#i would eat up a scene like the one from heart stopper

[frozenfrogz]

Do I want winter byler? Yes.

Do I need winter byler? Yes.

#and make it on the 3rd of december please #i don’t care if they have already said it’s not going to be in winter #i still need it #i might die without it #i will at least always have my fanfics #i would eat up a scene like the one from heart stopper #where nick and charlie play in the snow #love that scene #would love it even more if it was byler 👀 #anyway i’ve just been thinking about this for a good two or three months #i need sleep #so ima sleep #byler #will byers #mike wheeler #byler is endgame #byler is canon #byler is real #anti mileven #stranger things #s5 byler

[wiltingdecay]

was bored and couldn't get my pea brain to focus on writing after expending so much energy today so here's some half baked rowan charm "plans" (i use that term very lightly here)

halloween charm rowan

• BANSHEE ROWAN? BANSHEE ROWAN............... BANSHEE ROWAN!!

• banshees are just yassified ghosts so tattered white gown + white hood/veil thingy + some kind of waist corset thingy to rowanify it some more.

• hair MESSY and flying out around his head.

• dark and extremely smudgy make-up, maybe some white foundation as well (i don't think banshees have freckles :( sad)

• arms out pose so big ripped sleeves can dangle and be centred

• face like >:] and general heehoo im gonna getcha vibes

baewatch charm rowan

• beeeeeg sunhat, smthing similar to portia's but with darker colours perchance

• they probably didn't have obnoxious patterned hawaiian shirts in ye olden times but he's getting one anyway

• tiny lil dark plain coloured bikini top underneath bc said hawaiian shirt must be oversized + unbuttoned

• either equally tiny full ass out shorts or full transmasc board shorts. might sketch both and see which i like best

• chunky wedge sandals bc he's apparently been short coded, he can't not remind ppl that he is Tall

• pose..... idk but he will be holding a margarita. would be floating in a big donut but too similar to asra's + hides outfit. perhaps crouching by a rock pool befriending a crab

wedding charm rowan

• sitting SEXILY. legs crossed ass and thighs in full view.

• can't imagine rowan getting married at his ingame age/maturity level so make him look a lil older

• longer hair? longer hair. would be styled like his regular hairstyle but Fancier. thinking braided back like muriel's hair in his route

• white + gold outfit obviously but with red accents... red tie? red hair accessories? red lips? red bottom boots? yes

• white ruffly poet shirt showing off hefty amounts of chest... gold underbust waistcoat or corset w red detailing... frilly ass pants with gold embroidery.... white or gold heel boots... fuck maybe a white w gold or just straight gold tailcoat too he is getting MARRIED he should go all out (but on the other hand i don't want it to just be a recolour of his masquerade fit so we'll see)

• fanciest gold jewellery i am willing to spend time drawing

wonderland charm rowan

• i guess rowan is alice?? only thing that really makes sense lmao

• turn alice's skirt into shorts and her apron into a lil waist corset and we have ourselves a rowancore outfit

• pose + background elements; based on scene from the beginning where alice is falling into wonderland - pose rowan partially upside down/falling headfirst perhaps

• have plot important stuff falling with him; the emerald necklace, cards from asra's deck, myrrh pouch, julian's research, red beetles, etc

fruit charm rowan

• rowan is already a fruit and today that fruit will be a mango. red + green + lil bit of goldish yellow fits his aesthetique to a t

• outfits seem to be modern au + matching the fruit's palette for the most part soooooo... slightly slutty punkish dark academia outfit that's red/green/little bit of gold. idk what that would even entail but i'll figure something out

• pose/background details; sitting legs crossed on beeg half-mango "boat" and holding/eating smaller mango?? idk the composition of these charms confuses my pea brain for some reason

potion bottle shaker charm rowan

• finally i do not have to cook up a new outfit. breathes a sigh of relief

• pose.... idk he'll just be sittin. either he'll be a bit slutty about it or takin a nap against the side of the bottle, i could go either way

• heart shaped red bottle with a gold stopper inlaid with a turquoise gemstone(s) to match/reference their necklace. might have some gorse flowers around the top too. perchance.

• contents of bottle: two tarot cards. sammi. a chibi version of the tower (Uh Oh). the notebook that they scribble investigation stuff/General Thots in throughout the routes. a little flame.

tired so i'll plan out the rest some other time

#rowan aisling #for future reference

[ahsokalegend]

Ranking Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure Songs (Part 1)

Here it is, the definitive (read subjective) tier list of the top 15 Tangled The Series songs. I’ve been listening to these daily, and now you can too!

Let’s get to it:

[see Part 2 for #11-15]

10. With You By My Side

Harmonies for days, plagued by relentless forshadowing aka the best way to end season 2.

Pro: these 3 compliment each other so well vocally, chills every time

Con: heavy handed foreshadowing like we get it everyone will betray everyone but for now they’re happy

Rating: 8/10

9. Buddy Song

Let me reiterate THE! BUDDY! SONG! SLAPS!👏 Stream these legends and their beautiful friendship

Pro: Hilarious, stellar melody, broadway-esque extravagance

Con: a plant is trying to eat them during this song

Rating: 8.5/10

8. Next Stop, Anywhere

Ultimate peppy road trip music, especially the final chorus. You can’t get better than Cassandra singing while running with horses.

Pro: each chorus adds in another singer so by the end it’s all three of them and epic

Con: too much dialogue that shouldn’t be in the soundtrack version

Rating: 8.5/10

7. View From Up Here

This song is the embodiment of being free and flying. It’s hard to put into words how this song makes me feel. Classic Disney vibes.

Pro: beautiful vocals and visuals, nostalgic feelings galore

Con: Rapunzel and Cass as singing birds

Rating: 8.5/10

6. Let Me Make You Proud

Time for the best character, Varian, to make his solo debut. “Let Me Make You Proud” is when I first started taking this show seriously, and it was all due to Jeremy Jordan, Alan Menken, and Glenn Slater in this show-stopper.

Pro: that final high note, Varian’s singing voice

Con: I want more after the high note, song ends too quickly

Rating: 9/10

<Attention! You have reached the halfway point. Get ready for the S Tier.>

5. Let Me Make You Proud (Reprise)

If the original version made me stop and pay attention to Tangled The Series, the reprise broke me. THIS SONG is only 1 minute long. One minute spent watching my favorite character transform from a plucky kid to a tragic villain. THEY SET THE MOMENT HE BREAKS TO THE MOST HEART-WRENCHING MUSIC AND I’M NOT OVER IT.

Pro: Jeremy Jordan held back nothing as Varian in this scene. This is the most emotion-filled and shocking song of the show

Con: 1 minute long, I can’t put it higher because of that

Rating: 9.5/10

4. Crossing the Line

Did someone say epic orchestra? Nobody? Oh well, too late the horns are already here.

What’s great is this is technically Cassandra’s villain song, but it doesn’t play like any villain song before it. It’s building, unapologetic, and triumphant. This is Cassandra letting her walls fall and taking what she wants, consequences be damned. Is she right? No. Is she OOC for most of season 3? Possibly. Is it cathartic to watch her wreck two seasons worth of buildup and relationships? HECK YEAH!

Pro: bass boosted “If I’m burning a bridge let it burn!”🔥

Con: This is the one time I’d add back in dialogue from the show. Cassandra’s trigger word is wait. In the episode, Rapunzel asks her to wait three times: once at the beginning of the song, once in the middle, and once at the end. Each occurrence pushes Cassandra further away, but only one makes the soundtrack recording.

Rating: 9.5/10

3. Waiting In The Wings

Emmy winner, best ballad, moving work of art - all define “Waiting In The Wings”. There’s something gripping about a side character acknowledging her place and desire to be heard when the main characters continually overshadow her goals and actions. We all know the feeling, watching your life pass by feeling like you don’t get the chance to lead your own story. Wow, my kind of emo sad song. What can I say, Cassandra gets the best. This would be a classic Disney “I Want” song if the show had been a movie.

Pro: Eden Espinosa singing that key change at “I hear my cue.”

Con: Honestly can’t think of anything besides it not being my favorite, too perfect?

Rating: 10/10

2. Nothing Left To Lose

Stellar concept untouched by anything Disney has made. Here we have the redeemed villain kidnapped by someone he once called friend. He sees her in her brokenness, and instead of being condensing as she has accused others of being, he tells her the truth. Nothing good can come from giving into her anger as he once did. Varian pleads with her; not to choose good because it’s the right thing to do, but to save herself from spiraling self-destruction. By meeting Cassandra where she is emotionally, Varian is the last chance to pull her from the dark. The message is merciful, well-thought out, and completely in character for Varian and Cassandra’s situation.

This song is the epitome of “Your feelings are valid, your methods of coping are not.” Each second is breathtaking from the animation to the song itself. It’s the ultimate battle between the show’s best singers and side characters while demonstrating the power one true friend can have against your own pain and anger.

And you know what hits the hardest?! Varian doesn’t give up on Cassandra in this song (we’re not talking about later episodes here). Every time she thinks she has outmaneuvered, out-argued, or out-sang him he comes back all the more ready to reach the friend he knows is buried deep in her heart. It takes her physically removing him from her tower and caging him ON A CLIFF for the main section of the song to finish.

But that’s not where it ends. A now dejected Cassandra, reminiscent of her “Waiting In The Wings” motivations sings her true feelings now when nobody can hear. “Now, I have nothing... ... ... left... to lose...”. That long pause she takes after “I have nothing” allows the first half to stand on its own. This is Cassandra realizing Varian’s truth. By pushing her last chance at redemption away, by removing her last chance at a friend, she truly has nothing left to lose.

I could go on and on about this song: the 360° turn in 2D animation, the way Varian and Cassandra sing over each other at the song’s climax, the lyrics, Varian’s vulnerability, Cassandra at her most dramatic, and more. I’ll save you the time, it’s incredible.

Pro: THE BEST DUET why are you still here go listen to this song! Jeremy and Eden recorded it together in-person for a reason. It’s too good for anything less. Also, another Emmy nominated song

Con: It could lose its Emmy nomination which would be unjust yet poetic? Cause you know, “Nothing Left To Lose” loses would make a funny headline

Rating: 10/10

https://youtu.be/r-PYYaoq0fY

1. Ready As I’ll Ever Be

There’s a reason seemingly half the fandom joined due to this song. It encapsulates everything I love about this show flaws and all. Varian gets a solo! Cass gets a solo! Rapunzel gets a solo! Everyone gets a solo! Each time I listen it gets better. Nothing screams epic battle prep song like “Ready As I’ll Ever Be”. Plot and singing-wise this song has it all.

What makes this song a winner is my inability to analyze it. It’s not a song I think about, it’s one I enjoy and constantly replay. The impact this song has had on me and it’s ♥️❤️💕💜💛💖💞💚🧡💝💙-ness makes it the greatest song in Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure.

Pro: ultimate hype song, villain Varian, mind-blowingly incredible

Con: the king sings (easy to ignore)

Rating: 10/10

Thanks for reading!

#rapunzels tangled adventure #tangled the series #tangled songs #song ranking #how much do I care about these songs? answer: too much #Varian #Cassandra #if my music terms are incorrect I blame my alma mater youtube #part 1 #I spent way too much time on this #Ready As I’ll Ever Be the ultimate BOP

[otterskin]

Finnesang - Prologue : Two Birds, One Song

All published chapters on AO3 - but here’s Chapter One, just to hook you.

Blurb: Odin is missing a raven. Without Muninn, Odin isn’t quite who he used to be. The only thing more dangerous than a man with secrets is one who can no longer keep them.

After a near-perfect Coronation years ago, Thor's become exactly the kind of king he believes his father would be proud of - if his father were still the man Thor thought he was (if he ever was).

Loki knows his place - servant of Asgard, advisor to his brother, and caregiver to his ailing father. Important roles, defining ones - and yet he feels forgotten. Sometimes literally.

Being forgotten is fatal when all that you are is someone else’s lie.

PART ONE:

UNMADE

ᚲ ᛟ ᚹ

The RAVENS

Once we were ravens, and that only.

To be ravens is a good thing. Ravens can fly. The Sky belonged to us when we danced in it. At night we'd steal the stars away when our black bodies blotted them out. We did not belong to the Earth or the Sea, though we took the bounties of both. Some would call us thieves for that, but we were ravens only, and accountable to no-one.

And yet we were not content. We wished to have more.

We wished to be more.

When we heard it first, we could put no name to it. It was a sound, many of them, wound together in a tangle - and yet it could be followed.

So follow it we did.

We soared through rain and thunder, through blazing sun and piercing wind. Always, it moved forward, as living things must. We followed. We could not bear to live again in silence.

We beat our wings in time with its tempo and our hearts beat in time with its base. There was nothing but the song and the journey to possess it.

We followed it through forests, through villages, through cities and out into the sky again.

We saw a figure walking through clouds. He looked like one of the people who lived below - he was covered in scales like them, had four purple eyes like them, dressed as they did. But at once we saw that he was not one of them. None of them could walk the skies as easily as we flew in them. None of them sang as he did. He was a new thing, and we wanted to have him.

We danced about him, and he laughed in wonder at us.

He paused in his song to call out to us, as raucous as any lowly crow, “What are your names, then?”

We jeered. Play the sounds, creature.

He took up the thing of sticks and strings from around his neck and strummed it.

We ventured nearer, needing to feel the pulse of the tune. One of us landed on his right shoulder. One of us landed on his left. Through our toes, we could feel the rumble of his flesh, the rumble that became the sounds we would soon learn to call ‘music’.

"Hearing, I ask, from the ho-o-ly races

From Norn’s eyes, watching high and low

I will soon relate, to this tree of faces

Old tales remembered from long, long ago…”

We did not yet know what words were, but still we jittered to encounter them. The scales that disguised the singer as one of the people of below fell away, revealing pale, pinky flesh and worm-like toes where wing feathers should be. His eyes were now only two, and they were very, very blue.

"Have you no names, then? I’m between names myself at the moment. A fair number of them just…did not work out. Perhaps you can help me think of the next one.”

Before we could berate him for stopping, he continued to sing.

"I asked for companions, the Norns sent me birds

I asked them for names, but they gave me none

I suppose since I am the master of words

It falls to me to give them both some!"

He reached out to stroke our chests with a finger. It was warm. We didn’t dislike it.

“I may have made those lyrics for you, but the tune is not mine. I really should not be singing it. Yet lately, I cannot seem to get it out of my head…

“My father was a fine singer himself,

Though only when he sang with my mother.

They sang this for me when I was my first self

When I still had a sister and brother.”

The music ended. We looked at the creature. He stared hollowly out across the green skies as if he did not like the colour of them.

“It seems that no matter where I go or what I call myself, I am burdened with memories and thoughts. Not just of what was, but what could have been. Do you know what that is like, my feathered friends?”

He seemed unhappy. That was no good - his song had brought us joy, and it would not do for him to have none of his own. We called his music to our minds and cawed to it best we could, harsh and throaty.

His eyes brightened. “You are very clever, aren’t you? You’re different from the birds on Asheim. Though not so clever that you’ve yet to realize what sordid company you’re keeping now.” He strummed his instrument with a grin. “I’ve thought of names for you. You shall be Huginn and Muninn - Thought and Memory. But names are not free, my corvid companions. Upon your wings I will settle a burden, so that I might journey lighter…”

He touched a wing-toe to his head. It began to glow, bright and silver. When he withdrew the toe, it came away with a long strand of silver. It broke free from his head, and at once began to wiggle like a worm. We could not help but swallow eagerly in anticipation. He offered the worm to the first of us on his right shoulder. Without hesitation, it was devoured. He put his finger to his head once more, and this time drew out a golden worm. This he offered to the second of us, on his left shoulder. Once again, it was devoured.

He continued in this manner until we were full to bursting. The silver and gold writhed in our guts, hot and cold, filling us with emptiness and sorrow, with warmth and joy, all at once. It was only then that we realized we were no longer only ravens.

Our minds were pulled away from our bodies, away from the green skies of our home. We were taken into another body, under a different sky, in a distant time.

There, we were a boy. There, there was a garden…

It was a beautiful place.

A tall, red-bearded man held hands with a woman. Together they worked the land, pulling and pushing earth and water. Beside them were two children, a boy and girl. The girl coaxed plants from the soil, and the boy called animals to live in them.

The eyes we ravens watched from were distant, hovering far above the scene.

The man looked up at us. He opened his mouth, perhaps to call us down, to join them -

But all that came out was a terrible, wailing scream...

ᚼ

The ravens awoke, groggy with sleep. The baby’s wails echoed down the dark hallway, piercing even the great golden doors meant to shut away the rest of the world.

Thought looked at Memory. Memory looked back at Thought.

“You go,” croaked Thought.

“Muninn went last time,” complained Memory.

The wailing grew louder. It was a noise somewhere between a wolf having their teeth pulled and a crash collision between two speeding metal boats, complete with the two pilots arguing over whose fault it was afterwards. It was the very opposite of music.

“Huginn turn,” insisted Memory.

Huginn huffed, puffing up his feathers and shaking the sleep off of them. He flapped down off his golden perch and onto the bed. There was only one occupant, still slumbering on one side. On the other, the furs were flicked open. Huginn thought to look at the remaining shoes. The slippers were still there, but Frigga's boots were gone. Muninn remembered that she often went to the Garden at night - the only time she really could. She would not be back until sunrise.

Huginn hopped over to the remaining lump of furs. He pulled back the edges of them, revealing Odin’s face. He looked so very different from the creature who had walked the skies of the ravens’ homeworld. The red colour had long leached out of his hair, and his soft face had sprouted a grey beard and moustache to match it. At least his eyes had stayed the same - until a few nights ago when even one of them was taken from him.

Muninn recalled that he’d told them it was a trade of sorts. An eye for a baby. Huginn thought that was a rubbish trade. Odin's right eye had never screamed at them, which made it better by far.

Not wanting to waste any more potential sleep time, Huginn pecked near the newly-empty eye socket. At once the lump of furs erupted with a curse, sending Huginn flying into the air.

Odin attempted to insult his birds again but was drowned out by the baby screaming its boat-crash-wolf-yelp cry. So instead he sighed, beckoning to his birds to follow him as he lumbered out into the hallway.

Muninn tried to hide his beak under his wing and pretend he hadn’t seen the gesture. Huginn circled back and harassed him mercilessly.

“Need both,” Huginn tutted. “Always two ravens.”

Muninn relented, and soon both birds perched on Odin’s shoulders: Huginn on his right, Muninn on his left. As light as they were, Odin still moved slowly. He’d had very little sleep since returning from the final battle. The war itself hadn’t been particularly relaxing either.

Huginn felt the thought bloom in his mind as it occurred to Odin. How easy it seemed when I first took the child. Just seeing a friendly face after being abandoned had been enough to quell its cries.

They entered the nursery. Immediately the cries doubled in volume.

"Shhh-shhh-shh-sh.” Odin attempted, but the child only stopped its tears to hiccough loudly and suck in more breath, ammunition for further cacophony.

Hastily, Odin seized at a bottle waiting in a basket of ice and tried to stopper the babe with the bottle’s teat. Its mouth clamped shut and refused the milk, turning this way and that to escape.

“Still?” Odin asked it wearily.

I thought I saved you. But if you do not eat, all I have done is prolonged your death.

The thought tasted of hopelessness. It was not a favourite flavour of Huginn’s.

The babe reached out, seizing at Odin’s hand even as it ignored the bottle it held. Odin scooped the child into his arms, jostling the ravens as he patted its back. Nothing seemed wrong with it; its changing cloth was clean, its guts clear of gas. It was not even alone anymore - and yet it still would not stop crying.

“Go outside?” suggested Huginn.

“Remind baby of home,” agreed Muninn.

Odin nodded, eye still droopy with sleep.

They stepped onto the balcony. The night was clear and brimming with all the lights of Yggdrasil. As hoped, a chill was in the air.

And yet the baby still cried, digging into Odin’s beard as if trying to crawl away from the cold.

The old god sighed. “What am I to do?” he asked his ravens.

“Always, Odin ask only himself for counsel,” chided Muninn.

“I tried to turn to Frigga,” Odin protested half-heartedly.

Muginn cocked his head in judgement. The raven did not need to remind Odin of what he had done to Frigga. A flicker passed through both their minds: the memories of her face when he’d returned, bearing a strange infant to replace the one she so recently lost. She’d been waiting to share their grief - and Odin had instead asked her to disguise it, much like the false child he’d pressed to her breast.

“Odin did not think that one through,” observed Huginn.

“No. He did not,” agreed Odin, rubbing at the gauze over his socket again. He sighed.

Even Frigga’s reaction had been a friendlier welcome than he’d gotten from his own son.

I don’t know why I expected a warm welcome on my return - how could he even recognize me? He was but a babe when I left. But to see the boy instead glare at me with such suspicion, to insist on standing between his own mother and father...

But was the boy wrong to try and protect Frigga from me?

The first thing I did on my return was to break her heart.

“I am a wicked man,” Odin sighed.

"You are required to be a good king above being a good man. The two are often mutually exclusive concepts.”

Odin turned his head slightly to frown at Huginn. “That voice…”

The babe kicked him hard in the chest, trying again to squirm free of Odin’s grip.

Without thinking about it, he started to hum, bumping the child up and down as he did so.

Miraculously, the tiny creature quietened. Unscrunching its face, it peered up at him and his ravens. It seemed mesmerized by the tune.

Odin would have been glad of it, had he not recognized just what he was humming.

He stopped.

The babe immediately crumpled up again and began to fuss. Huginn, too, dipped his head in disappointment.

Despite his audience’s clear call for an encore, Odin did not pick up the tune again. Instead, he summoned the milk into his hand and tried again to feed the child. “Come on, boy,” he muttered, trying to turn its face back out from his chest. “I know it’s not as good as giant’s milk but we haven’t had any volunteers.”

His attempts jostled the ravens about on his shoulders, causing them to flap and squawk. Huginn wondered how comical they would appear to anyone walking in on the scene. Odin, King of Asgard, Conqueror, feared throughout the realms, encumbered by clingy ravens and an obstinate baby.

“Eat - the damn - milk,” Odin muttered, accompanying each word with the jab of the bottle.

“Baby liked that song,” Muninn recalled.

“Sing next time,” urged Huginn, a spark of independence clashing against Odin’s clear reticence.

“I don’t know that I can," the man muttered. “I haven’t sung in years,”

“Odin sang for many years before,” Muninn said slowly. “Muninn would know if Odin forgot how.”

“See? So sing now!” demanded Huginn.

The other raven looked away from his brother. “Muninn doesn’t like that song. It hurts.”

Huginn looked over at Muninn, scandalized. “We ravens like the song!"

But Muninn just fluffed his feathers again and wouldn’t meet Huginn’s beady eye.

The babe knocked the glass bottle from Odin’s hands. It hit the stone floor of the balcony and broke open.

Odin nearly cursed again, catching the ugly word with one syllable already hanging out of his mouth. Spending years around soldiers instead of the Court and his family had roughened his vocabulary. That was what he used his voice for, crass words and orders to make war. Not song. That belonged to a version of himself he’d long put behind him.

He would go and get a nursemaid and damn the consequences, he would go and fetch Eir and have her diagnose the child, he would go -

The baby detonated with a keening scream, piercing his eardrums and threatening to further shatter the glass bottle with its ferocity.

He would go mad if he didn’t do something right now.

Well, go madder. He must have been mad already to have taken this child in the first place.

It shouldn’t have come as easily as it did. For one thing, his voice had deepened significantly since he last said these words, and it strained at first, trying to hit the notes that used to be within easy reach. But even before he dropped to the next octave down, his seidr was stirred, flowing outwards with the euphony. In many ways, this had been how he’d first learned magic - how he first learned to speak with the air and sky, and all the intricate veins that threaded the universe together. A thousand strings to be plucked and molded into melody.

“Hearing, I ask, from the ho-o-ly races

From Norn’s eyes, watching high and low

I will soon relate, to this tree of faces

Old tales remembered from long, long ago.

Of old was the age when Ymir yet lived

No sea nor waves, nor sand was yet there

Earth was not yet, nor heavens forgive'd

All that was was the gap to nowhere.”

Muninn shifted uneasily. Memories of millennia were tangled inextricably in every bar. But to the babe, it was merely noise, clean and new and without connotation. Spellbound, it fell still in Odin’s arms.

“Lead me home, my mothers of yester

Lead me to my heart and its way

Free me from a body that festers

Free me from the urge to yet stay.

Take me from this o-ode to slaughter

Take me from Hel, though I may belong

Lead me to my sons and my daughters

Lead me home to the heart of my song.

Shield-time, sword-time, we enter the gold halls

Wind-time, Wolf-time, ere the world falls.”

Muninn thought of Bor, Father of Odin. He once said this was a sad song.

But did it have to be so for everyone who heard it? Odin wondered. Could it not be something else for this babe?

It could mean safety, comfort. It could mean that this child had a home…at least for a little while.

“Little while?” Muninn croaked. “How cruel.”

The All-Father ignored him and continued to sing.

“I remember yet the giants of yore

Who gave me bread in days gone by

Nine worlds I knew, Nine worlds at war

Nine voices became one battle cry…”

There were many ways this story could go. If it weren’t for me, this babe’s tale would have ended shortly after it had begun. What could be less cruel than the gift of possibilities?

“Muninn cannot remember the future, only past,” Muninn scolded. “Odin cannot know if saving baby means good or bad. It just is.”

“Even bad better than nothingness,” Huginn dissented. “This good deed.”

“Deeds have reasons why done,” Muninn muttered. “Were reasons good?”

Huginn turned his back on his brother, disgusted with his treachery. “Odin not parley with ‘good’ or ‘bad’. Odin just is. Muninn play silly games.”

“Only one rose from the sea of blood

Broken were oaths, words not what they seemed

Before the breath of liars, we scud

Shaped, like clouds, by forces unseen..."

“Odin make promise by taking baby,” insisted Muninn.

“Odin makes no promises,” Huginn hissed.

“I know the horn of Heimdall, well-hidden

As lost as the things it’s meant to return

What would I ask, if it were mine to be bidden?

Would I make new or ask to unburn?

Alone I waited when the Old One sought me

The Terror of Gods gazed in mine eyes:

‘What dost thou want? What comest thou to see?’

Dost thou look for something living or died?

‘Before thou ask, be aware there is cost -

An eye for an eye, a thought for a thought

If I am to return that which you lost

Be aware that the price is the same as the bought.

'Would you know yet more?

Knowing that wisdom is weight?

Would you know yet more?

Knowing no knowledge will sate?

Would you know yet more?

If you knew that knowing meant a forever war?’”

The babe was staring at Odin with rapt attention as if there was nothing in the universe more awe-inspiring than an old man mumbling his way through a doom-stricken ditty.

Odin tended to be the most powerful person in any room - or planet - or galaxy, really - that he happened to walk into, and so he was used to rapt attention. But there is nothing quite like being the end-all, be-all centre of existence in the eyes of an infant. For one thing, people tended to get nervous when the most powerful person in the galaxy walked into the room. This babe just wondered. It would have marvelled at him just the same if he were a moderately-successful goatherd.

This child knew so little of the world. So little about Odin. Hardly any different from most grown men, in that respect. How precious that ignorance was. How unfair that after all the world had done to this child in his short life that that innocence should be placed in Odin’s hands.

Moved to pity, Huginn bent down to preen at the babe’s few dark hairs. Muninn took off from the other shoulder, heading back inside.

“Lead me home, my brothers of yester

Lead me to my heart and its way

Free me from a body that festers

Free me from the urge to yet stay…

Take me from this o-ode to slaughter

Take me from Hel, though I may belong

Lead me to my sons and my daughters

Lead me home to the heart of my song.

Shield-time, sword-time, we enter the gold halls

Wind-time, Wolf-time, ere the world falls.”

The song was nearly complete now, and Odin was surprised to find himself slowing down, as if unwilling to let the moment go. Each time he returned to the chorus, there seemed to be some strange reciprocity from the babe. Though it could not sing, its fledgeling magic nonetheless reverberated with the melody, like the threads of a spider’s web plucked by the breeze.

"The serpent is bright, but now I must sink

My father of yester is leading me home

The sky becomes light, no more must I think

of old tales remembered from long, long ago.

It didn’t seem till now...

...so long, long ago."

It was done.

Muninn returned, bearing with him a fresh bottle of milk. He dropped it into Odin’s waiting hand. The babe seemed loose, almost liquid in Odin’s grasp, though its eyes were still bright and alert. It didn’t fight the bottle this time - but neither did it suck at the teat. Odin sighed.

“Did I ever know what was in giant’s milk, Muninn?”

The raven considered, then shook his head.

“Can you think of anything that would convince the child to drink, Huginn?”

The second raven considered, then shook his head.

“Fat lot of good you both turned out to be, eh?” Odin sighed, but there was a smile in it.

The king tried to return the babe to its crib, but its fists had knotted painfully in place in his beard. It was no use; he’d just have to take it to bed and hope it would behave until morning.

When he settled back into his half of the mattress, another pang of guilt crossed his chest.

I should be with her.

Instead, he pulled the blanket back up over himself and carefully tried to lie down without disturbing the infant.

“Give her time,” he said, though the babe was already deep in sleep. “She’s a warm heart and love to spare. She just needs time to say goodbye.”

The babe gurgled. Then, unmistakably, it hummed. Clear as the skies when Thor was in good spirits, it was the song Odin had imprinted on him, already echoing back. He listened to it make its way through the tune. At points it would stop, as if waiting for something; it took Odin a little while to realize that, even in the depths of sleep, it was waiting for a response. He’d hum back to it, sometimes along with it, creating a strange little harmony.

“We’ll make a proper Asgardian out of you yet,” he chuckled, and for a moment he could imagine that Frigga had merely gone to freshen up, that the babe was everything Odin was pretending it was, that his family had been spared their latest tragedy and all was, for that moment, well. He could forget all the inconvenient parts of reality.

The world could just be him and his borrowed boy.

He could stop the crying.

He could make things right.

“Could. What a damning word that is.”

Odin cracked open his eye and saw him in the corner of the room. Wrapped in shadows, and just as immaterial. His beard was a deeper red than it ever had been in life, and the curve of the downward-pointing horns of his helmet outlined his harsh face.

“Could is a word for regrets. Regrets are the stories we wished we lived. You were always too fond of stories. Stories are not real.”

Odin shut his eye. “Neither are you, Father.” He didn’t need to open it again to know that Bor would no longer be there. It was just a passing thought.

But the spell had been broken.

The bed was cold. His wife was still gone to the Garden to mourn over her true son while he coddled a painted imposter in what should have been her sanctuary. And even then, the babe was still sickly, still hungry, and he had nothing to fill him. He had made nothing right, only forgotten that everything was still wrong.

“Huginn - Muninn,” Odin called. “Go to Jötunheim and observe the children there. Learn what they require to suckle and grow, and return soon.”

The ravens bobbed their heads in acceptance of their task. They took flight.

The skies of Asgard roiled with starlight, but the clever birds knew which precise point of light was Jötunheim’s sole sun. Together they flew, side by side, into the ether. Light streaked, sound ceased, space bent around them, and they tore through -

We tore through…

We did, didn’t we? We ravens went to Jötunheim. We did - we saw and learned and we returned…The child lived, thanks to us…So why, why did the light and the sound continue, becoming darker, malevolent, angry? Why did it shout and accuse and become oh so terribly sad even as raging fire swept about us, between us, blackening the blackest of feathers and consuming, consuming, it was in Muninn’s mouth, it was in his stomach, it was devouring him from the inside out and he was in pain, such terrible pain and I, I the raven needed to go to my brother, needed to save him, but the moment we became I it was already too late.

Muninn was gone. A hole where a raven should be. I screamed for him, but a raven’s voice is not music, and it could not call him back.

I flew on.

My thoughts were dark.

Such angry, grieving thoughts.

My blood was dead. Taken from me. Stolen. By an enemy beyond my reach.

But not all my enemies were so.

Where was I going?

Somewhere cold, somewhere far away - and why?

To see the giants, the red eyes in the blizzard.

To Jötunheim, to the giants, to war -

As Asgard had done time and time again.

Yes, to war!

To war!

ᚼ

Huginn awoke with a start. Red light was streaming through the window behind him, courtesy of the sunset. He looked across from his golden perch to the empty one on the other side of the bed. As it had been for decades, it was empty.

So was the bed.

Huginn blinked at it. The sheets had been flung from the bed with force.

The door remained shut, likely still locked. But, as the breeze from the open window reminded the raven, that was not the only way out of this place.

With a flurry of greying feathers, Huginn took flight. He passed out the back of the golden room and felt the wispy touch of shattered spells try to catch at his feathers, to no avail.

The rook circled Asgard, wings straining, searching, searching.

He heard him before he saw him - the whistling of wind around the corners of the city and the low, dull roar of the stars as invisible strings drew from their raging hearts. Footfalls echoed mightily off the golden buildings, and at once Huginn knew they could not be dissuaded from their path.

There was nothing a raven, even one who was not only that, could do.

There was little anyone could do, really, but there were some who would try anyway. Inconveniently, today had to be the day they weren’t on Asgard.

Huginn braced his aching pinions, fixing his beady eyes on a star in the sky the way other ravens fixed on the glimmer of a mussel in the water.

He flew into the sky, following the faintest sounds of a half-remembered melody.

***

This and the rest on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638704/chapters/51598693

#finnesang #thor fanfiction #loki fanfic #thor fanfic #my fic #loki #thor #odin #huginn and muninn #huginn

[horansqueen]

You & Me : chapter 6

A Niall Horan fanfiction ; rated MA

Sequel to AM CONVERSATIONS

CHAPTER 1 || CHAPTER 2 || CHAPTER 3 || CHAPTER 4 || CHAPTER 5

NOTES:

-one chapter is her pov, the next is his. -5.2k -im sorry, i never proofread, i hate it. -there WILL be smut. but not only smut. -this is a romance, comedy, smut story. -for the summary, check my MASTERLIST.

- notes: its long because i had a lot to write, oops! also i tried to put as many requests for this chapter as I got. i suggest you dont look at them before reading the chapter or itll spoil it majorly to you! here are the requests!

the first one is the main request. and the others are the requests i got when i asked for requests for this specific chapter! :)

(SPOILERS OF THE CHAPTER)

Chapter 6 : Her chapter

OLIVIA

I pulled on my skirt when i got out of the car, feeling slightly uncomfortable and regretting wearing it. I was mostly a pants person and even just wearing jeans was annoying me sometimes. I knew all the girls present would look incredible, though, and I didn't want to feel ugly around them. I bent down to look at my face in the mirror of the car and sighed before turning back to my boyfriend who had a small smile creeping on his lips as he stared at me.

"How do I look?" I asked, raising my eyebrows with concern.

He didn't answer yet, he just just walked up to me, taking his hands out of his pockets and wrapping his arms around my waist. I felt his fingertips brush on my spine and my lips curled slightly.

"So good i'm actually thinking about ditching them and driving back home to fuck you into the mattress." he whispered with a smirk, looking down at me as I tilted my chin up. "One word from you and I jump back in the car."

I giggled a bit stupidly and was about to answer when we both heard the door open and I saw Heidi in the frame with Niall slightly behind. She waved at us and I was suddenly very happy of my choice of clothing. Dylan remained close to me and sent her a smile, a chin movement and a small wave before turning back to look into my eyes.

"Well, there goes our plan." he joked in a low tone, raising his eyebrows at me and making me laugh. "I guess we're gonna have to rain check on sexy time."

He chuckled and his arms slipped off my waist but he grabbed one of my hands with his and pulled me in the door's direction. I stopped him and he turned around with a questioning look before I tilted my head and frowned.

"When we get back home, perhaps?"

His facial expression changed and he moved back closer to me, squeezing my fingers in his.

"I'm sorry babe, I really have to sleep early today remember? I work tomorrow morning, I have to wake up at 4:30."

I bit my bottom lip and nodded but the truth was, I had completely forgotten. I let my eyes roam on his face and held my breath, trying not to sigh. I was not sure if it was a good or a bad thing that I was going to be away from Dylan soon. He was leaving to film a movie and the truth was, we hadn't been away from each other much in the past few months. In fact, we spent most of our time together.

"Are you guys coming?" we both heard Heidi's voice but my boyfriend didn't look away from me.

"I can see you're disappointed. I'm sorry babe, really."

"No, it's okay." I answered with a smile, tilting my head and shaking it slightly. "Don't be sorry, I know you work hard, I knew it was part of the game when we started dating."

His lips curled in a fond smile and he sent me a wink right before we heard Louis' melodic voice from afar. I had asked him to text me when he'd arrive so Dylan and I wouldn't be the first ones there. I didn't want us to interact only with Heidi and Niall or I knew it would have been awkward.

"Hey you two! You can eat each other's face later! Or like, stare deeply and passionately in each other's eyes or whatever! But right now we're all waiting for you!" he screamed, making me chuckle. "Liv! I bought your fave wine too, come on!"

I rolled my eyes but smiled and Dylan laughed slightly before pulling me with him. We walked inside and said hi to everyone but it's only when I felt Niall's arm around my waist that my smile faltered. I tried to tell myself I wouldn't let anything he does affect me but it was practically impossible. It was only his fingertips brushing on the small of my back and I wanted to run away.

"Hey Olivia, thanks so much for coming." he said in a low tone as I felt him press his cheek against mine.

I moved slightly and his stubble scratched my skin, making my heart skip a beat, but I tried not to show it.

"Someone needs to shave!" I joked with a laugh.

He was well-aware that I loved his stubble and would never want him to shave it, but that was part of the little banter we had together and he laughed, raising his eyebrows before bending down again close to me and rubbing his cheek against mine. I pulled away with a grown but started laughing again.

"Ouch!" I let out a bit louder before chuckling. "I hate when you do that!"

"Yea?" he asked, amused, before doing it again. "I thought you loved my stubble!"

He stared in my eyes with a smirk and he was closer than he should be but I didn't move away. By the way he was looking at me, I knew what he was thinking about and he was right : I've always enjoyed to feel his stubble on my inner thighs as he ate me out. I've always loved feeling it scrape my skin as I pressed my thighs around his face while he tongue fucked me. That thought made my pussy throb and I held my breath until someone talked.

"Here!" Louis let out, putting a glass of wine between us and taking me out of my thoughts. "Drink."

I thanked him and tried not to look at Niall again as I followed them to the kitchen. I frowned when I saw the bottle of wine on the counter, noticing the bottle stopper next to it.

"Louis! You said you bought my fave wine but it's literally my own bottle from home!" I exclaimed, turning to look at him and raising my eyebrows.

"Oh shit, did I say 'bought'? I meant 'brought'"

My face changed into an annoyed and unamused expression and he sent me a cute smile, making me roll my eyes as my lips curled slightly.

"It was started, too. You don't bring an already open bottle to hosts." I kept arguing. "You're a bad guest."

"Heyyy, I bought this one and two more, i'm an incredible guest!"

A bunch of us laughed and after chatting for a while, we ended up sitting at the main table. I sat next to Dylan and held my breath when I saw Niall walk closer. He was about to sit on the other side of me when Heidi talked.

"No no, babe! We're sitting here!"

His face changed but he just glanced at me and sent his girlfriend a smile before walking to the other side of the table and sitting right in front of me and next to her. I didn't know if I felt relieved or sad but he kept looking at me and I couldn't help but send him a smile. I noticed Heidi move closer to him and put my attention on her.

"Thank you so much for being here, all of you!" she said, holding her glass up. "We're always all so busy but it's nice to spend time altogether when we can!"

We all clinked our glasses together and I grimaced at Louis who stuck his tongue out at me. I was happy he was there, I felt like I wouldn't be able to stay sane if he was not.

"Oh my god, Olivia and Dylan, you guys are getting married right? I read that somewhere!"

Niall glanced at her and I noticed he rolled his eyes slightly without saying anything. I didn't know if it was because Heidi talked about it or because of the wedding specifically.

"Mmhm, yes." Dylan said, taking a sip of wine. "We are."

"In september I bet." Niall quickly let out. "The 9th I'm guessing."

Everyone remained quiet but he kept staring at me. I remembered us talking about getting married but we had never talked about a date. It did something to me that he knew, and he knew me so well. He knew me better than anyone in the world. He knew me better than myself.

"Well, yes." Dylan finally confessed, slightly uneasy. "I mean, don't tell anyone, we haven't announced it yet, we want to be sure before."

I saw Heidi's eyes open wider in shock when Dylan admitted that Niall had guessed right. I could only imagine what went on in her head and I suddenly felt bad for her. I knew she was not the jealous type but when she moved closer to Niall to ask for a kiss, I could swear she had glanced at me at the same time.

"Sorry mate." Niall said, taking a long sip of the wine after raising his eyebrows. "That's when her grandparents got married. Lucky guess."

The discussion drifted but I kept looking at Niall who sent me a fond smile. I held my breath when I felt one of his feet over mine and my lips parted slightly. I was not wearing socks but I felt the fabric of his brush against the top of my foot. My eyes fluttered at the contact. Just knowing he was touching me made me feel a certain way. It was not sexual, it was just my body suddenly coming alive in a way no one else could make me feel. It took me a few seconds but I finally pulled my foot away but gently, sending him an other small smile.

I helped Heidi clearing the table while the others went to the living room but I noticed Niall glancing at us, probably scared of what would happen. I was not going to make a scene though, and I was pretty sure she wouldn't either, at least I hoped so.

"I know there used to be something special between you and Niall." she let out when we were almost done, without looking at me. "But it's gone now."

I held my breath and licked my lips, not really sure what I should answer to that. It seemed like a fact to her but as she said it, it made me realize it was not true. There was still something special between Niall and I, and there probably always would be. That's why it would be so hard for us to only be friends. Could we even do it?

"Alright."

I turned around and left her alone in the kitchen only to walk to the bathroom. I leaned my hands on the counter after locking the door and closed my eyes, my head slightly down. I tried to breath in and out deeply but I could feel my heart beating hard in my chest and I couldn't seem to slow it down.

I had expected something meaner from Heidi. I knew the kind of person she was, and I knew what she was looking for but somehow, she had agreed to this dinner and I didn't know why. It was not new that she didn't like me and I would have thought she wanted me as far as possible from her boyfriend.

The problem was, I didn't want to be far from Niall and she probably felt it, just like I felt how insecure she was, which was not her type at all. She didn't use to see me like competition, what happened that made her change her mind about me?

I also felt how Dylan tensed when Niall guessed the date of our wedding. It was not so much that he knew that, no, it was more about the whole history Niall and I had together that no one could even begin to understand. He knew it, but the fact that he was now witnessing it made it seem more real. He was not jealous but it would be normal if he felt uncomfortable. I couldn't blame him.

I breathed in deeply, staring at my reflection in the mirror and trying to make something of this mess in my head but nothing seemed to work. Everyone's feelings were at stake and we were all a bit stressed. I also knew that with a few too many drinks, it could become very ugly.

I shook my head slightly and left the bathroom to join the others, hearing them laugh from afar. I sat on the couch next to Dylan and smiled at Louis and Eleanor, sitting together on the floor, almost cuddling. Julie and Liam were practically doing the same on the other couch and I felt Dylan's hand reach for mine and grab my fingers. Everyone was getting a bit tipsy and they were all recalling memories from tour and after. I tried to keep quiet but for some reasons, a lot of anecdotes included me.

"Oh remember that time we all went skiing and Olivia wouldn't stop falling!" Louis pointed out with a chuckle. "Niall had to literally hold her hands and guide her. It was pathetic, she was getting bypassed by a bunch of five year old’s!"

"Louis, I hate you." I just groaned low.

"Or when we ended up playing hide and seek in a hotel." he added, ignoring my comment. "Everyone was found except for these two fuckers! Apparently, they were hiding together in a fucking janitor closet! We never found out what went on during those two hours!"

I grabbed a cushion and threw it at Louis but it only made him laugh. I remembered that time. I remembered my body pressed against Niall's for hours as we chatted together in whispers. I remember feeling his lips in my hair and his hand on my thigh to stop me from moving whenever we heard a noise. Nothing had happened, but it was still a good memory. One that brought a rush to my brain and made me smile.

I noticed Heidi from the corner of my eyes, standing next to the couch and listening to Louis' stories. She looked a bit stressed and I bit my bottom lip in hope that Louis would just stop it. Her face twisted into a smile and she just sat directly on Niall's lap, making me squirm a bit on my seat. He seemed surprised and I knew he was not a fan of public display of affection but he just glanced around the room a few times without saying anything. She bent down and when their lips met, I had to close my eyes and look away. I felt Dylan squeeze my fingers with his and turned my head to him, focusing my attention on him. He smiled at me and I was not sure which emotions I could see in his face. Sadness, perhaps?

"So Dylan, the car you're driving in that show? Does it work?"

I tried to push the thought of Heidi sitting on my ex boyfriend away and smiled at Louis as I noticed Dylan's lips curl too.

"Don't start him!" I quickly said, opening my eyes wide. "He literally asked to keep that jeep! It's in his garage!"

"It's old and a bit dangerous to drive but I still do from time to time. I even let Liv drive it once or twice."

"Fucking amazing car, can't deny." I admitted with a laugh.

"We also saw your latest movie." Eleanor added. "Loved it."

"It was honestly very good." Julie agreed, leaning on her boyfriend and nodding. "Although I believe a beard doesn't really suit you."

Dylan chuckled, bringing his hand to his nape in an embarrassed way. He was not the type to be shy, but being praised like that always made him a bit uncomfortable. I personally thought it was extremely endearing but I didn't mention it, at least not this time. I tried not to react when I noticed Niall get up and leave from the corner of my eyes but I couldn't seem to follow the conversation anymore. Dylan was charismatic and everyone was always listening to him when he talked. He had this way to charm people that I didn't have and clearly never would. I was not jealous, I was fascinated.

I would guess on 10 minutes. That was probably the time it took me to get up and leave the room too. It seemed longer but I knew it was probably just in my head. I walked slowly in the hall, my heart beating fast, and followed the sound of guitar coming from afar, ending up in front of a closed door. I bit my bottom lip but it only took me a second to press my ear against it to hear better.

"I try and try to forget you, but." He stopped and I didn't hear anything until he started playing again. "Try and try to erase you, but you won't disappear."

Without thinking, I pressed my palm on the door but was surprised when I realized it was not completely closed. I ended up tripping inside and letting out a curse word as I almost fell. I knew he was staring at me but when I looked up in his eyes, I noticed a small and amused smile playing on his lips.

"Sorry." I let out after finding my balance again, glancing down and pressing my lips together.

"You were totally eavesdropping." he pointed out, his lips curling.

"I was... totally eavesdropping."

He chuckled and made a quick head movement, telling me to get closer. I hesitated a few seconds but walked to him slowly as he looked up. He was sitting on his bed and it was a bit weird to be in the room, alone with him, while both our significant others were in the living room. We used to be like that though, right? We slept in the same bed even when we were taken a few years ago, when our friendship was at its peak. Why did it feel so wrong now?

He patted the bed next to him and I licked my lips, holding my breath before shrugging a shoulder.

"Uhm, does Heidi live here?"

He frowned but didn't lose his smile.

"No, why?"

I didn't answer his question but simply nodded and after a few seconds, I sat next to him, trying not to touch him. I didn't want to sit in a bed that was hers, too, it would have been too weird to me, but knowing it was his bed made me feel better about it, even if I knew she slept there too sometimes.

Niall ran his fingers on the strings and my eyes dropped to his hand. He used to do that all the time. Just join me on the couch and start playing randomly. I didn't know if he noticed but I always ended up just turning the volume down to listen to him without being too obvious about it. Sometimes, he barely noticed me at all and it was alright. I always thought it made him even more handsome than he already was. When I looked up, I noticed he was looking at me and I smiled, feeling my heart jump slightly in my chest. After all this time, he still had this effect on me and I had no idea how it was possible.

"So, what were you playing?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. "Wanna play it for me?"

He chuckled a bit, obviously uncomfortable, and scratched the back of his head, glancing away before looking down at his fingers.

"New song, it's not finished, can't play it."

I felt something twist in my chest at the thought and I swallowed jealousy inside me. He was with Heidi and she already got a whole album written for her. It was a bit hurtful to think she was going to get a second one.

"You must really love her." I said low to make sure my voice wouldn't break.

"What do you mean?"

I looked up at him and let my eyes roam on his face. I wanted to stop thinking about him all the time and feel nervous around him but even more than that, I wanted to stop all the feelings exploding inside me every time he was near. We were done. He had a girlfriend and I was getting married, there was no point in dwelling on the past, right? I brought my hand up but hesitated and finally pressed my palm gently on his cheek. I wanted to ask him if he really loved me. I wanted to know if being with me for almost a year even had an impact in his life, I wanted to know if it mattered, If i mattered. Or at least, if I used to matter.

"You kissed me the other night."

I felt his hand over mine, on his face, but took it back slowly as my lips parted. How could he know that? He was asleep, right?

"N-No, I mean..."

"I thought you never lied."

I closed my mouth and breathed in before licking my lips, still staring at him. i had to assume my actions and I swallowed hard.

"I did, I kissed you. I thought you were sleeping." I admitted in a low tone. "I'm sorry, Niall, I shouldn't have."

He chuckled a bit awkwardly and shook his head, putting his guitar away and passing his hand in his hair. "Hey, I kept reminding you of when we fucked and I think I remember caressing your leg so, I can't blame you for a small peck on the lips."

"You were drunk, I was not." I pointed out.

"Not an excuse." he quickly replied. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

"You didn't."

We stared at each other for so long and all I could hear was the sound of my heart beating against my rib cage and threatening to escape. I felt myself tear up but swallowed the lump in my throat and I could swear I saw him glance at my lips.

"You said you missed me too."

"I'm surprised you understood since I said it in french." I chuckled slightly, smiling at him.

"I remember a few things, I just can't pronounce them."

This time, I chuckled more until I realized how close we were from each other. Did he move closer or was I the one who did? Why did I feel so attracted to him, like my heart, body, soul and mind were connected to his?

"I'm gonna kiss you, okay?"

His voice was soft and low but I didn't answer and he moved even closer, so slowly that it seemed to take an hour. I felt his breath on my mouth and held mine before bringing both my hands on his face to stop him gently. He stopped and his eyes opened as my thumbs brushed on his cheeks. I moved my head lightly, feeling my parted lips brush up and down against his, so slowly it was like torture to me.

"Olivia..."

I shook my head and pulled away, turning on my seat and closing my eyes. It was so close and I felt my heart skip a beat when I realized we had almost kissed but the worst was, I really wanted it. I wanted it so fucking bad and I was getting mad at myself. I was also mad at him for doing this to me and I swallowed hard again.

"I can't Niall, and you can't either."

He didn't insist and I finally just got up as he did the same. I was about to get out of his room when I came face to face with Heidi. I tried to play it cool but her eyes got bigger as they moved from me to Niall and then back to me.

"What the fuck?"

I didn't know what to say and just walked past her to get back in the living room. I grabbed my glass and swallowed all of it as Heidi stormed back to the room. Everyone stopped talking and looked at her but she was staring at me, ready to jump at me.

"What the hell were you doing with my boyfriend in my room?"

I wanted to mention it was not her room but I thought it would only make things worse and I just sighed and raise my eyebrows.

"We were just talking."

"Just talking?" she repeated with a rude chuckle. "Oh yea I know how 'talking' goes alright!" she added, doing the quotation marks with her fingers.

I felt Dylan getting up behind me and he placed his hand softly on my lower back.

"Hey, relax." he let out, bringing his other hand in front of me. "They're friends, they've always been friends, you should know that by now."

"Are you a fucking idiot?" Heidi added louder, frowning at him.

I turned to Dylan's who's face suddenly changed into an annoyed one. It was a side of him I hadn't seen before and it was crazy to think Heidi, out of all people, could bring it out.

"It's not the first time you ask me that."

Niall suddenly placed himself between his girlfriend and us but facing her. He put his hands on her shoulders and she closed her eyes.

"Babe, please, relax okay? Come on, how many drinks did you have?"

"I'm fine!" she let out slightly lower than the tone she had used on us.

"Just come with me okay?"

It took a few seconds but they disappeared in the hall and I licked my lips before turning to my boyfriend. Louis was standing up next to me too and when he placed his hand on my shoulder, I turned my head and met his eyes.

"Are you okay, love?"

His voice was sweet and gentle and I sent him a small smile before nodding lightly. Did it show that I was extremely jealous knowing that she was going to sleep in his room, next to him? I shook my head, trying to push away the thought and also my feelings. It was ridiculous, of course she was going to sleep in his bed tonight, where else?

"Okay, well, I think it's time to go now." Julie proposed as Liam stood behind her.

We all said goodbye and hugged as Niall walked back in.

"Sorry guys, so sorry it has to end up like this."

I felt bad for him, knowing that he likes things calm and fun but at the same time, I felt guilty. I could try and blame Heidi all I wanted for the drama, it was partially my fault and Niall's if it ended up like this. I also couldn't stop thinking that if we had kissed, she would have caught us.

"Don't worry, it's all cool." my boyfriend said, extending his hand to my ex boyfriend. The sight was a bit weird but I didn't mention it. "Thanks for inviting us, we're gonna have to return the favor soon."

"Of course, my pleasure, thanks for coming." Niall replied, shaking his hand and sending him a smile.

I glanced a few times as I walked to Dylan's car just to look at Niall standing in the door frame, and I sighed before opening the door and getting in. We drove off and I leaned my head against the window with my eyes closed. I still couldn't make sense of this mess and even if I wasn't drunk, I knew the alcohol and tiredness would stop me from unraveling it all. We parked in front of my house and I felt a pain in my chest when I remembered that Dylan wouldn't stay. I turned to him and tilted my head.

"You really can't stay?" I asked in a soft tone, making him smile sadly at me.

"No, I'm sorry. Tomorrow?"

I nodded slowly and licked my lips.

"What did you mean when you said it wasn't the first time she asked you if you were stupid?"

He shook his head and chuckled, looking down.

"Let's just say Heidi has tried to date me a few years back. Or at least to sleep with me."

The shock was so big I felt my lips part. I probably looked like a fish out of water and it made him chuckle. He brought his hand on my chin and gently moved it up to close my mouth.

"You... you never told me."

"Just like you never told me how intense it was between you and Niall." he pointed out, raising his eyebrows. "I mean, maybe you did but I didn't think it was that bad, I don't know."

He paused and I held my breath as he looked down at his fingers. He grabbed my hand and looked up in my eyes and I suddenly felt so guilty I was close to throw up. I loved this man, I really did. Could he tell that I had almost kissed my ex boyfriend not even half an hour before?

"You know what sexual tension is, right?"

I frowned, scared of his words, but still nodded. I didn't want him to tell me there was sexual tension between Niall and I. I didn't want to know what we looked like from the outside. I didn't want to have this kind of conversation about my ex boyfriend, if only because I was not even sure of how I felt or what I wanted. Still, I waited as my boyfriend sighed and intertwined his fingers with mine.

"Between you and Niall, there's romantic tension. It's dripping everywhere. It's... scary, Olivia. It really is." he explained, surprising me. "So yea, Heidi's little tantrum was annoying, but I can see where she's coming from. She felt it, too. We all do."

My eyes roamed on his face as my whole body seemed to throb. His words made me anxious and at the same time, I didn't want him to keep all of this inside. I wanted to tell him that it meant nothing to me, that all he could feel was the dusts of an old love, the vestige of the story of two lovers who didn't work out... but I didn't know if it was the truth. I didn't know anything anymore.

I bent closer and pressed my lips against his. He let me and I deepened the kiss, letting my hand slide on his chest gently.

"I love you. Please, stay tonight." I begged him in a low tone.

"You hate when I leave in the morning." he whispered, his lips still against mine.

"I can make an exception."

It took him a few seconds to answer. I felt his fingers playing with mine and his lips brush against mine gently. I wanted him to agree, I needed him to agree.

"Okay."

#niall horan #niall horan smut #niall horan fluff #niall horan fanfic #niall horan fan fic #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan story #niall horan writing #my fanfics #yam #i changed my mind about one thing last minute lol #and im glad i did #i hope you guys like this chapter

[dovechim]

Power Play (m)

⇥ written as part of the Lights, Camera, Action! pornstar collab ⇤

➾ 27.6k 

➾ warnings: degradation/ humiliation, unprotected sex, creampies, cum eating, thigh riding, ass play, spitting, mentions of religion (porn scene involving a Catholic priest and school girl- please skip over if this offends you!), mentions of impregnation

➾ a/n: thank you so much to my deli fairy @jimlingss for hearing me out when i was ranting about how hard it was to write this. you gave me so much inspiration and motivation to write, and this fic would not be here without you :D @parkmuse you are the absolute mvp for offering to beta read this monster. thank you for validating me when i needed it TT i know you’ll just nut over this so enjoy ;-) and of course!!!! @winetae I'm so happy and grateful to be a part of this collaboration 😭 im honoured to be able to fulfil your porn star dreams :”D 

happy valentine’s day 🌹❤️ 

please do check out the other lovely writers in the collab too!!

➾ summary: You know him as the A lister of all porn stars; a man who sits pretty in his place at the top of the food chain. But you also know him as the Park Jimin who single handedly humiliated you and ruined your own career as a rookie just starting out, the epitome of the biggest dick in the entire industry… and you’re not talking about his assets. But when Park Jimin comes to you, saying he’s in a slump that only you can get him out of and begs you to sign an exclusive contract with him; things get messy… in more ways than one.  

“Longer thrusts, we want to see that cock sliding in and out, and more power please,” the director calls out as Jimin grunts mid thrust. “And watch your expression! You look like you’re fucking a garbage disposal. Get it together, Park!”

Sweat is pouring down his face as he gathers the last bit of his strength to push his co-star’s legs up onto his shoulders. Below him is one of his fellow A listers, the hottest, most on demand porn star in the industry. Everything from Sana’s bouncing, voluptuous breasts to her tiny squeaks and moans should serve as motivation for him and help him to perform his best, but there’s somehow… something lacking.

He’d been wanting to work with Sana for the longest time ever, even his manager was enthusiastic about two top A-listers coming together (no pun intended), but looking down at her now, it’s blatantly obvious that he isn’t as physically attracted to her as he thought.

“Cut, makeup team please,” the director motions for a touchup to be done, and Jimin groans as he pauses his thrusts and a few stylists fuss with his hair and his face. The sweat is carefully sponged off his forehead, the shading on his abs touched up a little, and being in this position, with this many strangers crowding around him nearly makes him go soft inside Sana’s pussy.

“You okay?” Sana frowns in concern as she can feel him start to slide out of her, gripping him with her walls tighter.

Jimin brushes aside her concern with a nod, just as the director calls for them to resume, and he starts pumping his hips into her again, driving deep with every thrust. Something he’s doing must be right, since the director is calling for close up shots and urging him to go faster and harder.

“Money shot in two minutes, Park please get ready,” the script writer reminds him somewhere from behind, and he grunts low in his throat, reaching down to wrap his hands around Sana’s waist to pull her onto his cock more firmly. “When you’re ready, pull out till just the tip. We want a nice big creampie there, tell us if you need the backup…”

Jimin forces himself to go harder, feeling his balls tighten up as he tries to cum on command, something he’s never had trouble with since the beginning of his career. He’s practically built his entire reputation as a porn star on creampies and facials, not to mention he knows he looks like sin incarnate when he throws his head back while he cums.

“Oh fuck, yes,” Sana gasps under him, and when her walls flutter around him, it occurs to Jimin that she’s not acting right now, she’s actually about to cum around him. “Pl-lease cum inside me, I want your cum so bad, fill my pussy up.”

Her passionate moans make her scripted lines even more believable, this is why she’s an A-lister, because she actually enjoys having sex on camera. Hearing her beg for his cum is almost enough to push him over the edge, just almost. But today he needs just a little bit more, so he squeezes his eyes shut and calls to mind a random image from his wank bank.

The first thing that comes to mind is a red plaid skirt under him and his hands around a waist, translucent white shirt stretched tight over small, perky breasts. His gaze travels up to her neck, and just almost reaches her face before—

“Fuck,” Jimin swears under his breath, hopefully disguising it as a grunt of pleasure when he realises that he doesn’t have the money shot today, too distracted by the suddenness of that mental image. He makes a discreet gesture behind his back, hidden from the camera, and that’s when one of the assistants steps in with a tube in between his spread legs.

The tube goes below his cock and inserted shallowly unto Sana’s pussy, so when Jimin groans and jerks himself off with one hand, the assistant pumps the lube up into the tube, making it seem as if Jimin had just blown his load. He feels the lube surround the head of his cock as he attempts a few small thrusts to spread it around a little, make it more realistic, before pulling out.

The fake cum that drips from Sana’s pussy looks far too realistic, that even Jimin himself is amazed. He spreads her lips with both fingers to show the camera the thick white liquid leaking from her, playing with her clit and coating it with the mixture as he rubs her to a final orgasm that makes her walls clench around nothing, squeezing out even more of the fake cum onto the mattress.

And then he moves off the bed as the camera zooms in for the last frame as Sana spreads her legs wide to show off her creamed pussy, fingers dipping into the mess and then licking it clean with her tongue, giggling as she licks her lips.

“Cut!” The director draws the final scene to a close, and just in time too, because Jimin’s cock is going soft even though he didn’t even cum.

Sana flashes him a smile in thanks as she sits up to peer in between her legs, and a few assistants help her to clean up.  

“Hey, you okay?” Manager Sejin hurries over to bring him his robe and a wet wipe, and Jimin shrugs it on silently, swiping half-heartedly at his thighs just to go through the motion of it all before he ties his robe closed and runs a hand through his sweaty hair, adamantly turning his back towards the director who is still talking with a few set assistants and script writers.

Not a few minutes later, the director strides over with a few script writers and exchanges a few laughs and jokes with Sejin, and Jimin is forced to turn around as well.

“The famous Park Jimin, what a show stopper,” he grins, slapping Jimin on the shoulder a few times with a huge grin on his face, seemingly pleased with how the whole shoot went today. “I knew it was a good call casting you and Sana together. You both look like a real on-screen couple! Both hot as fuck with bodies to die for, now that’s what I call chemistry!”

Jimin can only manage a half-hearted smile, which the director is entirely smitten with as he makes promises with Sejin to be in touch for Jimin’s next project soon. If that’s what the director thinks is chemistry, then he hasn’t seen many movies. But then again, what counts as chemistry in the porn industry is totally different from Hollywood. Here, as long as you act like you’re having a good time, say your cheesy lines and cum on command, anything goes.

His teeth sink into his lower lip as he makes his way to the car, getting in without a single word. Fooling the director is one thing, but there’s one person he’ll never be able to fool, and that’s himself. Jimin has never felt as if he was on the verge of losing an erection during a scene. The first five minutes of the car ride is spent in silence as he reproaches himself over and over, and Sejin casts him a wary glance.

“You’re doing it again, aren’t you? Blaming yourself over something that can’t be changed,” Sejin interrupts his thoughts.

“No, it’s just…” Jimin denies it, but gives in a second later. “I was struggling during that last scene. Like really, honestly struggling. I think I’m losing it.”

To admit it out loud might be the scariest thing he’s ever done in his entire life to date. Saying it out loud makes it seem all the more real, and although it might be childish, Jimin thinks that if he keeps all these thoughts buried away in the corners of his mind, then everything will be alright again. All his doubts and insecurities will turn out to be nothing but lies, and everything will be okay.

“I know. I saw,” Sejin says. “Everyone struggles once in a while. What’s important is that you pulled through.”

His sincere words somehow makes Jimin want to keep talking. “I think… I’m tired. Tired of fake cumming in girls, tired of slapping random asses every day. The director said we had fucking chemistry. Can you believe that? Sana and I wouldn’t last two seconds in a science lab.”

Sejin chuckles as Jimin gets himself all worked up, muttering under his breath. “People see what they want to see, kid.”

“Do you remember anything about a girl in a white shirt and red plaid skirt?” Jimin asks suddenly, and Sejin is somewhat derailed by the change in topic, but decides to go along with his plucky charge’s demands. “Maybe one of my ex co-stars?”

“Park, this is porn. Red plaid skirt is a porn category all on its own, you must have fucked at least a dozen girls in that get up. So you gotta be more specific,” Sejin says as he turns into Jimin’s driveway, bringing the car to a stop.

“Oh. Right.” Visibly disappointed, Jimin leans back in his seat for a moment before reaching for the seatbelt to unbuckle it. “Well, thanks for today, hyung. I’ll get going now—“

“Wait, Park, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this for a while now,” Sejin turns to Jimin with a contemplative look on his face. “It’s about a new project I had in mind. I’ve been discussing this with a few people from the brand department, and I think it’ll get you out of your slump.”

“That’s what we thought about Sana, remember?” Jimin fidgets with the tie on his robe. “Who is it this time? Another blonde bombshell? We pretty much exhausted the entire A listers already, so I don’t see who else—“

“Except she’s not an A lister,” Sejin turns and rummages around the mess that is the backseat of his car for a few minutes before pulling out a tablet and unlocking it with a few swipes. “But she’s a rising star. A face you don’t really see that often in porn, and her concept is unique too.”

He clicks open a few folders and swipes through a few albums before he finds what he wants, handing the tablet to Jimin. “Here. This girl. I don’t think you’ve ever worked with her before, but—“

The tablet feels like stone in his hands as he stares at the image, and suddenly, he’s able to put a face to that girl in the white shirt and plaid skirt from earlier. This must be a slightly newer picture, since your hair looks different from how he remembers it. You’re wearing a white lace babydoll set, looking more innocent and pure than anything he’s ever seen in his entire life.

Jimin’s seen way too many girls in lingerie by now, such that he’s almost desensitized to it already. But there’s something different about this picture that makes his blood rush through his veins almost immediately. Unlike the hundreds of girls he’s seen, you’re more modestly covered in this picture, your breasts are fully covered in the delicate cloth, and Jimin has to tear his gaze away from it before his mouth starts to water, the lace allowing him peeks of your skin through the material. The way you’re seated on that chair—luscious thighs spread apart, your pussy just hidden from view—is the most provocative sight he’s ever seen. Your head is propped on your hand and you are looking somewhere off camera in a slightly bored expression, but it enraptures him nevertheless.

“As you can see, her concept isn’t about showing as much skin as possible. Her brand is pretty much the opposite of yours—softcore domination, that is—and since opposites attract, I was thinking a miniseries… that is, if you guys have the chemistry. If you really like her and you gusy can work well together…” Sejin glances over at Jimin to gauge his reaction, only to find him still staring at the picture on the screen with a laser like intensity. The tell-tale bulge in his dress pants makes Sejin burst out in laughter. “I’m guessing little Park approves? What’s with you, popping a boner just by seeing a girl in underwear?”

Jimin sends him a side eyed glare, hastily using the tablet to cover his lap as he mumbles defensively, “it’s leftover from the shoot just now.”

Sejin hits the steering wheel with a victorious fist. “I knew it! I knew you’d like her. When I first saw one of her videos a few days ago, I immediately thought of you. I don’t know why she looked so familiar, but I guess there aren’t many girls doing the modest concept these days—“

“You’re wrong, hyung,” Jimin interrupts before Sejin can get too carried away. “I haveworked with her before, five years ago.” Jimin’s memory is now crystal clear, he remembers that day as if it was yesterday.

“Really? You have?” Sejin frowns in confusion. “I think I’d remember a face like that…”

Jimin sighs as he tosses the tablet into the backseat in resignation. “Your project sounds great and all, but it’ll never work.”

“What? Why?” Sejin fumbles for the tablet again, struggling to understand Jimin’s sudden change in mood.

“Because she hates me to the core. There’s no way she’ll ever agree to work with me.”

“And that’s a wrap, thank you!” The slates clap one last time, and your co-star breaks character immediately to brush his thumb at the corner of your eye to make sure that one bit of cum doesn’t accidentally get inside. Inwardly your heart stops at his tender gesture, as if you hadn’t been on edge the whole scene.

Cha Eun Woo is one of the most handsome porn stars you’ve ever seen. His face is a work of the gods; when he smiles he is all shy boyish charm that has all his older female viewers quaking in their panties (you included), but when he clenches his jaw tight he is anything but a flower boy. You consider it a privilege to get to work with someone like him, and even though this scene isn’t exactly up your alley—bondage and face fucking—you’d do it all over again if it only meant getting to look at his beautiful face.

Eun Woo reaches for the restraints on your wrists and starts undoing them before his manager drapes a robe over him and tries to usher him away. Good looking and has manners? You need to get on that dick immediately, preferably not with a dozen cameras surrounding you.

He insists on undoing at least one side of your restraints before he allows himself to be dragged away by his manager who insists that he has another shoot to get to. He throws you an apologetic smile over his shoulder which you return as one of the set assistants helps you with your wrists and hands you a robe along with a wet wipe for your face. The back view of him isn’t too bad either, in fact it’s just as good as the front. You continue staring till it’s regrettably covered by his robe, and then you migrate your gaze down to his thighs.

You wish you’d written your number on the backs of those hard as steel thighs. Never mind that you don’t have a pen, there’s plenty of cum on your face for you to-

“Done ogling your co-star yet? Didn’t you get enough in the past four hours already?” You sigh in disappointment when your manager finally appears in your field of vision, blocking your view of Eun Woo’s thighs as she hands you a bottle of water.

Regrettably, you unscrew the cap and take a sip, following Wendy to the changing room. “Even a lifetime together with that man wouldn’t be enough.”

Before you enter the changing rooms, there is a flurry of activity behind you and a few screams here and there. You whip your head around, clutching your robe to your chest in terror as the most horrifying scenes cross your mind. Maybe you’ll be burnt alive before you can collect your day’s pay, resigned to a tragic death without ever having a chance to try that new all you can eat buffet. Or maybe it’s a gunman looking to shoot down the most attractive person in this set, and seeing as Eun Woo has left the building long ago-

“It’s Park Jimin, oh my god!!!” Wendy squeals in your ear, abruptly putting an end to your macabre imagination as she scurries towards the set, stopping halfway when she realises your expression has darkened over.

You can spot a gaggle of fangirls- mostly set assistants and even the director himself- crowding around him as he runs an unbothered hand through his silver hair, pushing his dark circle lenses further up his nose as he shoots them a polite smile. Jerk. Asshat. Pretentious bastard. Who the hell wears sunglasses indoors? You hope he trips an invisible crack on the floor and falls flat on his stupid face. Why would an A-lister like Park Jimin be here in the first place?

Just then, the man in question raises his head as if he’s looking for something, and while you can’t exactly be sure, you feel his gaze lock onto you, and you hurriedly turn away to the safety of the changing rooms.

You open your locker to start changing into your shirt dress, your robe half off your frame when you hear the door open. Thinking that it’s Wendy, you don’t bother to speed up your actions at all; she’s seen you naked plenty of times. Sometimes when she breaks into your house to wake you up for morning schedules you don’t even bother putting on clothes till the very last minute, so—

“I must say, you’re a lot hotter than I thought you’d be. You look like you’ve grown a cup size or two.”

The sound of a male voice makes your heart leap into your throat, and you drop everything you’re holding, but thankfully your robe remains clasped under your arms. Park Jimin lowers his sunglasses to the very end of his nose as his eyes linger on every bit of exposed skin, even tiptoeing to get a better look, the bastard.

“Long-time no see, hmm?”

He looks conspicuously out of place in his immaculately pressed dress pants and white silk shirt, arms folded against his chest with an amused look on his face as you scramble to cover yourself up as quickly as you can. Arming yourself with a glare, you turn around to face him fully, your back against the lockers and feeling as if you’re being cornered.

For the first time in five years, you come face to face with the source of all your misery. He looks just as cocky and suave as he did all those years ago when you were just a rookie starting out in the porn industry, fresh faced and hopeful, desperate to make a quick buck to pay off all your tuition fees.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” you deliberately force yourself to turn back to your locker, acting as if his gaze on your back doesn’t bother you in the least. “What are you doing here? It’s not your shoot.”

Jimin looks a little disappointed when you’re decent again. “Why so shy all of a sudden? It’s not like I don’t know what you look like under there. That video where you get titty fucked? They’ve definitely grown a cup or two since then.”

You cast a cursory glance towards the entrance of the changing room, wondering why Wendy isn’t storming in by now. Granted, people in the porn industry are a lot more relaxed when it comes to nudity and personal space. In fact, just last month, management proposed to merge both sexes’ changing rooms into one in favour of an onsite barista serving custom made coffee and drinks, and everyone jumped on that bandwagon like a man with blue balls at an orgy.

Thankfully some people still had brains enough to protest it and overturn that decision.

“As if you’ve ever seen any of my videos,” you tell him with a roll of your eyes, fumbling around for your underwear so that you can get the hell out of there as fast as you can, to spare yourself from any more humiliation in front of this man. “As if that tiny pea brain of yours could contemplate anyone else’s existence other than your own.”

“Ouch, that’s harsh,” Jimin pretends as if you shot him straight in the heart, and you honestly wish you had a gun just so you could. The world would be a much happier place without him.

Jimin bends down to pick something up from the ground, and you’re horrified when you realise that it’s your plain old white cotton bra, the ratty one that’s been in the wash one too many times and may or may not have its underwire poking out. He dangles it from his finger by the strap with an accompanying smirk on his face as he examines it thoroughly, eyes flitting towards your face every now and then.

“Looking for this? I was right. You did grow a cup size.”

You snatch it from him and decide to bite the bullet, shoving your robe off and pulling your shirt dress over your body as fast as you can. You can already feel him gearing up to make a greasy comment about your lack of underwear, but you stop him in his tracks as you slam the locker closed.

“Watch it, Park. My body’s only a free for all when the cameras are on. Apart from that, I charge by the minute.” You swing your tote bag over your shoulder and make a beeline for the doors, but Jimin isn’t letting you get away so easily.

“Then how about I film you with my phone? Does that count?” He grins cheerfully as he whips out his phone from his pocket, but all you see is just sleaze personified on his face. “I’ve never done amateur porn before, but I’d do anything to fuck that pussy of yours.”

The nerve of this guy. Just because he’s an A lister, he thinks he can just show up all willy nilly at someone else’s shoot, scare them while they’re half naked and say these kinds of disgusting, lewd things. Honestly, you have no idea why he’s even here at your shoot in the first place when he could be doing a number of other things instead. Namely, working out and ingesting copious amounts of protein, and also checking himself out in the mirror. You can’t say that you’re intimately familiar with his hobbies, but it seems about right for someone as vain and cocky as Park Jimin.

“In your dreams. Now if you don’t mind, I have other places to be.” You shut him down again as you head outside to look for Wendy’s car.

“I’m serious. I have a preposition for you.” Jimin stops you with a hand on your arm. “A mini-series with me.”

“Save it, Park. Why would I want to do a scene with you?” You wrinkle your nose at him as you unscrew the lid of a bottle of water to take a few sips. “Actually, scratch that. I’d love to do a scene with you. It could be the shortest shoot ever in the history of porn. A tiny dick like yours couldn’t last even an hour. We’d be done in thirty minutes!”

While you are exclaiming in glee to yourself, clapping your hands with mirth at the thought of poor little Park Jimin prematurely ejaculating all over himself while the rest of the set watches on in disappointment, you don’t notice his eyes narrow and his lips press together in a firm line. You’re all too absorbed in the fantasy of watching Park Jimin embarrass himself in front of you and a whole bunch of other people, instead of it being the other way around, for karma to kick his ass and give him what he deserves after all these years.

You turn back to him when a thought suddenly strikes you. “Hey, you were there watching me and Eun Woo today right?”

Jimin folds his arms across his chest, all traces of glee wiped clean from his face. “Yeah… why?”

“Did you see how long he lasted? He didn’t even need a fluffer in between scenes. He fucked me like a pro,” you sigh dreamily, unconsciously gripping the bottle tight as you call to mind how thick his cock was. “And he’s so good looking too. I heard he once sat on a nail and he didn’t even feel a thing. Can you imagine how fine that ass of his must be?”

“My ass is pretty great too…” Jimin mumbles in consternation. “Why won’t you do a scene with me? Look, if it matters that much to you, I’ll even sit on a nail too. I’ll sit on two nails. Just to prove it.”

You don’t hear him over the sound of your phone chiming with a text. Unlocking it to check your messages, you throw in a few random belongings from your locker into your bag and get ready to leave, but Jimin still has more to say.

“My team’s already done the market research and analysis, you’re just that tiny bit short of making it to A list. If we collaborate, I’m pretty sure you’ll sky rocket to fame—“

You shrug his hand away violently, turning to face him with the immense urge to slap him hard. “What if I don’t want to be an A lister? Ever thought of that, Park? I’m no longer a charity case for people like you who’ve had it smooth sailing all along to take pity on. I made it this far on my own merit alone, and I sure as hell don’t need your help now—“

“Is this because I turned you down that one time?”

For someone who hasn’t seen you in five years, Park Jimin sure knows you well enough to hit you where it still hurts. Before you can stop it, the memories of that terrible, awful day come filtering back in despite your feeble attempts to block it out.

“Who’s this?” Park Jimin wrinkled his nose as he glanced at your poor fitting outfit.

You were well aware that your attempt at a sexy schoolgirl outfit didn’t quite meet the mark- it had come out of your own closet after all- but still, there was no reason for him to be quite so harsh, and you were at a loss for words. “I-I’m—“

“Is this my co-star?” Clothed in his perfectly pressed suit with his hair perfectly coiffed and standing at the other end of the table, Jimin glanced off to the side at the camera crew in doubt. At their confirmation, Jimin turned back to you and broke out into laughter. “PD-nim, I know you were aiming for an innocent school girl getting punished, but isn’t this a little too much?”

The entire set went silent, all eyes were on you and Jimin as you pushed yourself into a sitting position. Now that you looked down at yourself, you saw everything that was wrong- your skirt should have been a good three inches shorter, your blouse tighter, and you should have thrown on that pair of knee socks too-

“I-if there’s something wrong with my outfit, o-or my makeup, I’ll fix it real quick, I promise,” you were mumbling, tripping over your words in anxiety. You knew that this was your big break- appearing on screen with someone as famous as Park Jimin would give you the exposure you needed. More pragmatically, that day’s pay alone would be enough to pay off three months of rent that you’d been late on, and buy some much needed food other than instant noodles and bread and-

“This isn’t something that can be fixed with clothes or makeup,” Jimin shook his head as he turned away to walk off set. “PD-nim, I specifically requested a hot co-star right? Not her. She’s just too cute. No one would take her seriously. She looks like she belongs in a church choir! I’d feel like I was committing a cardinal sin. I don’t even think I could get it up!”

And you were left staring at his back as he walked away, pride wounded. You could hear some of the staff whispering amongst themselves, shooting you looks of pity. But the thought of the bills stacking up made you fight back tears and push yourself off the table as you ran after him.

“M-Mr Park, please, I really need this,” you hated the way your voice sounded, hated putting yourself at someone else’s mercy. But having this opportunity disappear right in front of your eyes made you desperate, you were already clutching at straws, right at the end of your rope, and this was all you had. “Just tell me what I need to change. I’ll do anything.”

“Nothing you do could make me want to fuck you.” Jimin shrugged out of your grip as he pushes back the sleeve of his blazer to reveal a gold Rolex on his wrist. He began to unbuckle the watch from his wrist. “Here. Take this. Compensation for your time.”

He threw the watch onto the ground carelessly as he walked away with his hands in his pockets.

You turn to face him fully, clenching your jaw as you force the remnants of the past back where they belong: out of sight and out of mind. “So what if it is? You think just because you’re an A lister everyone is dying to work with you? I wouldn’t work with Mr Four Inches even if you begged me to.”

How the tables have turned; if only someone had told you on that fateful day after Park Jimin left you in tears, that five years later he’d be crawling back and asking you to work with him. But revenge is sweet and a dish best served cold.

“Listen, back then I was an arrogant jerk, and I said things I shouldn’t have,” Jimin removes his sunglasses so that you can see his eyes now, and it actually looks as if the bastard is truly sorry. Too bad a mere apology won’t fix things now; neither will it negate all the hardship you went through just to make a name for yourself. “Just tell me what it’ll take for you to agree to work with me. I’m open to anything.”

You take a step closer to him, securing yourself a front row seat to the guilt and remorse that plays out on his face as he averts his gaze downwards. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for the past five years, even fantasised about it while going to bed hungry only to wake up at the crack of dawn the next morning to get to your shoot by yourself. This is the moment that makes all that suffering worth it.

“Nothing you do could make me want to fuck you.”

On days that you don’t have a schedule, your guilty pleasure is lying in bed doing nothing. Maybe scroll through some social media on your phone. Go back to sleep for a couple of hours. Nothing strenuous like getting out of bed even for food though. And besides, no one ever visits you other than your manager anyway.

So when your doorbell rings on your day off, you groan and push yourself out of bed, taking a whole five minutes just to muster the energy to get to your feet. Your body is still healing and recovering from your last session with Eun Woo—the script had called for some love bites and marks, and you have to let them fade a little before you can do your next shoot.

You stumble to the door and open it, only to find Park Jimin at your doorstep.

“What the fuck are you doing here? How did you know where I live?” You’re almost instantly awake now, fumbling for your phone. “Get the fuck out of here, or I’m calling the police.”

“Wait, please,” Jimin pushes against the door as you attempt to slam it in his face. “Just hear me out. Five minutes, that’s all. Please.”

Something about the tone of his voice makes you hesitate, and Jimin is able to shove the door open a little wider and wedge his body in between the small space. You’re pressed up intimately against him, much closer than you’d like to be, so you back away immediately just to put some distance in between you. You should have kicked this cocky bastard out when you had the chance.

To put aside his pride and humble himself, coming all the way to your doorstep to beg for you to hear him out takes more out of Jimin than he’d ever thought. But your moment of hesitation means a chance for him, and he’ll take it.

“The clock is ticking,” you show him the timer on your phone as you cross your arms.

Jimin almost laughs, he never thought you’d actually be timing him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, figuring that the simplest approach is the best one. “Look, I’m not going weave you a sob story about how much I’ve changed since then, since you most likely won’t buy it anyway. Instead of that, I’ll be honest with you. I’m in a slump.”

You snort with laughter as you cross your arms, leaning back against the counter. This isn’t all too bad, seeing Park Jimin get all desperate in front of you actually helps close those wounds a little. “The great Park Jimin, most sought after porn star in the entire industry, in a slump? Yeah, right. Tell that to your viewers, tell that to someone who actually cares.”

“It’s true,” Jimin insists, and he clenches his fists tight. As much as it hurts him to admit it, he knows this is the only way he’ll ever have a chance of getting through to you. “I know it may not seem like it but I… I’m just sick of fucking a random girl every day. Every shoot feels like a blur, and I’m just… not happy with my performance. If you watch any of my recent videos, I-“

“Watch your videos? Why would I want to watch someone with a tiny dick acting like he’s got it all?” You toss your hair over your shoulder as you walk towards the kitchen. Since you’re up, you might as well get something to eat. “Hey, I have a question. How does the cameraman manage to get a good shot with your big head in the way?”

Okay, he definitely deserves all this, but that doesn’t mean that your insults don’t hurt. Jimin follows a few steps behind you, casting a surreptitious glance downwards. Is his dick really that small? He knows he doesn’t conform to the porn industry norm of seven and up, but he knows he’s got a good girth, and none of his co-stars have ever complained about his size…

“Just… please. It’s not like you aren’t getting anything out of this either, you’ll get on the A list in no time-“

“Do you think that’s what I really want? To get on that fucking A list?” You shoot back at him, fury reignited once more at the mention of rankings. Someone like Park Jimin would never understand how hard you had to work just to get here. And why to be offered a leg up to ride on his coattails is all the more insulting. “Even if it meant more money, even if it meant more fame, I’d rather die than be on that list, if it’ll make me turn into someone like you, who looks down on others beneath them. Newsflash: not everyone is as obsessed with rankings as you are. Some of us are happy with things the way they are, if it’s enough to get by on, then that’s all I need.”

Jimin looks as if he’s been slapped, and his eyes dart around uncertainly, well aware of your indignance, but having no idea how to proceed from this point on. “I’m sorry if I made it sound like that. I was just trying to help you out too, but I-“

“Thanks, but I don’t need it,” you shove his chest, pointing to the door. “Get out of my sight.”

“I haven’t had an orgasm in ages, alright?” Jimin finally exhales in defeat, shoulders slumping as he admits the one thing that he hasn’t told anyone, not even his manager. “And you can laugh at me all you want, and I deserve it, but it’s hard to even get it up these days. There’s only so many pills you can take before it starts to fuck with your health, and if that snowballs, there goes my entire career, my everything-“

Jimin cuts himself off, turning to face you with an inscrutable look on his face.

His sudden confession has you stumped, and you struggle to find the right words as you stare at the man that has been the bane of your existence during the most difficult time of your life. Your first instinct is to mock him and gloat over his misfortune, but the man standing in front of you isn’t the Park Jimin that you know and hate- making fun of him now wouldn’t be morally right. You know of plenty of porn stars who’d been through the entire system and come out the other side worse for wear.

“So? What does that have to do with me? What makes you think I’m the miracle cure to all your problems?”

Jimin is encouraged when you don’t immediately chase him out or laugh at him. To think of how the tables have turned since five years ago makes him feel like an utter jerk- he hadn’t even given you the time of day back then. You’re a better person than he could ever be.

“I’m attracted to you. Physically, at the very least.” Jimin doesn’t have anything to lose now as he shrugs. He’s always been shameless to a large extent. “I popped a boner for the first time on my own when my manager showed me your photo.”

Now this is just plain ridiculous. Your eyes immediately drop to his crotch out of instinct, and the greasy little shit actually smirks. Before you can avert your gaze, he grabs his own dick through his dress pants, and your cheeks immediately heat up as you look away.

“And you expect me to believe that? Out of all the girls you’ve fucked, you’re not attracted to any single one of them, but you pop a tiny little boner for me?” You clear your throat hastily, trying to get your cheeks to cool down. It feels as if the room suddenly became a few degrees hotter, and-

“Why not? Is it that hard to believe?” Jimin shrugs as if it’s no big deal, leaning against your kitchen counter as he watches you gulp an entire glass of water.

“Listen, Park. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, or if this is just one of your tricks to humiliate me again-“

“I’ll prove it!” Jimin is at his wits end, the timer on your phone ran out what seemed like ages ago, and he’s getting kicked out any second now.

“Prove what?” You turn around, and nearly drop the glass you’re holding.

Park Jimin is most definitely not Mr Four Inches. His pants are bunched up around his thick thighs- you’re privy to the very intimate fact that Park Jimin likes to go commando when he wears dress pants- and his dick is standing straight at attention. Even though he must have only been half hard when he grabbed himself just a few minutes ago, right now he is sporting a full erection, and you can’t help but stare at his one-eyed monster with a horrified look on your face.

You’ve seen many dicks in porn while sucking and fucking your way to the top. Park Jimin’s dick should not have this effect on you. But for some reason you can’t take your eyes off it no matter how hard you try, you can’t meet his eyes. “Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

This at least seems to shake his confidence a little. “Wh-what do you mean? If you’re talking about the underwear, it’s good for my balls-”

“How are you hard that fast? Just a second ago you were-“ you cut yourself off as you close your eyes, massaging your throbbing temples. It feels as if you’ve aged ten years since Park Jimin showed up at your house and flashed you his dick in your kitchen.

“This isn’t even my final form yet, if you show me your pussy I can-“

“Did you get a boner just from arguing with me? Wait, you know what, I don’t care. I really don’t care. Just get out. There are knives in this kitchen and I’m not afraid to use them. In fact, I have this special knife I like to use just for long things like pickles and sausages.”  You mime a chopping action while staring directly at his exposed dick, and Jimin winces, covering himself instinctively.

Grabbing him by his ear, you half drag him to the door, giving him almost no time to pull his pants up before you toss him out on his ass. Tomorrow you’re putting in a request to end your lease and shift somewhere into the corner of the city so he’ll never be able to harass you again.

That’s the last you’ll ever see of Park Jimin.

You must be drunk. You must be out of your mind.

At least one of the above is true, judging from the almost empty bottle of wine on the table, and if sitting in front of your computer browsing porn in your underwear is considered normal, then you can write off the second one.

But this still doesn’t account for the fact that you’re on Jimin’s homepage scrolling through his top ten most popular videos, learning from his bio the very precise measurements of his dick. And very bizarrely, the fact that he has an especially tiny pinky is… cute?

There must be a virus on your computer. How else would you explain the fact that your mouse is moving of its own volition towards the most popular video on his page and clicking on it? Someone must be controlling your computer from a remote location, forcing you to watch porn videos of this stupid punk who probably can’t even last more than a minute max-

No, no, you can’t do this. You close your eyes tightly as the video buffers. You’ve never seen a single video of his in your entire life, and you’d do anything to keep it that way. But then the sound of Jimin’s low grunts and whines forces your eyes open again, and you’re met with an intimate view of his spread legs as he wraps one hand around his cock. The sight of his precum dripping over his knuckles as he grips himself harder makes you squeeze your thighs together in response. From this perspective his balls look so tightly drawn and swollen, and your mouth waters at the prospect of taking them into your mouth, wondering how he tastes like.

There is a giggle from a girl offscreen, and Jimin looks off to the side with a smirk on his face, spreading his thick thighs wider and letting his cock fall against his abs with a heavy thump. “Your pussy looks so tight, you sure you can take me?”

The camera pans to his female co-star, and you recognise her to be Sana, top A-lister who has a body to die for. She giggles and spreads her lips, lowering herself down on Jimin’s cock as he hooks his arms under her knees. Sana leans back against Jimin’s chest as he begins to fuck into her roughly, her stuffed pussy front and center on camera as her breasts bounce and she screams and cries his name.

Your underwear is suspiciously wet, and you shift uncomfortably, unable to take your eyes off his cock, pumping in and out of her pussy. Sana is actually one of your role models, and you’ve seen enough of her videos to know when she’s putting on an act and when she’s truly screaming her head off from being dicked down so hard. They change positions several times, and it looks as if she manages to have an orgasm every single time.

You forward to the end, somehow curious to see Park Jimin’s famous money shot. The last thirty seconds of the video shows Jimin’s tip buried in her pussy as he jerks off furiously, sweat shining on his abs as he grunts. Sana is egging him on, asking him to cum inside her, and Jimin complies with a groan, giving a few thrusts with his hips as white liquid begins to seep out around Sana’s pussy. You recognise it immediately as the fake stuff even as Jimin thrusts a few times to make it more realistic, before pulling out. The camera switches angles to focus on his fingers that are pulling her lips apart, exposing her to the camera as he leisurely plays with the fake cum, licking his lips and following the stream of cum with his eyes as it drips from her.

The close up shot of his face doesn’t lie- Park Jimin is one hell of an actor. If he hadn’t told you he was struggling, you’d be entirely fooled by the way he’s kissing Sana’s inner thighs on-screen, post orgasm glow on his rosy cheeks as he praises her for taking his cum so well. Jimin’s face is lit up with reverence and fascination as he runs his fingers through her used cunt, spreading his cum around and using it to rub her clit. The camera then focuses on Sana’s face, gasping and writhing from Jimin’s fingers, but the sound of his voice telling her to cum like the dirty girl she is, suck up all his cum deep inside where it belongs, steals your attention.

You can’t help but start to fan yourself. The soothing lilt of Jimin’s baritone voice is enough to make you feel like he’s actually talking to you right through the screen. With Sana’s face cut off from the frame, it’s easy to just close your eyes and immerse yourself in his praise, like some kind of ASMR porn. Your panties are unbelievably sticky. Now you know just why Park Jimin is an A lister, not because of his good looks or just Lady Luck smiling down on him, or god forbid, his not-as-small-as-you-thought dick. He is truly talented, he works hard, and he knows he’s good at what he does.

As much as you hate to admit it. But you are a person who gives credit where credit is due.

If what he says is true- that partnering with you will go a long way in helping his performance- then you wonder just how well this man can fuck. But yet… collaborating with him would mean having to deal with his insufferable cockiness, not to mention that you’ve already seen enough of him to last a lifetime by now.

But the stickiness between your thighs that just begs for your attention conjures up the filthiest, nastiest thoughts of what it would be like for Jimin to actually say all those things to you. Since everyone says he’s just that good at his job, why shouldn’t you test him out for yourself to see if he really lives up to his name? It’ll be like test driving a car with no intention to buy it whatsoever. Or just going to the showroom for the free biscuits and coffee. No commitment, no getting involved, nothing.

Easy as pie.

A part of you hesitates as you reach for your phone, fingers hovering over the send button long after you’ve typed out your message. Indecision has always been your weak spot.

Oh fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen? You hit the button and send the message to your manager before giving in to temptation and reaching for the rarely used vibrator that you stash away at the corner of your desk drawer.

Tell Park I’m in.

“Mr Park will see you now,” the receptionist gestures you toward a meeting room down the hallway, and you have to force yourself to aim a friendly smile at her instead of just turning right around and leaving immediately. 

After having been made to wait a good ten minutes past the agreed meeting time- you can see through the damn meeting room’s glass doors that Jimin is just twiddling his thumbs, doing absolutely nothing at all- you utterly regret your decision. You should never have agreed to work with this prideful asshole.

Park Jimin is absolutely obnoxious. You’ll bet a hundred bucks that he told the poor receptionist to quote that line from Fifty Shades. 

“Well well well… look who we have here,” Jimin grins smugly from his seat when you enter, legs spread wide so that your eyes are forced to take in the broad expanse of his well-muscled thighs and slowly travel up… up to-

Already beyond annoyed that you had to come all the way here- your number one rule when it comes to men and business is to let them come to you- you plop yourself down on the plush sofa, feeling out of place in your denim skirt and white shirt. Jimin, as usual, is dressed to the nines, white dress pants stretched tight over his thighs, and his light blue shirt draping slightly off one shoulder.

“What made you change your mind?” Jimin twirls a pen with interest as he crosses one leg over the other, nodding his thanks when a man clad in a full suit sets a tray with tea and coffee on the table. “Let me guess. I’ll bet it was my dick. It was, wasn’t it?”

This man is so full of himself, it makes your temples pound immediately. Yet, you can’t bring yourself to disagree entirely, even as you try not to gape at how luxurious Jimin’s label company is. This entire room alone is bigger than your company’s entire office, and you’ve most certainly never been served tea and biscuits at a contract negotiation before.

“I’m…” you fumble around for a plausible excuse to feed him even as you panic a little. “I’m adopting a cat!”

Jimin’s brows furrow in slight confusion. “O-ookay?”

You want to kick yourself. When you go home today, you need to write out a list of excuses to use in a pinch when cocky bastards ask if you like their dicks. Jimin looks amused as he raises his eyebrows, that stupid infuriating smirk telling you that he sees through your excuse as if it’s nothing but cling wrap. But you’ve made your bed. And now you have to lie in it. “A-and I figured the extra money couldn’t hurt.”

“How much money does one need to adopt a cat?” Jimin queries, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees now. The stupid little punk has a tiny smirk on his lips, but his eyes seem as if he is genuinely curious.

“It’s a… a very expensive cat, a purebred,” you say defensively. You’re just pulling all this out of your ass now, but you can’t, refuse to back down. “He’s gonna need lots of vet checks and toys and um… cat things.”

“Cat things. Right. Very expensive, those. I would know, since I know pussies very intimately.” Jimin nods, the corners of his lips twitching as he struggles to fight back a grin.

“You told her to say that, didn’t you,” you accuse him, desperate to change the subject. “On purpose, just to annoy me.” 

Jimin merely raises his brows, taking a slow sip of his tea and staring at you from over the rim of his cup. Stupid, cocky, obnoxious, handsome bastard. 

You roll your eyes and tilt your chin toward the reception. “’Mr Park will see you now’.”

Jimin’s eyes light up with mirth immediately as he sets his cup down, licking his lips, feigning innocence. Or ignorance. Or both. “I’m not sure what you mean by that... she is a receptionist, and that is her job, so I’m not sure why you’d think-”

“You were waiting in here doing nothing for ten minutes!” You finally explode, pointing a finger at him. “I fucking saw you through the glass door!”

Jimin seems to be utterly amused by your explosive anger, and he only shrugs nonchalantly. He has this stupid shit eating grin on his face as he revels in your irritation.

“Ah yes, that. I was meditating, you see. Very good way of calming the mind and the body,” Jimin is still grinning from ear to ear as he twiddles his thumbs. “Speaking of, you might want to try it yourself. Maybe you can get rid of some of that... pent up anger.” 

You are still fuming at him, grabbing a biscuit off the plate and popping it into your mouth, chewing silently for a few minutes as you continue to seethe. Jimin admits you look cute like this- cheeks puffed out from chewing- bickering with you is actually fun, and it’s entertaining to see how easily he can rile you up. 

Jimin silently praises himself for coming up with that idea, beyond pleased that Sandra came through as promised- if only he could have seen the look on your face when she said that to you. 

He clears his throat, resting his arms on his knees and lacing his fingers together. “Anyway, before you sign anything, I just wanted you to know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Immediately, you narrow your eyes in suspicion, turning your knees away from his lewd gaze as he eats up the expanse of your legs with his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I’m sure you know by now, after much… research,” Jimin pauses to lick his lips- that bastard knows exactly what he’s insinuating- as he uncrosses his legs. “You’ll know all about my style, and I guess you could call it a brand that I made for myself. Mainly I do submissive and occasionally softcore dom-“

“Wait, what?” You nearly spit out your coffee. Images of your late night ‘research’ session assault you, and although you would never admit it, Park Jimin is anything but submissive and softcore dom. You remember being awed at his hidden strength as he tosses his girls around, bending them into positions that give the camera the best view, almost felt the stinging sensation of his spanks on your own ass, the sharp bite of his teeth sinking into your own skin, marking you all over. His girls end up thoroughly fucked and marked, and his trademark is that his videos always end with a leaking pussy. Jimin likes to play around with the cunts that he’s fucked, tongue lingering teasingly around his girls’ inner thighs, almost but never quite coming close to licking up the mess that he just made. The video would always cut to black in a very unsatisfying manner, and that’s how you found yourself clicking from one video to another in the hopes of finding one where he actually eats his own cum. Or the fake cum, that is.

“You? Submissive? Softcore?” You nearly snort with laughter. “Maybe in your next lifetime, Park-“

The shit eating grin that spreads across his face lets you know that you’ve been caught red handed. Park Jimin pushes himself off his seat to join you on the sofa, crowding into your space as he sits so close to you that his thigh brushes yours. One arm goes around the back of the sofa to curl around you, and the other casually rests on your bare knee. His agonizingly plump lips just brush against the shell of your ear. “Caught you, princess. Been watching my videos? No wonder you look like you didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“I wasn’t- I just…” words elude you for the nth time today, and a bubble of frustration rises in your chest. Just what is it about this man that makes you so tongue tied, when usually you have no problem saying whatever comes to mind?

“What if I told you I’ve watched every single one of your videos too?” Jimin’s lips ghost across your cheek, following your jawline. “And I like the ones where it’s just you on camera. Your lips sucking my cock, eyes tearing up because I’m fucking your mouth so good. Your pussy getting creamed and filled up so that it leaks everywhere. Your ass bouncing on my cock while you whine and moan because you’re just that. fucking. tight.”

You do all you can to keep your breathing level, even though your body reacts instinctively to his words just as it had the night before. The tone of his voice, the filth that spews from his sweet plush lips awakens your lust once more, lust that you spent the better part of last night trying to quench. The difference is, this time Park Jimin is actually here whispering these words into your ear and you can reach out and just-

His thigh feels like steel under your touch. You slide your fingers up till you almost reach the apex as his breaths on your neck cause your nipples to harden and ache for his tongue.

Abruptly, Jimin draws away with a satisfied smirk on his lips. “There. I think I gave you just a tiny little taste of the weeks to come hmm? Now, let’s go over the contract together, shall we?”

The contract ended up to be pretty standard, nothing you’ve never seen before, except for the exclusive part. You’re bound to Jimin for three shoots exclusively, and over the span of these shoots, you’re not allowed to take on any other projects, and neither is he. As for the actual script and content of each shoot, Jimin left it open to negotiation. But having spent the past few years doing every single porn cliché imaginable, you’re pretty much fresh out of ideas and don’t really mind leaving it up to Jimin, as long as he runs it through you for your approval first. A part of you is actually even a little curious to see what he can cook up that he hasn’t already done.

And with that, you’d just entered an exclusive contract with your nemesis, the man you swore you’d never fuck. He’d turned you down all those years ago and left you high and dry, what’s to say that he won’t do the same again this time? For years after you’d cringe at yourself when you look in the mirror, forced yourself to fight through the crippling panic attacks before every single shoot as his words come to mind again and again.

Everyone is their own worst critic, but your own self-degradation is only bolstered by the ghost of his words uttered when you were at your lowest. Even the memory of letting someone see you at your most desperate and dire causes a physical shudder to run through your body. Never again will you be in such a position.

But at least now if he decides to revert back to his arrogant self again, you’ll be protected by the contract you signed. You’ll make sure to sue his balls off.

When Jimin emails you the first script, you’re too shocked for words when you read through it. It’s nothing he’s ever done before, at least not from what you remember. The premise is you as a high end prostitute being rented out exclusively by CEO Jimin, only he’s found out that you’ve been seeing other customers behind his back. His lines are definitely not soft-core, nowhere near it. It is degrading, slightly humiliating, and there is plenty of name calling.

Just the thought of letting Jimin have the upper hand in this scene brings back all the unpleasant memories, and bile threatens to rise in your throat. It seems like he wasn’t joking when he said he likes to dominate his girls. You know you could always just write him back and tell him that it’s too much, too fast for you. While Jimin might be an insufferable bastard with the biggest ego you’ve ever seen, he isn’t unprofessional. He’ll change the script if you tell him to, no questions asked.

But a stubborn part of you is desperate to prove to him that the events of five years ago no longer hold any power over you. To show him, and maybe yourself too, that you’ve long ago moved on from it. You don’t want to run from it anymore, and the best way to do it would be to accept this script, willingly put yourself in a subservient position below the man who’d rejected and humiliated you all those years ago.

You sigh and reach for a bottle of wine before you read any further. Why can’t moving past trauma be as easy as finishing an entire bottle of wine by yourself?

Nursing a glass of wine, you read on. The kinks… oh god.  Spanking, for one. There’s also a part where you’re required to do a lapdance for him, accompanied with stripping. As you read through both your parts, you try and visualise the entire scene in your head. There’s no way you’ll be able to dance confidently, that’s for sure. The rest of it is a slight stretch, but for now that’s the only change you want to make, and you type back a brief line to Jimin.  

And then, there’s nothing left to do but search for strip tease videos and learn the heck out of them.

Doing a shoot with Park Jimin has its perks.

Proper make-up artists, for one. And an actual chair to sit in while your hair and makeup gets done professionally. There’s even a manicurist on call who gives you a quick touch up when she sees your bare nails. And the wardrobe… usually the lingerie that gets shoved at you is two sizes too small, scratchy and doesn’t fit well, and even once or twice looks like it hasn’t been washed. But today the stylists prepared a custom fit scarlet lace bralette that supports you just right, enhancing your natural cleavage and making you more confident than you’ve ever been about your tits. The lace of it just skims your waist, accentuating the petite curve of it, while the low rise panties come with matching garters. You’re also given a black lace see through cardigan to drape over your shoulders, and overall the entire outfit is very tasteful, very much your style of not exposing too much skin.

As you sit in the chair and go over the script one last time, you can’t help but feel the nerves right in the pit of your stomach. The makeup artists are working their magic on you, transforming you into an entirely different person altogether, so when you look at yourself in the mirror, it feels foreign. After they’re done, you ask to be left alone just for a moment so you can calm yourself down.

“Hey… how’re you doing?” Wendy approaches you and places her hands on your shoulders from behind. “Okay? Nervous?”

You put on a brave smile for her, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “No, not nervous. I mean, maybe a little.”

“It’s normal,” she reassures you, kneading your shoulders to get at the tense knots. “You’ve never done something so… intense. Actually, I was surprised you even accepted it in the first place.”

You give her a muted shrug as you focus on looking through your script. You haven’t seen Jimin since stepping on set, assuming that he is off somewhere also getting his hair and makeup done.

The director’s assistant pops her head in soon after to let you know that it’s time for the preliminary lighting checks. Placing your script on the table in front of you, you take a deep breath, meeting your own eyes in the mirror once more before sliding your feet into your four inch black heels that you’d been given and making your way to the main set area.

Today’s set is simple- what looks like the interior of a bachelor’s pad. The first scene takes place in the living room over the sofa, and you wait awkwardly by the side for the director’s cue. You notice Jimin laughing and joking with him from afar, giving him a brief side hug before he notices you staring at him and makes his way over.

“Morning,” your co-star greets you with a lazy half smile, and you wobble on your heels, nearly twisting an ankle. Irritated with yourself, you bite your lip hard.

Jimin reaches out to steady you with his hands on your waist through the flimsy material of your cardigan, and when he sees what you’re wearing, he raises an eyebrow in approval. He doesn’t take his hands off your waist, seeing it fit to pull you into his body so that you can feel his hips against yours. You can feel the ice cold metal of his rings on your skin, and it makes you shiver. Jimin doesn’t look all that different since he is wearing a suit, but his hair is slicked back and his makeup dark and smouldering. He exudes an aura of power and control.

“Morning,” you mutter back, taking a step away from him and averting your gaze to calm your racing heart.

Jimin lets you go with a chuckle, but then he glances down at your heels. “Are those bothering you? You should take them off if it’s uncomfortable.”

A little taken aback at his sudden concern, you glance down at your feet. “It’s fine. Maybe later, during the strip tease. For this scene I won’t really be standing much anyway.”

Jimin hums an agreement as he absent mindedly plays with his rings, briefly directing his attention to the set technicians as they adjust the lighting and check the camera angles. Having his eyes off you sets you at ease a little, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, causing Jimin to turn to you.

“You look a little tense,” he comments, noting your crossed arms and hunched shoulders. “Was there anything else you wanted me to change in the script? I’m still open to last minute changes. Don’t force yourself to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I’m serious about that, I’ll handle everything with the director, so don’t hesitate.”

At the mention of the director, you turn your head toward where he is currently surrounded by a few script writers. This director is known for being short tempered and very direct, although of course Jimin has an excellent relationship with him. The director probably doesn’t even know who you are, doesn’t care about a nobody like you.

“Nothing?” Jimin raises his eyebrows. “Last chance to cop out before you forget everything but my name.”

The bastard is grinning like a Cheshire cat now, and in spite of your nerves, it actually sets you at ease to see Jimin acting the way you’ve always known him to be.

“Please. I think it’s you who should be nervous,” you roll your eyes at him, glancing at his crotch pointedly. The material of his dress pants are dark so you can’t really tell if he’s hard or not. “Little Park up to the task today? Or maybe you need me to flash you first? Are you gonna cum once you see my tits?”

The back and forth banter feels familiar. It feels right.

“Are you offering a sneak peek? I’m not in a position to turn that down, although…” Jimin actually reaches forward to grab your hand and pull it to his crotch, and you gasp when you’re met with his semi-erect state. “I’ll make you eat your words today.”

The playful glint in his eyes makes you forget about everything you were nervous about.

“Maybe you should have written in some against the wall action,” you direct your gaze down to his covered thighs. “Your thighs and ass look like they need some work.”

Jimin just laughs as if the thought had never occured to him before. He does suppose his ass has got a little flat recently... and Jimin can think of more than one way to get his famous bubble butt back. One that involves you being naked, on his back while he does some squats.

“You’ll be seeing plenty of my ass and thighs, I assure you,” he lowers his voice as his lips brush against the shell of your ear. 

One of the assistant producers directs you on set, and you walk ahead of Jimin and take up your opening position against the back of the sofa. Jimin follows and crowds up against you, every inch of his body against yours as you spread your thighs to accommodate him. He presses his nose into the crook of your neck, his hand running up your side and lifting your cardigan so that your ass is exposed. He cups your cheek with his other hand, and up close like this, it’s actually quite magical to witness Park Jimin getting into character.

All traces of humour and boyish playfulness fades, and in its place is a poker face: eyes hard and unforgiving, jaw clenched with a muscle that jumps in his cheek. His grip around your waist is punishing and no doubt leaving finger marks, yet the way he strokes your cheek is completely opposite; a gentle caress with his thumb on your chin, playing with your bottom lip. Your heart skips a beat from how cold his gaze is. 

The director gives his approval for the cameras to start rolling. “Scene one, action!”

“My favourite whore,” Jimin mumbles with a slow smile, eyes dipping down to appreciate your cleavage from his vantage point. His hand leaves your cheek to tangle in your hair, giving it a few firm tugs as the camera focuses on your side profiles. “I’ve missed that mouth of yours around my cock so much.”

He reaches to push the lace cardigan off your shoulders, and it falls to your feet, exposing you to the camera and also to his gaze. Wearing a devious smirk, you let one bra strap fall off your shoulder. “I missed you too, Mr Park.”

“Oh really?” He comments with a raised eyebrow when the other strap falls down too, and you lean forward to show off your cleavage to the camera circling the both of you. “Then maybe you’d care to explain why one of my acquaintances just bragged to me mere hours ago about fucking that sweet pussy of yours?”

As the script calls, you freeze immediately in his gaze. But there is no need for you to put on any sort of pretense, because the look on Jimin’s face is enough to make your heart skip a few beats. He looks genuinely displeased, unimpressed with the little show you’re putting on for him that it makes you doubt if you’re doing a good job at playing the sultry prostitute or not.

He makes his way over to the couch, sitting with his thighs spread, motioning you to stand in between them.

“I-I wasn’t, Mr Park, I just-“

“Save it, dollface,” he waves your excuse away with a disappointed sigh. His eyes travel the length of your body passively. “The terms and conditions of being my whore were clear, were they not? Surely even a slut that’s as cock hungry as you would understand how many girls out there would kill to be my personal fuck toy. I don’t share my toys, and I don’t fuck sloppy seconds either.”

Jimin waits a beat or two before he continues, his voice now a low growl. “Take your panties off, turn around, and bend over. I want to see your pussy.”

Trembling in your heels, you do as he says, inching the lace fabric down over your hips as the camera relocates behind you. The humiliation that burns on your cheeks is real even though you keep reminding yourself that it’s just a scene. You bend over so that your chest touches your thighs, putting yourself fully on display for him. You can only imagine what kind of view the camera; and by extension, Jimin, is getting now.

“Spread your lips with your fingers. Let me see inside,” he demands, and you reach back to pull apart your already damp pussy lips with both hands.

“Look at that,” Jimin marvels. “Didn’t even bother to clean up before you came over to fuck me. What a fucking cumslut you are, you let him cum in your pussy? You think you could fool me? Make me take disgusting sloppy seconds?”

There is a hitch in your breath when Jimin goes slightly off script, mentioning cum that isn’t in your pussy. Thankfully you aren’t too far gone to think on your feet. “N-no Sir! I made him use a condom.”

A sudden sharp sting on your ass elicits a cry from you.

“It still doesn’t excuse your behaviour. In case you forgot, I’ll remind you again. Your. Pussy. Is. Mine.” Jimin punctuates each word with a slap, causing you to wobble on your heels as your walls clench around nothing. “Dripping for me already?”

You can feel your pussy start to drip down your inner thighs, and a blush heats up your cheeks involuntarily.

“Why don’t you get on my thigh and show me how sorry you are, and maybe I’ll consider letting you suck my cock. And lose the bra.”

Scrambling to kick off your underwear, you turn around to face Jimin again, and he is leaning back against the sofa, a proud smirk on his lips as he spreads his thighs invitingly. You manage to take a few steps towards him before Jimin grabs your waist and pulls you down, situating his firm, thick thigh right against your bare center. Embarrassingly, you can feel yourself start to soak through his dress pants almost immediately as he watches your chest heave with an unimpressed raise of his eyebrow.

Jimin tugs down the lace cups of your bra to expose your breasts, pinching your nipples harshly. “What’s a slut like you doing wearing underwear? Cumwhores like you should go around with a bare pussy, since you like cock so much, hmmm? Don’t you think?”

With his hands around your hips securing you on his lap, Jimin makes eye contact with you for a brief second to check your reaction. Imperceptibly, his thumb brushes against your skin softly, and the touch reassures you that it’s all just for the camera, and you relax slightly.

“Yes, sir,” you whisper as you arch your hips up, showing the camera your pussy and Jimin’s soaked lap.

“Good girl, now grind like you mean it,” Jimin spits onto your right nipple, watching perversely as his saliva drips over your erect bud, soaking the red lace.

With a moan, you begin to work your hips against his thigh, feeling his muscles tense to give you just the right amount of friction. Your clit rubs against him just right, and Jimin reaches down to spank your ass before he gropes it lewdly.

“That’s it… fuck, I knew a whore like you’d be good at this. Show me how much you want my cock. Look at your dirty pussy, you made such a mess of me.” He spreads your ass cheeks apart to show the camera your tight asshole, and you lift your hips for a moment to grant your poor clit some reprieve before you cum prematurely like a rookie. Jimin reprimands you with a sharp slap. “Did I say you could stop, whore?”

With a barely concealed whimper, you lower your cunt onto his thigh and start to grind again, but Jimin shoves you off roughly, and you land on the couch with your thighs spread, pussy already red and swollen. Jimin pushes himself to his feet with a disappointed sigh as he looks at you, utterly unimpressed as he delivers a spank to your clit, followed by three more. You sob and cry for mercy, thighs quivering as you jerk and wriggle on the couch, trying to close your legs.

“Keep your fucking legs spread, or I’ll have to tie you to a spreader bar,” Jimin growls as he digs his nails into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. His eyes are hard, cruel and cold as he spanks you a few more times. “Sluts like you should know how to keep their legs spread right?”

“Please, Sir, please,” you pant and whine, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes as he soothes the crescent shaped indents with a caress.

“Give me one reason why you deserve my cock. A dirty little whore like you who fucks every man she meets.” Jimin slaps your clit again before spitting at it in disgust. You can feel his saliva on your clit, dripping down over your slit. “That’s all you are; a desperate, cock hungry slut.”

“M-make it yours,” you gasp, thighs trembling in Jimin’s grasp even as your breath comes in uneven heaves, cheeks burning in humiliation that is all too real. “Make my cunt yours, Sir.”

“Should I?” Jimin pretends to consider for a moment, and the ice cold sensation of his rings against your skin are the only thing keeping you sane right now. Your cunt is throbbing, desperate for any kind of relief, you are covered in sweat, tears and Jimin’s spit, utterly wrecked and he hasn’t even taken off a single article of clothing yet. “We’ll see how well you suck cock, whore. Get up.” 

“And cut!” The director calls an end to the first scene, and Jimin immediately releases his grip on your thighs.

The director’s voice is like a wakeup call, and you take in the sight of the cameras and crew surrounding you with a renewed clarity. The cut came at a good time; for a moment there you almost forgot that this is merely a scene from a porn script, and it’s never happened to you before. Your breaths are coming in harsh pants and you recognise that you are about to hyperventilate if you don’t regulate your breathing soon.

You push yourself to a seating position and close your thighs, taking a moment to regain your senses as Jimin crouches in front of you. He is fussing with a tissue at your tearstained cheeks even though there are two make-up artists hovering behind him, and you are thrown off by this 180 degree change.

“I didn’t hurt you did I?” Jimin frowns as he glances at your thighs. “I cut my nails this morning, but…”

“I’m fine,” your voice is wobbly as you push his hand away and get to your feet, stepping around him and letting the makeup artists do their thing. Letting your impeccable mask slide back into place as the tears are sponged off your face. A few swipes of a brush here and there, and they step back. And you are good as new. No sign whatsoever to indicate that you were this close to almost breaking into tears. 

Jimin is still way too close for comfort, you feel as if having him look at you up close like this is enough for him to realise how affected you were by that scene. And that’s not something you’re willing to divulge just yet.

Jimin looks as if he’s about to protest, but then the director cuts in, ordering everyone to move to the bedroom for the next scene. You start to walk towards the set, but Jimin stops you with a hand on your wrist.

“Hey, look at me. Are you okay? I need to know before we go any further,” his grip on you is insistent as he pins you in place with his eyes. “This is a rough scene and I need you to tell me when you need a break or if it gets too much.”

Jimin is genuinely concerned as he searches your expression, refusing to relinquish his grip on you till you give him an answer. He doesn’t seem to care that the director is left waiting on the new set; all his attention is focused on you only.

“The dialogue was a little much,” you admit as you look away from him, crossing your arms over your naked chest self-consciously. The thought of admitting just how much it affected you nearly makes you sick to your stomach. “But it’s fine. I just need to get used to it.”

Jimin releases a breath as he nods to himself. “Good. And also- I should have asked you this earlier, but my partners and I have a signal we use for each other during scenes to act as a non-verbal safeword. Are you familiar with that kind of practice?”

You hesitate a little before answering, since it’s hard to reconcile this Jimin with the domineering, cold man just moments ago. Also, you’ve never done shoots that even came close to requiring such a protocol. “No. I can’t say I’m very familiar with that.”

“Just touch my earlobe once if you need to slow down. Twice to stop completely.” He says as he begins to lead you to the bedroom. “In my shoots, my girls have all the power. Just one word from them and everything stops. I’m serious, ______.”

Thrown off by how seriously he takes all this, you take a seat on the foot of the bed first. Hearing him refer to you as ‘his girl’ admittedly makes you a little giddy, and what makes it worse is when Jimin kneels down between your thighs with one hand stroking your knee, eyes fixed on you intently as he studies your expression. You’d never expected this degree of attention and concern from your co-star, but it seems as if your pre-conceived notions about Park Jimin may have been wrong.

You’re aware that every single pair of eyes in the room is on you, waiting for your signal to go ahead. Suddenly you don’t feel like the no-name extra on set any more like you’re used to. Even the director himself looks concerned as he strides over to check if everything is alright, calling over a few scriptwriters too. It’s clear that they are all waiting for your approval to go ahead, and you just barely hear Jimin’s voice when he checks in with you.

“Hey, you okay? Get her some water,” he says to an assistant, but you wave her away.

“I’m fine, it’s fine,” you scramble to reassure everybody. “We can continue, really. I’m good.”

“You sure?” Jimin confirms one last time, and you reply with a nod. Then, all the crew and the director return to their assigned spots, and you shift off the bed onto your knees to prepare for the next scene.

Jimin positions himself in front of you so that his crotch is directly at eye level, and you realise that he’s only half hard. It must have been all the delay in between scenes, but when you consider helping him out, Jimin looks down at you, and you can feel his eyes appraising every inch of your body.

“You look so good down there on your knees. Can I?” Jimin palms himself with one hand and the other reaches down, gently cupping your breast when you nod.

The cameras aren’t even rolling yet, and the director is busy checking some camera angle, so you whisper-hiss at Jimin, “what are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” He shrugs nonchalantly, rolling a nipple between his fingers and tugging at it, letting it go to watch how your breast bounces. “I’m getting myself hard. Usually I’d sneak a pill right about now, but with you around I don’t think I need it. Maybe you’re my Viagra.”

“Gee, thanks, what an honour,” you grumble under your breath, but you can’t really complain because his warm hands feel quite nice on your skin. The air conditioning is ramped up on set, so your skin feels a little chilly, but Jimin continues to massage and tweak your nipples, and you can feel yourself start to drip onto the floor, shifting from your position to rub your thighs together.

His knowing, cocky grin irks the shit out of you as he switches to the other breast, abandoning his grip on his dick to push both tits together as he admires your cleavage. “Y’know, I think I’ll write in some titty fucking in the next one. What do you think about that?”

“Let’s see if you even have that much dick first,” you quip back at him just as the director calls for everyone to be on standby.

“Rolling for scene two, let’s go!”

Immediately Jimin’s face shuts down into a cold, sombre expression as he slaps your breasts hard. You feel the heavy weight of them swinging under his gaze as he buries one hand into the hair at the base of your neck as he tugs your head up to look at him.

“Take me out. No hands, use that filthy mouth of yours, whore,” Jimin’s voice is bone-chillingly sharp, and you rush to do as he says.

Undoing his dress pants and dragging down his zipper with your teeth is something you’re practically an expert at, having done it for practically every single shoot since you started porn. It’s part of the niche that you carved for yourself as the innocent, angel incarnate. You can tell that Jimin is slightly surprised at how fast you are and how easily you drag his pants down to reveal his fully hard cock by the slight widening of his eyes before he covers it up by slapping his cock against your cheek, leaving a sticky trail of precum.

You can see the pleasure in his face when he drags his cock all over your face, ruining your makeup as he slaps his cock against your cheek several times. You open your mouth for him, showing him your tongue as Jimin buries his cock into your mouth at an angle, pushing against the side of your mouth and thrusting a few times so that your cheek protrudes obscenely. Then he lies his dick on the centre of your face so that your mouth touches his balls and his tip is leaking onto your forehead, precum dripping down your skin. This is ultimate degradation, your face is used as nothing but a bed for his cock.

“Lick my balls like the cockslut you are. Don’t miss a single inch, bitch.”

You comply and lave his balls with your tongue reverently, taking them into your mouth as Jimin spreads his thighs for the camera to get a good view. You take one of them into your mouth and suck on it, wishing you could play with the other one with your hands. He feels big in your mouth, heavy on your tongue as you roll him around, coating his balls in saliva. Jimin pulls your head away and pushes his cockhead against your lips, demanding you to open up for him.

You part your lips and he slides in almost immediately, sinking all the way into your throat without a warning. He may not be as big as some of your other co-stars you’ve had before, but damn is he thick. Your eyes water immediately and you gag a little, to which Jimin grunts in approval as he strokes your cheek.

“Choking already? Shouldn’t a whore like you do better than that? Show me how well you can suck dick, I know you’re better than this.”

You glance up to meet Jimin’s eyes directly- with the camera focusing on your face, Jimin lets his stone cold expression loosen a little as he raises an eyebrow- issuing you a direct challenge. Somehow the mischievous spark in his eyes motivates you to reduce him to nothing but a whining, moaning mess just with your mouth, so you force down your gag reflex and start sucking him as if your life depends on it.

Spit and saliva is everywhere- all over his dick, covering your chin, dripping down to your breasts- but you don’t give in as you deepthroat him completely, swallowing a few times before pulling back and running your tongue along the veins of his cock. Jimin is so thick that your jaw actually starts to ache, but a tiny little flicker in his expression when you let his head touch the back of your throat spurs you on. Somewhere in the distance you can hear the director’s approval, but all you can concentrate on is the sloppy sounds emanating from your own mouth, and Jimin’s dark, heady gaze trained on you as he supports your head with his hand, gathering your hair into a messy ponytail.

He is biting his lip hard, a surefire sign that you’re affecting him at least a little bit. Jimin, for his part, is doing his best to fuck your throat evenly and keep his expression unreadable, but when your throat closes and grips his dick, he has to pull you off his cock before he loses his load way too early.

Jimin can see the look of triumph on your face as you pant for air, lipstick smeared around your lips and mascara running down your cheeks. He grips his dick at the base hard, breathing heavily for a few moments to regain control before he bends down to grab you by the waist, tossing you onto the bed.

“Arch for me,” Jimin whispers just under his breath, palm smoothing along the dip in your back. There is a grunt of approval when you push your ass out for his viewing pleasure. “I knew you were good with that mouth, but your punishment isn’t over yet, baby.”

A visible shudder runs throughout your entire frame at the unexpected nickname, exacerbated by the way Jimin strokes the small of your back almost reverently. He spreads your ass cheeks apart to appraise your most intimate parts, and he chuckles when he sees your dripping pussy.

“So here’s what’s going to happen next,” Jimin palms a handful of your ass as he strokes his dick with the other. “I’m going to spank this pretty ass, and you’re not allowed to make a single noise. If you do, there will be consequences.”

Your cheek against the mattress, ass up high for Jimin, you can feel yourself start to drip down your thigh. “Wh-what consequences, Sir?”

Jimin makes no answer, but suddenly you feel the blunt head of his cock against your unlubed asshole, and you pretend to whine and wriggle away from his grasp.

“No, Sir please, please not there,” you are struggling as Jimin grips your waist and pulls you against him just as the script calls for.

“It starts now, slut. Every little noise you make means one inch in your tight ass.” Jimin pulls your cheeks apart to see the head of his cock pressed against your asshole, and he delivers a slap to your right cheek before he leans down so that his tongue traces your earlobe. “I’ll go up to fifteen today, I think. And as much as I’d like to tear that pretty ass open… I’d advise you to keep quiet, dollface.”

Jimin has one hand on the base of his cock, the other alternating between your left and right cheeks, so that your skin burns a bright red with every strike. You can feel Jimin actually putting in his full effort with every slap, not the kind of half-hearted pretending that you’re used to with your co-stars. On his seventh slap you can’t help but cry out into the sheets, the burn on your skin radiating right down to your clit, and Jimin clucks his tongue in disappointment.

“We were so close too…” Jimin sighs as he taps his cock few times at your tight entrance, and you sob in response, clenching your muscles automatically. You can feel Jimin chuckle in amusement as he draws his cock away for a brief moment, and you hear him spit, before feeling a wet and warm substance drip down your asshole. He spreads it around a little with the head of his cock, and despite your scripted pleas and cries, Jimin pushes his cock into your barely lubed ass.

“How’s that feel, slut?” He murmurs as he caresses your bright red and sore ass.

All you have is his saliva and precum lubing you up, but it doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. You can feel Jimin’s tender touches on your waist as his way of checking in with you, and the minute action sets you at ease even though you can’t see or touch him to activate your safeword.

“It-it hurts, Sir,” your voice is a low sob as you bury your cheek into the soft bedding, amidst all your arousal, it’s a wonder how you can still remember your lines.

“Then you’ll keep that slutty mouth of yours shut the next time,” Jimin responds with another strike, and this time he can feel the way your muscles clench around his cock, and he swears under his breath, grabbing a handful of your ass to keep him grounded. “Fuck, I can feel your tight little ass around my cock. What a disgusting whore you are, so desperate to get fucked up the ass, hmm?”

Jimin spits again, and his saliva lands right on his cock buried in your ass. He withdraws the tip just a little to work his spit into your ass, as he delivers more spanks. You manage to bite back your cries until the twelfth strike, where you barely whimper against the sheets, but Jimin’s keen ears pick it up. His hips work to drive his cock another inch into your ass, spreading your cheeks apart so that the camera captures every sordid detail.

His cock isn’t the biggest you’ve ever taken, but having him slowly go deeper into your ass like this somehow makes it feel as if he’s stretching you out so good. Your muscles are trembling and you can barely remember to keep your back arched for the camera and Jimin, but if he feels this big in your ass only two inches in, how is he going to feel when he’s balls deep? You clench involuntarily around him on that thought, and a part of you is tempted to just fuck the script and make him bury himself inside your ass fully.

Jimin completes the fifteen slaps sooner than you would have liked, and he rewards you with a kiss between your shoulder blades as he smooths his hands over your ass, pulling his dick out slowly to watch your ass gape for him and the camera.

“Fuck, that’s so hot. Turn around and legs spread, whore, I want to fuck you now,” Jimin climbs onto the bed on his knees, hand on his cock guiding himself to your soaked entrance.

His hands grip the back of your knees, forcing your thighs apart for him as he sinks his cock into your pussy. The burn of his penetration nearly makes your eyes roll back into your head- the satisfying girth of him stretches you wide in ways that you’ve never felt before. Jimin works his way deep into your pussy with small strokes, finally bottoming out with your legs on his shoulders and his balls against your ass.

“How are you so fucking tight still? After fucking so many men,” Jimin grunts as he secures your thighs against his chest, leaning over your body and folding you in half. “How many cocks have you had other than mine? Answer me!”

His mouth is against your neck, teeth sinking into your flesh as he marks you. Between his deep thrusts hitting your cervix and his hands around your neck, the cold metal of his rings digging into your skin, it’s all you can do to summon your lines from the recesses of your memory. “Just o-one Sir, I swe-ar, please.”

“Stupid fucking whore,” he growls as he slaps your cheek hard. “How dare you fucking lie to me? Your slutty pussy needs to be stuffed with cock all the time, and you dare tell me you only fucked one other man? I’ll say it was at least five. Five cocks have been in this whore cunt. Tell me, did you make them take turns? Or did you get fucked by two dicks at once?”

“I di-didn’t, please, I’m sorry Sir,” your voice comes in sobs and whines. You scrabble for purchase against his still clothed torso, and you wish you could feel his heated skin under your fingers, mark him with your nails.

“Did you let them cum inside?” Jimin demands again, drawing back and pushing your thighs to your chest so that he can see his cock spreading your pussy lips apart, see your tiny little clit practically begging for attention. “Tell me!”

“No, I didn’t,” you answer him immediately, and something about the possessiveness of his voice seems a little too real, the jealous glint in his eyes that fuels his anger sends a very real thrill that sings through your veins. All you can see is his dark eyes as he fucks into you with his cock, and it is a gaze that is all-consuming, a gaze that makes you forget about all the cameras and the crew, erases them from the background until it is just you and him alone.

“Doesn’t matter, I’ll fuck all their cum out of you,” Jimin holds your legs apart as he drives himself deeper into your cunt, stopping when he’s balls deep. “No one can ever fuck you as deep and hard as I can.”

The sounds of skin against skin resonates throughout the set, accompanied by your whines and sobs as Jimin sneaks a hand down to rub your clit even though it isn’t in the script. Caught unaware by his sudden move, it sends you over the edge as you orgasm around him, walls clenching deliciously and body contorting under his grip, screaming his name. He fucks you through your orgasm without missing a beat, and you moan and thrash under his grip from overstimulation, but Jimin only grips your waist with both hands.

“Take it, fucking take my cock, you whore,” he demands as sweat drips down his forehead. “I’m gonna cum so deep inside your pussy, and you’re taking every drop. After that you’re going to walk out of here with cum dripping down your thighs so that everyone knows what a cum slut you are. My favourite little cumslut.”

His thrusts are getting harder and sloppier as a few assistants crowd around behind him, ready to deliver the fake cumshot, but Jimin waves them away impatiently. He can feel his balls churning with the biggest load of his life, and with the camera trained on your bouncing tits, he glances at the director to let him know he’s ready. With the director’s go ahead, he skips to his final few lines just before he cums.

“You ready for my cum, slut? Say it, I want to hear you beg me to cum inside you.” Jimin slaps your cheek once with measured strength. “Fucking beg, or else I’ll finish all over your tits instead.”

“Fuck, no please, don’t cum on my tits,” your mouth is open, clinging on to Jimin’s shoulders as he fucks you into the bed, pounding your cunt with every last bit of strength he has. “In my pussy, please cum in my pussy. I want it, so fucking bad, please sir!”

Jimin is apparently pleased with your begging, and he rewards you with a rare smile, stroking your cheek to soothe the stinging slap he gave you earlier. “Good girl… that’s my cumslut.”

You glance down to where his cock is fucking in and out of your pussy, and Jimin focuses the rest of his attention to hitting you as deep as possible, throwing his head back and letting out a strangled moan as he cums deep inside you, filling you with warm, real cum for the first time in any of your shoots. The real stuff feels so good, so wet and messy, and Jimin’s cock twitching against your walls feels intimate as he thrusts to prolong his orgasm.

From your vantage point you have a front row seat to watch Park Jimin as he revels in his pleasure, and everything from his moans to the way he throws his head back is entirely intoxicating, and you find yourself squeezing your walls around him to prolong his pleasure.

“Fuck, that’s my whore,” he pants as he slowly comes back to his senses, allowing the camera to zoom in on your cunt as he slowly slips out of your used core.

Following the tradition of every one of his videos, Park Jimin gets on his elbows and spreads your pussy lips wide, showing off the globs of real cum that drip from your center as you squeeze your walls to make it even messier. He whispers praise against your skin as he dips two fingers into the unholy mess and coats your clit with it, rubbing you to a final orgasm that makes you whimper and moan, fingers clutching the sheets and hips bucking under his grasp.

“And that’s a cut! Well done everyone!” The director interrupts with a gleeful clapping of his hands, but to your surprise, Jimin doesn’t move from his position between your thighs, not even when his manager comes up behind him with his robe and a bottle of water.

He is still staring at his cum leaking in a steady stream from your pussy, running his fingers through it and playing with your folds with an intrigued look on his face. When you make a move to get up, he glances at you first, then at his manager.

“Hyung, just give me a minute?” Jimin directs this at Sejin, and the older man looks a little confused, but nods and turns away. Around the two of you, all the crew is starting to dismantle the equipment and hurrying around, but Jimin remains focused on you. “Can I?”

“C-can you… what?” Now that the scene is over and the cameras are off, it’s as if the spell has been broken, you are once again self-conscious and all too aware of how vulnerable you seem to be around this man. When Jimin dips his eyes to your pussy and back up to your eyes, your heart nearly stops in your chest. He can’t possibly be… why would he want to…?

“Can I?” Jimin strokes his thumbs against your inner thighs softly, placing a gentle kiss on one side as he licks his lips. “Please? I really want to.”

Breathless, you nod at him, afraid that one more word out of you will make Jimin realise exactly what he’s offering to do, and that he’ll snap out of his lust induced haze. And then gone will be that genuine smile that lights up his entire face, only to be replaced by the condescending smirk that you know all too well.

Jimin starts with wet kisses on both inner thighs, kissing his way to your soaked lips as he begins to gently lick up his spilled cum, gathering it with his fingers to make sure he gets every last drop. This is the scene that you’d been waiting for all this time, clicked through nearly a hundred of his videos in vain. But nothing could compare to seeing it live and up close in person like this. Watching him eat you out when there are no cameras around is strangely intimate, what’s even weirder is the way he maintains eye contact as he continues to suck at your clit, his own cum smeared around his lips as he eats your pussy as if it’s the best dessert in the world.

“Delicious,” he draws back and wipes the back of his mouth with his hand. “Your pussy tastes exactly like how I imagined it. Better with my cum too.”

You clear your throat, still a little sore from deepthroating him earlier as you awkwardly close your legs and scoot away from him, feeling a burning desire to get as far away from this damned man as you can before he sees right through you. “Do you do that with all your co-stars?”

“Would you be jealous if I did?” He shoots you a cocky little wink as he gets to his feet, reaching over to help you up from the bed with his hands around your waist, dipping down to inspect a few bruises on your neck with his fingers. His touches are so gentle and tender that they don’t hurt at all, but you brush him away.

“Jealous? Who? Me?” You laugh it off as Wendy hands you your robe and you snuggle into the warmth of it. As you hide your naked body from his view, your walls come back up, and the defensive mask slides back into place. “You wish, Park. Although I might have to be a little concerned, since fake cum tastes like shit.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know,” he shrugs. “I only eat the real stuff, and it wasn’t bad, for a first taste.”

Jimin lets his eyes linger on yours for a few moments to allow his words sink in before he turns away to pull on a pair of grey sweatpants and perhaps review the footage a little. “Rest well before next week.”

This is just ironic. Plain and simple, Park Jimin is trying to mess with you.

The second script is a cardinal sin. That’s all you can describe it as. Father Park Jimin with a Catholic schoolgirl confessing her sins in a confession booth.

You run your fingers through your hair in distress. Noting that the costume requirements are red plaid skirt and white shirt. As you read through the entire script, it is a short one, but still present are the elements of degradation and humiliation that require you to position yourself as subservient to the man who shattered your hopes and dreams all those years ago.

It must be a coincidence. There’s no way Park Jimin remembers exactly what he said to you all those years ago.

For you, it might have been a life or death experience that remains etched in your memory forever. But for him, it was just another day on another set humiliating some poor rookie. 

It’s fine. You did it once before and you survived. So who’s to say you won’t survive this one either? You are stubborn and obstinate, you refuse to write that damn email to Jimin and tell him you can’t do this. So you just have to pussy up and fucking commit to this, dammit. Just two more damn shoots.

You have to give it to him though, he is pretty creative as a scriptwriter himself. Or maybe these are just his lewd fantasises? 

Thankfully there’s nothing in this script that requires any preparation, other than learning your lines. Over the next few days as you go about your routine on none schedule days- working out at the gym, indulging in wine and movies, you can’t help but keep the pit of nerves at bay in your stomach. Acknowledging them would give it too much power over you.

When shoot day comes, you nervously change into the outfit provided for you once you reach on set. Donning these clothes bring with them a hoard of heart pounding memories and associations, and it’s all that you can do not to throw up right then and there. You are unusually sweaty as you sit in the chair for hair and makeup.

“Everything okay?” Your makeup artist checks in with you as she powders your nose for the third time. “Nervous?”

You pretend to laugh it off a little. “Yeah, a bit.”

“From what I heard, you and Jimin killed it last shoot,” she grins at you as she replaces the cap on one of her lip glosses. “Don’t need to sweat. Just keep doing whatever you did last time.”

You accept her encouragement with a strained smile even as you stare at yourself in the mirror. From your vantage point, it feels as if you have regressed to that shy, insecure girl from five years ago- you might as well be looking at her now. The same scared expression, except maybe the clothes are better fitting and you’ve definitely grown into your body a little.

“Ready?” The director’s assistant pops her head in with a smile. “We’re all set up and raring to go.”

Shakily, you get up from your chair and follow her with a wobble in your step and an uneven breath. The plaid skirt is tight around your waist and restricts your breathing a little, but you force it to the back of your mind as you see Jimin adjusting his robe. Today he has his hair in a deep side part off his forehead with circle glasses perched at the end of his nose. The rest of him is concealed in long priest robes, and when he spots you, his face lights up.

“______! What do you think of my outfit?” He flourishes his robes and raises his eyebrows. Typical of him to ask someone to tell him how good he looks. Park Jimin looks damn good alright, and he knows it, but it’s not enough unless someone compliments him.

“Very, um… sinful,” you offer him half-heartedly before turning away to let your stylist adjust your hair. You are not in the mood to jibe with him today, even less to stroke his ego.

“What did you think of the script? You didn’t reply to my email, and I realised I don’t have your phone number so I can’t contact you except through your manager, so…” Jimin frowns as he turns to face you. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

His comment catches you off guard. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“Me. Committing a cardinal sin. Like I said all those years ago,” Jimin casually turns to face the set, fluffing his hair with a careless hand. “I’m really getting my just desserts, aren’t I?”

A sharp intake of breath betrays your surprise, and you cross your arms tightly over your chest, wanting so badly to just disappear right at that moment. He remembers? He can’t have. Why would someone like Park Jimin remember some fleeting comment he made about not wanting to fuck a rookie? Sure, it may have cut deep for you, but surely for him it can’t have been that memorable. Is he doing all this just to mess with you? What could he possibly want?

“_____? Why aren’t you saying anything?” Jimin’s expression turns sombre as the cocky look on his face disappears. “Is it the script? Is it too much? I can change it if you need me to-“

“Is this some kind of joke?” You accuse him, deciding to just strike first with aggression rather than risk being ridiculed in front of the entire crew later. “Some kind of sick little torture to recreate… this? For your own twisted pleasure?”

Faced with your overly defensive posture reminds him that he’s not dealing with that girl from five years ago anymore. You have changed, the years hardening you over and coating you in a hard little shell that’s almost impossible to break through. Jimin almost wonders why you always immediately assume that everyone is out to belittle or hurt you, but then he realises with a guilty start that it’s partially his own fault.

Blame it all on the stupid arrogant jerk he was five years ago.

“No, it’s not a joke, and neither is it some petty revenge,” Jimin says as calmly as he can. “I don’t know if its sunken in by now, but I told you before that in my shoots, my girls have all the power. So yes, at surface level it may seem like I’m dominating and humiliating you, but what the camera doesn’t see is that you are the one who controls me. A single word from you and I stop.”

His breath is stuck somewhere in his chest. Never before has he felt so vulnerable in front of someone else. Not only do you seem to throw a wrench in the casual uninterested disposition he’s carved out for himself with it comes to his co-stars, there’s something about the way you truly hold his heart in the palm of your hand, even if you don’t know it yet.

Your eyes are brimming with disbelief, posture still defensive as the director calls for everyone to take their places. But you remain silent, thinking his words over as you heed the instructions given by the crew. Jimin follows you closely till you stop just outside the small wooden confession box.

His hands are slightly sweaty as he steps in front of you. Reaching out slowly, to gauge your reaction, Jimin gently places his hand on your chin to tilt your head up towards him. “I’ve always been a believer in actions speaking louder than words. I know you still think of me as that arrogant small dicked jerk who can’t think about anyone other than himself. But let me prove to you that I’ve changed. That’s why I wrote this scene. I want to show you that you are the one in control of me, not the other way around.”

Looking into your eyes, Jimin can see the residual fear and trauma leftover from that incident all those years ago. Silently he begs for a chance, knowing full well that you could just walk out right now and he can’t do a damn thing. Just one chance for him to remedy his mistakes and prove to you that he’s a changed man.

“Let’s get this over with,” you say as you turn and step inside the box, and Jimin lets out a sigh of relief as a staff member ushers him into the other side.

Your knees are shaking slightly as you perch on the chair inside the confession box. Separating you and Jimin is a mesh screen that obscures most of his features, and on the table in front of you are a few props- some candles, a rosary and a fake Bible that looks almost real.

“Scene one rolling in three, two, one… action!”

You pick up the rosary in front of you, feeling the beads with your fingers as you settle into your role, trying your best to drown out your obsessive thoughts and worries. The dark confession booth lends you some anonymity- you’re sure that the lighting has been purposely fixed so that the camera can only catch a glimpse of your silhouette.

“Father, forgive me, for I have sinned,” you recite your first line, clasping the rosary beads in your hands and bowing your head in repentance. “I have come here to confess, Father, to a terrible sin that has been occupying my mind and soul for the past few weeks.”

“Pray, tell my child. What is bothering you?” Jimin’s low, soothing voice comes from the other side. “The truth shall set you free.”

“In school, I can’t concentrate on the lessons, and in mass, my mind is always somewhere else… lately I’ve been feeling so restless, Father,” you sigh, resting your head in your hands. “My thoughts haven’t exactly been… pure.”

There is a brief noise from the other side, as if Jimin is shifting in his seat. “What kind of thoughts are you having? Child, if you do not come clean with me, I cannot cleanse you of your sins.”

You play it up for the camera as it focuses on your face, wearing an expression of conflict, embarrassment and distress all in one. This script that Jimin wrote really tests your acting abilities. “U-unholy ones, Father. They get worse at night, when it’s just me alone in my bed… I can’t help it, it just gets so unbearable…”

“Child, sins of the flesh are against the Holy Scripture,” Jimin clucks in disappointment, and you can feel his look of disapproval singe your skin directly, even though you can’t even see his face. “What do you do in your bed when you’re all alone? Are you engaging with these unholy thoughts? Come clean with your Father if you want absolution.”

“I…” you swallow hard in embarrassment, pressing your thighs tightly together as you tug your skirt down, playing the role of the innocent school girl. The skirt is barely long enough for you to sit on, so you can feel your ass, left bare by the thong you’re wearing underneath it, come into direct contact with the chair underneath you. “I… I touch myself, Father.”

Another sigh of disappointment from Jimin as you hear him flipping a few pages of the fake Bible. “You have to be more specific, my child. Where do you touch yourself? Tell me, or else I cannot help you, and you shall be damned to Hell.”

“M-my… I touch myself… down there,” you whimper, feeling yourself dampen against your thong as you start to grind into the chair, thighs parting sinfully as the camera relocates itself to between your legs. You give it a few glimpses of your covered core as your hips rotate slowly. “Please don’t make me say any more, Father… it’s so sinful, so embarrassing, and I…”

There is a slam on the other side as if Jimin has closed the Bible forcefully. “A sinful whore like you, embarrassed? I think not. Look at yourself. Confessing to your Father that you touch yourself, and you can’t even bring yourself to say the word ‘pussy’. You think you’re still an innocent little girl, but your actions tell me otherwise. Go on with your confession, slut. We’re not done yet.”

You whimper as your thong is getting more and more soaked, and your breasts are heaving against your tight shirt. “I… I think about it at school too, Father. At mass. I sneak out in the middle to rub myself in the toilet, and then I… I come back to mass. Sweaty and my fingers still sticky.”

“In school too?” Father Jimin’s voice is a low purr now that sends shockwaves all the way to your core, and you can’t help but rub yourself against the chair, legs parting all the way. To a certain extent, the embarrassment on your cheeks is real, for Jimin has yet to touch you or even see you to get you this worked up, and even though you despise it, his degrading and humiliating words only serve to spur you on and add to your performance.

He surely knows how to bring out the best of you.

“What about boys?” Father Jimin suddenly demands. “Do you have a boyfriend? Do you let him touch your sweet little pussy? Put his fingers inside you at mass while you recite the Holy Scripture? Rub your pretty little clit until your sinful mouth cries out? I bet a little slut like you wants all the cock she can get. Tell me, do you lift your little plaid skirt for any boy who passes by?”

Hearing the jealousy and possessiveness in his voice only sends a fresh wave of arousal to soak your panties, and at this point you’re pretty sure that the chair is wet too.

“No! No Father Jimin, no boys,” you beg and plead earnestly. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Jimin makes a low groan in his throat, a noise that makes your nipples ache. “Fuck, then you’re a tease. Nothing but a little cocktease. Look at you. Do you really think I don’t know you’re rubbing your little pussy against the chair while you confess your sins?”

You gasp in shock as the script calls for, hips immediately stilling. “Father Jimin, please, I can’t help myself.”

“If I have any say in it, your sweet pussy will remain pure and untouched except by the Father himself,” Jimin groans lowly from the other side, and you can hear his slight panting. “Tell me, my child. Do you want to receive forgiveness for your carnal sins?”

“Yes,” you gasp immediately, feeling your hips jerk and your clit catch deliciously against the chair through your soaked underwear. “Please, Father forgive me. For I have sinned.”

“Ask and you shall be rewarded, seek and you shall find,” Jimin says as he gets up from his chair. “Bend over the table for me, sweet child.”

Raising yourself on shaky legs, you prop the upper half of your body on the table, back arched as the camera relocates behind you to give Jimin time to cross over from his side of the confession booth. You can feel your thigh high socks rub against each other as your thighs chafe in your impatience.

“Look how slutty you are in your school uniform… fuck, boys would be all over this ass in an instant,” Jimin gives you a harsh spank to your right cheek, and you gasp and writhe under him. “In order for me to rid you of your sins, I have to thoroughly cleanse you here.”

His fingers massage your ass, splitting your cheeks open and revealing your most intimate places to him and the camera. Jimin runs his fingers along your inner thigh, just shy of your thigh high socks, up until he brushes against your swollen pussy lips. The crotch of your little white thong is soaked, and Jimin uses his fingers to push it into your pussy.

“That’s it, sweet child… show Father Jimin all your sins,” he massages your panties deeper into your pussy with two fingers. “Show Father Jimin how sweet your pussy looks when its stuffed.”

“Father,” you whine low in your throat, wiggling your ass against his thighs. To which he responds with a sharp spank on your left cheek that smarts.

“On your knees, harlot,” Father Jimin commands, pulling you off the table by your hair and taking a seat on your chair, spreading his legs. “I think you need a taste of the Holy Staff to cleanse that impure mouth of yours.” He parts his robes to reveal his dress pants, unzipping and revealing his cock, red and throbbing with precum already leaking out of it. “Time for Holy Communion, my sweet child. Open up wide and receive the gift of Christ.”

You feel the saltiness of his cock against your tongue as he slides in deep, spearing your throat open as he thrusts into your face. Jimin’s balls brush against your chin as you swallow him deep, tears springing to your eyes as he controls your movements with his hand buried in your hair. You are choking and gasping around his cock noisily, and Jimin just eats up every single sound as he continues to ravish your mouth mercilessly.

From his viewpoint, seeing you on your knees has Jimin confident enough that he can muster up two loads for this scene. He just wants to watch your mouth fill with his cum, watch you swallow every drop of his salty essence, and show him your empty mouth after that.

“Suck me, yes, good, just like that, harlot,” Jimin demands as he pushes you down on his cock. “Suck your Father and feel my cum fill your mouth. Swallow down my blessing, so that you may strive for the salvation and absolution that you so seek.”

He can feel you twitch in surprise at the sudden demand for you to swallow his cum, but you sink down on his cock readily, looking up at him with wide and innocent eyes that nearly makes him blow his load right then and there. He looks off to the side to the director to gain his approval before Jimin starts to thrust again, feeling his balls tighten. With a strangled groan, Jimin feels his cock swell in your perfect mouth between those red lips, and he unleashes a torrent of bitter, salty cum into your mouth, swearing as you suckle on his cock like an infant, coaxing every drop from him.

“Swallow every drop,” Jimin pulls away from your mouth, his spent length twitching. You flash him a naughty little smirk as you clean a drop of cum from your mouth salaciously, opening your mouth to show him the reservoir of cum inside before your throat swallows, and you show him your empty mouth.

“Enough, harlot,” he declares as he pulls you up. Jimin watches as you pant desperately for air, tear stained cheeks and precum staining your chin. “You have dabbled in impure and unholy thoughts, my child. Sins of the flesh must be purified, for your body is a gift from God and not a receptacle for lust. Your body must be kept pure and untouched except for the man God intends you to marry and have babies with.”

Jimin leans back, thighs spread as his eyes linger over your thighs. “Sweet child, have you followed the rules of the Catholic Church? Are you on birth control, or any form of contraception that isn’t allowed by the Church?”

“N-no, Father,” you whimper. “My body is pure and untouched, as nature intended it to be.”

A pleased yet somehow also wicked smile crosses his face, but vanishes just a second later. “Good, my child. Be seated on your Father’s lap.”

“And cut!” The director yells, and Jimin lets go of you immediately, his spent length limp against his inner thigh. You turn around to watch a stylist clean him up carefully, an odd sensation in your throat when you see how unbothered Jimin is as he lets random strangers touch his soft cock.

Jimin is coated in a thin sheen of sweat, his thick, plush lips parted and looking like the devil himself as he gulps down some water that someone hands him, running his hand through his sweat soaked hair. Droplets of water travel down his neck as he drinks carelessly from the bottle, and you can feel your core pulse painfully. He catches you looking at him as an assistant sponges his soft cock, and he raises his eyebrows before glancing down at his crotch.

You step outside to have a few breaths of fresh air.

Jimin looks over at you as his stylist removes his circle glasses for a polish. “Doing okay? First half was intense.”

In your mind’s eye you have no doubt that you look wrecked beyond belief. Cheeks flushed with arousal, nipples hard and straining against your thin shirt- they didn’t give you a bra today- and you try and tamp down your embarrassment, replacing it with professionalism instead as you give him a taciturn nod. “Was alright.”

Someone hands you a bottle of water and you gulp gratefully. You can feel the wet stickiness between your thighs start to drip, and hope to whatever deity residing above you that Jimin can’t smell it.

“You were doing great,” Jimin says unexpectedly, getting up and tucking himself back into his pants just for modesty’s sake, especially as he moves closer to you. “Really got me so fucking turned on without even seeing you.” With his nose and lips dangerously close to your neck, you can feel your heart pounding against your ribs. “Now I know why you’re so good at what you do. The innocent yet naughty thing really works for you.” Jimin gives you his greasy little smile that doesn’t make you feel as disgusted as you thought you would be and is almost… endearing?

And as a scriptwriter he knew perfectly well what kind of role would suit you. You didn’t see it before, but you’re able to show off your innocent charm in the best ways possible with this script, and Jimin as an actor complements you perfectly as well. 

As much as you try to deny it- you have to admit that this man turns you on. Park Jimin has this intriguing charisma with his offscreen personality that draws you in. Although it’s a whiplash from his cold, domineering onscreen persona, you can’t say that his dominance isn’t equally arousing either- it’s all just so confusing. You never thought you’d enjoy letting the most hated man in your life dominate you, but here you are, getting wet after a few insults from him.

“Can I kiss you?” He says suddenly, and you realise he’s been staring at your lips for a while. 

The question shocks you to your core, and you take a step back involuntarily but Jimin follows your body with his, his hand coming around your back, but not touching your skin. Around you, various crew are still running around changing the lighting and modifying the set and doing who knows what, so no one is paying any attention to the two of you. Jimin still holds your hand in his as he stands with his body mere inches away from yours. “Just once. Please.”

You realise you’ve never kissed any of your co-stars before, much less outside of a scene. Jimin looks at you so earnestly that you almost can’t recognise him as the man who so cruelly put you down all those years ago, nor can you reconcile it with your perception of him as a selfish, cold bastard. Your head dips ever so slightly, and Jimin grins as he leans in.

His lips are soft and pleasant against yours, a very relaxed kiss with him leading and his hand soft against your back. It seems to be over far too quickly though, for he pulls back with a genuine smile on his lips.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you that day in the locker room,” he admits as he glances away, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture that you recognise as embarrassment.

The great Park Jimin, embarrassed? You must be seeing things. He grins at your expression and boldly takes your hand in his, pulling you to feel his crotch where his cock is hard, again. In a mere span of minutes, just from kissing you alone.

Your cheeks heat up, whether in embarrassment, arousal, or flattery, you have no idea. But Park Jimin doesn’t seem the least bit ashamed as he palms his cock with your hand over it, licking his sinful, thick lips as he admires the curve of your neck, the soft flesh that he wants to mark with his teeth.

“It… it wasn’t a bad kiss,” you begrudgingly allow him to grin at your half-hearted compliment. “Not the best, though.”

You feel Jimin chuckle briefly against your neck, his breath skimming your heated skin. “Playing hard to get. I love it. You’re better than Viagra for me, sweetheart.”

Before you can react to the tender nickname, the director calls for everyone to take their places, and you step away from him with your heart pounding, back into your side of the confession booth. Standing in front of the chair as per where you left off last time, you feel more than see Jimin follow you into your side now. His thighs brush against your ass as he sits down, getting his once again hard cock out of his pants before he places his hands on your waist. With your back to him it’s easier to calm your racing heart even as you prepare yourself for the next scene.

“It’s gonna get a little rough from here on, you know that right?” Jimin’s voice is a low murmur as you feel his hands on your waist soothingly. “Just remember you can tap out anytime. You have all the power.”

“Okay.” You turn your cheek to the side to get a glimpse of him smiling back at you. Once the director starts rolling, however, it disappears entirely into a cold mask again, and porn star actor Park Jimin is back.

You turn and step backwards, feeling his hands on your waist guiding you as you start to sit down. His cock brushes against your ass, and you whimper in fear as the script calls, struggling to stand up again.

“Shhhh, my child, do not be afraid, for your Father is here,” Jimin whispers, pulling you firmly down and spreading your thighs for the camera. His sticky cockhead brushes against your inner thighs, and you fight against his strength as Jimin seeks to impale your tiny virgin hole with his cock. “My beautiful child, cursed and sinful harlot, are you ready to receive your anointing? Are you ready for the Holy Spirit to enter your impure body and cleanse you from the inside out?”

Your pussy is still wet and dripping despite the cut, and you can almost feel Jimin smirk as he takes in the implications of this.

“Yes, Father Jimin please… please enter me,” your legs are trembling as Jimin slowly lowers you onto his cock, and the head of him breaches your entrance.

“Lower yourself fully, my child, and accept your position at the Lord’s feet where you belong,” Father Jimin pulls you to sit fully upon him, cock now buried deep in your supposedly virgin pussy as you cry out. He bends to gather your thighs in his grip, fully opening your legs and exposing your stuffed cunt to the camera, bidding you to rest your full weight upon him. “Recite your rosary, sweet child, and rejoice in your blessing.”

And then he begins to fuck up into your cunt with measured strokes, reciting a prayer under his breath as he does so. His hands grip your thighs apart and his thrusts are harsh, punishing against you as his cock bottoms out all the way to your womb.

“Fuck, this sweet pussy, meant to be used for your Father’s pleasure, meant to worship your Father’s cock with reverence,” Father Jimin pants as he watches his cock disappear into your pussy. “You won’t let any other boy touch it, will you my sweet? Only Father Jimin.”

“O-only Father Jimin,” you repeat after him as he fondles your clit with his expert fingers that makes you wail and thrash on top of him, the camera zooming in to capture your expression as your orgasm around him, switching to your pussy to focus on how it grips him like perfect velvet.

His thrusts are speeding up and getting sloppy now- you recognise the cadence of it as he races for his climax.

“Are you ready to receive your blessing, harlot?” Father Jimin growls as he tightens a hand around your throat, cutting off your air supply. “F-fuck, forgive me, God!” He groans loudly as his hips thrust a few more times and he is spilling into your depths, filling you up with his second load of the day, covering your cervix with his thick, warm anointment and blessing.

You can do nothing but writhe on his cock as your walls clench around him, feeling your womb swell with his gifts. He is still twitching and spurting inside you; it feels strangely intimate for him to hold you as he comes down from his high. Whether it’s because Park Jimin is the first man to ever cum inside you bare like this, or if it’s because of something else, you’ll never know. The camera focuses on his rapidly softening cock as it slips from your pussy, cream immediately leaking from your centre and dripping down your ass and inner thighs.

Jimin’s fingers skim down your body to play with the remnants of his offering left at your altar, and his other hand is over your lower belly suggestively. His fingers slide over your dripping slit, gathering up some of his cum mixed with your arousal as he brings it up to your clit, rubbing and pinching as you continue to leak his cum all over his softening cock that is resting against your inner thigh.

With a cry, you cum again, swollen cunt clenching around nothing and oozing more of his cum out. Jimin soothes you with a few kisses to your neck that feels oddly intimate, and are definitely not in the script as you come down from your high. 

His lips are poised close to your ear as he delivers the final lines of the scene. “My sweet child, I have a feeling you’ll be back here with another confession in 9 months. May your time away from me bear fruit.”

“CUT! Brilliant, amazing, I was blown away!” The director claps his hands as you sag against Jimin, thighs slipping off his frame. “Someone help them clean up, and it’s a wrap! Thank you!”

Jimin situates you more firmly on his lap so that you won’t fall off, carefully helping you stand up as his cum leaks from your centre. An assistant hands you a wet tissue and you take a few steps away from Jimin so you can clean yourself up, but he follows you, snatching the wet tissue from you and cleaning your inner thighs himself.

“Jimin, stop, I can do it myself,” you start to protest, but it seems like nothing can stand in the way of Jimin’s obsession with his cum on you. He purposely catches a glob of it on his finger and brings it to his mouth, making eye contact with you as he licks his finger sinfully.

“Any chance of doing a sequel with that?” Jimin grins perversely, pushing himself to stand as he hands the used wipe to an assistant. “The title can be, ‘Blessed with my Father’s Baby’. What do you think?”

“I’m not doing a pregnancy porn shoot with you, Park,” you roll your eyes and put on the robe your manager hands you. “If that’s the last script, consider me out. I’m breaking the contract.”

Even as you walk out with Jimin’s amused gaze still on your back, a thought occurs to you that this shoot wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. There was no signs of the panic attacks, traumatic memories and actual, real humiliation even though you spent most of the scene grovelling at Park Jimin’s feet, sucking his cock and being used thoroughly by him. In fact, as you walk away from the man himself, you start to realise that maybe he is right about this whole domination business—you had the upper hand all along.

The last scene is so unlike the previous two that you have to pause and make sure that the sender of the email is Park Jimin. After you confirmed it three times, you click back to the pdf file and read it through again, just to make sure you’re not seeing things.

A newly-wed couple on their wedding night, consummating their marriage for the first time.

You swallow hard, noting that there isn’t any of the dominance and humiliation that Jimin usually has in his scripts. Instead, it seems to require intimacy and chemistry between the two actors, seeing as there are barely any lines for you to memorise. All he’s given you is a brief premise and description of positions from start to finish, and at the end he put a director’s note that all of this is to be very loosely followed.

The premise of the script remains in your mind even as you go through your workouts at the gym. Sweat drips down your face as you increase the speed on the treadmill, wishing that life was as easy as just running away from all your problems like this.

Can you even act that well? Jimin seems to have too much faith in your acting skills, though you know that he probably has no problem mustering up the appropriate emotions for this scene. But you on the other hand… your feelings towards Jimin have been getting more and more confusing. If this goes on any longer, it’ll be hard for you to draw a firm line between the two of you, much less keep on convincing yourself that he is the selfish, proud and egotistical bastard you always thought he was.

Why does he have to write such a corny and awful script? This will really put your acting skills to the test. You swear at him under your breath as you punch the stop button on the treadmill, grabbing your towel and stepping off. Taking a swig of your water, you continue to curse his obnoxiously handsome face as you walk to the locker room—

“Did you just say my name?” A familiar voice startles you and you nearly drop your phone as you turn around.

Jimin has his silver hair slightly matted and damp, sticking to his forehead. He’s obviously here for a workout, dressed in a thin white shirt that is see through with his sweat, and some workout shorts that show off the thickness of his thighs. You’ve never seen him in anything but a suit or perfectly pressed dress pants, and you can’t help but let your eyes wander over how built his physique is. Slim, yet wiry, he is the epitome of sleek, elegant power as he pushes his sweaty hair off his forehead, giving you a glimpse of his firm biceps as he does so.

“Wh-when did you start coming to this gym?” You avert your gaze by taking a gulp of water.

“Since I heard you went here,” he grins shamelessly, stopping at the water cooler for a refill.

This is the first time you’ve interacted with him outside of a porn shoot, and even though you’ve practically seen his dick, had it inside you, done all sorts of sordid things with him— you feel awkward around him, especially when you think about the shoot you’ll have to do with him soon.

“I’ll um… see you tomorrow then. Ha-have a good workout,” you mumble under your breath, making a wide berth around him to head for the lockers and showers. The stutter in your voice makes you cringe.

“Hey— you didn’t get back to me about the script. Is it okay?” Jimin turns off the tap at the water cooler and follows you for a few steps.

You turn back to him and study his face carefully. He doesn’t seem to be teasing you or making fun of you, in fact he is completely serious. Should you be honest and tell him what you’re really worried about, or should you beat around the bush?

“… it’s a different script. Different from what you usually do,” you finally say.

Jimin shrugs, unperturbed. “Different, yes. But different is good, and I wanted to try something new since… since it’s with you. I thought since our last two shoots were more of my style, we could incorporate yours for the final one. So that there’s some kind of balance. Is there a problem? Or did you change your mind about that pregnancy shoot?”

His little teasing voice makes your cheeks heat up involuntarily. You are irritated with yourself, at how you always seem to be at a loss for words around him, at how he always affects you just so.

“It’s just… it’s very brief. I’m not sure I know how you want it to go.” You fret with your hands a little, avoiding eye contact with Jimin. “If there were more lines, more stage directions, more things like that. I’d feel more confident about doing it with you.”

“Ah, it’s about that,” Jimin makes a humming noise in his throat as he considers your words. “I purposely didn’t include many scripted lines because I thought it wouldn’t fit with how I envisioned this entire scene to go. In my mind I saw two lovers, passionate yet innocent, celebrating their love for the first time. Lines would make everything kind of awkward and artificial, don’t you think? We should let it flow naturally. Get into the mood and character with each other.”

While Jimin is speaking, you can sense that he really does have a passion for acting, and not just the scripted trash that porn actors usually dole out. You’ve witnessed his genuine talent when it comes to immersing himself in a scene, admired him for how he seems to have two sides to his personality, and how he can switch between his on and off screen persona so fluidly.

“I definitely won’t have a problem getting into character. I could help you if you need me to… but somehow I feel like you don’t.” His voice is a low baritone against the shell of your ear, and his words are suggestive. Jimin smiles confidently as he steps closer to you. “At least, I hope by now you don’t think I’m still that stuck up jerk.”

Jimin’s eyes are fixated on your forehead, and he’s so close that you can feel his breath on your skin. He reaches up to wipe a drop of sweat from your forehead, and then his thumb brushes against your cheek. “If you need more stage directions… then let me just say I think we’ll be doing a lot of kissing. A lot.”

He lets his hand drop as he meets your eyes again, waiting for your response as a he grins at you. Jimin drops his eyes to your lips as his tongue dips out to caress his own plush ones. You think back to the last time he kissed you in between scenes, and you can feel your traitorous heart skip a beat in your chest. It flusters you so much that you can only step away from him and throw a hasty goodbye over your shoulder as you flee.

“Last shoot of the contract!” Wendy sings as she brings you your iced coffee. “Are you relieved?”

The useless script sits in front of you as you take a sip from your drink absently. “Why would I be relieved?”

“You get paid after this, and they’ll be releasing the first film shortly after. And I thought you hated Park Jimin, so isn’t it a relief that you won’t have to work with him anymore?”

You consider her words carefully as a few stylists adjust your outfit, hair and makeup. Today you are wearing all white, a lace bralette that skims your waist and accentuates your breasts, along with a pair of matching panties and a garter set. Over it all you have a sheer lace cardigan that drapes over your shoulders. “I don’t exactly… hate him, I guess. He isn’t as bad as I thought he was.”

You set aside the script and take a few sips of your drink before handing it to Wendy, nerves fluttering in your stomach as you follow the assistant director’s cue to get ready on set. As usual, Jimin is already on set and mixing with the crew, but when he sees you, he comes over straightaway.

His eyes are taking you in from head to toe, and for once it’s his turn to be speechless. This is exactly what he fell for the moment Sejin hyung showed him your picture, an angel draped in white. For a moment Jimin actually lets himself believe that all of this is real, that you and him are actually newly-weds waiting to consummate your marriage... all for the sake of helping him get into character, of course. Not for anything else.

“You look beautiful,” he says honestly, nervously putting his hands in his pockets to keep him from running them through his hair and ruining his stylist’s hard work. “I’m a lucky man.”

Jimin is talking as if all of this is real, and it sets you on edge. This is dangerous. You should never have agreed to doing this script in the first place. Out of all the shoots you’ve done with him, you feel as if this is the most nerve wracking and outside your comfort zone you’ve ever been.

It’s all for the shoot, you remind yourself, forcing yourself to put aside your feelings and remain professional. All for the shoot, and nothing else. Since Jimin has a distinction between his on screen and off screen persona, you should have one too.

“Everyone on set, and initial positions please!” The director calls, and Jimin takes your hand in his, leading you to the door frame of the bedroom set they have today.

He pulls you in closer to him, arms around your waist so that your body is touching his intimately. Abruptly his legs give out and you fall into his lap, his arms around your waist and chest to chest with Park Jimin as he grins insufferably. 

You make a sound of protest even as you try to get off his lap- this position is far too intimate, you can feel the heat of his thighs against your core- but Jimin halts your movements with a pout. He nestles you comfortably straddling his hips, eyes glittering as he grins at you. 

“Jimin, filming hasn’t started yet-”

“I know, I know, get into the mood with me? C’mon, I promise it’ll help. We’re supposed to be married, you know.” He plays with a strand of your hair in his fingers, tucking it behind your ear. 

Reluctantly, you start to relax in his lap as you wait for the crew to get ready. Being on his lap like this isn’t all that bad. It isn’t awkward like you thought it would be. Jimin is holding your waist and humming in his throat as he leans in to smell your hair, his lips ghosting against the shell of your ear. Each and every one of his actions is so natural and thoughtless that if you let yourself go for one moment- you could almost believe this is real and not reel. 

The thin layers of your lingerie do nothing to obscure how warm and firm he feels, and you can see Jimin admiring every inch of your body with unabashed hunger in his eyes, and another emotion that you can’t quite identify. Being this close to him has your heart rate and temperature sky rocketing, and you can feel him rapidly growing hard against your stomach. Jimin’s eyes are soft as he leans in to kiss you even before the director says anything else.

Surprisingly, the kiss settles your nerves rather than worsens them, and you feel yourself relaxing into his touch, closing your eyes and forgetting about everyone else other than the man kissing you right now. Jimin is soft and gentle with his touches, even more tender with his kisses today, and your head lolls to the side to give him more access when he starts to kiss down your neck, sucking along your collarbone and pushing your lace cardigan off your shoulder.

Belatedly you realise that filming must have already started— but then why didn’t you hear the director’s voice…? Jimin brings your attention back to him with his wet tongue on your chest, licking and suckling bruises into your skin.

“Can’t fucking believe you’re all mine,” he moans into your skin, sinking his teeth into the lace and pulling it away from your breast, only to let it snap back into place. “After all these years of running from me, finally, you’re here.”

A jolt runs through your frame as you take in his words; they sound way too specific to your situation. To hide your shock, you moan his name and play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Jimin, I—“

“I love you, so much,” Jimin interrupts you as he starts to undo your bra, his eyes bright and lips swollen. To you he looks exactly the same as five minutes ago, you really can’t tell if he’s acting or not. He didn’t But he must be acting— this is a scene, and there’s no way he’s actually in love with you… right?

“I love you too,” you whisper back as your breasts are bared to the camera and to Jimin’s reverent gaze. He takes them in his hands, one nipple in his mouth as he sucks on it, occasionally flicking it with his tongue.

“On the bed, baby. Let me love you like you deserve tonight.” Jimin helps you to lie down on the white canopy bed, and the camera shifts to take in an overhead shot of you on your back as Jimin positions himself between your legs.

From anyone else those lines would have sounded cheesy. Heck, if you knew they were scripted, you would have been struggling not to cringe right then and there. But somehow, knowing that Park Jimin is just throwing himself fully into his character, that he’s fully present with you in this scene makes it hyper realistic, such that if not for the cameras around you, you’d have trouble differentiating between real and reel.

Jimin starts from your bare breasts, kissing his way down your stomach till he reaches the tops of your thighs. This is a Jimin you’ve never seen before. He is soft, loving and looks as if he is content to spend the rest of his life between your thighs worshipping you.

“Wet already? And I haven’t even done much yet,” he smirks as he notices the wet spot on your panties, rubbing his thumb into it so that you can feel your own stickiness on your skin. The camera zooms in to capture the evidence of your arousal, and Jimin slowly starts to peel your panties off, his other hand on your inner thigh, spreading your legs for him as he sucks another bruise into your skin. “Gonna mark you and make you nice and pretty for me, hmmm?”

He spreads you with his thick fingers, examining your most intimate places with a reverent gaze that makes your cheeks heat up. Jimin glances at your reaction with a tiny little chuckle at how cute you are, then he teases you with little licks at your clit that have you mewling and whining under his touch.

“You just need your pussy to be eaten out real good, right baby? No one eats this pussy better than me. Tell me.” Jimin pauses with his lips shining from your arousal.

Being far too used to the dominant side of him, seeing needy little Jimin who aches for your praise nearly makes you cum all over his tongue right away.

“J-Jimin, you’re the only man who can eat me so good,” you weave your fingers into his hair, pulling him closer as you beg for his tongue once more. “Please baby, I- I want to cum. Want your cock now.”

“Begging already?” He grins as he buries his face into your pussy, lewd little sucking sounds emanating as he tastes you from the inside out, tongue delving deep into your folds and spreading you apart for him. “My greedy girl. You’re so sweet, look at this pussy. Dripping so much, and it’s all for me. Can you cum like this for me first?”

Your hips are starting to arch off the bed with every lick and suck he gives you. Park Jimin truly is number one at pussy eating, and to have him praising you like this, calling you his while in between your thighs elicits a flutter in your stomach, a racing of your heart that you can’t seem to control. Jimin allows your hips to move freely, grinding into his face as you ride his tongue to your orgasm, thighs trembling and his name spilling from your lips as he licks every inch of your pussy.

“Jimin.” You whine needily and stretch out your arms for him, and Jimin chuckles as he crawls up the bed to meet your lips with his. You can taste yourself on his lips, but it doesn’t throw you off in the least as your tongues clash and moans spill from the both of you.

“Tell me I did well. Tell me how good I made you feel,” Jimin whispers against your neck. 

Your legs come up to circle his waist, cradling him intimately into your centre, and you can feel his hard cock rub against you. “So, so good, you made me feel so good baby,” your chest heaves as your arch your body into his. “The only man who can make me feel like that.” 

Jimin shifts back onto his knees to admire how fucked out you already look, hair spilling over the pillow and cheeks all flushed, lips swollen from his kisses. He places his hands behind your knees, pushing your thighs back to your chest to further expose your swollen pussy lips and your dripping center to him.

“Fuck, you look so fucking pretty like this,” Jimin caresses the lace garter on your thighs. “All spread out and dripping for me. Say what you want and I’ll give it to you, princess.”

His thumb caresses your clit lightly, and your thighs twitch, a whine spilling from your lips. “Your cock. I want your cock. Fuck me, please.”

“Such a sweet but dirty little mouth,” Jimin grins, satisfied as he reaches down to kiss you again, one hand on his cock and brushing his head against your lips. You can feel his sticky precum spread all over you as he thrusts forward with his fluid hips.

The first stretch of his cock makes you arch your back, and Jimin presses your thighs to your chest further, feeling you tighten around him. He continues to work his cock into your soaked depths, praising you for how tight and good you feel around him as he finally bottoms out. His lips are brushing against your collarbone as his cock grinds against your cervix, but the pain is a welcome one.

You brush a few strands of sweat soaked hair out of his eyes, watching his expression as he closes his eyes and withdraws from your clenching pussy. Today Jimin seems to be closer to the edge than usual even though you didn’t even suck him off, and he seems to be trying his best not to blow his load right now as he delivers hard thrusts into your pussy. He flashes you a shy little grin that makes your stomach flip as your eyes meet, and as you purse your lips to give him a tiny little kiss at the corner of his mouth, that’s when you realise it— you are actually in love with Park Jimin.

Somehow, somewhere along the lines, you stopped acting. Maybe it was never an act all along. But what about Jimin?

“So tight, so pretty, so wet for me,” Jimin grunts into your neck as his hips speed up, cock battering your pussy as you feel yourself dripping all around him, wetness coating his balls and his base. “I can’t wait to start a family with you. Like this. Just the two of us.”

The talk of starting a family once again reminds you that this is a shoot where you’re supposed to be newlyweds.

“Give it to me,” you stroke his cheek with your thumb, smiling up at him gently as he presses your thighs to your chest, grunting with the effort of fucking into you with his cock. “Want your baby.”

As you lock eyes with him, you realise that Jimin isn’t acting either. Unlike the previous shoots where the transition from his offscreen to onscreen persona was painfully obvious, this time Jimin’s face isn’t the cold mask he puts on during shoots. Park Jimin wears all his emotions on his face— and all this while you thought he was a heartless, cold bastard.

Then, it becomes painfully clear to you why he didn’t write any lines for the two of you, simply because they aren’t needed. This intimate gaze between the two of you says it all, and it conveys more than what a few lines ever could. You raise your head to meet his lips again, and the feeling of his cock thrusting in and out of your pussy slowly, his lips against yours and his tongue licking your bottom lip tenderly makes you feel as if you are really lovers.

“I can’t hold it much longer,” Jimin admits, pushing himself onto his knees and letting your legs stretch out to rest on his shoulders. From this here he can see every inch of your beautiful body, breasts bouncing with every thrust of his, and the way your pussy takes his cock so well.

“Cum for me?” You reach down to brush your fingers across his firm abdomen, walls starting to clench around his cock as Jimin circles his thumb around your clit. “Please?”

At the sound of your sweet begging, Jimin decides to throw all caution to the wind and chase his orgasm just how he’s dying to— pounding into your wet cunt with his cock and feeling you clench around him; your little whines and moans egging him on. A few more thrusts inside your warmth and he buries himself as deep as he can go, throwing his head back and exposing his pretty throat as he cums inside you.

The warmth of his cum seeps into your pussy as he fills you up to the brim, even more than he’s ever cum before. Even after he’s done spurting into your depths, Jimin continues to thrust lazily, fucking his cum deeper into you and chasing your lips with his. When his cock has softened too much for him to keep going, he pulls out and positions himself in between your thighs.

“You didn’t cum yet did you baby?”

“N-no, not yet, oh! Jimin, what are you—“ Even though this isn’t the first Jimin eats his cum from your used pussy, it never fails to bring a blush onto your cheeks, watching him slurp and kiss your lower lips messily with his semen all over his chin.

But he licks it all up like it’s the rarest delicacy in the entire world.

You’re so absorbed by his endearing little grin as he licks his plush lips that you almost don’t hear the director call cut.

“Park, _____, this may be your best work yet!” He is starstruck, eyes shining with admiration as he clasps his hands to his chest. “I could really feel all the emotion, for a moment I really believed that you were lovers! Well done, both of you. It’d be my pleasure to work with you again!”

You call out a thanks to the director as you start to get up from the bed, closing your thighs. But Jimin has his arms around your waist and stops you from getting up, pulling you closer into his side. Now, you feel as if it’s time to address the elephant in the room. There was a definite chemistry sparking in between the two of you just now, you’d be a fool to deny it.

“Jimin…”

“Shhh, just a while more. I’m tired.” Jimin whines, pressing a kiss to your lips to quiet you, and his casual yet intimate gesture despite the cameras being off only makes you melt even more. There is a comfortable silence between you for a moment.

“You weren’t acting just now, were you?” You reach out to pinch his cheek, and he grins shamelessly. “You wrote this last scene on purpose. Trying something new my ass.”

“Am I that obvious?” Jimin’s eyes light up with mischief. “But it wasn’t to annoy you this time. I just knew you’d fall in love with me once I made love to you.”

You place a hand on his chest and push him away slightly. “Excuse me? In love? Getting cocky now aren’t we, Mr Park?” 

Jimin doesn’t deny it as he buries his face into your neck, giggling. “Stop or I’ll get hard again.” 

“You get hard by hearing me call you Mr Park?” 

“Can we role-play Fifty Shades next?” Jimin asks. “I think I have a kink for Mr Park. I always wanted to be a rich CEO. Can I gag you with my tie?” 

“You kinky bastard,” you mutter under your breath even as a smile tugs at your lips. “But wait. Our contract is over.”

Jimin hums in thought as he kisses your shoulder. “I thought we could enter a different contract this time.”

“Different? Like how?”

“A more personal one, with no scripts involved. Still exclusive, though,” Jimin is grinning, the sneaky little punk.

“Oh really? What exactly does this contract entail?”

Jimin pretends to think for a while before he answers. “Roleplaying Fifty Shades with me, for one. I was thinking we could do a professor student one too. Oh and also, a nursemaid one. And last but not least... go on a date with me.”

He’s so sneaky that it makes you laugh. “Signed, sealed and delivered. But just so you know, I’m fucking your ass this time.”  

#bts #bts smut #btssmutclub #bangtan bookclub #bangtanwriters-net #bts jimin smut #bts jimin fics #bts fics

[sophiechoir]

Thoughts from Mass 4/10/20: Good Friday Vigil

The family computer in the living room. The monitor sits in a sort of recess – a computer desk – that has a removable cover. ~A contemporary tomb!~ lol

The living room is adjacent to and open to the kitchen. My dad and mom each joined me for different parts of the vigil, but I finished it alone. 

Good Friday Vigil – Notes (stream of consciousness, sort of)

His bleeding heart.

His shrunken body.

The circle is empty. He flows out, like flame.

Lying in a bed of flowers. The pools of blood, slowly drying.

As much substance as fire.

Christ crying on the cross.

Lying there without breath, unbreathing.

His cold skin.

Judas walked up to Jesus – ran up to him, held him as he fell, bleeding, covering Judas in blood, Judas cried out, he wept, he apologized, Jesus lay lifeless in his arms, Jesus did not move, Judas held His face but He did not wake, Judas trembled, Judas dropped the corpse of his teacher, Judas fell, Judas lay there for three days, Judas stood and left the corpse, Judas walked into the flames. 

<Live all you can. It’s a mistake not to.>

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from my cries of anguish? My God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer; by night, but I find no rest.” Psalms 22:1-2

The candle begins to eat itself.

Do tears dry on a corpse? I suppose they must, since blood dries. 

The tears disappearing from His gray face.

Why the water in His heart? The water of baptism? The water of tears? The water of the sea, of birth, of life? 

Why water? Why thin water in His heart? It must be of utmost importance.

The initial busyness of the tomb. The groans, the movement, the shouts and arguments, the tears. Then whispers, muffled sobs, for many hours. Then the roll of a stone. Then silence.

The still heart.

Before, how the waters must have beat within – how like a storm – and then, the waters stilled and poured out, leaving it empty and unmoving. Like the Flood, like the apostles on the sea.

Christ travelled upon the sea. He chose fishermen. He distributed fish as well as loaves of bread. He gave His blood as well as His body. Water and blood. Water in His blood. The inner sea He calmed for His disciples, for they were lost in fear. In fear…

The fear of the tomb.

Christ feared the tomb. But He did not fear in the tomb. Obviously.

The airless tomb. The stoppered mouth of the tomb. The silence of God.

The fear beyond the tomb. The disciples hiding behind closed doors. Their own tomb.

His limp hand.

Perhaps death is just like dreaming. Perhaps death really is just eternal sleep.

Oh, but the dead do not dream. They do not dream.

Christ is dead. God is dead. He lies there, dead. We killed him. I threw my stone. I struck the nails. I did not protest as He suffered – I watched Him on the cross. I even jeered. How could I ever ask Him to love me? How could He rightly love me?

I must not run from Him whom I killed, who suffered for me, at my hands, for me.

Over the course of this vigil, I, too, become a corpse. I, too, descend into Hell.

My love. My love. My love. My love.

Our hearts still beat with the tide, upon the shore.

Christ loved us. That’s the only explanation.

A love I know well.

The stilling of the waters – the stilling of movement – the stilling of change – the stilling of mortal life – the movement, in stilling, into the eternal.

The hand unreaching. The hand, held, but not holding. The hand retreated, for already given.

The flowers have begun to sprout from His body. [my eyes had grown tired & unfocused]

We wait like children, to be worn out of our grief. 

We wait like children, to be carried to our own beds.

We don’t want to submit to sleep – we allow it to take us only at our weakest.

The spirit like lace.

The Truth unveiled – the murder of our God – enough to drive anyone mad.

Does God see Christ in the tomb? What’s God doing now? Is He, too, gone from us?

Who cleaned His body? The women, of course. The women.

He washed the disciples’ feet – the women washed Him.

When will the dawn break this silence? Come, dawn. Come, life. Come, free us from this dark & silent tomb. The tomb will remain, of course, but no longer void of light. We, at least, will return to the light & life. Death in the day does not weigh so much. One remembers the white, clean cloths – the floating dust – the ants crawling above – the smoke rising from chimneys in the distance. One hears birds, even through the thick stone.

The flowers continue to bow their heads over Him. Their severed heads – oh, how horrible-!

The longer I stay, the darker and more morbid this scene becomes. I pray for day, for escape. I pray my candle does not die out.

How did the disciples survive without candles? How on earth did they keep going without the hope of the dawn, the Resurrection? Oh, they must have felt the blackest and truest despair.

Moved from the floor closer to Him. Well, the image of Him. I’m no closer, really. 11:12 pm.

I wish one of the priests would cough or sneeze. Are they even still there? Is anyone else still there? Are we alone?

Anna and the body of Jesus.

He has no eyes oh God he has no eyes

All is dark. All is dark. All grows dark.

We fall, inevitably, to our deaths – as the disciples fell asleep in the garden.

Christ, dead in the garden. The horror of the garden.

Below the garden – in the earth of the garden – the tomb.

Exquisite Agony – band name? Christian rock?

The broken lines of His body. The awkward angle of His neck.

An unnatural death.

A twisted garden – a broken garden.

It’s not for the living to stay with the dead. I withstand death while I remain here.

Oh God, how I wish I were there in person-! How I wish I could see the altar and flowers and body and Body, feel the echo of the church, feel the cold air mix with the warmth of the candles and the sigh of people waiting as one! How I wish my first vigil wasn’t like this!

And yet, who knows if I’d have stayed otherwise?

Christ died for you. Give yourself up for Him. A couple hours are nothing in comparison.

The candle coughs.

Silent & unholy night.

No, it’s still holy – the sacrifice itself is still holy, yes?

The sacrifice – justice; the Resurrection – mercy. Or vice versa?

The moving waters of the dishwasher lol

My Lord, set me free.

His strong arms, limp & useless, helpless.

427 watching now. I’m not alone. We’re not alone. 

427 could not have fit into the church. At least, I don’t think so?

So long as we remain in the tomb with Him, He is not dead. We are the life waiting in the tomb. We are the light in the tomb.

We wait even as we sleep, even as we leave. We wait in death, and in waiting, in hoping, gathered in one heart & faith, we live & bring to life.

11:45 pm.

The dishwasher has shut off. Only the hum of the computer & the tick of the clock. When I write, the scratch of the mechanical pencil – when I move, the creak of the chair – oh, and the growl of my stomach lol. Even in this deathly night, life inevitably brings noise.

My head lolls.

His chest, uplifted and suspended – it should be down, hollow, shrunken, as in exhale.

The spotlight on the tomb.

How could we ask anything of Christ now, other than forgiveness?

The veil – the dainty dress.

2 minutes ‘til midnight. What shall I end with?

Good night, my Lord. We’ll be here when You wake again.

The Eucharist undressed and gently placed in bed. The altar bare & empty. The spotlight turned off. 

I blow the candle out.

#thoughts from mass #thoughts #prose #easter #lent

[carriejonesbooks]

One of my many grandmothers liked to tell stories. It’s the catholic one, Portuguese, Avó. And her stories never really had cohesion. They were basically family facts and remembrances wrapped up in anecdotes with a heady dose of moralizing and tradition. And I freaking loved it.

Let me set the scene.

It is the 1980s and to me she seems impossibly old. She has always been poor, though some of her nine children are now rich and she has filled her small apartment with ceramic knick-knacks, rosaries. Pictures of the Blessed Virgin Mary share precious wall space with her children.

“There is not enough wall,” she laments, sitting down with a sizable sigh because it’s hard to move her body around.

There is not enough room anywhere in her apartment. It’s stuffed with afghans, crocheted table coverings. Hot sauce and ketchup and condiments stack the counters of the kitchen. And then there are the ceramics, some made by my aunt in a kiln in a shed behind her trailer. They are mostly angels, madonnas and carousels. Girls in hard flouncy dresses that resemble Southern belles from another time. Their skin is porcelain and pale and perfectly white and the opposite of my grandmother’s. Their bodies are tiny. Limbs stretch out in ballerina poses, ready to break off at any moment, precariously attached to their bodies by some kind of magic.

There are no men here other than Jesus. He’s a picture on the wall. He’s pretty pale, too.

I am in love with a swan that is on the table next to the thread-bare, plaid couch that is about two decades too old to ever find a home away from my Avó.

I’m checking out the swan as she hands me a hot chocolate that’s been topped with Marshmallow Fluff.

“Chemicals are good for you,” she says with a wink. “No matter what that Dustin Hoffman says.”

It is July and she’s feeding me hot chocolate from a package and has heaped the gelatinous white of fluff on top of it to sweeten it even more. And in that moment, she is absolutely my favorite of all my grandmothers despite all her scandals, the time she ran away from her own children, leaving them to raise each other, the time she refused to give her eldest son his birth certificate when he wanted to join the Navy because the certificate said a name of a father he’d never known existed.  If he saw that birth certificate then he’d know his last name was Gonçalves, a totally different name that he’d been living with for the first 16 years of his life.

At the time, it seemed very important that he not know, she says with a shrug.

“Turned out? Didn’t matter.” She smiles. She has a fluff mustache. “It’s always what we think matters, that doesn’t, and then the things that do us in? They come out of nowhere.” She crosses herself and I do, too, because I want more fluff, because I want her to love me, because I want to not be something that slams her out of nowhere.

I pick up the swan, my favorite swan. There is a brown line across the gentle curve of her neck.

“Your cousin broke her, but the thing is? Ceramics? You can glue them back together. People? Not so much. Not so perfectly. Our breaks show if you squint too hard at them.”

  Not too long ago, my grandmother was spat on for being dark but beautiful, for being a woman and beautiful, for being catholic, for knowing a language other than English, for being impossibly, assuredly herself.

And she ran away from a life of poverty once.

And she ran away again. And again.

“But I could never run from God,” she tells me. “Not once. And let me tell you, he forgives better than your children will.”

This is true and not true. This grandmother sits in a lounge chair, holding court over the summer family reunions and pool parties, munching on Pringles straight from the can, commenting on the food people bring to her on plates because her legs have swollen too much from heart disease and other things to hold her up too well, grilled tomatoes and bread and sardines. She seems to like the Pringles best, but she eats it all and never says thank you.

It drives my mother crazy, but she’s busy gossiping with the aunts so it doesn’t matter. It’s just my Avó and me.

And she tells me, “You’re different because you don’t fit in.”

And my little girl heart chips into pieces, a broken ceramic swan on the floor. I stare at the ground, at my naked feet my Aunt Mary Jean’s backyard grass.

A Pringle comes into my sightline and wiggles. An offering.

She says, “That’s not bad. When you don’t fit in, it’s hard, but you can touch people, you can touch people’s souls. Your otherness makes you strong. It made me strong.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s my job to give you advice.”

“No. Thank you for the Pringles.” I pause. “You’re supposed to say thank you when people give you stuff.”

“You mean me?”

“Yes. I mean you.”

She laughs. Her whole body shakes with it.

“What I like about you is that you don’t try to make me like you,” she says once she stops laughing. “I am going to tell you something. When I was little we had the Feast of the Holy Ghost and we would offer up sweet bread to the church, right? And I would look for the candy vendor.” She sighs and watches the cousins, all older than me, dark hair and skin, brown eyed and greens. “When my John, your father, was young, people would call him the N-word. He was so dark in the summer. Back then you were white or not white according to the whites, and you were only white if you weren’t like us.”

“So different.”

“Yes.”

“Mom says difference makes you strong? You said otherness.” I ask this because I am kid who pays attention.

“It made me me, whatever you want to call it,” she says, which is probably the only true answer there can be about things like this, things that form you and shape you. How do you know if something made you stronger if you never had the privilege of not suffering through it? How do you know that you wouldn’t be stronger if you didn’t have to endure hate, or oppression, or a million other traumas that a person can undergo in so many ways?

“You want to go in the pool? Play with the cousins?” she asks me, taking my hand even though it is salty from Pringles.

I look over there at the older cousins, confident, laughing, football stars and beauty queens, confident and free and wild. I sat there with her, both of us a little round, both of us a little awkward, and I squeezed her hand.

“No,” I tell her. “I think I’ll stay with you.”

  WRITING NEWS

I’m heading to Montreal this week and then, Freeport, Sept. 28 and then Houston and Virginia Beach pretty soon to promote my picture book biography of Moe Berg. It’s called The Spy Who Played Baseball. 

  ENHANCED, the follow-up to FLYINGis here! And it’s out of this world.

  Flying

The last TIME STOPPERS BOOKis out and I love it. You should buy it.

How to Get Signed Copies: 

If you would like to purchase signed copies of my books, you can do so through the awesome Sherman’s Book Store in Bar Harbor, Maine or the amazing Briar Patch. The books are also available online at places like Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

For signed copies – email [email protected] for Sherman’s or email [email protected] let them know the titles in which you are interested. There’s sometimes a waiting list, but they are the best option. Plus, you’re supporting an adorable local bookstore run by some really wonderful humans. But here’s the Amazon link, too!

Art Stuff

You can buy prints of my art here. Thank you so much for supporting my books and me. I hope you have an amazing day.

I’ll Stay With You One of my many grandmothers liked to tell stories. It’s the catholic one, Portuguese, Avó. And her stories never really had cohesion.

#avo #difference #family #grandmother #marshamallowfluff #othering #otherness #portuguese #pringles

[wickedsingularity]

Who was nervous and shy on the first date? [Drabble]

Who Masterlist

Fandom: Star Trek Pairings/characters: Jim Kirk x female Words: 1205 Warnings: Language

I had agreed to go on a date with Captain James T. Kirk. My brain said no, but my heart screamed yes. And that kiss I had stolen in the mess hall the other day, was too good not to experience again.

On the morning after I had kissed him, he caught me in the hallway and told me he'd be outside my cabin at 1900 hours on Friday. I asked what he had planned, but he had just brushed the question off and told me to wear something nice but comfortable. He had looked very proud of himself when he walked away.

I was awfully curious, and as I stood in my small bathroom getting ready, I was fighting a storm of butterflies in my stomach. I was more nervous and excited than I thought I would be.

When 1900 hours finally arrived, I was dressed in a brand new pair of jeans and a red blouse. The door chimed almost on the second, and I couldn't help but wonder if Jim had been standing there, counting the seconds.

The doors slid open and there he stood, looking dashing in black trousers and a crisp white shirt, hair neatly combed and proof of Scotty's nickname for him. In his hands were three long-stemmed red roses. His blue eyes shone as they gave me the once-over.

"Hi," he breathed, offering me the roses.

"Hello, Captain. Roses? Thank you! I'm impressed." I gestured for him to come in so I could find a vase for the roses.

"Good. You look amazing, by the way."

"Thanks," I said, rummaging around in the cupboard under the replicator. "I feel a little underdressed compared to you though."

"You're not. You're perfect."

Holding an old forgotten empty bottle in my hands, I stand up and look at him. There was something in his voice and the way he looked at me that seemed a bit out of character from the Jim I knew. "Thanks," I replied. "Think this will do as a vase?"

"Saurian brandy bottle? That should do."

I filled it with water from the bathroom and then set the bottle and roses on the bedside table. "There. I'm ready to go."

Without a word, Jim held out his arm for me, and he guided me through the hallways, into the turbolift. "Observation deck 2," he told the lift, and it promptly sped off. The ride was spent in silence, and I tried my hardest not to fidget in the awkwardness, I was still holding onto his arm.

Just when I was about to burst out something just to end the quiet, the turbolift came to a halt. The doors opened to reveal a scene like from an old movie. There was a table by the window, a white cloth draped over it. A vase with another red rose stood in the middle, plates, cutlery and champagne flutes on each side. A smaller table was next to it with three silver cloches covering something that smelled delicious and a silver champagne bucket on it.

"Wow, Jim," I said, letting go of his arm and walking inside, taking it all in. The moment I stepped onto the deck, music began playing, a rocky classical piece.

"No no no! Computer, stop the music!" Jim exclaimed, hurrying into the room. "I requested old classical music, not classical music. Computer, play old classical music." The same drumbeat and guitar riffs filled the air. "No, dammit! Computer, stop the music! I'm sorry."

"It's okay, we don't need music." I was a little amused by the fluster in Jim's voice and the way he seemed very stressed.

"No music. Have a seat." He walked over to one of the chairs and held it out for me. I sat and he made sure I was seated comfortably, before moving to the champagne cooler and grabbing the bottle. He began working the stopper, got a good grip, winked at me, and the cork snapped off, "son of a bitch!", sailed over my head – I ducked just in time, it bounced off the window and disappeared under one of the seats at the other end of the room. When I looked at Jim again, the champagne was pouring from the bottle, making a real mess on the floor.

I couldn't help it, I started laughing. Jim looked horrified, but I just couldn't stop. I apologised in between breaths, but my words weren't legible. Feeling bad, I managed to get my giggles under control. "I'm sorry for laughing," I said.

"There's still some left in here, I think." He held the bottle up to the light.

"Let's have it then." With slightly shaking hands, Jim divided what was left of the bubbly wine as equally as he could. Then he served the food, which he explained to be crab tortellini with some sauce Hikaru had recommended.

For the first few minutes of eating, the silence was back. I tried not to let it get to me, as we were both busy eating, but when I complimented him on the choice of food, it seemed to break the ice and conversation flowed as easily at it usually did between us. But there was something... Something about the way he spoke that seemed unfamiliar to me. And his entire posture was stiff. I had known him and been attracted to him long enough to know when he wasn't being entirely himself.

When the time came for dessert, Jim stood up to lift the last cloche. "Shit. Fuck."

"What?" I stood up to get a better look, but he quickly put the cloche over the dish.

"Dessert has melted." He moved to sit down and again, and it looked like he wanted to melt too.

"Melted?"

"I replicated salty caramel ice cream. It has melted."

"We don't need dessert. Dinner was good, it was very good."

Jim didn't say anything. He just leaned his head back and ran his hand over his face and then through his hair, ruffling up the perfect look. He took two deep breaths, then looked at me. "I'm so sorry about all of this," he said. "I have to admit I've never done a date like this before."

"Dinner and dessert?"

"The wine and dine and roses and courting."

"You didn't have to do all this for me. I'd be happy with just a replicated burger somewhere fairly quiet where we could talk."

He nodded. "Duly noted. I've also never gone on a date with someone I knew as a friend first." He chuckled. "I can't believe I'm so nervous. And everything went wrong."

"You've been adorable though." I winked at him.

He smiled, then looked around at the room and seemed to be doing some quick thinking. "What about this? I call my yeoman to clean up my mess, and you and I go to the mess hall and replicate whatever we want for dessert? And just talk."

"Will you judge me if I request an unladylike sized sundae and a giant milkshake? And some chips?"

"Not at all. Though I might find myself more attracted to you." He grinned then, and stood and offered me his arm again, this time full of his signature confidence.

#who drabble series #jim kirk x reader #jim kirk imagine #chris pine x reader #star trek imagine #jim kirk #jim kirk fanfiction #jim kirk drabble #jim kirk fluff #jim kirk x you #jim kirk x oc #chris pine #chris pine fanfiction #chris pine drabble #chris pine fluff #chris pine imagine #chris pine x you #chris pine x oc #star trek fanfiction #not my gif

[writingintothevoid]

This is awkward

Summary: Jonny walks on Pat wearing his jersey. It causes Jonny to have feelings.

Warning: Masturbation, Angst, Getting Together

Word Count: 2,244

Jonny walks through the lobby of Pat’s building, waving at the receptionist as he passes by. His head sways to the beat of music coming through his headphones. His foot taps as the elevator ascends. He arrives at Pat’s door a few minutes later and slides his key into the lock.

Music rings throughout the space. Jonny would call out, but Pat wouldn’t be able to hear him anyway. He shuts off his music and pockets his headphones. His shoes clatter against the wall in the foyer. With a quick detour to the fridge for a water bottle, he sets out to find Pat.

Following the music, Jonny pads down the hallway. Pat’s bedroom door is ajar and Jonny figures the music is coming from the speakers utop Pat’s dresser. Jonny opens the door without much thought.

“Kaner? Did-” The rest of the sentence dies on Jonny’s lips. The door bangs against the door stopper and Jonny’s mouth drops open. Pat whirls around and stares at Jonny with wide eyes. Jonny’s having a hard time processing what he saw. Neither say anything for a few minutes.

“Well, this is awkward,” Pat attempts to break the tension. He chuckles. Jonny’s face goes dark as he finally comes back to himself. Pat casts his eyes downward, knowing he’s about to get chastised.

“Is that my jersey?” Jonny asks through gritted teeth. Pat nods. Jonny closes his eyes and takes a deep breath; slowly letting it out through his nose. “I need a verbal answer Kaner.” Pat clears his throat.

“Yes it is.”

“Please, for the love of god, tell me that you’re wearing underwear at least.” Pat appears to be swimming in Jonny’s jersey. He grabs one side and lifts it up. Obviously he’s wearing underwear. He wonders how much of a weirdo Jonny takes him for.

“Of course I am. Who do you take me for?”

“Honestly, I have no clue. I don’t know what to think right now. I walked in on my best friend dancing around his bedroom in nothing but one of my jersey’s and his underwear.”

“You say that like it’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever done.” Jonny sighs and rolls his eyes.

“That looks like one of my game jerseys.”

“It is. I stole it out of the laundry.” Jonny drops his head and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You-It’s-” Jonny sighs. “Ok. This might be one of the weirdest moments of my life. I’m not sure if I’m on hidden camera or something so I’m going to go.” Patrick opens his mouth to protest, but Jonny cuts him off with a glare. “We’re,” pointing between them, “going to talk about this after I’ve had to process what the hell has happened here.” With that, Jonny turns on his heel and strides down the hall.

Pat lets out a breath and collapses on his bed. The only sounds in the room is the music and his breathing. The music begins to grate on his nerves so, with a few fumbles, he clicks it off. The silence in the room is deafening though, and Pat groans as he flips over onto his back. He can feel the jersey material rub against his skin and he frowns. It’s not his fault that Jonny walked on him. Pat racks his brain, trying to figure out why Jonny would have been over in the first place. His eyes go wide with realization.

“Why are you calling me Kaner?” Jonny growls through the phone.

“We were suppose to play video games this afternoon weren’t we?” Jonny sighs and Patrick can see him rolling his eyes.

“Yes we were. You forgot. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Jonny hangs up and Patrick huffs. This situation is his own fault. He forgot that he had made plans with Jonny. They talked about it that morning at practice, but it slipped his mind. If he would have remembered, Jonny wouldn’t have discovered is secret. It’s not something he does often, but it’s something he would have prefered Jonny never found out about. If frustration, Pat pulls off the jersey and changes.

~~~

Practice the next day was awkward to put it mildly. Every time Jonny looked at Patrick, there was a pinched expression on his face. They only interacted when they had to. Jonny was one of the first people to leave once practice was over.  Normally, he would wait for Pat instead of running away like a coward. The team picked up on the tension between them. They sent Pat confused and worried expressions after Jonny left. He shrugged at them off, but his heart clenched in his chest at the prospect of truely having messed up.

~~~

Jonny rushes through his front door, tripping over a rug and bumping into the wall. His gear bag slides off his shoulder and lands on the floor with a clatter. He hurries through the house, stripping his clothes off as he goes. He didn’t shower at the rink, wanting to get as far away from Pat as possible.

He steps underneath the spray, the cold water shocking his system. Seeing Pat at practice has caused anger to well up inside of him. He can’t even begin to comprehend Pat’s thought process. He thinks about the about the scene he stumbled onto yesterday. Pat’s pale thighs contrasting against the Hawk’s Red flashes behind his eyelids.

Jonny’s dick twitches at the image. He lets out a groan as his mind twists the image. Jonny sitting on Pat’s bed, watching his hips say in time to the music. Jonny can tell that there’s nothing underneath the jersey. His jersey. The nineteen standing out prominently. The imaginary Pat turns around and shakes his ass in Jonny’s direction. In real life, his cock swells further at the thought of his name splayed across Pat’s back.

Jonny wraps his hand around his hard cock. The Pat in his head is settled in his lap, grinding their crotches together. Jonny tightens his grip and his breath becomes labored. His other hand is gliding over his torso, much like the Pat in his head is doing. Too soon, Jonny comes with Pat’s name on his lips.

The semen washes down the drain. Jonny sags briefly against the shower wall, trying to catch his breath. Shame and confusion overtakes him. He hurries through the rest of his shower, hoping to leave the images in the secluded space.

~~~

The images don’t stay in the shower. They follow Jonny into his dreams and pop into his mind every time he sees Pat. They’re changing too. The images aren’t contained to Pat wearing his jersey. They’re of Pat naked, spread out under him, riding him, or on his knees. Jonny swears that he hasn’t jerked off this much since he first hit puberty. The whole situation has gotten out of hand.

He knows that he told Pat that they would talk once he’s calmed down about the stolen jersey, but he can’t even look at Pat. His mouth has an urge to blurt out embarrassing things. Things like: ‘I want to eat out your ass.’ or ‘Please let me fuck you.’. Those are statements that he shouldn’t be wanting to make about his best friend. Every time Jonny runs away, Pat’s left giving sad looks to his retreating backside. The team has been whispering about what’s going on, but no one has been brave enough to ask them outright.

~~~

Pat’s fuming as he gets out of his car. It’s been almost two weeks since Jonny walked in on him and Pat’s reached his limit. This whole fight, misunderstanding, whatever it is, has gotten completely out of hand. He figured that after a few days Jonny would make a joke about it and then they would go back to how they always are. Yet, Jonny can barely look at him and the ache it’s causing has grown inside Pat’s chest.

Jonny hears his front door slam open and shut as he’s pulling on his shirt. Another shameful shower after his workout has commenced. He was looking forward to wallowing on his couch. Obviously, someone upstairs has it out for him because he forgot he gave Pat a spare key. He’s not looking forward to the fallout that’s about to happen.

“Jonathan!” Patrick’s cry echoes throughout the space. With a sigh, Jonny pads down the hallway and into the living area. Pat’s standing outside of the kitchen, his arms folding across his chest and a red mess slung over his shoulder.

“You called?” Jonny asks, keeping his voice as flat as possible. Pat sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Don’t get smart with me. We need to talk.” Jonny drops onto one of the kitchen stools. Pat moves to the opposite side of the counter, setting the red mass between them. On closer observation, Jonny sees that it’s a jersey.

“I told you that we would talk when I was ready,” Jonny states, grasping at straws. This is the closest they’ve been since that afternoon at Pat’s apartment, off the ice at least. Pat rolls his eyes and focuses his eyes on Jonny.

“Yep, that stopped being a viable option when you started physically running away from me.” Pat’s arms flail around as he speaks. Jonny raises an eyebrow at him and Pat throws his hands up with a huff. “Fine. Whatever. Don’t talk. I’ll talk and you listen.”

“Okay.” Jonny’s face goes blank and he folds his hands on top of the counter. Pat sighs, bites his lip, and runs his hand through his hair. He thought he had his speech prepared, but his mind has gone blank. He reminds himself that he’s here because Jonny has run from him one too many times. They can’t go on like this. It will start affecting the team and they can’t have that happening.

“Okay,” Pat starts. “Look,” he sighs, “you caught me having a private moment.” Jonny snorts. He thinks that a moment of insanity would be a more accurate description. If Pat wants to call it a private moment; then that’s on him. “Shut it. Like you’re one to talk,” Patrick continues and Jonny rolls his eyes. “I was having a private moment and you walked into something with no context. Instead of talking about it like normal people, we’ve let it pull us apart. I’m sorry that I made you uncomfortable.” Jonny presses his lips together tightly. He takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for apologizing. I’m sorry that I let it get to this point. That we’ve become distant from each other. You didn’t make me uncomfortable at first.” Pat furrows his brow and tilts his head to the side.

“What do you mean ‘at first’?” Jonny bites his lip and looks to side. He takes a deep breath.

“Initially, I was mad because I didn’t understand what was going on or what I was looking at. As more time passed, the less I could be around you because I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” Pat’s mouth drops open.

“You-You’ve been thinking about me dressed in your jersey?” Pat lets out a laugh in disbelief and Jonny huffs, turning his gaze back to Pat.

“Great. Laugh at me why don’t ya. So making me want to share things with you.” Pat takes a deep breath and reigns himself in. There’s a lingering smile on his face.

“What was I doing in these thoughts of yours Jonny? Was I dancing and being sexy for you?” Jonny turns bright pink and shock erupts over Pat’s face. “Oh my god Jonny!” Pat crows. Jonny huffs through is nose, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Shut up Patrick.” Pat takes a few breaths, his head spinning with the new information. He bites his lip and drops his chin to his chest.

“I was,” he whispers. Jonny furrows his brow and tilts his head in Pat’s direction.

“I’m sorry. What?” Pat sighs and lifts his head, not looking Jonny in the eye.

“I said I was dancing for you. That’s why I had the jersey.” He gestures to the red mass on the counter. “I’ve been wearing it on occasion.”

“You only dance in it?” Pat shrugs and Jonny furrows his brow.

“It always starts as dancing. I wanted to see what I looked like with your name and number, but then I started moving to a beat in my head. It turned into dancing to actual music, pretending you were watching me.” Pat trails off then.

“Do you cum at the end of these fantasies too?” Jonny blurts out. Pat’s eyes widen. He nods. Jonny lets out a slow breath.

“Me too.” They stare at each other for a moment before Jonny continues. “That’s why I’ve been avoiding you. I can’t stop thinking about it; thinking about you.” Pat bites his lip and inhales sharply. The air between them changes from thick with tension to heavy from longing.

They move at the same time, rounding the counter and crashing into each other. Their hands scramble for purchase as their mouths clash together. The kiss is messy and contains too many teeth. Jonny grabs Pat’s face and pulls him back slightly. Pat’s eyes scan Jonny’s face, searching for reassurance. They trade breaths for about thirty seconds until Jonny leans down and places a gentle kiss on Pat’s lips. Pat holds onto Jonny’s biceps and returns the kiss with equal tenderness.

“We’re idiots.” Pat murmurs against Jonny’s lips. Jonny smirks.

“Agreed.”

#patrick kane #hockey fanfiction #hockey fandom #jonathan toews

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine one-shot - “Re-evaluating Life” (Rated PG13)

Blaine dies in a tragic car accident, and a distraught Kurt tries to bring him back.(7711 words)

I had originally written this story for K*urtbastian (A Different Approach to Life) but, at the time, I was on the fence about which pairing I wanted to write it for (this has happened to me quite a bit over the last couple of years xD) I am re-writing it for Klaine because I have always wanted @sunshineoptimismandangels to read it, but I know that K*urtbastian isn't her cup of tea. If you read both, you'll notice there are quite a few differences in this one compared to the first one, so I didn't just remove one name and replace it with another. It's a different story.

This story is written in two styles. The first half is a normal narrative. The second half is written from Kurt’s perspective, via journal entries.

This is meant to be romantic and angsty more than gory, so even though there are some zombie elements, it’s not extreme. But tread with caution.

Read on AO3.

“Please, sir,” the decrepit woman hisses, but not unkindly. She comes about her speech impediment by a mixture of symptoms. Her thick accent coupled with her indeterminable old age causes her to talk that way. “Please, reconsider this decision.”

Kurt looks at the woman, his eyes bloodshot; his hair a mass of tangled, wayward strands; his lips quivering from constant, unrelenting crying.

“You said you had it!” Kurt cries, bypassing her arguments. “You said you would sell it to me! Wh---why else would I come here!?”

“You need to understand,” the woman implores, opening her hands in a pleading gesture. She fixes Kurt with one clear blue eye. The other eye is clouded – a useless, milky white lump of tissue bulging inside its socket, “what you ask for, it’s … unnatural.”

“But, your granddaughter said it was a done deal!” Kurt persists. He shoots a steely glare at the simpering young woman who ducks behind her grandmother to hide from his volatile stare.

“My granddaughter is a foolish girl” - The woman directs the comment over her shoulder to the girl cowering there - “but she means well. We need the money. She was thinking with her head and not her heart.”

“I can pay you twice what you’re asking for!” Kurt reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. “Three times! I’ll give you whatever you want! I came here in a Mercedes. I’ll give that to you!”

The girl peeks over her grandmother’s shoulder, but the woman turns and barks sharply at her in a language Kurt could not begin to understand.

“Mr. Hummel …” The old woman reaches out to comfort Kurt, taking his shaking hand in hers “… your husband is dead, and I am more sorry than I can ever express at your loss. You carry your love for him like a beacon. I can see it in your eyes …”

Kurt’s face crumbles at her words, new tears falling hot down his cheeks.

“It shines from every part of you. And with him gone, it is up to you to carry it now. It will never fade, as long as you remember him.”

“I don’t want to remember him,” Kurt whimpers, his voice fracturing. “I want him here with me. I want you to help me bring him back.”

The woman sighs in pity, but shakes her head.

“The effects of life are varied, Mr. Hummel. Our fate, it changes every day, with every choice that we make. But the effects of death should remain permanent.”

Kurt flinches.

Permanent.

Blaine dead … his husband gone … and nothing for Kurt to look forward to in life but emptiness. Every moment of their life they had planned together. One asshole drunk driver later, and Kurt is alone.

Just like when he was younger.

Just like when he lost his mom.

It’s not fair. Most people only lose a handful of people in their lifetime – when they’re older, when they have lived their lives.

Losing his mother at eight, his stepbrother at twenty, his father at twenty-three, and his husband at twenty-eight? No. That goes beyond cruel.

And Kurt’s not going to take it anymore.

Kurt lets the sorrow within him curdle, souring to anger, and he yanks his hand out of the old woman’s grasp.

“Your granddaughter said there are other methods of getting what I want,” Kurt snarls. “Dangerous methods. Methods that might require payment in sacrifice … even blood. And not necessarily my blood. Innocent blood, if you catch my meaning.”

Kurt had never considered violence, or murder, to be the answer to anything. But he had come to the crossroads where an exception has made itself clear. He’s spent an entire life not believing in God, or Christ, or religion. The only thing he’s ever believed in was his family.

But now that the last member of his family is gone, he’s prepared to annihilate his humanity to get it back.

The old woman snaps her head over her shoulder, scolding her granddaughter in a harsh, guttural voice. The girl, who had slowly started to brave coming out of hiding, shrinks down once again.

“Be reasonable,” the woman begs, “please, and think about what you are saying. What you are willing to do.”

“No.” Kurt’s calm is more potent than his anger. “The time for me being reasonable is over. I will get what I want, no matter what the cost. The question is whether or not you will be the one to give it to me.”

The woman looks down at her gnarled hands and sighs a long, exhausted sigh. “Alright, Mr. Hummel. I will sell the potion to you at the promised price.”

Kurt stares at her for a moment in relief and shock. He opens his wallet with the onset of happier tears and thumbs through the bills, pulling out a little extra out of joy for getting what he wants. He hands the money over, but the woman refuses to touch it. She waves it away, her granddaughter popping up long enough to grab the money and then scurry off again. The woman reaches into the folds of her skirts, to a leather pouch that hangs from a thin belt around her waist. From it, she fishes out a tiny blue bottle with a cork stopper sealing the mouth. She extends her arm to hand Kurt the bottle, and for the first time, her hand trembles.

“Pour the contents of this bottle into your husband’s mouth, Mr. Hummel,” she instructs, “and your husband will return.”

Kurt holds the bottle up to the dim candlelight of the musty SoHo shop. The blue glass glimmers, and a thick liquid inside sways back and forth, shimmering as it moves like the setting sun tossing sparkles across a dark, foreboding sea.

“There are some rules that go along with that potion,” the woman says, her voice weeding into Kurt’s head, summoning him back from his momentary trance, “and a few warnings you must heed as well.”

Kurt had hoped it would be a simple matter of giving his husband the liquid and living happily ever after, but he knows realistically that nothing’s that simple.

“Okay,” he says, slipping the bottle carefully into his pocket and patting over it twice to ensure it’s safe.

“First of all, you will give that to your husband, but what will come back …” she pauses, swallows hard “… will not entirely be your husband.”

Kurt nods. He had expected her to say something along those lines. It was like a scene straight from Practical Magic (with him as Sandra Bullock, of course).

The woman fixes both eyes, clear and clouded, on Kurt’s face as he waits for her to finish her speech, eager to go back home and get on with his life. She realizes, with regret, that he has every intention of going through with this, and takes on the heavy burden of allowing this to continue.

“Be there to look into his eyes when he awakes,” she says.

Kurt hadn’t dreamed of leaving his side, but since the woman makes such a point of it, he’s intrigued.

“Why?”

“He is being reborn, in a sense. And like other simple-minded creatures, he will imprint on the first person he sees.” She takes his hands and squeezes them.  “That person needs to be you.”

Kurt’s gulp is audible, the weight of her words and of his plan suddenly settling within him. They press in on him, like that moment when the police came to his door. Their words – “Mr. Hummel? I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but … it’s about your husband …” had turned him inside out, left his heart out in the cold.

He feels that cold now.

“Once the potion absorbs into his tissues, it will restart his heart,” she continues. “Then the potion will replicate. It will begin to take the place of his blood. It will make him calm, easier for you to control.”

Kurt nods again. He wants to say something, assure the woman that he understands, but she doesn’t pause long enough for him to speak. It wouldn’t matter. He can see the trepidation in her one, clear eye. He isn’t sure exactly what to say to make this better.

“It will be a slow process, and you must learn to be a patient man!” She raises her voice, letting go of one hand to waggle an emphatic finger in front of his face. “You will be teaching him, raising him as you would a child. Remember, even if only a small portion of his soul returns, that soul belongs to your husband, and you must love him or this will not work!”

The woman steps back, out of breath from her outburst, and the granddaughter (whom Kurt had forgotten about) returns, pushing forward an ornate but dusty antique chair to catch her in. Kurt holds the woman’s arms gently and helps her into it. The woman sits and waves them both off, not wanting them to make a fuss when she still has more to say.

“But most importantly,” the woman labors on, barely missing a beat in her speech, “do not let him taste blood.” Kurt kneels down so that the woman doesn’t feel the need to yell for her words to reach him. “He cannot eat meat, but most of all, don’t let him bite you or lick your wounds. Or anyone else’s – human or animal.”

Kurt gasps, remembering the last Walking Dead marathon he and Blaine had watched. Blaine thought the show was hilarious, but Kurt could barely make it to the middle of the first season. He had started with his hands over his eyes, then with his arm locked around Blaine’s, anxiously smacking his shoulder, and finally with most of his body lying over his husband’s lap and his face buried in his shirt.

“Would it make you feel better if we turned off the show and made love?” Blaine had asked, and Kurt happily agreed. But Kurt didn’t wait for Blaine to take him to bed. He straddled his husband’s hips right there and rode him into the leather upholstery.

“Will I turn into a zombie, too?” he asks, returning quickly, but reluctantly, from his daydream. “If he does bite me?”

“No,” the woman says with a chuckle. “Not in this case. That’s not the nature of this spell. No. Blood will give him back his memories.”

Kurt looks at the woman, bug-eyed, and shakes his head. “I … I don’t …”

“It will ignite his brain. He will begin to feel. In many ways, he will become more the man you married than in any other way.”

“Wha---?“ Kurt stutters, baffled as to how that could be a bad thing. If drinking blood could make him more Blaine, Kurt would set up an IV drip the minute he gets home. He would serve him cups of blood with every meal. “And why wouldn’t I want that again?” Kurt asks, trying not to sound like turning his revived husband into a blood-sipping fiend isn’t the greatest idea in known history.

The old woman smiles, but it isn’t fond. It’s shrewd, as if she can read every one of his thoughts, and she doesn’t approve.

“Once he has his memories back, he will start to crave it. Soon, drinking blood won’t be enough for him. It won’t work as well. It won’t keep the memories as fresh. He will have to go further, do more. He will become … a killer.”

Kurt’s face blanches and the woman laughs again, this time with a touch of wicked humor. A killer? His Blaine? His sweet, kind, compassionate, adorable Blaine? Kurt can’t picture it, not in a hundred years. Blaine was the man who constantly insisted to carrying spiders out of the house instead of squashing them with a shoe. Kurt can’t see him becoming a killer.

Then again, Kurt was willing to become one himself a second ago, so maybe he’s not in the best position to judge.

“You are playing with the laws of nature, Mr. Hummel,” she says, patting him on the cheek. “You are responsible not only for your own life, but for the life of those around you.”

The woman leans in close, those eyes – one alive, one dead - more menacing now than when he had walked into the shop. Her face is no longer that of a frail old woman, but of a powerful witch.

“So, don’t fuck it up.”

***

Kurt drives from the city back to the burbs completely on autopilot. He keeps the windows down, breathing in deep the brisk, coastal air, and trying not to think too hard about what he’s about to do. He puts his iPod on shuffle and cranks the volume. Showtune after showtune plays, and he sings along emphatically, his voice splintering on notes that are usually no problem for him to hit. He tries to focus on everything and anything besides his dead husband waiting for him, lying naked on their bed, packed in ice with the air conditioner blasting on high to keep decomposition at bay.

Kurt is a massive ball of contradictions flying down the highway at felony speeds, both exhilarated and terrified at the venture he’s about to embark on. The old woman wasn’t wrong – Kurt is tampering with the laws of nature. He knows that. He loves Blaine more than anything, maybe even more than his own life, but Blaine is dead, and in the eyes of the universe, there should be nothing Kurt can do to change that.

But there is.

He found it.

And he was.

Even if it scares the shit out of him.

He hasn’t told another living soul about this. He has a pretty good idea of what might happen if he does.

Like the cynic he is, Kurt also entertained the possibility that this might be a scam - a way to extort $5,000 out of a grieving widower, willing to pay anything to have his husband back. Except he had to admit that the old woman – possibly a hundred or so years older than God – put on a convincing act of being afraid for the paltry sum of $5,000 (paltry considering what the granddaughter had said about their financial straits).

They probably could have gotten ten thousand out of him easily.

Kurt kills the radio when he turns off the highway. He’d rather not alert the whole neighborhood to his arrival.

He loves his house, fell in love with it the first moment he laid eyes on it, but that was back when it was about to become a home.

Now, it’s a tomb. A mausoleum.

What would the home owner’s association think if they knew he was harboring a corpse in his bedroom without their permission?

When he had left earlier in the day, he had neglected to leave on any of the lights. It seemed fitting to keep the place dark while his husband’s body lay within. But now he wishes he had left one light on at least, or put a flashlight by the door. As he opens the door and peers into the pitch black living room, he holds his breath, half-expecting his husband’s naked corpse to meet him at the entryway.

He chides himself for being a ridiculous idiot, though, how ridiculous is it really?

A day ago, when he went searching SoHo shops for that horrid incense that Blaine used to love in the hopes of keeping his husband’s favorite scent alive in the house, he would have agreed that the concept of life after death was ludicrous.

That is until he stumbled upon a teenage girl who promised him the secret to bringing Blaine back.

“Bl---Blaine? Blaine, honey? I’m home, love,” Kurt calls out weakly, hoping that his dead husband won’t actually answer. Kurt is thirty steps away from walking out of his comfort zone and into a world he would have rather not known existed, so Blaine coming back to life on his own would tip Kurt over the edge into insanity.

Kurt reaches out a trembling hand and turns on the light. His living room, warm and comforting, decorated in muted browns and shabby chic inspired elements, welcomes him. There’s nothing different or out-of-place here.

Nothing dead.

Kurt continues to the bedroom, switching on lights as he goes. With every step, he has to convince himself to keep going. He originally pictured himself racing into the house, eager to get this started. But now, alone, with reality staring him in the face, he isn’t sure.

But he doesn’t have the luxury of waiting to see if he will eventually change his mind. Blaine’s internal organs, especially his brain, are decaying fast, regardless of how much ice or air conditioning he pipes into the place.

Twenty steps brings him to the threshold of his bedroom, where he stops, staring at the closed door.

Kurt reaches down and pats the bottle in his pocket, feeling the lump through the denim of his jeans. Then Kurt moves his hand to the doorknob, but stops with it hovering when he hears a small creak – like a foot stepping lightly on the hardwood floor. It’s the house settling, Kurt reassures himself. That’s what Blaine always said when Kurt woke in the middle of the night to the sound of odd creaking and whining.

“It’s a mid-century house,” he’d said. “The floors contract in the cold and expand in the heat.”

“What does that mean?” Kurt asked.

“It means the house talks in our sleep,” Blaine replied without opening his eyes. “Now go back to sleep.”

“Just the house settling,” Kurt mutters, plucking the explanation from his mind and saying it out loud to make it real. “Nothing else alive in the house except for me.”

Still, Kurt can’t bring himself to open the door.

He hears the creak again.

“Blaine? Are you there? Are you … are you waiting for me, baby?”

Of course he’s waiting for you, Kurt thinks. He’s waiting for you to grow a pair and get this over with.

Kurt sighs, allowing the rush of breath in his deflating body to give his hand momentum, touch the doorknob and open it like he has hundreds of times before.

This time is no different.

He turns the knob and switches on the light without thinking about the sight that awaits him on the bed. His eyes flick up, and Kurt’s stomach falls to the floor.

There’s Blaine, right where Kurt left him, lying in bed, eyes closed. He looks asleep and, from this distance, normal except for a few cuts and bruises on his face. The accident hadn’t banged his body up that badly, not from what Kurt had noticed, though he didn’t make it a point to look at Blaine for too long.

His neck is why not.

His severed neck from the whiplash - that had killed him instantly.

He’d been leaning forward in his car seat, looking at street signs, stuck on a small, offshoot road that the GPS in his car had apparently never heard of before. He had cautiously entered the intersection of the suburban street when the other car flew through out of nowhere and hit him from behind. Blaine hit the steering wheel, ironically, half a second before the air bag deployed.

Kurt blinks back the tears that automatically leap to his eyes at the thought of the accident that took his husband from him.

“H—hey, baby,” Kurt says, trying to get comfortable with the idea of talking to his husband again. “I went out shopping today, and you’ll never believe what I brought home.”

Kurt can see his own breath as it meets the air in the room, like he’s walking into a gigantic meat locker, making what he’s doing that much more morbid. His knees knock, but he clamps them together to keep his weak legs mobile. He reaches the bed, and his casual, conversational tone disappears, the words wavering as he speaks.

“I think … this might … help …” he hiccups, side-eying his husband’s body. Blaine’s skin appears waxy, coated in moisture from the frigid air, and the color isn’t right. Kurt knows that soon the blood will pool and Blaine’s unnaturally pale skin will turn black, so he has to hurry, but every muscle in his body screams for him to turn around and run.

Kurt touches the bed, and he whimpers.

I can do this, I can do this … he chants inside his head. He reaches out and lets his hand brush Blaine’s fingers. He tries to recall their warmth, the way Blaine’s touch made him feel loved, desired.

Kurt wants that back, and he isn’t going to let anything stand in his way.

Kurt kneels on the bed, crawls over to Blaine’s body, and leans over his serene face.

“I’m going to get you back,” Kurt whispers, cursing the fear in his voice. “If I have to claw my way into heaven and drag you back with my own two hands, I’m going to get you back.”

Kurt pulls the blue bottle out of his pocket. He holds it to the light and gives it a swirl, watching the liquid spin around the stomach of the glass and then settle into a shimmering mass. There’s Blaine’s life, Kurt thinks, sitting in the bottom of this glass.

Kurt yanks out the stopper and brings the bottle to Blaine’s lips.

“Bottoms up, love.” Kurt pecks a kiss to cold skin and then tips the contents into his mouth. He expects to see Blaine’s throat move as he swallows, but it doesn’t. For now, he’s still dead … but not for long.

Kurt remains kneeling at Blaine’s side. He stares into his husband’s face, heeding the ancient woman’s words to be the first person Blaine sees when he opens his eyes. He kneels and kneels for over an hour. His thighs cramp in the freezing cold. The prickle that comes with poor blood circulation assaults his skin, and the thought that this is an elaborately planned and executed hoax becoming more a likelihood as time passes by.

The sun starts to light up the neighborhood outside. Kurt can barely see early morning God rays seep in beneath the blackout curtains, but there they are - evidence of a brand new day. Still, there’s no change, no sign, nothing on Blaine’s face that might give Kurt a reason to hold on. He struggles against exhaustion, grasping at paper thin straws of hope, but with each passing minute, he’s failing.

It had been a dream – just a wonderful dream.

But Kurt has to wake up and face facts - his husband isn’t coming back to him in any form.

Kurt stretches his limbs - one leg, than the other. Then he lifts up his torso, bending his arms and flexing his hands. He crawls backward off the bed, raising his arms above his head, listening to his spine snap and pop. He looks at Blaine again, peacefully expired – one last look before he makes plans for his husband’s burial.

He’s beginning to feel it’s about time.

Kurt walks to his dresser and opens the top drawer, looking for his pajamas. Before he does anything, he needs a nap or he’ll drop dead on his feet.

He winces at the ill-placed pun.

He rummages through the drawer, looking past perfectly suitable pairs of shirts and lounge pants, but for what, he doesn’t know … until he finds it.

A journal.

In its pages, Kurt has documented everything that has ever tried to knock him down a peg; anything that ever tried to bring him to his knees - his mother’s death, Karofsky’s bullying, Blaine’s betrayal. It was a way for him to cope with the horrible things that had happened in his life. But he hasn’t written in it since his father was diagnosed with cancer.

After that, it felt useless. It wasn’t helping him. It sure as hell wasn’t making him feel any better to drudge up that stuff and keep it in a book. But not till that moment had he considered it ironic that he only wrote down the bad stuff and didn’t keep track of the good. He should have kept albums full of the positive milestones – winning Nationals, moving to New York, getting into NYADA, marrying Blaine.

He swears that someday he’ll buy a new journal and fill it with the happy events from his life, but he has this one with him now, so he might as well jot down another entry – one more moment of pain to add to the list.

Kurt feels numb to everything around him, and not just because of the intense cold. Nothing seems to matter now. He leaves his pajamas in the drawer and hops back onto the bed. There’s nothing here for him to fear. What lies in bed beside him is a body, nothing more - flesh and blood rotting from the inside with no unique soul to keep it all together, make it worth something.

He opens the journal to an empty page, where a blue ballpoint pen had been shoved into the spine, waiting for him. He picks the pen out and uncaps it. He puts the pen to the paper, but he doesn’t start writing right away. Where should he start? A few minutes ago, when Kurt finally decided to give up on the possibility of his husband coming back? A couple of hours ago, when the old woman almost refused to sell him the potion? Or that horrible night, when the police showed up at his door with apologetic looks and bad news?

While Kurt juggles those thoughts, trying to decide, he hears the melting ice-cubes collapse in their piles, some having turned to water, making way for others to fall. He feels the bed dip as he shifts his legs beneath him, his crossed limbs having fallen asleep in their bent up positions. He clears his throat, the sound rumbling in his chest, though the voice doesn’t exactly sound like his own.

Suddenly, his mind goes blank.

Even with the chill in the room, he feels his blood turn to ice. He doesn’t think he can get any colder, but he does. That inside out feeling returns as another one starts to register.

He no longer feels quite so alone.

Kurt lowers his journal, glancing up from the blank page to find Blaine, rolled onto his side, staring at him with emotionless eyes.

***

January 15 –

He opened his eyes and looked at me, but the eyes I remember are no more. Gone are the golden hazel eyes I loved so much. These new eyes are white on white, the pupils infinitely dark and the irises torn. They stare without blinking. They look at me, but they don’t seem to recognize me. I don’t want to reject him, but those eyes unnerve me.

There’s so much about them that’s innocent and frightened.

There’s so much about them that’s desolate and dead.

We literally spent the morning just looking at one another.

I would give anything to know what’s going on in his mind. I want to reach out and touch him, but I’m afraid. I know it won’t be the same. He won’t be warm. What could be worse than the feel of his skin after he died? I don’t know. But whatever this is, it might be. And he won’t smell like Blaine. He won’t have his suave air or his beautiful singing voice. It’s almost as if I adopted some wild animal and made it my husband.

What have I done?

***

January 16 –

All day long, he tried to move, grunting with the effort of struggling to stand up and get out of bed. He didn’t speak words; he just groaned. I want to help him. I want to pretend that he’s simply convalescing after a horrible illness. I want to bathe him and dress him. I want to sit him down in front of the television, prop up his feet, and feed him soup and ice-cream. I want to put this chapter behind us and get on with our lives.

I want to make-believe him dying never happened, but I’m not that good an actor.

He’s behaving exactly the way the old woman warned me he would. He’s like a child – a grown, mentally-disabled child.

This is the ‘in sickness and in health’ part of the marriage package, which I agreed to without hesitation.

Never mind the ‘till death do us part’ portion.

This is a part of my vows, and I’ll honor them.

My love will help him, I know it will.

…

Can I really do this, or am I fooling myself?

***

January 17 –

I’m trying my best to take the bad with the good.

I managed to get him to the living room sofa. He moved his legs stiffly. He couldn’t seem to bend his knees.

He had been declared dead on arrival because of the injury to his neck, but now I’m wondering if anything else is broken. I wasn’t really paying attention to the doctor when he went over the extent of Blaine’s injuries. After I heard the word ‘dead’, I tuned out.

I should get a copy of Blaine’s hospital records.

But if his legs are broken, how will I deal with that? Will the potion magically fix everything? I mean, it brought him back to life. Could fixing broken legs be more difficult than that? What is the extent of its effects? Do I need a secondary potion of some kind to repair internal injuries?

Maybe I should call the old shopkeeper back and ask.

We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

He stumbled numerous times and fell on me. I did my best not to cringe at his touch or accidentally drop him, but those eyes, so close to mine, were like looking into a nightmare. I could see through them to the stagnant veins and arteries behind.

The fourth time he stumbled, though, I got the feeling that maybe he was falling on purpose so that I would have to catch him.

I even thought I saw the shadow of a smile cross his lips.

I watched him as he sat in front of the TV and renewed his passion for Logo. RuPaul’s Drag Race was on. That show had been one of his favorites – a dirty pleasure, he called it.

He sat so still. He didn’t swallow. He didn’t appear to breathe.

The only time he moved was when he looked over to where I sat, I think to make sure I was still there.

He sat for hours and watched TV. There was nothing else for him to do.

I fed him salad for dinner. I let him stay in front of the television instead of making him go to the dining room table. I didn’t see any reason to move him. He leaned down and sniffed the cold lettuce leaves, but he didn’t eat.

Neither did I.

***

January 19 –

After a full day of limping him around the house, Blaine is surprisingly steady on his feet. He hasn’t attempted any dance moves yet, but he can make it from the bedroom to the living room sofa by himself. It takes him a while, but he can do it.

His body is still stiff, but he seems to be getting more comfortable with it.

I should be jumping for joy at his progress, but I don’t know that I’m all that comfortable with it.

***

January 21 -

He doesn’t sleep, and now that he doesn’t rely on me to get around the house, neither do I. I know he sees me like a parent-figure, and he won’t hurt me, but he’s such an alien creature. Not like the old Blaine at all.

It’s strange having him around the house.

When Blaine was

Before the accident, Blaine was so independent. He was a professor at NYADA, and a song writer. During his days off, he had tons of projects that kept him busy, and on weekends, he sat in with a local band on vocals and guitar. He didn’t need me, didn’t need my help with anything.

But now, he needs to be near me all the time.

I understood there would be a change in our dynamic, but it’s such a striking change that it’s difficult to get used to.

I took a shower for the first time in days. I left him in the living room watching TV, but when I finished and opened the curtain, there he was, standing there … staring.

I fell asleep for about an hour afterward, and when I woke up, he was kneeling beside me, again staring at me.

He’s always staring.

What does he see when he looks at me?

***

January 22 –

I finally broke down and gave Blaine a shower. He didn’t stink necessarily, but there was something about him, something that smelled … well, I can’t describe it here. I just wanted it gone.

I’ve seen the injuries to his chest numerous times, but I haven’t really paid much attention to his back.

When I saw it, I almost threw up.

And he noticed. He heard me gag. He turned to face me, and for the first time, he had an expression on his face that was different from his normal blank one … or from that imperceptible smile I thought I saw when I was helping him walk around the house.

I gasped, holding in my urge to be sick.

And he looked hurt.

***

January 27 -

Each day that he improves, I debate telling his family. I know his mom misses him terribly, and his brother, too. But, in the end, it would be too cruel. He’s not entirely himself anymore. He never will be. Most days, I curse myself for doing this to him. My motives were selfish. I wasn’t thinking of anyone but myself when I made the decision to bring him back. I wasn’t thinking of his family.

I wasn’t even thinking of him.

Our lives are unrecognizable. We’ll never travel the world like we planned. We’ll never have children. Blaine will never perform on stage again, and I’ll have to retire from Vogue. The rest of our days will be spent here in this house, and I have to be okay with that.

But what about Blaine?

If you asked me, rationally, if I think he wants to live this half-life with no potential to be anything other than a walking human puppet who only barely resembles the man that was Blaine Anderson, I would have to say no. Absolutely not.

But I can’t turn back now.

I can only hope that my love for him is enough to keep him from hating me when he’s able to comprehend completely what I’ve done to him.

***

February 1 –

I’ve finally gotten him to eat – bits and pieces mostly, bites of vegetables and corners of bread. It doesn’t look like he likes it, but he eats it, and that’s good. He eats because I tell him to. It shows that he trusts me.

He’s more self-sufficient now. He showers and brushes his teeth on his own. He picks out his pajamas and dresses himself. Sometimes he tries his hand at making the bed. He’s trying to be more vocal, but he has yet to say a single thing that isn’t a grunt or a moan.

I often wonder if I’ll ever hear him sing again.

I’ve been looking up the subject of speech delay on the internet, trying to find ways to help him learn. I came across one website in particular with fun and creative ideas. I started making him flashcards of simple consonant blends and one syllable words. I was so excited to show them to him, but then I realized - I don’t know if he can read.

***

February 3 –

I tried calling the shop in SoHo to ask about the effects of the potion, but the phone has been disconnected.

I guess they went out of business after all.

It doesn’t matter. Nothing appears to be broken, or maybe it’s that he doesn’t feel pain.

I was teaching him how to cook, hoping it would bring a bit of the old Blaine back. We used to cook together all the time, even back in high school. I started him small. I had him grating cheese. He ran the grater over the backs of his fingers, scraping off skin. He didn’t even flinch. I think it bothered me more than it bothered him. I bandaged it up and, without thinking, I kissed the wound. I looked at him in utter shock …

… and he smiled.

It’s so nice to see his smile back. I never thought I would.

***

February 4 –

I took off Blaine’s bandage, and his wound from the cheese grater is completely gone. There’s not a single trace of it left.

I guess that answers that question.

I should be relieved, but it bothers me, and I don’t know why.

***

February 14 –

Today was the most unexpectedly intense, depressing, and wonderful day all at once.

It started when Blaine woke up this morning. He got up before me and tried to make me breakfast. I had no idea why. He hadn’t tried before. He burned it, himself, and the stove along with it. The fire alarm woke me up, blaring in my ears. I managed to get to the extinguisher in time, but poor Blaine looked heartbroken over his blackened pancakes and undercooked eggs.

Then, before lunch, he wanted to go outside. I think he was trying to sneak out in secret, but I caught him jiggling the front doorknob (he has yet to master the lock - thank you to whomever I should thank). When I caught him, he slammed his hand on the door in frustration and sprinted for the back one. I followed him, knowing it was locked and that he wouldn’t be able to open it. When I reached the back door, he was trying to wedge his way out of the old doggie door (I don’t know why we have it. We’ve never owned a dog, but there’s one in the kitchen, too). I patted him gently on the shoulder and asked him what he needed. He stood up and groaned, moving his mouth and wiggling his tongue, making nonsensical sounds. When he couldn’t say what he needed to say, he pointed out the window to the garden. I shrugged. I told him I didn’t understand. He pointed again more forcefully, jabbing at the window with his index finger.

“I don’t … I don’t understand,” I said. “Do you want to go outside for a walk?”

I had taken him outside a few times, when the neighborhood kids were at school and I didn’t think anyone would notice us. I wrapped him up in a full length coat and scarf with just his eyes peeking out. I guess he enjoyed it, but he’d never specifically asked to go outside before. He shook his head and pointed again, this time at the dying rose bushes that I hadn’t had time to deadhead yet. I didn’t get it. I shrugged again and he stormed off to the bedroom.

I followed him there, but he locked the door.

I could hear him inside, moaning. It was horrible. It sounded like pain and embarrassment and frustration all rolled together, and I couldn’t help him.

He wouldn’t let me.

I tried to lure him out several times, but he didn’t come out till dinner time.

He was dressed in his black Armani suit.

It was the suit I had planned to bury him in.

It threw me for a loop, dragging me kicking and screaming back to that day when I found out he was dead, before I decided to try bringing him back, before I knew that I could. I took out the suit to air it. I guess I hadn’t put it back into storage because there it was, standing before me with the living corpse of my husband inside.

It took all the air out of my lungs.

“Take it off,” I said quietly, trying not to alarm him, but how was I supposed to explain to my somewhat dead husband that I didn’t want to see him dressed in the suit I planned on putting him in the ground in?

He looked confused and shook his head, opening his mouth and groaning.

“Please, Blaine,” I begged, hoping he would hear my anguish, “take it off.”

He stomped his foot and shook his head, the way a petulant child would. It should have been cute, but I couldn’t handle it. I have had so many problems with his disturbing looks before, but for the first time since he came back to me, he truly looked dead.

“Take it off!” I screamed. I ran at him swinging, grabbing the lapels, trying to tear it off his body. He held me, pinned my arms, and I could feel his renewed strength. I hadn’t really let him touch me before, but now I knew that if he wanted to, he could probably hurt me.

I stared up at him, realizing that he was hovering above me, and that I was lying on my back on the floor. My heart stopped. He had never looked truly menacing before. Even in death, he seemed so innocent. But now, he looked like a monster. He had a piece of paper balled in his grasp, and he tried to make me look at it, but I couldn’t take my eyes away from his face – pale and cold and lifeless, regardless of the fact that he was my Blaine.

He stared at me, trying to speak.

And that’s exactly what he was doing. Speaking.

His lips were moving in exaggerated, grotesque ways that shouldn’t be able to turn sound into words, but they were.

“K … Kr … Ku …”

Blaine blinked and shook his head.

“Kur …”

“Kurt?” I asked, awed and breathless that he was trying to say my name.

Blaine laughed. It was a glorious, hollow, frankly frightening sound, but I couldn’t help smiling when I heard it. He put his fingers to my lips. I guess he didn’t want me to steal his thunder.

“Kurrrt,” he said, smacking his lips. “I … lo … I lov …” Blaine swallowed again, closing his eyes, trying to make the words in his head match the movement of his lips. “I … love … you … Kurrrrt.”

Blaine tapped again at the paper on the floor. This time I did what he wanted and looked. He had torn off the current page from the calendar, and was poking at a box circled shakily in red. I peered down at it.

I could have cried.

“Valentine’s Day?” I asked, looking into his pale, broken eyes. He sighed, nodding.

It was Valentine’s Day.

He’d wanted to make me breakfast in bed … for Valentine’s Day.

He’d wanted to get me roses … for Valentine’s Day.

My husband had wanted to do something nice for me … for Valentine’s Day.

I hate Valentine’s Day with every last fiber of my being, but my husband had spent all day teaching himself how to say, “I love you, Kurt,” because there was nothing else he could do for me.

So, now Valentine’s Day is my new favorite holiday.

***

June 4 -

Five months-ish later…

I can’t believe it! It’s been five months and we’ve made it! Despite the odds. Despite the difficulties and the heartaches. Despite every time I thought about giving up, here we are.

Happy.

Together.

We spend our days wrapped in each other’s arms. We watch TV. I read books out loud; he sits and listens. Blaine is re-learning how to play the piano and the guitar. We’ve even started singing duets again. It might not be what it was before, but it’s perfect for us.

Since we’ve made headway using foundation on Blaine’s skin and contact lenses in his eyes (in a slightly darker shade of brown than his original alluring hazel, but it does the trick), we’ve managed to go outside more. His vocabulary has expanded immensely, and a hint of his old dapper confidence has come back.

I am finally at a point where I am optimistic about the future.

Because I’m beginning to think that there might actually be one for us.

***

August 13 –

I woke up this morning to a strange screaming/squealing noise. It didn’t sound human, so I didn’t worry too much about it. As long as none of the neighborhood kids got hit by a car, there’s really no reason to jump out of bed and investigate. After a few minutes of listening to the goings on outside, I determined that wasn’t the case, so I considered going back to sleep.

But then I noticed that Blaine wasn’t lying beside me in bed.

That isn’t too unusual. He’s normally the first one up on any given day. I just curl back into a ball, holding his pillow to my chest until he returns.

He always returns.

The squealing wasn’t really that weird. I’ve thought for the last few months that we might have rats. Or squirrels. Or possums. I think I’ve heard that same squealing a few times before. But seeing as I can’t find any evidence of rodent-based destruction anywhere in the house, I have to admit, I haven’t been too aggressive about hunting it down.

Instead of returning to bed, I decided to make some waffles for breakfast, so I got out of bed and went out into the kitchen.

That’s where I found Blaine.

He was crouching on the floor …

He was covered in blood …

Biting into the spine of what used to be a raccoon …

…

I may have a problem.

#klaine #klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #frankie writes

[joannechocolat]

Scent and memory

(And here’s the piece...) 

My earliest memories are of scent. The corner shop in which I was born, with its atmosphere of fresh cardboard and old newspapers, and the coal fire that smoked, and the cellar in which my grandfather kept potatoes and pickles and home-brewed wine. The scent of the Mustela baby lotion that my mother used on my skin, and which she always brought home from France. The blue-green reek of the tidal flats on the island of Noirmoutier, where my family had a house; and which to me was the smell of the sea, so that every other coast seemed to me to be missing some essential ingredient.

Scent awakens memory; it speaks to the other senses; it seems to exist outside of time; it sometimes even awakens the dead. My grandfather’s pipe tobacco, Clan, has such a sweet and distinctive scent that, twenty years after his death, it still evokes his presence. And its colour is a faded red, like the fisherman’s smock he used to wear when we went sailing together, and the colour still smells of sunshine, and wind, and a hundred happy memories.

To me, most scents have colours. It’s a form of synaesthesia, in which the brain confuses stimuli, converting sounds to shapes, or sounds, or tastes, giving colours to days of the week, or in my case, converting colours to scent, so that sometimes I find it difficult to separate one from the other. Perhaps this is why, in my house, there are so many brightly-coloured things; and why I always like to keep my favourite perfumes close by, alongside my books and my paintings.

Perfume is my greatest indulgence. Not chocolate, not shoes, but bottles of scent; dozens - no, hundreds - of bottles, each one containing a genie that, when uncorked, can work everyday miracles of memory and mood. Some perfumes are little capsules of time; like the Ô de Lancôme I wore the year I first met my husband – I was sixteen, at sixth-form college - and its colour is the same bright-green as the pullover I used to wear, a fresh and vibrant citrus scent that still brings back those happy days more clearly than a photograph. Or Guerlain’s Chamade, with its dark chypre base, which I wore at university – being an impoverished student then, I couldn’t afford the eau de parfum, but used the bath oil as perfume instead and thought myself very sophisticated. Or Yves Rocher’s Ispahan, which somehow smells of our first home, a rather run-down terrace house, with colourful murals on the walls and a perpetual fog of patchouli and frankincense.

Our sense of smell is the first of our senses to develop. As infants, it is the sense of smell that first connects us to the world. I remember, in the maternity ward, when my daughter was born, holding her – just a few hours old – up to a vase of freesias standing by the bedside. Her reaction was immediate; her little head turned; her mouth opened in an immediate and instinctive desire to explore and to experience.

As adults, we can too often become jaded by the multitude of sense–impressions coming at us all the time. Traffic, televisions, radios, billboards, mobile phones, the constant comings and goings of other people – all can contribute to a sensory overload that can lead to stress and confusion.

But close your eyes, relax, and the sense of smell comes back into its own. Scent speaks directly to the subconscious, sometimes evoking whole scenes that even photographs cannot convey. It has strong emotional associations, too; often linked with memory. Nothing brings back the past like a scent; nothing speaks so clearly and directly to the heart.

             I once held a writing seminar in a women’s prison near my home. The women were all different ages and from wildly different backgrounds; at first I struggled to find a way to engage their creativity. Then I asked: “What smells do you miss?” Each reply was a story. By the end of the day, I had poetry; short fiction; essays; letters to the dead. The next time I came, I brought perfume samples. In that sterile and utilitarian environment, each one was like an oasis.

             Another time, a friend of mine suffered a stroke that left her completely paralysed, unable to speak or to swallow. I knew she dreamed of food and drink, so I brought her the closest things I could find; fruit-scented lip salves from the Body Shop; pomegranate bath bombs from Lush; chocolate-scented lotions to rub into her hands and feet. On her birthday, I made her a virtual birthday cake – a cocktail of scents in a bottle. I used dark chocolate, Kahlua, cinnamon and black pepper. It was inedible, but smelt divine. She kept it by her bed for six months, until she was be able to eat again – in spite of her doctor’s prediction that this might never happen. Such is the positive power of scent and the energy it can harness.  

I first became aware of perfumes through my great-Aunt Marie, an elegant old Parisienne, who had once known Chagall and Edith Piaf, and who until the day she died, always dressed in pink and white, and never wore any perfume other than Chanel Number 5. I remember the glass-stoppered bottle that stood on her dressing-room table, and the scent of impossible flowers, like something out of a distant dream. She was the one who taught me that scent is the oldest magic there is; a scent can change your identity; can bring back the ghosts of long-lost loves; like a fairy godmother, transform the most timid of wallflowers into a heroine, just for one night. Chanel Number 5 still brings her back, and she was the one who encouraged me to haunt perfume departments, to collect samples and bath oils, to discover the scents that would help me express my personality.

Nowadays, I tend to use scent much as I would my wardrobe. I have so many bottles that my husband bought me a cabinet as a gift, in which I keep all my perfume bottles, neatly categorized and ready to use. The top shelf is for gourmand fragrances, with their notes of gingerbread; vanilla; honey and chocolate. Muegler’s Angel; Rochas’ Tocade; Kurkadjian’s Absolue du Soir. The second is for florals; Chanel no. 19; Fracas; Trésor; Paris. The third, for herbal and citrus scents; Jo Malone’s Lime Basil; Acqua de Parma; Guerlain’s Mitsouko. The bottom shelf is for orientals: Habit Rouge; Coromandel; L’Autre; the lovely creamy sandalwood of Chanel’s Bois des Iles.

Every morning I choose a scent according to my mood. Wistful; exuberant; romantic; brave. Some days I look for an old friend; on other days I need a breath of fresh air. When I’m writing a new book, I often choose a scent on behalf of my protagonist. I wear it much in the same way that method actors sometimes use scent to get into character. Vianne Rocher was Aqua de Parma; Blueeyedboy was l’Heure Bleue; the seductive Zozie de l’Alba was scented with Guerlain’s Habit Rouge. The book I’m writing right now smells of a new Chanel perfume, Boy: a light and lovely unisex blend of lavender and vanilla, with which I’ve recently become more than a little obsessed.

For me, the most important aspect of attraction has always been about feeling good. There is a tangible radiance to well-being that no cosmetic can duplicate. That’s why I tend to give more thought to the scent I wear than to clothes or makeup, or even shoes. My wardrobe is made up of bottles, neatly lined up in my scent cabinet. Some are old friends; some, new discoveries. Each one fits me perfectly, tailored to my changing moods.

My little black dress is Coromandel; I wear it with heels and attitude. My sexy number is Bois des Iles, with its creamy sandalwood scent. Francis Kurkadjian’s Acqua Universalis is my favourite pair of jeans; almost, but not quite unisex, fresh and informal and effortless. I wear Fracas when I want to turn heads; with its blast of tuberose, it’s my strapless Oscar frock. Yves Rocher’s Ispahan is the hippy dress I can’t bear to throw out; I still have half a bottle (it’s now sadly discontinued) that I wear on special occasions. Houbigant’s Chantilly is there in the mornings for when I want to feel sixteen again. I wore it throughout my teenage years, and it always takes me back.

Besides, at 52, whatever I wear, it’s getting less and less likely that people will say in all honesty: “You look fabulous.” But very often, people do say (as did a grumpy Head Porter on a recent trip to my old college, startled out of his apathy by a passing whiff of Guerlain’s Samsara); “You smell fabulous.” Because beauty isn’t about how you look, but how you make other people feel. And whatever can make a Head Porter smile, on a dull autumn day in Cambridge, is surely a power to conjure with.

r

[cinnamonswamp]

July

When my partner first casually proposed the idea of going hiking this weekend to me, I agreed with genuinely astounding nonchalance. I’d been hungering quietly for pointed and intentional time together, for motion together, to see something other than the inside of my home and the homes of my clients. On the hungover Saturday morning when we drove to a neighboring town to pick up our His & Her CBD products from his favorite clinic (His as a little THC, Hers absolutely does NOT), a single tiny little sidewalk sign with a lovingly air-brushed “Roses $15″ on the front nearly moved me to tears with its absolute and implicit beauty. On the way home we drove past a three table garage sale that perched in front of a house’s rod iron gate, upon the gate loomed a hand-made sign that said “End Police Brutality” and the entire scene twisted itself into a poem, I was so, so grateful to see just the smallest slice of the rest of the world. So when he asked if I wanted to go hiking it was an immediate and unobserved yes. That’s how hungry I was.

I could tell you all about how bad it’s been this month. I could tell you about how going back to work has turned into an enormous cyst in my brain that is pressing down on every functional piece of me that is capable of experiencing joy, creativity and enthusiasm. I can tell you about how angry and sad and sleepless I’ve been, how I had previously believed I knew what despair was but just in this last month I’ve been shown by the cosmos that I truly had no clue before this. I could tell you about the bruise and the best/worst Pap smear I’ve ever had, and everything else. 

I guess I’m not gonna. I’m so much more interested in telling you about me being so, so pitifully brave. Three times this month I had to cancel whole days because I couldn’t sleep the night before, so finally I attempted to get on the phone with my psychiatrist to talk about a possible new medication because with drawing horror I was beginning to feel like the Ativan is not as effective as it used to be because I took so much of it this month. I couldn’t get ahold of her. So I did a thing that really demonstrates how desperate I’d become, I ordered a 50, that’s five-zero, dollar itsy bitsy teeny weeny bottle of CBD oil despite the fact that one of the things I am most afraid of in this whole goddamn universe is putting marijuana anything inside my person. 

(This is largely but not entirely due to a genuinely traumatic and unfortunate evening with an edible that I will not describe today, but I hope you will take my word for it that it was enough for me to get itchy if I even smell that shit in the air at a drum circle these days.)

So we drove to the neighboring city and got the stuff while listening to Taylor Swift’s new album and I saw pretty, sincere and human things and it was nice. 

When we went hiking on Sunday, which is today, my partner parked a little ways down the sloped street from the entrance to the trail and while we were walking up, before we were even able to see the entrance, I already knew I was in trouble. See I don't know what y’all been up to but for the past three months I have barely moved my body more than dragging it from one room to another. And I was not what anyone would consider “in shape” before the pandemic. So I get winded on the fourth step of a flight of stairs now. And what’s more is there were so many people coming in and out of this trail, and I had to wear a mask that makes me feel like I’m suffocating when I’m standing still. 

All of that is ok. But I also have a 16 year old panic disorder that is rooted so deep in my body and put there by so many novel and repeated instances of physical abuse that my trauma is less of a dark spot inside me and more like rings inside an ancient tree. So when I think people can see me weak and in pain, my body instantly sends a signal to my brain that there’s blood in the water and the sharks are coming. The results of this can vary depending on the situation but typically I tend to start a) crying b) hyperventilating and c) being mean to anyone around me. 

“This was a bad idea.” I said

“You're doing fine,” he said

“There’s too many people,” I said

“We’ll be ok.” he said.

One of the things I love about my partner is how keyed in he becomes when he recognizes that I’m going into crisis and how immediately the situation becomes all about me and whatever I need to be ok. So him gently edging me forward when I was clearly descending into fear and rage was this bizarre little light on the edge of the oncoming storm. He never does that, he never pushes me, I should be mad he’s doing it now, but I’m not, because this is a weird and rare thing for him to do. Maybe he knows something I don’t. So we waddle our way in and break off just inside the entrance so I can lose my shit sitting on a stump under a tree, fully locked in my funhouse of my brain now and seeing the faces of all these passing strangers twist into sneers and disgust when really all that was on those faces were masks obscuring literally any sense of emotion. I couldn't have seen disgust on anyone’s face if I tried. Eventually everyone more or less passed and I calmed, apologized. He tried to apologize and I wouldn't let him. This is why I usually do this stuff alone, because I always have to sit down and cry at first, then when I’m done, I get up and keep going. If I have to cry some more, I do it. I find another stump and cry some more, and then get back up again.

See that’s the secret to completing a difficult thing when you’re a soft, soft baby with deep body trauma: unconditional and compassionate permission to be completely pathetic. 

As my breath and heart rate slowed and I finally accepted the water he’d been trying to offer me for 15 minutes, this fact began to come back to me. 

The evening before, around 5pm, I stood there with the little bottle of CBD oil in my hands for a good twenty minutes, bring the stopper in and out of the bottle, like a little kid attempting to eat a vegetable for the first time, getting it to my mouth and stopping, whimpering, and trying again. Eventually I ran into the bedroom to do it in front of the mirror so I could be sure I only put a single drop under my tongue. Then I entirely dissociated from my body like I always do when I’m trying a new chemical and I’m convinced this is going to be the one that puts me back in the funhouse and permanently locks the door. 

We played a two-person round of combat with our DnD characters to keep my mind off it. My cleric absolutely kicked his ranger’s ass. I even gave him a full heal so we could keep fighting. By the end of the fight we’d both gotten a KO on each other and I was feeling... really, like seriously really good. A little scared, because it did sort of remind me of being high and I was on a kind of alert for the nibbling unpleasant sensations of being stoned, but they never came. I was just- chill. Happy to be around. And that night I got the best night’s sleep I’ve had since before the pandemic started. I hadn’t had a single drop of alcohol. 

When I woke up in the morning I felt like a shiny new thing. I was hungry, actually hungry and while I wallowed around in bed I only thought about how badly I wanted to experiment with making fries from scratch and trying to make a new candle. So when it was time to go on our hike I was in good spirits. CBD is a miracle drug and I am all better now. I can’t wait to tell my therapist. 

You can imagine my heart break when a few dozen steps on a slight incline and a handful of strangers pushed me right back into the funhouse. I don’t know how I can still be so naive at my age, really. But eventually I pushed myself off that dumb stump and we kept going. Every five minutes I scampered under another tree and waited for my pulse to calm the fuck down, but I didn’t cry again. I took pictures of trees and flowers and got into a terrifying and nearly fatal battle with a large fly that liked the way I smelled but entirely ignored my partner and by the time we were done it’d been about an hour and we’d gone about 2 miles. He told me if we did this once a week for three weeks he’d buy me one of those fancy hiking water bottles. I know that may sound condescending to you but I work well with reward systems. As it stood today I just occasionally suckled at his little water back pack set up with its little pipe like a baby calf and made a commitment to be good to myself. 

I haven’t even mentioned that I started an especially brutal and painful period this morning at 3am. And finished reading a good book while waiting for the Advil to kick in so I could go back to sleep. 

I could talk about how miserable I’ve been this month, and I have been. Worse than I could have imagined. But I don't want to, I want to talk about how this morning after I’d gotten back into my bed at around 6am I genuinely relished the feeling of being in bed, feeling the duvet’s pressure against my skin and hearing the subtle purring of my cat next to me. I haven’t felt that at all this month. 

I’m gonna try CBD again tonight and believe it or not I’m still scared. But sometimes scared is ok. That’s kind of where I’m at. Sometimes scared is ok. 

I’m going to the beach next week with my mom and sisters. See you at the end of August. By then I’ll be 32 and if I’m especially brave, I may even have a new water bottle.

[fashiontrendin-blog]

A gal&#039;s guide to Las Vegas (because it doesn&#039;t have to be like a scene from The Hangover)

http://fashion-trendin.com/a-gals-guide-to-las-vegas-because-it-doesnt-have-to-be-like-a-scene-from-the-hangover/

A gal's guide to Las Vegas (because it doesn't have to be like a scene from The Hangover)

Tony Curtis once said, “if you know how to live in Vegas, you can have the best time”.

We Brits have always had a fixation with Vegas. Our first experience of the city usually stems from having lived it vicariously through over-the-top Hollywood films like The Hangover and the Ocean’s movies. Movies, which glamorise the black out drunk, disastrous stag/hen do and frenzied gambling narrative that is so synonymous with Vegas.

As appealing as getting stuck in Las Vegas with Bradley Cooper sounds, we felt it was time to discover another side to Vegas. A side that consists of more than just walking up and down the strip, nursing hangovers and spending unconscionable amounts of money.

Here at GLAMOUR, we’ve decided that what happens in Vegas shouldn’t just stay in Vegas. They say everybody goes to Vegas for 3 days. We stuck to that formula – and boy, did we live our best lives! So, we’ve compressed our trip of a lifetime into a ‘Day and Night Life Guide to Vegas’, especially for you.

You’re welcome.

The Hotel.. After an 11-hour flight and the initial merciless assault of heat as you emerge from the airport, we were beyond grateful for the respite offered as we entered the cool lobby (in the literal sense) of the stunning Vdara Spa hotel. Whilst benefiting from being right at the heart of the strip, the hotel is surprisingly casino-free – a refreshing anomaly in Vegas. With stunning views of the city and beyond, a fully kitted out spa and a high-tech gym, it’s totes the digs for the millennial traveller. Did we mention that the hotel also has robots that can deliver room service all ours of the day at the mere press of a button? MIND=BLOWN.

The spot for lunch… Chica at the Venetian. Nestled within a quieter corner of the opulent, Italian themed ‘Venetian’ and with its infamous canals, paddled by T-shirt clad gondoliers (yes, really) – it would be easy to miss this heavenly little piece of Latin-inspired cuisine. Mouth- watering dishes like the crispy calamari fuego, fish tacos and the shrimp and butter salad are easily washed down with the sinfully tasty array of cocktails that are available on the menu.

Laugh and Dine at… Beauty & Essex at the Cosmopolitan. Now, if ever there was a restaurant made for the girl with serious Sex and the City nostalgia, this is it. Behind a hidden entrance in a pawn shop (I know, we couldn’t either at first), Beauty and Essex can best be described as a lux restaurant-lounge; the sort of place you would go with your best girlfriends to giggle, chat, eat, drink and flirt with the waiters just like Carey Bradsaw and co. But don’t be fooled, it’s not all glitz, this place packs a culinary punch serving some of the most innovative finger food and creative cocktails a girl can ask for.

Nightcap at.. the Chandelier at the Cosmopolitan. In a city that never sleeps, the idea of a nightcap is somewhat redundant. Nevertheless, after you’ve eaten far too much than you should have (this is Vegas, after all), the Chandelier bar is a great spot to see and be seen. Stunningly encased within a giant crystal chandelier (which could only ever work in Vegas), you have a choice of 3 bars across 3 levels, giving you the added bonus of both walking off those excess calories whilst trying out the different menus that each bar offers. #winning.

Day party at.. Drai’s Beachclub at the Cromwell or the Marquee at the Cosmopolitan. A trip to Vegas is not complete without a pool party, okay?! Head over to Drai’s at the Cromwell for a signature Vegas day party. First of all, it’s perched 11 storeys above the strip gifting spectacular views. Secondly, the music is on point and you can enjoy all of this from your own private cabana with up to 8 of your closest mates. This comes with incredible VIP service – vodka cocktails and chicken strips with dirty fries are optional!

If, however, you’re looking for something a little more “boujie”, then head to the Marquee day club. A club offering sun-blazed lavish pool-sides, bungalow lofts, beautiful people and more fun, sun and music than you can shake a frozen margarita at. The best bit? The cabanas come with their own infinity pools and hot tubs. I mean…

Fine Dine at.. Spago at Bellagio Hotel and Casino. This statement-making location, featuring views of the fountains at the Bellagio, Celebrity Chef Wolfgang Puck’s infamous brainchild is a must. Even J-Lo rates it! Nothing quite prepares you for the unbelievable oysters with cocktail sauce or the mouth-watering tuna tartare. Don’t even get us started on the, quite frankly, outrageous burrata salad topped with balsamic and rocket pesto. Head there for an early dinner so you can enjoy the spectacular waterworks.

Dance at… ’Jennifer Lopez: All I have’ concert at Planet Hollywood! Quite frankly, it would be rude to go to the entertainment capital of the world and not be, well… entertained. After Britney made Vegas residencies officially cool (all while reportedly raking in an eye-watering £500,000 per show), other stars such as J-Lo have followed suit, picking up the baton with her “All I have” show. And its err-mazing. Energetically fusing cabaret, hip hop, Latina, dance and pop in a way only J Lo can, this is undoubtedly one of the highlights of the trip. It’s intimate, it’s slick, it’s spectacular all at the same time. Just remember not to overindulge with the supersize frozen cocktails as you’ll need to pop to the loo and miss part of her performance.

21 times Jennifer Lopez rocked the sheer dress trend & looked better than all of us

Insta at… Seven Magic Mountains. Art installation in Vegas? Yes, you heard correctly. If you can bear to tear yourself away from the strip, just a few miles from Las Vegas Boulevard, you’ll stumble across Swiss artist Ugo Rondinone’s installation of 730 foot tall columns of neon coloured boulders. If ever there was an installation made for insta….

Brunch at… Primrose at Park a MGM. In case you hadn’t noticed, Vegas is all about recreating iconic places and cultural references from across the Globe – and Primrose is no exception. With a tropical garden-inspired terrace, Primrose brings a piece of Provence right to the heart Vegas. Refined yet relaxed, Primrose offers stunning lavender mimosas, succulent fruit platters, hearty breakfasts and the show stopper- garden fries (made of fried pickled dill beans, hot peppers and sauce gribiche) making it a refreshing addition to the Las Vegas scene. You won’t want to ever leave. We guarantee it.

Wine and Dine at… Rivea at Delano. Perfect If you want to take a break from the hustle and bustle of Las Vegas. Alain Ducasse’s French and Italian-inspired restaurant is light and enjoyable fine dining. It’s also happens to have THE.BEST.VIEWS.OF.THE.ENTIRE.STRIP. #Truestory. The decor is also stunning with hundreds of glass bubbles suspending from the ceiling. Standout dishes include the moreish asparagus and ricotta ravioli, chick pea fries (who knew?!) and the zingy, uplifting marinated seabass. Nom! You’ll definitely want to eat more than you want to share. Rivea isn’t a restaurant, it’s an experience…. And one that you’ll want to insta the hell out of…

Brunch at… Bouchon at the Venetian. Bouchon at the Venetian is often feted as one of the best restaurants in Vegas. Pretty high praise but it really does live up to the hype. You can enjoy French-inspired cuisine including classics such as, the croque madame and their pretty – as-you- like patisserie assortment. The restaurant opens out onto an impossibly pretty outdoor terrace complete with a Venetian pool, fountains and foliage. The perfect spot for recovering after a boisterous night on the strip.

Go Glam… with Gypsy shrine. When you’re in the party capital of the world, getting your bling on is a must – especially with The Gypsy Shrine’s Vegas collection.

Vegas really is the place that keeps on giving, it totally lives up to the hype. “Man, I really like Vegas,” Elvis Presley.

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