bunker just as he can see it in the form of a rotating container through a microwave window.

There are some minutes left in the defrost-and-reheat cycle when the other world's Dean enters the kitchen. Castiel knows it's him before he speaks, before he himself turns around to see.

"..Castiel?"

It's Dean's voice, but not quite. Still, Castiel knows it as well as he knows Dean's soul: this Dean has something he wants to say. Castiel turns to face him, offering a friendly smile. "Hello, uhm.. Dean." It feels strange because it's Dean and not Dean, but it's not exactly the first time this has happened, so he pushes through the strangeness of it all.

"Hi." His eyes are bright as they flick to the microwave humming on the benchtop. "I was hoping we could talk. Do you have a moment?" His smile is tentative, warm, but edged in sadness. It's familiar, in a way. The fidgeting of his hands is something new, but Castiel knows Dean to fidget in other ways when something is on his mind and making him restless, nervous, even.

"Of course." Castiel moves to round the counter as the other Dean steps forward to join him.

"There's something I want to ask you, before we leave."

It had been a matter of tense discussion on the drive back from the church; while Jack slept beside Castiel, Dean, Sam and himself had talked about the Winchesters from the other world: where they should go, whether they would be safe from Chuck, whether they should stay in the bunker for a time - which was something neither Sam nor Dean found agreeable, and Castiel had conceded that it would not be sustainable.

With Billie's plan in motion and Chuck's own endgame nearing, the safest place for the other Sam and Dean is as far away from the bunker as possible, for now at least. If they failed in their mission, however, no place in the world, or in any realm, would be safe for anyone.

"You cook?"

Is this the question the other world's Dean had wanted to ask him? "I.. microwave." A shy smile sneaks onto Castiel's face and the other Dean nods, looking perplexed. "Dean cooks, I just.. help where he needs me."

"Oh." His face falls. "We've.. never needed to. Cook, I mean. There's always been room service, restaurants, and the like when we're away on a case. And we have―had―personal chefs at the estate, so.."

"Ah. I see." The reminders of the loss of their world must be everywhere. Castiel wishes he knew this Dean well enough to know what to say to lessen the pain. Despite his mostly cheerful demeanor, Castiel can see the fluctuations in the wavelength of this Dean's soul; he is hurting. And this is familiar: observing Dean feeling one thing but expressing another.

He can't help but wonder how much of the Dean he knows is carried through to other worlds, other Deans. Do they all have a love for cooking, or a desire to learn how to cook? Do they all have an unparalleled care for some sort of vehicle? Are there Deans out there who Castiel would not recognise by sight or sound?

"You're an Angel."

The statement brings his attention back into focus. "Yes."

"And yet, you're so.."

Castiel raises an eyebrow.

"..human."

Oh. It is possible, despite the spellwork needed for them to open a rift into an alternate universe, that this Dean has not encountered any Angels himself, or at least not ones who have made their home on Earth, among humanity; changing day by day, becoming more like humans in innumerable small - but not insignificant - ways.

"It's just.. peculiar. My Castiel―"

"―Your Castiel?" The clothing, the mannerisms, the stories of their world all differentiate this Dean from the one Castiel knows. But it's still jarring to hear that, of all things, in Dean's voice; to be claimed, in a way. Not like ownership but familiarity; intimacy. He's almost unwilling to let their conversation progress until this Dean clarifies what he meant.

"Uhm," the other Dean clears his throat at what Castiel knows is his own visible confusion. "There was an Angel, in our universe, also named Castiel, but.." he looks away; at the floor, the wall, the microwave and it's container of soup. "We never met." Castiel waits, watching him as he watches the soup, until he says, quiet, "Not in the mortal realm, at least. He was.. out of my reach―quite literally―but.. he saved me, once. He watched over me.. And I would pray to him, now and then. Talk to him. Thank him.. Ask him how things were in the divine realm," he chuckles softly, ducking his head.

"Did he.. respond?" Castiel keeps his voice equally quiet, suddenly eager to know as much as he can about this other Castiel and his relationship with this Dean.

"In a way. Not with words, but he would.. visit me. In my dreams."

Castiel has many questions, but the other Dean pushes on.

"I was just wondering if you knew what happens to them. To Angels." He glances up at Castiel. "Where do you go?"

"Go? You mean..?"

"I don't know what happened, exactly, but a few years ago the dream-visits stopped. And now, with our world gone, I just.." He lets go a sigh, shoulders drooping on the exhale. "You being an Angel, I hoped you might have a real answer. One way or another." His eyes are sad, his soul less luminous, for a moment, and it's achingly familiar; it's the presence of loss, deep in one's being. Castiel deplores the sight of it, the all too familiar pull of it.

He wishes he knew the answer, if only because for certain things not knowing is worse than knowing, even if the outcome is not what one hoped for. It's a cruel reality, living with false hope. But, when there is no certainty, one cannot assume there is no hope.

"Your world may have been vastly different to ours, in many ways―including your Angels, for all I know. But if there's one thing I've learned in my time here, in this world, it's that nothing is really impossible. You being here, now, proves that, I think."

The other world's Dean brightens some, his soul noticeably less pained, however slight the change may be. The persistence of sadness dulls it in ripples, but sparks of hope shoot through the shadows. "Thankyou." His smile is less tentative as he turns to take his leave.

The timer beeps, but before Castiel can retrieve a bowl from the cupboard the other world's Dean speaks up again.

"He's lucky to have you." Castiel stills, glancing toward the doorway, seeing only earnestness in this Dean's face and soul just as he hears it carry through his voice. "I hope he knows that." With a small wave he disappears into the corridor, leaving Castiel to ponder on that sentiment, wondering whether the distance that his relationship with Dean has come in all these years is as far as it will ever go.

* * *

It's instinctual.

It's been a long time coming, and Dean feared maybe it never would, that Jack might never be himself again, but it's him. It's their kid, sitting hunched over and alone, tears of remorse flooding his voice and spilling down his cheeks.

Dean's arms are wrapped around him, gathering him into a hug before he even registers his feet having moved. He tightens the embrace as Jack's chest jumps with hiccups, his hands grasping at Dean's shirt, tears soaking through the layers of cotton and warming his skin in a way that tears shouldn't; but this is Jack.

As much as Dean can tell Jack's hurting right now, he also knows this is a good thing. The same way he knows it was a good thing when Sam got his soul back, and when Cas was freed of the Leviathan, and when Dean himself was rid of the Mark of Cain.

They all have baggage. They've all done bad things they can't undo, and it hurts. But none of them were themselves when those things went down. And he's so tired of being angry, tired of defaulting to hatred, tired of not being able to change things for the better, to undo what's been done.

But this right here―? This kid, pained and crying into his chest, snot and all―? It's a win.

Sam sits on Jack's other side, rubbing his shoulder and back, letting him know he's there for him, too. They all are. Jack gravitates to him after a little while, leaning into his side as Sam pulls him near. Cas sits opposite them at the little wooden table, their family huddled together in the residual warmth of the kitchen, each of them silently reeling from the events of the day.

They're one step closer to defeating Chuck, according to Billie, but for once it didn't cost them anything; instead of losing something, they gained something, someone.

Dean catches Cas' eye across the table, presses his leg up against his where no-one can see. He smiles a tired, hopeful thing, wishing he was dumb enough or daring enough to reach across the scant space between them and take one of Cas' hand in his where they rest folded in front of him.

Cas returns his smile, looking just as tired, just as hopeful, his leg pressing against Dean's under the table, and it feels like an answer to a question Dean still doesn't know how to ask.

* * *

At a rest-stop by the Kansas state line bordering Oklahoma, while his brother fusses with a paper map and wonders aloud why on Earth this world's Winchesters don't have a dedicated GPS for each of their procured vehicles, Dean takes a moment outside of the car.

Under the fading stars as dawn approaches, prayer beads held in his hand instead of adorning it, he voices an invocation; murmured between his lips, held close to his heart, sent out into the universe―to every universe―impelled by his soul.

Just one word, born of and survived by hope.

A name.

.. Castiel ..

#destiel ficlet #15x13 coda #altdean #pining #altcastiel #deancas fic #coda #myficlets #s15 codas #theres lots of stuff i didnt touch on here that i may explore in a 2nd coda... like what alt!dean and alt!sam got up to in the bunker..

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