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darealsaltysam · 2 months

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I JUST GOT BACK FROM SEEING DUNE PART 2 AND HOLY FUCK OH MY GOD HOLY SHIT HOLY FUUUUCK I NEED TO. I NEED TO. I NEED TO TALK SO BAD HOLY SHIT

below the cut because oh boy do i have a lot to say and i dont want my poor followers to suffer when i post this

oh my god okay okay where do i even start

opening with irulan's narration to mirror her notes in the openings of the chapters of the book. oh yeah baby. i ate that right up

watching paul get close with the fremen,,,,, fucking hell that hurts. dune really is a tragedy at the end of the day huh. they go from reluctant allies to friends but the whole time you know the switch will happen any moment now and they will be devotees and he will be messiah and that gap between them will never be as small as it is out in the sand. huddled in those tents. sharing drinks and laughs. im not doing ok

this especially hurts with chani. their love is so genuine and pure and she wears blue for him (which by the way sticks out so much more with how muted the colors of the rest of the movie are... i could talk about this all day) but she can see what he is becoming and he's trying to avoid it for her so hard but there's no avoiding fate. LORD ABOVE!!!!

i loveeee jessica being the manipulator thats pulling all the strings, urging paul towards becoming messiah. rebecca ferguson is such a talented actress she really understands the character so well. also as a hashtag certified alia atreides enjoyer her scheming with her unborn fetus might be the most unhinged thing ever but thats also so fucking funny aka its as dune as it gets. dune is WEIRD and im glad theyre not shying away from that. thank u denis

arrakis looks so much more beautiful in this movie like theres defo been some changes with how its framed and presented it feels so much grander and idk just ??? what it makes me think is that we're not seeing arrakis, we're finally seeing dune. we're seeing the land as the fremen see it as paul becomes one of them. i might be looking too much into it but who cares. god i love this movie

but yes more on the fremen in the first section of the movie. i like how there's this cluster of non-believers almost?? its a nice breath of fresh air. its hard to believe every single person would be just devoted to the prophecy and it adds some depth.

i will say the one thing i didnt like is the way stilgar is characterized?? i dont think he was so blindly devoted to paul in the books, and definitely not alia and leto ii after him as the atreides line went on. he's always been a source of small doubt towards paul but i think they're moving that element of him onto chani, so i think i can let it slide. i'd like to see him question alia more in the future though.

the scene where paul was named muad'dib and usul??? god it was so cute which made it so heart wrenching. all the fremen coming together and welcoming him into their lives. as a brother. as a friend. only for him to turn around and make them all bow before him. ohhhhh i cant do this

OH BOY THE WORMS THE WORMS AND THE WORM RIDING AND THE AHHHHHHHHH OH LORD

jesus christ. what the fuck. how is this allowed on cinema screens how is something so amazing allowed

the tension. the effects. the sound design. the sand rushing past the wind the worm moving forward paul struggling to hold on the fremen all watching and then cheering him on HOLY FUCKKKK HOLY FUCK I WAS HOLDING MY BREATH

all the worm riding scenes were so intense and so well done like. when i first read that stuff in the books i didnt think anything could ever capture how i imagined it exactly and yet. AND YET. DENIS!!!!!!!!

once more dune hits the idea of scale SO well everything is HUGE and they MAKE YOU FEEL IT. that shows especially with geidi prime but ill talk about that in a bit. but yes this applies to the worms too lord above them WORMSSSS ARE HUGEEEE AND I LOVE THEMMMM

rebecca ferguson put her heart and soul into that water of life scene and we all need to thank her for it

the way jessica is so quick to switch up and go all in on the prophecy. it makes me think of leto's "im not asking his mother, im asking the bene gesserit" like. the bene gesserit really come first for jessica and she takes her opportunity to fulfill her duties. to be the reverend mother. to rub it all in the faces of the other bene gesserit. she is the mother of the messiah and by god will she make everyone well aware of that

okay. okay okay. i think i said my peace on the early fremen stuff. i think. okay fuck okay SHIT fuck SHIT

FEYD FUCKING RAUTHA LADIES AND GENTLEMEN

oh my god okay. okay ill admit it. i doubted austin butler. i saw the cast list and i was unsure(tm). i saw him in the trailers and my faith was restored. and holy fucking shit did he DELIVER

stellan skarsgård's baron harkonnen is already such a threatening figure it feels like it would be impossible to make someone even more terrifying and yet. AND YET

just the way he's introduced. killing servants with zero remorse. LICKING THAT KNIFE THE WAY HE DID??? OKAY WHORE. I SEE YOU. GO RIGHT AHEAD. MAKE IT SLUTTY IN HOUSE HARKONNEN. I RESPECT IT

when the arena doors open and that loud ass fucking music BOOMS. makes the room fucking SHAKE. thats a PRESENCE right there. THATS how you introduce your antagonist.

the music playing as he fights being as fucking deranged as he is. chaotic and weird and unsettling. just. oh my god feyd had such a presence from the moment he showed up and he did not lose it for a single second. you could feel him LOOMING over the movie the whole time just as he looms over the whole book from his very first scene. oh my goddddd oh my godd

GEIDI PRIME. THE ARENA. THAT MASSIVE HARKONNEN PALACE. oh my god. once more. that sense of scale. the harkonnens love to flaunt their wealth so ofc they have huge fuck off arenas and castles where everything and everyone feels so SMALL in comparison.

dont even get me started on the black and white. the way it accents those coal black teeth and mouths. the way it makes everything look so much more inhuman and clinical and PERFECT because harkonnen power is so absolute and ruthless.

and the way the baron sits so so high above watching the fighting. literally impossible to picture his elevation above his people above the rest of the universe. the way feyd looks to him for approval after every movement. even as his uncle is trying to kill him they exchange those little looks and feyd knows hes getting his chance to show off while the baron gives him his "gift" what a fucked up family what the hell

speaking of fucked up family! wow! they are SO fucked up! there is something seriously strange being hinted at with feyd and the baron! feyd making his own brother bow and kiss his boot! those constant threats of death against rabban as if theyre nothing! this family is capital f FUCKED up. they hurt each other as much as they hurt everyone around them. theyre made of violence and blood and they could never show each other kindness because they dont know such a thing

what can i say about the feyd/margot scenes that hasnt been said already. like wow just unpack the boy's trauma like that. use him and then throw him to the wolves. once again the bene gesserit make it so clear this is THEIR empire and THEIR bloodlines and THEIR messiah. too bad jessica doesnt see that collective "ours" and instead settles for "mine" when it comes to the messiah

special shout out to dave bautista before i move on. just cause. his rabban doesnt get enough love. he really sells that balance of ruthless power but also incompetency compared to his brother so well. can you guys tell i REALLY like this cast

WE ACTUALLY GOT TO SEE GURNEY PLAYING THE BALISET WE FUCKING WIN Y'ALL

the paul/gurney reunion being the last shred of the old paul. how he gets so happy "i recognized your footsteps, old man" shoot me in the fucking brain stem it would HURT LESS

a bit off topic and it happened earlier (sorry my thoughts are so all over the place) but i like how they actually showed the process of how the water of life is made. it was actually exactly like how i imagined it when i read the books so thats neat !!

anyway. back to the horrors.

i already talked so much about feyd's presence so just another small note. that scene in sietch tabr. he is a MONSTER and i am EATING IT UP

i cant even begin to explain. how much it fucked me up. when paul took the water of life. i knew thats where we were going. i knew it was unavoidable. and yet still. when chani bent over him and screamed at everyone for making him follow this prophecy. when she was forced to shed tears to save his life. when she got him back only to realize she lost him and he wasnt the person she loved anymore. it broke me

chani's utter hatred for the prophecy and what paul is becoming added to it so much. i know some people are unhappy with how much shes been changed from the books but i think its elevated her character and all these scenes so much. and oh my god does zendaya DELIVER when the spotlight is on her. i never doubted her for a moment but all those changes to chani really allowed to let her shine. thats that euphoria acting coming out baby !!!!

SPEAKING OF GOOD ACTING

TIMOTHEE

FUCKING

CHALAMET

listen i hate the fact that he gets cast in everything these days as much as everyone but hes such a talented actor and i cant deny this anymore. the water of life scene really sold it for me.

he was such a perfect paul already in the first movie but this was the moment it really came out. the way he wakes up so calm and collected. lifeless. monotone. theres nothing theres literally nothing

paul atreides the boy who became duke far too young is dead usul who was the lover of chani is dead muad'dib the fedaykin fighter is dead only the kwisatz haderach remains and thats what the prophecy was always leading us to and yet the moment it happens its so haunting

like i cannot say this enough. that complete switch is so sudden but so subtle at the same time. its still paul technically but hes so different

what makes dune's weird concepts so easy to take in once you get into the book is all that internal monologue that really leads you through these complex concepts slowly. and yet in a few shots and a few lines of dialogue timothee chalamet somehow manages to express the idea of "i just learned the secrets of the fucking universe and im about to start a holy war" ???? HOW DO YOU EVEN DO THIS???? HOW ARE YOU THIS TALENTED???? OH MY GOD!!!!!!!! IT WAS A FEW LOOKS A FEW MOVENTS JUST THE RIGHT TONE OF VOICE AND THATS HIM!!! THATS HIM BABY!!!! THATS THE KWISATZ HADERACH AND THE UNIVERSE IS FUCKED !!!!!!!!!

also. anya taylor joy alia. we only had you for a split second but i cannot wait for you. im sure youre going to completely slay the third movie. give us our beloved tragic meow meow. alia is my fave character so i will be JUDGING HEAVILY. she better bring her a-game istg

when paul storms the war council and just completely takes control of the room so easily. thats the bene gesserit conditioning giving him his pedestal and he is making the most of it. he knows exactly what the fuck hes doing. and once more oh my goddddd all that shouting all that emotion and yet a complete lack of it. timothee spare a crumb of talent for the rest of us

also the way in that scene gurney is hesitant about it all until paul proclaims himself the duke of arrakis. and suddenly gurney has house atreides again and he doesnt care what chani does anymore. hes a follower to paul just as everyone else in that room. nothing changes. fuck me man i cant do this anymore

have i mentioned yet im so excited for chani in the next movie. her arc is so interesting. children of dune is defo not happening with the way chani has been set up so i doubt we'll see leto ii and ghanima but. lets hope we still get all the cool stuff wit alia at least. and maybe chani can be the one who leads the charge against her

okay i need to really fucking. get along with it im dragging this post on im so sorry this movie is eating my brain alive

chani still wearing blue during the final fight. im not saying more than that i might cry if i think about it too much

THAT. FINAL. FIGHT. OH MY GODDD OH MY GOD

IT ALL CAME TOGETHER SO SO WELL

THE WORMS

THE SENSE OF SCALE

THE FIGHT CHOREOGRAPHY

THE MUSIC HOLY FUCK THE MUSIC HANS ZIMMER YOU OUTDO YOURSELF EVERY TIME

THE SOUND

EVERYTHING FLOWING TOGETHER SO WELL

the way the fremen fight for their messiah but still fly the atreides banner. the way paul leads them as their messiah and as a "fremen" but always proclaims himself duke of house atreides first. oh lorddd im unwell

every time paul menacingly emerged from fog/sand/smoke my life was extended by like 10 years thank u denis

gurney killing rabban with as much ease as he did cleared my skin and watered my crops <3

the way the baron was literally dying and still crawling towards the throne.......... the way at the same time feyd ignored him completely and looked towards the doors reveling in the fight ahead..... if that doesnt tell u everything you need to know about house harkonnen idk what will yall

i also love how no one intervenes as paul walks in and kills the baron. not even feyd. feyd looks like he was a little TOO into it as paul killed him tbh. feyd u little freak. austin butler you talented talented man. im unwell

i AM sad we didnt get to see baby alia stab him but ah well. we got a bunch of other weird dune shit so ill let this one slide. the psychic toddler may be too much even for denis and everything he did give us. we'll always have our 1984 alia <3

OHOHOHOHOHOHOH. OH. HERE WE GO

HERE WE GO YALL

THE SCENE IVE BEEN WAITING FOR SINCE READING THE BOOK

THE SCENE THEY SHOWED BITS OF IN THE TRAILER AND THE SCENE IVE BEEN NON STOP YEARNING FOR SINCE!!!

THE DUEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

oh my god oh my god oh my goddddd where do i even start

okay so. the way theres no music. no fancy cuts no slow mo no over the top effects. its just the slashing of the blades and those BEAUTIFUL shadowed shots with the setting sun in the background. this really is the sun setting on the peaceful universe. just pain and suffering ahead marked with the blood spilled from the two who were meant to produce the messiah but who both got thrown off this path by the greed and selfishness of their forefathers. guys im normal about paul and feyd. definitely. i definitely have very normal thoughts about how they are foils and yet two sides of the same coin. yes guys

paul making the emperor kiss his ring is already such an insane fucking scene and it translated to the screen so well. amazing performances all around

i didnt talk much about florence pugh's irulan but she really didnt have much time to shine. im excited to see where she goes next and i definitely think shes a great fit but i need to see more of her to really be able to say more

i will say this. the way chani, irulan and jessica are the only ones who dont kneel for paul. the three most important women in his life who give him his power, everything he has. jessica made him and she made him the messiah. chani opened her life up to him, helped him become and in turn control the fremen, and she shed her tears for him and fulfilled her role in the prophecy against her wishes. irulan is his path to the throne, his key to being emperor. and none of them bow before him because why would they bow before a power they are responsible for, a power they own, a power they gave?

but for chani its different ofc. she also refuses to bow because she despises everything paul stands for.

oh my god i could say so much about the last scene being chani. not paul reveling in his victory. paul leaves for his next bloodshed and chani is left behind crying for the person she loves who she knows is gone. crying for her people, again enslaved. crying those same tears that brought the messiah back into this world.

theres a lot to be said about the role of gender in dune and how it hangs over every facet of this world but thats a whole separate analysis post to be had so ill just throw it down here in this little point

another thing chani does very well in the movies is she really makes paul's villainy explicitly clear. SO many people read dune and completely misunderstand it and walk away from it concluding its a "white savior narrative" and nothing more which. yes!! yes it is!!!! but thats not a good thing!!!! its never stated to be a good thing!!!!

this movie is not gonna let you misunderstand the message of the story no matter how blind you try to be to it. paul is not a good guy. hes never been the good guy. hes the protagonist, but hes not the hero. and chani allows that to translate from book to movie very well. have i mentioned yet i love movie chani

chani fills in the holes left behind by the narration and internal monologues of the book and, bonus points, she holds the people who dont understand what dune is about by the hand and tells them explicitly "PAUL IS A BAD GUY!!! DONT IDOLIZE PAUL!!!! DONT WALK AWAY FROM DUNE THINKING ITS PRAISING PAUL'S ACTIONS!!!"

i think thats pretty much all i had to say. i might reblog with additions as they hit me but yeah i. i enjoyed the movie. so so much. i think i might watch it again sometime soon while its still in cinemas.

sorry for being unhinged hope u enjoyed my rants. kiss kiss night night <3

#dune #dune part two #dune part 2 #paul atreides #chani kynes #jessica atreides #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #rabban harkonnen #vladimir harkonnen #stilgar #alia atreides #irulan corrino #im so crazy im so feral holy shit #okay im going to bed now #its 1 am lmao #ive been writing these down for like 2 hours since i got back

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centrally-unplanned · 3 months

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youtube

Got linked to these very good videos recently on all the fake branding around "No CGI" and "Practical effects" in big budget movies today - as is no shock to anyone virtually every single claim of "no CGI" in a movie today is just a complete lie (Oppenheimer is the only debatable exception). Jonas is a very good presenter, he respects your intelligence and has a breadth of cinema knowledge that makes this series more than its headline.

Something that I thought was interesting that he alluded to was a cool industry shift that has occurred around the ease of special effects meaning that people involved don't even know they are happening. If you were an actor in a movie in ~2010, and a shot was a "VFX" shot, you would see greenscreens/bluescreens, you would see rigging equipment, you would maybe wear a mocap suit or tracers or something. You yourself had VFX skills, you were part of the project. And audiences learned that too, they learned to expect to see bluescreens or behind-the-scenes footage of those things.

But that is increasingly outdated now - still used for ease or specific shots, sure, but its not necessary. You can completely redo the backgrounds, build rig models for actors, clone objects from the frame, and so on just from the native footage, the tech is that good. So you will sometimes shoot a scene and it will look normal to you, and then be changed in post, you don't even know. At one point he tangents to discuss how marketers will lie about the actors "doing their own stunts", which seems credible to audiences because they know that for stunts you do things like hiding the actor's face or having specific cuts to mask the actor switch. But they don't have to do that anymore! You can just composite the actor's face onto the body of the stunt double, and you don't notice. That old "trick" you had to tell isn't functional, and being used *against* you.

It really reminds me of Dan Olsen's idea of "Bakshi's Vision", where the distinction between an animated film and a live action film becomes too blurry even bother with. Obviously that won't become literally true, but you can see the shape of it more and more.

#Youtube

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oncomingnight · 9 months

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Yandere! Theoretical Physicist

Hello everyone, I hope you've been having an amazing day and night as you deserve. Last night, I watched Oppenheimer and it's my favorite movie of the whole year. It's the type of movie you just have to see in the cinema when you have the chance, the cast is absolutely phenomenal and the soundtrack is beyond incredible, as expected from Christopher Nolan. Now, time to talk writing! I decided to make this very specific original character, I don't think this post will get a ton of recognition but i just wanted to experiment a bit. I hope you all enjoy and never hesitate to send me a request or talk to me in my ask box. I'm here for you all :)!

Every child is naturally curious, constantly grasping at everything and questioning subjects adults have long learned about. But Hans was a particularly curious little boy, asking extremely specific and quizzing questions, stunning his parents that couldn't even muster up a joking answer. This behavior perfectly explained the educational and career path he chose later on in life.

Your husband was a highly renowned man, but that never changed his outlook on life. He was still the charming and disgustingly romantic man that hid a surprise bouquet of roses behind his back each time the two of you had a date night.

Hans isn't ignorant towards his obsessive behavior, he's known for obsessing over his theories so being overly attached to you isn't something he's particularly concerned about. You're his wife...who isn't obsessed with their wife?

Well, other women and men have no effect on him romantically or egotistically, so, sometimes when other people brag about their spouses he's just sitting there like:

"Mhm. Well, yesterday my wife-"

His friends will invite him out for drinks and will try to get him to stay till midnight and he will immediately reject. "Yeah, no, I've gotta get home to the wife."

There's nothing he loves more than eating dinner with you in his office. The atmosphere is messy, ink-stained paper, pens misplaced, discontinued files, but you make it seem like the most peaceful room in the world with your presence. As much as he enjoys his job, it's nice to get away from thinking about such grand things and relaxing with the loveliest woman to ever live.

You.

As he's giving speeches in governmental spaces, he looks for your eyes to find a piece of solace. At times his thoughts can get a bit scattered when he's in front of large crowds, so, your companionship is everything he'll ever need to keep him in check.

There's a running rumor that all theoretical physicists eventually snap and go crazy. For him, this isn't necessarily true..?

I'm a liar.

Well, he has done questionable things to many people that he has and still considers threats. He's put them through extricating "experiments" in the basement at the bottom of your shared victorian home. Experiments aren't necessarily his forte but he'll take any excuse to teach those people a life long lesson.

One night, the two of you were at a birthday party in the home of another highly renowned scientist, a friend of his. Hans decided to leave your side for not even a full minute to go and grab a plate of food for you. He rarely leaves your side but when he just so happens to do so, a random nobody trying to make a name of themselves walks over and attempts to sweep you off your feet.

Oblivious to their flirting, you participate in the conversation with friendly, simple and curt dialogue. What you don't notice is Hans staring at the two of you from the kitchen that is on the other side of the room. He was absolutely furious. On the rare occurrence he leaves you alone, someone comes and takes advantage of the situation for their filthy desires.

He walks on over with a tray filled with tea cakes, tiramisu cubes, mini crepe cakes and cheesecake bars. He wraps his free hand around your waist, squeezes and sternly asks:

"And you are?" The way Hans purposefully makes himself look more intimidating than he already is results in the third party to feel like an immediate outsider, causing them to blurt their name then scurry away.

You harmlessly tease him about being a bit jealous which ignites his dimple ridden smile before he smoothly remarks:

"Please tell me, Bärchen, would that be so terrible? You can't blame a man for fighting to keep a woman like you."

He'd be so entranced as he watched you get ready for any occasion. Putting on moisturizing cream? He's sitting with his face in his palm and observing. Slipping a dress on? He's watching with a teasing smile before offering to help.

He'll see you getting ready, slowly walk up to you as he gently runs his veiny hands up and down your arms before leaning his head onto your shoulder and whispering:

"You look so beautiful, but I'm sure you know that already, hm? Let me help you." "You know how that ends, Hans. We can't run late this time, what about your speech?" "They can wait for me. Let a man show his adoration, m'kay?"

Even when the two of you live together, he finds a way to hide gifts around the house so he can surprise you with them at the right time. There doesn't even have to be a special occasion for him to show up with an edible arrangement, a beautifully boxed gift and a bouquet of yellow roses.

He had to work long and hard to get to the place he's in today, to get the recognition he deserved. He uses his money in an incredibly smart manner. Purchasing new decor for the house and...you might not guess it....booking trips and spoiling you with presents and trinkets.

He never really flaunts the amount of money he has in public, but, your wedding costed an immense amount and he was unapologetic about it. Hans knew you deserved the royal-like marriage celebration you'd always dreamed of, and he was eager to deliver.

This post was inspired by a German actor that I have an IMMENSE crush on. His name is Matthias Schweighöfer (the blondie)

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gretavanlace · 4 months

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Sugar II (part 7)

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, angst, cheating, choking (barely, and only if you squint) fingering, etc

Hello lovelies! I hope everyone has had a wonderful holiday season and a very merry Christmas (if you celebrate). So sorry for the wait, but I trust you’ll understand…things get so crazy this time of year! Please excuse any mistakes you find, I did some under the weather editing. Xoxo love you all ❤️

True to his word, he was knocking at your metaphorical door the second their brief intermission allowed, and now you find yourself trudging along beside him through a nearly deserted parking lot outside the town cinema that is conveniently attached to the mall.

The mall sees little action these days as it is - throw in the fact that it’s early afternoon smack dab in the middle of the week and you’ve got yourself a recipe for isolation.

Which was exactly the plan all along. It’s a small town, and questions are the last thing you need.

When he’d pulled up in his rental, some luxury sedan with sleek black paint and deeply tinted windows, you couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out of you. How out of place he looked…he would’ve seemed more at home on a tricycle.

Now, after a hug that felt too intimate in the unforgiving glare of the sun, he holds the door open for you, ushering you inside, ever the gentleman, when his phone begins to hum in his pocket.

“Here,” a credit card, black and heavier than standard plastic, slips into your palm as he nods towards the popcorn and candy, “Go wear it out.”

“Trying to get rid of me, Kiszka?” You tease, leaning in conspiratorially, “Am I your dirty little secret?”

With a roll of his eyes, he shuts you down. “Dirty? Yes. Secret? Not so much.”

He tilts his phone to display Josh’s name trilling across the screen. “You’re welcome to say hello, if you’d like. But I honestly detest the thought of sharing you right now. Sounds torturous.”

Your eyes travel over him like he’s a fucking meal. Linen pants cuffed lazily at the ankles to display scuffed and worn boots. Light blue button up, barely buttoned and hardly hiding the softness of his stomach, which you long to gnash your teeth into. Coins and medallions clink about against his chest, locks curling like ribbons along the shoulders of his midnight onyx blazer…no, on this you two can agree, you’d rather not share him either.

“Don’t let him talk so long that I have to miss you.” You smile with a wink that sizzles the blood in his veins as he watches you make your way over to the concession stand.

In keeping with yet another promise, he stands beside you before the popcorn has even been buttered, ready to follow you into whichever darkened room you’ll be inhabiting together for the next couple of hours.

When you fold into your seats, you find yourselves utterly alone.

A half an hour in, and you’re deeply regretting your choice. Something more PG would have been a lifesaver. You should have opted for something animated, for christ’s sake.

Watching them twist through the sheets, his hands dipped into her waist as she rocks above him in the gorgeous, cinematic lighting would normally have no more than a minute effect on you…especially given how little you’ve paid attention to the actual plot.

But he’s so near. You can feel the warmth of his body heat. You can smell that woodsy hint that lilts through his aura, paired with the ghostly remnants of a cigarette he’d swear he never smoked. If you leaned in just a fraction of an inch, your lips could play against the corner of his jaw. And again, you’re alone, so alone, in the cool darkness of this deserted theater.

Watching them this way with him so close has your heart banging about in the cage of your chest like a bird, stunned and frightened. Intense. Inescapable.

It’s the middle of the afternoon. The sun is beating down upon smoldering asphalt just outside these walls, bathing this town, in which you’ve built a life, in blinding light. Outside, it’s just another Wednesday…but here, with him next to you, quiet and concentrating on the two strangers making love on screen, you could be a thousand miles away. An alternate reality where in which only you walk the earth - Jake’s hand in yours as he strolls along beside you.

“Care to share what you’re thinking so hard about?” His question hushes out, though there is no one else around to hear it, but his eyes remain fixed ahead.

“I’m not thinking about anything.” You bristle gently…he knows you far too well for it to ever feel fair.

“I am.” His head tilts towards yours, but still he watches on. “Would you like it if I shared, instead?”

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you that it’s rude to talk at the movies?” You tease, simply to avoid whatever you know to be coming, “You really are spending too much time with Josh.”

A thought seems to suddenly occur to him, flickering a nearly visible lightbulb above his head. “Do you ever miss the way it used to be? With Josh? Before I came along and fucked everything up?”

His hand, which has been linked loosely with yours since the lights went down, offers a tiny squeeze. A reassurance that whatever the truth is, it will be alright to say it.

“Never.” And that really is the honesty of it all. “I miss the way things were when it was the three of us sometimes…but I think that’s really only because I miss you. I miss him too. But so differently. And I miss Sam and Danny. I miss…” you fall silent, searching for words that won’t come, and finally settle upon, “everything.”

“You don’t have to.” He is still refusing to look at you, though your eyes are heating his cheek with the intensity of your gaze in the dark. “You don’t have to miss anything, anymore. You can come home, baby. You should come home. I want you to come home. I need you to—” his throat catches, and you watch his lips fold in against the vulnerability.

“I am home.” You argue, wishing you could take it back the second you’ve whispered it into existence.

“Why?” Finally, finally, he turns to catch your eye. “Because of him? I’m so sick of hearing about him it isn’t even funny. And not just because I’m jealous - which I most certainly fucking am - but because it’s such bullshit.”

Trying your hardest, you muster a bit of astonished annoyance, though you feel none of it “My life is bullshit?”

His response is matter of fact as he turns his attention back to the couple still feigning ecstasy before you “Yes, it is.”

“That’s real nice, Jake.” Now your irritation feels a bit more concrete. How dare he so nonchalantly sit here in the dark and try to poke holes in what you’ve cultivated in his absence? “What isn’t bullshit, then? Our pretend life that you choose to live inside? Or the one from years ago that you can’t let go of?”

Another squeeze of your hand comes tender and comforting, “I’ll let that slide because I know you don’t mean to be hurtful…and because I know you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” you pull away and begin to miss his touch instantly. “I just…I have a fucking life, Jacob. And you seem hell bent on ruining it.”

“Okay,” he nods, turning in to nudge your nose with his own. “Take me home then, Sugar. Parade me through your life. Introduce me to Mr. Wonderful. Show me where you sleep. Where you watch TV with him at night. Where you take your baths, floating in the bubbles until you’re pruny and half-drunk on wine. Show me your backyard. Show me the walls he fucks you up against while you don’t think of me. Show me where you hide away from him at night to whisper sweet things to me…and not so sweet things. Let me meet your cat.”

His mouth is so close to yours you can faintly taste his minty toothpaste, “I don’t have a cat.”

“Alright,” he grins, sly as a snake, cheeks sweeping against yours as they perk with his smile, warm and soft “then just take me home and show me your pussy.”

It’s crass and ridiculous, and you know he’s said it simply to make you laugh…it works.

“So this is it, huh?” He leans forward, peering at your house through the windshield as you coast into the driveway. “No porch. No garden. But I’m going to wager there’s a welcome mat.”

His eyes cut over to you, a wickedly adorable gleam dancing about in them, “There is, isn’t there? How fucking quaint.”

How does he remember that you hate welcome mats? That you find them to be untruthful somehow, because certainly not everyone is welcome…some who find themselves at your doorstep should just go away. And how has he guessed that you do, in fact, have one? That he brought one home not long after you moved in and you hadn’t had the heart to tell him to throw it out?

Once more, you’re reminded of Jake’s uncanny ability to peer inside your head, but you refuse to stoke the fires of his ego. “You promised to behave, Jacob.”

He pops his door open and climbs out with a lazy stretch, “Oh, c’mon pretty girl, don’t tell me you believed that.”

Hand slipping from the steering wheel, you steel yourself with a steadying breath. This was a bad idea. A horrible choice. A disaster gearing up to wreak havoc…but here you are, leading the way with Jake strolling along behind you, taking in the suburban elements of your neighborhood with his hands buried casually in his pockets.

He always looks as though he has nowhere to be and all day to get there. It’s calming. Soothing. Like the invisible hand of a beloved caretaker reminding you that there is time enough to breathe. No reason to rush, it says…that gentle air about him. I don’t mind waiting. Take your time.

As you fit your key into the deadbolt, he resumes his antics, “When will Mr. Wonderful return from sea? Is there a widow’s walk where we might watch for him together on this dreadful day of pining?”

Voice warbling and pitched low, he reaches up and tugs a lock of your hair, goading you like a drunken, English pirate.

“Shut up, Oliver, or I’ll go inside and lock the door behind me.” The hinges squeak open…no turning back now.

“No, you won’t.” He scoffs, laughing lightly at his own nonsense. “Seriously, do I get to size up the competition today?”

You welcome him in, slightly dizzy at the sight of him sauntering inside…you’ve imagined him here so many times. Longed for his penchant for filling up space, fat and full, with his greater than life presence.

He makes you feel small in the most wonderful way; you are bird cupped safe and sound in his palms as he holds you close to his chest, protecting you from the world.

And maybe you should tell him these things…the way he makes you feel. His eyes would turn soft, he might touch your face with his tender fingertips and sigh your name into the room like a wisp of a breeze.

But a glance at the mantel, and the framed picture perched there, sends a tiny rush of guilt surging through your veins and you shake the moment off and instead opt for a stern…

“No, you won’t be sizing anything up today, Jake,” you move about the room to keep his eyes on you rather than in the direction of the mantel. “I’m not sadistic enough to subject him to your gleeful nastiness.”

He laughs like he’s never loved anything more, tipping his head back to expose his gorgeous throat…you yearn to bite it. “Gleeful nastiness? Sugar, you wound me.”

Rather than stride across the room to sink your teeth into him, you cross your arms, disgruntled and annoyed. “You’d have way too much fun being an asshole, and he’d be far too nice to put you in your place.”

That darkens his eyes, and you almost regret it. Almost. “Put me in my place? Are you choosing sides, sweetheart? Because it sounds an awful lot like you are.”

“Maybe I am.”

He’s moving toward you now, and you should back away, you know you should. Instead, your feet shuffle forward.

“Pretend your heart lies with him all you want,” he sweeps his lips over the apple of your cheek, “but I know better, and so do you.”

“Kiss me.” You bite your lip against the plea a second too late.

Those warm eyes of his, like coffee stirred with a splash of cream, flick down at your mouth and back to meet your gaze, and then his answer comes simply and with finality, “No.”

“No?” You’re incredulous, and admittedly stung by his rejection.

“No.” He reiterates, stepping away from you as your hands drop uselessly from his shoulders to your sides. “Take me on the tour, pretty girl. Show me this wonderful life of yours. I simply cannot wait.”

The “tour” he was so eager for is winding down as you steer him down the hall hurriedly, hoping he’ll ignore the door that is cracked and streaming light into the hallway.

Of course, he doesn’t. “What’s the rush, baby?” He smiles, feigning confusion, “What prize hides behind this one? Is this your bedroom?”

Suddenly, there is no space left between your bodies, and his is radiating a possessive heat as he backs you up into the room, guiding you along with a sure and steady arm wrapped around your waist.

“Is this where Mr. Wonderful fucks my girl?”

“Jake,” you’re protesting, but your fingers have curled into his shirt, thumb toying with one of the buttons that has likely never known what it’s like to be fastened. “Stop talking about it.”

He tilts his head in mock confusion, “Why? You like sex, I like sex, let’s talk about it, yeah? Oh, this is it right here, isn’t it? Look at this great big beautiful bed. Did you make it yourself this morning? Are the sheets clean?”

His mouth is at your throat now, licking and sucking between his terrible taunting questions. “If I laid you down right now, would I smell you on them? Would I smell him?”

“Jake, shut up,” you snap, but you’re pulling his lips in closer, hands fisting loosely in his hair.

You expect him to toss you down on the bed. To crawl on top of you. To grab you. To fuck you. To own you on the bed in some misguided show of territorial dominance.

And you expect to let him.

You expect to fight to be on top so that his hair will rest upon your pillow…so tonight you might drift away into a peaceful slumber gifted by the scent of him blurring your senses.

Instead, you find yourself pressed up against the wall, “I won’t have you in that fucking bed, even though I could, if I felt so inclined. I can tell you want it.” He sizes you up while grinding his cock into you with a delicious rhythm that’s got your breath panting out in tiny puffs already. “You do, don’t you, baby? You want me to fuck you in that bed. You want me all over the sheets he sleeps in.”

You’re ashamed, so fucking ashamed…but it’s true.

He’ll go, and you’ll miss him so terribly, and in some sick and horrifically twisted way you want him to spill on to the sheets, to leave his fingerprints on every surface. To lick across the bathroom mirror. To use your hairbrush so that there might be a strand or two of his silken waves left behind. You want him to drink from the milk carton and lounge about on the furniture. To lose the remote between the couch cushions. To tilt all the pictures uneven with his careless touch. You want him everywhere…to leave behind tiny remnants of himself once he’s gone, little pieces to ease your aching heart.

“Tell me, sugar.” He fucks himself against you with quick rolls of his hips until you’re praying his name. “Tell me the truth, baby. Tell me where you want me to give you my cock. I’m so hard for you, sweetheart.”

“In our bed,” it’s a rush of desperation as you clutch at him, dragging him closer to you…but it still isn’t enough, you wish you could crawl inside him. “Fuck me in our bed. Make me cum in our bad. Make me say your name in our bed. Please, jakey, please,”

Ignoring your disgraceful display, he continues to rock into you, gasping into the crook of your neck while his breathless moans tickle their way into your ear, “Does he make you cum in that bed? Does he take care of your pretty cunt the way I do? Does he make you shake and beg for terrible things? Hmm? Are you a good girl for him in that bed? Look at it.”

You shake your head back and forth against the wall, thrusting wildly to meet him. He’s right, he’s so fucking hard.

His palm wraps around your throat, squeezing at the sides, directing your line of sight. “I said fucking look at it. I want your eyes on that bed when I make you cum. I’m gonna make it mine without laying a goddamn finger on it. My bed, and my girl with her pretty wet pussy that belongs to me.”

“Inside,” it’s a rasping, shaking plea, and it should embarrass you and cast your eyes downward in shame…but it doesn’t. You’ve always wanted him this badly, and he knows it as inherently as he remembers the walls of his childhood home. “I need you inside, need your cock.”

“That’s it, fuck doll…” there is a filthy smirk evident in his tone, though his face is once again buried against your neck, “Beg for my cock. Tell me how badly you need it. Ask real sweet, sugar…be my very good girl.”

Your bodies writhe together feverishly until you feel like you might catch fire and burn away into ashes that will singe against his tongue like scorching want “Please, Jakey…please. I think about you all the time. I can’t clear my head, it’s always so full of you. Fuck me, fuck me, please please please…”

A painfully ragged groan rumbles out of him as his mouth, eager and starved, sucks against your throat, “Not gonna fuck you here. Not in this room where you let him touch you, not in this house where you let him love you.”

“Outside,” your teeth clench around the word until your jaw is screaming as loudly as the ache between your legs. “Take me out back, fuck me there…”

At last, his face, so beautifully flushed and dew-kissed, emerges from the crook of your neck, “You want me to take you outside and slide you onto my cock all wet and pretty? Want to let your neighbors hear what a whore you are for me? Let them hear how wet I make your gorgeous cunt? Hmm? Let them hear you whine my fucking name?”

“I don’t care what they hear…” you’re nearly mewling with need, clawing at his shoulders, clutching at his shirt, nearing your end, but so desperate to run from it because you want so much more. You don’t want this to be over without him slipped inside you, hard and hot.

“Look at me.” The insistence in his tone leaves no room for argument and your eyes flutter open to lock in on his.

A breathy, “You’re so beautiful,” trips off your tongue - a reflex that couldn’t be helped if you tried. He’s an evil, diabolical doctor banging a tiny hammer just below your knee cap.

A slow, languid blink is the only indication he gives that he’s even heard you. “You know my face, sugar?”

It’s the most absurd question that has ever been asked of you. Of course you know his face. Sometimes, it seems like you know nothing but his face.

Those sleepy eyes, that seem to see more than anyone has ever seen, down the deep and winding halls within you. His plush lips, full and pink, cruelly perfect, with a Cupid’s bow to rival the angel’s even if you stacked them all together. Rounded tip of his nose, different now, but still constantly luring your kiss. His jaw, so strong at times, so soft at others, but always begging for your tongue to trail along its path…his brow, his eyelashes, the way locks of hair display it all like a gilded edged frame adorning a wall in some ancient, European museum.

Yes, you know his face. You will always know his face. He is true north on your compass. He is the only direction in which your heart will ever willingly travel.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak even as your hips rock against him.

“Good girl,” he presses the softest kiss to your mouth, “I want your eyes on that bed when you cum, but I want my face in your heart, and my name on your pretty pink tongue. We’re gonna fucking erase him, aren’t we?”

Suddenly, you wonder who he means? Does he mean this new rival, who really isn’t his rival at all? Or does he mean Josh, even after all this time? Does he even know which? Do you?

“No, baby…” your voice is but a whimper, and it tugs a growl out of his lungs that makes you weaker still, “I don’t want to cum like this. I need you inside of me. Make me feel good, Jakey…make me whole.”

“Not here,” he shakes his head sternly and you shrink away from his scolding, head resting against the cool wall. “Never here. Not in this house. I hate this fucking house. I want to burn it down and salt the goddamn earth.”

“Give me more,” your fingers are tearing and pulling at him frantically. You need so much from him always, you need his everything.

“I’ll give you more,” his voice sounds feral, grinding and growling like sandpaper…like he is lost and stumbling along far away from himself, as he jerks you away from the wall and slams you up onto your vanity.

Tiny bottles and tubes tumble and spill to the floor, but rather than care, you reach back and blindly sweep the rest away to make room for whatever is about to happen.

“I’ll give you fucking more,” he bites into your throat as though he wants to swallow you down and carry you around inside him. “I’ll give you fucking anything if you’ll just let me. Let me, sugar…fuck, please baby.”

“Just…” you can’t finish your thought…can’t find your mental footing while vibrating with such desperation, so you don’t even try. Instead, you begin fumbling with his belt, but he shoves your hands away.

“I told you,” he grabs hold of your face, a firm yet shaking hand tight around your chin, “Not here. Stop.”

On your fingers march, fighting with leather and metal until his voice, soft and mournful now, guides you out of the haze, “Not here, sugar. Not here.”

Everything slows in a blink, as if fate has adjusted the playback speed, and you find yourself watching with bated, yet quieting breaths as he pops the button on your jeans and lowers the zipper, eyes on your face all the while.

He slips his fingers in slowly, carefully…you are precious and deserving of his care, and he wants you to have it.

“Lean back,” he soothes, the heel of his palm grinding softly against your clit, “Let me take care of my girl.”

You’re prepared to whine and barter, but he shakes his head the moment your lips part.

“Shh, settle down, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” free hand now petting at your face, he offers you the gentlest smile. “You’re so wet, sugar. So warm.”

“Jake,” you’re rocking up to meet him now, slipping into the breathtaking haze of bliss he saves just for you.

“What, pretty girl?” God, the way he’s speaking to you…each word dripping with adoration and awe. Drenched in lust. Positively soaked in love. “Does it feel good?”

“So good,” your eyes are drifting closed now as you wade deeper into the tepid pool of your Jakey. You want to stay forever, to sink into his swirling blue waters until you’re forced to suck him into your lungs and drown.

“Eyes open.” The demand is soft and delicate, like lace drawn across your flushed skin.

You recall his earlier instruction and cast your heated stare at the bed you share with a man you could never exist for the way you live and breathe for Jake, but he shakes his head, “I was wrong…I don’t want that. Look at me, sugar. Right here, look at me.”

How could you ever want to look at anything else? Your gaze locks with his, and in reward, he curls his searching fingers and drags a high pitched moan off the tip of your tongue.

“Good girl, baby…” he nods, dropping his forehead to meet yours “So pretty. Silky little pussy wrapped up snug and tight around me like she never wants me to leave.”

“Don’t,” you’re writhing and grabbing at him now, crawling closer and closer to the edge, “Don’t leave me, Jake.”

His hand trails down from your face to cover your heart, “Is that coming from here, too?”

Watching him like this, your chest feels like it could easily cave in…like it could crumple in on itself - a balled up scrap of cheap aluminum foil crushed inside a fist. He is a sonnet come to life. A haunting song, living and breathing, watching you like you are love incarnate.

Of course it’s coming from your heart. It’s coming from your soul…or perhaps from the soul the two of you sometimes seem to share.

“I don’t know why I keep fighting this,” strangely, tears are burning in your eyes as the white hot band of pleasure stretches tighter still in your belly, “You’re all I want. You’re all I’ve ever fucking wanted,”

Satisfied, the air sighs out of his lungs as his fingers crook just perfectly and unravel you with a jolt. It is such a lazy, undulating ribbon of pleasure, unwinding through your veins like slow heat as you gasp and hush his name.

“Just like that, baby,” he coaxes, sounding far away. “Nice and slow…just like that. Shh, I’m right here. I’ve got you, sugar, I’ve got you.”

Your eyes never stray from his, even when the intensity you find in them threatens to crack your chest wide open, and when you finally come down, that’s how you both stay for so long you can almost believe the rest of the world has fallen away.

When his fingers twitch and you shiver with overstimulation, it breaks the spell and he pulls back… reluctantly sliding slowly from the cashmere grip of your cunt, only to suck those two fingers into his mouth with a muted groan of content.

“Pack a bag, sugar…” his hands cup your cheeks, fingers slick against your face as his nose tips up to meet yours, “Or don’t. We’ll go shopping and I’ll buy you anything and everything you’ve ever needed. Whatever you want, pretty girl…it’s yours.”

“I—“ you can’t seem to think straight.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he’s teasing now, with a barely there smirk taunting his lips, “Let me steal you away and take you home where you belong. I’ll write pretty songs for you, and make love to you every morning until the sun is so envious of us it resents having to rise. Let me build you a house. Let me till a garden for my girl.”

At last, you find your voice, “I have to do this the right way, Jake. His heart deserves care. I don’t want to hurt him any more than I have to. I’m the bad guy, here.”

“No,” that soft, hidden away smile of his clutches at your heart. “I think I’m the bad guy here. I just can’t find a shit to give.”

You’ve righted your disheveled selves and are now attempting to right all the other wrongs, with you stretched out on the rug watching as Jake picks up the tiny bottles and jars that litter the floor, asking after each one…

“Highlighter? What the hell does this do? Are you a book report?” And “How many lip glosses do you even need, sugar? You only have two lips.”

…before carefully placing said product back on the vanity - when, way ahead of schedule, the garage door rumbles to life.

Your heart lurches painfully in your chest, but on his end, Jake’s eyes light up with menacing delight, “Well, what do you know, babe? It seems our dear captain has returned.”

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zeltqz · 1 year

Text

want a taste | gojo satoru

/teɪst/ the sensation of flavour perceived in the mouth and throat on contact with a substance.

pairing. gojo x bff fem!reader

word count. 1.4k

synopsis. high out of their minds, reader decides to give gojo a blowjob in the middle of the cinema.

authors note. short smut bc i had gummies the other day and dreamt about sucking gojo off

The two of you cannot stop laughing, quiet snickers filling up the air, totally oblivious to the irritated glares coming from the random people trying to enjoy the movie.

“Look at her hair!” You bring your voice to a whisper—even though your voice is practically booming—and point at the awkward messy ponytail on the girl on the screen. It doesn’t even look that bad; but your brain is fried and smoky, so it looks all wonky. “It looks like you.”

The joke doesn’t even make sense, but he’s laughing anyway.

“Shut up.” He playfully shoves you away, already missing your warmth and tugs you back to rest your head on his shoulder, rubbing a hand along the curve of your shoulder, cherishing you close to him.

“Do you have another ?” You ask, sitting up for a second to dig through his coat pocket, pulling out a mini container filled with more gummies.

He watches as you eagerly throw another one in your mouth and has to stop you before you manage to grab another. “Take it easy, (y/n)—” he’s snatching the other gummy from your mouth, slotting it back inside the container and putting it back into his pocket, ensuring its zipped up for more security.

“C’mon—don’t be a pussy.” You’re pouting and trying to reach inside his pocket once more whilst also chewing pretty loudly on the gummy. Maybe its because your mouth feels so sore and numb that you’re chewing so recklessly, but you choose to blame it on the weed anyway. “Gimme another, I don’t feel it yet—”

“Stop lyin’ you’re higher than me right now.”

Gojo still has some sense of where he is and his actions right now, but you? Gone. Faded. Disappeared.

“I’m not!”

“SHHHHHH!” A person a couple rows ahead of you has to turn around, hand over their lips and though half their face is covered from the darkness in the room, Gojo doesn’t fail to see the bothersome look on his face that had been brewing the entirety of your stay here.

You shush him back just as loudly, giggling once more when he turns back around and mumbles some irritated words under his breath.

“Sorry, repeat that?” You have no control over your volume and the man jolts in his seat at your booming voice. Gojo's hand moves so quickly and efficently, saving the day by planting it over your mouth, effectively shushing you for real this time as you struggle to rip his hand away.

“Sorry about her.” He apologises to the few people in front of him. They all grunt out a ‘its fine’ despite the fact they all wanted to strangle you into the seat.

Fortunately for them, Gojo’s hand remains over your mouth for the next five minutes and you’re silenced.

You take this little time-out to examine Gojo’s face, losing yourself in the beauty known as his side profile as he watches the movie. He lightly chews on his bottom lip and you get the sudden urge to kiss him, see how they feel under your own.

You tap on his thighs once, twice before he nods at you, eyes still facing the screen as he watches, invested in the plot now.

“I wanna have sex.”

At that exact moment, a popcorn kernel gets lodged in his throat and he jolts forward, coughing a couple times to get it out.

“That could be me choking on your dick if you’d let me.” You say with zero filter and Gojo’s ears go red, redder than you’d ever seen before. It’s visible under the light of the big screen, slowly creeping up to his cheeks.

“You’re not fucking funny, don’t—” The kernel is still there, just enjoying itself at home and its uncomfortable to speak.

He coughs once more and you sit up on the chair, latching your lips onto his neck, sucking on the skin there to make it as red as his ears.

“We’re in public—stop.”

“When has that ever stopped you, hm?” You mumble against the length of his throat, sucking widly.

His actions completely conflict his thoughts, moving his neck to the side to give you more room. You hum against his skin, and he shivers feeling the vibrations ripple across his body.

You fight the urge to climb into his lap, fingers skimming over the zipper of his pants as you drag your lips up to his jawline, mapping your way up to his lips.

Gojo has to remind himself to blink when you kiss him, closing his eyes and letting himself get lost in the feeling of your tongue licking into his mouth fervourously.

Maybe it’s the weed, or maybe you’re just a fucking good kisser; he doesn’t know, but he allows you to control the kiss, holding his head in place as you switch angles, shifting further up the seat till you’re practically on his lap.

It’s a miracle you’re both seated in the back row. It’s late at night too, meaning most people aren’t here but the little ones that are, they're all seated near the front.

There’s a three-row gap between your row and the nearest available person.

“Can I suck your dick?” There’s a thin string of spit connecting you both when you pull away, drawing him in with that seductive look in your eyes as you tug at the zipper of his jeans.

The chair squeaks when he pushes you off his lip and you smile up at him, dropping to your knees on the floor and fumble with his zipper.

Hooking his index finger, he bites down on it to stop himself from making any uncessary noises—the last thing he needs right now is to get kicked out of a public cinema.

He shivers when you bring his dick out of his pants, the cold air slapping against his shaft has him almost regretting he agreed to do this, but it is too late to back down now.

Way too late.

You look at his cock like it's single handedly the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, tugging his pants down more to free his balls from the restraints of his boxers.

Leaning forward, your tongue at the tip, small kitten licks that have him sucking in a breath, holding the air in his lungs to stop himself from thrusting his hips up to feel more of your mouth.

He almost moans when your fingers drum against his balls, cupping them gently and massaging them as you fit the tip inside your mouth, hollowing your cheeks to stimulate his cock more.

“God damn, fuck—” He rasps out, panting against his finger, biting down on it harder when you start bobbing your head up and down, up and down. “Your mouth, fuck—” He doesn’t care anymore, thrusting his hips up to shove his cock so deep inside, craving the warm wetness of your mouth.

You choke, rather louder than you had expected but you don’t care, not when your throat is being used like this. Tears brim at the corners of your eyes and your fingers fly up to the hand on your head, pressing down on your head to push yourself further.

He lets out a choked off gasp when his cock reaches the entrance of your throat, thrusting just a little more before he’s entering it. “Fuck!” He pants, not really giving two fucks about his volume, pushing your head down till your nose brushes against his pelvis, keeping you there long enough before his tip starts to twitch, leaking out precum that you eagerly swallow.

Your throat muscles squeeze and contract around his cock and he’s biting his lip, hand flying up to his mouth to cover his moan as he explodes down your throat.

You swallow it all, waiting till every last bit is gone before you suck all the way to the tip of his cock, tapping his thigh to grab his attention. When his eyes meet yours, he almost cums again because you’re slowly taking him all the way once more; throat fully trained for his length and choke yourself a couple times at the base.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, I swear.” He says, voice shaky as he pants, trying to regulate his breathing. You smile around his cock when his hand cups your cheek, rubbing your skin and leaning into his touch.

“Mmm, yeah you owe me though.” You slide back onto the chair next to him, two fingers hooking under his chin and dragging him to your face, greedily sucking on his lips.

He smiles when the taste of his cum just lingers in your mouth, slow languid strokes of his tongue against your own have you falling into soft moans.

What the both of you failed to realise is your volume; once again, totally oblivious to the disgustedly irritated glares coming from the people as they listen to the soft moans leaving your mouth as you let Gojo loudly suck along the length of your tongue.

#— zeltqz 📭💌#— jjk </3 #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader smut #gojo smut #gojo satoru imagines #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #satoru gojo smut #gojo satoru smut

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onepiece-polls · 7 months

Text

One Piece Shipping War - Bonus Poll

Not a single Luffy ship got past the second round, so we still gotta decide which one was the most popular of the 2 that made it to round 2.

LuSan art by @supernaturallyginger. Check out the original post here!

CobyLu art by @aroacejay. Please check out the original post here!

Propaganda under the cut.

Propaganda for Sanji x Luffy:

I don't think anyone is gonna bother denying the fact that WCI is literally just the plot of an otome isekai shoujo manga/manhwa. MC (main character) is treated like trash by family except for the 1 dead mom and 1 nice sympathetic supporter that can't do much of anything to help. MC escapes only to find themselves in an even worse situation somewhat of their own making, only to be swept off their feet by the ML (male lead) and saved, full damsel in distress style. Dramatic love confessions, crying in the rain, betrayal from an arranged marriage, it has it all.

Dude Luffy loves Sanji so so much like WCI is the best example and like you don't even really need to see the love as romantic if that bugs you but dudes. The first words out of the Luffys Shadow Possessed Oars was yelling for Sanji. He just loves Sanji so much and Sanji loves him too

The WCI arc in itself is mega SanLu propaganda. Luffy invaded an emperor’s territory, completely crashed a wedding, went up against Sanji’s evil science family, and got nearly beat to death by Sanji himself all in order to get Sanji back. Sanji offered his life to Kuma at thriller bark so Kuma wouldn’t kill Luffy. He pushed himself for 2 years all in order to get stronger FOR Luffy. Sanji feels sorry when he isn’t useful, the whole reason why he used the raid suit those few times was because he was thinking about getting stronger for Luffy, but realized that he didn’t want to become an emotionless monster like his family. Sanji broke down in tears at WCI when he tried to get Luffy to go away by fighting him. And then broke down in tears again when he ran back to Luffy and told him he wanted to go back home to the Sunny. No matter what Sanji cooks, Luffy always likes it and is proud to have him in his crew. Sanji is also one of Luffy’s “wings”, as stated by Robin! They’re both just so sweet and clearly care very deeply about each other.

Luffy saving Sanji on whole cake island got to me

[Insert everything that happens between them during WCI] how could I see luffy yelling about how he won't eat anything and will starve- LUFFY OF ALL PEOPLE- unless Sanji comes back and not ship them at LEAST a little. "Without you I can't become the pirate king" absolutely devastating cinema. Then Sanji laying out everything, in tears, and Luffy accepting it all and just saying, "well that's who you are" poetic. Final wci thing: luffy hearing judges bs about sanji and going "whyd he start listing all your good point" true love. This seems one sided but Sanji is also just as bad. "Which version of me do you prefer" anyone? They care SO MUCH about each other. Also Luffy loves to eat, Sanji loves to feed people, they're meant to be.

*gestures at the entirety of WCI* I mean that’s Love, they are Ride or Die, Luffy cannot become the pirate king without Sanji, whether that means physically because he needs Sanji’s support or just because being the pirate king means Luffy has everything he wants and what he wants is Sanji or both. And Sanji loves him just as much back! He’s his sun he’s his world…Luffy jump and Sanji’s too busy skywalking to bother asking how high. I just love them sm

Oda himself wrote the propaganda for this, Whole Cake Island just cemented lusan as canon. "I can't become Pirate King without you!" <- that's love baby

Propaganda for Luffy x Coby:

The first characters in the series who ever met and the first characters we as an audience met. Luffy is the whole reason why Koby is the character he is now and was the first to experience the “Luffy Effect”. Luffy is happy whenever he hears about Koby’s accomplishments and fully believes in his dreams even when Koby is a marine. Koby holds a very obvious bias towards Luffy (even if he is a pirate) and is the reason he learned to keep an open mind about pirates and the navy and what the meaning of Justice is. Koby’s admiration and flustered nature towards Luffy can definitely be interpreted as a crush. Koby is very ride or die for Luffy even in the face of people drastically more powerful than him (Akainu).

Coby is beyond gay for Luffy and he was the first person Luffy traveled with.

they are cute

Coby literally gets heart eyes and can't stop himself from piping up every time Luffy comes up in conversation that boy is SMITTEN. I don't know if Luffy understands but he knows Koby is one of his and that's good enough for me.

#one piece #LuSan #CobyLu #KobyLu #SanLu #op shipping war #bonus polls

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harus-simp · 7 months

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Wearing their clothes (maknae line)

Shen Ricky, Kim Gyuvin, Park Gunwook, Han Yujin

Genre: fluffy fluff

Warning: none

Word count: 1.1 K

Author's note: Here's part 2 hope you enjoy it <3

Hyung line

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How would your amazing boyfriend possibly react when he sees their partner wearing his clothes?

Ricky

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡

Another day with ricky another day were you were being spoiled by your boyfriend. He specially loved to invite you to dinner dates, seeing you all dressed up for him made his heart race, you looked like a beautiful doll, and he couldn't believe you were his.

You were coming back from a new restaurant near your house so you went there walking and you were returning like that as well. However, it was now much colder than it was before, so you were fighting against the freezing wind.

Luckily for you, ricky noticed this and offered you his jacket, saying that he is felt hot (he was obviously lying).

As you got home you plopped yourself on the sofa still with the jacket on and without the intention of taking it off at all.

"I see you like my jacket babe"

"Yeah, it's really comfy"

He laughed at your slightly tipsy tone, the champagne you had drank making a little bit of effect.

"I'll get you one so we can match"

You looked at him panicking.

"Noooo, I want yours"

"Why?"he asked smirking curiously

"Cause it smells like youuuu"

That made his smirk disappear completely and be replaced with a shy little smile, his cheeks turning red as well.

The way you literally had his heart and whole being at your mercy was driving him completely crazy. He wrapped his arms around your waist and carried you to your shared room.

"You don't know how much I love you babe"

"Mhmm love you too"you said after kissing his cheek

"Alright, let's get you to bed"

Gyuvin

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

After lots of bickering from your tall ass and lazy baby you finally got him to go out with you to the cinema as a movie you had been waiting for had came out recently, and there was no way you weren't going.

So you decided to bring gyuvin with you to watch it together.

You got to the venue were the cinema was located at and now was waiting for him to not be late or else you would kill him because you really wanted to see that film.

You had picked your outfit really blindly without paying that much attention, so you grabbed a hoodie that was laying on your chair.

You recognised it as one of gyuvin's hoodies, actually one of his most used ones. But that wouldn't stop you from using. On the contrary, that impulsed you to wear it even more.

Ten minutes before the movie started you finally watched him running towards you at full speed because he obviously was late.

"I'm so sorry baby I lost track of time, let's get going"

You nodded and grabbed his hand pulling him inside the place.

The movie finished and you got out quite happy with the end of the plot and so did gyu.

But suddenly your boyfriend looked at you with a shocked expression.

"Hey, that's my hoodie, give it back!"

"But I'm your partner gyu, you should give it to me"

"No it's mine, you hoodie stealer"he said tickling playfully your side to make you break

"Nooooo"you started bickering back

But all jokes aside (we know how playful he can be) he actually lived for that sight before him, he felt enchanted by you and wanted to keep this beautiful memory forever.

Gunwook

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡

It had been a long and hard week of school and the least you wanted to do at the moment was to go outside. But you had already made the promise to gunwook to have a stroll at the park and you didn't want to make your pookie sad.

So that's were you were right now, resting a bit on a little bench to see families with their children and people with their beloved pets.

"The weather's nice huh?"he said

"I wouldn't talk too early pookie, it can change at any moment"

And just as you predicted the air suddenly became colder making you shiver from its spontaneity, hugging yourself in the process.

"See I told you to watch your words wookie!"you playfully hit him

You kept hugging yourself not expecting gunwook to notice, so it came as a surprise when he suddenly stopped walking and asked you about it.

"Are you cold baby?"

"Oh, yeah a little bit"you responded giggling at his shocked face

"And where's your jacket?"

"I might have left it in class"

At this he instantly took off his own jacket and helped you put it on, folding the sleeves so it didn't cover you entirely.

"Thanks wookie"you said smiling at him

His immediate response was to grab your cheeks and squish them lovingly looking at you with heart eyes.

"Are you always this cute?"

"No, only for you"

That was it, he couldn't stand how cute you were, how everyone could see this side of you and only him.

"I'm tired let's head to your house and cuddle"

Yujin

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

On a random and boring day of summer you and yujin were lazily laying on his bed without anything to do other than show each other memes that were on your phones. But nothing that interesting to be honest.

And you were starting to get quite irritated from not doing anything productive in itself, it was such a waste of your time and your holidays.

However, you just got the best idea ever, you'd be trying some clothes from yujin knowing damn well that, despite his soft and delicate looks was a tough and muscular figure.

At last, curiosity got the best of you,so while he was distracted enough you went through his closet in search of something to try on, and as you got back with something good you picked his interest turning all his attention on you.

"What are you doing y/nnie?"

"Got bored so I'm trying your clothes, do I look like you?"you asked posing like you were on a runway show

"Pffff, not at all, you look tiny. You are so small"he said laughing

"Not my problem you are an early developed teen!"you shot back sticking your tongue out.

You knew he was teasing you, of course you knew it. But looking at how red his ears had turned you figured out he thought the opposite of what he actually said.

And you were right, the way he blushed as he saw how his hoodie was draping down to your knees made his mind go crazy.

But what can we say? Young kids in love <3

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Taglist: @zumblrnet

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dropthedemiurge · 3 months

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Love for Love's Sake | Things You Didn't Notice #9

(okay it's not an episode number this time i just still have many details to point out oops pls let me go)

I swear. I thought I'd stop mentioning small details because I already wrote like 10 posts on Tumblr translating and explaining all the cultural stuff regarding this show and the obsession is already becoming embarrassing, but I rewatched the last episodes again and I've got tiny. Little. Details. That I can't help but point people to once again. Because damn, the amount of thought put into this show!

(trigger warning: first part talks about suicide and depression, next ones are linguistic and cultural)

The Black Suit & The Sea

I would've asked Koreans I know about the significance of such symbolism but they are celebrating Seollal (New Year) today and I don't wanna ruin the festive mood asking about "how would people dress for suicide" x)

But after watching this scene, I recognized some strong parallels in Korean media depicting depression, suicide and one's decision to end their life. One of it is bridges and jumping (if you don't know what Bridge of Life is, ask me and I'll share, so this post wouldn't become too long) but another one is sea.

My interpretation - Koreans wear black suits to funerals, so if someone is headed to the sea in a black suit, it might mean this is the character's attempt to "have" their own funeral before finally ending their life. Why do I think this combination is somehow significant?

Because I remembered a music video one of K-pop artists I like (Kim Hanbin) made, after he experienced the downfall of career, extreme hate and rejection from the public, and severe depression. His whole album Waterfall tells Hanbin's personal story, dark thoughts and his battle to survive during the time when he was gone for 2 years, but in the music video for this album (illa illa) he is seen emerging from the sea in a black suit – metaphorically regaining his music and, most importantly, desire to live. Watch with lyrics!

youtube

If we think, this is how you depict suicidal thoughts/attempt in Korean media (of course, Love for Love's Sake was even more blunt in telling us the meaning), then Myungha wearing black suit wasn't just for the pretty or dramatic picture. More than that, we see him wearing the black suit for the whole last evening – especially when he goes to finally meet his mother.

Which tells us Myungha has already decided to disappear from this world, and was determined to do it on that day, and his mother rejecting him and pretending she doesn't know her son might not have been just the last straw... but it definitely could've been Myungha's last attempt to find anything in his life worth staying for, worth not going through with his plan.

Anyway, what a scary but beautiful symbolism.

Let's talk about something happier! More heartwarming!

Do you remember when we talked about the carefully placed movie posters in previous episodes? I payed more attention to the background this time when in Episode 8 Yeowoon ran to the cinema searching for Myungha in his world. And what an amazing discovery! When Myungha starts existing again and calls Yeowoon, the movie poster behind Yeowoon says "Guardian" (보호자).

And I already said in another post that Myungha in previous episodes admitted himself being Yeowoon's "guardian, protector" in the exact same word. But now this word is shown next to Yeowoon! As Yeowoon is the one who changed the main mission and has now declared himself Myungha's guardian and protector and will do his best to make him (his favourite pereson/bias/blorbo) happy. They have now both become guardians for each other. This. Goddamn. Show.

And I also want to shout out the VFX & Production team for this show – all the visual effects are very down to earth, gentle and not over the top but enhancing the series to the max. Like, maybe you wondered where on the screen does it say "Monday, August 14" and "Saturday, August 12"? Well, as expected, you see it on four monitor screens above the box office – the date, the ongoing movies (yep, still our favourite two fake movies) and available dates etc.

But when Yeowoon and Myungha agree to meet each other in the exact system time, they are facing each other without a barrier, and the screens are now counting down the time until the Game End. Instead of normally showing movies, like in the previous shot, it says "Time remaining: 3 hours, 23 minutes, 15 seconds". It was either done with VFX or practically, but still, the thought of incorporating system messages into the actual background is insane and I'm always happy to discover such details.

I don't know how many of you have motivational stairs at your schools, we definitely didn't have this but it's quite a popular thing in Korea. They put popular and uplifting sayings for students on each stair, sometimes they even quote motivational phrases from idols, like this:

And it's interesting that when system gets broken and Myungha is about to disappear, we see the deep cracks coming through the stairs, we see ruined school BUT at the same time the quotes in the show are so obviously in our focus. And they are already written (see screenshots above) in Korean and English, but I'll still write down: one is saying "Stay hungry, stay foolish" and "If you dream it, you can do it, you will succeed". So, perhaps... motivational quotes from sunbae?

And the last moment isn't heavy on translation but I still want to talk about it because cool Korean culture!xD You see the gang grilling meat on the roof (it's called samgyeopsal and it's very popular to have for gatherings), and then Myungha makes a "ssam" and feeds it to Yeowoon – but Sangwon steals it.

Ssam is a wrap, you grill meat then put it on the salad leaf, add other ingredients (like mushrooms, sauces, garlic, green onions etc, there are many side dishes) and then you wrap it in this sort of salad sack and eat it. It's very tasty and unusual combination. But the thing is! There is no way to make it for someone else and leave it on their plate so if you make a ssam wrap for someone and want to give it to a person, you literally have to feed them (like Myungha does with a very fond smile). This is why it's often seen as a romantic gesture (aka feeding someone from your fork etc) and why it's hilarious that Sangwon steals this ssam from Yeowoon (because he wants and he gets Myungha's affection and he's not above being a brat about it!)

I'm sure you can already sense it anyway without me telling you about romantic/close-friend implications, but I thought you guys might wonder why are the guys fighting over the salad leaf.

Another funny thing – Sangwon mentions "There's a saying, 'Don't scold dogs while they eat'". This is a Korean proverb "밥 먹을 때는 개도 안 때린다" ("You don't hit even a dog when it eats") which means that, no matter how annoying you find someone, no matter how angry you are, you can't scold this person while they are eating. Eating is a very important cultural thing in Asia, of course, so do not have arguments at the dinner :D But it's funny how Sangwon uses old proverbs to be mischievous and steal Myungha's love without consequences xD I adore him

I swear, this gotta be my last post about all the details in Love for Love's Sake. There is one more scene with the mirror and a caption, and I'm very curious if it means something because it was seen twice, during system breaking down scene as well, but it's either in Chinese or Japanese and I can't read it.

Anyway! Hope you enjoyed your everyday magazine, I love reading all your tags and thoughts and comments, and if you want to read all my previous translations and pointed out cultural details in Love for Love's Sake, go read this tag!=)

#love for love's sake comments #love for love's sake meta #love for love's sake #bl meta #korean drama #korean bl #bl series #love supremacy zone #myungha x yeowoon #tae myungha #dropthemeta #i love hyperfocusing on the show and have amazing community to go insane over it #i love reading all your comments guys #tw suicide #tw depression

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kimsohn · 4 months

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even if the world caves in,

pairing . chanhee x gn! reader (ft. vernon of seventeen) about . 13.5k words, fluff + angst, e2l fake-dating warnings . smoking, alcohol, cursing, suggestive (allusions to sex at the end), descriptive food mentions, y/n and chanhee are idiots chanhee lowkey doesn't deserve y/n, the plot kinda doesn't make sense but fuck it we ball ok, pls lmk if i missed things bc i probably did, also i wrote most of this at ungodly hours of the night and this is not proofread take this as your warning

synopsis . after your big break in cinema, the last thing on your mind is a relationship. unfortunately for you, the public has other plans, forcing you together with the journalist who's entire career is dedicated to your downfall. note . this is my submission for @deoboyznet's secret santa fic exchange! hihi @heemingyu i'm your secret santa!! (i'm so sorry this is like two days late and probably rushed forgive me) i went through like four different plots before settling on this one and writing it in one week 😭 i hope you enjoy!!! also thank you to @juyeonszn for staying up until 6am to beta for me what the fuck. ilysm. tagging . @invuwrld @gfksn @stealanity

Lately, the only thing that seems to greet you is the buzzing sound of your phone, incessant until silenced by your tired fingers.

You reach over as you stir awake, the action almost second nature to you as your hand catches ahold of the sleek object. You hit random buttons until your desired effect comes into play, answering the phone call and putting it on speaker, and you already know who it is before their voice even drifts through the microphone.

“Y/N! Get your ass up, you’re on the headlines.”

“Again?” you whine, rolling over in bed. “Is it good news or bad news this time?”

The man on the other end laughs, bitterly, and you push yourself off the bed in response. Your manager laughing, especially like that, is nothing amusing, and you rub your eyes as you try to get yourself awake.

“Oh, it’s bad, alright. Open your fucking phone, Y/N.”

You do exactly that, immediately thumbing over to Twitter and seeing your name trending. Afraid of which one of your many stupid decisions has made the headlines today, you press the hashtag, cringing at the first picture.

“Of course, they got pictures of me drunk,” you mutter, scrolling through the list. “Wasn’t this Juyeon’s private party, like months ago? How did these photos leak?”

“It doesn’t matter Y/N,” your manager sighs from the other side, and you feel a twinge of guilt for always putting him through this situation, “you’re an actor. Nothing in your life is private anymore, especially you pole dancing on top of the bar.”

Your facial muscles twitch as you come across the aforementioned picture, seeing yourself busting out dance moves on the marble. You have to hold back a laugh, seeing how something so ridiculously insignificant is dragging your name through the mud right now.

“But Vernon, you have to admit, the pictures are kinda hot.”

He grumbles on the other side before he cuts the call, and you fall into bed giggling, scrolling through other pictures. You have a cigarette in one hand and a tequila glass in the other, and that explains why you remember absolutely nothing about that day.

A text notification appears at the top of your screen, and you swipe down to see none other than Vernon who you were on call with five seconds ago. He’s sent you the link to an article followed by a message.

This is the article that leaked the video. Check out the name.

You click on the link, and your face falls at the name of the website. It falls even more when you see the name of the writer, and you press your fingers to your forehead. You immediately call Vernon again, watching the phone ring twice before he picks up.

“Can we fucking blacklist him, Vernon?” you seethe, gripping your phone tightly.

“I’m afraid not. He’s just a journalist, not a stalker.”

“He might as well be with the way he’s always up to date with my private information.”

You punch your pillow, watching your fist pathetically curl into the bedding. It doesn’t have its intended effect, only reminding you of how weak you are physically and mentally. You don’t get into scandals often, probably because you’re a rare, good person in the horrible field that is Hollywood, but whenever you do, you have one journalist to thank for it.

“I told you, nothing is private in your life anymore.”

Vernon goes off on a tangent about how you should’ve been more careful, how you shouldn’t have drunk your ass off, but you can’t find it within you to care. There was technically nothing wrong with what you did (except for maybe the indecency, but it’s a bar for fuck’s sake), but as a famous actor with a huge fanbase, you understand why your manager is angry. Dancing on top of a counter and smoking should not be the kind of precedent you set for your fans, especially the younger ones, and your actions have a lot more weight to them now that you’re in the public eye.

It’s just stupid because you’re a regular person. At the very least, you deserve to have some privacy regarding decisions you make, especially ones that are so insignificant.

“Vernon,” you interrupt, “it’s okay. My movie is coming out later this week, so I think it’ll die down quickly.”

“I know, but you’re lucky that this was a trivial issue. If you get caught in something truly fucked up, another movie won’t be able to save you.”

“I’ll be more careful. I promise.”

He hangs up, reminding you that you have a screening to attend later today and an interview. Your eyes drift back to the article again, reading the headline.

Hollywood’s favorite celebrity turned dancer.

You shut your eyes, breathing in and out so you don’t lose your composure. The universe is lucky you’re a rational, decent human being because if you weren’t, the writer who’s been practically harassing you would’ve been long eliminated by now.

Choi Chanhee, you read, familiar with the name. The infamous writer that’s always on your tail. It’s as if he dedicates his whole life to ruining you because he’s always the first to write things that make your crown slip. Almost all of your scandals, from particularly stupid ones at the beginning of your career to your most recent one, have been written by him. He’s practically obsessed with you at this point, and you don’t know what it is about you that ticks him off.

You toss your phone to the side, trudging over to the bathroom to get ready. Unlike Chanhee, you don’t have the time or patience to worry about trivial things like gossip pages. Choi Chanhee is just one, minor obstacle in your way. Just someone insignificant.

A long time ago, the flashing lights of cameras would’ve blinded you. Now, as a seasoned actor, you’re quite immune to the brightness that surrounds you when you walk the red carpet. You smile and pose, reveling in the cameras and the interviews that follow, asking for details about your current movie and the process behind the scenes.

You’ve just finished off an interview about the movie’s wardrobe when a black-haired man comes up to you. The lens of his thick glasses shines against the cameras in the background, and you have to look down to avoid the glare from the reflection.

You read his name tag and your face drops. You immediately look up, putting on a forced grin.

“Choi Chanhee. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He smiles, and the corners of his mouth curl as if he knows of your extensive distaste for him.

“It seems you know who I am already. Let’s get started with the interview then. First question: do you have anything to say regarding your latest scandal at the bar?”

You’re gritting through your teeth as you answer.

“No comment. Next question, please.”

“What are your opinions on the latest controversy surrounding Lee and Co., the production company behind your movie?”

He fires off a few questions, all as controversial as the last, and the only thing that keeps you from slapping him right there and then is your media training that Vernon had drilled into you while in the car.

“He will be there,” Vernon had said, fixing your watch, “don’t give him anything to work with. Just focus on promoting your movie.”

You’ve followed his advice for the solid ten minutes Chanhee has bombarded you, but even your patience is wearing thin. You’re tired of being asked about the same scandals repeatedly from different angles, and you have to admit that even if he’s doing an amazing job as a journalist, it’s not looking good for your conscience.

“Chanhee,” you interrupt, watching him pause in the middle of a question, “do you have any substantial questions about the movie, or are we done here?”

His face contorts as if he had just been thrown tomatoes at, and the devil in your brain beams from his expression. He flips through his notes, flicking through a couple of pages before landing on one that’s up to his liking.

“Okay, one last question then. Who was your favorite person to work with during this movie?”

You pause, mulling over the question. You watch as his eyes traverse his notes, and you wonder what trick he has up his sleeve. You guess that he will probably bring up something about the person who’s name you’ll recite, so you think carefully before answering.

“I don’t have one particular favorite. I love them all,” you answer honestly and safely, with no room for scrutiny.

He nods, shutting off the recorder before packing his bag and giving you a slight bow. The narcissist in your brain revels in how good he looks bowing down to you, but you pay your respects in return.

“Thank you for your time, Y/N.”

You watch as he saunters off, probably off to his crew, and you blink a few times before shifting your attention to the next reporter with an eager smile.

Hours later, you find yourself outside, exchanging the chaos inside for a fresh breath of air. Your director has indulged in an after-party, one you’re grateful for too, but after a couple of glasses of wine and many more hours of talking to fellow celebrities, you need a moment of solitude.

The air outside is crisp and cool, and you find yourself wishing you’d brought your jacket out to accompany you. Your vision is slightly blurry and your stance is wobbly, but you find a bench nearby to take a seat at. You stare at the pond across from you for a while, throwing rocks into the water and watching how far they travel.

A cigarette accompanies you, and the puffs of air you release are visual representations of how relaxed you want to feel. You’ve just released a movie, and you should be thankful, but as an actor, your mind never rests due to the endless possibilities you can ponder over. Moments like these where you find yourself completely alone, with nothing to worry about, are rare, and you try to curb your mind from ruining the moment by overthinking.

However, your moment of peace is interrupted by a loud shutter behind you, and you quickly turn around, afraid of what the paparazzi would say if they caught you like this. A figure disappears around the corner, but as you hear the clacking of their footsteps, you know exactly who it must be.

“Chanhee, I know it’s you.”

Moments pass before he steps out from behind the wall, holding a camera in his hands. The object, in contrast to the suit he wears, is so uncoordinated that you burst into a fit of laughter, over-emotional from the wine you had earlier.

“Why are you laughing?” he asks cautiously, treading the waters.

“I didn’t know you were a photographer too! You’re an all-rounder for sure.”

“Look,” he whispers as if his guilt will excuse his actions, “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay.” You pat the empty space next to you. “Here, sit next to me.”

He takes a seat warily, as if you have a gun in your hands, but relaxes once he sees you dangling your feet. It’s uncharacteristic for him to be sitting next to you, heck, even interacting with you, but you don’t seem to really mind as you throw another rock into the water.

“Why do you hate me?” you ask, staring at him with glossy eyes. “What did I do that was so wrong?”

“Are you drunk?” he asks instead, realizing this isn’t the pristine condition he saw you in a couple of hours ago.

“It doesn’t matter,” you sniffle. “What did I do to make you absolutely despise me?”

Chanhee sighs, staring at the ripples in the pond. He picks up a rock, swinging it as far as he can before it settles to the bottom of the pool. It goes way farther than any of the rocks you’d thrown before, and you pout miserably as you cease your ministrations.

“It’s my job. I get paid for writing about your downfall.”

“But… you don’t have to be so mean about it.”

Chanhee recognizes that he won’t get anywhere with this argument because you’re drunk, so instead, he turns to you, placing his hands on your shoulders so you look at him.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? Here, I won’t even post the pictures that I took today.”

He deletes the pictures from his camera, showing you after it’s done, and you surprise him by throwing your arms around him. You’re too far gone to realize the weight of your actions, but he isn’t, so he tries to gently pry them off his shoulders.

“Thank you,” you whisper after he’s done, slumping across the bench half-asleep, “thank you for being nice. For once.”

He blinks once, twice, before he exhales, turning around on his heel and disappearing into the darkness. Later, when Vernon picks you up from the bench, you tell him that a pretty fairy saved you from disaster. He won’t believe you, but you know it’s true in your heart.

You’re nursing your hangover when you decide to turn on the news. You settle into your comfortable couch, holding a bowl of hangover soup and trying not to succumb to the pain radiating throughout your forehead.

Not often do you watch the news, choosing to opt out because it’s usually annoying and gives you a headache, but Vernon’s somehow using two devices to watch his show on Netflix so you’re forced to resort to this. You think you might die if you don’t distract yourself from the migraine that’s been occupying your senses, so the news will have to suffice.

You flick through the channels, not interested in the politics or the weather, but your fingers pause when a bright pink headline catches your eye. It’s the gossip channel, and this is usually the channel you’re warned to stay far away from, but you can’t help but watch the video playing when the headline specifically features your name.

Y/N caught in a secret relationship, embracing a secret lover by the pond.

Your mood turns sour when the clip features events from last night, ones that are still fuzzy in your brain. You didn’t expect to be reliving this situation, but your heart all but drops when you realize the snippet features you and Chanhee in the frame, hugging each other as if you had indeed been lovers. The worst part is that Chanhee didn’t even reciprocate, but that isn’t featured in the headline, so it truly does look like you two have a thing for each other.

This time around, you call Vernon first instead of the usual.

“Y/N,” he whispers groggily as if you had woken him up, “what happened?”

“Please turn on the fucking news Vernon.”

You hear shuffling from the other side, a few minutes of rustling before you hear the blaring of the TV and a similar sound drifting through his microphone. You get a few minutes of pin-drop silence before all hell breaks loose.

“Who the fuck is that?!” he exclaims, and you hear his feet angrily pacing around. “Was this last night? I thought I told you to be more careful, to look out for your surroundings—”

“Vernon, it’s Chanhee.”

The only thing you hear from Vernon is his angered breaths, and it takes mere seconds before you burst into tears, fed up by this situation and the terrible migraine you still have. You just want to curl up into a ball and never step foot into the universe again, and your resolve only strengthens when the line goes dead. You can’t help the tears that come to bay, rippling through you like a shockwave that never seems to end.

Insistent knocking at your door a few moments later is the only thing that stops the tears from falling, and you quickly wipe them before opening the door. Vernon stands at the other side, his hands in his pockets and eyebags above his cheeks, but his gaze softens when he sees your puffy eyes and you hugging yourself.

He brings you into his embrace, your tears staining his hoodie, but neither of you can find it in yourselves to care. Vernon just caresses your back, knowing the only thing you need right now is a gesture of comfort, and you burrow into his chest further. Right here, in the middle of your entryway, Vernon provides you with the best version of reassurance he can offer: a simple, caring hug.

“I was drunk,” you mutter when you’ve calmed down, speaking through the sniffles that escape you, “and we were just talking. You know I get touchy when I’m tipsy.”

“I figured,” he says, unraveling himself from your embrace. “Does the press know it’s him?”

“No, but I expect they’ll find out soon enough.”

You follow him as he takes a seat on the couch, watching the headlines on the TV. The gossip channel has long moved on from your news, but you haven’t, and fear of what will happen to either you or Chanhee is killing you.

“We need to contact him before then,” he voices, grabbing his phone from his pocket. “I think I know someone from his office.”

“Wait, why?” you ask, trying to peer over at his phone, watching him scroll through his contacts. “Wouldn’t it just be best to let the rumors die down?”

“If this was a celebrity, we could’ve done that. But Chanhee is a regular human being, and this could potentially destroy his career.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” you murmur under your breath, watching Vernon deadpan.

“Look, I know you hate him, but he doesn’t deserve to be criticized for something he didn’t even do. Let’s just talk to him and see what he has to say, okay?”

You nod, falling back on the couch. The migraine still bothers you, and you rub your fingers across your forehead to massage it.

Five days ago, you would never have expected to be in this position. To you, Chanhee was just a name on a screen, a faceless figure haunting your dreams. How fitting is it that his very first encounter with you led to your worst nightmare?

You hear Vernon dial his contact, watching the phone ring several times before a line picks up. Vernon speaks gratefully, grabbing the pen and paper that you have lying around on your coffee table as he scribbles down some information.

“We have a meeting,” he says, showing you the piece of paper, “in five hours. Be ready by then.”

Just what exactly have you gotten yourself into?

The bright lights and white walls in the meeting room make it look like a prison cell, and the atmosphere does absolutely nothing to calm your nerves. You’re tapping your foot anxiously, sitting in an unfamiliar space in an unfamiliar building, but Chanhee requested a meeting in his office building, and you have no other choice but to go with it.

You’d be lying if you said you were nonchalant about the whole atmosphere, but you try to keep yourself composed as you wait for him to enter. Vernon sits beside you, going through some papers in his briefcase that only a manager would know about, and his presence is the only thing keeping you grounded right now.

“Just let me do the talking, okay?” he’d said before entering, “The last thing we need is another argument on our hands.”

Even though the comment offended you, you honestly would be better off trusting his judgment. You and Chanhee don’t exactly have the best track record, and if either one of you says something even slightly off, the room would probably explode into insults. You honestly don’t even have the strength anyway to hold up a fight, so you slump into your chair, adjusting your jacket and reeling in your patience.

The doorknob twists and you and Vernon straighten your postures, trying to look presentable for your audience. Chanhee enters, followed by a blonde-haired who you’d assume to be his boss, and you rise so you can shake their hands. Chanhee ignores your attempt at waving a white flag, choosing to shake Vernon’s instead before sitting down at a seat, but his boss smiles and grabs your palm tightly in his.

“Hello, I’m Sangyeon. It’s nice to meet you.”

You exchange pleasantries as you sit down, and once you get over the initial awkwardness, you shut your mouth and wait for Vernon to speak up.

“So, I’m sure you guys have seen the news and are well aware of why we’re here.”

Sangyeon nods, urging him to continue.

“I understand what you might be feeling right now Chanhee,” Vernon follows, catching Chanhee’s gaze, “and we’re extremely sorry for the trouble that this has caused you. However, I have a proposition that might benefit both parties, if you are interested.”

Chanhee’s silence prompts Vernon’s explanation, and you lean in, curious about what he has to say too. Vernon had offhandedly mentioned that he had a deal to make, but you don’t have the slightest clue as to what he’s about to propose.

“I was thinking we play into the rumors. We can say Y/N and Chanhee met at a press conference and hit it off a couple of weeks ago. After we plan a few more appearances, we can stage a public breakup in a few weeks so that everything can go back to normal.”

You blanch, ready to refuse the idea, but Chanhee beats you to it.

“Why would I agree to a relationship with Y/N?”

“Hey,” you start, offended by his implications, “what’s wrong with dating me?”

Chanhee scoffs.

“Don’t even start, Y/N. This is all your fault after all. I didn’t know you liked me that much that you couldn’t keep your hands off me.”

You’re seeing blood red, crazed at the malice behind his words.

“I was tipsy! And how was I supposed to know that someone was stalking us? If anything, it was your fault for deleting those pictures and being nice to me.”

The room erupts into chaos as you throw petty insults at each other, similar to a catfight. It takes Vernon holding you back physically to get you to calm down, but even after you’ve calmed down, you’re still staring daggers at him.

“Look, Chanhee, I understand this is not ideal for either of you given the nature of your jobs. But if you think about it, when the press finds out that it’s you in the picture, how will you be able to resume your writing? Who will take you seriously if you write hate articles about the very person that you were caught with?” Vernon asks, trying to reason with him.

Chanhee falls into silence, and he looks at his manager. His manager offers him a pitiful glance, knowing that Vernon is right.

“You don’t have to be lovey-dovey with each other,” Vernon continues, hoping to ease the terms. “You just have to appear in public for a couple of dates. We can use your old articles to prove that you guys have had romantic tension, so we’ll have background evidence too. When Y/N breaks your heart in a couple of weeks, you’ll have the perfect reason to continue writing hate articles.”

“It’s like enemies to lovers to… enemies, right?” Sangyeon asks, humming after Vernon nods, “I think it’s a good idea Chanhee. You’ll gain a lot more exposure after the whole thing is over too. If we continue going as it is, the press will ruin your career, and I’d have no other choice but to fire you. I think this is the best decision for your future and the company.”

Chanhee sighs, rubbing his temples. As much as you despise him, you can sympathize with the fact that he has a difficult decision looming over his head. The fate of his career rests in your hands, the person he’s dedicated a lifetime to ruining, and you can imagine just how insane his internal conflict might be.

“I’ll do it,” you voice, watching the room’s reactions carefully.

Chanhee’s eyes shoot up at you, clearly not expecting your admission.

“I would hate to be the reason you had to quit something you love. Besides, I’ve been in too many scandals recently anyway; I think a relationship could do my career some good.”

You don’t know if your attempt at a joke resonated with him, but his shoulders relax and he bores his eyes into you. His eyes are sharp and feline-like, but his brown pupils are almost the exact opposite, thoughtful and deep. He’s a little pretty, you realize, when he’s not trying to sabotage your entire career.

You’ve tried to stay level-headed after your argument earlier, as a gesture to Vernon, but you can’t contain your surprise when he nods a few minutes later.

“Okay, I’ll go with your plan. But I want four weeks, not five.”

“Deal,” you say, reaching over with an open palm before Vernon can even say anything.

This time around, Chanhee does reciprocate your gesture, shaking your hand firmly. The white flag flies freely over your heads, and you can only pray that these next four weeks will be over just as quickly as they started.

The news blows up fairly quickly after it’s published, even faster than any of the scandals you’ve been in. After the announcement your companies sent out confirming your relationship, you posted a picture of Chanhee to your Instagram story to show support from your side. Never have you garnered so many notifications in a single day, but you’re not complaining. You suppose your fans have also been waiting for you to get into a serious relationship, seeing that you’ve been single since your acting debut, so the update is received with a mostly positive reaction that you’re thankful for.

However, just the news and a picture alone aren’t going to cut it. Arguably, the hardest part of this whole ordeal is your interactions with Chanhee, making your relationship believable enough so your fans don’t think this is the PR stunt like it really is. Your first order of business is taking Chanhee along on a date tonight to a movie premiere, the first actual public appearance you two will be making.

To say you’re nervous is an understatement. The last time you saw Chanhee, it took Vernon’s presence to stop you from biting his head off. How will you even survive a whole event together, let alone act like a couple?

You tell Chanhee to show up a couple of hours earlier so you can plan out the details, unable to keep your nervousness at bay. You don’t know if Chanhee is as anxious as you, but Vernon always says it’s good to stick to a plan, so calling him over isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had.

Actually, it might be a little bit bad.

“Wow,” you say, your throat suddenly parched from seeing his clothing, “you clean up nicely.”

Nice is the simplest you could describe his outfit. He’s wearing a black suit, indented polka dots scattered across the black cloth. Paired with a white shirt underneath and matching tie, along with those round glasses that are definitely growing on you, he looks just like another A-list celebrity in the crowd. Maybe even a model if you would care to admit it.

“Thanks,” he mutters, unbuttoning the jacket to strew it across your couch, “it’s kinda hot in here, no?”

You would agree, but your mind is currently occupied with how delicious he looks in just a simple white shirt and a tie. You have half a mind to tell him that he really should quit his job and become a model instead, but you settle for nodding instead.

“It’s probably because of all the facial stuff we did earlier,” your stylist Kevin says, walking over to place clips in your hair, “it’ll calm down in a little bit.”

Chanhee’s eyes widen when Kevin enters, his eyes staring at you in panic and moving over to Kevin before they travel back to you. You laugh, amused with how seriously he’s playing the part.

“He knows,” you reassure him, “most of my close staff know, so you don’t need to worry.”

Chanhee exhales in relief, his head drooping down into his arms. Kevin meets your gaze before quirking an eyebrow, and you shake your head, not wanting to indulge in his teasing.

“Okay,” Chanhee says after he’s calmed down, leaning into the couch, “what’s the plan?”

“Well, since this is our first time in public together, we can keep it simple,” you start, wincing when Kevin tugs on part of your hair a little too hard, “maybe holding hands, walking next to each other, maybe a hug if we’re up for it.”

Chanhee looks disgusted, and you honestly can’t even disagree with him. You’re not exactly happy about jumping straight into skin-to-skin contact with the guy you hate, but this is the bare minimum for a relationship and you intend to follow through.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you sigh. “You do know that we’re going to have to kiss at some point, right? This is probably the tamest we’ll get.”

“Hey, don’t haunt the poor guy,” Kevin says, pulling out a makeup palette. “Just take it slow, okay? It’ll be a while before you get to that stage.”

You disappear into your bedroom to change after Kevin is done with your styling, and Chanhee visibly relaxes once you’re gone. It’s not like he wants to murder you with every fiber of his being, but something about you puts him on edge, and he can’t tell what it is.

“Are you still stressed about the kissing thing, dude?” Kevin asks while packing up his supplies. “Y/N’s just saying that to scare you, so don’t worry. Besides, after you see them in this outfit, you might change your mind.”

Kevin leaves with a wink, and Chanhee is left to scramble for its implications. You can’t possibly look good enough to kiss, right? He’s seen you countless times, and the only time his resolve ever-so-slightly wavered was when he saw you in person about a week ago. That was because you were drunk, though, of course. Not because he was facing you, flesh to flesh, for the first time in his life.

His overthinking ceases though when you step out of your bedroom, and he can’t stop Kevin’s words from floating through his brain.

You’re beauty personified, he thinks, from the tips of your curled hair to the bottom of your glass footwear. The silver-length outfit you adorn is something to die for, heck, you are someone to die for, and Chanhee can’t even breathe because he just imagined you standing next to him and the room is suddenly very, very hot.

“Ready to go?” you ask, adjusting a couple of rings on your fingers.

Chanhee dumbly nods, now realizing why literally everyone is in love with you, and he stands abruptly. He follows you to the front like a puppy dog before you turn around and start giggling. He doesn’t even register you speaking because suddenly, your giggles aren’t annoying and all of your sounds are like songbirds from heaven.

“You forgot your blazer, silly. Here, I’ll get it.”

While you turn back around, walking to the sofa, Chanhee slaps himself. Gently, of course, because he doesn’t want to ruin his face before the red carpet, but just enough to remind himself of his position in this whole scheme. You’re a celebrity, obviously you look good, and he can’t lose his morals just because you look stunning after being dolled up.

You’re a celebrity and he’s a journalist. A journalist who gets paid to antagonize you. Realistically speaking, even just meeting you should have him seeing red. He should not of all things, be pretending to date you, and he definitely should not be reconsidering his life decisions after spending two hours with you.

He just has to get through these four weeks. You’ll be out of sight, out of mind before he even knows it.

“When the cameras start flashing, just look forward. Don’t ever look at them straight in the eye, otherwise, you’ll feel dizzy.”

Chanhee grumbles as you continue rambling, but you can’t find it within you to stop. You’ve never had a public relationship like this, especially with someone who’s not a celebrity, so the desire for perfection is getting to you.

Any small thing could fuck this up and not only ruin Chanhee’s career but yours too. What would the public think if they found out you were lying about a relationship? Heck, you wouldn’t be able to trust your own self after that, let alone the public.

“Y/N, it’ll be okay. It’s just handholding and a hug, right?”

“Yeah, but we need to look like we’re in love,” you huff, your head drooping as you play with your fingers in your lap.

You feel a hand cup the side of your chin, bringing you up to Chanhee’s gaze.

“Look at me,” he starts, thumbing your cheek, “we’ll be fine. Just stare into my eyes like this, and no one will ever doubt us.”

You don’t get to tell him that you might be believing it too with the way you can’t stop gazing at the twinkle in his eyes and the fondness in how they crease. You’ve met many gorgeous celebrities in your life, but not once have you ever felt your heart beat so heavily until this moment.

“We’re here,” Vernon interrupts from the front seat, breaking your intense gaze, “get ready.”

The flashing blinds you as soon as the car door opens, but you’re immune to the glares at this point. Chanhee, however, is not, so your only focus is being by his side until you walk inside the venue. You exit first, waiting until he steps out beside you before interlacing your fingers together and offering him a chaste smile, hoping it’ll calm his nerves.

He grips your hand tighter as you walk, and you both ignore the press shouting from around you. The screams seem extra prevalent today due to his presence, and you hope he isn’t feeling bombarded by the chaos around him. You focus on Chanhee, watching as he stares back at you to ground himself. You walk quickly in unison with him, counting your steps and smiling for the camera as you finally step inside the entryway.

“Are you okay?” you ask after you’re situated, having a few minutes of peace before you’re off to star on the red carpet. “I know that must’ve been a lot.”

“It’s fine. It’s over now. It was chaotic, but it helped to just focus on you.”

A twinge of heat flutters across your cheeks, but you pay no attention to it.

“I’m glad. Don’t worry, we don’t have any more red carpets in our schedule.”

He unlaces his fingers from yours, something you’d completely forgotten about, but you don’t have time to mull over the loss of his warmth before Vernon pushes you to the red carpet to get ready for the pictures. You take deep breaths, reveling in the mere seconds you get before the flashing starts again and you are simply an object for the camera. You pose, striking a big grin for the camera and remembering your media training. This is what you do best, being a celebrity, and suddenly you find comfort in this familiarity after all the turmoil you’ve been through the past couple of days. No Chanhee, no relationship, no headlines, just you and the camera like always.

However, you can’t stop your eyes from wandering when you get a break, watching Chanhee converse with Vernon. You let your daydreams drift, wondering how he would look like posing next to you for the camera, how he would laugh and answer questions about your relationship so giddily, or even how he’d stare into your soul like earlier before, bearing his heart for the taking.

You know that he won’t even meet your gaze after the four weeks are over, but you let yourself indulge in your imagination anyway. You’ve been touch-starved for so long, so it’s only natural that you have these thoughts about affection, right?

You walk back to Chanhee after you’re done, joining him and Vernon as you travel the venue. The place looks spectacular, with intricate chandeliers and a whole buffet of delicacies, and you make it a point in your mind to compliment the mastermind behind this all, Juyeon, when you see him.

Vernon leads you guys over to the food, piling the spring rolls on his plate until you glare at him to stop. Chanhee restrains laughter behind a mouth full of cupcakes, but even you have to agree with Vernon’s eagerness when you take a bite of the macadamia cookies. You’re on your fourth one when Juyeon saunters over to you, his goofy grin ever-so-present on his face.

“Y/N! Long time no see, right? I haven’t talked to you since my party months ago.”

“It’s been too long. I love the venue, by the way. You always outdo yourself.”

“Don’t talk to me about outdoing things. Look at you with your new boyfriend!”

You glance over at Chanhee, who’s busy trying to see how many spring rolls Vernon can fit in his mouth. You grimace, turning back to Juyeon. You know Vernon’s your manager, but sometimes it feels like you have to keep him on a leash instead of the other way around.

“Yeah it’s… a recent development, but I’m happy.”

“I’m surprised you got into a relationship in the first place. After you rejected me, I kinda thought you weren’t looking for love.”

Juyeon clutches his chest in fake agony, and you roll your eyes. Juyeon asked you out years ago when he was the director of your film, and he never fails to bring it up whenever he sees you. You still aren’t looking for love, of course, but your recent news is probably a shock to Juyeon and the many other people you’ve rejected over the years.

“I’m not incapable of love, Juyeon,” you sigh, looking back at Chanhee again, “I just needed to find the right person.”

The word love has never meant anything special to you, but when you look at Chanhee, you feel your heartstrings pull at your chest. Finally having a boyfriend, even if he’s fake, means you have the ability to love and be loved, and maybe you’ve been denying yourself happiness far too long for the wrong reasons.

As you wave Juyeon goodbye, sauntering over to Chanhee, you walk with a change in mindset. The situation you’re stuck in isn’t perfect, but you decide that it’s best to make the most out of it.

“Y/N, watch out!”

Suddenly, your whole world turns upside down, and you brace yourself as you fall backward, watching the twinkling of the chandeliers above you. You shut your eyes as a reflex, expecting the hardness of the wooden floor beneath you, but instead, you feel a strong hand supporting your back. You open your eyes to see Chanhee, but as his orbs bore into yours, all words tie on the tip of your tongue.

This close to him, you can see his faint eyeliner, the slight curve of his nose, and the barely visible mole on his top lips. It feels like the world is spinning still, but as Chanhee breathes, exhaling a soft puff of air, your gaze remains grounded only on him as he cradles you gently.

The sound of a camera startles you both, and Chanhee pulls you up, staring at Vernon. You smooth down your clothing, clearing your throat as you eye the culprit.

“What was that for?” you ask, throat slightly parched by what happened mere seconds ago.

“Whatever practice you guys did together before coming here definitely worked, because this picture definitely looks like you’re in love. I’m gonna leak it to a local magazine, so good job for today’s work.”

Your cheeks burn as he shows you the picture, and your gaze flits over to Chanhee. His expression is indiscernible, and you have the sudden urge to know exactly what’s running through his mind. Was he just as affected as you, or was this just a mere act of kindness?

The rational part of your brain hopes it’s the latter, but the heaviness of your heart might have different aspirations.

Your phone dings as you finish applying the last bits of your mascara, and you pad over to your couch, seeing Chanhee’s text message on the top of your screen.

Be there in five.

It’s been a week since Juyeon’s movie premiere, a week since your heart has practically gone haywire. You’re a celebrity, if anything, you’re the last person to be looking forward to a text, but you found yourself checking Chanhee’s chat every morning and being disappointed when nothing rolled in. Even when Vernon’s picture leaked and the internet blew up over your coupling, his message bar still remained dry and lifeless.

He didn’t have any reason to text you anyway, so you wonder why you always looked forward to one.

You were the one to reach out first, letting him know that you had a date scheduled for Saturday night according to Vernon’s schedule. A meeting once per week was mandatory, just to keep up the image, and today’s plan was a nice, fancy dinner at a restaurant.

Chanhee, like a true gentleman, offered to pick you up instantly after you’d sent him the message, and you let yourself feel elated for five seconds before you texted him the time and place. You don’t know why Chanhee reduces you to a middle school girl longing for her crush, but you suppose it’s just because you haven’t been on a proper date in so long.

You’re dressed in blue satin, a dress you’d had no real reason to wear until today, and you’ve tried your best to clean up without Kevin’s help. You send a quick picture to your stylist as you wait, asking for advice even though you know you always look good, but Kevin just sends you a string of heart emojis in return and tells you that you look perfect.

Three sharp knocks on the door indicate Chanhee’s presence, and you open the door. The words on your throat die down when you realize he’s wearing a similar blue satin to yours, and it only takes one flicker of your eyes to meet his for him to start laughing.

“Are you stalking me or something?” he teases, pulling out a bouquet of fresh flowers.

“What’s this for?” you ask, setting them on the vase inside.

“Vernon told me to. He said you always like getting flowers on a date.”

You haven’t been on a date in years, so you don’t know where Vernon got this information from, but you appreciate the gesture nonetheless. The arrangement of peonies, lilies, and daffodils looks stunning on the countertop, and you post a quick picture to your Instagram story before heading out with Chanhee.

“Do you want the aux?” he asks when you’ve situated yourselves in his car.

The wind blows freely as he drives, the night sky twinkling through Chanhee’s open convertible. The rich red color of his Toyota Solara stands out against the deepness of the blackness around you two, but you can only focus on Chanhee’s side profile and the glittering earrings he’s wearing. Up until this point, you’ve only ever been in spaces you were familiar with. Seeing Chanhee in his own car is a completely different atmosphere for you, and you’re not sure how it makes you feel.

“I’m good. Play whatever you like,” you reply, truly interested to see what type of music he listens to.

Paris in the Rain drifts through the speakers, and you have to fight back a smile at the tune. Of course he would play this song on a night drive, judging by its mellow atmospheric feel, but you’re not mad about it.

“Why did you choose this restaurant?” he continues after the song settles, looking over at you when he pulls to a stop in front of a red light.

You have to recenter your thoughts to answer him, bringing your vision back from how ethereal he looks against the red tones of the stoplight.

“It’s been on my list for a while,” you admit honestly. “It’s also not super high scale, so someone will definitely notice us being there.”

Chanhee nods before quieting down as the red light fades into green. You’ve noticed that Chanhee tends to sit in silence when he’s with you, not interacting as much as he had with Vernon at the premiere. You wonder if he’s just naturally silent and hit it off with Vernon or maybe if he’s just hates you.

“Are you always this quiet?” you voice when he slows down due to traffic, not wanting him to feel alienated by the question.

“Ah, not really,” he says, scratching his head, “I just didn’t know if you were comfortable with me talking since we’re technically just coworkers.”

“Oh,” you voice, not expecting his admission.

You didn’t foresee him being so considerate of your feelings, enough to stop talking completely, and the thought warms your heart. Maybe he’s not such a bad person after all, you think, staring at him expectantly.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have admitted that,” he expresses. “I can go back to sitting in silence.”

“No!” you exclaim, and he looks over at you with slight alarm, “I mean, it’s fine. You talking is fine. You don’t need to restrict yourself from speaking just because we’re in a work setting. I don’t mind you talking.”

His shoulders relax as he steps on the gas, maneuvering through the gaps of the traffic that’s slowly clearing.

“That’s good,” he mutters, flicking on his blinker, “cause otherwise, this would’ve been a very awkward dinner date.”

You fight back a smile as he pulls up to the restaurant, and you don’t even have a chance to open your own door before he’s unlocking it for you. You thank him politely before walking inside, side by side with Chanhee. You follow the receptionist to your table once she gets your section cleared, and you’re offered complimentary chips and salsa as you wait for your food to arrive.

“You said this place was not ‘super high scale’?” Chanhee questions, looking around at the décor.

Okay, so maybe it is a little bit classy. The mediterranean themed restaurant has a cozy interior, and you’re currently sitting on wicker chairs by a huge glass window. The setting feels very exposed, as if you truly are sitting outside with the stars hanging over your heads. Subtle things about the place remind you that it’s elegant, such as the intricate menus and the tons of cutlery that sits next to you, but you hoped that it was something more comfortable for Chanhee to acclimate to.

“Why, is it too much?” you ask, picking up a chip.

“It’s not, but this is definitely fancy in my world.”

You smile, watching Chanhee be starstruck by his surroundings.

“Just because I’m famous now doesn’t mean I always was,” you start, “before I got my big break, my version of fancy was a dine-in restaurant.”

He laughs, relaxing a little.

“I didn’t know we were so similar. I just always assumed you were a nepo baby or something like that.”

“Just because you hate me doesn’t mean I’m privileged. I worked hard to get here, you know.”

Chanhee nods as your waiter brings out your food, and the two of you immediately dig in. The appealing smells make your stomach hungrier than usual, and it takes a good few minutes for you to settle your appetite before you start conversing with Chanhee.

Now that the awkwardness is gone and that you have a simple understanding of each other, talking with him is easy. Putting aside all the hatred that’s spewed up these past few months, you find out that Chanhee is actually an amiable person, someone you could’ve seen yourself being friends with if you two weren’t so different. He shares stories about growing up and his family in exchange for yours, and you have to clutch your stomach in laughter when he slips in a joke that matches your taste exactly.

Being with Chanhee is natural, so much that you wish you had met him under different circumstances. In addition to being a friendly person, he’s also a gentleman, from the way he slips his card under the menu without you noticing (you definitely scolded him for it later) and opens the car door whenever you get in and out. As he walks you up to your apartment, you thank him honestly for tonight, regretting that your time together is already over for the day.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers suddenly when you’re outside your door. “I’ve written so much shit about you without being an honest judge of your character.”

“It’s okay, Chanhee. This is what you do for a living, I get it.”

“No, you deserve an apology. You’re an amazing actor and an even better human being. You didn’t deserve a single word I wrote about you.”

You’re not tipsy this time around, but you pull him into a hug anyway. This time, you actually mean it though, and you try to disregard the loss of warmth when he pulls away after a few moments.

“Thank you for tonight,” you murmur, stepping into your apartment. “See you next week.”

He smiles, and suddenly, the room is filled with sunshine.

“No, thank you. See you soon.”

You woke up the next morning with a text from Chanhee. The texts have not stopped coming in ever since you responded, as if you’ve opened the floodgates of interaction. You wish he’d texted you sooner, because even though he bombards you with everything in the world from funny memes to just crying about his day, you love returning the same energy.

Where are you rn, a text flies in, and you smile when you see who it’s from.

on set. wbu?

Driving to somewhere special!

oooh spill??

I’ll let you know after I get there

You frown, not so pleased with his secrecy. You hate secrets, and so does Chanhee, so why is he indulging in one right now?

You don’t have time to mull over it as your director calls you back over, ready to continue with the shot. Your costar Younghoon stands before you, smiling as his assistant fixes up his hair before clearing his throat.

“Ready for this scene? It’s a lot,” he comments, reading over the script one more time.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, watching for your director’s call.

The line starts rolling a few seconds later, and you immediately straighten your posture, preparing yourself for the scene.

“Hey,” you whisper, “what was so wrong about what I did?”

He laughs bitterly, pointing to the papers on the desk beside him.

“What was so wrong? You ruined my entire career!”

The papers fly around you as he wipes them off the desk in one sweep, and tears well up in your eyes once you look at his angry gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you plead, clutching onto his arm, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen, I swear—”

“You didn’t know?” he asks, although it’s more of a statement, “you’re the editor for the goddamn newspaper! Of course you fucking knew this was going to happen!”

He rips his wrist from your fingers, inching away from you.

“It’s my job to write the news, darling. You have to understand—” you cry, dropping to the ground.

The papers shift around you, and you watch your tears drip onto the headlines.

“We’re done,” he utters, one final phrase before he rips off his ring, throwing it by your feet. “Never speak to me again.”

“And cut!” your director shouts, “good work guys. Take 30.”

Younghoon helps you up from the ground, and you whisper gratitude before brushing off your ankles. The wooden floor was uncomfortable to kneel on, but you’re grateful that it was only for a short period of time.

“Y/N!” you hear from the other end of the room, and you peek over Younghoon’s broad shoulders to see a familiar figure waving.

“Chanhee?” you gasp, walking over to him once he register his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Surprise?” he replies, giving you the bouqet of flowers he was holding. “I wanted to be a good boyfriend and surprise you on set.”

“Thank you,” you reply, grabbing the flowers from his hands before leaning in closer, “did Vernon put you up to this?”

“Um…” he starts, scratching the back of his head, “yeah, definitely. It’s the middle of the week, so why else would I be here?”

You roll your eyes, leaning back before you reach for his arm, squeezing it tightly.

“Thank you, regardless. No one’s ever visited me on set before like this. Even Vernon.”

“Really?” he asks, sounding surprised, “I thought you would have a lot of people around you like that.”

“I have acquaintances, but they’re all busy too. The most someone’s ever done for me is send me a food truck, and that was from my own mother.”

“Well, I’ll be here from now on, then.”

You feel a pang in your chest, and Chanhee must notice the shift in the atmosphere too because he clears his throat. You both know that this arrangement is already halfway over, so why do Chanhee’s words feel so comfortable, as if you both were in a regular relationship from the very beginning?

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Y/N? Is this the boyfriend?” Younghoon interrupts, walking up from behind with an outstretched arm. “Hey, I’m Younghoon, the costar. Nice to meet you, man.”

Chanhee smiles, plastering a smile to cover his previous frown before taking Younghoon’s hand in his, shaking it firmly.

“Nice to meet you too. Y/N’s been telling me about you, so it’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Younghoon laughs, removing his hand from Chanhee’s grip.

“Yeah, it’s surreal working on this movie. It’s kinda funny how Chanhee’s a journalist because Y/N plays one in this movie too.”

Chanhee turns to you, surprised by this new piece of information. You’ve been pretty lowkey about the role, not wanting to tell anyone until the movie wrapped up filming, but Younghoon seems to trust Chanhee with the information because he’s your boyfriend.

“Really? I didn’t know.”

You nod in confirmation, grinning slightly.

“Yeah, we just finished up a heavy argument scene before you arrived. Wanna see the set?”

You and Younghoon parade Chanhee around, introducing him to other actors and cast on the set working diligently. Chanhee is in awe, starstruck by the unfamiliar environment and you can’t really blame him. The movie industry in and of itself is a dream, and witnessing it for the first time is probably exhilarating for him.

After your break wraps up, you lead Chanhee out, standing by the front of the garage. He still has stars in his eyes, and you have to nudge his shoulder twice before he pays attention to you.

“Sorry, I just… I wanted to be a director once, so seeing this all is kind of a dream come true.”

Your eyes widen. Whatever you were expecting to come out of his mouth was not even close to what he just said, and you’re still processing his words when you voice your confusion.

“Yeah, that’s how I learned writing and photography. I used to write screenplays and direct them, but I never made it big like I wanted to. Luckily, Sangyeon took me in when I was struggling, and that’s the only reason I have a job today.”

Suddenly, you know nothing about Chanhee. If events had played out a little differently, Chanhee could be standing right in front of you, not as a fake boyfriend but as a director. You wouldn’t be from two separate worlds anymore, and the thought is killing you.

“Do you still direct?” you ask uncertainly, unsure of what to even say after his confession.

“Nah, not anymore. I help my friends out with short films sometimes, but that’s about it.”

“If you ever want to get back into directing, I can help you out.”

Chanhee looks like his breath has been stolen away, staring at you dumbly.

“I don’t know if I can give you a position directly, but I can definitely link you up with fellow directors of mine and see if there are any film festivals looking for submissions.”

“Thank you,” he mutters hoarsely, “I don’t have an answer for you right now, but what you just said means the world to me.”

Chanhee does the unexpected, wrapping you in a hug this time around. It’s meaningful and tender, and he burrows himself into you as he clutches your shoulders tightly, never wanting to let go. The same shoulders that he once tried to pry your hands off are now encircling you, and you smile against his cheek.

“It’s no problem,” you voice honestly, pulling back to look at him. “I’m always here for you, just remember that.”

You told him the last date would be a little different, but seriously, Chanhee was not expecting a van.

You wave from the front seat, putting aside your phone as he scrambles into the front seat. Chanhee quirks an eyebrow at you, urging you to spill, and you take in a deep breath as you struggle to get the words out.

“So… um, you know how celebrity couples usually have pictures of them making out in their cars, right?”

Chanhee stares at you incredulously, and you grimace, biting your lip.

“I know it sounds bad, but it was Vernon’s idea, I promise! We just need to kiss a couple of times for the pictures, that’s it. It can’t be too bad, right?”

“Y/N,” Chanhee sighs, massaging his temples, “are you crazy? We haven’t even kissed once before this.”

“Well, now is a good time to start, right?” you ask sheepishly, “Look, Vernon paid some guys to photograph us, so they’ll be here any time now. Let’s just get this over with.”

Before he can even blink, you clamber over into his lap, resting your legs on either side of his and holding onto his shoulders. Chanhee gulps, too loudly for the silence that settles between you two, and he’s close enough to you that he can feel your heartbeat thumping wildly.

Good to know that you’re just as affected as him too.

You guide his arms around your waist, securing them tightly before looking back up at Chanhee. The last time he’s ever seen you this close is from when he saved you from falling, and somewhere in the depths of his heart, he admits to himself how much he actually missed it. The fluttering of your lashes, the indents of your mouth, and the sliver of your jawline are all something he wants to commit to memory, to burn into his mind before he loses you.

Chanhee would write a whole article just about your lips if he had to.

“Ready?” you ask, so close that he can feel your breath on his.

He nods, and before he can even lick his lips, you lean in, meeting him halfway with yours.

Chanhee feels like he’s in oblivion, completely succumbing to the darkness that you’ve slowly been feeding him with. You’re like poison, and as he slots his lips against yours, he can’t get enough. You’re killing him with the way you pull him in closer, imperceptibly close as if you two aren’t practically molded together already, and as Chanhee uses one of his arms to tilt your neck, you reciprocate with just as much fervor.

You pull back, catching your breath and your chest heaving, but it takes Chanhee only one glance at your swollen lips before pulling you back in again. He’s addicted to the way your tongue swipes across his entrance, the way you shiver as he gently tugs your bottom lip between your lips, and the way you clutch onto his hair as the two of you exchange life through your kisses.

“Just a couple, baby?” he whispers, pecking down the side of your face, “I can give you a lot more than that.”

He tugs your sleeve down as you whine, tilting your head to give him better access to the area. He nips and sucks at your collarbone, biting hard enough to bruise in spots that you’ll probably scold him for later. He wants them to be deep enough, red enough that you won’t even be able to cover them so the whole world will know you’re his, and he knows it’s well worth it with the way you groan as he keeps going.

“I wish could stay like this forever,” you gasp, preening away when he nips behind your earlobe. “I never want to let you go. My boyfriend. Mine. Forever.”

He hums in agreement, pressing a kiss to your neck before he stops. You whimper, angry at him for pausing his ministrations, but as he processes your words, the hazy fog he was in moments prior fades away, and all that is left is the consequences of his actions.

“What’s wrong?” you ask when you realize he’s stopped completely.

Chanhee is shaking from underneath you, glassy-eyed, and his fingers tremble as he removes them from your body.

“Boyfriend,” he dumbly repeats, and you nod before realizing the mistake you made.

“Chanhee, I—”

“Get off me. Please.”

You stare at him incredulously, and when he doesn’t make any move to take back his words, you climb off him and into the seat next to you.

“This is all fake. Why do I keep forgetting that?”

He laughs bitterly, watching as your face morphs into a frown. How could he be so careless, to lose himself in you when this is all clearly just an act?

“Chanhee, I know this was planned, but the way I kissed you was definitely not fake.”

You sound hurt, and if he was in a better headspace, he would be calmer with his words, but the weight of what just happened is sinking down on him hard. Suddenly, he needs to leave, to never see you again and to not spend any more time in this stupid, suffocating van. He opens the door, climbing out before shutting it behind him firmly, breathing in heavily as he staggers away from the vehicle.

“Chanhee,” you cry, running up behind him and grabbing onto his wrist, “you don’t understand!”

“Then help me understand!”

“I like you,” you whisper, and suddenly, his whole world shatters.

“Of course you like me,” he laughs, running a hand over his face. “Do you not realize that you have an insane amount of privilege to be saying that? I can’t even like you in return because my career hinges on hating you! Don’t you get it, Y/N?”

You’re full on sobbing now, observing as he wrenches your hand away from his. Your fingers fall limply to your side and all you can do is watch as he walks away, shaking his head.

“Don’t contact me. I never want to see you again. Fuck you, for real, for playing with my feelings.”

You can only stare as the love of your life walks away, leaving your universe in shambles.

Unfortunately, just because you encountered the worst breakup of your life does not mean the world stops moving.

You’re at another after party, one that you’d been looking forward to for months because it would finally mean you’d get to catch up with some of your old costars. However, after the chaos that had befallen you earlier this week, going to some stupid nightclub was the last thing on your mind.

Really, you’re only here because Vernon is sick and tired of you wallowing in your misery. He thinks that you’ll be getting a change of scenery by being here, but the only thing you’ve been getting is shots filled with the strongest alcohol the bar can offer. Your one goal is to successfully forget about the black-haired man that ruined your life, and your plan is effective until the bartender stops you from getting another round and tells you to get some fresh air.

You grumble as you stumble out of the bar, finding a home on the gray sidewalk in front of it. Your sequined outfit digs into your skin as you sit down, but in your drunken stupor, you can’t find it within yourself to care. You’re lucky enough that this is a nicer venue, because there’s no one around to bother you to find another spot. It’s just you and your thoughts, and you can’t tell if that’s more dangerous or not.

Your first order of business is to pull out your phone, scrolling through your recent contacts. You have half a mind to call Vernon, to curse him out from condemning you to the hell that is this place, but instead your finger hovers over a familiar contact.

You are so going to hate yourself when you wake up.

The line rings, once, twice, thrice, and just as you’re about to cut the call, a voice answers from the other side.

“Y/N, it’s three in the morning. I thought I told you not to contact me,” Chanhee whispers groggily.

“Well too bad! You’re the one that said all that shit to me and left, so how unfair is it that I don’t get my turn?”

The line goes silent before Chanhee scoffs, and you can hear the bedsheets rustle around him as he gets up.

“Are you drunk?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you answer, giggling from how similar this is to when you first met him.

“Where are you right now?”

“Outside a nightclub,” you sing, holding your phone out behind you so he can hear the EDM music from inside a little better.

“Send me your location.”

“Nope! I don’t owe you anything, you piece of shit!”

“Y/N, wait—”

You cut the call, laughing as Chanhee’s name disappears on your screen. He calls again, neverendingly, but you never once pick up, feeling glee from how he’s the one chasing after you now.

You play Candy Crush on your phone until a car screeches beside you, and you scoff as you recognize the familiar red Toyota Solara pulls up beside you. You’ve sobered up by now, but you still hate him just as much.

“Hell no,” you whisper, getting up as Chanhee steps out. You try to run, but the highness of your shoes make it hard for you to run properly, and you stumble as attempt to escape.

“Y/N, look, I’m just going to drop you off at home, okay?”

You stop in your tracks, turning around to see Chanhee behind you with his hands stuffed in his hoodie. You note the eyebags on his face and his chapped lips before speaking to him with a softer tone, grateful that even if he despised you, he didn’t make an attempt to grab onto your wrist and coerce you into something you didn’t want.

“How do I know you won’t kidnap me?” you ask, folding your arms over one another.

“I asked Vernon for your location. If you go missing, he’ll know it was my fault.”

You grumble, staring at him angrily before walking towards his car. He opens the door for you, but you stick your tongue out at him and find a spot in the backseat instead.

The ride is silent, but you feel him watching you through the rearview mirror as he drives. Usually, you don’t mind his silence, but now the stillness is bleak and uncomfortable, just like his presence near you.

“Why did you call me?” he asks, and it takes you a moment to register it because of how intensely you’d been ignoring him.

“I wanted to cuss you out.”

“Okay, so cuss me out then.”

You sigh, rubbing your temple.

“You know what your problem is, Chanhee? You’re self-centered. You think everything is about yourself, even down to our breakup. Who are you to even say things about my privilege when you know damn well how hard I worked to get here? Do you think I’m unaware how my feelings will affect your career? Hell, Chanhee, I literally told you I could help you find another job! I did so much for you to protect you, to support you, all for you to throw it away because you’re scared of the stupid future.”

“Y/N, I—”

“Let me finish. I love you for who you are. Even if we were destined to be opposites, I still found a way to fall in love with you. I was able to love you despite all that you have written about me in the past, so why can’t you love me for the person I am today?”

He pulls up to the front of your apartment, and you clamber out, not wanting to see his face anymore. The rain falls heavily as you step into the lobby, and Chanhee follows suit, shrugging the droplets off his jacket.

“Let me follow you up,” he asks.

You shake your head, but he trails you into the elevator anyway, watching as you press the button for your floor. He opens his mouth to speak, but you’re not in the mood, putting up a palm in front of him.

“Save it. I said what I needed to say. I might be drunk but my words are true. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say in return.”

Despite your words, you let him into your apartment anyway, throwing a towel at him so he can dry off. He pats his hair dry, wiping his glasses against the fabric, and suddenly you’re reminded of how devilishly handsome he is. You shake your thoughts off, chalking it down to good taste in men before wiping down your neck.

The thunder booms outside, startling you as your towel falls to the ground. When you pick it up, Chanhee stares at you, an indiscernible expression on his face.

“Thanks for the towel. I better get going.”

He spins on his heel to leave as the storm crackles, and against your better judgement, you call out for him to stop.

“It’s storming outside. You can’t drive in this weather.”

“What are you suggesting?” he asks, turning back around to meet your gaze.

“You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Chanhee laughs, as if your idea is so atrocious he can’t even fathom it.

“You’re funny. I’ll just drive home, don’t worry.”

“Chanhee, I’m being serious. I don’t want you to die, for god’s sake.”

Maybe he registered the concern in your voice because he exhales, contemplating in his head if this is a good idea or not. The loud thunderclap outside has him reconsidering, and soon enough, he shakes his head in agreement.

“Alright, but you have to sleep on the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“Chanhee, I’m not fucking arguing with you. You know what? We can both take the bed if it makes you happy. A pillow between us should work.”

Before Chanhee can even respond, you’re walking into the bedroom, flicking on the light. You grab your pajamas from the closet and change in your bathroom, slipping into the sheets quickly once you’re done. Chanhee follows suit, taking the right side of the bed and placing a pillow between you two for added measure.

“Thank you,” he whispers after a few moments of silence. “I’ll be gone in the morning before you know it.”

“No need,” you grumble, shoving your face into the pillows, “just don’t roll over to my side, okay?”

He hums in agreement, and he watches as your eyes flutter shut.

“Good night, Y/N.”

You’re far too asleep to even respond.

You wake up to the sound of your head pounding in your ears. You grumble, shifting around before you open your eyes, expecting to see empty sheets, but instead you see a man with a very familiar face.

You as the events of last night rush back to you, and you hold yourself back from groaning as you recollect your thoughts. You should’ve just let him leave when he wanted to, but you didn’t, and now you have to deal with his beautiful bare face and his deep morning voice as if you haven’t fallen enough for him already.

You don’t register his eyes fluttering awake until he pokes your side. You shake, startled by his actions, and he tries to hold back a smile.

“Good morning. Sorry I overslept.”

“It’s okay. I won’t be nice enough to let you stay for breakfast though.”

“Wait,” he whispers, clutching onto your arm as you attempt to get out of the bed, “can I say something?”

You nod, and his arms falls back on the bed as he sits up, clearing his throat.

“You were right. I was selfish, and the words I said that day were extremely uncalled for. They were useless too, because if I had just expressed my feelings to you, we wouldn’t have needed to have this conversation now.”

You cock your head, confused at what he’s trying to imply. He takes in a deep breath, as if he’s preparing himself to say something.

“I love you. I love you so fucking much that it hurts to breathe when I think of you. I love you so much that I’m willing to quit my career just to be by your side. I was scared then of ending up on the streets like I did in the past, but I was stupid enough to not trust your words when you said you would help me. I didn’t even like that job anyway, so I was an idiot for trying to fight for something I would eventually end up leaving myself.”

“Chanhee, you’re not—”

“No, I am stupid. And selfish. And self-centered. But I am also just Choi Chanhee, the Choi Chanhee who is irrevocably and utterly in love with you, and even though I can imagine a future where I won’t be working for Sangyeon, I cannot imagine a future without you by my side. I know you deserve better, but I’m begging you to just give me one chance to rectify my mistakes. We can take it slow and not rush things like we did in our four weeks. We can go on silly restaurant dates and I’ll practice getting used to the lights at red carpets. I’ll visit you on set every day with flowers and I’ll rent out five billion vans for us to make out in. I’ll do all this and even more because you deserve it, and because I love you. Will you please let me have one chance to make this fake relationship into a real one?”

You’re kissing him before he can even respond, letting him press you against the bed. He kisses you like he’s been starved, inhaling you and memorizing every inch of your presence as if you’ll let go of him again. Like before, you’re not restricted by the millions of voices against you and Chanhee, and as he lets himself go, you follow suit, dragging him down under until you’re writhing against him, begging for more.

“I love you,” he whispers when he kisses down your collarbone, “I love you,” he whispers when your clothes join the ground, “I love you,” he whispers when you shake against his fingers and mouth.

“I love you,” he whispers one last time, cradling you gently as he becomes one with you. “I’ll never let you go. Never again.”

As you lay against him, bare skin to bare skin, you trace the tips of his hair as you smile. You don’t know what the future holds for you two, but there’s one thing you’re certain of as you press another kiss to his mouth.

"I love you. Even if the world caves in, it’ll be you that I lie with. Endlessly, until my last dying breath.”

This time around, you take things slow, not restricted anymore any more by four weeks, four months, not even four years. You have the entirety of your lifetime to spend with him, and you intend on using every single bit of it.

First, however, you let him make it up to you. Just because you bared your soul to him, figuratively and literally, after his apology doesn't mean you've completely forgiven him.

Chanhee doesn't disappoint though, reminding you every single day why he deserved the second chance you gave him. Once upon a time, he called you privileged, and that's exactly what you are now for having such a sweet boyfriend. One that doesn't leave the vase on your countertop empty by gifting you fresh flowers, one that always opens the door for you when he takes you on apology dates, one that sits with you in silence when you want to and one that chatters just as much as you do when you can't shut your mouth.

He visits you on set when he can despite his busy schedule as an assistant director. Surprisingly, you played no part in this, just the source of his determination when he finally decided to give the movie industry a chance again and bagged a job with none other than your close friend Juyeon. He surprises you for late-night drives and lets you have the aux even without you asking for it. He accompanies you to movie premieres despite hating the cameras and if you ever get asked questions that you don't particularly like, he'll glare at the reporters until they shoo away.

And god, the kisses. If the world counted kisses as an apology, Chanhee would be the CEO. Every slot of his lips against yours is like an unwritten confession from him to you, and every purse of his lips is a ballad from the depths of his heart. He kisses you for trivial things, like when you finally get that one specific line right as you're practicing for a script or when he's pecking you against the makeup trailer walls as he wishes you a successful day at work. He kisses you in the earliest of mornings, murmuring sweetness with his tongue against your hot skin, and he kisses you in the depths of the night, trailing his fingers down as you gasp against his mouth and exchange breaths through each swipe of his tongue.

Even after you do end up accepting his apology, he doesn't stop showering you with the affection you deserve. On nights you're feeling particularly insecure, Chanhee beats himself up and vows to never make you feel those emotions again, waking up the next morning to prove exactly why you're worth it. He takes care of you gently, the gentlest lover you've ever seen. He's the personification of a comfortable morning, the desire to stay in bed despite all the things you have going on. You never want to leave, forgetting all reason and staying in his embrace forever.

You're by his side when his first cinema blows up, when his first screenplay wins an award, when he gets his first nomination for directing, and today when he's on stage with an Academy Award in his hand and a smile you'll remember for ages.

You watch the twinkling in his eyes when he thanks his cast and crew, holding onto his assistant director tightly as he expresses his gratitude. What takes your breath away, however, is when he turns to you in the audience and whispers a confession that you'll never forget in your lifetime.

"And lastly, thank you, you know who you are, for being the best I could ever imagine. I will never regret the moment by the pond where you hugged me, the one that changed the trajectory of our lives forever. If anything, you deserve this award more than me. I love you, my Y/N."

You smile as the audience erupts in cheers, but as his assistant director hugs him on stage, his eyes only bore into yours.

"I love you too," you mouth back, watching as he grins when he recognizes your words.

"Forever and always."

114 notes · View notes

jeanboyjean · 2 months

Text

PUBLIC DECENCY - ft jean kirstein. nsfw.

Jean takes you to watch a new movie that's just come out. Unfortunately (or fortunately?) for you, the movie's boring so you have to find another way to entertain yourself.

cw: established relationship. actually not public decency. handjob, blowjob. gn! reader.

an: help me i need to suck his dick so bad. that is all. wrote this in one go in what i can only explain as a moment of weakness so if it seems a bit unhinged that's why. another one for my fellow jean fuckers!!

wc: 2.5k words

Lights flashed on the screen in front of you, tense music blaring from the surround sound speakers as you warily watched the movie play out. Your boyfriend, Jean, sat next to you with his head in his hand as he leaned on the armrest, his eyes fixed in front of him. As per his request, the two of you had come to the movie theatre this evening to watch some new action film.

Despite it being past an hour of screen time already, you had no idea what was happening. There were far too many characters and so much going on with not enough context, that you were rapidly starting to lose interest. A fight scene was happening at the moment, for what reason you didn’t know, and you blinked in confusion as a body flew across the screen to hit a car. You jumped in your seat as a loud smash boomed around you. All the commotion was starting to make your head swim, the fast moving frames and sound effects overwhelming your senses.

The cinema was surprisingly empty for a Friday night and you thought maybe that should have been a warning sign for what awaited you. The two of you were seated in the middle, a few rows from the back, and almost all of the seats around you were empty aside from a few here and there. You looked around yourself, trying to see if you could guage the reactions of the others experiencing the atrocity in front of you but it was impossible to tell from the distance. Jean shifted in his chair next to you, turning to catch your eye with a brow raised in question and you leaned in towards him, looping your arms around his bicep as you tugged him closer. His head dipped down as you spoke softly in his ear.

“What’s going on in the movie right now?”

His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I have no idea.”

Your eyebrows drew together in a frown as you shifted back to peer at his face in confusion. “What do you mean you have no idea? You’re the one that wanted to watch this.”

He chuckled softly, an arm coming around to pull you into his side. You happily sank into his embrace. “I’m sorry, I think I made a bad choice. This movie kinda sucks.” A hand rubbed your arm gently up and down. “Should we leave?”

You shook your head. It was probably at least halfway through anyway, you might as well stay. “It’s fine, let’s just finish it since we’re here.”

Jean placed a soft kiss on the top of your head before turning back to the screen. You snuggled into him, trying but failing to pay attention to the events in front of you. Your mind quickly started to wander as you sat there, staring blankly at the screen, heaving a deep sigh. Jean's aftershave filled your senses as you breathed in and the familiar scent stirred something in you as a curious thought flitted in your mind.

Almost instinctively, you slid a hand down to Jean’s leg and slowly trailed it up his thigh. His muscles tensed lightly under your touch but he said nothing, continuing to stare straight ahead. Your other hand remained wrapped around his arm as you continued to move upwards, applying a little more pressure before stilling right below his hip. Your fingers grazed his crotch and you swore you could feel just the slightest twitch. You looked up at Jean’s face and smiled in satisfaction when you saw his jaw clench in response. You hummed to yourself in thought. Maybe you would actually have some fun during the rest of this movie.

With a new sense of purpose, your hand slid in between his legs and you cupped his crotch, giving it a light squeeze. His body jerked in response as he took in a sharp intake of air. His sharp eyes finally met yours and they narrowed at you with a flash of warning. A mischievous smile played on your lips as you winked back in challenge. You swiftly unzipped his pants but before you were able to reach inside, his hand came to grip your wrist, stopping you hastily.

“We’re in public!” He hissed in warning, eyes darting around at the rows of seats surrounding you.

You rolled your eyes at him, wriggling your way out of his grasp with a huff. You slipped your hand in his pants and held him over his underwear. His dick was already half hard and you smirked as you reached lower to cup his balls, knowing it would drive him crazy.

“Shhh… There's barely anyone around us. You can keep watching the movie, I’m bored so I just want to play with something.”

He made a face at you and put on a show of disapproval while shaking his head, but he was shifting in his seat to get more comfortable and spreading his legs to give you easier access. You let out a low hum as you tilted your head up to place a kiss on the underside of his jaw and his pulse skipped under your lips as his cock twitched in your hand at the same time. You slowly stroked him over his underwear, feeling his dick harden fully in no time.

When your fingers wrapped around him with the cotton material still preventing you from touching his skin, his body tensed and his hips bucked up slightly as if moving on their own accord. A quick glance at his face saw furrowed brows and gritted teeth as he tried to contain himself. You knew how much it was taking a toll on him... Jean claimed to hate it when you teased him, always complaining and urging you to get on with it, fighting with himself whenever he had to let you have control, even though you knew they were also the times he moaned the loudest and came the hardest.

Deciding you should probably put him out of his misery, your fingers slid under his underwear to finally wrap around his hardened cock and you gave it a tight squeeze. In response, his eyes scrunched shut and a low moan escaped his lips. You smiled in delight and a teasing light glimmered behind your eyes.

“Quiet, Jean,” you whispered in his ear. “We’re in public.”

His eyes flicked over to you and he attempted a dark look before his eyelids were fluttering as you removed your hand. He followed the way you brought it to your lips and his eyes widened in surprise when you spat nastily on your palm. You grinned at him before reaching down and gripping his cock again, spreading the slick spit along his length. Immediately, his head fell against the back of his chair and his breath became laboured as his mouth hung open slightly in pleasure. You stroked him like this under his clothing, your hand gliding up and down, his dick twitching whenever your thumb brushed against his sensitive tip.

Once you could feel his desperation building, you pulled his cock fully out of his underwear and admired the way it glistened in the dark lighting of the cinema, hard and proud. Jean had long since submitted himself to your mercy and just watched you with heavy lidded eyes as you licked your lips in anticipation. You shifted in your seat to face him and bent down over the armrest between you so that your face was level with his member. With one hand gripping him at his base, you licked a wet stripe up his length, feeling the veins and ridges along the hard surface. You ended with your lips wrapped around his tip and you sucked it tight as you swirled around with your tongue.

He groaned above you, one hand falling to the top of your head and the other gripping the armrest on the other side. He nudged your head down urgently and his hips lifted in an attempt to thrust deeper in your mouth, but you were not about to let him do that just yet. Your mouth left him as you tilted your head up to shoot him a glare. You pushed his hips down firmly and shook your head in warning. Jean’s eyes were clouded with lust as he blinked down at you.

“Please. Your mouth, more, please,” He begged softly. Even in the darkness, you could see the flush on his cheeks, his chest rising and falling heavily as his arousal took over him.

You relented, only because he had asked so nicely. Your head dipped down again, but this time when your lips enveloped him, they sank down lower until they met where your hand was holding him still at the base of his cock. He filled your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat as you swallowed around his length. Jean choked back a moan as you began bobbing your head, hollowing your cheeks to suck tight around him. The movie continued to blare around you, masking most of your movements, but the slick sounds of your mouth sliding over him leaked in the quiet moments. Neither of you cared though - Jean had his eyes screwed shut and jaw hanging open in pleasure, and you were lost in the way he felt so hot and heavy on your tongue.

The position you were in was limiting the amount of reach you had and you released him from your mouth with a pop, before climbing off your chair to get on your knees in front of him to give yourself better access. He sank down lower in his chair as you wriggled in between his legs and pulled his hips toward you. Eagerly, you began stroking him again with your hand as you leaned in to wrap your lips around his balls and tease him with your tongue. He was getting close, you could tell, precum beading from his swollen head and his cock jerking with your touch.

When you took him in your mouth again, his hands fell to rest on your head as you bobbed up and down, sucking him in earnest. You moved to grip his thighs and relaxed your throat as much as possible as you let your nose hit the hair nestled at the base of his cock. With all of his length inside you, you could barely breathe but you could feel him throbbing in your throat and it made your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Now that you were in this position, you reached up to place your hand on top of his and pushed down to send him a message. His eyes met yours in a heated gaze and he began to guide your head the way he liked to, choking you with his cock. His jaw was clenched tight and his eyes fixated on the way you swallowed around him, your eyes filling with tears that threatened to overflow. When he was near his peak, his heels dug into the ground and he held your head in place as he lifted his hips up to thrust into you. You gagged when his cock hit the back of your throat hard, but you continued to suck him tight, breathing through your nose as your eyes watered. He fucked into your mouth desperately and your fingers gripped his thighs tight, your nails digging into his skin through his pants.

“Fuckkkk,” he groaned under his breath. “I love you so much. You’re so good to me.”

You blinked up at him with heavy lids and he thrust into your mouth one more time before stuttering to a stop. He came hard, his hips twitching while he held you in place and spilled down your throat. You stayed where you were as he pulsed into you, until his hands relaxed on your head and his body slumped back in his seat as all the tension left his body and he let the high wash over him. You swallowed as you released him from your mouth, making sure to suck him clean before wiping your lips and tucking him back into his clothes.

As you zipped his pants back up, his hands hooked under your arms and you giggled as he lifted you to sit across his lap. His arms wrapped around your body and you cupped his cheeks, meeting his lips in a gentle kiss. He moved his lips slowly against yours and warmth blossomed in your chest at the tender way he held you. When you pulled away to catch your breath, he knocked his forehead against yours softly and looked at you with a small smile.

“Why haven’t we done this before?” He asked, his eyes twinkling despite the low light.

“Because you’re always too scared we’ll get caught.”

At your words, his eyes widened and he looked around frantically as if only just remembering that you were still technically in public. He let out a sigh of relief when he realised that no one seemed to be paying any attention.

“Damn, I almost forgot. I guess you’re just that good.”

You laughed as you dipped forward and kissed him again. He pulled you into him as he licked into your mouth and ran a hand up your thigh. Heat began building within you and you buried your hands into his hair, moaning softly into his mouth as you throbbed between your legs. You only stopped when you felt a tap on your shoulder, your eyes flying open as you pulled away from Jean and turned to look behind you. A man stood crouched next to you, shaking his head with a disgusted look. Jean’s hands moved to steady you as you scrambled to sit up straight, trying to look like you weren’t two seconds away from letting him fuck you in public.

“You can’t do that here,” The man hissed in a low voice, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

“Sorry!” You squeaked, your cheeks warming in embarrassment. “We weren’t doing anything.”

He continued to shake his head, rolling his eyes with a sigh. “Okay sure. That’s why you’re sitting in his lap.”

Jean’s chest rumbled as he snickered behind you. You smacked his shoulder lightly in an attempt to quiet him but he just laughed as he raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s fine, we’ll go,” He said in between his chortling.

The man nodded as he watched you hurriedly move to leave, trying not to trip over your feet in the darkness as you exited your row. The two of you ducked your heads low as you scurried out of the cinema - you in self consciousness hoping no one was watching you, while Jean continued to choke back laughter. When you emerged into the bright corridor, you heaved a sigh of relief, slumping against the wall. Jean snickered as he slung an arm around your shoulder and you poked him in the side of his waist.

“Why are you laughing? We got caught!”

Jean wiped at his eyes as he held his side. “You should have seen your face! Now I know what people mean when they say deer in headlights. I can’t believe he called you out for sitting in my lap.”

You pouted at him. “Whatever. Don’t pretend you weren’t shitting yourself too.”

“Nah, I was too busy feeling pleased with myself." He pulled you along with his arm as he began walking to the exit. "Come on, let’s go home. There’s something I need to finish.”

He smirked at you, even giving you a cheeky wink to seal the deal. Despite it all, your thighs clenched as blood rushed between your legs. The memory of what you had just done flashed in your mind and you couldn't help the grin that spread across your face. Honestly, you didn’t know if you would even be able to wait until you got home.

thx for reading!! as always, comments/reblogs are appreciated if u like this ♡♡♡

#jean kirstein x reader #jean x reader #jean kirstein smut #jean kirschstein x reader #aot x reader #jean kirstein #✎ . chloe wrote smth #IT'S SO LATE I NEED TO SLEEP AHSKSKS

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writingjourney · 10 months

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Friday Nights at the Cinema Club | Vampire!Primo x gn!Reader

Summary: The handsome old gentleman who attends the late night showings is certainly the best part about your small town weekend job. But as the gentle attraction between you slowly begins to bloom, you realise that there’s more to him than meets the eye – and promptly find yourself chased into the woods by an unexpected monster.

Content: 14k words, vampire!primo, gn!reader, horror, violence, being hunted, harassment, men being assholes, smut (18+ MDNI, biting, blood kink/blood drinking, oral sex r!receiving, penetration, coming inside, unprotected sex)

This was originally intended to fill the “hunted” prompt for the @petrifyingpapas challenge. I am a little late but I hope you enjoy it anyway and give Primo his chance to shine! ♡

Masterlist – Ao3 link – Part 2 | Secondo's story

“This life of earth, whatever my attire, Would pain me in its wonted fashion. Too old am I to play with passion; Too young, to be without desire.”

― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust: Part 1

Now

He’s been following you for weeks.

Primo just can’t stop himself, no matter how many times he tells himself that he’s overstepping. As he watches the hurried pace you set, carrying you home in the early hours of a cool spring morning, he smells your distress like an overly strong perfume. Jacket tightly wrapped around your tense shoulders, your steps quicken whenever you leave the safe light of a streetlamp. You’re always nervous walking home alone, even more so since the incident at work.

This is the very thought that calms his conscience – his concern is rightful, necessary even. He has to protect you because you have no one else who will. Not that you cannot protect yourself, he knows you can, you hold your own quite nicely, but why take any unnecessary risks? Four eyes see more than two, especially if two of those have preternatural vision.

Suddenly you stop, glancing around with searching eyes. “Hello?”

Primo stops as well. It’s impossible that you heard him, he didn’t make any sounds that a human ear could process. Your eyes dart in a different direction and he’s on alert immediately. A few rapid beats of your heart pass. You seem to decide that you’re alright because you continue on your journey even if your legs move that extra bit quicker, walking as fast as possible without actually running.

No, Primo knows you don’t need him. You never ask him to walk you home and when he offers, you politely decline every single time. You don’t need him. You don’t need him how he needs you, and yet it feels good to imagine that you do. That anyone does. The thought he will not entertain, however, is that his motive is a selfish one. He’s been lonely for so long that he pours all that he has into this… whatever this is. And why should he not? In all the centuries that passed since he was cast upon this earth you’re the most wonderful thing he ever had the pleasure to behold and his time with you is so tragically limited, no matter what happens.

“Fuck,” he hears you mutter then, effectively distracting him. Again, you stop very suddenly, glancing vaguely into the direction he��s hiding in but without any real focus. “Who the fuck is there?”

Primo doesn’t sense anyone else. Possibly, you just heard a strange noise which wouldn’t be the first time since the incident. You’ve been on edge ever since and understandably so. Of course you don’t know that there is no danger of the same thing ever repeating. Which doesn’t mean you’re safe from other perils. Primo dares to stalk closer, foolishly so, because he’s too close now and you must have spotted his movements in the dark because you start to run like your life depended on it.

To his utter terror, you don’t follow your usual route home but take the shortcut through the woods. With breakneck speed, you run along the mud path that meanders through thick pine trees and mossy hills. Primo has no issue keeping up with you of course but he worries about protruding roots and sharp stones you may not see with your human eyes.

His fear is misdirected. He’s so distracted, watching your every step, that he doesn’t notice the odd smell at first, the second strong, comparatively slow heartbeat amongst all the quiet and rapid ones of the forest animals. But this is no rabbit, no deer, no boar. When he finally notices the presence of the strange entity, the spike of panic is clouding every other rational thought.

He is after you – and he’s fast.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Four weeks ago

The man has been attending the late night showings for weeks now, every Friday and Saturday. Every week, he shows up exactly fifteen minutes before the screening starts, even though there are practically no waiting times in the small club cinema you’re working at. His attire was what drew your attention to him that first night, even before you’d seen his face, and his choice of clothing seems deliberate. Most evenings, he wears simple black slacks over expensive-looking Italian leather brogues. Tonight, he combined them with a loose white shirt with frills and an open collar that peeks out of a burgundy tailcoat with black lapels and gold embroideries. It looks old-fashioned but not out of place in the similarly dated establishment.

As he approaches you behind the counter, you’re struck yet again, despite being familiar with his almost ethereal looks by now. He must be close to eighty but his deep wrinkles only add to his effortless beauty. His most notable feature, however, is the skull paint adorning his stern face with two uncanny, mismatched eyes – one iris in green and one impossibly white. With his face framed by long blond hair spilling over his shoulders, silky and curled at the ends, he looks like a man who knows exactly how to present himself. An air of easy sophistication surrounds him as he takes deliberate steps in your direction. You’re not surprised that he shows up on weekends when your boss screens his beloved classics. At least that’s what he calls any movie that came out before the year 2000.

“So, Dracula today, yes?” It’s not a question as much as a statement, dripping with distaste. “And the 1992 one at that.”

“Do you not enjoy vampires, sir?” you ask, taking the money for his ticket. Every single bill looks pristine, like it’s been freshly printed, and again, he won’t accept the change you hold out to him, waving off with a gentle smile. Buy yourself a drink on my behalf, tesoro, he’d said once, and you aren’t questioning him anymore, you just pocket the money since there is no one you could split it with.

He regards you with interest. “I enjoy them, sì, though I never found their portrayal in cinema quite believable.”

You chuckle. “Well, perhaps that is because they’re not real.”

“Perhaps, yes,” he says unfazed. “Or perhaps it is the clichés, no?”

“I really like the movie,” you admit. “Though I wish she would just get with the vampire. I certainly wouldn’t hesitate.”

He cocks a curious eyebrow. “Davvero?”

His thick Italian accent makes you blush on any given day, even more so when he speaks plain Italian. There is something about the timbre of his voice that changes, like gold melting in the heat of a forge, the syllables fused together with a flick of his tongue.

“Mhm,” is all you can answer.

“Will you watch it as well, little flower?” he asks and you smile at the nickname he chose for you weeks ago when he caught you arranging a bouquet in the foyer.

“Oh, no, I’m not allowed to leave the register unattended. Or… well, watch movies while I’m supposed to work.”

“I see.” He smiles again, the black lines over his lips shifting so that he looks almost gentle, the severity of the paint watered down by the kindness in his eyes. “That is a pity.”

Is he flirting with you? You can’t tell. Surely, he is just being nice, a polite older gentleman. Would you want him to be flirting with you, though? No, of course not. You couldn’t even flirt back. Your boss might fire you if he found out that you even so much as looked at him the wrong way.

“Can I offer you a snack or a drink, sir?” you ask, remembering your actual job.

“You know, I will take a whisky today,” he says. “If you have it.”

“Of course we do, sir, you can choose your seat and I will serve it in a second.”

The stranger heads off towards the screening room with its soft, polished leather armchairs and moody lighting, jazz tunes wafting from the speakers. You look after him, his long hair gently swaying with every step, and the door to the backroom springs open. It’s your boss, Max, a man in his mid-forties, so unremarkable with his shaggy black hair and his blatant misogyny that he could be any man you ever met. Only that he practically owns you by way of paying for your every bill while you finish your degree. Jobs in small towns are hard to come by, decent men even harder.

“Go serve our customer, come on,” he urges. “I heard him ask for something”

“The register…”

“I take it. Move your pretty ass over, perhaps wiggle a bit when you do, the old pervert is going to love it.”

You make to leave without wiggling, heading towards the small serving station in the hallway. “Oh, hey,” Max calls after you. “I need you to clean up tonight. Cleaning lady called in sick. Feeling faint or whatever, broke down in the supermarket if you can believe it. They say she’s anemic, that’s their excuse for everything women have these days.”

“Okay,” you reply, hoping he chokes on his tongue one of these days. “Of course, Max. I’ll clean up. No problem.”

“Be a good little thing, don’t forget to check under the seats, always tons of junk down there after the evening showings.”

You nod and try not to run into the screening room and away from him. By now, all anger towards him has been numbed by the sheer amount of obnoxious remarks but you’re never sure if he’s above trying to actually touch you one day. So far, he’s all bark and no bite, but with men like him you never know. Being the only employee who works the night shifts doesn’t help but there is just not enough demand to bring in the others.

You find the stranger in one of the top rows, comfortably seated in what is your favourite spot as well. A smile creeps onto your face. “Here is your whiskey, sir.”

The man peers up at you in what looks like ingenuine surprise, his white eye showing a glimmer of sympathy. He must have heard you and Max but is clearly trying not to show it. You wonder how – you can’t even hear Max outside right now over the jazz music.

“Grazie mille,” he says as he takes the glass from you.

“Of course, sir. Enjoy your movie.”

“Thank you, fiore.” He smiles, always such a kind smile. “You are a wonderful host.”

You can’t help but smile back, looking at him for just a little longer than is appropriate. But Max must have started the film because the lights dim suddenly until it’s fully dark and you hurry back outside right as the title music starts playing.

Your stranger is the only guest tonight.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

You run. You run so fast that your lungs are burning in the cold night air. There is no palpable explanation for why you feel so panicked. For most of your way home you’ve felt almost paranoid in your constant fear of being followed. You felt like someone was watching you right from the start but when you came close to the woods your instincts just told you to run. By now, your legs carry you almost automatically despite the fatigue in your limbs. There is a tiny voice in your head that tells you you’re in danger. Big danger.

Halfway through the forest, the track gets steeper. Less feet have trampled it flat as the usual walking path ends and you struggle to keep up your pace. Unsettling noises grow louder to your right – panting, hurried steps, moans and whimpers. Two seconds later you suddenly hear an echoing growl that puts any wolf to shame. Your head whips around but before you can make out anything in the pitch dark your foot gets caught on a root. The impact is suffocating. Your lungs empty out and you think you’re choking on nothing. Only after a long moment in which you struggle for breath do you feel the sharp pain in your arm where it hit a rock, warm blood seeping into your sleeve until its wet and sticky.

Meanwhile, the steps hurry closer and even in the full moon light it’s hard to tell where you are right now. But then you see the trees swaying at the edge of the path and all you know is that you need to keep going. Everything hurts but you manage to get to your feet. As the world sways around you, you leave the safety of the trail in favour of the cover of the trees, their canopy shielding you from the moonlight and hopefully any following eyes.

But of course the creature chasing you doesn’t rely on their vision to find you. Before you walk another mile you can hear rapid footsteps and panting breaths behind you. Too scared to look around and risk another fall, you just run and jump and run even faster. The woods grow thicker, harder to navigate. You try to fish for your phone but when you finally pull it out, it slips from your grasp. “Fuck fuck fuck,” you mutter but you keep running. You can’t stop.

A familiar boulder appears somewhere in your peripheral vision and you wonder if you’re running in circles. You’re so lost. Even if the creature doesn’t get you, you’re doomed. But the thought is distant as a branch strikes you in the face like a whip. You run but more fallen branches block your path and as you try to jump, you get caught.

A shriek tears from your throat, so loud and drawn-out that your voice gives out before it ends. The steps are so close now that you know you’re going to get caught any second now. Cowering, trying to get as small as possible, you slowly shift around, ready to beg for mercy. An enormous shadow sprints towards you and suddenly, a bright streak of moonlight falls through the trees. You cry out again as your eyes take in the sight: Spit-coated fangs, claws, thick rough fur on what you can only describe as a giant made of muscles and the horrors of the night. Its facial features look familiar, shaggy hair falling into its cruel eyes. Whatever it is has no merciful bone in its body, that much you can tell. This is your death, you realise. This is it.

But before you feel the fangs sink into your skin or the claws tear you open, the monster loses balance. All you can see is a vague human-like figure pushing it aside into the shadows with a strength that is impossible to comprehend, two tall silhouettes wrestling for a moment before the huge hairy creature lets out a bone-chilling scream. The giant body slumps in on itself, lifeless, silent. You breathe in gasps, swallowing air that does nothing to calm you down. You fall over, sobbing silently in short-lived relief.

The monster is dead. But you’re not alone.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Three weeks ago

“So, are you a big movie fan?” the stranger had asked you today when you served him his whiskey. He always orders something now, almost like knowing you serve him permanently changed his ’no thank you’-attitude. Whenever you bring him his order he asks you questions and you end up chatting with him for longer than you should.

“Oh, I like them, yes, but the reason I work here, if that’s why you’re asking, is that it’s one of the few jobs I can do on weekends that pays extra for night shifts.”

“So do you have a day job as well?” he asks, taking his first sip. He’s wearing all black today, black leather gloves, a black shirt and black tailcoat. The only pop of colour is a red rose that he has tugged into a buttonhole of his open jacket.

“Finishing off my degree,” you explain. “I don’t think I’ll work here after that.”

His brow furrows in surprise. “No?”

You chuckle. “No, it doesn’t pay that well. It doesn’t pay well at all, actually.”

“I see.” He turns the tumbler in his hand, the amber liquid twirling inside. “I have to say I am glad. I do not think he treats you well.”

You glance towards the door but Max seems to be busy behind the counter still. “He’s… okay.”

The stranger huffs out a laugh. “No, è un stronzo.”

The smirk that tugs at your lips is hard to shake off, especially with the way he rolls the R in the word. “Yeah, he is. But I have to pay rent and get groceries, so...”

“I understand.” Another sip, slow, barely coating his lips. “Fiore, I do wonder… what is it that you truly burn for? What would you do if no restrictive invention like money mattered?”

You take a deep breath and then you start to tell him about your real interests, your passions. He listens with the avid attention of someone who genuinely cares, who doesn’t just ask out of mere politeness. It’s addicting, the way his intense eyes are glued to your lips, how his whole body is angled into your direction. You get so lost in his gaze, in your explanation, that you forget yourself for a moment.

“Eh!” Max suddenly calls out from the doorway and you jump at the sound of his voice. “Come over for a second, will you?”

You reluctantly leave the stranger in his armchair with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. Enjoy your movie, sir.”

“I will,” he says. “Thank you, fiorellino.”

Max watches you with a scowl, roughly pulling you aside as soon as you’re within reach. “Do I pay you for chitchat?”

“No, Max, I’m sorry. I just…”

“You just what?” he snaps, clenching his jaw. “Flirting with the old men won’t get you higher tips, it only screams pathetic whore. You think he can still get it up?”

You stay silent, waiting for him to calm down enough to notice the impropriety of his words and actions. The urge to kick him is so hard to fight that you have to actively push your feet harder into the ground. Your fists ache with how hard you’re clenching them.

Eventually he simmers down, smoothing out his shirt as he clears his throat. “Anyway, you need to clean up again today. The cleaner still hasn’t shown up.”

“What happened?” you ask.

He shrugs but it’s an ingenuine, uncaring gesture. “Apparently she ran away or something. She’s been missing for a while.”

Missing? Wasn’t she anemic? Before you can ask any more questions he leaves you standing right there to start the movie. You head back to the register even though you know no other guests are going to be coming in tonight. For the whole duration of the movie, all you do is wait, scrolling on your phone from where you’re hiding it underneath the desk. No local news site is able to tell you anything about the missing cleaner other than the fact that she just left over night exactly a week ago and hasn’t been found ever since.

“Oh, did we miss the movie?”

You look up to see two men strolling into the lobby. They sway slightly, probably drunk, and smoke despite the big no-smoking sign at the entrance that’s impossible to miss. They look familiar in how unremarkable they appear, one is blond, the other one dark-haired, jeans and crumpled t-shirts betraying their status even though they move with the confident audacity only mediocre white men have.

“Yes, I’m sorry. The movie is almost over,” you say. “By the way, you’re not allowed to smoke in here, sir.”

“Are you off soon, then, sweetheart?” the blond one asks, taking another drag of his cigarette

“No, I have to clean up.”

“Ah, cleaning up… whatever, can’t be that dirty in there, huh?” He grins. “Unless… we make it dirty.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, a feisty one!” the dark-haired man says. “That’s how you treat your customers?”

“You haven’t bought anything.”

They whistle almost in unison, though their tunes are slightly off-key. This is not the first time this happens, it’s not even the first time these exact men show up here and try to harass you.

“Come on, maybe you can show us where you keep the liquor?” the blond man asks. “Have a drink with us?”

“I don’t think so, sir. If you don’t want to buy anything, I have to ask you to leave.” You try to stay polite, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Please.”

He chuckles, tries to round the counter to touch you but there is a sudden shift in atmosphere. It’s almost like all of the warmth is sucked from the room, like the charged air of a thunderstorm is crackling inside its walls. The men seem to feel it too because they suddenly stop in their movements, giving each other nervous glances.

“You were asked to leave, signori, no?”

You look up to find your stranger entering the lobby. The movie must have ended because the lights are on again and he looks so menacing that even you feel a chill running down your spine. His white eye glimmers dangerously, the other one shimmering almost red now but it could be a trick of lighting. They’re narrowed, the skull paint and severity of his features giving him the air of a predator. When the blond man takes another step into your direction, out of spite or stupidity you’re not quite sure, the stranger is on him in a second. You’re surprised by how agile he appears in his age, wondering briefly if he just looks older than he is or if you’re just prejudiced. But the man backs away immediately, joining his buddy by the door. A second later Max enters as well from the backroom, looking mildly irritated but unbothered by the weird atmosphere as he slams the door shut.

“Any issues here?” he asks, taking in the two loiterers.

The men slowly backtrack, holding up their arms in pretend innocence. While the dark-haired one slips out the door, the blond man lingers. “No issue, no. Just had a question about your schedule.”

Max gives a dismissive wave of his hand and when the man is finally gone, he turns to you. “Were you rude to our customers?”

“They weren’t customers,” you say defensively, angry that he’d even assume something like that. “They were drunks.”

“Hmpf.” He gives the stranger another glance, still unimpressed, then grabs his bag from under the counter. “I’m off now. See you tomorrow. And hey, don’t forget to clean and lock up.”

“Yeah, see you,” you say, trying to swallow the lump of anger in your throat.

As soon as Max is gone, the stranger’s whole demeanour changes. His expression softens and he reaches out, his hand hovering right by your arm.

“You are alright, little flower?” he asks.

You nod but it’s hard to fight off the tears. Situations like that make you feel helpless and you hate it. Being at the mercy of these men is frustrating, especially with a boss who just lets it slide instead of protecting his employees. You could have handled the situation, you tell yourself, you’ve had to handle so many similar ones before, but it just feels so incredibly good that someone cares.

“I think so,” you finally choke out. “I just… This is not uncommon and I’m so fed up.”

“I understand,” he says. “Did these men bother you before?”

“Yeah, but other people as well. Even Max treats me like a piece of meat just because I’m young.”

There is a hidden anger in his face, a barely noticeable clench of his jaw, his brow slightly pulled together. You’re not scared anymore, though. The menacing energy he exudes is directed at something else, not you, and you can’t bring yourself to wonder how he manages to command a room like that.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” he asks.

You nod and he reaches out, running a gloved hand up and down your arm in silent comfort. You take a step closer and he lifts his other hand as well, gently cradling your cheek. When a fat tear of anger falls from your eye he catches it, telling you it’s okay if you need to let it out. But you don’t cry, you don’t want to feel weak or fall into his arms like a sobbing child. Nevertheless, his comfort feels like a gentle hug, calming you so easily.

For a moment, he lets you breathe in the same air, a leather-clad thumb swiping over your cheekbone with a calming steadiness. You smile at him and he smiles back, so softly that not even the skull paint can hide the gentleness of his features.

“I have to clean up now,” you say. “Thank you for being here.”

He simply nods, slowly pulling away from you. Only when he’s gone and you smell a faint flowery scent do you notice that he’s tugged the rose from his jacket into your hair. You press it to your chest, right above your fluttering heart, and pray that he never stops coming back.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Their blood tastes like shit.

Not literally but it’s by far the worst he’s had in a while, certainly worse than that of the cleaning lady he’s been feeding on last month. Admittedly, he did not consider that losing her would prompt your boss to just make you work longer. At the time she was just an easy victim on his way home, sweet young blood that was easy to obtain, the blue veins shining through her pale skin like they were begging to be used. But as he cleans his jaw with a handkerchief, Primo thinks that perhaps he can linger after the movies now. Any more time with you, however long, is of immeasurable value to him.

A groan. Primo looks down at the man, the blond stronzo who tried to touch you. He feels no sympathy, no reluctance. Full moon rolls around in three weeks and if they happen to die before then… well, bad luck for his partner. Though he can’t say he’s very tempted to drink from them again with all the junk in their blood – cheap alcohol, so much nicotine and other poisons. Perhaps he should just end it now, they’re at his mercy in any case. But no, they deserve to be punished for what they did and he knows bleeding out is not a very painful death.

Primo is not a cruel man, he likes to think. The nature of his being prompts him to act cruelly sometimes for self-preservation but unlike some of his fellows he finds no enjoyment in the kill. Not anymore, not after his initial lust for blood was quenched centuries ago. Nevertheless, he has to admit that his obsession with you is testing those limits in ways he’s never felt before. For you, he thinks, he could turn into a killer.

A gurgle. The second man is starting to wake up and Primo decides to leave. He placed the wounds in unobtrusive spots, never using both fangs to puncture their skin, too obvious. They’re going to think they’re hungover and move on but he’s going to find them again, slowly drain them until the next full moon is here and they’ll find their demise in a different way.

Primo is not a killer, no, but he chooses the killer’s victims.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

You’re frozen in your spot amongst the thicket, branches and rocks digging into your body, the throbbing pain in your arm slowly spreading out. The sight before you is absurd. A giant dead body, a monster, a… a werewolf? You can’t bring yourself to properly think the word and yet you know that’s what it is. Not that it matters anymore. The smell of death mixes in with the earthy scent of the woods and spreads out in the air around you. The second figure hovers above the body for as long as it takes you to gather your thoughts. Why, you cannot tell. Are they shocked by their actions? Making sure the creature is really dead? There seems to be a hesitation in their every movement as they slowly back away and move into your direction, their frame blurring with the surrounding darkness.

“Stand back,” you yell. “Don’t come closer!”

Your voice is high-pitched, unrecognisable in its trembling state, hoarse from screaming into the emptiness around you. Your fear has your senses heightened and every snap of a twig, every howl of the wind makes you flinch. The being before you now is smaller than the one before, human-shaped if your eyes don’t betray you. The canopy is so thick here, the trees surrounding you so close to one another that you struggle to see anything. And yet you can feel them moving.

“Stop,” you yell again. “Fucking stop!”

A sudden sliver of light catches their face and you can see two glowing eyes, the one that you know as a deep green shimmering red like it did in the lobby of the theatre the night the two men harassed you and the other one is still as white as bone. “It’s okay, fiore mio. You’re safe now,” he says and you immediately recognize the Italian accent, the nickname. “I’m here to help you.”

You slump in on yourself, not quite relieved but still a little calmer.

It’s him. It’s your stranger.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Two weeks ago

“It’s nothing personal,” Max says. “But I’m losing money here.”

You nod like you understand. You do understand, just not why it has to be now of all times, so close to when you would have been done anyway. A few more months.

“Just not enough people coming in,” he continues. “And the old guy doesn’t pay that much no matter how often you flirt him up.”

Again, all you can do is nod. Your boss wants to cancel the night showings and lay you off. Supposedly, no other shifts are in need of any more people and he can’t keep you on. It’s a cheap excuse, you know it is.

“So, I’m off then,” he says. “You can manage on your own one last time, right?”

You nod at him once again, watching him whistling a merry tune and twirling his keys on a finger on his way out. The tears come only after you hear his car driving off. You have no idea how to find another weekend job for the next few months and the sheer surprise of his decision has your stomach in knots. If he’d at least given you some time to prepare…

“Buonasera, fiore. Can I… uhm…” You look up into the stranger’s eyes, trying to wipe at your tears but it’s too late, his expression has already changed into what you can only assume is pity. “Scusi, is this a bad time? Can I help you, perhaps?”

“I’m so sorry… I just… Ugh, Max wants to cancel the late night screenings,” you explain, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “I guess this is our last night here.”

“Cancel?”

You sniffle, your voice scratchy when you speak next. “Well, as you may have noticed, you’re kind of our only guest.”

The stranger takes your hand, soft leather pulling you from the desk and towards one of the run-down couches in the waiting area. He’s so gentle when he beckons you to his side, never letting go of your hand.

“He wants to fire you, sì?”

You nod, staring at your intertwined hands against the velvet upholstering of the couch. His thumb draws lazy circles into your skin, his hand so big it almost swallows yours. You want him to swallow you as well, his whole body wrapped around yours, engulfing you with his safety – but you’re not sure that you could ask him for a hug.

“I’m sorry, it’s really not your problem. I mean, you’ll lose your weekend activities but I’m sure you can just get Netflix or something.”

“Netflix?”

You look up with a smile. “Or… I don’t know, buy a DVD.”

The stranger smiles back, squeezing your hand just a little bit tighter. “Now, my little flower, do you really think I am just here for the movies?”

When your eyes meet it’s like you’re sucked into a vacuum. You don’t know whether to focus on his white iris or the burning need that’s visible in his green eye. The decision is taken from you when he leans in and captures your mouth in a kiss. You reciprocate without hesitation and yet he’s holding back, a suppressed moan bubbling in his throat, despite the tenderness of his lips. It’s not enough, not nearly enough. You press against him, opening your lips for him, and then the moan finally spills out as his tongue vibrates against yours. His free hand pushes into your hair and settles at the back of your head, angling your face in whichever way he wants to taste you. His lips feel surprisingly cold just like his cheek as you bring a hand up to touch him. The makeup smears under your fingers, at your jaw, mingling with your spit.

And yet it’s not enough, not until you’re half in his lap, until his hands roam your body with reverent desperation, searching, exploring. The kiss never loses momentum. He sucks in a breath and you push your tongue into his mouth, running it along his upper lip until you can feel his teeth. You frown into the kiss when you feel something pointy, pulling your tongue back, but there is no time to think before he sucks at your bottom lip. A sharp sting as he punctures your flesh with his teeth. He moans as the taste of your blood settles between your joined lips, sucking whatever he can into his mouth. You allow him to drink you in, offering yourself up in a way you haven’t done with anyone else before.

There is a moment in which you think, hope, that it never ends. But then he pulls away and you gasp for air. You stare at him, traces of red blood fuzing into the grey smears around his mouth. He’s a mess, equal to how you feel, but his eyes are focused, his gaze sharp.

“Do you want to see the movie?” you ask, hoping he’ll say no, hoping he’ll just take you away.

But he just chuckles, his hands slowly disappearing from your body until you slump into the soft cushions on the couch.

“Actually, I think I have to leave early tonight,” he says. “I will see you next week, fiore mio. Please, per favore, do not worry about your job, I will set things right.”

You want to ask what he means, if he’s going to talk to Max for you, but before you realise that he’s leaving, before you even finish blinking, he’s already gone. Furrowing your brow, you walk outside and enter a clear moonless night. Your flushed face soaks up the cool air and you look around, searching feverishly, but there is no sign of your stranger. You expect to see him along the sidewalk, perhaps he’s in one of the cars getting ready, but even after a few more minutes none of them roar to life. Nothing disrupts the soft silence of your sleeping small town and you shake your head in wonder as you make your way back inside, the metallic taste of your blood still lingering on your tongue.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Primo is livid, furious in a way that he hasn’t felt in close to a hundred years. You are not part of their deal and yet this feels like a violation of conduct. Making you cry should be a criminal offense and he wants him to pay for it, in what currency Primo is not sure yet. He knows he can’t let his anger win but when he smells the creature from two streets away, even in his human form, he’s ready to sink his teeth into his throat. And of course he finds him in a nearby bar, nursing a beer while he watches football videos on his phone without a care in the world.

“You won’t fire them,” Primo spits out.

Max looks up in pretend confusion. “Huh?”

“You heard me, stronzo.”

“Your little flower?” He pouts, mocking him, then huffs out a laugh. “It’s business, man.”

“The job is important,” Primo says calmly, trying not to get too riled up. “A few more months.”

“Cry me a river. Just do with them what you want, fuck them, suck them dry. Whatever gets your blood pumping, Count Dracula.” A sardonic smirk. “Oh oops, I forgot.”

Primo won’t be provoked, not from the likes of him. “You’ll give them time,” he says calmly. “Or I have to rethink this… agreement.”

Max sighs in annoyance. “Fine. A little longer. And don’t think I haven’t smelled you on those two assholes yet. I only get to feast once a month and I expect the vampire to have better taste, that’s why I agreed to this in the first place.”

“I do have taste,” Primo says. “And we both know that’s not the reason or why are you sitting here all alone, lupetto, eh?”

Max snarls but says nothing to this painful reminder. Primo doesn’t feel bad. Their agreement serves the sole purpose of attracting less attention and would not work if Max wasn’t an outcast. Their solitariness saves them and keeps their peace intact. For now.

Primo leaves with an aching heart, hoping the werewolf stays true to his word. He comes back to the cinema only to see that you got done in the meantime and left. It’s not like he actually planned to continue what you started earlier but he really wants to catch another glimpse of you, see how you’re feeling after what happened.

He finds you two streets away, hurrying home even faster than usual. You’re scared, he can tell immediately as he hears your rapid heartbeat, the blood rushing through your body like a raging river. Since the two men tried to corner you you’ve been especially on edge. He knows it’s because you expect them to try again and he wishes he could tell you that they won’t, that he’s watching over you, that he’s been slowly draining them ever since despite the awful taste of their blood. He can handle it, he can handle anything if it’s for you.

Only for you.

Primo relaxes after he sees you closing the door to your apartment and your heartbeat slows down. That’s when he leaves – always. He’s promised himself that he never lingers, that he doesn’t stalk or overstep, only makes sure you get home safely after your shifts. Tonight, it’s harder to leave. He can still taste you on his tongue and what a taste it is. Never before has he savoured blood quite so sweet, quite so rich in aroma, and the violent hunger inside of him tries to keep him by your house for more.

But the kiss was a mistake to begin with and he’s not sure yet how to proceed because he never expected you to respond quite so enthusiastically to his advances. Of course he could immediately tell that you wanted him, the smell and taste of your excitement so overpowering that it cut off any reasonable thought while it happened. He hasn’t lost control of himself like that in over two hundred years and now he set things in motion that may cost him this precious connection that he has with you if he’s not careful.

For now, however, he allows himself this small pleasure and lets the happy, giddy feeling settle in his hollow chest. If he wasn’t aware that he was a few centuries old he would promptly assume that he’s a lovestruck teenager. And he could get used to it, he realises, because with you he’s quite ready to start this empty life all over again and fill it with everything that he’s been missing.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

“You’re a vampire,” you state, twigs and stones digging into your butt but you feel to weak to stand up.

The stranger approaches you slowly like you’re a wild animal he’s trying to tame, the roles reversed now in your agitation and his calmness. “I am, sì.”

The urge to back away, to run for your life, continues to simmer in your belly but you fight it because you know there is no escape now. You want to trust him but you feel like you’re in a fever dream. It has to be a hallucination, maybe you were drugged at work today, maybe you inhaled the fume of some rare mushroom when you fell.

Your eyes meet the dead creature again. “Is he-”

“Yes, Max is dead.”

“Max?” Your shrill voice betrays your shock. “My boss?”

“Yes.” He sounds oddly calm, not like he just killed a werewolf. “Please, allow me to take you home with me.”

“Home? Your home?”

“Yes, my little flower. I want to look at your scrapes and cuts. Allow me, please.”

You hesitate, even as you see the shape of his outstretched hand, the same black leather gloves now ripped and torn, revealing slivers of his pale skin.

“I understand you don’t… trust me,” he says. “But I promise, I will explain everything to you in as much detail as you want and then you can decide for yourself. I just want to make sure you are okay first.”

You swallow, your throat still painfully sore from screaming. “Are you going to… I don’t know, drink from me? Eat me?”

“I will not eat you. And I will not drink from you either,” he says. “All I want is to look after you.”

You suck in a deep breath, ready to collapse on the forest floor. He could lure you into a trap, he could have been plotting this for weeks now, and yet you still feel the butterflies in your belly stirring at the sound of his voice, your body aching to be with his, even now in its weak state. Reluctantly, you place your mud-smeared hand in his and when he lifts you up with ease, his arms wrap around you tightly. You have no strength to lift your arms but you let him hug you anyway, slumping against his frame.

And perhaps you’ve lost your mind. Perhaps you should use the opportunity to kick him, to fight, but instead you start to sob into his shoulder. The world you thought you knew comes crashing down around you and he holds you through it, whispering that it’s going to be alright.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

One week ago

You can’t stop thinking about him.

The week passes slowly but you do get a text message from Max telling you he’s extending your employment for as long as it takes you to find a new job. You have no idea how your stranger convinced him but you never wanted to get back to work so urgently before – to thank him, to ask if there is a chance that you could see him outside of this place.

Any thought you can spare is spent thinking back to your kiss, extending it in your mind for hours and hours, exploring the fantasy alone in your bed at night with your hand between your legs. You ignore any of the worries that this intimate moment conjured up. So what if the stranger has a bit of a blood kink and conveniently sharp teeth? You certainly don’t mind doing it again. He can bite you wherever he wants, you realise, and you’d gladly let him suck on the wound.

He’s back Friday night and you can’t help but feel relieved that he’s not ghosting you after his sudden disappearance last week. Maybe it’s because of your intense crush on him but you swear he looks more beautiful tonight than ever before. His long blond hair is shiny and smooth as it falls into his face, the paint more pristine than usual. He’s wearing his usual black slacks but today he paired it with a deep red shirt under a black tailcoat with a red pattern of embroidered roses. His tall, slender frame leans against the counter as he regards you with a smile.

“So, what am I watching tonight?” he asks.

“Hitchcock,” you say. “The Birds. Max is a big fan.”

“Hm, I haven’t watched that one since it premiered,” he says and then he removes his gloves. You watch as he slides his now bare hand over the counter until it touches yours.

“Well, I’m afraid I wasn’t born yet back then.”

“No, fiore.” He runs his thumb over the back of your hand. His skin is cold and pale and wrinkly, the lines and bumps revealing a map of his life that you can’t wait to explore. His long fingers slide under yours, surprisingly sharp black nails raking over your palm until he holds you comfortably. They look almost manicured, his hand dwarfing yours as he closes it. “You’re such a young thing and yet our souls have found such a deep connection, no?”

You gaze into his mismatched eyes, a fondness in them that makes your heart beat faster. As if he can feel it, the corners of his painted mouth curl upwards into a smirk until you can see the crow’s feet under his eyes deepen despite the dark paint.

“Yes,” you finally say. “Actually, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to–”

You’re interrupted by the door to the backroom opening. You jump, pulling your hand from his as you see Max casting you a curious glance. He’s been in a bad mood all evening so you’re not taking any risks tonight.

You cough. “Ugh, here’s your ticket, sir. Enjoy the movie.”

The stranger doesn’t seem offended by your reaction. Instead he smiles at you, accepting the ticket from your shaky hand. “Grazie, fiore. I will let you know if I enjoyed it.”

As he leaves for the screening room he doesn’t even look at Max. You remain frozen behind the counter, watching his elegant form with a rapidly beating heart. Mindlessly clenching the hand he just held in his, you desperately hope you get to ask your question later.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

The werewolf won’t leave earlier tonight. As he lets the movie run in the background, only vaguely paying attention, Primo listens for any signs. It looks like he has to sit it out today, though, even as his patience slowly wears thin. One more week until full moon, so Max must be getting antsy, and Primo made sure to keep the prey alive despite his protests in the bar. Every time he feeds from them, he is tempted to bite into an artery instead of a vein, watch them bleed out, not even drinking their blood. But having Max go hungry will piss him off and since he is already aware of you, Primo can’t risk not providing him with any easier targets.

After the movie concludes, Primo lingers but he doesn’t spot you in the foyer. When Max finally heads out he sees no reason not to look for you and conveniently, the only place you could be at is especially private.

The backroom houses a tiny kitchenette and two desks for computers with displays that are already black. You’re standing in front of the open door of a supply closet to gather your cleaning materials when he approaches soundlessly.

“Don’t be scared,” he says from a safe distance. “It is just me, fiore.”

You spin around, your beautiful face lighting up at the sight of him. “Oh, hello.”

“I owe you the money for the ticket,” he says. “You never gave me a chance to pay.”

“Oh. Yes. Sorry… It’s not… I’m not embarrassed or anything, it’s just that Max…”

“Oh, it is quite alright, fiore mio, I know.”

A grateful smile. You don’t flinch when he steps in front of you, taking your hand in his to press a soft kiss to your palm. How lovely you are, Primo thinks, a pure, honest sort of beauty that he doesn’t deserve but wants with every fibre of his ancient being. He could show you a whole new world of pleasure and he knows it’s always the quiet ones who are so proficient in the art of sin.

“I was hoping I would have some more time with you,” you say and he perks up.

“Were you?”

“The kiss…” A hint of red dusting your cheeks as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “I really enjoyed it.”

Primo can’t help but smile. “Me too, my little flower. Perhaps we should try it again?”

He can hear your heartbeat quickening at his words, can feel your skin heating up with the rush of your blood. Even now he is surprised by the evidence of your returned affections, struck by how perfect you are for him, your trust just another sign of hope that you can find it in you to love him back if he allows you to.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” he says and then he effortlessly pulls you into his arms. To his surprise, you kiss him first, standing on your tiptoes and melting into his body. Your mouth is insistent, soft and sweet and so eager for him. Primo’s hands explore the shape of your body, memorising your curves for eternity. Impatient now, he pulls you over to the kitchenette that consists of nothing but a mirror over a sink with a few cupboards housing a coffee machine and snacks. There is enough space for what he’s planning to do, though, and he grabs you tightly before he removes his tongue from your mouth.

He can’t see his own image in the old silvered mirror as he hoists you up but he can see the dips of his fingers in your ass as it hits the counter. You hold onto his shoulders as he kisses down your jaw and chin. He skips your neck, skips the temptation, and drags his mouth down your chest instead, ripping the button of your shirt open as he goes. No complaint leaves your lips, only soft gasps and tiny whimpers. Primo pauses to pull at his gloves and then at your pants and then at your underwear, impatient, urgent, until he can finally feel your hot skin burning against his fingertips. Goosebumps form where his cold hands touch you and you shiver against his palms.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please.”

He knows what you’re begging for and under different circumstances he might make you beg until your voice gives out but with the smell of your arousal in his nose there is really no way he can hold back now. His hands on your hips pull you to the edge of the counter and he kneels between your thighs, placing two open-mouthed kisses that leave blotchy grey marks. Your eyes are half-lidded, hazy with lust as he gazes up at you and that’s enough to break his resolve. As he wraps his lips around your most sensitive spot, sucking gently, your head lolls back in pleasure. You’re so hot, so sensitive, reacting to even the softest of stimulations, and it’s addicting in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

You cling to the edge of the counter as his mouth works on you with violent passion, urging you higher and higher with his lips and his tongue, carefully avoiding his teeth. The taste of your arousal is so intoxicating that he can’t stop himself from moaning and he can feel a shudder tearing through your body. Primo increases his pace and you move your hips as well, following his rhythm and chasing your pleasure without shame.

You cum with a scream. Your hand digs into his hair, tugging, holding on with surprising force and it’s the most delicious pain he’s ever felt. He runs his fingers through your cum, licking them clean with a soft hum as he tastes you once again. But he needs more, he needs so much more–

“Do you want to come home with me?” you ask breathlessly as he gets up from his knees, the pain in his joints distracting him momentarily. “Spend the rest of the night?”

He looks at you in surprise but then a soft smile forms on his face. You’re so eager, so fearless. “You should be careful who you invite into your home,” he says. “You may find yourself hosting guests other’s would not deem welcome.”

You huff out a laugh. “What, like the devil?”

A chuckle and he presses a kiss to your forehead, longing to feel your warm skin on his cool lips again. “I wish I could, fiorellino, but I’m afraid my schedule is a little different from yours.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we have to do this another time,” he explains, despite the painful tightness in his pants. “Preferably, I want to invite you to dinner. I don’t like that we did this in here, it is not very… classy. Maybe next Saturday?”

“Oh, okay sure,” you say, a hint of confusion crossing your face. “Of course.”

He stands to his full height, his frame towering above yours and it takes him every ounce of self-control not to just take you right here. You’re pliant, needy for him in ways he’s only ever dreamed of, and while it tempts him to no end he suddenly becomes painfully aware of his responsibility. He needs to get your full consent before he gives in to a possible relationship with you. But right now is not the moment to tell you what he is.

“This… this is not you turning me down, right?” you ask with wide, hopeful eyes.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Oh no, tesorino, this is just the start of what I want to do with you and now that I got a taste, I don’t think I will ever get enough.”

You smile, the bliss of your high still evident on your face, and he rubs your thighs in small circles for a moment, the softness of your skin a gentle reminder of how fragile you are. Primo leans in to kiss you and fights a grin when you lick into his mouth to taste yourself. Maybe not so fragile, he thinks, maybe your hunger matches his after all.

“I will see you next Saturday, fiore mio,” he says. “I’ll be here to pick you up and we can dine at my home.”

You nod tiredly and he feels bad for leaving you like this after what just transpired. He can smell your cum on his fingers even as he waits for you to finish work and probably will for the next few days. But Primo needs to collect his thoughts. This is the start of something big, something messy, and now that he tampered with the forces there is no going back. The regret that comes with it is excruciating. He can invite you to dinner, treat you like you’re the stars in the night sky, make love to you until you both pass out in exhausted bliss – but it won’t change what he is. And what he is might scare you off. The thought pains him but he tries to cling to the small shimmering light of hope inside his heart that perhaps you can accept him.

Until he figures out the logistics of having you over for dinner without giving you the scare of a lifetime, he decides to keep away from you. The temptation is too strong now, his need, his hunger, a quickly expanding black-hole inside of him that might eat you alive if he’s not careful.

His resolve is strong, he tells himself, and it remains strong all week. Well, that is until he sees you running into the woods a mere day before your date, chased by a starving werewolf.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

He lives in the old castle at the edge of town.

It really shouldn’t come as a surprise but as he carries you through candle-lit hallways and multiple small chambers, old is the last thing that comes to your mind. Everything looks well-kept, orderly, the old-fashioned style of his attire translating to the interior as well. You never stay in any room for too long, the castle so big that you have to climb several staircases until you reach another long hallway. Several men in black hooded robes that look like monk’s habits pass you on your way. They don’t turn into your direction as you pass, some of them carry books, some carry laundry.

“Who are these men?” you ask.

“They’re my ghouls.”

“Ghouls?”

“Mhm.”

You don’t ask any further questions but cling to your stranger’s neck even though there is no need to. You’re safe in his arms, his strength limitless, and he does not seem tired even as you finally enter a chamber that appears to be his bedroom. Big arched windows make up one whole wall of the room and a double glass door that seems to lead to a balcony. The only light source is the full moon outside, casting milky white rays through the old windows. A huge wooden bed with silky white sheets dominates the room from the centre, most of the old hardwood flooring covered by a burgundy rug with a floral pattern, two chests of drawers lining the opposite wall as well as a desk covered in what seems to be his correspondence.

“You’re safe here, my flower,” he says as he sets you down on the bed. “I promise.”

You sit, watch him as he kneels down beside you. His face is nothing but kind, so full of concern and affection, but you can’t help but feel out of place. Knowing what he is now, while it doesn’t change the core of your feelings, still circles in your mind and you have to fight your disbelief.

“You still hesitate?” he asks.

“Are you reading my mind?”

“No, fiore, I do no such thing.” He takes your hand, covering it with his broad ones. “I would not abuse your trust, even if I could. And we have trust, no?”

“I feel like I can trust you,” you admit, tears of overwhelm pricking your eyes. “But I don’t really know anything about you. I don’t even know your name.”

“Primo.”

You exhale and let the word roll off your tongue. “Primo.”

He smiles at the sound of it, a soft, recognising smile, as if he hasn’t been called by that name in a long time. “All I ask is that you let me look after you right now, sì? I will explain and we can talk in depth later, amore.”

“Amore?”

His brow softens, giving his smile a sad quality. “My affections for you have not changed. Though I do fear that yours might have.”

You shake your head at him but before you can say anything profound, two of the black hooded ghouls enter the room. Another one joins right after, rolling a big copper bathtub inside, and you don’t even question their magic when they lift their arms and the tub fills with water. One of the other ghouls lifts his hands as well and suddenly the water starts to steam. The third ghoul places a piece of soap and a washcloth on a nearby stool, then hangs a soft-looking cotton bathrobe over the edge before they all leave without uttering a single word.

Primo helps you out of your shirt and you gasp when you see the blood covering your forearm. The bleeding has stopped but the scrape is still burning, the pain a distant throb. When he sees it, his gaze hardens but he just leads you to stand without any commentary, helping you undress, radiating tension and concern.

“It is okay that I am here?” he asks when he sees you unbutton your pants.

You nod in reply. After everything that happened you can’t say that you feel very embarrassed being naked in front of him and you feel safer in his presence, safer when he helps you.

The water is scalding and you have to take a moment to get used to it before you can fully let the heat ease the tension you hadn’t even noticed before. Primo pulls up a chair, sitting right by your head, and picks up the cloth. You watch his brow furrow in concentration when he cleans your cuts and scrapes and his eyes meet yours a few times throughout, gazing at you with barely hidden hope. You want to tell him that your feelings are the same, if not stronger, but you can’t find it in you to disturb the silence with anything other than the occasional hiss when he touches a painful spot. It feels too fresh still, too many uncertainties plaguing your mind.

Once you’re clean and the water has cooled significantly, Primo helps you out and immediately wraps the soft cotton robe around you. As you sit back down on the bed, he walks over to his desk and fetches a small brown leather bag. Inside, you find multiple small vials in different colours and an antiseptic that looks just like any modern ones. He uses a cotton pad to clean out your wound before he grabs one of the small bottles, holding it out for you to see.

“Let me apply this to your cut,” he says. “It’s a tonic, it will help you heal.”

You roll up your sleeve to grant him access. “So, are you a healer of some sort?”

“Well, I am more of a pharmacist.” He chuckles and lets a small amount of the white liquid drop onto your arm. “Not a doctor.”

“It feels good,” you admit, the cool tincture sticks to your wound, easing the pain.

Primo smiles and wraps a bandage around your arm, tight but not too tight, like he’s done it a hundred times before. You can’t help but stare at him, his eyes and his whole face so beautiful and mesmerising, barely hiding his emotions in the depths of his features. When he catches your gaze, he tugs his hair behind his ear like he’s flustered and you spot a small cut above his left brow.

“He got you as well,” you say, grabbing a new cotton pad and reaching out for his face.

“It’s nothing, it will be gone within the hour,” he replies but he still lets you clean the scratch with careful dabs. “I suppose that I am not as powerful as I need to be to truly protect you.”

“What do you mean? You seemed very powerful to me earlier.”

“I am not ugh… how do you say? In my best years.”

You furrow your brow. “I always thought vampires stayed young forever.”

“Well, you see, I was turned well into my old age. I am not as strong and agile as someone who is born with it or turned earlier in their life,” he explains. “Usually, vampires do not like old blood, they prefer the young and healthy. But mine was… very hungry and very cruel.”

You lean over and press a kiss to his shoulder. “Is it painful to talk about this?”

“No, fiore mio, this was many centuries ago.” He regards you with caution, letting his eyes roam your body for a moment. “Do you feel better?”

“I do.” You reach out for his hand again, fiddling with his long, spindly fingers. “So are we… I mean, do you want me to stay here?”

“Yes, I do.”

“But we won’t…”

“No, I will not touch you intimately again before we speak,” he says, squeezing your fingers. “But perhaps you need some rest before we do. You can sleep in my bed, amore. The sheets are fresh.”

The exhaustion is too strong to fight for much longer, he’s right in that, and you crawl under the sheets, careful not to strain your arm. The silky material feels cool and soft against your skin but you keep the robe on for some warmth. Primo sits by your side, watching you with the fascination of a scientist observing the bacteria in his petri dish. You wonder when he last spent time with a human like this, if he was ever intimate with a human before, but that is a question for another time.

Instead you smile at him. “Do you want to join me? Or do vampires not rest?”

“Are you sure you want me to?”

“I would really like you to hold me,” you admit.

He visibly fights off a happy smile as he rounds the bed, shedding his clothes until he’s only in his pants and his white frilly shirt. Hesitating at the edge of the bed he pulls off the shirt as well and you can’t help but stare as he reveals his pale chest to you, speckled with light grey hair that runs all the way down to his waistband. He’s slender, bony around his ribs but with muscular shoulders and a soft belly, his slightly saggy skin the only real sign of his body’s physical age. You wonder how long he has now looked exactly like that. Centuries he’d said but that is a surreal thought you don’t quite grasp.

When he finally joins you in bed, you sink into his embrace, feeling his cool skin against your cheek as you rest your head on his chest. It’s odd, the quiet, the lack of a heartbeat, but with his fingers running along your spine, his nails scratching softly against your skin, you’re lulled to sleep in no time.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

You wake up in cold sweat – and alone. The bed is empty but you immediately spot Primo with a glance through the wide arched windows. He’s right outside the now open double doors you saw earlier, wearing a heavy, dark red robe, his blond hair softly swaying in the wind. You rise from the silken sheets and grab his wide shirt that lies as a puddle on the floor. The frills cover your hands when you slip it on and it’s long enough to cover you, his smell still clinging to the fabric and tickling your nose as you breathe in the fresh night air.

The doors don’t lead to a balcony like you initially assumed but to a small garden, surrounded by the castle walls and illuminated by the full moon. You have no idea how long you slept but it seems to be the middle of the night. You don’t take the time to fully admire the garden, instead wrapping your arms around Primo and burying your face in his back.

“Oh fiore, did I wake you?” he asks, covering your hands with his.

“No,” you whisper. “I’m not tired anymore.”

“Come here.”

He wraps you up in his robe, pressing you tightly to his chest. You feel his lips ghosting over your forehead, then he presses them more firmly to your temple. His skin feels smooth and you turn your head enough to take in the surrounding area.

“What were you admiring?” you ask, your eyes caught on a plant that’s blooming despite the lack of daylight, long white blossoms opening themselves towards the night sky.

“Datura,” Primo explains. “They call it the devil’s trumpet. Highly poisonous. Many night-blooming plants are but of course they offer more to see to me than others.”

You smile. “The rose you gave me, was it from your garden as well?”

“Yes.”

He hugs you tighter and the pressure on your arm brings back enough pain to make you hiss in surprise. Primo tenses and you look up, only to find him staring at you with his brows drawn together. His anger isn’t directed at you and yet you feel a hint of anxiety. You know you won’t like the conversation you’re stearing towards.

“It’s my fault,” he says. “You’re hurt because of me.”

You raise a hand to his cheek. “No, no, it’s not. He attacked me.”

“But he attacked you because of my carelessness,” Primo says, leaning into your touch but avoiding your gaze. “I marked you. When we first kissed, I bit your lip and marked you.”

“Marked me for what?”

He swallows as his eyes finally meet yours. “We had an agreement.”

“An agreement? To… to kill people?”

“No, I don’t do the killing,” Primo says. “It is not my style. I am too old for carnage, amore. Or at least I thought I was.”

You furrow your brow, his explanation not helping you understand what he means. “So what is the whole deal with Max?”

“He was a werewolf,” Primo explains. “We ugh… we had this pact, I want to say. My victims, I don’t kill them, I just drink what I need and he… he gets the rest. He can smell me on them, so he knows who to target once he turns and loses most of his rational thinking. When I bit your lip, I must have marked you without my intent.”

You feel your blood rushing through your body now. “So what, he kills your victims?”

“He eats them, sì.”

“So the guys who…” You swallow hard, balling your hands to fists against his chest. “The guys who harassed me who never came back, the cleaner who disappeared… did you…”

“I never said I am innocent. But I did not kill them.” He takes your hand, softly uncurls your fingers before he looks at you with so much sadness that your heart shatters in your chest. “I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me anymore now. I know it is a lifestyle you have to condemn but it is the only way I survive.”

You feel tears welling in your eyes, uncertain whether you can accept the man you love harming other people like this. Of course it keeps him alive but handing them over to be killed is not very different from actually killing them. There has to be a different way, a way without murder.

“If we… if we were together… could you just drink from me instead?” you ask. “No more innocent people?”

“Have you ever donated blood, fiore? They will not let you give it too often, half a litre every three months.” He pauses, smiling sadly as he squeezes your hand. “That is to say… you do not produce blood fast enough. I would either starve or kill you.”

“But you could drink from me? And perhaps a bit from someone else and no one has to die?”

He nods. “I can but you might not like it, you might regret agreeing to this.”

“Try me.”

Primo furrows his brow. “Try you?”

“Show me what it’s like. How does it work? You bite my neck and suck?”

He shakes his head. “I will puncture your vein and drink until the bleeding stops.”

“You won’t suck?”

“Not when it’s you. I will just drink what spills out,” he explains. “Sucking would make the wound very bad, it would hurt you more, even though it is faster and gives me more of you.”

“It’s… it’s okay if you want to suck,” you say. “I want you to do it to satisfy you.”

“No, not this time, but thank you, amore.” A deep sigh as he relents to your request. “Va bene, but if we try this we have to go inside.”

Primo calls one of the ghouls as you settle back in bed and tells him to get you some fruit and a sweet drink for later. You’re buzzing, partly with anxiety but partly with sheer excitement. You remember the intense pleasure you felt when he bit your lip and wonder if this is going to be a similar experience.

As soon as the ghoul is gone again, Primo settles in bed behind you, ridding you of your robe and pulling you between his legs as soon as you are naked. You hold onto his thighs, the fabric of his black slacks rough against your palms.

“I will stop if you tell me to,” he whispers against your ear. “We go easy, I will not drink too much, yes?”

“Yes.”

You sink against his solid chest, unclenching your muscles. His fingers run along your neck, brushing any stray hairs aside and gently positioning your head how he wants it. A moment passes before you feel his lips trailing over the exposed skin, pressing soft kisses to the tendon at your neck that make you shiver.

“Relax,” he mumbles. “No sudden movements, amore.”

You try your best to follow. Primo positions his mouth so very carefully that you almost anticipate the bite. His fangs poke at your skin and he gently increases the pressure until you can feel them puncturing it. The pain is not unexpected but you’re still surprised by the impact, moaning softly. His hands grab at your thighs, a deep groan leaving his throat that vibrates against your skin. You can hardly feel the blood leaving you with how tightly his mouth is attached to the violated skin. At some point, you can feel his tongue swiping along the curve and his grip tightens, long fingers digging into your flesh.

The more he drinks, the more he’s stirring behind you and then he’s suddenly rutting against you in his chase for more friction. You can feel his hard cock against your lower back and you can’t help but grind back against him. Primo stops to moan, his hands roaming your form all the way over your hips and up to your chest. His cold fingers feel heavenly against your heated skin.

“I’m sorry,” he says breathlessly. “Drinking from your… from your love can be a very intense, intimate feeling.”

You hum in agreement and his tongue laps at your neck again, leaving a wet trail all the way from your shoulder to your ear before he attaches his mouth to the wound. He doesn’t drink for long before his hips buck again. Subconsciously, you follow the movements, gripping his thighs so tightly that your fingertips dig into the firm muscles.

“Can you feel it, fiore? Can you feel how our bodies long to become one?”

You only whimper in reply, your head lolling back onto his shoulder as a sick sort of pleasure tears through you, a throbbing need settling in your core.

“I want you,” he says, his voice resonating deep inside of you. “I want you, my love. Will you let me have you?”

“Please,” you whine.

His mouth leaves you altogether. The bleedings has mostly stopped, his spit and your blood cooling against your skin in the still brisk air. Primo slips out from beneath you, urgently pushing the red robe off his shoulders and his pants from his legs before his weight pushes you into the mattress. He settles between your legs, his now bare cock digging into your thigh, and you moan when his bare skin touches yours. He feels warmer now, not hot but definitely more… alive.

“You are the most wonderful thing I have ever seen,” he says and it’s beautifully grotesque, those pretty words leaving such a feral creature after he just drank from you, his face still showing the evidence of his attack.

Your heart clenches with unspoken love for him.

You lift your hand to his jaw, dark red blood dripping from his open mouth and onto your chest. He’s breathing heavily with his fangs bared to you, staring at you in wonder as you cradle his cheek and run your thumb over his skin. His eyes close and there is something so heartbreakingly intimate about the way he’s melting into your touch. A predator, a being who spent centuries on this earth, who hurt and fought and killed for you softens at the mere touch of your fingertips. You’ve never wanted anyone as much as you want him in this moment and you already know that you won’t hesitate to do whatever it takes to be his.

Primo shifts sideways, moving one of his hands between your legs. He probes at your entrance, slowly stretching you open until he can slide two of his fingers into you, careful not to hurt you with his sharp nails. You can see how hard he’s trying to hold back, every muscle in his face clenching. But he holds your gaze, watching your lips part as he curls his fingers, fucking into you until you’re whimpering with every thrust.

“Primo,” you whine.

He nods like understands your need for more but he doesn’t stop yet. Running your hand over his jaw you collect all the blood and spit around his mouth that you can get and reach down to find his hard cock. He gasps at the contact, more blood spilling from his lips and pooling between your bodies. You pump a few times, spreading the wetness, and he unravels, hips bucking into your hand as he moans.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please don’t hold back.”

His pupils dilate and he removes his fingers from you, gathering more blood from your chest to spread on his cock. He aligns himself and slowly pushes in, watching as he his length disappears inside of you. The stretch is incredible. You keen when he bottoms out, one of your hands fisting his hair and then he finally kisses you. The metallic taste of your blood startles you at first but then you can’t help but want more of it, pushing your tongue into his mouth. Primo won’t indulge you for long before you can feel him losing his restraint, battling for dominance over your mouth. He sucks at your tongue as his hips start to move, slow thrusts at first but he quickly loses patience.

His mouth slips from yours as he speeds up, leaving a mess of drool, face paint and cooling blood behind. He drives himself into you without holding back, just like you wanted, his gasps and moans filling your ears over the sound of his wet skin meeting yours. You tug at his hair, wrapping your legs tightly around him to get even closer, spreading the blood all over your bodies. Primo nibbles at your jaw, not breaking the skin but running his teeth along the edge before they settle at your neck again.

“I want more,” he growls against your skin. “I need more, amore mio, please. J-just a little bit.”

In reply, you angle your head to expose your neck to him. He immediately latches on, sucking the wound back open. He was right, it hurts more this time and perhaps it’s a figment of your imagination but you can feel your blood rushing out of you in a way that is dizzying, intoxicating. Everything feels more intense now, the deep thrusts, his sharp nails digging into your flesh, the throaty moans in your ear as he drinks.

You clench around him and the orgasm hits you without warning. You cry out in pleasure, raking your nails down his back as you ride out your high with a few rolls of your hips. Primo falters, his hips stuttering into yours as he approaches his own release. His mouth leaves your neck with a pop and he pants desperately. You’re overcome with emotion when you hear his needy sounds, when you feel him twitching inside of you, so close to letting go. The last few drops of your warm blood run down your clavicle as the wound slowly closes, stopping right at your heart.

“I love you,” you breathe. “I love you, Primo.”

He shudders, his cock jumping wildly inside of you before he freezes, spilling his seed with a deep, drawn-out groan. You hold him through his high, stroking his hair and back. He gives two more slow pumps, drawing out your pleasure until he collapses on top of you.

“I love you, fiore,” he mumbles, then he props himself up on his elbow, staring into your eyes. “I love you.”

A surprisingly gentle kiss. A hand caressing your wet cheeks. Primo rolls you onto your sides and you can feel your mingled cum, blood and sweat glueing your bodies together. It’s messy and sticky but you’re not ready to let him go either. His gaze falls to your bruised neck and he frowns, grazing the skin with his thumb until you groan in pain.

Primo shakes his head in displeasure. “I am sorry, amore. I made it worse.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “I wanted it, my love, and I have no regrets.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. “You want all this, fiore? You want this old man?”

You take a deep, shaky breath, your lungs burning and your head still dizzy, but there is not a hint of doubt in your mind. “I want you and all that comes with it. I’m not scared, Primo.”

“No, you’re quite fearless,” he agrees with a smile. “We will have to take care of your wound, clean up this mess, sì? But maybe we can wait a few more minutes, I am quite exhausted.”

You hum in agreement and pull him closer. He doesn’t object as his head comes to rest on your chest this time. The blood loss seems to register now because your vision starts to swim, and so you close your eyes for a moment to let the wave of dizziness pass. Your thoughts are jumbled, so many questions, so many things to consider.

“Primo?” you ask after a moment.

He hums. “Yes, fiore mio?”

“Will you ever turn me?”

A scoff, bitter and sharp, like it’s the absurdest thing he’s ever heard. “No, amore, I will do no such thing.”

“But if I wanted you to?”

“No.”

You open your eyes to find him looking up at you and lift a hand to smooth out the stern crease on his brow. “We’ll have to talk about this.”

“No,” he says again, then buries his face in your neck with a deep hum, wrapping his arms around you tightly. A moment passes. Then another one and he seems to mull the thought over in his head. He sighs in defeat. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“We will talk about it but not soon. We have many years to come before this ever matters.”

You’re satisfied with that for now, giggle when he presses a plethora of bloody kisses all over your neck and chest, and you can feel his smirk against your skin. You know he’s trying to distract you and it works. Your feelings for him flutter to live inside of you like a colony of bats and you breathe a kiss to his soft blond hair. As he falls asleep, he slowly exhales with his lips against your windpipe. You close your eyes and savour the feeling of his body wrapped around yours, thinking that if you’re lucky, this is a moment you’re going to remember for all of eternity.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed vampire primo – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Read now Part 2: Friday Nights at the Vinothek | Vampire!Secondo x gn!reader

Masterlist – My Ao3

#vampire primo owns my heart #primo #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus x reader #primo x reader #papa emeritus i x reader #vampire primo #vamprimo #??#papa emeritus i fanfiction #papa emeritus i smut #papa emeritus smut #papa emeritus fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfiction #mind the tags #my writing #petrifyingpapas #friday nights

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otomiyaa · 2 months

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Stamina Training

Tengen x Fem!Reader

A/N: I saw the first ep of S4 at the cinema the other day, and Tengen Uzui and his damned stamina training have been on my trash mind ever since... I was going to wait until more episodes are released. The fact that this fic is now ready and published, means I failed.

Summary: Sequel to Diary Entry #185 - You are Sound Hashira Tengen Uzui's fourth wife. He is taking his role as stamina trainer quite seriously so you can't help but tease him about it. A deed which does not go unpunished... (Also on AO3)

Word Count: 1.6K

He looked so peaceful, sleeping like that. You caressed his long hair and smiled.

"Good work today, Tengen-sama..." you mumbled respectfully. You studied his face. He seemed quite exhausted. Which was only logical, after a long day of helping young Demon Slayers with the first level of their Hashira Training, the basic stamina training which was...

"PFFT," you suddenly covered your mouth when a sudden laughing fit came up.

"Pfahaha!" Hinatsuru, Makio and Suma reacted when they heard you laugh and came to join you. One of them was making the first dinner preparations in the kitchen while the others were resting outside.

"What's so funny?" Makio asked, and their confused faces immediately softened at the sight of Tengen's sleeping face.

"He looks so peaceful now," Suma giggled. Hinatsuru nodded.

"Who would've thought, after today. Hmm?"

You giggled and nodded. "That's why I was laughing. I remembered how intense he was. He was so into it!"

The others finally joined you and you all laughed. "He was pretty scary!" Suma admitted.

"He has had his more... charming moments," Hinatsuru said fondly, but this only made you and the others laugh even more - your giggles being contagious enough for Hinatsuru to join in once again.

At the sound of all of your laughter, it was no surprise that Tengen would wake up. His beautiful eye opened, and he looked at you.

"Sounds like you're having fun without me," he said with a sexy grin. You still sat by his side and you grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently.

"We were recalling your training today," you explained.

Makio nodded. "You yelled a lot. Is your voice alright?"

Tengen hummed, but before he could answer, Suma giggled again, quite loudly.

"Heehee! Tengen-sama, you shouldn't shout so much at the poor trainees. They were scared of you!"

"They? We were scared too, weren't we?" Makio joked.

Hinatsuru shrugged. "You were pretty intense," she said to Tengen, and all of you laughed again. You could see him furrowing his brows.

"So you are all laughing at me, hmm? Not taking my stamina training seriously?" he wondered. The fact that he was acting like this only made you laugh even more

“Hehe yes, what will you do about it huh?” Makio continued while all you, Suma and Hinatsuru could do was giggle uncontrollably.

“Hehe yes, what can he do? He can’t possibly punish us all, can he?” you said, which was quite a daring thing to say when you were the one who sat right by his side. And you found out quickly and weren’t even fast enough to regret your remark when Tengen grabbed your arm all of a sudden, and he smirked.

“But I sure can try, starting with you. Let’s give you a little stamina training of your own, shall we?” he said, suddenly very lively after that peaceful and quiet nap, and you gasped when he pulled your arm and you fell on top of him. He then rolled and wrestled you underneath him with ease, pinning you down effectively with his weight, and he immediately reached for your lower side and dug in where he knew you were very ticklish.

“HAHh!” Your eyes widened and you kicked, but Tengen was heavy on top of you, and the ticklish sensations were quick to make your entire body tingle.

“Nohoho! Hehehelp!” you cackled, but Suma had jumped up and ran off, giggling “Oh nooo we are next!, and Hinatsuru took it as her cue to return to the kitchen, announcing it like: “Let’s play after dinner, shall we?”

Not that you could say anything. You were getting tickled by good ol’ Master Tengen, and really, it tickled a lot.

“Nohoho wahahait!” you squealed, but he wasn’’t going on easy on you.

"For how long could you face my tickle wrath, little one? As the precious wife of the one overseeing the basic stamina training, I expect you to endure it a respectable amount of time," Tengen said, and even though he only had one arm, one hand, five fingers, it didn't feel like it in the slightest. That was Tengen-sama: losing an arm had never made him any less of a tickle monster than he always was!

"Nahahaha! Teheheh-Tehehengen-samahaha! Gyaahaah!" you laughed hysterically. His fingers were crawling up your sides and ribs, wiggling viciously while his weight kept you immobile.

"Mahahaakio sahahave me!" You extended your arm and reached for Makio, who dramatically tried to grab yours. Your silly attempt invited Tengen to tickle your exposed underarm, and you immediately pulled your arm back again, howling and squealing at his mercy.

"Not going anywhere, no no," Tengen sang, not even reacting to Makio's fierce attempts at freeing you, by pushing against him, poking him and attacking him, but Tengen shook her off effortlessly while he continued to make you laugh.

“Ah- he’s - so - tough!” Makio huffed. “Suma, come help me!” she yelled, but sweet angel Suma knew better than to provoke Tengen until he would come after her, so there was no end to the tickle punishment in sight for you yet.

And to make things worse, he put his lips against your neck and blew a raspberry.

"NOOHAhaha!" You struggled heavily, especially when he continued with a series of raspberries all over your neck and ear, and it didn't tickle you any less when he exchanged the raspberries for soft kisses and little nibbles.

"Still holding up are we? How about some of this?" He lowered his hand to your hip and squeezed. You gasped first, then shrieked when he did that again.

"Oh no, don't tell me you're ticklish here? Does it tickle here?" His teasy whispers tickled you a lot too, with his lips so close to your ear, the vibrations of his voice and the feeling of his breath adding to the ticklish sensations, and you felt even more tingles merely from hearing those specific words.

Tengen would always tease you with comments as if he only just found out how ticklish a certain part of you was. It never got old for him, and actually, it never got old for you either. He again and again would manage to make you squirm.

"Eeehehehee! Nohohot thehehere!" you giggled. His huge hand could tickle you so well that it made you breathless already. You also only just realized that Makio was no longer here, and somehow feeling so helpless and caught by Tengen made you feel even more ticklish.

"So, baby? How sorry are you for laughing at me now? I like it better when you're laughing like this, because of how well I can tickle you. Here’s a good spot, and heere~" Tengen sure was talkative after such an exhausting day. His fingers spidered back up, wriggling under your uniform and scribbling at your bare tummy. It barely cost him any effort, tickling you in so many different places with only five fingers.

And yet…

"EHEhehe! I'm nohohot sohohorry!" you laughed. You were doomed anyway, so why not just be honest?

"Oh? Is that so? Well then, I guess your stamina training can last a little longer?" Your eyes widened when you suddenly felt his hand on your thigh. You hadn’t even noticed he moved it there, and you shook your head hysterically.

"AAHAahahah! Not thehehere!" You struggled and kicked out of reflex, but your thigh, inner thigh and even that hypersensitive spot behind your knee, he was getting them all!

“Gihihirls! AHahaha heheehehelp!” you called out again.

“Calling for help? Are you giving up on the training?” Tengen cocked his head and looked awfully attractive while presenting his tickle-demon self to you with pride. You shook your head in ticklish hysteria.

“AHahahaha nohoho!” You were torn and had no idea what you wanted. The tickling felt really unbearable by now, but you were also too stubborn to give in to his teasing and -

“WAh!” All of a sudden, Tengen jolted and you felt him lose his balance.

“Ladies - hohohold on! Hang on a se-heeeeheheey!” Tengen fell on top of you, all of a sudden attacked by not five, not ten, not even twenty, but thirty tickly fingers. Makio, Hinatsuru and Suma had finally returned to help you, and the result was absolutely perfect.

“We were waiting for you to come after us, but looks like you’re having too much fun here, hmm?” Makio teased while she tickled Tengen’s sides mercilessly.

Hinatsuru hummed. “Dinner is almost finished and Tengen-sama was still only tickling his first victim. Looks like she could need our help.” She held Tengen’s ankle in a tight arm lock and tickled the sole of his foot with satisfying results.

“Hehehe, I was nervous for him to come and tickle me too! But looks like I’m the first!” she said proudly. She was aiming for his neck, tickling him with her nails and making him shrug his shoulders and cackle.

“Nonono not ahahall ahahat ohoonce!” he laughed. You smirked and even though he was squirming and struggling right on top of you, you found the perfect opening to bury your fingers under his one arm, tickling his underarm successfully.

“What’s this, Tengen-sama? Are we too much for you to handle?” He was literally stuck between you all, laughing his precious head off, and you could literally feel the love and happiness radiating from every person in the room, including yourself.

It was hard to imagine Tengen had looked so tense and strict earlier that day, when he was laughing this brightly.

“What do you say, ladies? Shall we eat dinner?” Hinatsuru suggested.

You hummed. “Maybe after we tickle him a little more?” you managed to say through Tengen’s cutest giggles. They all agreed loudly.

“Tickle stamina training, round two, staaaart!” you all announced, and continued to indulge in your husband’s beautiful laughter!

#tengen x wives x reader #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #tengen uzui #tickling #tickle fic #x reader #otomiya!writes #makio #suma #hinatsuru #tengen #lee!reader #ler!tengen

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guardianspirits13 · 4 months

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Ok now for a list of things that I'm kind of iffy about or wish they had kept from the books. It's worth noting that I can't think of a single show exclusive scene they added that I did not like, and most of the changes were integrated flawlessly.

Starting out, the pacing. I'm hoping this gets better with time, especially given that the second episode has much more time to breathe. The whole first episode felt a little cramped, and some of the exposition felt a bit... exposition-y. I don' t think there is much they could have done to get around this though so I'm not gonna dwell on it.

As a fan of the series, I love how they introduced the structure and function of the PJO world with the intro, but I think the jump from "Percy sees things" to "everything is all real" felt a bit abrupt. I am curious what first time fans think about this, and again the first episode covers a lot more ground page-wise than ep 2.

Manchild Gabe... I am not sure how I feel about this. In the books he seemed downright threatening and even with Percy's 12yo bravado, he was still an intimidating figure. His bickering with Sally seemed more like your typical dysfunctional relationship than a power imbalance... both can be harmful in their own way, but I'm still undecided on how much giving Sally a bit more agency in her relationship with him effects the larger story. The whole "not all monsters look like monsters" thing works well in the books with Gabe, but I guess they were redirecting it to foreshadow Luke's betrayal? I'm not sure.

...which brings me to Sally. I was unsure about the casting, but she has earned her stay to me. I always imagined her as a bit more subdued, especially with the more intense iterations of Gabe. She's kind and gentle and has a rebellious streak, but as worried as she might be for Percy she hides it inside of herself. I think her being a bit more expressive as a character works in this setting though, especially since we aren't seeing her through Percy's kid colored lenses. She feels a bit less like the perfect, kind, and understanding mother Percy sees, and a bit more like a real-life single mother trying to keep some of that childhood wonder alive despite everything. She does seem younger than I would have expected, but that's a nitpick on my end. I think she is one character that I will always have a separate book/show counterpart for in my mind.

Ok. Now for Clarisse. Out of all the characters I was skeptic about, I think she's the only one who didn't win me over. This is a writing issue, nothing at all to do with the actress. She was characterized more as a 'queen bee' type mean girl than a bully who picks fights just to feel worthy of her father's approval. She would be better fit for a vindictive daughter of Aphrodite than a daughter of Ares. My mind might be changed in the future but we got most of her scenes in these first two episodes so I'm doubtful. The one moment that had potential was when Percy broke her spear, but the Clarisse I know would not back off just because there is an audience.

There was no hellhound... I was kinda looking forward to it, and it does emphasize that even camp isn't really safe for Percy and is a catalyst for both his quest and the idea that there is a traitor. I can kind of see why the cut it for thematic purposes so Percy feels safe for once in his life, but that's only if I squint.

The scene cuts. I know, I know they're supposed to mimic book chapters. I get it. But it just doesn't work for me, it feels like there's a lack of establishing shots and the black screen is long enough you think the tv is buffering. It's an interesting idea in concept, but the execution falls flat.

OH also as far as things that were missing- the 3 fates. I know this is in the show since it was in the trailers, but I'm curious as to where they're gonna put it now.

Anyways minor nitpicks aside these two episodes were an emotional roller coaster and absolute masterpieces of television cinema.

#pjo #percy series #pjo tv show #pjo tv spoilers #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo episode 1 #pjo episode 2 #pjo tv ep1 #pjo tv ep2 #pjo analysis #pjo meta #percy jackson #sally jackson #gabe ugliano #clarisse la rue #jess's thoughts

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maikissed · 1 year

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little dove

Richarlison x reader

part 2 for i've got my eye on you part 1 is here

It's pretty long but i love to get into them detailssss. I kinda hate it and I kinda love it, idk, hope you'll enjoy it 🫶🏼 Sorry for any typos. warnings: some smut (+18)

To say that you were nervous about meeting Richarlison after that memorable party would be an understatement. You almost told him to piss off just because you were terrified of the effect he had on you that night. It all hit you hard after you sobered up, when you remembered how easily he could make you hot and bothered. And you were reminiscing how you nearly gave in to the needs of your body, completety turning off the common sense, and dragged him to a private space to have your way with him. It might have been your drunk state, but you’ve never acted this way. This wasn’t a good sign. And you were going mental. To be honest, you didn’t expect that he’ll reach out to you.

Nevertheless you agreed to meet with him. But you did not call it a date.

It’s been a month since you've started seeing each other and you truthfully enjoyed the time you’ve been spending together. You and Sheira even attented one of his matches and you didn’t expect that a football game could be so exciting as you were cheering and analysing everything that was happening on the pitch. Richarlison even waved at you at the end of the match and you waved back feeling overjoyed.

“So, you’re like a wag now?” Sheira asked when you were leaving the stands.

“Stop talking” you send her a disapproving look.

“You’re mean, you know that?” she laughed at your reaction.

She will never stop teasing you about it.

Richarlison was driving you home after you went to the movies together and an unexpected rush of confidence made you ask him if he’d like to come in. As you were quite a private person you felt a little nervous about intiving him to your little sanctuary but you were eager to spend some more time with this boy.

“I think it was really sad in it’s simplicity. A shattering picture of existencial crisis and the futility of tommorow” you reffered to the movie you've watched while opening the door to your apartment.

“Yeah, it was really moving” he commented following you in.

“You didn’t like it” you smiled at him observing his reaction.

“No, it’s not like that, it’s just not my type of cinema. But it was nice to watch something different”

“Alright then” you nodded unconvinced but let the subject go “Would you like something to drink? I can make you my famous sweet tea” you asked entering the kitchen.

You felt yourself becoming nervous again, it was the first time of you two being alone since that party and it made you panic inside a bit.

“Sure” he answered taking a look around your little salon “You have a lot of paintings. Who made them?”

“I did”

“Oh, so you’re an artist?” he gave you an impressed look and you smiled while placing the cups on the kitches island.

“Kind of. I paint in my free time just to clear my head. They’re just for me though, it’s not like I’m a professional”

“It’s really good, you’re talented. I like this one” he pointed to a painting of a woman floating in deep ocean waters surrounded by the breaking through rays of the sun.

You made that one during a very specific time in your life and you were very devoted to it so your heart warmed up a little hearing words of appreciation from him.

“Thank you, I think this picture had been created the longest”

He sat down on the sofa placed right infront of the small kitchen so he was facing you.

“I almost failed my art class in school once” he murmured scratching his head.

“What? How?” you laughed in disbelief catching sight of his kinda embarrased appearance.

“My uncle was the teacher and I guess I felt too comfortable” he laughed with you.

“Wow” you shook your head still laughing under your breath “To fail an art class in school is quite a feat”

“Yeah, I was a horrible student”

You focused on making the tea and the room went silent for a few seconds. You suddenly felt his heavy gaze on you and looked up meeting his dark piercing gaze from across the room. You smiled shyly feeling your limbs go rigid.

“Quit looking at me like that, Richarlison”

“Like what?” he smirked smugly and his eyes lit up.

“Like you’re looking right now” you countered biting your lip.

“I’m just looking y/n” he shrugged toying with you and you rolled you eyes taking the tea cups and approached the place he sat at to place them on a coffee table.

You then sat on a fotel on the other side and noticed an amused expression forming on his face.

“What?”

“You’re just sitting so far” he murmured smirking at you and your heart skipped a beat.

You moved to sit on the other end of the sofa with one of your legs bent at the knee to face him comfortably.

“Am I making you nervous y/n?” you heard him say lowly and you almost choked on your tea.

Of course he was fucking making you nervous right now. You were trying to keep your distance to not loose your mind in his pressence. But it was immensely difficult, especially when he was looking at you with those big eyes. You wanted him so badly that it scared you. But you took the challenge and moved closer to him, your knee almost touching his thigh.

“You’re so full of yourself, Richarlison” you joked sneeringly and put the tea back at the table.

He laughed putting his arm on the back of the sofa not leaving his eyes off your form.

“Just admit it”

Your eyes widened in disbelief of his teasing. Oh, if he won’t stop right now you’re going to strike him.

“You are not making me nervous” you protested feeling your cheeks heating up.

You were trying to keep your cool to not feed his already huge ego further but your body language was showing off completely different signs. You felt tense and the beating of your heart quickened sharply, shallowing your breath. The least you could do was not breaking the eye contact. You had to quit acting all shy to break this little entertainment of his.

“Then come closer” he dared quietly and you stiffened.

You were already sitting right next to each other, your legs almost touching. You considered your next move and swallowed hard. Then you just simply rised up, placing your leg on the other side of his body and sat on his thighs suprising yourself by your sudden surge of confidence. The material of your short tennis skirt rised up slighty and there was no turning back now. A wave of heat flooded your body.

“Is that better?” you asked in a soft tone.

Richarlison placed his hands gently on your hips and slowly moved you closer, your pelvises touched and you involuntarily placed your palms on his chest, feeling startled. Butterflies erupted in your tummy and you exhaled sharply. And you were loosing your mind.

“Now it’s better” he murmured studying your face intensively “Is it making you uncomfortable?” he asked trying to make sure that you were okay with it or to just play with you some more.

“No” you denied trying to not go crazy over the feeling of the sharp material of his pants in contact with your bare inner thighs.

Just a few thin layers of clothes were separating you from him. Your lids started to feel heavy when you focused on a feeling of arousal slowly building inside of you. You could feel a wet patch forming in your panties and you swallowed back a whimper focusing your gaze on your hands still placed on his chest. When you looked up you noticed him still focused on your face, as if drinking in your little reactions, no doubt visible on your expression. And then, slowly, he looked down at the place where your bodies touched. Under your palms you could feel him intake a big breath and the excitation made you finally act up. You took your hands off his body to place them on top of his hands that were still gripping your hips lightly and rolled your hips back and then forward, rutting against him. The sensation felt like a shot of electricity piercing your body and so you moved again. His grip on you tightened and you noticed his adam’s apple bobbed slowly. Your moves where tantalizingly slow and you were loosing yourself in this intimate moment. When you connected your pelvises once more you could feel hardness forming in his pants and when it slid right between your labia a soft moan escaped your mouth uncontrollably. It made you quicken up your pace. Richarlison grunted throwing his head back, his brows furrowed as he swallowed hard. Every move you made elicited another soft high moan from you and your mind was racing, your hands slightly shaking as the pleasure kept taking control of your body.

“Stop or I’m gonna come in my pants” his voice came off raspy and his eyes darkened as he took in the look on your face, delighted by the sound of your little moans.

He grabbed your waist and lifted you up to break the contact. You whined in protest.

“Are you trying to make a mess, y/n?” he teased granting you a cheeky smile.

You desperatly wanted to kiss him now but he had other ideas.

“Lay down on the carpet” he instructed trying to get you off him.

You shot him a perplexed look but did as he said. He joined you shortly after, towering over you, looking deeply in your eyes and hummed satisfied with your eager state. You leaned into his touch when he grabbed your cheek delicately. Keeping the eye contact you brought your lips to his thumb and slowly, very slowly, sucked it inside your mouth.

“Fuck” he cursed focusing on your action and you purred closing your eyes.

Oh, you wanted him to devour you. It was magical to finally have him so close, but it was not close enough. Your wanton body started to writhe underneath him waiting for more, desiring more.

Then he took his finger off your mouth and closed the distance to finally kiss you. You moaned into his mouth the moment your lips touched, feeling your stomach tighten, and you thrown your hands over his neck trying to pull him as close as you could. His kiss felt so heavenly it made your heart squish. His fingers slowly traced a line down your throat and stopped at the first button of your shirt. After undoing the last button he pushed aways the layers of the garment away to expose your delicate lacy bra and you grasped his bicep when his gentle fingers started to trace patterns over your bare stomach. He placed a kiss near your belly button and you jumped slightly feeling overwhelmed by his caress.

“Relax, baby” he murmured and his hot breath fanned over your skin.

“Mhm” you grunted with your eyes closed.

Then he moved to unzip your skirt and after taking the garment off you heard him hum in amusement.

“So that’s the famous tattoo” he pointed stroking a little dove tattoo placed next to your hip bone with his thumb “It’s a dove”

You smiled widely at him and a giggle escaped your lips when the realisation of what it meant hit you. You went to get it made shortly after you turned 18 and it was the only tattoo that you had.

“Well, lucky you” you said cheekily before he bend down to place a soft kiss on it.

Shortly after he took off your thong exposing your dripping cunt to his hungered sight and he groaned noticing how aroused and ready for him you were. You exhaled hard in anticipation and looked down the moment you felt his breath on your inner thigh. He maintained the eye contact slowly going lower. The sight of him going down on you made you feel hazy and your legs tried to squish together on reflex but he was quicker, grasping your thighs; keeping you open widely for him. The moment his breath hit your core your head fell back down on the carpet and your hips bucked up desperate for him to finally do something. He put his palm on your stomach to keep you down and placed a butterfly kiss on your labia. You cried out quietly as a sudden wave of tingles spread over your limbs, reaching even your fingertips.

He’s going to drive you mad, that’s for sure.

Richarlison started to stroke your core with his tongue and your moans intensified, your back arched off the floor and you brought your hands to his head trying to keep him as close as you could to fulfill your needs. You were at his mercy, writhing and whimpering, his name falling off your lips like a prayer. He groaned aroused by the way your body was responding to the pleasure he was giving you and you cried out loudly as you felt the vibrations fondle your sweet spot. He then lapped at yout cunt roughly and your whole body jolted making you almost choke on your moan. Your muscles tightened and your sight went blank as you came all over his face abruptly, feeling your walls pulsating with waves of your orgasm. You were breathing fast and your legs were shaking and you blinked slowly to bring back your focus. Richarlison raised his head with that beautiful glint in his eyes and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, returning back up to you. You bit your lip mesmerized by the look of his swollen lips and cheeks covered in a light rosy pink color.

“How are you feeling?” he asked kissing your collarbones as you were still trying to calm your body.

“Amazing, thank you” you answered quietly grinning happily.

“You’re welcome” he chuckled warmly and you brought his head down by placing your hand on his neck to connect your lips in a sweet and long kiss.

You couldn’t get enough of each other, being so enraptured in one another and so astonishingly horny that you’ve spent the whole night fucking in your bed, then in the shower and then even on the kitchen counter as you went to make something to eat. Let’s just say that you haven’t any idea that you could have so many orgasms in one night.

why do i feel like it's shitty oh god and i’m still laughing at this dove idea

#football #richarlison x reader #richarlison #brazil nt #richarlison one shot #richarlison imagine #richarlison imagines #richarlison smut #richarlison x you #richarlison x y/n #richarlison fluff #world cup #neymar jr

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late-to-the-party-81 · 9 months

Text

Power Play Chapter 5

Chapter 5 - Free Week - “S”

AN: It’s the chapter you’ve all been waiting for! Hopefully you love everything that happens here. Thank you for joining me on this wild ride. It's still the 2nd of August in Honolulu, so I'm all good.....

This week is a free week, with the optional prompt of something starting with “S” - so I’ve gone simple and just gone with Sex, but another word beginning with S also applies and hopefully you will all work it out at the end. Thanks @buckybarnesevents

Also, like in the cinema, don't leave straight away....

Beta’d by @buckysbarne

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and banner by me

Master list | Hot Bucky Summer Master list | Chapter 4

Summary: You return to Bucky’s mansion after quitting your job and confronting Walker. Are you ready for the rest of your life to properly begin?

Relationship: Mob! Bucky x Undercover Agent! Reader

WC: 3.4k

CW: Soft!Dark! Bucky, Canon Typical Violence, Russian Pet names as mangled by Google translate, Explicit sexual content (body worship, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PinV sex), Minor character death

The car came to a halt, pulling you from your memories.

Had it only been a few days ago that you’d woken, tied to a chair in Bucky’s office, scared for your life but trying not to show it?

A few days in which he’d convinced you that not only did he wish you no harm, he actually admired you and thought that you could change your life for the better by joining in.

Were you ready to throw your morals away for the promise of a better life and, by all indications so far, mind-blowing sex? Surely people did that everyday in the name of capitalism?

“I can hear you thinking, Pchelka.” At the sound of Bucky’s amused voice, you lifted your head from where it had been resting on his shoulder during the car ride, and looked up at him.

Despite the fact that you’d been living in his mansion for a week and spending a significant portion of each of your days with him, his beauty still took your breath away, more so when he unleashed a smile.

The feared mob boss reached out to cup your jaw, rubbing a rough thumb across your cheek..

“Don’t second guess yourself, milyy. You did wonderfully. You did what you had to do, and now you are free. Free to do what you want, what pleases you.”

His eyes sparkled and you felt emboldened. The car may have stopped but the doors hadn’t yet opened, despite the fact that Bucky’s driver had already alighted. Taking advantage of the apparent privacy, you twisted in your seat, and moved to straddle Bucky’s lap. His lips twitched, suppressing a smile, although he did raise one of his eyebrows. You grasped the lapels of his suit for balance and then ground down over his already partially chubbed up cock.

“What if I want to ‘do’ you? I have a feeling you’ll more than please me.”

It was obvious from the flex in his jaw that he was finding it harder to keep a straight face.

“Let it never be said that I don’t give a lady exactly what she wants and needs.”

In a move that surprised you, he flung open the door, swivelled in his seat and stood out of the car, with you clinging to him. His hands were under your ass, hoisting you up and your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist. That it had the unfortunate effect of sending your skirt shooting up around your own waist had you squeaking in embarrassment, but your soon to be lover just chuckled.

“There’s no-one around, Pchelka.”

You peeked, firstly over his shoulder and then turned your head to look around further. He was right, of course. For once you couldn’t see hide-nor-hair of any of his guards or close associates, not even Sam.

“Show me your bedroom, Bucky.”

You kissed him then, harshly and with a fierce need, as though the damn holding your back had finally burst. Unfortunately it made it rather hard for him to carry out your request, so he only indulged you for a few moments, drawing away before you were ready to let him go, and he chuckled again at the needy noise you let out.

“Patience, lyubimaya. If you wish to be made love too in comfortable surroundings you need to let me take you upstairs. There’ll be time in the future for more… unusual trysts.”

His mocking words, no matter how affectionately meant, had heat racing to your cheeks and you buried your head into his shoulder. Your mind was assaulted by thoughts of Buckty taking you in the back of his expensive car, of him bending you over the desk in his office, of him between your thighs in his home cinema as some erotic French art house film played on the screen. You let out another whine, your hips bucking against his torso as your body sought friction for your aching clit.

Thankfully, Bucky managed to get inside the house and upstairs in record time, shouldering the door to his room open, kicking it closed and then laying you on the bed, following your down so his body pressed into the V of your hips, and finally kissing you back as ardently as you’d kissed him minutes before.

The beard scruff covering his cheeks and chin, scratched across your skin, but you didn’t care. His hands skimmed down to your waist, kneading your soft flesh over your clothes, before tunnelling under your blouse, freeing it from your skirt and starting to work on the delicate buttons that held the soft silk closed. You gasped at his touch, and at the way his kisses moved from your lips to pepper your jaw and then your throat.

The buttons dealt with, Bucky eased the front of your top apart, baring your lace covered breasts to his gaze.

“Prekrasnyy!”

You may not have understood what it was he said, but the tone in which he said it, and the way in which he ducked his head to press his lips to the swell of your breasts, explained enough. When his mouth moved lower, sucking on your flesh through the lace, your body arched up, your hands flying to his short hair and clutching his head. You didn’t know whether to push him away or pull him closer, the stimulation sending your senses into a tailspin.

As Bucky worshipped your breasts, his left hand, the one so artfully decorated with ink, slid up the outside of your right thigh, skimming over the stockings you wore, until they reached the clasp of your garter belt. He deftly dealt with the two clips, and then his hand was pushing up under the belt to grasp your ass again, squeezing gently as you sighed and moaned beneath him.

His mouth continued its journey southwards, until it was halted by the bunched up fabric of your skirt. His deep chuckle, by now one of your favourite sounds, broke from him again as he eased away from you. However, he took hold of your hands, drawing you up into a sitting position as he dropped to his knees in front of you.

The image of the most powerful man in New York acting and looking subservient to you sent a fresh rush of arousal to your pussy, and you were certain that your new, La Perla panties were hopelessly ruined.

With his ice blue eyes never looking away from your face, he slipped your blouse from your shoulders, whisking it away and, without a care, tossing it away from the bed. His hands slid around your ribcage, to the fastening of your bra. He tilted his head, a silent question, to which you replied with a small nod, your lower lip held gently between your teeth in anticipation. The lace dropped away quickly, and you heard Bucky’s intake of breath and saw his eyes darken.

“Tak ochen', ochen' krasivo.”

You expected him to take your breasts into his mouth again, but he surprised you with his actions, instead peppering your sensitive skin with gentle kisses. His stubble tickled you and your skin puckered, your nipples standing to attention.

Bucky’s hands then moved to your waist.

“Up, Pchelka.”

You stood, and your one loosened stocking slithered slowly down your leg. But your lover ignored it, instead pulling your skirt back down over your ass and thighs, but only so he could reach the zipper and undo it. It too pooled at your ankles, but Bucky steadied you as you stepped out of it. He then undid your one remaining stocking and removed your garter belt.

“Sit again, milyy.”

As you sank back down onto the counterpane, painfully aroused and almost vibrating with anticipation, Bucky lifted your right foot onto his knee, undoing the ankle strap of your shoe and removing it just as gently as every other item of your clothing, his fingers returning quickly to divest you of your stocking, before doing the same to the other foot.

With you now only wearing your panties, Bucky rose to his feet and stepped back. He loosened the tie at his neck, undoing it and tossing it away, his eyes still fixed on yours, and you swallowed thickly. His jacket quickly followed, shucked and discarded at lightning speed, but when he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, you let out another whine, pressing your thighs together.

He gave you a knowing smirk and you mentally cursed him, however, when he finally released all the buttons of his shirt and let the fine cotton slip to the floor, it was your turn to gasp. You obviously knew about the tattoo on his left arm, but he now revealed to you that it covered his left shoulder and the top of his chest on that side. You itched to trail your finger over the twisting vines and ask him what the various words meant, but now wasn’t the time. Especially as now Bucky had, oh-so-slowly, popped the fly of his pants and was drawing the fabric down over his thick thighs, and…

Oh my…

Black boxer briefs clung to him like a second skin, leaving very little to the imagination, and you knew you were staring.

“My face is up here, sladkiy…” That condescending note appeared in his voice again and you automatically dropped your chin and turned your head, for some reason feeling ashamed, yet also excited.

Bucky didn’t let you hide for long. He was back on his knees, between your legs, tilting your chin up with his index finger.

“Don’t hide from me, Pchelka. And never apologise for looking at what’s yours. Because I am. And you are mine. Now, lie back and I will prove how much I worship you.”

You eased back onto your elbows, and Bucky curled his fingers around the waistband of your panties. You lifted your hips and finally you were fully exposed. For a moment Bucky said nothing, just placed his hands on your thighs and gazed at your sex. His hands shifted, his thumbs reaching up to spread your folds open, and he groaned. Then, without any further warning he bent his head those last few inches and licked a stripe right up your weeping pussy, flicking over your erect clit.

Your elbows gave out, your head meeting the mattress with a dull thud. Bucky’s fingers tightened on the malleable flesh of your thighs as he explored your folds. All you could do was moan and mutter ‘yesyesyesyesyes’, over and over again. When he pressed one of his fingers into you, you almost came on the spot, your body clutching at the intruding digit, squeezing around it, greedy for more. Then, as if he could read your mind, after a few exploratory thrusts, he added a second finger.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, and you palmed at your breasts. With his free hand, Bucky lifted one of your legs and placed it over his shoulder holding you open and pulling you impossibly closer. You thought you’d known pleasure when he’d touched you before, but this was different, both exquisite and tortuous. It was as though he knew when you were approaching your peak and purposely changing tack to keep you hovering right on the edge.

Then it hit you. He was ensuring that you were just how he wanted you - spread open and needy.

You let out a whimper, knowing you were playing directly into his hands, and not caring in the slightest. You wanted him. No, needed him. As if he were the very air you needed to breathe.

“Bucky!” Your stomach tightened and your legs trembled as you wailed out your plea. You no longer cared how pathetic and wrecked you sounded.

You felt him shift between your thighs, his face leaving your soaking pussy and you raised your head to look at him. His eyes were dark with lust, his cheeks pink and his mouth wet with your arousal. You reached out your arms, making pathetic grabby motions with your hands and with a smile Bucky climbed up onto the bed.

Aware of how your legs dangled over the edge of the mattress, you shuffled up the counterpane as Bucky’s form slinked forward, covering your own. You lifted your right leg to hook over his still clothed hip, your body arching up against his erection.

“It’s okay, Pchelka. I’m here. Soon, soon.”

He kissed you, transferring your essence from his lips to yours. His left hand cupped your face, his weight on his forearm, while with his right he pushed down his briefs. Your hands gripped his shoulders, and when you felt his cock settle between your folds, hard and hot, your nails dug into his skin as you gasped. Then his hand was between you, notching himself at your entrance, and you lifted your hips to help him.

Bucky sank home, engulfed by the clutch of your body and the sound of your twin moans filled the room. He thrust into you gently, still kissing you and your arms left their death grip on his shoulders to twine around his neck. You moved together, an erotic version of the dance you’d had when you’d first met, and Bucky was right - you just fit so well.

The fire inside you, which Bucky had so carefully stoked with his earlier endeavours, became an inferno. You didn’t want this to end, but at the same time you ached with the need for that ultimate satisfaction, and wanted to feel him find his in your body.

“Bucky, please.” You whispered against his mouth, and without missing a beat, he moved his left hand from your face to where you were joined and using his unerring instinct to touch you just right, drew soft circles on your clit, spreading your arousal over the bundle of nerves.

You came.

Hard.

Your voice let out a strangled cry, your eyes squeezing so tightly shut that tears rolled down your face. Your hips continued to meet Bucky’s, thrust for thrust, and he let out a few small grunts, letting you know he was close too. As your body shuddered with the aftershocks, you cupped his face with your hands.

“Come for me, Bucky. Please. I need to feel you.”

“Moya malen’kaya pchelka. Moya koroleva. Nastol’ko sovershenen. Perfect.”

You felt his hips stutter and loose rhythm, and felt the warmth of him flood you as he let out a deep groan. His body collapsed on yours and you ran your hands up and down his sweat-coated back, basking in your shared closeness. After a few moments he rolled to the side, his arms keeping you flush to him. You tipped your head up to look at him, and he smiled back down at you.

“Sleep, lyubimyy. It’s been an eventful day. We can talk more in the morning.”

You nodded against his chest, sighing in satisfaction and accepting your body’s request for slumber. You whined as he eased away from you, the mattress shifting as he got up, but he returned quickly, a warm, wet washcloth making its way between your legs.

Bucky got back in, sitting up against the headboard, and tucking you against his side, your legs tangled. As you drifted off, you heard the soft chirp of his phone.

“Is it done?... Good work, Sam. The message should be clear enough.”

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Post Credits Scene

Sam chuckled into the phone.

“Clear as crystal, boss.”

The call ended and he pocketed his phone, before looking back down at the ground.

Walker’s blue, lifeless eyes started up at him, the bullet hole in his head a gorey facsimile of a third one. The former agent, and grade A douchebag was sprawled in the alley outside of his favourite bar.

Sam knew he should get going - this watering hole didn’t lack for patrons and it wouldn’t be long before the body was discovered - however, he needed to find the bullet, and remove all traces of himself.

It hadn’t been hard to carry out Bucky’s orders. Walker was - had been - nothing but predictable, heading straight there after his confrontation with the boss and his little bee. Sam smiled to himself. It had only been a week and he already had a soft spot for Bucky’s Queen. She’d do the boss good - he’d already noticed a change in Bucky’s demeanour, and so far it was all for the better. He’d have taken out Walker for her, even if Bucky hadn’t asked.

Sam had bided his time though, waiting for night to fall before taking any action. Walker liked to come outside into the alley behind the bar for a smoke. Sometimes Hoskins came with him, sometimes he came alone. He wouldn’t have minded shooting Hoskins too, but someone had to relay the message.

His opportunity came at around quarter to eleven. The rear door of the bar opened with a crash and Walker stumbled through it, so drunk he could barely stand. He slumped against the wall, and pulled a battered box of cigarettes from his pocket. He placed a smoke between his lips and started to spin the steel wheel of his lighter. It sparked, but didn’t light and Walker cursed to himself.

Taking that as his cue, Sam had stepped out from where he’d been hiding himself. His target had looked up, but had been too drunk to be wary.

“Hey man, you got a li…”

He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, as Sam had raised his arm and shot him straight in the forehead, decorating the wall behind him with his brains. Sam had considered taunting him, but what would’ve been the point? The man would die anyway, and in reality he wasn’t worth any extra time or energy. The corpse had slithered down the wall before tilting sideways, barely coming to rest before Sam had pulled out his phone to notify Bucky.

With that done, Sam pulled out his flick knife, stepped over the corpse, and dug the bullet out of the brickwork. Pocketing both, he was about to make his way out of the alley to walk the half a block to where he’d left his car when he suddenly halted.

Being in the business he was, he’d developed keen senses and knew when he was being watched. He waited a breath, and then another. The sound of a glass bottle falling over and a stifled gasp had him pinpointing where the watcher was hiding - down the side of the large garbage bin, behind a pile of overflowing bags.

Four large strides and he was there, pulling the refuse sacks away.

“What have we got here?”

A pair of large, sunken eyes in a gaunt face, surrounded by dirt matted hair looked up at him in fear.

“I won’t say anything, mister. I promise. Please don’t kill me.”

Sam was torn. He killed who needed to be killed, avoiding collateral damage at all costs, but he couldn’t afford to leave a witness either. And this girl - no, young woman - obviously hadn’t had an easy life so far. He reached out toward her and she shrank back, squeezing her eyes shut as she undoubtedly prepared herself for her last moments. Then, unexpectedly, she sagged, her face going slack, and Sam realised she’d fainted.

Fuck!

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill her. But he couldn’t just leave her here either. He knew what type of predators were out at this time. Hell, he was technically one of them.

He dragged his palm down his face and pulled his phone back out, dialling a different number than earlier.

“Steve? It’s me. I’ve got a situation and I need you to bring the car around to the back of the alley. And try and be stealthy this time, man….Yeah, fuck you too.”

With a sigh, he cut the call, shoved his phone back in his pocket and bent down to scoop his new charge - cos he sure as hell knew that he’d just made her his responsibility - into his arms. She weighed far too little, and that realisation caused some kind of ache inside him. He didn’t want to investigate that feeling too much.

As he walked down the alley, a passed out homeless girl in his arms, Sam wondered what the fuck he’d gotten himself into?

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #hot bucky summer #hotbuckysummer2023 #late writes #mob!bucky x reader #mob au #mob!bucky

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