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shuacore · 2 years

Text

no thorns, no roses.

reader (f) x jsh. summary: a modeling gig turns into a test of your patience (and your self-control) — 11.4K words — is enemies with benefits a thing?, basically pwp, semi-public hooking-up?? — warnings: swearing, smut (18+) additional warnings

additional warnings: degradation (lite), unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), probably like a billion red flags lol

"Good news, y/n!" your boss yells over the phone, and you wince as you pull the speaker away from your ear. Mingyu was a nice guy but, Christ, he was fucking loud. You slowly put the phone to your ear again. "You booked the Dior gig!"

Your jaw drops. "No fucking way. You're lying!" Silently you kick your feet in the air, a giddy dizzy feeling buzzing through your whole body. If Mingyu could see you on the other side of the phone he'd be laughing at you, but from the safety of your own apartment, you could act as ridiculous as you wanted. Your boss is yelling something into the phone, but you're not listening as you jump around your couch, pumping your fists in the air like the protagonist of some corny rom-com movie.

"...really liked your stuff. Their girl backed out after getting food poisoning and they need someone else. I know it's extremely short notice, but it's tomorrow afternoon— can you make that work?"

You nod vigorously before remembering you're on the phone and Mingyu can't actually see your face. "Yes!" you reply breathlessly. You can't feel your legs anymore, so you slump on the couch, clutching a pillow to your chest.

"Awesome! I'll get in touch with their creative coordinator right now and forward you the details ASAP. Thanks, y/n," Mingyu says with a short goodbye, and the line dies.

For a moment, all you can do is sit in shock. Dior wanted you. And not only that, but it was for a shoot in Vogue?! You flop onto your back, still speechless. You had to be dreaming. It had been years since your last major shoot, and it had been such a disaster that you had refused to do any luxury shoots since then. Except that when Mingyu had told you that Dior had sent out a notice to all the major modeling agencies looking for new blood for their latest campaign, you knew you had to try.

So you had spent the last few weeks filming and editing your best walks together into a video, compiled with countless headshots, past work, and endless pose references. Your favorite brand was looking for new talent, and there was no way in hell you could pass up the opportunity.

You throw your arm over your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. The sick thing was that it had actually worked. And now you were going to Vogue's studio tomorrow to work directly with some of the most renowned designers in the world. God, it made you want to pee yourself a little bit.

Somewhere across the room, there's a small ding! from your phone from where you had thrown it and you hastily push yourself off the couch to grab it. A small notification reads "Congrats!" and in your dazed state you clumsily click on it, opening the email from your boss.

Hey, y/n! Here's the information from Kelly, the creative coordinator at Vogue. Let me know if you have any questions.

Congrats again!

Kim Mingyu | Talent Coordinator

AGC Modeling Agency

—--- Forwarded message ------

From: Kelly G. <[email protected]>

Sent: Monday, July 29, 2021 8:56 AM

To: Kim Mingyu <[email protected]>

Subject: VOGUE x Dior 2021 Shoot Replacement

Hey Mingyu!

We've run into an issue with one of our girls and we need a replacement. We really liked the work of y/n and would love to work with them! Here are the details from Dior's creative director, and I've included a few images of the sample pieces they've asked us to shoot. Let me know what you think!

Thanks!

Kelly G. | Creative Coordinator

VOGUE Magazine

Your eyes skim the rest of the email, reading over the shoot info as fast as possible. Well, the clothing is more revealing than you were used to doing, and the colors were, honestly, underwhelming, but your excitement outweighed your trepidation.

If it was just another solo shoot, and it sounded like it was, you were ready to give them your best material. The creative director wouldn’t even know what hit them.

As you climb into bed that night, you can't fight the smile that threatens to take over your whole face, and you slowly drift off to sleep, dreaming of camera flashes and a world painted with unimaginable color.

----

The next morning, however, as you stand outside the Vogue studio door and your stomach threatens to push itself out of your mouth, you wonder if you've truly chosen the right career path.

"Mingyu, I don't know if I can do this," you say, turning to look at your manager. His dark hair is effortlessly tousled, and in the bright morning light, he looks as if he's glowing. You often wonder why Mingyu had never become a model himself, but whenever you asked, he just brushed off the question in the infuriatingly cool way that he did everything. As you watch a few strands of his perfect hair wave in the cool New York morning breeze, dimly, you also wonder why you’ve never asked him out.

"Your stuff was great, y/n," he says, with a goofy little pat on your shoulder. "If anyone can 'serve face' it's you!"

You wrinkle your nose in disgust. It was horrendous how he tried to keep up with the youth, but there was no hope with Mingyu. So you simply nod and let him lead you through the door, trying your best not to vomit all over yourself.

The door shuts behind you with a horrible clunk, and as you follow your manager through the catacombs of Vogue's creative spaces, you try your very best to feel excited.

No! You tell yourself. You are excited! Except you're also impossibly worried about making a fool of yourself in front of the top fashion magazine in the world, and possibly affecting the rest of your career forever.

"Ok," you say nervously, "Snap out of it!" Miles of beige drywall seem to pass by you. Why the hell is this hallway so long? You swear you’ve been walking for eons now, and the longer the hallway stretches on, the smaller you shrink.

By the time you reach the end of the hallway, you can't be more than a few centimeters tall. Mingyu chooses an unassuming beige door and allows you to enter the room before him. Some of the photographers are already in the room, and they wave politely as you enter. The backdrops are set up and ready, with a few more options draped across support beams and tables. There's a chair centered under a few lights and you see your clothing rack, already adorned with a few of the flimsy, delicate pieces you'd be wearing. Being in the space has an immediate effect, and you can't help but feel a jolt of excitement in your stomach.

After setting your bag on a chair in the back, you catch sight of a bed tucked behind one of the backdrops. Had you read anything about a bed being used on set? You couldn't quite remember, and you were about to ask Mingyu about it, but he had already disappeared into the growing throng of designers, off doing his managerial thing. You take a quick look around. No one seems to be watching you, and besides, it’s your set so why not get used to it?

You approach the bed, curiosity and confusion battling in your brain. It didn’t seem to really fit with the strange and spunky summer theme, but maybe it was for some kind of boudoir moment the art directors had in mind? There had definitely been some gauzy things mixed in with Dior’s array of pieces.

Honestly, the longer you look at it, the more delightful the bed looks. The pillows are squishy and adorned in soft, shiny silk, and there are a few blankets strewn artfully across the comforters. Man, you really wanted to jump onto it like a little kid, but you also wanted to appear professional— so that meant no jumping. For now at least.

You turn to walk back to your seat, barely looking where you’re going when you crash headfirst into someone else. Papers go flying, coffee splatters everywhere, and in the sudden flurry of motion, there’s a cacophony of swearing.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I totally wasn’t looking where I was going. I can pay for your dry cleaning, or run and grab you a new shirt. God, I am so, so sorry,” you babble, suddenly sweating profusely. In a panic, you kneel down to gather the papers as fast as possible, shoving them into a haphazard pile and offering them to the other person with as apologetic of a face as you could possibly make.

And then you make eye contact with them.

Fuck. Your heart drops into your stomach.

The man you just ran into wrinkles his nose. “Oh. It’s you.” His dark eyes are flat with disdain.

You fight the urge to throw a punch (and also throw up). It’s been years since you last saw him, and yet, you seem to be having some sort of Pavlovian response to his voice.

“Joshua Hong,” you say through gritted teeth. The other creatives are watching the two of you with poorly disguised interest, so you attempt to actively suppress the rage gurgling uncomfortably in your stomach by forcing a smile onto your lips. It doesn't work, but they don't need to know that.

Joshua takes the forgotten papers from your hands, offering you a dry smile before stalking away without another word.

Wow. He really has not changed at all. Still just as insufferable and impossible as the last time you worked with him.

Vague memories of getting drunk and hooking up with Joshua swim to the front of your mind. You hadn’t known you were going to be working with him the next day. He had just been some hot guy at a bar who you had chatted with briefly. All you can really recall is singing (extremely drunk) karaoke with him, making out with him in his car after a particularly raunchy song, and waking up in his bed the next morning. You wonder if he remembers how he held you like you were glass, whispered empty promises in your ear, and made you feel like a princess. He had made you feel like you were unforgettable. And then he hadn’t even acknowledged your damn presence at the shoot later the same day.

After all these years, even after all the effort it had taken you to forget the heartbreak you had felt, one glimpse of him was all it took to send you back to the very beginning of it all. With a particularly large jolt in your chest, you’re horrified that your body still craves him so badly.

“Y/N?” Mingyu’s voice calls out to you, breaking you out of your reverie. “Are you okay?”

You realize your nails had been biting into your palms and you release your fists, trying to relax the tension in your shoulders and your jaw. You plant the most reassuring smile you can on your face and nod.

"Perfect, actually," you say, doing your best to ignore your roiling stomach. The smile on your face feels more like a grimace the longer you hold it.

"Do you... do you need to go to the bathroom?" your manager asks, quirking an eyebrow and throwing a thumb over his shoulder. He looks a little afraid of you and you can only imagine how insane you look to Mingyu. You brush him off.

"No, I'll be fine." Yes, go now! Get out of here! Run! You smile again before shuffling quickly back to your bag amid the whispers that continue to follow you across the studio.

You hadn't seen Joshua Hong in years, and somehow you still couldn't look at him without feeling an explosion of confusing emotions. He had completely humiliated you, belittling you until you had run out of the room and cried in the bathroom for twenty minutes. He made you look like a fool. He had made you feel like shit. Mingyu knew your history with him, but Vogue must have not told him that Joshua was working on this shoot, because you know your sweet, but dense, manager surely would not have booked you for this if they had.

Professionalism be damned. You wanted to throw (another) cup of hot coffee in Joshua Hong's perfectly chiseled face.

You look up from your shaking hands for a moment to see that the bastard has already disappeared. You're not sure if that fills you with dread or relief. Ok, you can't ignore this.

"Mingyu!" you whisper loudly, pulling your manager aside. "You didn't tell me Joshua Hong was going to be here!"

Mingyu looks defensive. "They never told me he would be here!" He wrings his hands for a moment. "Y/n, I swear, I never knew he was working this shoot or I would've never booked this gig for you."

You take a deep breath, forcing your erratic heartbeat to slow until you think you're capable of speaking rationally. "I'm sorry, but I can’t do this."

Mingyu looks even more apologetic, and he runs a hand through his dark hair in frustration. "I'm sorry, but at this point, you have to. We don't have any backups nearly as good as you, and backing out would be a huge hit to your career."

You were expecting the bad news, but hearing it directly from Mingyu felt like a huge blow. Suddenly your stomach feels like it's going to eject from your body.

"I lied," you say, clapping a hand to your belly, "Where's the bathroom?"

"Turn to the left and it'll be at the end of the hall," Mingyu replies, concern in his eyes. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yep! Perfect!" you mumble hastily before walking as quickly out of the room as you could without running. The nervous energy in your body was building until you felt you could climb walls. Clinging to the ceiling surely would be less strenuous than the rest of today.

In your state of mild hysteria, you shove the door to the bathroom open without knocking, only to see Joshua standing over the sink, holding his soiled shirt in his hands. He whips his head around in surprise. And you only just barely see the muscles of his shoulders rippling under his honeyed skin before your eyes are the size of dinner plates.

You might now hold the record for reddest face in two seconds.

"I'm so sorry!" you squeak, yanking the door shut. Your heart is racing a million miles a second. You had just seen Joshua Hong shirtless. (Sober.) And even though you had before, something about this felt worse. Fuck. Fuck! Your luck was unbelievable, and there's absolutely no way you could get through this shoot amiably with this man. Not after you ruined his shirt and certainly not after you invaded his privacy in the span of fifteen minutes.

You lean your back on the wall for a moment, holding your head in your hands, heart pounding so heavily you think you might faint. The darkness of the back of your eyelids is somewhat soothing and you stay like that for a while, wallowing in your despair. But then you hear what sounds like the doorknob turning, and walk back towards the studio as quickly as you possibly can.

"Two minutes!" you hear someone call, and the feeling in your stomach only gets worse. Somehow you were going to have to wear skimpy lingerie next to the man that had made you feel ridiculous and sell the illusion of sex! Luxury! Your stomach gives a particularly robust gurgle.

"Y/N!" one of the stylists calls as you enter the room again. "Let's do wardrobe!" She takes you over to the racks, pulling out a few pieces rapidly, scanning them and your body before settling on a silky black slip dress, which is far more sheer than you had hoped. In any other situation you would have fallen head over heels, but knowing the man closest to being your arch-enemy was going to see you in it suddenly made it extremely unappetizing. The stylist hands you the hanger, showing you to a row of make-shift dressing rooms.

Behind the curtain you slip into the dress, and the silk is smooth and cool against your burning skin. It really is quite pretty, and here by yourself you enjoy the way it clings to your body in all the right places. Unprompted, your brain floods with the image of Joshua's back— broad and tan and toned with muscle.

Imagine him seeing you in this dress...imagine his hands on your body—

"Ok! That's enough!" you interject, crushing the thoughts before they can fully form and liquefy your brain. You take a breath, staring at yourself in the tiny mirror taped to a support beam.

"You got this. It's just another job. Do it for the check." You flash yourself a quick thumbs up.

After opening the curtain, you're whisked away to makeup and hair, where you're accosted by a few more stylists who fuss over your appearance even more. They end up deciding on a bold smoky eye and some simple lip gloss and fluff your hair until it looks effortlessly tousled.

But all too soon you're done with prep, and the only thing left is to start the shoot. Awkwardly you stand off to the side of the studio, waiting for the director to give you instructions. You still haven't seen Joshua, which just sets you on edge even more.

"Y/N!" the director says, appearing by your side. "We're going to start with your solo shots, just for some variety." You smile, allowing your shoulders to relax. Solo shots you could do. A stylist leads you over to the chair and instructs you to sit.

And it goes flawlessly. It's like once you're in front of a camera your body takes over and you know exactly what to do with your arms, what facial expressions to make. The space becomes your own. The director takes your photos, pausing every few minutes or so to instruct you on a new pose or to fix your hair, but the first half of your shoot goes by without a hitch. You feel alive, happy even, as you work, as Joshua fades to the background. When it's just you, you can focus.

"Fantastic work, Y/N!" the director says, as she flicks through a few shots on her camera. You do look great. "The editors have a bunch of really great material to work with." Ok, so maybe this wouldn't be completely terrible. As long as you focused on yourself and on giving your best material, everything would be fine.

As if on cue... he appears and all your resolve crumbles.

Except— he's still not wearing a shirt. Well, he's kind of wearing a shirt, except that it's completely unbuttoned and exposing his entire chest. He's also wearing a pair of simple black dress pants, but to be honest, you're a little distracted by his perfect abs to really notice. Ok, you didn't know this was part of the plan. You feel the heat rising in your cheeks, and wrench your gaze away, trying to discreetly fan your face as Joshua walks over. Desperately, you hope that he won't mention your little mishap.

Oh my god, he was still hot. Did this change anything? No... you still hated him. Except now you just felt even more conflicted internally. Your body was telling you one thing, but your head was telling you another and you hoped your awful shoot partner being hot didn't suddenly alter your entire perception of him, but you couldn't even—

"Y/N?" Joshua's voice cuts across your inner monologue like a knife, dry and without humor. "The director is speaking." You shoot a panicked glance at him, withering slightly when you see the same unfaltering gaze looking back. He looks so unamused, it's incredible. You wrench your head back towards the director, hoping you look apologetic enough.

She gives you a nonchalant smile and continues on without issue. "You know Dior. Everyone knows Dior. I want you to look sexy, suave, effortless. I know you're both seasoned professionals so I'm not worried, but try and make it as electric as possible."

Sexy. Suave. Electric. Yeah, no worries. You shove your heart back down your throat, trying your damn best not to let your trepidation show. Electricity between you and Joshua. Well, there'd certainly be something.

You try to catch Joshua's eye, to gauge his temperament, but he seems content with ignoring your presence like always. As he sits in the chair, one of the panels of his shirt falls open, flashing the slight curve of his waist again. Despite gritting your teeth in annoyance, your heart does a very confusing loop-de-loop in your chest that makes you feel mildly ill.

After Joshua has settled in the chair, the director motions for a camera. "Ok, for this first shot, Y/N, I want you to place your left foot on his knee so you're facing him. Joshua, let's have you put your hand on Y/N's calf— yeah, exactly like that."

You've forced yourself to look away from Joshua, acutely aware of how short your dress is and how much it's riding up your thigh. Seriously, this is your first shoot and you're already sweating. Joshua places his hand on your leg like it's nothing, but it's taking everything in you not to cringe away. He smells good, too. Fuck! You're trying to remember that you hate him and yet his presence has shaken you to the bone.

"Lean in a little more, Y/N," the photographer says, "You're a little stiff." You nod, and shift so you're even closer to Joshua that you'd like, your chest uncomfortably close to his face.

Jesus. And this was only the first set. You breathe deeply through your nose, trying to ignore your pulse racing heavily through your body. Joshua seems unfazed as always, perfect and unruffled.

Right, because you're supposed to be professionals. Heat flushes up your neck in shame. He hadn't said much and yet you were the one acting childish. You try to distance yourself from the man next to you, telling yourself he's just another model doing his job. And for a while it works. You take a few different shots from different positions— you in front of him, then behind the chair, then next to him, somehow managing to incorporate your leg every time. The director has Joshua inching his hand farther and farther up your thigh until his fingers are practically playing with the hem of your dress, and you are desperately trying to keep your cool. Joshua has a tendency to dig his fingers into your skin every time he moves his hand, and it is doing confusing things to your brain. Then—

"You want him to what?" you say incredulously, eyes wide. You know you shouldn't be reacting like this if you want to keep your job, but Joshua is throwing you off your game.

The director smiles. "I'm going to have you sitting in the chair this time, and I want Joshua on the floor."

You slowly sit in the chair, back stiff as Joshua crouches on the floor next to you.

He briefly looks at you and mutters, "Is it okay if I touch you?" but it's more of a formality than a courtesy. You stare at him, mouth agape and swallow thickly.

"Uh— yeah. No, yeah, that's fine."

He places his hand on your thigh again, fingers gripping the soft flesh ever so slightly, and you desperately hope he doesn't notice the slight shiver that runs through your body. If he does, at least he's civil enough not to mention it.

The photographer is frowning. Oh no. "The energy is still dead. Joshua can you sit in between Y/N's legs?"

You freeze. Even Joshua seems slightly put out. But the look in his eyes fades as quickly as it appeared and he dips his head in acknowledgement. Then he turns to you.

God, you've never wanted to fade out of existence more than you did right now. Having his head right next to your— you-know-where?! Your legs seem to be glued together with the effort it takes to pry them apart. Joshua awkwardly climbs in between your knees, trying to pose as nonchalantly as possible. It's as if your spine is glued to the backrest of the chair; you're completely immobilized. You don't want Joshua there. In fact, you don't want him anywhere near you.

The director frowns. "Lean back! Relax! Loop your arm under her leg, too. You could even lean your face against her thigh if you feel so inclined."

Your eyes have to be so wide right now. Joshua, even though he's clearly uncomfortable, wraps his hand around your thigh again, and leans his head towards your skin. His mouth ever-so-slightly brushes against the inside of your thigh, his breath warm against your burning skin. Goosebumps erupt across your body, and you feel the ghost of a smile on the corner of his lips.

You, however, cannot relax. You can't make this look natural no matter how hard you try, and Joshua being so close to your womanhood is certainly not helping. The camera clicks echo through the room as the photographers take a few shots of the two of you.

But after a few minutes, the director still looks unhappy, and you have a sinking feeling it's your fault.

"No... this still isn't right. I like the vision, but this still feels a little forced. Let's try something else."

Isn't it all forced? you think, disgruntled. Joshua shifts his grip on your thigh ever slightly.

The director turns the chair to the side, telling Joshua to sit on it again. She squints for a moment, walking around him a few times and muttering quietly to herself. After a few more minutes, she steps back. Then she looks at you.

"Sit in his lap."

Excuse me?

You don't move. Every bone in your body seems to be made of lead, every muscle completely froze. Joshua stares at you, an unreadable expression in his eyes. You swear he discreetly raises an eyebrow, as if in challenge, but you blink and it's gone. Even your throat feels like it's closing up. But who are you to challenge the director?

Awkwardly, you throw one leg over Joshua's lap, settling yourself as casually as you possibly can. Your heartbeat is screaming in your ears, and you're terrified he'll feel it against his chest. The silky fabric of your dress is offering absolutely no comfort as it shifts over your skin. Joshua's shirt is gaping, your own skin dangerously close to his.

Joshua places his large hands on your back, and the heat from his palms seeps through the delicate silk as if there was no dress at all. You can't even look him in the eyes. You know you're supposed to be acting like you're in lust, but right now you're simply immobile. His cologne wafts tantalizingly off of his skin, and you bite your lip, trying your best to ignore the way his breath washes over your collarbones, the way the heat in your core seems to be intensifying every second you spend flush against him.

"That's a little better," the director says, before whispering something to her colleague. They start to take pictures as they flit around you.

Unconsciously, you've been squirming around on Joshua's lap to get comfortable, and you start when you feel his fingers press into your skin, his breath hot against your throat.

"Stop doing that," he hisses under his breath, and then you realize... the thing underneath you that you thought was maybe his phone... is definitely something else. Heat rushes to your face and you freeze as best as you can. His chest is heaving just imperceptibly. There's definitely arousal slowly pooling in your barely-there underwear, and you are quite literally praying to God that Joshua won't say anything.

"Sorry," you squeak, turning your head so you don't have to look at him. He's probably embarrassed, so you'll do your best to be as professional as possible. It happens to everyone.

Except Joshua seems less mortified than you. He slides his hands down your spine until they're just barely resting on your ass. You swear he squeezes.

"Are you though?" he murmurs, pulling you centimeters forward on his lap, so for a hint of a second there is a moment of delicious friction and a rush of pleasure, and your eyes widen. But then you clear your throat, looking to the director for more instruction. There's an unreachable itch building under your skin, making you feel antsy.

She still looks unsatisfied, shaking her head.

"Ok, I don't know what the issue is here, so let's take a break." She frowns at the two of you as you hurriedly clamber off of Joshua's lap, pulling your dress down as far as it can possibly go. He looks unbothered, cooly crossing his legs and sitting back. The flush in your cheeks won't go away and you fan your face, knowing you look ridiculous in the frigid studio.

"I need you two to figure out what the deal is," the director says, fixing the two of you under a firm stare. "You're two of the best I've worked with, but you're not giving me what you promised. I don't know what happened between you two or if anything did at all, but don't bring this tension into the studio. Use lunch to figure it out." She looks disappointed and you feel your heart sink. They were never going to hire you again!

The director points at Joshua. "We'll take your solo shots after lunch." She turns away to make the same announcement to the crew, and they start to file out of the room, hardly sparing the two of you a second glance.

You're frozen in place, not trusting yourself to walk to your chair in the corner. The last of the crew leave the room, and the door closes with an air of finality.

The silence is suffocating, and you are, to put it in so many words, insanely turned on now. You turn to Joshua, looking everywhere but him. You wonder if he's equally as on edge.

You open your mouth to speak when his voice cuts through the tension.

"Ok, why don't we just deal with this like adults?"

You raise your eyebrows in disbelief.

"Well, I wasn't going to scream and cry, if that's what you thought," you retort, frowning. There he is again with his irritating know-it-all behavior.

The hint of a smirk flits across his face as he toys with one of the thick silver rings on his fingers. "Maybe not." Joshua looks amused by something, but if there is something humorous he gives no hint as to what it is. Frustration flares in your stomach.

Your frown only deepens. "Spit it out, then." Your patience is wearing thin.

Joshua suddenly fixes his dark eyes on you and you're taken aback by the shift in the room. "Do you want me to say it? Do you want me to get on my knees and beg?"

"I—I have no idea what you're talking about," you say helplessly, pulling on the hem of your dress. There is not enough fucking fabric in the world that would make you feel covered under his stare.

Joshua looks unconvinced. "Are you sure? There's nothing you... need help with?" He's taunting you.

Heat rushes to your face. "If I needed help with something, it certainly would not be from you." You wrench your eyes from his face, suddenly feeling rather small. You're thankful he's far enough away right now— if he came any closer, you certainly would not be able to hold up as well.

Joshua raises an eyebrow. God, you are so tired of this man and his mind games. A sudden burst of irritation replaces the timidity in your voice.

“What is your fucking deal?” you spit, hands balling into fists in frustration. Joshua's little comments have you riled up far more than you care to admit. How could he say that to you? In the middle of working?

To your surprise, Joshua doesn’t snap back like you thought he would. Instead, a cocky smile slides across his lips, and he pins you under his gaze, dark eyes shining with vicious gloating.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” he says, sitting casually on the chair. His easy demeanor has you on edge.

"I—" You falter, put out. “Notice what?”

Joshua pauses for a moment to examine his nails. “The heat quite literally radiating from you.” His eyes slide back to you, lingering on the strap of your dress fallen off your shoulder (and suddenly said heat in your core increases tenfold). Fuck.

This is actually the worst possible thing that could be happening to you right now. Like, literally ever. You seem to be trying to make up for all the confessional you missed over the last couple decades because you shoot a couple more prayers God’s way, hoping for a miracle.

“I don’t— I don’t know what you’re talking about," you say again. You know exactly what he's talking about. All moisture in your mouth vanishes.

Joshua stands, slowly walking towards you. Instinctively, you back away, eyes glued to his face as he approaches. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t completely turned on right now, and you know Joshua can tell. As your back hits the wall, you let out a small gasp.

Joshua is impossibly close— somehow even closer than when you were posing, and you know you’re supposed to hate him, and you know there’s supposed to be some kind of thought process repelling him from you, but the same deep, woody scent of his cologne is clogging your senses and you're finding it extremely difficult to remember exactly what it was that you loathed about his stupidly handsome face.

“What are you doing?” you choke out.

“Don’t play stupid,” Joshua murmurs, eyes roaming unabashedly over your body. The silk dress is pointless as if he could simply see right through the flimsy fabric. "They put you in this. How was I supposed to concentrate?"

“You’re the one being stupid right now,” you shoot back, hoping and praying that you can control the tremor in your voice. Joshua is close enough that you can count the faint blemishes across his skin and see his eyes sizing you up. “Do ever think with anything other than your dick?”

Joshua cocks a perfectly manicured eyebrow. He looks bored. “Sometimes yes.” Suddenly he’s all up on you, boxing you in against the wall in between his arms. Hot breath fans across your face, but you’re frozen. You can’t look away as your heart hammers in your chest. Shit, you can’t stop looking at his chest.

He flashes that same infuriating shit-eating grin. “Other times... no.”

Joshua's sudden change in demeanor is making your head swim, but there's no point in pretending you don't want him anymore.

There's no going back now.

“Fuck, Joshua,” you breathe before crashing your mouth to his, pulling him into a heated embrace. As soon as he looked at you with those ridiculous eyes of his, any and all of your restraint flew out the window.

His hands are on your body, hot and heavy, as they roam your skin, giving away his poorly concealed restraint. By the way he holds you so fiercely, he had clearly been waiting to ravish you. Fingers catch on the hem of your dress but you can't even get yourself to stop him. The thin silky fabric is doing nothing to keep the heat from his body out. It's like you're already naked.

Joshua, ever the show-off, catches your bottom lip in his teeth, coaxing a soft moan from your mouth. He looks smug as he pulls away, delighted at finding one of your weaknesses. You don't have half the mind to play games with him. Your mind is in shambles, and your body might be, too, as he plants his mouth on your neck, nipping at the delicate skin with poorly disguised enjoyment. He clearly likes seeing you squirm. His fingers tangle in your hair. Your knees are weak. Air is already so sparse.

Joshua's fingers dig into your hips. "You're moving too much," he says lowly, the sound vibrating against your jaw. God, when was the last time someone kissed you like this? Your last hook-up had been (quite literally) so dry and so unimaginative that you had sworn off casual sex for a while.

But kissing Joshua... the way he moaned softly into your mouth, tightened his grip on your body, pulled you towards him. Even though you knew how he was romantically, he kissed you like he needed you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. You fought to keep your eyes open, to see the dark hair brushing against your cheekbones, to map the spots dusting his skin hidden ever so slightly under his makeup, to see how the flush on his skin burned and deepened with every single second you two stayed locked together. But it's taking every ounce of self-control in you not to crumple to the ground that you let your eyes fall closed. You know when to pick and choose your battles.

Except that then he pushes a knee between your legs and there's already so little fabric between you and this man that you freeze. Your eyes fly back open. Joshua boldly presses his thigh up against your body, right against the ache building in your core. You bite down on your lip to stifle the pitiful little sounds trying to escape from your mouth, refusing to give in to Joshua that easily. He shifts his knee, the fabric of your panties catching on his pantleg. You swallow a quiet moan.

You are suddenly very aware of how... hot you actually are. Joshua breaks away from the kiss, a lewd string of spit connecting your mouths together. Your arousal has spread to your chest, and you think you might faint.

"Oh dear," Joshua murmurs, as one hand trails down your waist and over your thigh. His eyes seem to dismantle the last of your composure the longer they rake across your bare skin. You let out a shaky breath as he wraps a hand around your thigh, drawing it up near his hip with startling swiftness. Your heart is thumping so wildly that you're amazed you can even hear him over it at all.

"You doing okay?" He smiles wickedly.

It’s all you can do to gape stupidly at him, the words dying in your throat before they're even fully formed. It's infuriating how Joshua is able to so easily render you speechless. Every word that falls from his cruel mouth is just another reason not to sleep with him, but the taunts just sound so damn pretty that there's little stopping you from fucking him right here, right now.

Except that you're at work. On a lunch break. Hooking up with your enemy. His nails bite into your skin.

Joshua smirks with some sort of sick amusement. "You were so talkative... what happened?" He asks, leaning in until his lips are mere centimeters from yours. You want to kick yourself for how badly you want him. How badly your body needs him.

You open your mouth to retort when he catches your lips in another searing kiss, this time with more tongue than teeth. You spineless sucker! The last of your dignity is just barely hanging on by a thread. Joshua kisses you fiercely, even groaning slightly as he kneads your thigh with his fingers. You’re about to completely lose your head.

"Joshua," you moan quietly, hands clumsily tugging his shirt off his shoulders. (Thankfully half the work had already been done for you.) He hardly breaks the kiss before tossing the shirt somewhere in the room with impatience. "They're gonna come back s-soon." Oh, but you can't even get yourself to care.

Not with the way his hands grip your ass, not with the way his mouth keeps leaving dirty little surprises across your skin. God, you're going to hell.

“Let them find us,” he pants before lifting you into the air, arms holding you up by your thighs. You barely even register where he’s taking you until you roughly hit the mattress with a loud huff! of air. The pillows are just as soft as you had imagined.

Joshua stands over you, shamelessly drinking in your body. You feel a little silly, like a doll splayed across the bed.

Joshua licks his lips. “You are simply wearing too many layers, my dear.” You’re pleased to hear a rasp in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

“And what are you going to do about it?” you ask him, tipping your chin back in challenge. The heat is positively radiating through your body, pulsing so strongly you’re amazed he hasn’t made another comment. The tension is so palpable that it’s become a game of who’s going to snap first.

And lucky for you, Joshua takes the bait without a second thought.

He mashes his mouth back to yours, roughly pushing the straps of your silly little dress off your shoulders and down your hips, fully exposing your décolletage. Joshua plants his mouth on your throat, sucking less-than-delicate hickies along the line of your collarbones; barely waiting for the contusions to bloom before he’s nipping at them again. The carelessness of his teeth, the crude sensuality of his touches— it’s enough to strip you down into a writhing mess beneath him.

Barely a second passes after Joshua decides he’s done marking your neck that he suddenly licks a messy line up your chest, attaching his mouth to one of your nipples and slurping with obscene moans. Oh my God, was he trying to kill you?! Your mouth falls open in surprise, fingers gripping the sheets as you writhe underneath him.

“Joshua—“ you start to say but he just laughs, cutting you off. It's not a sound of comfort, but derision.

“We’ve barely done anything, and already my name seems to be stuck on your tongue,” he remarks, sitting back to admire his handiwork. This man truly is shameless with the way he looks at your body with pride. Covering up the clusterfuck of bites across your chest is going to be no easy feat.

Your tongue seems to be stuck in your mouth. Truly you can’t even form words. And what’s even worse is that he’s right, because the most you’ve done is make out for a while. Oh God, he’s going to absolutely ruin you.

His tongue trails down your stomach, leaving a few kisses here and there, stopping right above the waistband of your underwear. Joshua smirks, as his fingers brush over your panties. They're completely soaked and the embarrassment has you hiding your face in your hands.

"All for me?" he asks, before pressing a few kisses along the inside of your thigh. His hair tickles your skin as his fingers playfully pull aside your panties.

"Don't flatter yourself," you say, breathlessly. Joshua simply hums in response, his fingers dangerously close to your crotch.

He draws himself up, leaning over you. A few dark strands of hair fall in his eyes.

"Can I?" he whispers, just above your mouth. You simply nod, afraid of the things that will come out of your mouth if you speak.

And then he's pressing two long fingers into you, watching with rapt attention as you toss your head back in pleasure, stuffing your hand in your mouth to stifle the sounds threatening to spill out. His fingers curl in that wicked "come here" motion that has you winded, clutching the sheets, squeezing your eyes shut. The longer you clench down on your jaw, the more difficult Joshua seems to be making it, scissoring and twisting his fingers until you think you might just scream. You're in a fucking studio for God's sake, but Joshua seems hellbent on breaking you as he pushes his fingers even deeper, to the knuckle, inside you. The icy cold metal of his rings presses against your skin, boiling hot.

Joshua smirks as he toys with you, even leaning over to recapture one of your nipples in his teeth.

"Joshua—mmph," you moan, and Joshua actually places a hand over your mouth, smiling condescendingly.

"If you're too loud I won't keep going," he says, as you roll your eyes. Didn't he know you were doing your best? It's not your fault his fingers are stuffed in your pussy and he expects you to stay silent. Plus there's something kind of thrilling about hooking up in such a public space. But when you don't respond, he stills his hand, leaving you clenching around his fingers desperately.

So you nod, eyes fluttering shut as he begins pumping his fingers in and out of you again, each time a little bit faster. Joshua's hand explores all parts of you while his mouth explores your neck, never leaving you a moment to breathe. There's something about the way he moves his fingers that has you curving your back into him, fingers weaving into the hair on the nape of his neck as if to pull him into a desperate embrace. But Joshua turns his head before you can kiss him, instead paralyzing you under a disapproving glare.

"I told you to stop moving, didn't I?" he says with mock sympathy, pressing a large hand against your pelvis to pin you to the bed. The pressure on your stomach only further increases your arousal, and you hold back a groan as Joshua attaches his mouth to the pulse point in your neck.

It only takes a few more measly minutes before you're falling apart, fingers digging into Joshua's arms as he brings you over the edge. Warmth pulses through your body and you flop back onto the bed, completely speechless.

Joshua looks satisfied at your dazed expression as he slowly drags his fingers out of you. You watch as he places them on his tongue, messily licking your arousal from his hand, never once taking his eyes off of you. Fuck.

"Turn around and get on your knees," Joshua then orders, sitting back to watch you scramble to kneel, feeling a little stupid. You're not sure what he's going to do when you feel his large hand on the back of your head, shoving you facedown onto the mattress. You let out a choked whine as Joshua lands a firm smack against your ass, and then another, and then another. Each one leaves your skin red and stinging and a little tender, and by the time he's done your eyes are watering. You refuse to look at Joshua—you don't want him to see you crying.

But still, he says nothing, and for a stupid moment, you wonder if he’s done with you. You're a little disappointed until you hear the sound of a belt buckle clinking and clothing being tossed. You turn to look, but Joshua forces your head against the mattress again, yanking a little on your hair as he pulls away.

"Do you still wanna to do this?" is all Joshua asks.

Well, you're currently laying ass-up in the middle of a prop bed, waiting for him to shove his fat cock into you until you scream like a worthless slut.

Truly, there was no recovery from this.

So you breathe out a strangled "Yes," before Joshua is pushing his cock into you without hesitation, and the work of his fingers certainly helped a little bit, but you weren't expecting him to be so...well-endowed.

You shove your face into the pillow, smothering the loud moan that falls from your lips as Joshua slowly, slowly thrusts into you. His hold on your waist is bruising, and with your face hidden from view, you miss the way his head tips back in ecstasy.

Not that Joshua would ever let you know the effect you had on him— the sight of your needy body giving in to his every move, the cloying scent of your perfume just as intoxicating as your dripping cunt. You drive him absolutely wild.

Joshua’s voice is strained. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, bending forward to grab one of your shoulders as he thrusts his cock in a few more inches. Joshua has a way of melting you with every touch, like he knows your body better than you ever could. You let out another weak sob, your face buried into the silk of the sheets. He can not see how irrevocably aroused you are by him and his words and his vicious tongue.

“There’s no shame in crying,” Joshua chides the longer you hide your face, but you feel the smugness in every word suffocating you until you could cry from your pent-up sexual frustration.

"I'm not crying," you spit back, screwing up your face as he pushes even deeper into you. “I don’t— I don’t cry.”

You imagine he’s smiling with that same fake sympathy as he watches your body shake, and the image of Joshua taking you from behind is enough for you let out another particularly strangled cry. But before the mortification even has time to settle in your chest, Joshua sinks the rest of his cock into you, bottoming out in one smooth motion. He lets out a string of expletives under his breath, fingers digging into your hips like he’s holding onto his last thread of reality. Secretly you’re pleased you have such an effect on him.

“Jesus, would you relax?” Joshua mutters with exasperation, as your cunt clenches around him tightly. You try to tell him it’s not really your fault, but before you can answer, he deals a particularly harsh spank to your ass that knocks the air out of your lungs.

Thankfully he gives you a brief moment, even if it’s just a breadth of a second to adjust before he’s drawing his hips back and thrusting forward with brutal efficiency. You smother your face into the covers, muffling your sounds of deep satisfaction with the comforter.

Clearly, Joshua has done this before, because he fishes for one of the pillows, lifting your hips to shove it under your pelvis before snapping his hips back again, slowly building speed until he’s just shy of pounding you into oblivion. Every so often Joshua’s cock brushes against that spot, leaving your cunt clenching involuntarily, and you have to bite down to keep your pitiful whines from escaping. Just to tease you even more, he leans forward to leave harsh bites across your shoulders, all the while murmuring how good you look from behind. The sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with the sound of Joshua’s shallow breath is erotic, and it makes your head positively swim.

“Fuck!” you whimper as Joshua continues to rail you without mercy, the brutal steady pace of each stroke bringing you closer and closer to your release. The pleasure is reaching white-hot status, pulsing in your stomach and slowly spilling into the rest of your body. It takes everything in you not to cry out in frustration as Joshua suddenly slows, just shy of stopping completely. He wraps an arm around your waist, hand flush against your stomach as he leans his weight against your back.

“Now, you know that’s not my name,” Joshua simpers, breath hot against your ear. He shallowly rocks his hips, coaxing a few more weak babbles from your lips. “Try again.” He brushes a loose strand of hair out of your eyes, and the motion would be tender if he wasn’t oozing sordid satisfaction at seeing you all hot and bothered by him.

“J-Joshua,” you beg, clawing at the sheets. And then humiliation blooms in your chest at how quickly you act to please him, but there’s something so sadistically fulfilling about being abused by this man that you can’t even get yourself to care. You’re fucking your enemy in broad daylight in a studio of Vogue. Really, there's little left for you at this point.

"That's right," he whispers.

You let out a particularly drawn-out groan of pleasure as he snaps his hips quickly, bringing the pace back to the same mind-blowing rhythm as before, arching your spine until you feel like you might snap. Joshua’s fingers in your hair tug your head back as he whispers vile sweet nothings into your ear. The messy symphony of sounds echoing throughout the room is just shy of pornographic. You clutch the sheets tightly in your fingers as your head tips forward in pleasure. Every muscle in your body is taut as your orgasm builds every second.

As your eyes flutter shut in anticipation, you start to say, “I’m gonna—!”

Except, of course, Joshua won't let you off that easy.

Just as you think you're about to reach your climax, he stills his hips for an agonizing second, rocking them slowly, slowly, slowly into you. Your release fades just as quickly as it appeared, and now your whole body is uncomfortably sensitive. This time you do groan in frustration, stuffing your face in one of the pillows again.

"Fuck you," you curse, but it's weak and hardly venomous. Your head is cloudy and full of fluff and in your pitiful state, it's the best you can manage. Joshua merely seems amused by your distress, fingers petting your head again as if to comfort you. You take a moment, breathing through the burn of arousal through your entire body.

Then Joshua snakes an arm around your throat, yanking you against his chest in one smooth motion. Your moans come out as choked whines, fingers digging into the firm flesh of his forearm in deep ecstasy. You feel Joshua smile against your ear, before his free hand creeps down to finally touch your aching clit, his fingers just barely grazing your skin. This bastard.

"Aren't you?" he mutters in your ear, landing a firm smack on your cunt and you gasp, jerking forward as much as you can while being restrained. The ache in your body is unbearable; you don't know how much more you can take.

Joshua presses a few digits against your lips, coaxing your mouth open, and unceremoniously forces his fingers in without a second thought. He presses down roughly on your tongue, massaging a few circles with the pads of his fingers. You whimper again, but the words won’t come out.

“Use your words,” he murmurs, and you can practically feel the arrogance dripping from his voice. “I can’t do anything unless you tell me.”

Evil, evil, evil man. You can’t even form syllables with his fingers shoved so far down your throat, and you’re half tempted to bite them off. But then Joshua ruts into you again, drawing a low groan from your throat as you fight to keep your composure. His chest is scalding hot against your back, electricity zipping up and down your spine every time you feel your bodies move and shift against each other.

God, you feel as if you could unravel right here. You’re half-tempted to plead to Joshua (once he finally takes his fingers out of your mouth) that he could do what he wanted with you, but the half-cognizant portion of your brain quietly reminds you that you need to be able to walk later.

Plus, you have a sneaking suspicion he'll do just that anyway.

Joshua withdraws his fingers from your mouth and you choke for air, drool dribbling from your lips. He hardly lets you catch your breath before brazenly spitting on his already-soaked fingers, lowering his hand to rub cruel circles against your painfully tender clit. He’s barely touched you before you feel your climax re-building. Your body acts before you do, succumbing to Joshua like a wretched woman starved.

“So touchy…,” he muses, as he continues to play with your clit, even tweaking occasionally to watch you writhe under him. Your stomach spasms as you gasp, digging your nails into Joshua’s thighs. You snake a hand up his neck, twisting your fingers in his thick, dark locks.

The words never even make it out of your mouth before Joshua draws his fingers away, jerking you roughly up by your hair.

“Flip over,” Joshua says tersely, watching with amusement as you ungracefully slide off of his cock to lay on your back. You’re embarrassed by how needy and clumsy you’ve become. Joshua is criminally good as what he does, and your body is craving that final release; if he so much as looked at you a certain way you swear you might come untouched.

Joshua spits on his hand again and pumps his cock a few times, eyes roaming over your body again, mapping the contusions blooming across your skin. His ego truly is through the roof, and if you weren't such a pathetic, wanton beast right now, you might even make fun of him for it. Dimly, you hope he’s going to shove his cock back in you and pound you into the mattress until you both come and that’d be the end of it. Problem solved! We can all go home now.

Well… you were half right.

You weren't prepared for Joshua to press on the backs of your thighs until your knees were by your ears, crudely spreading your legs wider for him. He smiles up at you, smacking his cock against your cunt a few times and you choke, each lewd slap driving you nearer to the edge of madness. Joshua leans up against you until his face is inches away and presses a languid kiss to your lips. If you weren’t fearing for your sanity, it might’ve been a tender moment.

“I’m gonna fuck you until you scream,” Joshua says, without decorum, calmly watching as your face falls. "And you're going to take it."

And he’s nothing if not a man of his word.

Joshua fucks you into the mattress until you’re a snotty, disgusting mess, moaning his name like some kind of fucked-up mantra. You know you’re supposed to hate his guts, but when he’s so deep in your guts, you can’t seem to think about anything except the way his cock slams into you, brutal and unrelenting, bringing you the closest you think you’ve ever come to seeing Heaven.

In the time after you leave, you’ll faintly remember being fucked in one way, coming, being contorted into another degrading position, and promptly being fucked again. For more times than you can count, Joshua has you pleading, crying, begging like some insatiable harlot to let you come, and you don’t even have enough dignity left intact to care.

“Please,” you practically sob, “Joshua, please.” You’re a complete trainwreck under him, uttering his name over and over like some kind of filthy disciple. True to his word, he has you close to tears, practically pleading for his cock to ruin you— and it has.

Joshua braces himself on your thighs until his fingers leave marks, each stroke of his cock feeling even deeper than the last. After what feels like the umpteenth time, you don’t know if you can take any more denial, and he must sense it in the way you're scrabbling for his hand because Joshua finally relents.

You let out the loudest, most unbridled cry yet as pleasure rushes through your body, tingling in your toes, your fingers, your stomach. It scrubs your brain of all thought, wiping the last of your hatred from your consciousness. The intensity of your release leaves you heaving, clenching around his cock until you can't breathe. Caught in the throes of pleasure, you don't see the way Joshua's brow knits together the more you whimper his name, the tighter you grip his forearm. As the very last of your orgasm ebbs, you collapse in relief, feeling woozy and deeply satisfied.

Joshua continues to languidly pump his cock in and out of you while you ride out your high, a few residual whimpers falling from your lips. But with a simple touch from your fingers, he stills, the beginning pangs of overstimulation setting in. Your head feels like it's filled with cotton.

Then you realize Joshua is still painfully hard, struggling to stay present. His hips stutter as he gives a half-hearted thrust, his mouth falling open lazily. Now it’s your turn to smile— little does he know, he’s put himself completely at your mercy. You clench around him a few times, watching with poorly disguised glee as his eyes flutter closed, his breath coming in short, shallow pants.

“Should we deal with this like adults?” you ask as innocently as possible, smiling as Joshua nods desperately, the words lodged in his throat. His Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows thickly. Oh, how quickly the tables have turned.

You pull yourself off of his cock slowly, hissing at the tenderness of your cunt. Instead of kneeling, however, you push Joshua onto his back, scarcely giving him a moment before taking him in your mouth.

His cock is still rock hard, and Joshua tilts his head back with a throaty sigh as you moan around his length. His fingers curl into your hair and he pushes on your head, pressing your mouth down until you’re gagging around the base of his cock. Now he’s the one letting out breathy moans as you swirl your tongue around the head, cheeks hollowed, hand twisting up and down in tandem with your tongue. After everything the two of you had done, you know it won’t take long to tip him over the edge.

“Fuck, y/n,” he groans, and as his abdomen tightens in anticipation, you know he’s close. With one last vulgar slurp, Joshua comes hot in your mouth, cursing under his breath as his fingers tense in your hair. You freeze, letting Joshua come down from his high, and as he raises his head to look at you, you smile coyly.

With a soft “pop!” you pull your mouth off his cock, swallowing as you do, letting the self-satisfied smirk spread on your lips. You can't even imagine how indecent you look, with your eyeshadow and mascara smeared ungracefully around your eyes, lips shiny with spit and cum, but there's something in the way Joshua looks at you that has you reeling with delight.

“Christ,” is all Joshua manages to say before pulling you by the back of the head into a searing kiss. It’s a strangely intimate embrace considering all of the filthy words and insults he had hurled at you a few brief moments before, but considering he had also given you the best orgasm of your life, you choose not to dwell too much on it.

When you break away, you feel a little light-headed. Joshua gives your ass a light smack, but it lacks the same aggression as before. He notices a stray dribble of cum on your chin, and collects it on his pointer finger, pushing it between your lips. You swirl your tongue around it, watching as his eyes burn. He pulls his finger from your mouth, resting his hand on your thigh instead.

"You look… crazy," Joshua says, fighting a smile. You catch sight of yourself in a mirror on the make-up table and let out a bark of laughter.

“Crazy” is the understatement of the year. You look fucked out of your mind. Your hair is knotted beyond belief, there's a jumble of bruises all across your chest, and there's no convincing excuse as to why your makeup would be completely streaked across your face. You hide your face in one of the pillows again, letting out a feeble groan.

"I'm gonna get fired, and it's all your fault," you moan, hiccuping into the soft silk of the pillowcase. Joshua presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, surprisingly kind, and chuckles.

"Well, lucky for you, I happen to know a thing or two about make-up.” He slides easily off the bed, pulling his pants back on before padding softly over to the make-up table. Joshua grabs a few brushes and bottles, joining you again on the bed, tugging you gently into a sitting position.

As he covers your ruined eye shadow, you wince a little, a dull twinge reminding you of the ache in your ass cheeks. To be honest, most of your body was a little sore, all thanks to Joshua. You laugh softly.

"Sorry," he mumbles, "I got a little carried away."

“Was that ‘dealing with it like adults?’” you ask mockingly, shutting your eye as Joshua lifts the eyeshadow brush. The soft hairs dance across your eyelid as he works. Joshua's skin still smells like it did all those years ago. Warm and citrusy.

You can’t see him, but you hear the smirk in his voice. “I guess so.”

“Well, for the record, you definitely were the one being childish.” You make a sound of surprise as you feel a pair of lips against your own, fierce and hot. His teeth drag at your bottom lip as he pulls away, and you are unsuccessful at stifling the soft hiccup that escapes your throat.

“Who was the one crying just a little bit ago?” Joshua challenges you, and when you open your eyes, he’s sitting in front of you, nose just inches from your own. “Didn’t you say you don’t usually cry?”

You open your mouth, ready to shoot back a bitchy little return when you see the smirk playing on Joshua’s lips. He’s goading you on.

“That’s not fair and you know it,” you respond instead, hoping you seem nonchalant enough. (Or, at least, as much as you can be while you’re still butt-ass naked.)

Joshua laughs, and the sound is surprisingly stunning. “Since when have I ever been fair?” He hands you your little silk dress and your thong from the floor, and it almost feels silly to be putting it back on, the delicate fabric still hardly covering anything at all.

But he pouts, toying with one of the straps in between his fingers. “I’m almost sad to see you put this back on. You look so pretty all fucked up underneath me.” He gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, eyes sparkling mischievously, and you would be lying if you said your heart didn’t jump into your throat.

You scoff, eyebrows rising on your forehead. “You’ll be lucky if you see me like that again after last time.”

He frowns, his smile sinking. “Yeah…,” Joshua scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “I— I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what I was thinking—"

“It was horrible,” you interrupt. "And this," you say, gesturing to the bed, "doesn't erase that."

But Joshua does look apologetic and it was long enough ago that you’re not that mad anymore. At least, in your post-coital bliss you certainly aren’t.

Joshua sits on the bed again, grabbing your hand in his. “Come home with me. I’ll make it up to you.” He presses a tentative kiss to your cheek for extra measure.

You fight a smile, forcing yourself to frown instead. “Only if I don’t lose my job, and only if you help me cover these fucking hickies you gave me.”

Joshua smiles, and he looks so different from the Joshua you met a couple hours ago that you can’t help but smile, too.

When the crew comes back in the room, you try desperately to act as if nothing had happened, but every time Joshua looks at you, you have to suppress the girlish smile playing on your lips. The marks across your chest had been haphazardly covered with foundation, and the hair team looks bewildered as they assess the birds' nest on your head.

"What the hell did you do on your lunch break?" the stylist asks as she attacks the knots with a comb.

It takes everything in you to avoid Joshua's eye. You clap a hand to your mouth a second too late as an ugly snort bursts past your lips, and you freeze, eyes wide. Joshua grins broadly, and you turn your head, fanning your bright red face.

Later that night, as you watch Joshua’s sleeping figure in the soft moonlight, you wonder how you managed to find yourself in his bed again, and when he kisses you good morning the next day, you’re sure it won’t be the last time.

----

a/n: i have never publically shared any smut before so any feedback would be greatly appreciated!! :,) thank u for reading bae can't wait to share my next one <333

check out my other stuff! :)

#kpop #kpop imagines #seventeen #svt #seventeen smut #svt smut #svt x reader #svt imagines #joshua hong #joshua smut #hong jisoo

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huangels · 6 years

Text

i'll stay awake for you - vampire!jeno

a/n: i skipped renjun for now (reason). um i was supposed to post this last night but i literally fell asleep before i hit post fjbdjb (pls ignore typos thx bbs)

genre: fluff ?

word count: 3.8k

The stars in the night sky are nonexistent, as dense puffs of grey blanket their usual twinkle. There isn't even a moon to light the dark paths of the road, only blackness. You feel claustrophobic in the thickness of the night and soon regret not asking your older brother to give you a ride home from the local mall. You had no clue the darkness would arrive so early, texting your brother that you'll be able to walk home after buying a Halloween costume with friends. And here it is, 7:00 in the evening, and it's pitch black outside.

The chilly weather of late October doesn't help the fact you have a 20-minute walk to home. It bites at the nape of your neck, causing you to tightly wrap your long red scarf around your neck once more. The scarf only solves one problem of many as your cheeks tingle from the frosty temperature, as well as your fingers. It's a good thing you remembered to bring your coat with you or else you would've frozen to death out here.

As you walk along the deserted road, you kick along a large pebble to keep you company in the lonely night. The oval-shaped pebble bounces around on the asphalt ground until it stopped in front of something. It is too dark for you to see exactly what it is but it seems like an animal. You pull out your phone, using it as a light source. With the dim light facing the creature, you can tell it's a bat, lying on its stomach with its wings spread out on either side. The bat is still breathing as you see it pulsing slowly.

Carefully, you poke the bat with a finger, testing if it's alright. The bat lifts its right wing slightly off the ground before it falls flat on the road once again. You don't know what prompts you to save the bat but the wing motion seemed as if it's telling you it is injured. Unwrapping your scarf from your neck, you gingerly pick up the injured bat and encircle the scarf around it. Poor thing must be freezing in this weather.

You speedwalk the rest way home and beeline for the couch, placing the wrapped up bat on the cushion beside the lamp. Hopefully, it will help warm up the bat.

You stand there staring blankly at it because you have no idea what the next plan of action is. Your parents won't be home until tomorrow night and your brother is spending the night at his girlfriend's house, so you can't ask them for assistance.

Going to the only trusted resource you have, you pull out your phone and search up how to take care of a wild bat. According to the internet, bats usually eat worms and insects but it's not like you have those lying around in a jar somewhere. Recalling a documentary you'd been forced to watch in biology last year, you recall that bats also eat fruits.

You make your way to the kitchen to peel and slice a banana, placing that on a plate, along with a small bowl of water.

You set that down on the coffee table in front of the couch and hope the bat will be able to eat and drink. Debating whether to call an animal rescue, you decide to wait until tomorrow to see if the bat gets better and you can release it.

After a long day, you crash onto your bed, hair damp from your shower but you don't care at this point. Your eyelids become heavy of rest and slumber takes you away.

༄

The harsh light of the early morning peaks through the curtains of your room, causing you to stir awake. You turn your head to read the time, 7:44 AM. Too early.

Your head plops back onto the pillow before you shoot back up, remembering the incident that had unfolded last night. You quickly get ready in the bathroom before sprinting downstairs to the kitchen to check on the bat, the nearest animal rescue number already dialed on your phone.

What comes to a shock is that the bat has disappeared. Instead, laying on the couch is a boy, young but probably older than you. His jet black hair falls over his forehead, a few strands covering his eyes. He's dressed in a plain black t-shirt and jeans with a pair of converse. Wrapped around his shoulders and up to his neck is a familiar red scarf, my red scarf.

It takes you a moment to process this before you shout, "Who are you and what are you doing in my home?"

The latter bolts awake, scrambling to take in his surroundings before falling to the floor with a low grunt. You grab the closest thing to you as a defense weapon, which just so happens to be a wooden back scratcher laying on the coffee table. Way to protect yourself, Y/N.

The boy in black rubs his head with a hand, then wincing and rests it beside him. He rolls up the sleeve of his right arm, revealing a large slash over his bicep. You gasp at the sight of his injury.

"Do you need- help?" you ask with a shaky voice, not knowing if this guy is to be trusted. And it seems as if he feels the same way as he eyes you up and down. It doesn't help that you're in a defensive stance, in your baby pink pajamas, and holding out a backscratcher as a weapon. The older raises an eyebrow, "Do you have a bathroom I can use?"

Another short exclamation leaves your mouth as you spot sharp fangs sticking out from where his human canine teeth should be. With trembling arms, you motion to the downstairs bathroom by the front door. The guy sends you a nod and walks into the bathroom, closing the door behind himself before you can get another peak.

Vampire. You've seen enough movies to know what a vampire is, though you've never believed in them. Pale skin, dark eyes, black clothing, handsome, fangs- wait did I just say handsome? Either way, he must be dangerous and you wanted to call the cops, but what are you going to report? Hey, there's a vampire in my house, come arrest this supernatural creature. They'll for sure send you to the mental asylum without further explanation.

Who else would I call though? The priest? No, he isn't a demon. Ghostbusters? No, not a ghost either-. Hold on, wasn't there a bat on my couch last night? Where did it go? He didn't eat the banana. Has the injury healed and he just flew away? Wait- injury, injury on his right wing. The vampire, right arm. You finally make the connection between the bat and the boy in the bathroom. The same-?

Before you can come up with a clarification, the bathroom door pushes open and the vampire walks out with toilet paper wrapped around his wound.

"Uh- I don't think that's a good way to patch it up," you point at his right arm. The boy looks at the ground, rubbing the back of his head. His appearance is the complete opposite of the aura he exudes (or any vampire in those movies: cold and mysterious). The boy standing in front of you is embarrassed and rather confused. He still hasn't said anything after he went into the bathroom.

"I can help you bandage the wound," you suggest out of the blue, not even processing the consequences first. You can actually die.

"Thank you," the latter finally says, his voice is low and raspy but the tone of it displays shyness. You question if the vampire is at all dangerous. If he is, you would be dead and drained of blood by now, for sure.

You relax a bit, knowing you're alright, "Here, take a seat on the couch. I'll go grab the first-aid kit."

About two years ago, your older brother cut his leg while trying to help your dad with yard work and they bought this huge first-aid kit that contains everything you need for minor injuries. Your mom taught you how to use all of the tools and medicines provided just in case anything happens again. This might not be something your mother was expecting when telling you that but at least you're prepared.

You return to the boy with the large briefcase-sized kit, setting it on the coffee table and taking the seat next to him. The sleeve is already rolled up, with the toilet paper stripped from his bicep. You gently press a wet cloth on the slit. Once you cleaned the blood off of his arm, you apply some antibiotic ointment around the wound, mumbling a warning that it's going to hurt. The latter winces at the contact of the medicine.

After that, the silence returns as you continue to disinfect it. You can feel the guy stare at you as you work, so you look up to meet his gaze. He looks away with a slight tint of pink on his cheeks. From this close, he really does look like a vampire. His skin is smooth and pure as a porcelain doll, no imperfections in sight. His eyes are as dark as the night sky you've met him, only sparkling in some areas with the help of the sunrays from the nearby living room window. His eyelashes extend out and curl up at the ends, kissing the tips of his cheeks each time he blinks. His lips, rosy and glossy, pillowy even.

You shake your head and return to the injury, hoping the short pause does not get picked up by the handsome guy. In the silence, you wonder what's different between a real vampire and one shown in movies or TV shows. In films, wounds usually heal quickly due to regeneration or something but it doesn't seem to be the case since he's probably had this injury since before last night.

The silence is eating you up, you just have to ask something, anything to understand this situation, "I...I know what you are."

Silence. That wasn't the right way to say it, Y/N. You should've started with asking for his name, come on. He might not be human but at least you can be.

"I know that you're- a vampire," you clarify since there's no turning back now.

"What makes you think that?" the older stares down at you. You stop wrapping the medical bandage around his bicep.

"Smile," you challenge, with squinted eyes.

The boy chuckles with a grin, "Touche."

"Why are you so calm with the fact that I know? Are you not suppose to keep it a secret?" you question, curiously.

"Well, I am. But how am I suppose to explain me transforming from a bat to a human," he tilts his head to the side, "oh and my fangs?"

It's your turn to say, "Touche."

"My name is Jeno by the way and thank you for the help," Jeno looks down at the tightly wrapped bandage before holding a hand out.

You take it in yours for a shake, "Y/N and it's no problem. Well maybe, I didn't expect the bat I saved to be a human too."

"If you didn't save me last night, I don't think I would've lived," Jeno stares at his hands, twiddling them. That's probably true, considering the large slash on his arm (or wing) and the freezing temperature of the late winter night.

"May I ask- how did you end up like that?"

"It was a dark and hazy night, and I flew right into a barbed fence. I tried to get to somewhere safe but landed on the ground. My vision blurred after seeing a figure, you, in a bright red scarf."

You eye the said scarf laying on the couch, you're glad you can save Jeno. You continue to ask questions about being a vampire out of curiosity, and you're beyond glad that Jeno isn't taken aback by all of your meddlings. You've learned that movie vampires and real vampires are totally different. For one, real vampires can't heal as fast as ones in the movies but they can heal small injuries. Ones like that large cut from the sharp fence are too intense for his immune system to handle, hence not being able to heal it quickly. You've also learned that Jeno cannot go out into the sun and he's more than 60 years old, which is young for the vampires he lives with.

But there is just one question that's burning to be asked, "Do you drink blood...?"

Jeno visibly tenses at the question and you fear you've gone too overboard with your inquiries. However, the latter sighs before answering, "Yes."

You don't know how to respond, remaining silent beside Jeno.

He continues, "But I only drink animal blood or blood provided by my- brother."

"You drink from your brother?" you reply, exasperated. It's more of a demand rather than a question this time.

Jeno waves his hands, eyes wide, "No, no! Not like that! He's a vampire too, he's actually not my blood-related brother but he takes care of me. His name is Taeyong, he takes care of a whole group of us vampires."

You nod in response, glad to hear that Jeno isn't the type to go around killing people for blood.

"So do you have to go back to him?" There is a slight disappointment in your tone, hoping Jeno can't sense it.

"Yeah, once the sun has set. But he's not too far from your home, actually he lives in the same neighborhood."

"Wait, I live in the same neighborhood with a bunch of vampires?"

"Eighteen to be exact, counting me."

"Well, tonight is Halloween. So I can walk you there, if you want that is."

Jeno shares a bright smile, his eyes forming lovely crescents on his face. It decorates his complexion beautifully. "Of course, I'll introduce them to you, too!"

There's a warmness in your body, it spreads like fire but isn't as intense as the hostile element. Instead, it's mellow and refreshing, bringing a radiant smile upon your face as well.

"So what's your Halloween costume?" Jeno wonders, now more comfortable with you after the three or four hours of bonding (and bandaging...and saving his life).

You criss-cross your legs to face Jeno with a chuckle, "funny enough, a vampire."

"No way, you're joking," Jeno leans back onto the couch. You reach for the bag left by the coffee table last night from your shopping trip, pulling out the vampire costume. It consists of a black Victorian (with a modern twist) dress, fishnets, a black cape, and fangs.

Jeno scoffs, "This is vampire-ist."

You raise an eyebrow at the older, stifling a giggle.

"Vampires are never dressed in black and fishnets," Jeno motions towards the dress.

"Aren't you wearing all black right now?" you tease, leaning forward at Jeno.

He breaks the eye contact, ears burnt red, "At least I don't have on fishnets."

"I'll give you that one," you return to your regular sitting position.

༄

The clock perched up above your couch reads 7:06 PM. You don't even realize that hours have passed while talking with Jeno. You're just so engrossed in the way he talks, his voice, and his expressions. They're all such a contrast from each other; his voice is deep and rich, his expressions are light and happy like a child, and the way he talks makes you feel soft and warm, with how he speaks about his friends, his past 60 or so years, his experiences with the different decades, and so on. Just listening to him puts you at ease. And you just can't help but stare. His sharp eyebrows leaning into the crook of his tall nose, separating his bright expression-filled eyes and under them, his prominent cheekbones, leading down to his chiseled jaw and connecting to his pointed chin, just below his kissable smooth lips.

It's weird for you to feel this way towards someone you had just met. Maybe it's the vampire aura that draws you in, like in the movies. A compulsion type of feeling. And whatever it was, you knew you had to see Jeno again.

༄

Jeno lets you get ready for Halloween as you lead him to the kitchen for something to eat (he can still eat human foods but it doesn't fill him up as much). You also throw him an extra cape that was for your brother, "Vampire twins!"

It doesn't take long for you to put on your costume. It's just a simple dress and cape. You omit the fishnets since they are too difficult to get into, but replace them with black tights because the weather is far below chilly. Slipping into your black combat boots and throwing a black jacket (to match the vampire theme here) over, you quickly throw on some back smudged eyeliner and red lipstick. Finally, you add the fangs.

Jeno is sitting on the kitchen counter with his small cape, eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, when you pop up from behind to scare him. The latter drops his sandwich on the plate before letting out a deep screech.

"Let's go get spooked!" you call, skipping to the front door as Jeno sends you a playful glare.

The setting is just as dark as it was last night but it isn't as lonely anymore, whether it'd be because of the hundreds of families and friends walking around surrounded by brightly lit Halloween decorations or that Jeno is by your side, mouth hanging at the multitudes of decorations and horror-themed costumes. You steal quick glances at him, smiling at how cute he reacts to Halloween.

"Have you never been out on Halloween before?" you question Jeno.

It takes a moment before Jeno returns to your question, "I haven't, I've only heard about it on TV."

You dip your head, as if asking him why. It seems like the latter understood your little action.

"Taeyong doesn't want us to get lost or scared," Jeno adds with a nervous chuckle. You resist the urge to squeeze his cheeks as his eye smile makes a comeback.

"Then, let me show you around!"

You grab his hand in yours, leading him to a street where the houses decorate their yards with the most effort, with their own homemade haunted houses and such. Throughout the Halloween experience, Jeno has never let go of your hand, holding it tightly when he gets jump scared by a decoration or costume. You give him a quick squeeze of assurance and draw him closer.

It's hilarious that Jeno is some supernatural blood-drinking beast and he gets frightened by a clown pop-up machine. Though, of course all clowns are terrifying and even you have let out multiple screams from that.

After both of you being scared to death, you decide to take a break and bring him trick or treating. "Ok, so you hold out this bucket and say 'trick or treat' and they'll give you candy!"

Jeno looks puzzled but followed my lead. We rang the doorbell, waiting for the owner to answer. You flash Jeno a small smile as the door opens revealing a woman in a mummy costume. "Trick or treat!"

"Wow two cute vampires, here you go." The nice woman drops a handful of candy in both of your buckets. You wish her a Happy Halloween and leave the premise of her home as Jeno follows along.

"See, not too bad?" you softly elbow Jeno on the arm. The older lets out a chuckle before agreeing. The both of you continue to trick or treat for another hour, stacking up so much candy that you can't fit any more in your buckets.

The night is coming to an end as the streets empty out of little kids, and the moon is highly perched up in the twilight sky. Your smile fades as you two walk in the direction of Jeno's home and Jeno mirrors your dim expression.

You finally reach the door of Jeno's grand home, a lot larger than the one you live in. Jeno turns to you with a curl of his lips, "Thank you so much, Y/N. You have no idea how much you've done for me in a short 24 hours."

It feels like a permanent goodbye even though you live 5-minutes by foot away from Jeno, "Of course, Jeno. And I'd do it again."

Jeno draws his arms around your frame, taking you by surprise before you return the hug, your head resting comfortably on his shoulder. Despite being a cold-blooded creature, his hug is warm and soothing. You can feel his heart pumping rapidly against your own chest, or maybe that's your heart.

"So who's your little friend, Jeno?" A voice breaks the contact as you both jump back in shock. At the now opened door stands a towering and handsome man, a lot older than Jeno. His dark blue-tinted hair is long, hanging over his face.

"This is Y/N, my- friend," Jeno introduces as you slightly bow as a sign of respect. You have no idea how to greet vampires, especially since you've never met one until today. The man remains in his position, leaning against the door, with a look that you're unable to decipher. Before you can react, the taller man pulls you into a brotherly bear hug, a smile spreading across his heart-shaped face.

"Welcome Y/N! It's nice to finally meet a friend of Jeno's, though it seems like he doesn't have any," the man jokes, patting Jeno in the back, "My name is Johnny."

The panic that once filled your head now dissipates at how friendly Jeno's family is. However, Jeno looks quite embarrassed at the interaction by your side.

"Oh, I'll let you two- continue with what you left off," Johnny sends a cheeky wink to the both of you before disappearing behind the front door. Yet, you know he's still listening on the other side of the door.

"I'm sorry about him, he's so embarrassing," Jeno speaks first after Johnny leaves, a hand scratching at the back of his neck. You chuckle at Jeno's flustered state, how cute.

"What did you say?" The smile plastered on your face knocks right off. Did I say that out loud?

"What?" you play dumb, "Nothing. I didn't say anything."

"No, you called me cute, I heard it."

Curse those heightened vampire senses.

After going back and forth on what you said (since the both of you are too stubborn to back down), Johnny had to come back out to tell Jeno that it's time for dinner. Though, he said dinner with obvious air quotes, which causes Jeno to get even more embarrassed. You make Jeno promise to visit you during dawn and hang out, "I'll stay awake for you."

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failedaned · 2 years

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Dudes... I'm back (TW:ED)

I was doing okay i guess of course I was always thinking about starving and stuff but i was eating and working out, doin yoga, meditating and then somewhere along the way i just started going down a hill and didn't do that stuff as much. I got pet turkeys...which also around the time i stopped but its also around the time state testing started so maybe I'm just doing too much at once like these turkeys are a lot lol and we all know testing is a lot but that with still having essays/homework to do and chores and trying to make care of myself low key I'm kind of tired. I feel fat and disgusting right now...i went to go eat and my mom asked me to change my nieces poopy diaper (sorry,TMI?) But i told her to lemme eat first I'll be quick but then she said you've been eating all day...guess i have been...since it's like 3 in the afternoon and i woke up at 7 so i had breakfast and lunch then i had a snack with my niece because she's a child and was bugging for food and yeah it felt like a lot but honestly it wasn't...before I'd really only eat an egg if i were feeling it and that felt like a lot and my mom thinks having one meal a day is enough like bish i have to run and lift weights because i technically really dont have a choice but i dont mind she just does house mom shut so she can get through the day without dying but now i want ti go back to practically dying the o ly thing that changed was my mood and my hair is fuller. My skin is bad my nails are bad i still feel disgusting which actually makes my mood ha and my hair is still dry just fuller which just until i lose weight i think I'd rsther deal with it so for this last week i will stare even though we have testing it's only English so it won't be hard also it usually doesn't start until a few days in so it should be enough for me to think through a test, i just want to be skinny but no purging or anything just a little calorie counting and restricting...i had a nice little vacation even though I mostly maintained i still gained and feel fatter and i really hate it but i hope y'all will welcome me back with open arms and even though my recovery was a failure the first time i hope the next time is successful and i hope you guys succeed too, you now, without actually dying lol sorry UHM anyway I'm just not gonna eat for the rest of today just drink water because i already ate enough and it's getting late anyway. Tomorrow I'm gonna clean so it'll be a while with no eating :))

#just ed stuff #tw eating things

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leigh-kelly · 7 years

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In Everything That's Light and Gay, I'll Always Think of You That Way

#brittana #fire island brittana #starlight!verse

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esamastation · 7 years

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slow and abrupt change, 2

Graves runs a hand over his face, looking down to the images spread across his desk.

The whole Grindelwald debacle is more or less untangled now and he is vaguely ashamed of his department. Grindelwald was a powerful, brilliant wizard, true enough, and his act had been damn close to perfect. Those that had noticed anything amiss had been swiftly had their mind changed by the madman, and yet…

The longer he looks at the list of people who had noticed anything, the shorter it seems. The Goldstein sisters, a junior Auror who Graves hadn't even known the name of, only one of the entire team of obliviators – the executors. Picquery had refused to be mentally screened for manipulation, as was her right as the President, but judging by her expression at the time the answer was obvious.

It's a small wonder Grindelwald hadn't done more damage than he already had. Strange to think of it, but they were lucky the man had aimed to be subtle – until he didn't.

With his lone perfectly functioning hand, graves shifted the images around until he found the one they had of the obscurial – Credence Barebone. The boy stands hunched and awkward in dim light of the image, unmoving – a nomaj picture. He looks a little like a beaten animal. Apparently not far from the truth.

According to Auror Goldstein, there had been… a relationship.

Mercy Lewis, what a mess.

There's a knock on his office door and Graves glances up. "Come in," he calls and his secretary peeks in carefully.

"Um, sir – I'm about to head home for the night," Ms. Cole says carefully. "Is there something you need?"

Graves eyes her for a moment. He doesn't know her – Grindelwald had fired his original secretary and replaced her with someone far less competent. It's not Ms. Cole's fault – she'd only taken the job offered to her and she probably did best she could with it. But she was no Mrs. Lockwood.

"No, there's nothing," Graves says at last and looks down. "I expect I'll be heading out soon myself. You may go, Ms. Cole. Good night."

"Good night, sir," she pipes nervously and then ducks out of the office, banging it slightly in her haste to get away.

Graves smothers a sigh, shaking his head. It wasn't her fault, but he would have to get rid of her sooner or later and she probably knew it. The typing pool might have here, if she was good at it, but she was painfully unsuitable for him. Well. Another thing to consider later.

Standing up he starts putting the papers back into their folders, compiling everything slowly and methodically with one hand. He could have done it fast with a single flick of his wand, he knows, but doing it by hand gives him time to think. For a while he wonders if he should bring the folders home with him, to peruse later on, to give himself more time to wrap his head around the whole enormous mess of it…

But he's never brought his work home with him and he's not about to start now, no matter how much easier it would be to have that to distract himself.

So in the end Graves puts the folders away and locks his desk. He then spends a moment checking over his office – everything is in order here at least, Grindelwald had known better than to make a mess of his public appearance. He isn't sure if he appreciates it.

Silent, Graves locks his office and heads out, walking through the dark offices and towards the elevators. He'll walk tonight, he decides as he passes the fireplaces. Take his time with it, get used to being out and about again.

And if he's doing everything in his power avoid going home for as long as he can, well, that's his problem.

"Good evening, sir," Red greets him at the elevators. "Heading home?"

"Evening," Graves greets him and steps into the elevator. For a moment he entertains the thought of asking, did you notice anything. He swallows it, like he has swallowed it with every other person in MACUSA he's met since coming back as it were. "The first floor if you please, Red," he says instead and tries not to sway. Less than thirty steps and his knee is already starting to pound with pain.

"Right you are, sir," the goblin says and hits the right button.

Thankfully Red does him the courtesy of not bothering with small talk, and the elevator ride is blissfully free of social interaction. When the elevator pulls to a halt, the goblin merely opens the doors for him and simply bids him goodnight.

"Till tomorrow, Red," Graves says and limps out of the elevator.

He's been so late in the office that the forayer is almost empty and the few people there look like they're in hurry to head home. Few bid him wary good night, but no one stops to talk with him for which he is immensely grateful. The leg is quickly getting worse. Maybe walking wasn't such a good idea after all.

He's just about to head out when a voice tentatively calls, "Director Graves?" from somewhere to the side. Graves looks up with a slight frown and there is Mr. Scamander, sitting on one of the benches looking at the Salem Memorial.

"Mr. Scamander," Graves says slowly as he shifts his weight off the aching knee.. "You're up and about late."

"I could say the same about you," the man says and bounces to his feet. He's an awkward thing, Mr. Scamander, standing up a little hunched like he's trying to make himself small, never meeting anyone's eyes. "I, ah, I have something for you but I wasn't sure…" the man mumbles and then turns back to the bench.

Graves arches an eyebrow. It looks a little like the man had all but camped there – he has at least four notebooks out, and writing utensils – an actual quill, it's stem bent at an angle. The infamous suitcase is there too, of course, sitting on floor, looking almost innocent. "How long have you been waiting?" Graves asks. "If you had something for me, you could have had it brought to my office."

"Well, ah, the thing is –" Mr. Scamander mumbles and stacks up his notebooks, tucking them under his arm before shoving the quill and ink bottle in his coat pocket. He leaves a smear of ink across his fingers as he does it. "I really couldn't – and since they refused to let me in again, ah… It's just something I really should hand over in person. And explain. In length."

"Alright," Graves says slowly. "What is it then?"

Mr. Scamander looks up at him – at his tie – hesitantly. "The… swooping evil venom?"

Graves stares at him – and then he remembers. "Mr. Scamander – I was joking," he says slowly. Well, he had been half joking – wistfully joking, really. Would if he could, he might very well use something like that, and just… wipe away the last couple of months, just erase them from his memory. But he can't.

He's the Director of Magical Security, he can't just go tampering with his own mind. Especially not now.

"Oh," Scamander says and looks down, frowning uncertainly. "Ah, I… sometimes I can't tell," he murmurs and turns away. "Well, I guess I'll just…"

"Did you really prepare the venom for me just because I asked you to?" Graves asks curiously.

Scamander nods, obviously embarrassed. "It didn't cost me anything and sometimes being able to forget is one of the nicest things you can have," he says. "I certainly wouldn't judge someone for going for that option."

Well that's a telling statement. Especially in the light of the knowledge that the man had tested and experimented on himself with the damn stuff. "Right," Graves says slowly. "How often, exactly, have you used that stuff on yourself, Mr. Scamander?"

The man shakes his head, opening his suitcase and dropping his notebooks inside. Graves half expects to hear a clatter of them tumbling down the ladder – but there's nothing, and the magizoologist closes the suitcase again. "I haven't used it myself beyond testing it," Scamander says and takes the suitcase in hand. "But there have been people, and creatures, I dearly wish I could've given it to."

Graves nods slowly and Scamander fiddles with the suitcase nervously. "Well," the Brit says. "I'll… just be off your hair then. I'm sorry for the… the misunderstanding."

"Mr. Scamander, wait," Graves sighs before the man can head off. "I… appreciate the sentiment," he offers, because he honestly does. It's more than anyone else has given to him – better than all the empty platitudes and apologies. "I'm sorry I put you through such trouble."

"Oh, it wasn't trouble at all – I mean, I literally have this stuff just… lying around," Scamander says and then frowns at his suitcase like he's not sure if he should be saying it to the Director of MagSec. He clears his throat and glances up. "I suppose you're heading home then. Am I keeping you?"

Graves' fingers twitch and he's not entirely sure what about the words strikes the chord, home, or the earnest way Scamander speaks it with, but suddenly Graves wants nothing less than to go home. "No, I was… heading out to get a late dinner, actually," he lies and looks at the man. "Would you like to accompany me? My treat – as apology for misleading you."

Scamander startles at that and actually, astonishingly, meets his eyes. "Um, really?" he asks uncertainly.

"I am actually curious about the swooping evil venom," Graves offers. "Seeing that we have very few studies on it, I'd like to know what sort of… results have you had with it."

"Oh, well, I can definitely do that," Scamander says, still looking at him unsurely. But it's not the wary guilt that seems to permeate the entire MACUSA of late – it's more personal. Not a man who eats out a lot, it seems.

"Come on," Graves says and turns to leave. "I know just the place and it's not far."

"Alright," Scamander says and follows.

Eating out with Mr. Scamander turns out to be a both unusual and surprisingly pleasant experience. The man is a little uncertain with the setting, nervous with the other patrons and he all but flinches away from the waitress as she brings them the menus, but aside from that me makes decent enough dinner companion.

It turns out the reason Scamander isn't concerned about the borderline criminal misconducts of MACUSA and the whole Grindelwald debacle is because he leads frankly terrifying life. And, apparently, he met the swooping evil when it tried to devour his brain.

"Well, that's swooping evils for you, the name is a bit harsh but not without cause," the man says, fiddling with the menu. "That was when I got the inkling of the venom's effects too – she bit me, you see, and the effect was very fascinating. After I'd captured it I asked the locals about it and they had the most interesting stories."

Of having their brains almost eaten, Graves wonders dubiously while spreading the napkin over his lap. "I can imagine," he says, though his imagination is coming up with some gruesome pictures. "So you captured the creature and extracted it's venom?"

"Well not at first – I had to figure out alternative diet for her, as well as a habitat – well that in the end wasn't necessary, but regardless. It took some time before I came round to testing the venom," Scamander says and peers at the menu. "After that I worked on proper dilution. One to ten turned out to be about right."

"And the effect is permanent?" Graves asks.

"Has been so far," Scamander answers. "I wrote down all the memories I knew I'd lose, I even took them out and stored them in phials for a while – but without a pensive, they eventually faded. I haven't gotten them back – all though I have gained some peripheral recollections that were less unhappy."

"Unhappy?"

"The venom erases specifically bad memories," Scamander says and looks up. "That is the only reason I dared to even attempt it on an entire city – and as it is that solution was diluted even further, so it only covered only recent memories, over the last day or two."

Graves nods slowly, glancing over his menu and then setting it down. "Have you had any other side effects to it, aside from the memory loss?"

"Not that I know of," Scamander says and glances up. "You know, diluted even further and mixed properly with other agents, it might have dampening effect on bad, traumatic experiences. Not a total erasure but rather more natural… softening."

Graves frowns a little at that, looking at him – making the man quickly look down. How much had the man figured out, how much did he see? "You know you really shouldn't be tempting the Director of Magical Security to use untested, mind altering potions," he says, with some amusement.

"Probably not," Scamander agrees, embarrassed, and all but hides behind his menu.

Graves smiles a little at it. So sincere. "What else have you tested on yourself?" he asks with interest.

Scamander glances up and he looks a little flushed now. "Oh, little this and that," he says and then offers a smile. "But I probably shouldn't be talking about any of it to the Director of Magical Security either."

The waitress comes around again and they order – Graves going for order of tomato soup while Scamander orders roast beef.

The Brit then looks over the menu again and then shakes his head and sets it down. "Strange, to have dinner with no wine," he explains with a shrug.

"We could go to a speakeasy," Graves offers and smiles slightly at the face Scamander makes at the suggestion. "Perhaps not, then."

Scamander smiles sheepishly and then glances at him, at his arm in the slight. "May I ask why that hasn't been healed?" he asks quietly.

"It was," Graves says. "As much as it could be. The bones were… damaged rather badly," he says, by which he means that his arm was hanging on by a thread and couple days more and it would've had to be amputated. "There are limits to how far you can push a bone to heal with magic – rest the body has to do on it's own, or so the healers say."

"I suspected it was something like that," Scamander says, looking thoughtful. "Should you be working, with that level of injury?"

Graves' fingers curl into a fist before he can stop them, and quickly he relaxes his hand again. "My department is a mess," he says with a scowl. "The longer I wait the worse it will get. Better sort it out as quickly as we can so we can start dealing with the aftermath."

Scamander eyes his arm for a moment and then looks down. "I wish I could help."

"You're not even a citizen," Graves says and shakes his head. "There's no need for you to feel obligation. If anything, you've already gone above and beyond."

Scamander glances up at him, frowning a little. "You don't accept help from anyone, do you?"

Graves pauses at that, looking at him. Scamander holds his gaze for a moment before dropping his and Graves arches his eyebrow at him. "I don't ask for help, no. I'm a Director. I delegate," he says and straightens the front of his waistcoat a little.

He half expects the accusation, the not quite helpful note of well if you did then maybe you wouldn't get replaced so easily. No one had said it so far, but he keeps hearing it echoing in the back of his head, murmured in Grindelwald's smiling tones, oh Percival why would anyone notice? It's not as if anyone knows you…

The Brit says nothing of the sort, just looks at the table between them awkwardly.

"I'm sorry," Graves offers.

"No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't –" Scamander says and shakes his head, looking up. "It's not my place. I apologise."

Graves shakes his head and sighs. "No, it's… alright," he says and looks away, at the restaurant around it. It's not his favourite by far, but he enjoys the atmosphere of casualness it has. It's mostly a magical restaurant, but it's dressed up as nomaj one – most of the staff are squibs. It gives it a certain feel you can't quite get elsewhere.

Idly he wonders if Grindelwald ever came here, looking like him.

"Grindelwald kept me trapped in my own house," Graves says after a while, his voice low. "Days went by when I didn't even see him – only time he came around was to extract memories and to collect ingredients for his polyjuice potion. I fought him, I kept fighting him. I almost died several times… but he needed me alive."

Scamander gives him a wide eyed look and Graves grits his teeth, embarrassed. It's nothing he hasn't told before – he'd written it all down in his statement. But somehow it's different… to just tell it, rather than to report it. Shaking his head Graves looks down. "I can't stand the thought of going back into that house. Nothing's changed there, he didn't so much as smash a plate, but…"

But he can't breathe there anymore. The air chokes him.

"That's why I'm working," he says and then takes a breath and looks away – the waitress is there, with their plates.

Scamander looks wildly between him and the waitress who, sensing the atmosphere, smiles briefly at them as she sets the plates down. "Roast beef and tomato soup," she says. "I hope you enjoy your dinner."

"We will, thank you very much," Graves says, his voice a little rough, and then she's off and they got food between them to distract them.

Scamander fiddles with his fork and knife for a moment and then cuts into his beef. "Has anyone gone there with you?" he asks, piling the meat into his fork.

Graves glances up at him from his soup and then smiles wryly. "Mr. Scamander, are you asking me to take you home with me?" he asks, amused.

Scamander ducks his head a little, his face going a little red. "Well… yes. I am."

#fanfiction #fbawtft #original percival graves #newt scamander #gramander #au #newt x graves #graves x newt #torture aftermath

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