#Ah cringing at my own writing as I read it over

[dragonidpyrus12]

Here's a bit from Be Somebody that nobody asked for since I've been starting to re-watch genrex and trying to make the plot for what comes next. Moreso filling in the gaps between the current point and the climax of the story. Whether I'm going to be able to wake up the muse or not is another story 😭

Turning on the side and letting out a mumbled groan, Ben rubbed his eyes before sitting up, his legs hanging from the side of the bed like usual.

He brought his hands to his face, feeling the slightly accentuated bags underneath his eyes. Having nightmares only tormented his poor sleep schedule even more, despite getting considerably more sleep here, in Rex's dimension, than his own.

Opening his eyes, Ben left his hands fall in his lap as he realized he was feeling the floor under his feet, events of the previous night flooding right back in his mind. He looked around the bed he was in, and up at the higher bed above him, finding no one there.

Until finally, as he glanced around the room, his eyes landed on Rex.

The teen ended up falling asleep on the couch, standing upright with his back leaning on it, arms crossed. Ben got up on his feet and walked over, looked at the boy's peaceful sleeping face as his chest rose and fell with each silent breath.

[hivemuthur]

Hi Anon(s)! I'm intermingling the request and prompt into one:

Filth, Unspoken

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! you know the drill, they end up doing stuff by the end of this. The premise is: Reader secretly writes love letters and poems to Viktor and one day she accidentally slips him some. From warnings: massive cringe warning regarding my attempt at poetry :v

word count: 4,1K

author’s note: Remember when I said that sometimes I need to remind myself that I can publish anything because nobody has my address and won't come and boycott me in real life? I had to do it ten times harder with this. You don't like my poems? High five, I don't either :') Viktor does tho, hehe :v @rennethen as usual thank you for beta reading and surviving :v

artist on X

—

Chaos. The only word capable of describing your day. From the frantic oversleeping—jumping around your bedroom while picking up yesterday’s clothes—to the rushed, half-hearted teeth cleaning your dentist would surely condemn, to breakfast consisting of a single apple, to bumping into Sky and painfully clashing foreheads, to nearly stumbling over the threshold of Heimerdinger’s classroom. And then, the realisation: you’ve forgotten your textbook.

You’re forced to borrow the classroom copy, the one Heimerdinger keeps for emergencies. Poor book—barely holding together, its pages threatening to break free from their loose stitching, stained and scrawled on by generations of equally forgetful students.

In the middle of a page, you spot a tiny drawing of Viktor, ink bleeding into the text you’re supposed to be reading. He’s hunched over a desk, his back abruptly cut off by the edge of the paper, his hair reduced to sketchy, heavy-handed strokes. And yet, it’s undeniably him. Signed J.T.—Jayce, you assume. Around the drawing, various hearts have been added in different inks and handwritings, a quiet chorus of affection from students past. No wonder the book is so worn. You smile to yourself—you’re not the only one, it would seem.

Your eyes flick to where he sits, finding him in the exact same position, only now with the full curve of his back visible. The eraser end of a pencil rests between his lips, his gaze blank as he stares off, lost in thought. You imagine it’s something else entirely that finds its way into his mouth.

Slowly, you draw your own heart next to his tiny, sketched lips.

The lecture blurs as the last of your adrenaline fades. Secretive yawns slip through as Heimerdinger’s monotonous voice grows heavier, pressing your eyelids shut. Eventually, you succumb, head resting against your hand.

The next thing you know, a warm hand presses firmly against your forearm, and your name is murmured close to your cheek, laced with the scent of coffee and something sweet. You lean into it before you can think better of it.

“I must admit, I agree with your review,” Viktor mutters, far too close to your lips for your pupils not to dilate.

There’s a stupid look on your face, and he must notice, because he adds, “Eh. Not the most thrilling lecture, I suppose.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know. Damn, I barely took any notes,” you whine, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

Viktor chuckles, clearly mistaking the heat in your cheeks for lingering drowsiness rather than the way his closeness sets your pulse stumbling. You’re still leaning toward him, caught between the haze of waking and the warmth of his voice.

“I have a free period now,” he offers. “We can go through them together.”

For a fleeting second, you consider lying—mumbling a heated yes, forsaking another lecture only to spend some time in his proximity and get a good whiff of his scent. But a nagging sense of duty wins over the frantic thrum in your chest.

You fidget, pushing yourself up from your seat too fast, nearly toppling over in the process. “Ah—next class—I have to—” Papers crumple under your fingers as you shove them into your bag with all the grace of a landslide.

Viktor watches you with quiet amusement. He has seen this flustered scramble before—usually when someone is running late or, occasionally, when someone is running from him. But he isn’t one to give up easily.

“If you do not have time,” he says smoothly, “I can review the notes myself.”

You pause, blinking at him. “You’d really do that?”

“Mm.” He tilts his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I like collecting favours.”

Still not entirely awake, you dig through your bag and pull out a stack of papers. It’s not a particularly pleasant sight—edges curled, some pages crumpled beyond saving, a coffee stain blooming across the corner of one sheet like a spreading bruise. You give him an apologetic shrug.

Viktor takes them without hesitation, his smile turning playful. “I do like a challenge.” He taps the stack against the desk to straighten it. “I will drop them off later?”

Your brain is still catching up to the fact that you just handed over your notes—your disaster of a note-taking system—to Viktor, of all people.

“Uh. Yeah. Sure.” The words leave your mouth before you can rethink them, and by the time you do, Viktor is already slipping the papers into his bag with a satisfied little hum.

And so you go your separate ways, the needy thing in your chest both sated and still starving, your mind already drifting to what the evening might bring. You wrap your fingers around your forearm where Viktor’s hand rested for a moment, itching to roll up your sleeve and inspect the skin beneath.

All this time, you’ve been pouring your heart out onto sheets of paper that no one has seen. Technically, Sky once found one you accidentally used as a napkin—deeming it trash after you’ve read it back to yourself, mortified. You snatched it from her hand and shoved it deep into the bin. Thankfully, it was a tame one.

Love letters, poems, confessions—all of them left unseen. For someone so secretive about your little crush, you take surprisingly few security measures. You stuff them under your pillow, into your drawers, sometimes into your pockets, books, or notes you carry around in your bag. Or, they become an eventual napkin, but that has only happened once so far.

You should probably keep them safer. But the thought vanishes the moment you sit down for your next class, forcing yourself into the focused state you need to brace through the lab exercise. Occasionally, your mind drifts back to later.

Viktor, true to his word, spends the period back at his dorm, where all the notes he might need are. He sets up at his desk, intending to correct your scribblings and annotate what you might have missed, only to realise soon after that this won’t be a one-sitting job. How you’ve been passing your classes eludes him.

It’s pure chaos incarnate. What starts as notes on one page quickly devolves into a caricature of Heimerdinger, his poro gnawing at his foot, before abruptly resuming a page later. He chuckles at your commentary—hastily scribbled words underlined whenever boredom struck: yawn, no idea what this man is talking about, kill me.

Until it’s no longer chaos. His eyes fixate on a small sheet of paper wedged between your class materials. A poem. No mistake here. But what kind of poem is this? Has this bloomed under your pen? He reads the first two verses, convincing himself it’s to identify your handwriting.

when you brush my fingers I don’t wash my hands

And there is no mistake here either. He places the sheet face down on his desk, looking around as if anyone might be there to spy on him. He steadies himself with a deep breath before peeking back in.

your touch lingers, stains my skin seeps into every tender place I press against in the dark it’s cruel, how you favour my left hand how you never take the right— the one I slip between my thighs the one that does you no justice, I’m sure

Your words pour into him, his mind racing as he imagines you saying them. Writing them, tapping your chin with your pen at your desk—or better yet, in your bed. Or have you written this in class? Heart begins to thump loudly in his temples as he re-reads the poem a couple of times, each pass making his cheeks hotter. He tries to focus on the words, imagining you, wondering who you’ve written this for. By the time he’s forced to pack up for his next class, his hair is dishevelled from running a hand through it too many times. He eyes the rest of your notes suspiciously, his mind racing.

After lectures, he’d like nothing more than to run back to his dorm, but instead, he walks briskly, the thought of your writings nagging at him. The stack of papers teases at his mind, and as he turns the corner, a sudden impulse hits him—what if he searched the rest of the notes?

He sits down faster than he would admit to anyone and begins to go through the papers, one by one. It doesn’t take long to identify another hold-withered sheet, folded in half unevenly, which he opens with excited hands.

I fall asleep drunk on the whiskey of your eyes and the promise of your teeth I dream of the mark your cane leaves on my ass

Stop. Can’t be. He twists the cane in his fingers and falls against the chair’s backrest. Head lulls back on his shoulders and a hand comes to cover his mouth. Can’t be, so he reads the whole thing again.

I fall asleep drunk on the whiskey of your eyes and the promise of your teeth I dream of the mark your cane leaves on my ass make it red make it many every night, I regret that I cannot kiss where past life lovers have kissed you— under your eye, above your mouth

Zatraceně, Viktor thinks. He runs his fingers across the mark under his eye, then the one above his lip. Still, can't be, can it? Every blush, every fidgeting of hands he mistook for your general anxiety—was it all him?

Every time you’ve shied away from his eyes or slipped from under his touch. His mind races through your interactions, trying to remember how many times he’s touched your left hand. Countless. Unbelievable, how blind a smart man can be.

With trembling hands, he fumbles through the rest of the stack. And as if he weren’t sure enough already, a tiny piece of parchment, presumably ripped from one of your notebooks, glares at him with his name scribbled in loving letters.

Fuck me, Viktor. I don’t want to die— Untouched by you, Unfucked by you, Unruined by you, Unmade in the way only you could.

Such words, coming from under your wrist, unthinkable. He finds his collar tight and his mind foggy as he reads all three of them over and over. Images of your lips reciting the poems flood his brain. Then, images of your lips doing other things.

He loosens his tie, after a while discards it completely. Determined to finish what he promised, he goes through the rest of your notes, thankfully finding no other filthy scribbles. Or unluckily.

He considers completing the task tomorrow, but there’s no use. His cock is relentlessly stiff, and if he doesn’t hand you your filth back, he will most likely stay awake until the morning. When the knock lands on your door, it's late, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t waiting.

“Hello,” says Viktor, and he looks… tired. His clothes are dishevelled, his hair a mess, and his cheeks are faintly flushed. He looks pretty, too.

“Hi, um… am I this unreadable?” You wince, eyeing the notes in Viktor’s hand, which look somewhat neater than you remember.

You have no idea, he thinks. “Eh, it was a little bit… challenging, but everything should be here,” Viktor says, hesitating before passing you the stack. “Can I come in?”

You step away faster than you can say yes. Then, you take the notes from his hand and put them on the table, looking at him expectantly. “Well?”

This time it’s Viktor fidgeting, and it gets you mildly self-conscious. He turns to you, then eyes the stack on the table. “You have an interesting way of cataloguing knowledge,” he chooses to say.

“What… do you mean?” you ask, and feel your heart stop, drop out of your chest, and stumble to the floor. For a moment, you feel bloodless, before all this blood comes rushing up to your face with an ice-cold gush.

“I might have stumbled upon some of your… eh, original work, so to speak?” he offers and smiles of all things. Curiosity lingers in his eyes, and you swallow, hard.

“Original… oh, fuck.” you exhale sharply, and your hand shots up to cover your mouth.

“You are very talented. I know not much of poetry, but—”

“Poetry?! Gods, these are the worst!” You rub your temples, mortified, eyes flicking to the floor, desperately trying to hide your embarrassment.

“There’s more?” he asks, bewildered. This is the most animated he’s seen you… perhaps, ever. Always quiet. Always shy around him. How interesting.

“Viktor, I beg you,” before you know it, you fist his shirt, and your face is inches away from his. Your cheeks burn and your temples hammer with the rhythm of your heart. “Don’t mock me. Which ones have you read?”

The proximity moves something within him, and suddenly, the images of your lips come back to him. Of you, begging for his cane against your ass and his cock in your mouth, and it’s thrilling.

His hands come to rest on your hips, and a chill runs down your spine when a smirk blooms on his face. “What can I say… forgive me for favouring your left hand. I shall fix my mistake.”

“Oh gods, I’m going to die,” you lament, covering your face and pulling away, but Viktor’s grip tightens.

“Wait! Wait,” he pleads, pulling you close, cane pokes between your shoulder blades. “You cannot die yet,” he whispers, and it doesn’t take you long to connect the dots. All the blood thriving and gushing under the skin of your face immediately drains when his mouth comes to your ear and he hums, “Not before I touch you.” A breath gets trapped in your throat when his hand slides up your side to wrap around your neck. “Not before I… fuck you,” he whispers against your lips and waits for your reaction. “Or ruin you,” comes last and well, almost ruins you there, on the spot.

Then, he stills and just stares into your eyes. Wide and frightened, you search his—pupils black and huge, eating up the gold to the rim. “Unless… your writing is of the past. Or untrue.”

Feeling the weight of his scrutiny, you surrender. “It’s not,” you murmur, your voice so small it’s barely there. You don’t dare look at him, so you miss the way his lips curl into an amused smile. “Which ones did you read exactly?”

“Oh? Are the themes reoccurring?” Viktor asks, tilting his head, his tone deceptively innocent.

You let out a weak, mortified whine, and before you can fully process what’s happening, he pulls you in, guiding your head to rest beneath his chin. The scent of him fills your nose. When he speaks again, the low timbre of his voice vibrates against your cheek. “Oh hush, I’m only teasing you.”

“Well, have you considered stopping? I’m barely hanging in here,” you mutter against his throat. You feel the slight shift in his breath, and if you weren’t so dizzy with embarrassment, you’d swear you felt goosebumps rise under your lips.

“Why? It’s only me. You’ve known me for years,” he muses, his fingers tracing idly along your back.

“Yes, but—” you start, only for him to interrupt.

“But what? Am I so intimidating?”

“No, you are just so…” You hesitate, your breath hitching as you realise how close you are, how warm he feels against you. “Nice,” you whisper, barely able to force out the word. And then, quieter still, almost a confession: “And hot. I can’t think straight around you.”

Viktor tilts your chin up, gold eyes searching yours, his breath warm against your lips. “Do you mean it?” he asks, voice low. “This and everything you’ve written?”

You force yourself to answer with a weak, “Yes.”

Your lips brush his as you press forward, seeking out his tongue, inviting him in needily. He obliges, mouth breathing into yours slowly—a deep kiss that’s both cautious and wanting, melting the two of you together. It’s slow, and it grows, each inhale Viktor takes deep and measured, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of your breath. His teeth catch on your lower lip, and a moan escapes you when his hand moves from your chin to the base of your skull.

His thumb brushes under your hairline, almost soothing, when he asks, “Would you like me to touch you, then?”

When he pulls back, just enough to let you catch your breath, his lips are still ghosting over yours.

“Please,” you whisper, the word bouncing between you.

Wordlessly, he nods, takes your hand in his, and guides you toward your bed. Then he sits, props his chin on his palms resting atop his cane, and says calmly, “Strip for me.” His voice is steady, but inside, he is anything but.

With trembling hands, you undress, your skin prickling under his stare. Once bare, you clasp your palms at the bottom of your stomach, shifting from foot to foot as you await his next instruction. Viktor smiles—kind, knowing—and sets his cane aside before extending his arm.

His hands find your thighs, running up and down, leaving cinders in the aftermath of his touch. Then, he turns you around and pulls you down until your back is flush against his chest.

“Now,” he whispers into your ear, his voice a slow drag of heat down your spine as he spreads your legs, hooking them over his knees.

“I will touch you,” he murmurs, fingers tracing your bare skin, “and you will tell me what else you’ve written.”

His touch trails up your inner thigh, barely there, leaving only the ghost of warmth behind. The anticipation is unbearable—he enjoys it. Your breath stutters when he finally, finally brushes over where you need him, only to pull away just as quickly.

“Go on,” he prompts, voice smooth as silk, his mouth close to your ear. You swallow hard, heat coiling deep inside you. You shift uncomfortably on his lap, hook one arm around his shoulder before breathing your weak plea into his neck. "Viktor."

He hums in response, his hand returning, teasing, fingers slipping between your thighs but still refusing to give you what you ache for.

"Say it," he coaxes. "For me?"

You gasp when his knuckles brush against your centre, his second hand slipping up your other thigh, joining the right one—a promise of what awaits you if you share this with him.

"What if you come," you whisper, voice shaking, "into my throat?"

A sharp inhale from Viktor, his fingers playing at your entrance. He nuzzles into your hair, breath hot against your temple. "More."

"I’d eat mud to touch the root of you," you murmur, heat flooding your face. "I go hungry if you don’t feed me."

Viktor groans and plunges two fingers inside you, his right hand rubbing lazy circles over your clit. You can feel him, so painfully hard against the small of your back, and your head lulls onto his shoulder, a shuddered whimper slipping from your lips.

"More," he demands with a soft moan.

Your mind is slipping, drowning in the way he touches you, but you force the words out. "I kneel at the altar of your hands," you whisper, your eyes meeting his. "I part for them like a prayer."

Viktor swears under his breath, his mouth pressing a bruising kiss to your lips. His tongue parts them effortlessly, devouring your filthy testament to your infatuation straight from your throat.

"It tortures me," you say, voice hitching, "that I cannot mould the shape of your cock from the slope of your groin."

The wet sounds of his fingers sliding in and out of you, the feeling of them curving just right, the heat of his chest against your back, and his hair tickling your forehead—it all has you dizzy. You tighten your grip on his shoulder, fingers grasping his shirt tightly as you press your face against his.

"Good girl," Viktor breathes against your lips, each word a quiet indulgence. Something roars in his ribcage at the feeling of being this adored. His fingers push deeper, curling mercilessly, coaxing the slickest, filthiest sounds from your body. The other hand does a deft work of your clit, and you jerk, a breathy moan escaping into the open air.

"That’s it," he murmurs, nipping at your jaw, letting his teeth linger over your skin before soothing the bite with a kiss. "No more left hand torture."

His hips shift against you, slow at first, a teasing drag of his cock over the swell of your ass, letting you feel the hard, aching length of him through his trousers. He groans, a deep, broken thing, and his breath stutters when you push back, rolling your hips to match his movement.

"Fuck," he hisses, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he grinds against you more deliberately. "I could listen to you endlessly."

You whimper, arching against him, hand clutching at his shoulder as he builds the pressure inside you with every firm thrust. Your whole body is taut, trembling at the way his hips rut against yours, the way his breath catches when you moan his name.

"Will you come for me?" he rasps, lifting his head, catching your mouth in a kiss that’s hot and searching, swallowing every little sound you make. "Let me hear you. Let me feel it."

You gasp into his mouth, shaking, so impossibly close as his fingers drive into you faster, rub your clit harder. His legs spread further apart, keeping you open for him, guiding your pleasure. "You’re so lovely," Viktor whispers, breathless, voice thick with awe.

The coil inside you tightens, unbearable, your body wound so tight you think you might snap in two on his lap. And then Viktor shifts, bites down gently on your lower lip, and it’s too much—you break, gasping against his mouth as you come undone around his fingers.

And it’s so much more than you’ve imagined. None of your hands have done him justice. Nor your pillow, nor your shower head. Nothing could compare, save for the promise of his cock lingering in your mind.

"Yes," he exhales, pressing his forehead against yours, voice laced with something dangerously close to devotion. "That’s it. Just like that. Let me have it."

Your body trembles in his hold, pulsing around his fingers as he guides you through the aftershocks, his movements slowing, softening. He keeps kissing you, swallowing your ragged breaths, grinding himself against you as his own breath turns uneven, as his own restraint frays.

"Tell me," he pants, grinding harder, desperate, aching. "Tell me you’ll write more for me."

His cock throbs against you, his fingers still buried inside you, and you barely have the strength to whisper back—

"Yes."

And Viktor groans like he’s the one coming apart. You hook your arms over his neck and kiss him, grinding your hips against him. “Yes,” you say into his mouth again, breathless, fervent.

Slick fingers come to press bruises into the skin of your thighs as he chases the friction, the heat of you against him, edging him toward his peak. His hips jerk, rutting against the curve of your ass with a desperate, needy rhythm. You can feel him, so impossibly hard, straining against the fabric of his trousers, the damp heat of you seeping through to him.

"Fuck," he hisses against your lips, his voice wrecked. His forehead presses to yours, his breath shuddering as he thrusts against you, chasing relief, needing it like air.

Your hands slip into his hair, tugging lightly, and he groans, his body shivering with pleasure. "Come for me," you whisper, rolling your hips back, pushing against him with just enough pressure to tip him over the edge.

Viktor gasps, his hands flying to wrap around your stomach, pulling you flush against him as his body seizes. A guttural moan tears from his throat, his hips stuttering as he spills into his trousers, panting against your skin, trembling. His grip on you is bruising, grounding, as waves of his orgasm crash through him.

For a long moment, he doesn’t move, only breathes, his mouth brushing over your cheek, your jaw, your lips—soft, reverent touches. His hands ease their grip, smoothing over your belly, your waist, as if trying to memorize you by touch.

When he finally speaks, his voice is raw, ruined. "I fear you’ll be the death of me." “It’s only fair,” you say quietly, nuzzling into his neck. “You’ve been the death of me for the longest time.”

[shawtylex09]

First time writing, forgive me if any of this is silly.~•*

Masterlist

New girl ~ Izuku Midoriya x f!reader .~•*

Izuku really had no idea what to think when he first saw you. You were different looking, not in a bad way! But you weren’t Japanese, and it was obvious.

Your demeanor, looks, the way you dressed when you were in the dorms with the rest of the class- it was just so…different.

He was a bit too shy to approach you, which made sense for the boy. It’s not like he couldn’t make friends- no that wasn’t the problem. He’d just never seen anyone of your nationality in person.

He wondered what your country was like, what you were like. From what he’d observed, you were loud and straightforward. You didn’t beat around the bush and were hard working.

Izuku was necessarily obsessed but he did tend to doodle you in his notebook, then silently cringing how pathetic he felt. He was very critical of himself, and wondered how you’d feel about him taking notes over you like you were some lecture.

At one point, you’d walked passed his desk, stopping once you saw the page. It had a drawing of you, with your chin in your palm and your hair cascading down and framing your face beautifully.

“Woah! That’s pretty good,” You commented as you peeped over his shoulder. Poor Izuku wasn’t expecting the suddenness of your presence, and slammed his notebook closed.

“Ohmygosh-“ He squeaked out with rosy red cheeks, his body stiff like he’d been caught doing something scandalous. You however, found his tense demeanor endearing.

You waved him off “meh, don’ worry ‘bout it,” you assured with a warm grin “‘ts not a problem, really. I think you captured my eyes really well.”

Izuku was stunned by hearing your accent. It was so warm and made heat creep up to his ears. He smiled a little and tucked his hair behind his ear, his wild curls shaping his face.

“You think so?” He asked sheepishly, to which you nodded and reached into your bag. You grabbed a black book with stickers on both the front and back, flipping it open.

“Yeah, it looks awesome. It’s cool to see someone else who likes art in class,” you said with a smile, feeling slight excitement bubble up. You placed your own sketchbook on his desk.

Izuku gasped as he looked down at your art. You had several drawings of characters from your favorite anime on the page in pencil. He practically lit up “you watch anime too!? That’s so cool! You really captured the features well! I love the freckles-“

He suddenly paused and blushed “ah-sorry-“ he said as he scratched the back of his neck, pulling his nose from your sketchbook. You simply smiled, “don’ apologize” you chuckled a little and pulled a chair up to his desk.

“Do you have more art in that sketchbook?” You asked. Little did you know, Izuku was more than ready to start gushing over the art he had in his book and the anime he liked.

He was a bit hesitant before he got to know you, but he soon realized-

-He was in deep with this new girl, he just knew it.

Hiyaaaa! Thanks for reading, I’ve never posted on tumblr before, but I like to write and figured this would be a good start. We love needy Izuku 💚

[iznsfw]

Hey Iz! Just would like to say that I love how you show Eunbi as softie in your fics which makes me go back to them every now and then. Hope you could do more of Subby Eunbi.

Maybe Wife Eunbi in the future perhaps?

Home

IZ*ONE's Kwon Eunbi x Male Reader Smut

11,834 words

Categories | wife!Eunbi, fluff, fluffy-to-rough sex, dirty talk, spanking, (is it really IZ who's writing Eunbi if there isn't) daddy kink, praise/degradation kink, choking, squirting, BREEDING

Here you go, thank you so much for the feedback + kind words. Fulfilled this request not only because it was sitting in my inbox even before I announced commissions, but also because it's her 28th. Still a baby 😭

Oh, and also because I feel like shit after reading "Birthday Blues." It makes me cringe and I feel like I could write her better than that.

Happy birthday to the best tokki! To celebrate, take a shot everytime Eunbi says "daddy."

You want to be anywhere but here. 

When will it all even end? It's nighttime but the evening doesn't even try to compensate for the heat in the morning. Where’s the departure of warmth? Where’s the cool breeze that could dull your aching bones? You're starting to believe that the world’s doing this on purpose.

If it explains anything, since your hatred for the sun is so solid: your job requires more than a degree and a calculating mind, so you're out in the fire of the large star for more than a few hours at a time with sweat pouring down on you more than the light is. You still have sunburns from the first time you underestimated it and went out without lotion. Oh, and from the time you overestimated it and still ended up with dark spotting your skin anyway.

It’s no different than what other employed people your age go through, but it remains… tiring. You get up before dawn even has a chance to call itself one and come home when the night’s on the brink of turning into day. The workload always renders you weak, when it's all physical rather than something you can get over with a keyboard, but you force a smile on your face. It'll all be worth it when you come home.

Click your phone on solely to see your wallpaper. It's her, of course, with your daughter in her arms. Yep, they're the ones you call the loves of your life. You simply can't wait to come home.

Well, coming home is a hell of its own, but it's the trip that makes it so. Often, there's the usual road rage from student drivers too inexperienced to be granted the right to let it out, and of course, traffic. 

That also renders you weak, if that’s anything that matters.

That's your current situation: stuck in a public bus in a concrete jungle ridden by vehicles. All the seats are filled with passengers of varying ages but the same exhaustion. That's the reason for your legs threatening to give up, and you wouldn't blame them. You barely had time to sit down for a break the whole day. Oftentimes, it results in your feet starting to quiver of their own accord, even when you lie down, as if still processing the strain it bore the whole day.

"Need a seat?" asks a man who's around the same age as you, but looks completely different. You wear a shirt stained with coffee and sweat; he’s dressed in a suit and pants. "Your legs are shaking."

At least, unlike the other men from offices you've met, he could read the room.

"Thanks," you say, smiling. You can't even muster politeness to refuse the offer when yes, your legs are shaking. Can't say "no, they just do that" or "ah, it's a talent." 

"No problem, man." He returns the smile. He gestures a brow to your phone, which you didn't even notice was still on. "Not to pry or anything, but—"

You know who he's referring to. Chuckle and nod. "Yep, my wife."

My wife. The words echo in your mouth long after leaving. Just two words bring so much happiness crashing into your heart.

"Could have figured." He leans against the pole. "You smiled like hell when you looked at her."

Did you? Most likely. Glancing at her still gives you butterflies in the stomach. Whether from afar, on a screen, or in person, the girl always has you in a chokehold. (Not that she could choke anyone with a heart and height like hers, but it counts metaphorically, for you're down bad. Down crazy for her.)

"Well, she makes my day.” Pause. “I love her."

"She must be a good wife, huh?"

Look down at her and now you're acutely aware of the big smile on your face. "The best,” you affirm. “Just the best.”

-

It takes hours for you to get through the traffic, and by the grace of god above, you're only going to bear the last of it now. Can't fall asleep—you're nearly there. Your subdivision is coming up to view. Nice place, really, rather nice for a first home, and—

There. You get off the bus and thank the man. You had a nice talk with him, and you hope to have more. He pats you on the shoulder and bids you goodbye.

Then, you thank the driver. He doesn't bother to say that you're welcome or anything. Can't be mad at that. You've all had a rough day.

The arc of your subdivision welcomes you to the aisles of houses lined up. You're home, but not quite. It takes walking to and opening the door of the house you've worked for and being engulfed in the arms of the woman you love to be truly home. It's cliché, you know, but it isn't anything far from the truth. 

Open the door to the world where you belong.

"I'm home," you say, because you are. This is home. You have coworkers and friends you love to hang out with, but nothing beats the comfort of being with your family. 

Gently close the entry to the doorway so as not to alarm your daughter and wife with the jingle of the mobile. Or worse, disturb their sleep. You don't expect them to be awake; it's barely two hours to midnight.

But still, there she is.

Kwon Eunbi, the woman you gave your last name and your love to. The ends of her long dark hair brush over the sweater she shares with you, or rather, has stolen with how many nights it hasn't been used by you. Her pretty little face shows exhaustion, but also a smile. Of course, it's that adorable grin you'll never get enough of.

Her steps pick up a faster speed as she rushes to you with light feet. Open your arms, and she fills them, fills them with her small body and fills the air with soft whines of complaint. They're complaints that say: where were you? Why were you gone so long? Please be here forever. Baby? Please. 

She really needed this hug from you, especially the lift. She needs someone to raise her up when she feels small. So, you sweep her off her feet.  Automatically, her legs join behind your waist. Heavy lifting at work has paid off—your arms barely struggle when you carry her, or maybe it's just Eunbi being as light as a feather as usual. 

Your heart aches at the hours she must have spent getting none of the help she needs from you. You nuzzle your nose to hers—if her whines speak of complaints, this act of yours tells her of your apologies.

"Hi there," you mumble through ruffles of her hair. She's still your baby girl after all this time.

"Hi," she says softly.

Press your lips to the crown of her head and pull her in tighter. "What are you doing up so late?" 

"Putting your kid to sleep," she replies. Eunbi juts both of her lips out. "She's such a brat these days."

"Got it from her mother," you reply testily, letting go and setting her on the ground to raise her chin anyway.

"Don't be mean. I had a terrible day. I missed you so bad."

You feel bad now for teasing her. While you have your share of trials, it's Eunbi who spends most of her time attending to your daughter. It's Eunbi who goes day after day helping you out with chores and paperwork with little complaint. You really should choose the right time and place for your banter.

"I'm sorry, pretty. How can I make it up to you?"

"Let's watch a movie," she says hopefully. Her thumbs create gentle patterns on the sides of your head. 

"A movie?"

"Yes. Just you and me."

-

That's how you end up on the sofa, with Netflix on and Eunbi with her head on your shoulder. Her thigh rests on yours, and if it weren't for her hair being the main focus of your fingers, you'd be caressing it. 

"You want some water? A snack?" She snuggles up to you, as if you were her favorite pillow. It's as on the nose as it gets; Eunbi loves being close to you, having your body on top of hers and just feeling your touch.

You shuffle through movie choices with the remote. The posters come up to view one by one with each click. What should you watch tonight? Nothing else than the usual, but you still have to check.

That one. You give her a question with a look though you know she'll nod. It's her favorite, too.

"You don't have to do that for me," you tell her. She really doesn't. You're satisfied having her in the crook of your arm, with one of her beautiful legs thrown over your thigh. "Just enjoy the movie. You worked hard today."

"But so did you."

"It's fine, Eunbi, I promise." 

Cup her jaw and squeeze those soft cheeks together. Her lips look particularly beautiful today. They're pouty, speaking wordlessly about something that's kind of like love. Love and other things. Love and things like virtues that you two aren't really required to follow when morality is common sense. Mostly. But Eunbi's a good person. A good wife. A good girl.

Lean in to kiss that flawless mouth. "Thank you for working hard."

"And thank you for coming home," she whispers quietly. Her gaze is soft. You could see your smile reflect in them.

It takes a strange soul, a soul that’s more than the right amount of grateful, to thank someone for being there. She says it everyday, a constant reminder of how loved you are. It’s weird to others to hear Eunbi say that while she sticks to your arm, but she’s your little oddity. She has been since the day you met her.

The film goes on and so does the familiar dialogue. You let out the occasional laugh—it’s still good with every watch. The characters say the same stuff, go through the same stuff, run through the same stuff yet you're on the edge of your seat. That's the thrill of rewatching favorite movies.

"You remember this one, babe?" Her pretty head angles, making her look more endearing. "I'll be so mad if you don't."

Her lips. Can't take your eyes off them. Brush your fingers on them, feeling their softness, and she giggles. "I do," you say truthfully, tipping her chin up, "but tell me anyway."

"Hmph. You just want me to tell you 'cause you forgot, right?"

"Please." Smile at her. "Pretty, why would I ever forget that night?"

She grins. It's maddening the way the ends of her lips tilt upwards to make her eyes small. All those flashy whites on display, she explains it to you.

"This was the movie we watched on our first date." She kisses your thumb that plays on her lip. Her eyes shine with the narration. "The Notebook."

That seems like so long ago, but it feels like just yesterday when you were nervously shuffling on your then sofa, with the most beautiful woman in the world right next to you. She was and still is so charming, those brows full and mouth always in a state of joy.

Rachel McAdams was your first crush, but Eunbi owns your heart. She has her position locked into the core of your chest for eternity. 

"Y-you asked me what my favorite movie was," Eunbi says softly, stroking the back of your hand, "and you bought me chocolate and popcorn so we could watch it together."

Yep. You were broke back in those days, but you were also very young—that only meant you fell easily for girls with a pretty smile and a soft heart. You hadn't tripped anymore since then. When you fell for her, Eunbi stood you back up and gave you that sweet little smile again, then told you there was no more falling from here on out.

That was why you made ends meet and bought the chocolate you always saw her eat before she took tests. You even talked a cinema worker into letting you get two large buckets of cheese-flavored popcorn for a crashed price, just the way she liked it.

If there was a will, as they said, there was a way.

Things changed since then. You now had the money to go by and support your wife and Yujin, but your heart kept its strings hooked on Eunbi. She had knotted them to her little finger and never left you once.

Remembering these makes you chuckle. "I was a loser, wasn't I?" It's no meaningless self-deprecation—your college student self was down bad for her in ways you can't begin to describe. "I acted so stupid in front of you all the time."

"But I haven't had a guy that willing to be mine."

"Damn. I really am the best, huh?" You stroke her hair. Direct her face to the television screen but she looks back up at you anyway, and when she does you notice her eyes are full with love.

"You are,” Eunbi whispers. She wraps her arms around your waist. "You are."

Your heart beats positively with feelings of wholesomeness for the girl you're so lucky to have. She's amazing, and you feel so fortunate to have someone who loves you the same way you love her.

"Did I mention you were so cute?" you say with a laugh. "You cried while watching it even though it was like the millionth time, and that's—"

"—how we first kissed," Eunbi finishes. She covers her face, humiliated by how she acted in those youthful memories that come back. "You kissed me because I couldn't stop sobbing."

"Even back then you were a crybaby, huh?"

She sulks. "You know me. I'm very emotional. I was so upset and then more upset that when you kissed me I was all puffy and sniffly and—"

"Shhh." You pull her closer and kiss her head. "It was the best kiss I've ever had."

Eunbi looks down with a smile. Content with that, nods understandingly. You resume toying with her locks of ebony while the movie goes on.

You're watching an old favorite, yes, the one that got you and Eunbi linked by hand and eventually ring. It's special to you, a foundation of some sorts. But by the unfocused serenity in her eyes, you can easily figure that Eunbi didn't ask to watch it just for the sake of it. She wants more than alone time.

She wants you.

Halfway through the movie, the look in her eyes is still there. Hence, stringing her hair in between your digits, you ask, softly, "You didn't really want to watch something, did you?"

Eunbi's cheeks flush. Looking down shyly, she shakes her head. "No," she says in a small voice. "I mean, I did! But it was supposed to be like buildup so it can lead to the actual… you know, but…"

You smile. God, she's adorable. You love it when she gets so small. It's an everyday look on her, but it remains as sweet as the first time you had the privilege to witness it.

You lift her up seamlessly and place her on your lap. Notice that the shorts she's wearing live up to their name with how they taper just barely at the beginnings of her soft thighs. They hide beneath the sweater that's twice her size, making her look cuter than she already is.

"Oh, Eunbi." Your hands hug her waist. It doesn't take much to figure out what she really wants. There's only one thing those watery eyes could possibly desire. "You could have just told me."

Eunbi realizes this and starts to whine again. "I'm sorry. I—"

"No, no." Your finger on her lips, you hush her before she could blame herself. "Don't be, understand? Just tell me what you want."

You want to hear her say it, to hear her tell you just how much she needs you. She looks at you nervously, and you rub down her thigh to encourage her. It's what the two of you are made for: to push and pull, go forward and take a step back. 

Eunbi stares at an odd spot on your shirt then sighs. "But you're so tired," she says wistfully.

"Listen: I never am for you. What is it?"

Silence full of hesitation and fear. 

Then, a revelation.

"I want you to fuck me, daddy."

She could have said that nickname alone and you would've known what she meant.

Eunbi's stomach presses against you. Each knee of hers is beside one of your respective hips. She's swallowing, clearly nervous, but continues closing herself to you. She finds comfort in the warmth of your body, and your encouraging timed squeezes on her waist.

Her breathing grows sporadic with every grope. She tenses up, too, and it's no use massaging her to help her loosen up when you swear to god she gets tighter each time.

"Daddy…" she moans, lip trapped under her teeth.

"Pretty?" You kiss the collarbone that peeks from the curved neckline of the sweater. "What is it?"

"Please, hold me. Take me to bed."

"Of course I will."

She whimpers when you take her into your arms and carry her again. Her little arms curl around your neck as you take her to your bedroom with the assurance that your daughter is asleep. Wouldn't want her to see how she was made.

You lay Eunbi on the bed. Kiss her. You're hung up on every aspect of her—her neck, her jaw, her collarbone. All those places deserve kissing since she's so perfect. Such a good girl, in every little way. 

But it's those lips that deserve yours. Her pink tiers are full and plump, and you dive into them gladly. Softness upon softness, you push her deeper into the soft resting place with how your lips ache to be engulfed with her. 

Eunbi closes her eyes. She's floating in the clouds. Your straying touch is too good, and your lips are more so. They know where to kiss so that she's giggling and squirming, know how to kiss so that her breath is gone. She's shuddering beneath you, and you have got to hold her steady as her soft whines fill your ears.

"You're so good, daddy," she gasps. "Oh, ohhh. So so good."

"You're better." 

Kissing Eunbi is always an ethereal experience. She's so eager and needy—she floats her back so her lips could clash deeper into hers and locks them so that they don't have anywhere else to go. Her hands are on the sides of your head, also locking it in place. You're going to be here forever, touching and feeling her.

You're okay with that.

"Not really," she says, shaking her head. She can't speak too well with your teeth nudging the skin of her neck. "Ah, I'm always so talkative and stuff and you have to listen. And you do, a-all the time."

"No no,” you tell her reassuringly. “I love hearing your voice, pretty. Mmm. Of course I would."

You're about to reach between her legs when you hear a soft bell sound come from your phone. Yujin's doctor? Your family? You don't know, but with the bell notification sound you reserved for messages from important people, it must be urgent. 

"Hold on." Stop and get up regretfully. Wipe your forehead of the sweat that accumulated from the heat of the moment. "I have to answer this."

"Awh." Eunbi isn't afraid to speak out her concern, even in a pouty little whine. 

"It'll be just a minute, I promise."

Ruffle her hair while checking your phone. Squint your eyes when you see that the notification is a text message from… Eunbi?

Open it. Then, your voice gets stuck halfway in your throat.

It's a video she sent. Just the thumbnail tells you this isn't just any video. The automatic run of the clip only proves that.

There, on your screen, Eunbi dances in your bathroom, a flimsy see-through cardigan stuck in a wet sheen on her body. The Burberry bikini stands out as it holds her heavy breasts. She's running her fingers down on her figure, eyes never disconnecting from the camera, as the spraying water runs down her legs.

The audio is a familiar sound to Eunbi. Deja vu connects two and two together, and soon her hands are on her face. Your smile extends to your ears.

"What's this, pretty?" You wrap an arm around her and guide her closer. Make her watch her sultry video. "Wanted to make daddy need you?"

"No… no, I'm sorry," she says meekly. Her eyes are all round and bright as they look up at you from behind curled fists. "I wanted to give you a gift, but then I thought it didn't go through since the internet got cut and—"

"You really thought to distract me at work? What if my coworkers see you on my phone putting on a show for me?"

"Daddy, I'm sorry." 

Your next command is blunt, almost intimidating: "On my lap. Bent over. Now."

It's supposed to be a punishment, but Eunbi's face lights up. She nods and does as she's told: she folds that amazing body on your thighs like it always does at your beck and call. Lift the ends of the sweatshirt so that her lower body is revealed to you. Her pretty backside is subjected to firm squeezes.

"Wanted this for so long, right, Eunbi?" 

You know her. You know she's been sexually frustrated all these weeks. You have been, too, but all these change today. You're actually going to work something out. 

The calm before the storm: your meaningful gropes on her supple ass cheeks. Fuck, no panties. Eunbi's just been waiting for it to happen all day, the naughty girl. She's looking back at you in anticipation as if this were something other than a punishment. 

"You waited, didn’t you? You wanted daddy to bend you over his lap and hit this perfect ass. I know you do." Your touch makes its rounds on her. "You're so fucking wet, too."

She nods. God, yes. She's been wanting this for so long. Working and caring for your daughter has held her up and left her deprived of your touch. You send shivers on her skin that's grown sensitive after weeks of no stimulation.

Then, it happens.

You raise your hand as high as it could reach, then throw it at the swells of her ass. Her cheeks bounce, a mesmerizing sight.

"Mmm, daddy," your wife purrs. Her backside blooms with red at your smacks. "That… that feels so good. Really good."

"You're a freak," you chuckle. Don't stop, though. Spank her again as hard as you could; she tosses her head back.

"Of course. O-oh my god." Her eyes float shut. "Fuck, yes, daddy. I'm so wet, I need you so bad."

"Do you now?"

"Yes. I want it, please."

"We’ll see. You wanna say you're sorry?"

"Sorry," Eunbi whispers, muffling her face into the mattress. Maybe she is. "Hnn. Sorry. Sorry."

"I bet you are. Count."

As time goes by, your blows on her ass grow harsher and she barely gets the numbers out of her mouth. You have a feeling she'll lose count along the way. She does. Of course. You've been with her long enough to know how she works, how she unravels.

For example: this spank guarantees sticky wetness on your fingertips. 

It does.

Second: if you grope her tits right here, right where they rest above your thighs, she'll moan louder.

She does.

Third: if you tease your finger on her pussy, slightly rubbing her clit, she'll scream.

She—

"Daddy!" Eunbi sobs, rutting on your lap. "Fuck, fuck, why does it have to hurt so good? Daddy—"

"I said count, pretty," you reprimand her. As much as you love to hear how desperate she gets for you, the rules are clear. 

"God, please…"

"I know I fuck your brains out until you can't think, but I promise you I'm not the almighty."

"So mean. So full of yourself. H-hnn—!" Eunbi retracts her ass from your hand once you deliver what would have been the final scolding slap if she weren't acting up. "Daddy, please don't stop."

She should be hating the idea of this when it's supposed to be a punishment. She should be quivering under your hand, promising to be a good girl, your good girl. Instead, she's sobbing, begging for more like the pain it brings is essential for her to breathe. Like if you don't slap and smack her rippling ass, she'd go weak.

She's weak with or without. Real tears leak from her eyes and her whines have reached the maximum point of need. You can feel her wetness on your lap. 

"Count," you sneer. "From the top. I'll only ask again."

"Sorry. Hah. One."

"Bet you love this, don't you?" Slap her butt so it bounces in response. "Your cheeks are all sore and red for daddy now. But you want more. Why do you think you want more?"

She grows delightfully wetter. Your fingers stick with her juices.

"Oh," she whines, shutting her eyes. "Two."

"I think I know why. You're weak for anything daddy does to you. I could fuck you on the desk, fuck you in the waiting room at Yujin's school, and you'd be such a good girl. You'd be bending over letting me do it. Am I right, Eunbi? I think I am."

A waterfall starts from between Eunbi's legs at your words. She wants you to use her, to know that everything you said is right. She is a sucker for every little thing you want to do to her. 

She has to take a breather before saying, "Three."

"I think I know something else, too: you just want to be daddy's pretty little girl. It's all you ever want that you'd let me kiss and fuck you dusk to dawn. You'd even let me smack your ass all day and make you weak at the knees. It would be a shame if you came just from this spanking. But I know you will."

She clenches yet she can't fight off your harsh blows and firm squeezes. She can't count that many! Her poor butt is red and aching. Stopping is not an option though, not when she's looking at you with watery bunny eyes full of want and denial.

"Aww, princess, gonna cum? You look so close. You're shaking so much. Are you gonna cry? Cry because you want to cum so bad? Then do it, Eunbi. Cum all over me."

She shakes her head. "W-won't, cum…" She purses her lips and squeals, trying to fight off what's already in store for her. "Won't… cum, da– daddy!"

It's the way she screams your name for help even if you're the one hitting her; the way she wails in your lap and remains there in spite of the spanks that follow each other at the heel; the way she screams out for you and a god that would have disapproved of what you two were doing. Eunbi kicks and struggles and spasms, actions ridden with tears. It's what drives your slaps to unfurl with a fury that you'd never dare do unto her if this setting were any different.

"Daddy, daddy! Ohh shit, please—"

Stuff your fingers into her small mouth and smack her rapidly. She screams and cries, clinging onto the last bits of sanity. You're too harsh with her. Shouldn't daddies be taking care of their baby girls? So why are you so mean?

And why is she loving it? 

"Oh no." Palm her ass. Gently squeeze its round globes then kiss her neck. "My poor, pretty little thing. Who did this to you? Who made you so wet and needy?"

It's the mixture of mockingness and concern that has Eunbi trembling on your lap. You could be so kind yet so cruel to her. Seeking solace in the gentle circles your hand makes, she whimpers out, "You, daddy."

"That's right." Nudge your erection to her mound. "And who's making me this hard?"

"Me." As she says it, her ears turn pink. You've praised her so many times and still her face grows warm with self-consciousness.

"Of course. You're too fucking pretty. Want to sit on daddy's lap?"

"Yessss, please." 

Eunbi wipes the tears from her eyes. Her legs are liquid, and you're required to help balance her when she stands up to sit down anyway on your legs anyway. 

She curls her legs into your lap and raises her fingers to her lips. You're rubbing her arm and telling her you're here, yet another truth. You'll always be here for her, even when you get rough with her. Don't mistake it all for merely lust.

This is what home feels like. 

Rock her for a while. Let her breathe. Carefully brush away a stray tear and kiss the place it used to reside. 

"I love you," you tell her. "I love you to death."

"I love you, too, daddy," she whispers. "My daddy."

She's trembling. You furl her into your arms more tightly and press your mouth to her hair. She pushes herself deeper into your touch appreciatively. 

With her hands returned on her lap like the good girl you made her and eyes tearful, she looks so cute. She looks like the girl who's exactly the type to get on your thigh and let you do whatever you want to her, and it couldn't be more accurate. She's perfect.

"Pretty girl, pretty girl. Eyes up here."

Eunbi's sniffling quietly, and you run your hand up and down her back to calm her sobs.  She redirects her focus. She's obedient now, following all the rules. 

You ask, gently, "Need to breathe?" 

"I'm okay, daddy," she says. She leans against your chest. "Thank you."

You nod. That's your go signal. Your green light.

So, your touch traces from her shoulders to under that big sweatshirt. Right there between those fantastic legs. The spanking left her weak and wet. Just a few rubs make you hear the slick sounds.

You feel her then, right there on her drenched core. She tenses up again. Her legs close yet you part them to gently, gently tease her nub. It only goes up and down like that but she's already quivering again.

That draws a gasp out of her. She looks at you, swallows, then closes her eyes tightly as you continue. Only soft whimpers squeeze past her lips. She's taking it all with such resilience that you're actually amazed. 

"That's it. So pretty and good for me. Maybe I should reward that, don't you think?"

Eyes still closed, she nods. Excellent. Test her limits with poking a single finger into her waiting pussy. 

That's how her eyes end up fluttering open. You finger her fast and hard, making the poor girl have to go through another bout of harshness. She's enjoying it in spite of it all; her pretty pussy just clenches perfectly around you, ever so wet. 

"Daddy." She says this with urgent breaths. "Daddy? Need you." Then her voice gets higher. "Daddy, please—p-please—"

"I'm here, hon," you say, reassuring her as you toy with her cunt. Her legs shake, but you carry on. "What does Eunbi want me to do?"

You're blocking her thoughts from forming. She lifts herself up and grinds blindly, but she knows she has to answer. She knows she has to tell you something, because that's what good girls do, right? And Eunbi's exactly that: your good girl. Your good, sweet little girl.

Oh, but she can't, she can't. She can't answer it when your fingers are all the way inside her, constantly shoving and pulling strings of moistness out of her. She turns to you and opens her mouth, but she never gets to say anything. 

It continues like this for lengthened moments, with Eunbi barely holding on and squirming on top of you, and your fingers neatly sheathing and unsheathing from her pussy. Her vulnerable expressions show that she can't talk or act properly—all she can do is moan and squeal and beg. 

It isn't a fair game. Recognizing this, you kiss the side of her head and propose, "Let's make this easier, pretty." 

And you make it anything but. You spread her legs and press her back snug to your arm. From there, you keep fingering her. Aim to ruin all the resistance in her pussy. Impossible; she's too damned tight. 

"Where would you like me to touch you?" you ask. "Your tits?"

Reach up under her clothes to feel her up. Squeeze her breasts. She squeezes up once more and sobs a little. The breaths leave her nostrils sharply when you start to grope her. 

"Mmm." Eunbi nods, but still looks unsure.

"Your thighs?"

Rub them down. They're always so meaty and soft. She purses her lips and nods at that, too.

"Or your ass?" you ask with a wicked grin.

Take one finger out of her and instead lead it to her asshole. Tap it teasingly. She scurries her butt into your hands.

"It could be anywhere, Eunbi. Just tell me."

Eunbi nods. But she needs to enjoy this for now. She lets you fuck her with your digits before settling for a decision. 

She touches your mouth with a quivering finger. "I need your mouth on my pussy, daddy," she says. "Please? I'll be careful not to hurt you, I promise."

You stop fingerfucking her. Place her gently beside you. Then, you move upwards before staying right below the headboard of your bed. Your back is flat on the mattress.

"No need to be careful," you tell her. She could break your neck and you wouldn't care. "Just come here and sit on my face."

Your blunt words make her blush. But she crawls up and spreads her legs. You're there to appreciate her beautiful legs and her shaven, pink little pussy. She looks down at you with concern, but you tap her thigh reassuringly. 

Convinced, Eunbi places herself gingerly on your mouth. The first contact is effective in breaking her again for she lets out a vulnerable little moan and raises her hips again, only to sit back down on you.

As expected, Eunbi tastes like everything sweet, everything beautiful. You slide your tongue up and down between her pussy lips, then flick it on her clit. She cries out, her hands instinctively going for your hair. But she remembers her promise to be careful. She's forced to have to bite on the back of her hand.

You make it more difficult for her. You love keeping her on her toes. Rest your hands on her thighs—her thick, full thighs—and pull her down. You don't care if she'll suffocate you; you'd give anything to have her reeling and crying. Her legs squeezing your head is your reward for eating her out so well.

"Daddy," she hiccups. She seals herself on your head and freezes due to the pleasure. "Feels so good, keep doing that, please."

How could you deny her of anything? She tastes so sweet and whines so prettily that you have no other path to go down than the way to eating her pussy harder. 

Kiss her labia lovingly, a teaser for the main thing, which is slipping your tongue all the way into her tight hole and circling it inside her. Waste no time in licking up and down, appreciating her folds. 

Her body barely weighs down on you. She remains afraid of hurting you, and you have to grip her hips to keep her down. Soon, it becomes a game of lifting and chasing, as if her cunt were a distant dream you only wish to attain.

You're determined though. Too determined for a dreamer. Your hands caress her fit ass to ease the pain your spanks induced and you reach deep inside her to trigger more juices into your mouth.

"Please, please, please—" Eunbi's voice cracks and she buries her face in her hands. She doesn't even know what she's begging for now. All her thoughts have vanished. You're dumbing her down into a shaky, squirting mess who needs only her daddy's mouth.

She's carefully grinding down on you, keeping herself slightly aloft so as not to crush you. But you insist on the opposite; you tug her down and seize her clit between your lips. Start to suck, hard.

She's not so careful anymore. 

"Daddy!" Her pussy crashes down on your face and begs for more of you, begging you to draw her needs beneath and fulfill it. 

Of course, you give in. You torture her clit with sucks that transcend control, keeping it latched tight between your lips, and grab your wife's hips to scurry her downwards. She can't go anywhere now.

"Oh—oh no, daddy," she gasps, her fingers curling around the headboard like ribbons, "don't do that! Don't do that, I'll cum!"

That's exactly your intention. Pulling down her thick thighs so that her pussy covers your face, you let your tongue dance and glide everywhere on her eager little core. Eunbi screams. Tears pour down her face as her juices spill down on you. You lap her nectar up the best you can, but some still slide on your chin, as well as the sides of your face. You make up for the lost drops and instead go for those that are dripping directly from her cunt—yes, this will make you a god. Feels accurate when you’re already in paradise with Eunbi’s legs around you and her screams filling your ears like prayer.

"Daddy, slow down a little!" Eunbi yells. Her thighs crush your head while her hips cringe to and fro. She purses her lips before letting out a feral cry. "Daddy!"

You follow up with a few last licks at her sensitive clit. Eunbi's out of breath, but you're not, despite being held captive by her thighs just a few seconds prior. That's why your lips still find her pussy, bringing it to complete weakness, cornering its sensitivity and preying on it. Eunbi sobs, wrists on her face, as you continue violating her pussy. You're never leaving it unattended.

"Daddy," she says tiredly. "Oh, daddy, too much, daddy—"

The natural flood of her orgasm overflows. You tap on her thigh encouragingly and open your mouth to taste her. "Yes, yes, that’s it, you’re so fucking delicious. Daddy loves when you cum on his face. Come on, baby, come on, my good girl."

Eunbi's legs give out. She moves away from your head in order not to hurt you and collapses on your bed. Her whole body is aquiver.

"Daddy," she calls out for you. "Daddy, please."

"You're alright, baby," then trail your thumb along her chin and jaw; guide her with demonstrations and soft words, "take a deep breath." 

The overstimulated girl quivers and mewls. 

"You're alright," you say. Kiss that forehead that's recently been covered with a cute fringe, and then kiss her mouth. "My pretty girl's alright. Daddy loves you."

It's a reminder that you'll make again and again without getting tired. Eunbi's so lovely that you want to make her know she's safe with you, that she's loved.

Her reply is expected but relieves you anyway. "I love you, too, daddy." 

Her breath catches as you kiss her. It's messy, torrid, too, when her hands hook into your head with a touch that's weak yet worshipful. 

“Mmm, my daddy, my only daddy.” She kisses you sloppily, almost drunkenly. One thing leads to another, and your hands are on her hips to lead her on your lap again. Her breathy bedroom voice turns you on so much. “I love you. Daddy, I love you so much.”

"Just wanted to taste yourself on my lips, didn’t you?” you ask. You see right through her.

She blushes. There's your answer.

“No problem with that. You taste delicious. Here.” 

Swiping up a line of slick from her delicate pussy, you guide your slick fingers into her mouth. She latches onto them and holds your wrist in place as her sweet mouth seeks to taste everything. 

"Thank you," she murmurs. "Love you. So good to me."

This is what paradise is. Eunbi's broken words spill from the sides of her mouth while she licks her cum off your fingers. Her eyes are closed, deep in worship for you. What a worst time to be religious. After having just spanked her and eaten her delicious pussy, she has no place to be saintly. Sacrilege at best. 

But you let her, since she's so good. Such a good girl for you.

"You’re good to me, too, pretty." The nickname has not once left your mouth with how it fits her so much. The bangs she sports and those naturally full, pouty lips make her the most beautiful woman in the world. "Since you're such a thankful princess, you deserve to cum again. You want to cum again?"

"Really? Daddy? Daddy, you'll let me cum again?" 

"You don't want to?"

"No, no, I want. I want it." Eunbi nods her head and looks up at you with desperation. "Make me cum again."

"So demanding," you reprimand her. "Guess you don't want me to go through and worship these?" 

Reach up behind her and touch her right where everyone expects you to: her large, round tits. They're what everybody looks at, and it honestly makes you feel a little possessive. But you always are reminded of how right they could be. They look so full even behind thick fabric.

"Daddy!" They're also where she's most sensitive. She lets out tiny squeals all while you're having your wicked way pinching the pink tips.

"Ohh, you like that, huh?" You squeeze; she locks her legs together and whines. "Makes you want to scream for me? Scream and yell like a needy little girl?"

You know how this goes. Given the sensitivity on her breasts, she'll whine out and beg more than she would if you touched her anywhere else. She'll probably even cum on the spot like she did when you spanked her. There's a common factor here, you think. Gotta place what that is.

Eunbi's eyes water and she says, "Daddy, please. I need you, don't be mean to me."

Found it. It’s you. Not to be narcissistic and everything, but it’s definitely you.

"Alright. Take your clothes off. Want to see how pretty you look under all of them."

She lifts her shirt up. Your mouth waters. Each bit of her perfect, curvy body is uncurtained—the flat of her tummy, the curves of her hips, the undersides of her breasts. Then her breasts themselves. The deep cleavage has your eyes coming out of their sockets, along with the massive recoil they do as they're released from the hem.

Her hair is messier now. The neckline and fabric did a number on them. The fringes are all over the place. 

Laugh fondly. Meanwhile, you straighten her bangs. "You alright there, pretty?" you say. 

"Mhm," she hums, giggling, too, albeit shyly. Then her eyes turn needy, their glimmer unmistakeable. "Please?"

You push her down gently on the pillows, pinning her back to the blankets. Her long hair is in a disarray behind her as you kiss her body. The flat of her tummy tenses when you press your lips there. What really gets her moaning, however, is your mouth on her tits. Her beautiful, perfect tits.

Press them together with a hard squeeze. Run your tongue on one of the hard nipples. She sharply gasps, looking down at your sinful little doings. You gaze back up at her with unwavering eye contact as you suck on her nipple as you did to her clit.

Same effect. She's whining again. 

"Daddy, daddy, daddy—" 

You've lost count of the many times she's said that. 

You don't mind adding a lot more to the list.

"What is it, baby?" 

Eunbi makes her desires known through bated breaths and little moans. "Now,” she says. “Inside me. Please."

It takes no time taking your pants and briefs off. It is painful, though; your cock is a rod solid and lengthy for the idea of fucking your wife after all those weeks of being held back. Her naked body waiting for you just tempts you even more. Her legs are spread, her face radiates need, and her pussy is dripping wet. You know she wants you the same way you want her.

So why hold back?

You can’t hold back your feral pump nor your groan either. Slipping inside Eunbi’s warm, drenched pussy is like reminiscing a wild memory. Her grip brings you back to all the times you’ve made love to her, right on this bed, until she curled up and begged you to go faster. It makes you promise to give it to her this time hard and fast, the way you know she likes it.

Give her every inch, then take them back. Give them again. Withdraw. You choose this cycle and Eunbi couldn’t love it more. You have to battle with the tightness her pussy inflicts all the time, and it’s both a pro and a con with how it hugs your length and caresses it with the texture of her walls while refusing to let you in. You can see Eunbi’s face twist as she tries to relax, but each part of you that she’s fed, she ends up tightening and moaning again.

“You’re fucking me s-so well,” says Eunbi strainedly. Her fingers sink into the sheets as she trembles with your unforgiving thrusts. “I missed this so much.”

You did, too. You missed controlling Eunbi sexually, having her weak and on her knees. You missed the comfort of her warm little hole that’s always skilled in its job of milking you dry. It’s still strong and exceptional in its talent.

Eunbi’s noises are loud and unbridled. She always drones on and on, something that makes her cuter than she already is, and there’s no difference in the bedroom. She moans and talks about how amazing it feels, how you’re penetrating her perfectly. And all the same, you love hearing her.

“So fucking tight,” you say. You just have to drive your hips upwards, to send her rocking to and fro. “Take it all, okay? I know my pretty girl can do it. She’s the perfect thing for daddy’s cock, isn’t that right?”

Eunbi’s ears grow pink. She nods, because that's another thing that’s true. She is your perfect girl, your only girl you’d take at night. Your husky words of praise go at odds with how you’re fucking her, with her ass up in the air and her legs in your hard touch, but it turns her on so much that she’s willing to do anything—anything for you to go on and have your way with her.

And have your way with her you do. You push yourself past her pussy lips and let them hug the sides of your length after you fill her up entirely. Her cunt pulsates, and it drives you to drop the whole of your hips in between her legs, flicking past her G-spot.

“M-mmm!” Even with just a hum, Eunbi stutters. Your hands on her tits kneading and tightening make her lose all common sense. Coupled with your cock ruining her insides, she can’t think straight. 

She doesn’t have to when you’re here to catch her. You’ll think for her so she’s allowed to lie back. Right now, you’re thinking of completely ruining her.

“Oh, oh my god, daddy,” she says the moment you thrust up into her with more precise strokes. She looks down at your cock swiftly drilling her. "That's—so—ffffuck!"

Eunbi begins to curl up, the heat overtaking her, but you spread her legs. Force her to take you by stuffing her cunt even more. Her tightness grows and soon she's yelling, almost in an episode of frenzy. 

You're humping her like you need it as much as you would water and food, without care for how much you're digging her into the blankets or how much she screams. There's only one thing you want and that is to be buried all the time in her sweet little pussy. You can tell that it's what she wants, too—her hips gyrate, weak yet determined, and she's filling the room with her screams.

"Yes, yes, yes." She places a hand over the back of your own that's on her breast. "Fuck me, hurt me, d-do whatever you want with me, I'm just your pretty girl—daddy, don't stop, please!"

To hear her talk about herself so lewdly and feed your mind with the idea that you could do anything to her makes you force your groin up and slam her legs on your shoulders. Fight against the resistance of her pussy, slap her bouncing thighs, push only forward to fill her up.

"I promise, Eunbi, I'm not stopping," you say, a new oath made. You lean in darkly and stare right into her eyes. They're that of a prey's; she had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. "I'm gonna fuck you until you're squirting and crying, and I know that's what you want, right? To have daddy make you cum like he always does?"

"Yes, faster, please!"

"Fuck." You pause, and before she could complain, you place a hand on her throat and push her down. "Then you're gonna fucking get it."

She's talked to you about this before. She's proposed to have you pin her down and choke her, shyly saying it with a cutesy plea to her words, but you always refused. You didn't want to go too far. Now, however, you give her what she wants: 

Close your hand around her neck. The look on her face is immaculate—her eyes are wide with both bliss and thrill, and her mouth is open. For the first time, she doesn't make any noise. She's letting it all out in a silent, withheld scream. 

Squeeze. She gasps. There's a river of wetness inside her; it flows freely and limitlessly, pouring onto your shaft and the sheets. 

"God, pretty," you say lowly. "Your pussy gets so tight when I choke you. Like you want me to keep choking you until you beg and beg. What's with that now? I thought you wanted me to be gentle."

Your hips don't stop; they're almost invincible. They don't tire of pistoning in between her legs. And Eunbi doesn't get tired of squeezing, of crying. Her whole body's in desperate heat, and you're the bad predator giving in to it. You’re using her, violating her—and she’s sprawled out taking it all, loving each second of it.

You firmly pinch her nipple. Her frozen, desperate look is broken with her loud scream. Its volume is tightened when you curl your fingers harder into the flesh of her neck. That's the neck you've kissed before, when she wanted to make love and when she needed a hug—it's so out of character for you to suddenly be using it in depriving her of a breath she so desperately needs.

“What? Can’t speak?” you say. Words say themselves without your mind registering them first. Even so, Eunbi clings to each and uses them to roll her core harder into your erection. “Is daddy choking you too hard? You’re so fucking wet from me doing it, pretty. I should do this more to you. I’d fucking keep you here and choke the hell out of you.”

Oh, the fantasy is tempting. You imagine calling a day off from work, as hard as it is to register for one, and using it to fuck your wife in all the corners of the house. With Yujin at school and the schedule empty, you could fill her pussy with cum and have her bent in all the best positions, each done with your hand on her throat. By the helpless look on her face, you know she loves the idea, too.

“Yes, daddy!” she screams. Those are your words of affirmation. Her gasps for air leave her more often, yet you keep your hand pinned to the base of her neck. “More, I need more, please give me more!”

“Look at you. You’re crying so hard. I can feel your throat pulse. You need to breathe so bad. But you want daddy’s cock more. What should I give to you then, huh, baby?”

“M-make me cum! Make me cum instead, daddy, I don’t need anything else!”

You could do that. It’ll happen anyway. She’s far too tight for one person to handle, backfiring on her so much that it drags her closer to the edge. And you’re pushing her with each thrust, with no offer of rescue.

“Such a spoiled little girl,” you tut, leaning in to bite her ear, “but so fucking pretty.”

Pretty girls like her, no matter what they do, deserve to cum. Swing yourself deep in between the hanging pillars of her legs and cum she does. Mouth open and on the cliffs of desperation and submissiveness, she lets out a squeezed scream. Her fist is firm on your wrist, making sure it doesn’t leave her throat as the thrill of the danger makes her cum harder than she thought she would.

Finally, your hand loosens. She gasps. Her wonderful chest rises and falls, air finally entering her lungs. Her head feels light; it’s the most gratifying experience she’s had in a while. 

It’s the same for you. Maybe the sexual frustration that accumulated over the weeks was a good thing. You let it all out on her and now you’re throbbing.

“Daddy?” She’s a survivor of a storm who just emerged from the flood of lust.

“Yeah?” You soothe her, like you always do whether after sex or when she’s overwhelmed. “You want anything?”

“Think… you need to look at the time.”

“Let me run you a bath first, please, baby?” You lean down and kiss her forehead, rubbing the space on her chest where her heart beats fastly. It worries you, and for a moment you wonder if you should ever do this again. She’s catching her breath and failing. “You’re so worn out.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, daddy, listen to me, please?” She closes her eyes to collect her composure that was lost after and while you fucked her.. “Look at the time.”

“It’s…” You steal a look at the digital clock sitting on your bedside table. It’s sometime after twelve midnight. “Midnight.”

“And you, haah, know what that means, right? Right?”

“It’s…” 

It hits you. The knowledge infiltrates your brain and suddenly all lust is gone. Your heart’s only filled with feelings of affection for the girl you’re incredibly lucky to share your love and home with. You welcome her into the depths of your embrace.

“It’s the twenty-seventh,” you murmur. “Your birthday.”

Your own heart starts to beat faster at the thought. Eunbi’s just spent another year with you, another year with Yujin. Your family grows everyday with love, and it brings you more satisfaction than your job could.

You look at Eunbi. Observe her sharp nose, beautiful hair, and lips that are always calling out for you. You realize in that moment that you can’t be more grateful that she’s the girl you married. There are plenty of girls out there who might have wanted you, but your heart doesn’t belong to them. It belongs to her, your wife. Your princess.

“Happy birthday.” Stroke her hair and gently tuck it behind a red ear. “Baby girl, I’m so grateful to have you, you know?”

She flushes. Eunbi loves that you’re always there to tell her she means something. “Thank you.”

You ought to do something special for her. She works so hard and loves so hard that it’s only right that her birthday is special. But your ideas are simple, and you decide to just let her choose. Anything she wants, you’ll give.

“What do you want us to do today?”

Eunbi takes a moment to inhale, then opens her eyes. She’s never looked more sure. Though her voice is weak, it holds conviction.

“I want us to stay here in this bedroom, daddy.” She clasps your hand and places it from her face to her pussy. “I want you to fuck me harder. I want you to do it until I can’t feel my legs.”

Your eyes widen. She’s never been this upfront. It’s rare to see that firm look in her irises.

“Then…” Eunbi pauses although she knows what to say next. She knows what she wants from you. “I want you to breed me, daddy.”

The silence from your end is lined with shock. You can’t say anything—your words are lost in the ends of your mouth due to the feeling of Eunbi’s slick, hot pussy under your touch. She’s as wet as she was before. She obviously wants more.

“You didn’t cum yet,” she explains. She grinds your fingers on her lacy, wet core, and whimpers at how hot it feels post-orgasm. “So when you do, I want it all here. Right here. It’ll fill me up so much that I might get pregnant.”

It’s been a while since you released inside Eunbi. You’ve always taken special care to practice safe sex, even unprotected. You’ve let her swallow your cum instead or unloaded into a rolled condom. Now, the offer she’s making—of bearing you another child, of letting you give her another little joy to take care of—has you speechless. Would she really let you?

“You’ll do it for me, right?” Eunbi rolls on top of you, her amazing body pressed to your skin. Although she’s above you, she couldn’t be more of a submissive, needy girl. Each limb of hers strains to be touched and controlled. There’s a reason she wants you as her birthday present. “You’ll pound me full of cum and drill it all into my womb, all so I could be your pregnant birthday girl?”

“Pretty…” you say, not knowing what else to tell her. Hesitation curls around your mind and body. You’re not totally convinced she’s sure about this.

Her large eyes are wanton with lust and her lower lip’s sealed beneath those teeth. She nods, happy that you finally responded. 

“Yes, yes, that. You always call me pretty, daddy, and… I really like it. But can you imagine how much prettier I could be if you gave me your baby? My tits would look even bigger, and they’d be so sensitive that if you sucked them, I’d cum on your lap instantly.”

How do you breathe again?

“And when people ask me about us, I’ll be the good wife at your side, standing there and saying I’m just so happy to have my daddy’s baby.”

The thought of Eunbi shaking as you overstimulated her by just playing with her nipples makes you warm on the inside and out. Additionally, that image she painted of herself: the silent girl, the pretty wife beside you who’s full with a baby and wearing a smile so innocent it deceives people of what she wanted today—it makes you feral. Not even warm or hot, just the pure carnal desire to knock her up.

“And you know what else, daddy?”

“W-what?” Now you’re the one who feels like they were just left in a chokehold minutes ago. Your mind just runs with ideas of fucking her senseless.

“They’re going to think we planned it all along. But no; what they don’t know is that it was by chance. That Eunbi asked for it suddenly, and you gave in. You gave her creampie after cream—”

Well, you could say that you’re easily convinced.

Eunbi’s prone when you switch positions, quickly taking back your lost power and pinning her back down. You press her legs together and push them down; she peeks from behind them, thrilled to see what you would do after she successfully riled you up. Obviously, you don’t give it to her just yet; you set your cock on her splayed pussy lips and start to grind down on her. 

“Thirsty brat,” you tell her. You tighten your squeeze on her ankles so she remains still while you hump her, but never really giving her the real thing. Groan; even without penetrating her, she feels wet and hot. “When did pretty become such a bad girl?”

Her clit throbs and you do, too. Why are you lying to yourself and acting like you don’t want to dick her down? 

“Bred, bred, bred. Need to be bred.” Eunbi’s lower body rolls. She’s panting. “Need to feel your big cock inside me.”

Fuck, you’re gonna give in anyway. You say: “What’s the magic word?” 

Eunbi swallows. You think you’ve seen that before. She was underneath you that time, too. “Please, daddy.”

The magic word is “please,” but if she says your favorite name with that, there’s a hundred percent chance she’ll get what she wants. She increases the chances with her downturned little mouth and her hands folded together. You don’t know if you should cuddle or fuck her. That’s your daily dilemma with Kwon Eunbi.

“Ahhh, so big!” 

Her shout of pleasure is instant, and it continues with the rhythm of your pumps. You don’t bother creating a buildup—it’s her birthday; she’ll get what she wants. And you know that Eunbi likes it rough and hard. Don’t mind the bruises and spots of red on her skin and ass; it’s what she craves more than anything.

You do, too. But this experience is more gratifying because you actually get to stay inside her hole when you cum. Your seed would go straight to her womb, and everyone would know that it’s you who made her pregnant. Moan at that concept which gives strength to your muscles to keep pushing, keep thrusting, keep bringing you to orgasm so your wife, who you’d do anything for, would get what she wants.

You make sure each thrust you inflict on Eunbi’s fertile body hits her cervix, a prophecy of what’s to come. She groans helplessly—her knuckles turn white as they grip the fabric beneath her that’s sure to be stained with both of your juices. Who cares, though? It would be a constant reminder of the night you made Eunbi’s birthday wish come true. It would be a memory of what brought your future child into the world.

“I want it deep, daddy!” gasps Eunbi. “So deep that I can’t feel anything, daddy, harder, please!”

She knows the power in her begging and how easily you fold for a girl like her. You’d give her another spanking for that, but you give her a punishment she benefits from anyway: rougher thrusts that slap your balls to her spanked ass.

But she’s the birthday girl. So you fulfill her desire and drive yourself into her core until your balls aren’t just slapping her ass anymore but are pressed firmly to her crotch.

“Oh yes! Just like that!” Eunbi levitates her back off the creaking cushions and screams. You’re starting to fear she’ll wake Yujin. Good thing she sleeps like a log. “Pound me, cum inside me!”

It seems like there’s degrees of roughness you haven’t reached yet. Your thrusts grow in speed and harshness as time goes by, and the strength is limitless. Although you’re only doing the same thing which is fucking Eunbi in hopes of breeding her, your tempo doesn’t stay the same. It hits her with a force impelled by lust, pushing the sins deeper inside her that it starts to corrupt her, too.

Your balls are heavy with an impending load. Slapping her thighs, you momentarily part them so you could rub her clit side to side, the way you know she’s weak for. Eunbi’s expression changes into bliss to paradise itself—her tightness chokes your length from head to base.

"God fuck!" Eunbi lets out a spray of wetness as her body thrusts upwards. "Cumming!"

Oh she’s cumming alright, but she’s also squirting. There’s no time to weep over not putting a towel beneath her; you’re stuck watching Eunbi’s pussy become soppier while it releases a messy jet of girl cum. You marvel at how more comes out if you give it to her harder.

Ever the crybaby even in sex, tears start to fall down in little droplets down her red cheeks. They source from all three: pleasure, pain, overstimulation. It’s destroying her and yet she relishes each hit.  

“Do it now, please, it’s too much! Breed me now—c-can’t—take—it!”

Shove yourself to the depths of her and unload. Your wife exhales repeatedly. There’s so much of your sticky load that it overflows inside her hole and creams her outer lips. Push yourself further and pull her legs up so it’s all guaranteed to go to her womb.

“Like this, pretty? Your pussy’s gonna take every drop, right?” Even in your craze of lust you could hear yourself weakening.

The cum that shoots into her never seems to stop.

“Yes, so much,” Eunbi moans quietly. Her arms are limp beside her. As her consciousness dies, her orgasm lives on. “Breed me, daddy, ohhh… breed me… breed… me…”

-

Yujin’s thick black hair, all inherited from her mother, looks perfect today. What makes it more satisfying is that those braids running down her head and the cute pigtails were fixed by you. 

“Wow, it’s so perfect!” Your daughter admires herself in the vanity mirror and grins up at you. “Thank you, papa!”

Her young yet advanced vocabulary makes you chuckle. As you hear it, you realize you can’t wait until she grows up and starts to talk even more beautifully, like the words she takes from the books you always see her nose buried in.

It’s 7:00 AM, and Yujin’s bus is about to come to the driveway. You’re lucky to have finished fixing her hair on time. That’s partly why you reciprocate the smile. The main reason is that your daughter manages to chip away your tiredness and make it all worth it.

“Of course, Yujin,” you say. “Be good at school, okay?”

“I always am, papa!”

Your daughter always carries this confidence wherever she goes. You’re glad you and Eunbi raised her properly so she isn’t doubtful of herself. She’s going places—the girl’s only six yet she speaks and multiplies better than you can. Not that you’re embarrassed; it makes you more proud of her.

“And behave for your mommy, okay? It’s—”

“—her birthday!” she finishes giddily. Yujin never forgets anything, especially birthdays. She just celebrated hers a month ago. “Can I greet her?”

Pause. Has Eunbi recovered or is she laying there getting off to what happened? “Maybe later?” you say, hoping not to sound suspicious. “Mommy’s… just having a sleep-in day. Just make her a card or write her a poem when you come back home.”

“Okay!” Yujin replies. She turns her head to the yellow bus peeking at the semi-circular window of the door. “Bye, papa!”

You tell her the same. Wave goodbye to her. You make sure she gets on the bus before turning away. Time to attend to your other princess.

Usually, you’d spend time admiring your house as you walk to wherever you need to go. You’re proud of the bookshelves and design, but today is a day different from all the others. You only have one clear vision the moment you open the door of your room with your wife.

She’s sound asleep. Her little body’s curled up under the comforter and her head is nestled in the hood of the zipperless jacket you changed her into the night before. She looks so adorable in it that you want to just take her into your arms and bite her cheeks. You have strange instincts when it comes to seeing your wife, who could switch between being a sexbomb to a girl you’d protect any time of the day.

Unlike Yujin, she’s a light sleeper, for she catches your footsteps seconds before you crash down into the mattress with her. 

“Daddy?” she asks sleepily. She reaches for you. You catch her hand.

“Too early for that, isn’t it?” You smile into her hair anyway. “Good morning, pretty. Happy birthday.”

The nickname isn’t sexual anymore. It’s a pet name now, a call for you to take care of her. And you do your duty well, gathering her into your touch and keeping her protected from the cold.

Eunbi says her thank you, then blinks.“Y-Yujin, she still has to dress—”

“I took care of it.” You gently guide her back down in your arms. “She's on the bus.”

The panic dissolves from her face. She turns around to hug you back. All she says is contained in a little whisper: “Thank you, daddy.”

She throws a knee over your hip and ushers you to herself. As expected, to be honest. Eunbi loves all forms of affection, especially the physical kind. So you give her all of it: a kiss, a tighter embrace, a touch that wanders but not too far. Like you said, it’s too early.

Eunbi hums into your neck. “I’m so happy.”

“Yeah?” 

“Mhm. You make me happy.”

“You just want to get bred again,” you joke. Kiss away the pouty look on her face. “I’m kidding. You make me happy, too, pretty.”

What you say is nothing short of the truth. Eunbi fills your life with purpose. You wake up and keep doing so to make sure she has someone. You work so she’s well provided for, even if she has her own job herself. You come home so that the nights aren’t lonely. You know a lot of men who couldn’t say the same about their relationship with their wives.

You’re happy to be the different one for once. You’ll always love Eunbi. Even after you die, you’d be looking out for her, if there ever is an afterlife.

“You and Yujin are the most important people to me,” you tell her. 

“Well, after you bred me…” Eunbi smiles slyly. “There’ll be another important person in your life, daddy.” A pause. “Maybe we’ll name them Wonyoung?”

You shrug. You don’t know. But then you’re overcome by the urge to kiss her. You act on it, pecking her. It turns into something deeper, and soon you’re on top of her again, rendering her whining once more.

As you kiss Eunbi, you realize that there’s no sure path to the future. But all you know is that you’ll stay with her along the way, and that you’re excited for all the good things to come.

[bytemee]

chapter five. | WHERE DO YOU SLEEP? — YU JIMIN.

𝘀𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀 — y/n, a rising music producer, has built her dream career while keeping her personal life under wraps. karina, aespa’s leader, is preparing for a huge comeback with a mini album produced and written by the one and only y/n.

karina knows this is the opportunity of a lifetime, and she has to nail it. the only problem is, she may be a bit distracted by her producer.

something about their connection feels different—like maybe it's worth the risk of prying eyes. but how much will they give up to chase after what they want?

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 — slight filler chapter, angst, reader has some internal insecurity, mentions of drinkings, don't cringe at this filler im tryna set the mood man, let me know if there's more.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 — 2.7k

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲— extra content chap & chapter six when i finish my schoolwork!! if i missed anyone on the taglist lmk 😓

taglist (open) — @sunshinez4 @gtfoiydlyj @yuyuy90 @liaponderstings @rinapomu

series masterlist. main masterlist. prev. next. extra content.

"are you gonna eat that?" ian glances up from his phone, his gaze landing on the half-eaten batch of fries he had left on the plate. he chuckles, shaking his head as he pushes the plate towards you. "go ahead, i'm not that hungry anyway."

he loves you. people don't share their fries with just anyone.

you had to bite down on your tongue, almost asking the brunette, 'what are we?' you shove a couple of fries into your mouth, and he watches you with a fond look on his face. okay…this is getting a little too straight for your liking.

"stop fucking looking at me," you grumble, chewing your food, and he just laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. you swallow your food, reaching for the soda on the table. "are you still unemployed?"

his happy face drops. ah, you got him.

it was a recurring joke between the two of you. whenever ian wasn't actively working on a project, you teased him about being "unemployed," even though you both knew how ridiculous that was.

ian was on a journey of becoming one of the best actors in the industry, with a growing list of blockbuster movies and critically acclaimed roles, he was far from jobless. but it never failed to get under his skin, and you loved to see his dramatic reactions.

"i just wrapped a film last month," he protested, reaching for his drink. "it's called resting; maybe you should try it sometime."

you rolled your eyes. he was right, though; you've never really rested. not truly. even when you weren't working on your own albums or preparing for your singles, you were constantly writing songs, lyrics, and melodies for other artists.

you didn't like the feeling of not being busy.

but lately, you'd started wondering what it would feel like to just stop for a while. to pause. to have nothing to think about except which island you'd want to vacation on.

you lean back in your chair, sighing. "i'd kill to go to an island. just…disappear for a while. is that bad?"

"what? no, not at all. i'd kill for that, too." ian leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his drink held loosely in his hand. "but what would you do exactly? there's no wifi. no internet."

ian quietly mumbles, "sounds more like hell now that i think about it."

you don't hear that, though.

you hum thoughtfully, trying to imagine yourself on an island—completely unplugged, surrounded by nothing but sand and water. "i'd just… exist. wake up whenever i wanted. swim in the ocean. read a book under the sun. maybe try cooking over a fire or something."

ian watches you with a curious smile. "and learn how to speak seagull language so you're not completely isolated?"

you laugh softly, shaking your head. "i don't think i'd want to go alone." the image shifts in your mind, and suddenly, you're not by yourself. karina's there, too. sitting next to you in the sand, her head on your shoulder, watching the sunset together.

you feel like a smitten little kid daydreaming of their first crush.

ian's brows lift slightly, but he doesn't comment right away. instead, he props his chin on his hand and grins. "do you have someone in mind?"

"no," you lie.

"right." he draws out the word, clearly not convinced. "not even karina?"

you swallow hard, feeling caught. "what makes you say that?"

"oh, i don't know. maybe the way you haven't stopped talking about her since you got back from korea? or the way you light up every time she messages you? or the way—"

"okay, okay, i get it," you interrupt, rolling your eyes. ian just chuckles, and then there's a lull in the conversation, neither of you speaking. after a moment, he looks over at you again. "i think it's good, y/n. really."

"what is?"

"you and karina."

your relationship with jimin, though still new, feels significant. it's good being with jimin—everything feels natural, like breathing, and that scares the hell out of you. she's a part of your life that you've somehow kept under wraps from the general public, shockingly. it was easy at first, but it was becoming increasingly more difficult. you were trying to keep a lid on things, but the media had started catching wind, and people were beginning to notice.

there was an article posted by a small, local gossip website about the two of you spending so much time together in korea, but it wasn't anything to worry about. not yet, at least. the photos they'd included were grainy, taken from far away, and the captions were vague enough that most people would probably overlook it.

and the fact that the article hadn't been picked up by any bigger sites or outlets meant that it hadn't gained much traction. yet.

when the story did gain traction, you'd both know—because your management teams always made sure you knew.

that was one of the small flaws that came with being with jimin. you both come from demanding industries, and finding time for each other has been harder than either of you anticipated, and when you did find time, it was often in the cover of darkness.

miscommunications happen a lot more frequently than you'd like, and sometimes you both get so caught up in your own worlds that it feels like there's a wall between you.

but the good outweighs the bad. the way she smiles at you, the way she listens intently when you talk, her little texts that let you know she's thinking of you—they make the effort worth it.

it's wild to think it's only been a few months since you first saw her. it started with a call about a demo being accepted back in january, and before you knew it, you were in korea, meeting her in person for the first time.

it felt like a lifetime ago, and yet, it also felt like it was just yesterday.

time had a funny way of passing.

"jimin and i…we're not official yet. i don't know. we haven't really talked about it." you mumble, pushing around the last few fries with your pointer finger, and he nods slowly, taking in the information.

"do you want to?"

"talk about it?"

"i don't know," you truthfully answer, your voice trailing off. it's not that you don't want to be official; it's just that the idea of putting a label on something so fragile feels risky. what if it adds pressure? what if it changes things?

"i just… i don't want to rush anything," you say finally. "things are good the way they are. i don't want to mess that up."

ian tilts his head, considering your words. "but if things are good, why are you so scared to define them? you think she doesn't feel the same?"

"no," you answer quickly, surprising even yourself with the certainty in your voice. "i know she does. at least, i think she does. it's just—"

"complicated," ian finishes for you.

"yeah." you sigh, letting your shoulders sag. "between my career, her career, and the fact that we're on opposite sides of the world half the time, it's just… a lot."

ian nods in understanding. "it is a lot. but isn't it worth it?"

yeah.

of course it's worth it. you know that. but sometimes, the effort it takes to make it work feels like trying to hold water in your hands.

"i think it is," you admit softly. "but i guess i'm just waiting for the right moment. or maybe i'm scared there won't be one."

"i understand," he murmurs. he doesn't push it anymore, sensing that this conversation has reached its natural end. letting out a big sigh, he stretches his body in his chair and gives you a tired grin.

"can i do that again?" you ask, adjusting the headphones over your ears. the pressure of them suddenly feels too much, like they're clamping down on your skull. you glance at the producer through the glass, and he nods, giving you the thumbs up to repeat the section.

"gotcha," he says through the speaker. you give him a thumbs-up back, adjusting the microphone and getting ready to sing the chorus one more time. the music starts playing, and you close your eyes; your voice is stuck in your throat, refusing to cooperate. you falter halfway through the verse, your voice cracking on a note that's supposed to be effortless.

shit.

your management wasn't giving you a choice. they made it clear you had to get back to los angeles and focus on your own music. and honestly, they weren't wrong. you had commitments piling up, projects waiting on you. you'd already been in la for three weeks, jumping from one studio session to the next. it felt like you were barely holding it together, squeezing in just a few short breaks here and there—most of which you spent grabbing lunch with ian.

it's not that the sessions were going bad—they'd actually been going pretty great until today. today was a disaster. it's weird, it started off great and you were feeling inspired, but then everything just fell apart. you couldn't get the right tone, and you kept messing up the same line, and the frustration was starting to build.

you sighed, pulling off your headphones and running a hand through your hair. the producer on the other side of the glass gave you a sympathetic look but didn't say much. you appreciated that. the last thing you needed was a pep talk.

by the time you wrapped up, the sun had long set, and you were exhausted. all you wanted to do was go home and sleep. but the traffic from the studio to your house was ridiculous. you leaned against the car window, letting out a groan. you had an early call time tomorrow, and the thought of being back in the studio before the sun had risen made your stomach churn.

after what felt like forever, the car finally pulled up to your house. you thanked your driver and made your way inside, dropping your bags near the door. it was dark and quiet, the silence only broken by the sound of your shoes hitting the floor.

you scrolled through your messages, stopping at karina's name. you'd texted her earlier, a simple "rough day. hope yours is better :)" but there was still no reply. a part of you told yourself she was probably just busy—she had a packed schedule and wasn't always able to answer your texts immediately—but a small, irrational part of you wondered if she was ignoring you.

maybe something had happened and she didn't know how to tell you. or maybe she you had been too clingy and she wanted space. the rational side of your brain was screaming at you to not be so stupid, but it didn't help.

it had been a few weeks since you'd seen each other, and while you tried to stay in touch, the distance was making things difficult. she was busy preparing for her new album and promoting her group, and you were busy with your own stuff.

you hadn't spoken much lately. every time you tried to have a conversation, it would turn into a brief text exchange, with one of you falling asleep in the middle. you couldn't blame her; you'd fallen asleep first a couple of times. but it wasn't the same.

you missed her.

missed the way she smiled at you, the way she laughed, the way her eyes lit up when she was excited.

missed the feeling of her hand in yours.

missed her lips against yours.

it was frustrating. you couldn't get a break from the constant thoughts of her. your friends could tell, too, especially ian. he knew you well enough to see right through you, and he was always asking about her, trying to figure out what was going on. but you didn't know what was going on.

it was complicated, and it was frustrating.

you were frustrated.

tossing your phone onto the counter, you let out a heavy sigh.

you wandered into the kitchen, opening the fridge more out of habit than hunger. your eyes scan the shelves—a sad assortment of leftovers, a carton of eggs, and a single apple that's probably past its prime. you close the door without taking anything and instead grab a bottle of wine from the counter. the cork resists at first, but you manage to wrestle it free, pouring yourself a generous glass.

you sink onto the couch, the wineglass cradled in your hands. it tastes bitter and a little sour, but you don't mind. it warms your chest and makes the frustration start to melt away. you take another sip, enjoying the quiet, and before you know it, the glass is empty.

you lean your head back against the couch, closing your eyes.

nights like this remind you how much you need someone—anyone. a voice to fill the silence.

being alone was a rarity in your life, but that didn't make it any easier to bear. you hated the silence. hated the quiet.

maybe that's why you never took breaks. because when the noise stopped, all you had left was the silence. and it terrified you.

your phone buzzed against the coffee table, the sound pulling your attention from whatever meaningless show was playing in the background. glancing at the screen, you let out a soft groan, annoyed at the interruption—but that changed the second you read the name glowing on the display.

a smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

answering quickly, you brought the phone to your ear. "hey."

"hi," karina's voice is soft and breathy, a gentle caress. the sound is a welcome relief.

"i didn't wake you up, did i?" she hadn't checked the time before calling, a realization that now gnawed at her. but your messages had come in not too long ago, and she figured you'd still be awake.

"no, not at all," you assured, glancing at the time. it was just after midnight,. "just got home."

"just got home, huh? late night?"

"yeah, it was a long day."

"do you want to talk about it?"

you hesitated, biting the inside of your cheek. a part of you wanted to unload everything, to tell her about how the last few weeks have felt like a rollercoaster, but a larger part of you knew that this was a call you'd been wanting for a long time. and now that it was here, you didn't want to waste a single second talking about anything else.

"not really," you said softly, your fingers tracing the rim of the wineglass. you'd been thinking about her all day, and now that she was on the phone, the words tumbled from your lips. "i think i just want to hear your voice."

you could hear the playful grin in her voice, the way she was smiling, even though you couldn't see it. "oh, really? that's what you want?"

you smiled, a little breathless, like you'd been holding onto this moment for so long. "yeah. what are you doing?"

"well," karina's voice dropped a little lower, like she was pulling you closer with her words, "i was just laying down in bed, thinking about you."

your chest fluttered at that, the way she said it, like you were the last thing on her mind before she closed her eyes. "oh, yeah?"

"mhm," she hummed, "i've been missing you. a lot."

"me too," you murmured, the words spilling from your lips. you were a little buzzed, the wine having gone straight to your head, but even sober, you wouldn't have been able to stop yourself. "so much."

a quiet moment hung between you, a comfortable silence, the air charged. then, karina spoke again, "i'm sorry i haven't been around much."

"no," you said, shaking your head even though she couldn't see it, "i understand. you've been busy."

she let out a soft, almost sad laugh. "so have you."

"i know," you sighed, "i've been all over the place."

"we haven't seen each other in a while," karina's voice was barely above a whisper now, like the distance between you was something she was almost afraid to speak out loud. you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your heart clenched at the truth of it.

"yeah," you breathed. it had been a couple of months, the longest stretch since you met. you had gotten used to being in korea, working alongside her, sharing moments that felt like they belonged to just the two of you.

but now, everything was different. you had your world, and she had hers. both spinning so fast, pulling you in opposite directions.

and all you could do was try. try to make it work. to make time.

to find moments like this, where it felt like the world was holding its breath for you.

series masterlist. main masterlist. prev. next. extra content.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

i've been having a couple of downer days recently, and i kept looking for a verse i haven't read thrice yet for some comfort, but you're age! gap verse has been a pleasant escape even though its not what i was looking for. you're writing never fails to make me feel better ari 💕💕

Here's how they met 💜

Bruce sighed. He was starting to hate talk show appearances, but at least this one had never been too bad. Angelique was chatty and fun but not grating. Her show ran as school let out. So grannies watched after their naps and kids watched getting off the bus. She ran a little something for everyone.

He assumed he was here for the grannies.

"I'm so sorry I'm late the shoot ran over and I couldn't get away."

The voice caught his attention. Not the fake starlet over dramatic gushing, but genuine distress. And he half turned to look. You looked like you came from a shoot. Straight off the pages of a glossy magazine.

"No worries, Miss Y/L/N we got your call in enough time. We'll just touch up your face and you'll be good to go," the manager greeting you, said.

Bruce smiled a little. Clearly, you were a frequent guest. You thanked him profusely and trotted off. Not needing to be told where to go. And as you go, there's several crew members you can greet by name. You've either been here a lot or worked with them before. Or both. But, it's endearing.

He turned back around listening to Angelique get her updates on where production was. "-And Y/N is in hair and makeup as we speak."

"Oh, bless her heart," Angelique said. "That's what I get calling her last minute." She turned to Bruce and held out her hand, "Are you ready?" she asked.

"As I'll ever be," he chuckled taking her hand, "You know these sorts of things aren't my forte. My oldest on the other hand-"

"Don't you worry about a thing," Angelique reassured him, patting the hand she was holding before letting it go. "Y/N is an old pro- Ah! speak of the devil!" She swooped over and kissed you on either cheek. "You look absolutely divine, is that one of yours?"

"You know it is," you tell her laughing, returning the gesture. "As if I could walk in and NOT wear my own design, you'd never let me live it down."

"So true. Darling," she said grabbing your hand and pulling you over to Bruce, "I want you to meet Bruce. You'll be on stage together today. You know it's charity week and I though it would be great to highlight all the work you do for school arts programs along side the Wayne foundation," she said.

"Hello," you tell him, holding out your hand.

"Pleased to meet you," he said, taking the hand you offered warmly. Giving you his most charming smile. You did look good. And he could tell they hadn't done much to your face or your hair. "I'm a big fan of your work," he commented.

Your smile didn't falter but your eyes narrowed slightly. And Bruce cringed internally Shit. She thinks I mean the Playboy spread, he thought. "Your last movie, the drama, especially. The range of emotion and the depth- It really was incredible."

"Thank you," you tell him. "It was challenging but I really enjoyed it."

Bruce felt his face heat when Angelique coughed and he remembered hearing that you had the ability to make someone feel like they were the only person in the room. He'd forgotten for just a second. In just that brief moment that he was waiting for an appearance. "It showed I uh- my kids made fun of me when I cried at the end-"

"Aww, Angelique gushed, "This is amazing. you guys keep up this chemistry. It'll go totally viral." She bounced on the balls of her feet and kissed your cheek again, "I'll have someone bring you a coffee, sweetie. You're going to start wilting soon."

And before you could say anything or Bruce could offer to go and get it for you himself, Angelique had bustled off to find and assistant to give marching orders to.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Same as it ever was 11

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as neglect, bullying, manipulation, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can’t catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen ft. Pete Brenner

Note: I'm just tryna get through the week.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The waiting room is excruciating. You find yourself standing more than you sit. Both are torture. Your concern mounts with your discomfort and the more you think of Hansen’s response. He’s a demanding asshole, he told you several times he takes what he wants, but today, he let you go. Even he could see something was seriously wrong.

Funny how you never dread the doctor so much when you’re there for Simone or Malik, but for yourself, it makes your insides knot. You can’t even think of the last time you made an appointment for yourself. That’s probably not good either.

As the doctor examines you and goes over your symptoms, you wince and struggle not to keel over. He’s patient and gentle, treatment you’re unused to. That stray realisation is even grimmer as it sticks in your head.

“Hmm, I’m going to be optimistic and say it’s a bruised tailbone,” he explains, “we can send you for imaging to check for a fracture but it wouldn’t likely be possible today. I’ll call the lab with a request, just to make sure.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” you lean on the examination table, “so what does that mean? Painkillers? Stretches?”

“Rest,” he points at you with his gold pen, “avoid sitting. You want to keep pressure off the tailbone. Lay on your stomach when you sleep.” He tucks his pen in his coat pocket and goes to the cabinet in the corner by the sink, “you’ll want to keep this handy.” He opens the door and slips out a box, “it’ll help.”

As he gives you the box, you consider the image of the donut cushion on the front. The inflatable seat is stuffed into the tight package. You’re not unfamiliar with it.

“Apply ice. Every twenty minutes for the next two days, then two to three times a day should work,” he takes his pen out and his little pad, writing as he talks. “Make your husband do some of the chores.”

You cringe. You nod as you accept his advice. You were just about to argue; you have two kids and a job.

“I’m writing you a note. You’re not working for a week at least. I’ll fax a letter that should be acceptable for the time-off,” he rips off the top page and hands it over.

“Thank you,” you utter again as you look at his chicken scratch. “What is this?”

“Something for the pain and something for your blood pressure.”

“My blood pressure?”

“Your readings are elevated. It could be stress, it could be anything. Right now, I want you to keep track. Measure it and write it down. Come back in a month so we can go over the numbers.”

“Is it that bad?”

“At your age, it’s not entirely unusual,” he assures you, “better we catch it before it’s too serious. You get headaches? Feel tired?”

“Well, I have kids, I’m always tired and yes, they give me headaches sometimes,” you shrug.

“How often do the headaches come?”

“I don’t know, sometimes two or three times a week.”

“Do you have a history of migraines?”

“Not since college,” you answer.

“Ah,” he nods. “Take the pills, icy your tailbone, and stay in bed.”

“Doctor,” you go to argue.

“If it isn’t already a break, you’ll make it one,” he girds, “the lab will call you about your imaging appointment.”

You swallow down his orders. They’re much easier to follow than Hansen’s. And surely better for you. You thank him once more and leave the room, stopping by the counter to give your work address and get your imaging paperwork.

As you get to the car, you unpack the cushion and use the little pump to inflate it. You drop it on the seat and get in. It still hurts like a bitch but not intolerable. You sit behind the wheel and stare. 

You could cry as you go over the appointment. Is it that obvious that you don’t take care of yourself? That you don’t have time? The doctor saw right through you and that brings it all flooding in. You’re barely holding it all together, you’re not sure how much longer you can.

You make yourself start the car and pull out of the lot. You go down to the pharmacy and turn in the script, wandering the aisles as you wait for it to be filled. You take out your phone to check the time. A missed call from Pete and another from Hansen. You don’t have the energy for either of them. Once you have your meds, you have to get the kids.

You claim your prescriptions and start your race against time. Waiting to see the doctor alone took up the bulk of your day. Now you have to get through the rest.

You nearly speed up to the curb of the school, at the tail end of the pick-up as the clock ticks on. You roll around as you see Simone and Malik waiting with Mrs. Guinness. You roll down the window and wave, thanking her loudly as the kids rush to the car.

You get out to strap Malik into his seat as Simone grips her book in her lap but doesn’t open it. You’re breathing loudly as the pain coils around your spine. You muffle it and give her a smile as she watches you. Her eyes dart to the front seat.

“Mom, are you okay?”

“Good,” you say as you snap the buckles together.

“What’s that for?” She points to the cushion.

“The seat’s uncomfortable,” you grunt and push yourself out of the back door. 

You shut the door and get in the front. You settle in, clicking in your own belt and fix your mirror. Simone is smart, too smart. She’s quiet as you shift into drive.

“Mommy, mommy! We played a game today–”

“Shh,” Simone interjects, silencing her brother, “mom,” she utter tenuously, “are you pregnant?”

You nearly scoff as you grip the wheel tight. You laugh and shake your head. “Why would you ask that?”

“Well…” she lets her thoughts hang in the air before she speaks to them, “you and dad have been… arguing and you have that cushion.”

“Trust me, I’m too old,” you shake your head, “don’t worry, you won’t be having another little brother.”

“Oh,” she hums, disappointed, “I was hoping for a sister.”

You take a breath. It’s all so complicated but some of it isn’t. They’re going to know sooner than later.

“Look, the cushion is because I hurt myself. I was waiting until we got home to tell you but I fell and hit my bum pretty bad. Got some bruising is all,” you explain lightly, “doctor says I’m good, just need to rest.”

“Mommy’s hurt?” Malik babbles. 

“Oh,” Simone accepts again, “I… does dad know?”

“He’s been working but I’m gonna give him a call,” you fight to keep your tone steady, “he’s gonna have to come home and help me out a bit.”

“Mommy, you can have Donny, he’ll make you feel better.”

“Mal, she doesn’t want your stupid dragon.”

“Sim,” you rebuff, “don’t be mean. Malik, you can bring Donny in to snuggle with me, okay? That’s really nice of you.”

“Ugh,” Simone huffs and you see her roll her eyes in the rear view.

“Sim, do you have enough time between chapters to help with dinner?” You tease. She doesn’t answer. “Oh, don’t worry, I can manage some mac and cheese on my own.”

You flip on the radio and let the music waft through the car, trying to push away the other worries. You are going to have to call Pete but you really don’t know how much help he’s going to be.

🗄️

You pull into the driveway and repress a groan. You’re really starting to feel it. Your legs are numb yet painful. You push yourself out of the car and grab your purse and the cushion, your keys jingling loudly in your hand.

You open the back door but Simone’s too quick. She’s right beside you, waving you off.

“I’ll get him out,” she insists, “the doctor said.”

“I know what the doctor said,” you chuckle, “thanks, Sim.”

Another car door snaps shut from somewhere unseen. You don’t think much of it as other neighbours often get home at the same time. You wait patiently for your daughter to unbuckle Malik as he squirms impatiently.

“About damn time,” the timbre roils in the air hotly.

You almost let a ‘shit’ slip through your lips as Hansen’s voice makes you tense. You squeeze the cushion and look over Simone’s head at him. She lifts Malik down onto the ground and she turns to face your uninvited guest.

“Ew, it’s him,” she sneers.

“Nice to see you too, toots,” he struts up the walk with his hands in his pockets, “isn’t this sweet? Got the whole clan together.”

“What are you doing here?” Simone challenges.

He tilts his head, brows arching, “you know, maybe I should give your mom some time off so she can teach you some manners.”

“Hansen,” you put your hand on Simone’s shoulder and sidle past her and echo the same question, “what are you doing here?”

“I’m actually being a good guy,” he leans around, speaking to Simone pointedly, “not evil at all. Checking in since I sent you off to the hospital.”

You hesitate. That’s not exactly believable. You know why he’s here; to taunt you. At least he has the discretion to try to hide that from your children.

“Bruised tailbone, doctor is sending a letter, I’ll have to take a few days off to recover,” you say cautiously, knowing he won’t like the news.

“A few days…” he mulls with a sour expression, “bullsh–” he stops himself as Malik comes for to cling to your leg, peeking out from behind you.

“Mommy,” your son whines, “I wanna go inside.”

“Tell him to go away,” Simone hisses.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hansen, I gotta get the kids inside and make dinner–”

“You can do all that but you can’t drag your –behind– to work,” he challenges.

“I have a doctor’s note–”

“I don’t f–” he struggles to censor himself, stopping as he waves off his agitation. He exhales and wipes the frustration from his face, “you’re right. You’re in bad shape, it’s plain to see. So where’s the husband? Shouldn't he be here doing the heavy lifting?”

“My dad’s on his way home,” Simone insists.

“Yeah, he’ll be here soon,” you repeat her lie, “to help.”

“Well, he ain’t,” Hansen bounces on his feet, “but I am, so why don’t I help you out, huh? We need you back to work,” he reaches for your purse, latching onto the strap. “So you should rest.”

“Dude, go,” Simone snarls and pushes his arm.

“Hey,” he growls back at her. “I’m helping.”

“We don’t want your help. She’s not at work, you don’t boss her around here.”

“Simone, Mr. Hansen,” you snip, “please.”

“I’m being a nice guy,” Lloyd retracts his hand and throws it up, “she’s the one making this hard.”

You look at your daughter as she sticks her tongue out.

“She’s twelve,” you state.

“Yeah, and what are you? Sixty?” Simone accuses him.

He recoils, his lashes batting violently, “excuse me?”

“Oh my god,” you sigh, “Simone, take your brother inside,” you hold your keys out, “let me talk to him. It’s just work.”

“And the doctor said–”

“Please, Simone, thank you,” you shake the keys.

She sniffs and takes them. She blows a raspberry at Hansen as she grabs Malik and tears him away from your legs. You rub your neck, the donut cushion around your elbow, as you wait, staring at Hansen as he watches over your shoulder.

“Why?” You ask pointedly.

“What? I’m being good. I let you see a doctor for your fucked up booty and now I’m just tryna fill the hole left by that deadbeat–”

“Not in front of my kids,” you say.

“I was polite.”

“You are arguing with a twelve year old,” you shake your head, “please, I will do my best to get back to work. I know you don’t give a shit but I’m in so much pain, I can’t handle this right now. So please, go.”

“Huh, alright, let’s understand something here, you might be a little broken at the moment but you don’t tell me what to do,” he snarls, “that’s the first thing. Second, you put a muzzle on that daughter–”

“Don’t,” you warn.

“That mouth,” he points in your face, “it’s the ass that’s bruised, not that.”

You clamp your lips tight as your nostrils flare. You stand in a deadlock, silently glaring back at your boss. You feel the tension ready to snap. This is the moment where you could fuck everything up.

Neither of you speak, each measuring your next word but almost afraid to say it. A screech of tires veers in behind your car and fills the end of the driveway. You flinch and look past Hansen as Pete’s garish sports car beams back at you.

“Just in time,” Hansen mutters as he turns slowly.

Pete hops out and swings the door shut, almost frantic as his hair flops forward.

“Hey, I’ve been calling,” he puffs and stops short as he notices Hansen, “uh, everything okay? Where… are the kids?”

“Inside,” you eke out, clearing the frog from your throat, “everything is good, alright?” You try to convince yourself as much as your husband, “Mr. Hansen was just checking in. I missed work today. I went to see the doctor about… my fall.”

Pete blanches and nods, giving a guilty glance to his leather shoes.

“Yeah?” He dares to look at you, “you okay?”

“Bruised,” you answer bluntly, “so I was just telling Mr. Hansen that I am fine. I just need a few days to rest. And I was going to call to tell you the same but I had to get the kids.”

“Your wife’s a busy woman,” Hansen interjects, “hard worker. And she speaks so highly of you, bud.” He claps Pete’s shoulder, “you’re a businessman?”

Pete twitches, as if surprised. He looks at Hansen’s grasp on his shoulder but doesn’t shove it off. There’s a moment of recognition in his eye. Men and their ‘business’.

“Yeah, I run a fitness agency. We do equipment and training, aiming to get into the big leagues, you know, furnish facilities on the National scale,” Pete goes into his pitch.

“Ah, fitness, thriving right now,” Hansen slips easily into his role, “you know, I’m not wearing Louis Vuittons because I work in a dipshit office. I invest and I do it well.” He pulls his hand back and puts it on his hip, “why don’t you tell me more about this agency? I’m intrigued.”

You just stare. This has been an awful, painful day and it just won’t end.

“Uh, yeah, sure, come on in,” Pete sputters excitedly, waving him up the drive. “I got all my stuff in my bag.”

“Great, dinner’s on me,” Hansen offers, “for your time.”

“Oh, awesome,” Pete grins, “I’ll just get my bag out of the car. Honey,” he turns to you.

“Uh, yeah,” you swallow as Hansen faces you with a smirk, “right this way.”

You turn and hug the cushion against your stomach, each step tender and tingling. You sense him behind you, too close for comfort. He snickers quietly as you get to the door. You stop with your hand on the handle.

“Please,” you whisper.

“Be good and I will be, too,” he shoots back.

[emmg]

WIP whenever

because @heylittleriotact uno reverse'd me lmfao

bc grading essays is overrated, so here’s a lil’ something from the ridiculous fic I’m forcing my keyboard to suffer through. Plot? Absolutely none. Just Emmrook going on “dates” (and like also… smutty dates) suggested by the other clowns haunting the Lighthouse. This one’s SUPPOSED to end in a coffee date—because Lucanis—but I haven't written that yet lol

Honestly, it’s like… smut-crackfic with necromancy puns that should be punishable by law. I keep saying I’ll write a serious Emmrich one day, but let’s be real, that day isn’t today

Anyway, title? Don’t have one. I'm just throwing a bunch of dashes and slapping a read-more right before it gets too long so it doesn't invade anyone's dash

--------------

It’s the most absurd scene. Like, truly bonkers. 

She hovers in the doorway, conveniently camouflaged by shadows, because though the cringe levels are searing her soul, she simply cannot look away. It’s like watching a runaway cart barreling downhill, if said cart was cobbled together with blissful ignorance and top-tier ineptitude. 

There, crammed onto Harding and Neve’s favorite tiny sofa, are Lucanis and Emmrich. And they’re... talking? Sort of? It’s the most agonizing conversation she’s ever been subjected to, and that’s saying something. Lucanis is flailing his hands around, using them more than words, trying to drive home whatever point he’s failing spectacularly to make. Meanwhile, Emmrich, ever the dignified one, has one leg crossed so neatly over the other that it creates this little triangle of space that she suddenly wants to crawl into and hide from the embarrassment radiating off both of them. 

"You see," Lucanis laments, his fingers forming that universal gesture of the confused and the desperate, “we went for coffee. But she, well, threw it back. Like a shot of spirits. It was not just any brew. This was from the frost-bitten slopes of the Vimmark Mountains. A dark roast with notes of juniper and just a hint of wild honey. You don’t just drink something like that—you experience it.” He shakes his head. “Her focus was all on that new case file, instead. And fish. Fried fish."

Emmrich nods along thoughtfully. “I understand. However, if I may be so bold, Lucanis, have you perhaps thought of discussing something besides coffee? A change of topic might open new avenues.” 

"I did offer to sharpen her knives."

“Knives,” Emmrich repeats, as though weighing the term’s philosophical import. “And… Neve is known to possess a significant collection of blades?” 

“No,” says Lucanis, flat as a pancake. 

“Ah,” Emmrich replies, offering a sage nod. A wise and knowing “ah,” as if that somehow clarified things. "An unusual approach, then." 

Desperate to claw himself out of this conversational pit, Lucanis asks, “Well, what is it you and Rook… do?” He stumbles over the words, as though simply asking has exhausted his entire social skill set for the year. 

And now, it’s Emmrich’s turn to squirm. She can almost see his moustache twitching, wishing it could detach itself from his face and make a run for the hills. He looks away, frowning slightly, as though consulting some vast internal library.  

They don’t go on dates. Please. Not even the hilariously doomed sort that Lucanis somehow subjected Neve to. For one, neither of them has the time for candlelit strolls with the world about to be ripped apart by blighted elven gods strutting around like they own the place.

Usually, she just pops into his room and fucks him while he pontificates about the finer points of romance. Oh, she always lets him go on for a hot minute, but once her lips are on his throat and her hands start wandering further south, he finally gets the hint, and that highbrow nonsense about “dignified courtship” goes straight out the window.

Emmrich, after clearing his throat, finally answers, "We discuss books."

From her shadow, she snorts. He's not wrong, technically. Just the other night, she had perched in his lap while he was reading some dry treatise on Fade energy attunement and the properties of dawnstone. He’d even launched into a detailed explanation while she kissed her way down his jaw and neck, hardly deterred by the lecture. Finally, when her hand wandered beneath his shirt, Emmrich, after a brief struggle to finish his monologue, allowed the tome to tumble from his grip.

So yes, “discussing books” might be accurate, but it’s hardly the whole story. And yet here sits Emmrich, steadfast in his scholarly pride, while Lucanis looks ready to take a long walk off a very short pier. She’s not sure which of them is more tragic. 

“Hm,” says Lucanis, apparently having reached the absolute zenith of his conversational abilities. 

“Ah,” Emmrich replies, with all the enthusiasm of someone describing mildew yet also, somehow, managing to sound very polite about it. 

She saunters over to break this pathetic monotony of wall-staring both are currently engaged in.

“My dear,” Emmrich perks up, relief flooding his face as though she’s just rescued him from the depths of some social hell. His voice is full of that charming lilt he uses when he’s desperate to salvage his dignity. 

He makes a half-hearted attempt to stand, all dignified and well-bred, but she waves him off with a lazy hand, signalling him to stay seated. And stay he does. Without missing a beat, she slides into his lap, practically draping herself sideways over him, arms winding around his neck. He tenses for a moment, exhales in resignation, but eventually gives in, one hand resting at the small of her back, fingers just barely grazing the line between respectable and… well, decidedly not. 

“I hate when you do that,” Lucanis snarls from across the sofa, jabbing a finger at her. 

“Yes, it’s not very proper,” Emmrich says with solemnity, though he’s showing absolutely zero signs of protest about her whole backside pressing against him. 

With a serene, mischievous grin, she stretches her legs, casually extending them until they’re firmly invading Lucanis’ personal space. 

“Mierda,” he grumbles, swatting at her ankle with all the fervor of a cat being swiped at by an annoying feather. “Rook.” 

She just grins that beautifully infuriating grin. “Go back to your pantry, Lucanis,” she says sweetly, her tone one of pure, serene malice. “The gouda is getting lonely.” 

Lucanis stalks off, glowering as if he’d chuck a knife at her head if he had one in hand. And she’s fairly sure he would. 

She blows him a kiss. He shows her the middle finger. They’ll have coffee in the morning.

Meanwhile, Emmrich, ever the portrait of indulgent patience, looks up at her from his cozy place beneath her with a satisfied hum. “How was your day, darling?” 

“Good,” she sighs, stretching further until her legs are practically colonizing whatever’s left of Lucanis’ side of the sofa. “Yours?” 

Emmrich raises an eyebrow. Makes a contemplative sound deep in his throat. “Enlightening. Lucanis and I were just having… an intriguing discussion.” 

“Oh?” she purrs, eyes glinting. “About what, pray tell?” 

“Courtship,” he says, savoring the word as though it were some priceless artifact he’s just dusted off from an ancient shelf. 

She smirks. “I’m sure you gave him absolutely riveting advice.” 

“I certainly tried.” He heaves a great sigh, even rolls a shoulder in a semblance of a shrug. “Though, I fear our preferred methods diverge.” 

“‘Preferred methods’?” she echoes, giving his thigh a playful squeeze. “Do enlighten me.” 

Emmrich gives her a look that’s half-scholar, half-sufferer. “Well, I fancy a touch of romance, some… sentimentality, if you will. And Lucanis…” 

“And Lucanis?” she goads. 

“His idea of a grand romantic gesture involves… knives,” he finishes with a sigh of pure exasperation. 

She can’t hold back the snort that escapes. “I mean, yeah, it’s Lucanis. Did you expect anything different?” She presses a little closer, trouble dancing in her eyes. “But for what it’s worth, I do love talking about books with you… so very much.” 

Emmrich doesn’t miss a beat, a hint of sarcasm curling his lips. “So I’ve gathered.” 

“Tell me more about your books, Emmrich,” she coos, batting her eyelashes with all the enthusiasm of a third-rate actress in a chintzy Orlesian play. 

“If you’re genuinely interested, I would gladly oblige.” 

“Oh, I’m interested,” she purrs, lowering her voice to a husky whisper. “In you talking… while you bend me over your desk.”

Emmrich rolls his eyes, his facade of feigned innocence dissolving in an instant. “There it is,” he says, shaking his head, fully resigned, and yet absolutely, unflinchingly unbothered. “Right on schedule.”

She giggles, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips, laughing against his skin as his mouth curves into a smile. His hand moves down her back, rubbing a little more insistently, as if he’s grounding himself—or maybe just unable to resist the urge to keep her right there. 

And she doesn’t make it easy for him. She drags her legs back, swings one over his lap, and settles herself down, straddling him. For a moment, she just studies him, tracing her fingers through his hair, brushing little gray strands back, pressing featherlight kisses along his cheekbones. She moves to his jaw, his forehead, then teases at the edge of that absurdly high collar he insists on wearing like he’s hiding some grand secret rather than just a very biteable throat. 

He is fine, she muses, is he not? So impossibly precise, so painfully detailed. He’s all sharp angles and sleek lines, with those maddeningly long fingers that look like they could carve through a mountain if they set their mind to it, and legs that seem to go on for days. Tall, lean, graceful, and—she smirks—a touch too verbose for his own good.

There’s a tragic elegance to him, too, a sort of quiet, melancholic dignity wrapped up in age and maturity, like a bottle of rare, finely aged wine that’s only gotten more complex with the years. A shame, really, that he’s about to be thoroughly enjoyed by someone who wouldn’t know a fine vintage from a spoiled ale. 

She’ll savor him all the same, every last bit. 

When she takes his hands, winding her fingers through his, she feels him smile—a real, soft thing, so she leans down and steals it right off his mouth. She licks along the seam of his lips, teasing, before he finally gives in and parts them, letting her kiss him in earnest. 

“I like your rings,” she murmurs as she pulls back, letting their mouths part with a wet pop, a little string of saliva snapping between them. “They make you look expensive.” 

“Not too expensive, I hope,” Emmrich teases. “Otherwise, I fear I’ll meet the same fate as every artifact your merry Lords of Fortune collect. Pilfered in the night, sold to the highest bidder. One moment here, the next—poof. Gone.” 

She makes a show of sighing, voice deadly serious. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’d rig the auction, slip in a pretty penny or two, then plant an inside man to bid on you. Coin in one hand, you smuggled back to me in the other. All in one night.” 

He laughs, that rich, throaty sound she loves, and she can feel it rumbling up through his chest. “All that trouble just for me?” 

She leans in, lips brushing his ear. “Consider it my own little courtship ritual,” she whispers, nipping at his earlobe. “Better than dinner and a walk, don’t you think?” 

He chuckles, his hands slipping to her hips, holding her close as if he’s half-tempted to test just how well she could pull off that heist. “Dangerously persuasive, as usual.” 

For a while, she stays just as she is, savoring the closeness, every slow inhale filled with the scent of him, the warmth of his body against hers. She steals little kisses, grazing his jaw, breathing her laughter against his skin each time he starts to smile. She loves the quiet, the intimacy of it all, though she loves his voice just as much. Sometimes, she asks him to read aloud, not for the content, but for that smooth, careful cadence that rolls through her and makes her feel so, so good. She’ll rest her head in his lap, fingers idly tracing patterns on his hands, kissing his knuckles, his fingertips, watching his face as he reads. 

Now, there’s nothing for him to read, but she leans into him all the same, letting his quiet words fill the space. He murmurs, babbles, whispers soft nonsense as he unlaces her hair, fingers brushing through the waves, watching as they fall in gentle cascades over his lap. She exhales, content, her eyes half-closed, perfectly happy just to listen as his voice drifts around her, soothing and familiar. 

She simply listens, resting her head on his thigh, gazing up at the ceiling, fingers trailing over his hands, kissing his fingers one by one, lingering on each touch. Her teeth gently scrape along his skin, letting her tongue follow in a slow, winding path. She feels his breath hitch, hears him stumble over his words as she nibbles down each finger, tracing her tongue along the edge before she takes it into her mouth, sucking just enough to leave him squirming. She lets each finger slip from her lips with a wet pop, savoring the way his composure falters, how he tries—and fails—to keep his voice steady as she drags her mouth over the center of his palm, kissing, licking, leaving nothing untouched. 

He’s given up on this one-sided dialogue entirely, his gaze drifting from her to the room around them—the door, the table, the empty corners where nothing but dust bunnies, or perhaps a few stray Fade bunnies, lurk in silence. 

“Dear,” he murmurs, glancing down at her. “We ought to move.” He gives her a gentle nudge, even tries to rise himself, but she’s not having it. 

“Oh, but you look so good here,” she protests, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “They’re all asleep, Emmrich. Even Lucanis, that kitchen rat, is probably curled up in his pantry right now, snuggling his precious wheel of parmesan.” 

Emmrich lets out a long, put-upon sigh, like he’s reaching deep into his reserve of patience, maybe for some scolding remark, but he finds none. His shoulders drop as he finally relents, letting her kisses chip away at his restraint. She leans in, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper, detailing exactly what she wants him to do with those hands of his—where she wants those fingers, how she wants them stroking, filling, plunging, curling… 

“Well then,” he manages, and she laughs, a short, wicked little sound, straight into his mouth. 

She slips down his body, her hands already at his waist, working his trousers loose with a grin that says she knows exactly how flushed he’s become. She murmurs something obscene, barely a whisper and almost incoherent, her smirk widening as she leans in closer, taunting, “Come on, Emmrich, don’t tell me no bone was ever… poked… in that crypt of yours, right out in the open for all to see.” 

“It’s the Grand Necropolis,” he corrects, like that’ll somehow keep his dignity intact, “and we most certainly do not… poke.”

She undoes the last of the many - too many - buttons on his trousers before freeing him just enough to take him in hand. And oh, would you look at that, for all of his posturing he's already hard. All that wriggling on top of him certainly led to something, she thinks.

“Oh?” she hums, tracing her fingertips over his bare skin, savoring the way he stiffens under her touch. She leans forward, her lips brushing against his length as she murmurs, “Not even a quick tumble between the tombs? Not a single bone used for inspiration?” 

His restraint crumbles as she flicks her tongue over him, taking her time, drawing out each little shiver, each catch in his breath, making sure he’s utterly undone before she finally lets her mouth close around him, her gaze locked on his as she starts to take him deeper, her mouth warm, wet, greedy. And as she feels him sink back, his hands clenching in her hair, she knows she’s finally broken that perfect composure, and she couldn’t be more pleased. 

Then she pulls back just enough to speak. “So, tell me, is this what you meant by reanimation techniques?”

Emmrich sighs, dragging his free hand over his face as if he could somehow block out the utter cringe tumbling out of her mouth, his fingers twitching, though she doesn’t give him a moment’s peace. She lowers her head again, sucking him in, hollowing her cheeks, before releasing him yet again, his cock slipping past her lips with an obscene, wet pop. “You know," she muses, "I’d say you’re looking rather stiff.”

A sharp exhale escapes him, a half-laugh, half-moan that only encourages her further. She picks up her pace, taking him deeper, her hands braced against his hips as she moves with a steady rhythm, doing that little thing with her tongue she knows he likes, she knows that everyone likes, a talent truly, swirling all the way around, pressing it flat on the underside of his cock, only to suck her way up, breathe hot air against him, before swallowing him again. 

Between every few breaths, she pulls back just enough to taunt him, her voice syrupy with mock innocence. She can barely hold back the laughter as she watches him react, his hips bucking ever so slightly with each tease, like clockwork, so deliciously predictable. “Come on, love. I thought resurrection was your specialty?”

“Blasphemy,” he mutters above her, though there’s no real heat in his voice. 

“No, no.” She rests her cheek against his thigh, stroking him instead with a slow, deliberate touch, her palm warm and slick, her grip firm. “Think of it as… a rather intensive course in raising the dead.”

The absurdity of it hits her right as she says it—her last attempt at an erotic pun officially surpassed—and she breaks, a snort escaping as she buries her face against his leg, her shoulders shaking with laughter. 

But then she feels his hands shift, pulling her up by her arms, and she yelps, startled, before giggling as he hauls her up, settling her right back on top of him. 

“That’s quite enough of that,” Emmrich whispers. 

As he catches his breath, she wipes her mouth, grinning at him with all the smug satisfaction of someone who’s just completely dismantled a man who prides himself on his restraint. She feels his fingers on her chin as he angles her face back towards his so he can kiss her and she's not shy, she tangles her tongue with his immediately, tasting as much of him as she can reach, even tracing the edge of one canine before retreating for breath. 

“Think you could, I don’t know…” She waves a hand around aimlessly. “Necromance my pants away?” 

He smiles, curling her hair around his fingers where it frames her face. “No, dear. I’m afraid that is not in my skill set.”

[tenderlytouchingjesters]

(NSFW WARNING)!!!

I wrote a little treat a bit ago the prompt was cringe fail dry humping and I was just having fun with it! ^^

Enjoy!

Han Yoojin grunts as sweat drips down his forehead and onto Sung Hyunjae’s shoulders. Sung Hyunjae looking up at the face twisted in pleasure, feeling almost nothing himself. Just happy to be there and to be of use to his precious Yoojin-ah.

Sung Hyunjae tucks Yoojin’s hair, currently covering his cute face, behind his ear. Sung Hyunjae now soaking up the image of the man on top of him. The image of Yoojin slamming his hips back and forth against his own. Rutting with a sort of pathetic desperation.

Sung Hyunjae thinks it’s cute.

Seeing his partner struggle so much against him. A wet stain soaking through Yoojin’s jeans, right where the tent of his dick is.

Yoojin’s arms are straining, his mouth open and eyebrows furrowed as he heaves trying to find release against the man under him. Sung Hyunjae’s own stiff body and hard cock still trapped underneath his fancy suit.

Watching this in the corner, almost completely unbothered and dressed in pajamas is Song Taewon. He’s reading the newspaper like some old man. Sung Hyunjae looks over at him with some mirth. Their eyes catching one another. Song Taewon’s stoic face unchanging as he goes back to his newspaper.

“It’s quite fun here Song Taewon, why don’t you give it a try next time?” Sung Hyunjae tries to tease.

A grunt comes from above him and a strained voiced leaks out. “Shut up old man.” Yoojin croaks.

Song Taewon lets out an amused huff, the closest to a laugh he can get. Then responding to Sung Hyunjae he says, “I already have.” Not once looking up from his newspaper, and not caring to elaborate.

The slamming and grinding Yoojin performs get more and more desperate as time goes on. Groans and high pitched huffs stream out of Yoojin’s mouth, his eyes clouding over.

Sung Hyunjae carefully lifts up his hands to cradle Yoojin’s face before gently guiding him down onto his mouth. Sung Hyunjae languidly kisses him before releasing his mouth. Soft kisses trail across the younger man’s face as Sung Hyunjae tries to comfort him. He peppers kisses on his lips, chin, nose, eyelids, anywhere he can reach. Before licking and leaving open mouthed kisses on Yoojin’s jaw.

A moan frees itself from Yoojin’s throat as he grinds constantly, close to his sweet release. Sung Hyunjae’s arms wrap around him and the bastard’s mouth works wonders on his skin.

With one final slam and a hard grind Yoojin lets out a long whine as he comes in his pants. His hips still stuttering and doing shallow movements against Sung Hyunjae. Yoojin tries to catch his breath as he comes down from his high.

Once Sung Hyunjae notices that Yoojin has some coherency again he brings that wonderful mouth back to his lips and kisses Yoojin deeply. Trying to get his tongue to the back of Yoojin’s throat, cradling the smaller man’s head in his large hands.

Yoojin pulls back now wildly uncomfortable. “Ugh the inside of my pants are so sticky.” He complains as he lifts off Sung Hyunjae and moves to the bathroom with a new pair of underwear.

“Hahaha,” Sung Hyunjae chuckles at the man leaving him. His own dick uncomfortable and straining against his pants. He looks at Song Taewon. “Mind helping me with this?” Sung Hyunjae asks while pointing at his tented pants.

Without even looking up Song Taewon answers, “No Thank You.”

Sung Hyunjae lets out a disappointed sigh before following Yoojin into the bathroom with a mischievous look on his face.

-THE END-

Hope y’all had fun!!

Hmm tell me if I should write something small like this that’s shj and hyj latched onto stw’s chest…

[starsomens]

Can you perhaps write a Noah one shot where it involves person A fell first but person B fell harder

Note: ooo cute! I made Noah person A and Y/N person B. I feel like this isn't my best work but I also think it's really cute, I hope it's okay

*ring ring* the small bell of your cafe rung. You turn and smile to the person who walks in

"ah, look who it is! My best and favorite customer" you say coming to lean on the counter of your front desk. You owned a very small and secluded, but popular cafe and bookstore.

"And it's my favorite cafe bookstore owner. How have you been?" Noah asked as he leaned on the counter. Noah had often passed your small place whenever he was back home in LA, but never went in. He then saw a sign posted outside that read "2 books for 1 coffee" So he had decided to go in and see what it was about.

"So, do I have to buy 2 books to get a coffee?" he asked

"No, not at all. All I ask is for some book donations in place for coffee. The books are then put out for sale or donated sometimes. So, just passing on a book to the next person kind of thing." you smiled at him. It was that smile. That’s what started it all and kept him coming back every time he could.

“So how did the tour go?” You ask him fixing him a cup of coffee. He’s come back so often you know how he likes his cup

“Really tiring but it was amazing.” He admitted “how have the books I’ve brought you been?” He returned the question

“Well, I did read through them and I surprisingly really liked the crime and horror one you gave in! I read through it so fast it was over before I knew it!” You usually read the books he brought before putting them on the floor to give.

Truth was you kinda had a feeling he had a thing for you. More because people kept on telling you and you had finally pieced one and one together. You had finally realized you had some feeling for him when he had gone on tour the first time and you missed him deeply.

You kept telling yourself that it was just a Silly crush that cousins work because of his career. Someone like him couldn’t have had feelings for you! Could he?…

“That’s really good. What about the extra one I threw in there?” He asked

“The romance caught me off guard because you usually don’t bring stuff like that. I haven’t finished it just yet though. ” you inform “I’m nearing the end!”

“Huh. How about we sit down while you finish it?” He asked grabbing the cup of coffee, motioning told his usual spot.

“That sounds really nice�� you smile at him grabbing the book and coming around the counter “so why did you pick romance this time around if I could ask?” You ask pulling the chair out and taking a seat

“Oh you’ll see” he giggled.

If he was honest. He was so SO nervous! There was a purpose for this specific book! He never read romance, not until he met you that was. So before he left for tour he left a couple of books in hopes you’d make it to the romance novel in time.

“You know i really did miss you coming around” you admit as you look out of the window. Watching as the clouds began to form, raining was soon to come.

“Awh how sweet” he said slightly sarcastically as he sipped the arm drink “don’t worry I missed coming here too”

“Whenever the bell rang I kinda hoped it was you when I turned” you chuckle “instead it’ll be a group of girls, or my best friend or even that weird guy from the video game store” you said with a slight cringe. He knew exactly who you were speaking about. There was a video game store employee who’s come in nearly every day at the same time to order something complicated just to speak to you longer. Most of the time he would hit on you and it had gotten very annoying even after saying ‘no’.

Some days Noah was there and was able to have the conversation cut short. But since he’s been on tour it’s been tough.

“He’s still trying? Even after 100 rejections?” He asked shocked and you just nod

“I don’t know how else to tell him” you shrug as you open the book only having 3 pages left to read "Kinda feel bad at the same time."

“I could tell him for you” he thought to himself

"You know this is really nice," you said flipping the page "just sitting here with you and coffee you know?"

"Yeah I know....Y/N you know when I was on tour. I did have a lot to think about" he said sticking his hand in the pocket of his hoodie. His hands fidgeting with something

"I can only imagine. Even with all of shows you had to prepare for?" you ask

"Yeah, you can say it's pretty important if it's got my attention during tour" his leg began to bounce "and I just thought that once I got back I should tell you in person instead of just a text"

"Awh how thought- wait. Noah," your eyebrows scrunch together as you examine the book "The book is missing a page! It's the end where he finally confesses! Did you buy it this way?" you ask shocked

"No, no you're right it is where he confesses I just." he pulls out a folded page "have the end with me. Liked it so much I had to take it with me."

You look at him puzzled. What could he have possibly liked about it so much that he ripped the page out.

“Noah, you’re acting weird. More than usual that is” you poke at him

“Oh I’m weird?” He shoots back “why don’t you read what I underlined for me?”

“Okay…” you look to the page and see some words and letters are underlined. “____” your name spelled out “will….you…please….let me…call you….mine?” You were completely lost and once it came to you, you’re entire face burned up! You could feel the blood rushing to your cheeks. Your eyes dart between the page and the mischievous smile on Noah’s face , he had this planed all along?!

“Look ever since I came here I thought. I thought….so many things about you. You were so nice and really cool and had great conversations with me.” He admits “then I started noticing how you’d make my heart race. How everyday felt better after seeing or hearing form you. You’re gorgeous, you’re generous, you’re just….so amazing. I knew that I felt something for you…but then I had to go on tour.” He said with a guilty tone

You thought you had feelings before but now it was on a different level. You could feel your heart taking leaps in your chest. Your hands flaky, your mind racing. How could you have fallen so hard and so easily?!

“I….I…” you didn’t know what to say you were just star struck!

“Well?” He chuckled nervously “I-I know it’s kinda corny but you know. You have the book store thing going on and thought it might be cute to-“

“Yes.”

“What?”

“YES- ahem. I mean” you take a breath “I’d, love to go out on a date with you” you smile softly. You test the waters and reach over for his hand that laid on the table. His tattooed hand taking your own and wrapping it in warmth.

“So I’ll take that as you liked the lil plan?” He asked

“I loved it. I didn’t take you for such a romantic Mr.Sebastian” you tease him getting up from your seat and he stood with you

“Well, you could say the thing I was thinking about on tour, or rather the person, was important enough to make me romantic” he smiled pulling you in for a hug

“Good to know”

「✨Taglist✨」 @lilhobgobbler @cncohshit @vir-tual @tdopomymind @concretenoah @noah-seb-omens

[3grey-morals5]

hcs-scp/035x049😎😎😎(hc3)

I decided to set aside my other headcanon list last minute (it being alagadda) just due to it not feeling right or interesting. In it's place I will be writing up this. Sorry to anyone who followed me for art or sarkicism, I promise that will be back shortly I'm just in a writing funk.

DO NOTE. this is a ship/pairing hc post! If you do not like it, do kindly leave. Something else to know is that this will include both healthy and more unhealthy relationship segments. If that is something that upsets you, don't feel bad to stop reading. This is only because I feel that in the modern scp setting they do not have the most healthy relationship and wish to comment on it, not that I condone any toxic behavior.

And aswell,

THESE ARE ALL JUST MY IDEAS FOR IT. NO IT MAY NOT BE TRUE TO THE CANON.

Anyways, starting off with past. This is more detailed info on the start of their relationship in Alagadda, as I have already covered some in my last hc post.

good/healthy

-Alagadda

Starting off in the past with Alagadda, something i went over some in my last post. This was before 049 was fucking over obsessed with his cure and before 035 had multiple hosts and was just one (very sad, but decent) consciousness. Due to these circumstances, they were far more stable overall both in their own lives and in their relationship.

Serious relationships were fairly rare in the city, mainly because most citizens were more into silly flings at pound town establishments than an actual commitment. Ofc, where doc came from that wasnt very well known and most relationships were just arranged marriages. Bl was like the middle ground of deciding who you want to be with for the rest of your life, not just one night.

Who'd he choose to try and court?? DING DING DING. Some gothic bird doctor guy!! Ah the thrill of breaking the rules set by bitchass ambassador~ why can't you even date foreigners anyway? These "lord guidelines" can suck it.

In media first loves are usually depicted as messy and uncaring, but I like to think of these two as the opposite. Well minus messy, it probobly was just because they didn't really know what they were doing. Like number 1 how do you even ask someone out. He has a bird mask...maybe he'll like this little cool rock I found! Yes that should get the point across.

Jolic try not to depict the BL (black lord not boy love) as a silly lovesick teen HARD EDITION like look at him. who read all the libraries' tragedies and comedies of romance? That gotta be bl. Rest in peace Anguish...you would have adored ao3 cringe...(this is a joke. Please trust I take serious characters seriously and haven't drawn him over that one purple haired emo guy picture once)

share hobbies such as ...idfk..dissection. except bl dissects literature and doc will dissect anything that's died or maybe is still alive. What are those scars on Anguish's tentacles you may ask? Oh yeah doc just needed to do a few snips to take notes of how the sludge anatomy is (a blatant lie. He was bored and his partner let's him do practically anything. Daww look he trust..so cute)

They may not fully understand eachothers hobbies, but they will still pay attention to info dumping (haha just like me abt scp I yap ALL DAY) from the other and try and to ask relevant questions. No doc may not care too much for rip van winkles 69 chapter long poetry book, but he will forever listen to bl belt his heart out about how it touched him so deeply just to see them excited and happy. And bl may be slightly disgusted by the icky wet specimens in docs bag but as soon as the birdie needs help with them or begins his rants about new graphic medical practices he read abt u bet bl is lending 4 hands or is LOCKED IN listening.

Even when their lives were on the line when the secret got out, Anguish didn't break things off to save himself and doc didn't flee to avoid certain death. They stuck together and that got them out alive and well..back to the dimensional back alley that is earth.smh.

-Earth time before the start of deterioration 😔

By now doc was far more anxious with his hallucinations back, but 035 was still with him every step of the way. Being worn by his partner, they had a symbiotic relationship and still 035 was just one pure consciousness snug with 049's. It sure took some adjusting to not having a body, and foe doc having your bf just IN YOUR MF MIND ALL THE TIME but it was a relatively calm experience.

Sorta not ship related but lemme tell yall...fat theory coming up. Yknow how. 049 make the bodies move but they have no mental really..who does cognitive stuff? 035. IM TELLING YOU THEY WORKED TOGETHER TO FULLY REVIVE PEOPLE WITH THEIR BRAIN AND ALL LIKE ARE U GETTING THIS. that's why 049 can't do it on his own bc 035 ISNT THEREEE. Anyways 🥰

Oh BTW they're actually married haha. They scared some fuckass priest into doing the ceremony in the middle of forest lavender clearing. Was the first time 035 had a host, a nice looking kindhearted fellow he found in a nearby town.(we don't talk about how terrified the bl consciousness was the first time he got a new consciousness. But they hit it off and are still besties in the hive mind. His name is Winfred.)

Not my hc, BUT I once saw someone say that they were married with flower crowns instead of rings and and OH MY GOD that has stuck with me ever since like Jesus christ you're SO RIGHT. Dyo's was oleander and Doc's was lavender ofc.

At this time 049 could still remove his mask, and he had it off for the kiss kiss and learned from the village how to braid his hair. Doc's robes were back to being plain and normal after coming back from Alagadda, but he tried his very best to fix them up nice with bits of lace and flowers. 035 just found the best clothes he could around the houses he.. Ahem..totally didn't sneak into..

Yes 035 was absolutely bawling during the ceremony.

035 traveled along with 049, either with the rare very hardy and longlasting host, on him, or in his bag. With very little hosts, the bl was able to keep them mainly in check and in control. Something that would become basically impossible in the upcoming centuries.

When he had hosts, Dyo would venture out and find little trinkets to give his bird husband. There were always very thoughtful and doc ADORED them. He still keeps them in his bag (well at least the ones he hasn't found in the depths of the bag yet, he didn't remember them in modern times and would just toss them :( )

Examples include: pressed flowers, coins, poems on scrap papers, colorful feathers, jewelry, LAVENDERRRR, a fucking truckload of handkerchiefs of various designs, quilt squares he'd snatched, old broken ceramic or porcelain peices, one singular tiny statue of a horse, a pipe or two, pretty rocks, sketches he'd done, ect.

-Start of deterioration (starts delving into a more unhealthy relationship. Stop now if you don't wish to read!)

049's mask was now firm on his face, and the lack of mental link connection only further pulled him away from his partner, aswell as the worsening of hallucinations, put strain on their marriage. He was withdrawn, no longer had time for "silly things" such as being a present partner. The addiction to his work only further feuled this tear in the relationship.

035 still did his best, struggling through the now horde of hosts to try and be the best husband possible despite his mistreatment. He'd push for breaks, clean him up after surgery, hold him close in night terrors, fix teas and dinners to try and get 049 to eat and drink.

But it was never enough.

At some point, you just can't hold on. Trying to manage 10 consciousness was enough but with the constant stress of his situation(causing more humor leakage->quicker host expiration) he needed more and more hosts to keep a body, thus, gaining more conciousnesses. They began to overpower him, causing more erratic behavior that did nothing to help the already tense situation.

This hurt them deeply, knowing he could do nothing to help them. Or himself. There was no right option. Try to save his partner? Try to save himself? Keep some control? It festered inside of him, more and more black bile bleeding from him.

docs issues didn't let up, soon viewing one he once held dearest just another block in the way of his quest of life. He had to get rid of this...pest.

Why keep him around...how was he ever of use to me. They must go. I have better things to do.

After centuries of being together, he snapped. The mask viewed their little trip as a step in the right direction...he should have known something was up. Led into a crypt, his glee was cut short at the clanks of the gate. The click of a lock. By the time he made it back to the crypt door he was already walking away, eyes glazed over ignoring the pleas from his husband.

Wait.. what are you doing..doc? Doc where are going? What's going on? DOC?! ARE YOU LISTENING? GET BACK HERE! PLEASE?! (wailing and pleading)

Dont leave me...!! please...(thud)

(Dramatic much 🙄)

-modern day. (This is toxic. 5hwy are both terrible and I hate them. For this reason I have an alternate scenario where they remember eachother and it's sweet)

In containment, they both have issues with vices. 049's being curing..ofc. while 035's is getting free (hosts as a whole) and finding his husband(bl consciousness alone.)

Do note, mentioned in earlier hc posts, the hivemind as a whole recognizes 049, but they don't know how he is important. This is due to bl explaining him, then those who heard explaining, and those who heard second explaining. So if you've ever played telephone, that's how it is. Something gets repeated so many times a bit different, so the differences at up. This as a whole creates a recognization, but unsureness how. This then morphs onto an unhealthy obsession.

Meanwhile, 049's perception is so warped due to hallucinations and his obsession with curing, that he dosent even recognize him anymore. Merely their meets are a possible useful interaction with info pertaining to the cure, and as soon as 035 isn't of use...dropped. then he is forgotten once again. The cycle restarts when they meet.

035 is the opposite, absolutely head over heels for this guy he dosent even really know. It grips at him, an itch that can ONLY be scratched by being in contact with him. An unhealthy obsession that can't be quenched no matter what. Like he NEEDS him to survive, pitching a fit every time he dosent get his way and trying to force himself upon them to get attention. Even if it hurts 049.

Want a snippet of sweetness in these trying times? Thought so. When exposed to lavender, 049 is calmer and in a sort of woozy carefree state. A daze where his only hallucinations are of happier days...curled up with a loved one in flowing lavender feilds...sun shining warm above them, clouds dappling the pale blue sky. Life is calm, life is good. But right when he turns to gaze at whomever he's laid with.

Snap.

He's back in a cell. Cold and damp. Or led by guards, feet thinking aimlessly on the metal floors. And that haze clouds his eyes yet again.

.

.

. ☀️ ☁️ ☁️ ☁️

. ☁️ 🕊 ☁️ ☁️☁️ ☁️

. '°•~-\_🌿_🌿🌿_💜🖤_🌿🌿_🌿_/-~•°'

.

.

.

.

Maybe in another life. :3

Hope yall enjoyed it! I sure did (the good ones at least) this took longer than expected, but I think it was worth it. I plan on making a short story of the future, I won't spoil too much, but I've thought it over a while and I think I'm happy with the idea. Why wait for another life when the afterlife is right there?

Thanks for reading! Love yall<3/p

[staghunters]

Happy Birthday to her! Vampfic Jackie you will always be famous :3

Alt Version and ramble under the cut haha

Wowza, a whole year!

Wouldn't have thought it to feel so long and short at the same time. If I had to look at all the stuff that happened inbetween posting that first chapter and whatever I'm doing now, there's so much change in there. And definitely all for the better!

I've met so many cool people in the span of this year. Very noteworthy case being @ordinaryhorror, since we started talking because of vampire!jackie, and then werewolf!jackie, and before you know it, you're on a train to Spain hugging the biggest dork in the world (love ya, my buddy, my pal). Oh no now there's a series rewatch, Ah no now a discord server and mutuals and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa so many nice peeps!

Talking about fandom as something Big in my life feels a bit cringe, but in this case that rings very true. I think I put somewhere before that, ever since I got into YJ, my inspiration for making things has spiked for the first time in over a decade.

AND for the first time it really got me into writing fic. So that's why this is a bit of a special occassion, since the vampfic was the first multi-chapter thing of considerable length that I started with. It really forced me to think about a number of things like: - how the fuck do I outline things - what's good pacing - this could be a fun thing to include, but would it make sense - aaaaa multiple characters interacting and they all have their own personality and likes/dislikes about others aaaaaaa

A great lesson!

I liked working on it, and where the story ended up. I don't really re-read it except for the comments and chapter 7, since of that one i really am proud. On other fronts I feel that if I were to stare at it for too long, the flaws would begin to annoy me and I would want to fix things, which is not something I want to do.

If anything, I want to put the same level of energy into a new project.

Thanks for reading! And if you didn't, still super-duper thankful to have you here. Just knowing that there's people in the world that vibe with what I think of/make really is enough to me

Cheers <3

[thana-topsy]

If you're up for sharing more writing tips, how can I tell if what I've written is actually any good? With writing I get stuck in a cycle of feeling like I'm the next Shakespeare while writing but then I'll look over my work a few days later and absolutely hate everything and think it's the most cringe shit ever, then I'll leave it a bit longer and think eh it's not as bad as I thought but still not great and so on. I feel like being forced to write for a grade during school and having everything be marked and assessed and assigned a particular value has robbed me of the ability to critically analyse my own work in a way that's objective and accurate but also fair and realistic. I can analyse other peoples' stuff till the cows come home but I lose all rational thought when it comes to my own stuff

Adding onto that, how do I get to the point where I can stop looking back at my old work and hating everything and wanting to delete it all? Realistically I know finding fault with my old stuff is good bc it means I've grown and improved from where I once was etc but at the same time I wanna enjoy stuff I've made in the past without cringing every time I read it

Hey there Nony, I wanted to let this one percolate a little bit before answering because I've been where you are. And it's a rough time for sure. But aside from my own experiences, I also wanted to get the opinions of some of my writerly friends in the fandom, too, since everyone is a little font of wisdom in their own right.

So I'm going to share their advice alongside my own, because this is kind of a complicated string of questions you're asking. Long post ahead!

@paraparadigm says to Keep Writing: "Write more. Write so much (and so many different things) that eventually the sheer volume bulldozes over self-devouring ego, comparison twitches, or feeling lost, because you don't yet know your own baseline. Coupled with "read more, read everything, read things you enjoy and things you don't, read for the craft as much as the entertainment." And: "I'd add that when revisiting old writing, it's helpful for me to differentiate between "ew the writing is not as technically solid as it is now" and "ah that's interesting, I guess that's where I was at then, emotionally and psychologically". Old writing is also a sort of archaeological record of your younger self, and that can, in fact, be a bit itchy to revisit, so learning to cherish that without passing judgement can be really helpful. I try to treat it like those little marks one puts on the door jamb to track a kid's height."

@mareenavee says "Part of it is writing more, as Para said and I will always second that. Another part is, honestly, the hardest part. It's to try very hard to get out of the habit of negative self-talk.... There's so much work involved with this but normalizing being proud of your work and having some grace with yourself is part of that answer."

@archangelsunited says "Early on, instead of going “this has to be a masterpiece” I would tell myself my only job was to tell a story. I couldn’t tell a story if I was deleting it. Also, talking about your work helps. The less ashamed I was of my writing, the more people wanted to read it. There is a need to hide your work, and that can lead to a downward spiral all its own. And, 90% of the time, you have to suck at something to learn to be good at something. The work you already wrote shouldn’t be the sum of all your skill, it should be one of those measuring sticks for the moment. Despite previous thought, you won’t be stuck at the same level forever."

@polypolymorph says "In addition to accumulating experience via reading and writing, you also have to be willing to reinvent the wheel. Unfortunately the Process™️ is unique to everyone, and even when you are deliberately mimicking a voice as, say, a ghost writer, you can't expect that 2+2=4 for you. Your process might look more like a Lotka-Volterra equation for the same type of work and that's okay. Trial and error is the best way to figure out what advice actually works for you--and if it doesn't, it doesn't mean you're wrong. Don't get stuck on pop writing advice like a sad roomba does on an upturned rug. Learn when to throw it out."

So there's some advice from some other excellent writers! I hope you've been able to find some value in their advice, because it certainly kicked me in the pants a few times.

As for me, I think, having been where you are, my biggest piece of advice is: Find joy in the craft. Get curious instead of critical. An artist shouldn't down themselves over a rough sketch when they're working out a drawing, so why would a writer do such a thing? Everything you write is practice. Everything you make has value because it builds up to the next thing you make.

At the end of the day, you are the only one who is capable of telling the stories that are in your head. This fact alone gives whatever you put onto paper value, regardless of quality. You are creating magic, in the most literal sense! Creating something out of nothing, conjuring images into someone else's mind from hundreds of thousands of miles away, transcending space and time. It's amazing!

Lastly, my final piece of advice is to just write for fun. Write things nobody else will ever see just because you wanted to get words onto paper. You have to unlearn what was drilled into you in school. You are more than a content creation machine. You are an artist, a wordsmith. And just know that there will never be a day when you look at your own work and say "That's it, I have achieved perfection."

Writing is a life-long journey. Just enjoy the ride!

[whostarlockeda03]

3, 12, and 17 for the fic writer ask game?

Hi Jay! Thanks for the ask! I'm sorry it took me a while to get around to answering it - something I really should have seen coming but ah well. Here ya go:

3. What are your top three most commonly used tags on ao3?

Well, the top one is technically other additional tags to be added - the curse of posting works whilst they're still wips XD - but I'm not counting that one so the next top three go: 1. hurt/comfort 2. fear 3. fluff ...What can I say? I like my angst, whump, and subsequent comfort XD

12. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Going back over a decade here, but it was Star Trek tos. I don't have any of my trek work posted on ao3. Some of it is probably still on ff.net, but I think most of it was posted on (and has since been removed from) Wattpad. I have debated posting that stuff on ao3 but when I read some of it back now I absolutely cringe and I can't bring myself to post it XD

17. What is something you recently felt proud of in your writing?

Hmmmm I think I'll have to say my style. It's still very much in development, and I have a bad tendency to end up unintentionally mimicking the styles of works I've recently read, which means my own style can jump around a bit, so I've been trying to work on that. I think I pulled it off with Truth Will Out. I think as well, I sometimes fall into a trap of just listing a bunch of actions that characters are doing, rather than adding in any form of emotions or narration. That's something I'm trying to avoid doing as well, with varying levels of success at times XD

[cupoftaae]

Forever And A Day (KTH x READER) series ♡ fondness (chapter 16)

Summary: your lifelong friend is forced to face his true feelings for you once he breaks the number one rule of becoming friends with benefits: dont fall in love. He knows he loves you, but you on the other hand need more convincing of the most important thing: the right decision.

Genre: fwb. Roommates, friends to idiots to lovers, fluff, angst, smut, the whole 9 yards tbh.

Pairing: taehyung x female!reader

rating: 18+ (minors dni!!!)

word count- 5-6k

warnings- swearing, mentions of miscarriage, tae is sad sad, kaito is back, drinking, um i think thats all? lmk if not!

a/n- Lovies!! hi i hope ur all doing good. Im trying to write a lot more because i literally just quit my current job (they treated me like shit) after 2 months. Im applying to so many places rn but in the meantime im having fun giving my tumblr a little luv <3 also apologies for any mispellings, I had read over my previous chapters and cringed at some of the words I spelled wrong. I have been learning english for years now but apparently its still not to a 100, oh well! Anyways, please enjoy! -Nini <3

"I had my suspicions"

You blushed, eyes down on your water bottle as you sat in your childhood bed again, your mother sat comfortable at the end of it as you both talked.

You arrived back home around 2am yesterday, and to say that you already felt a little better was an understatement.

"you did?" you mumbled as your mother nodded, smiling.

"when you came to visit a while ago, I saw a lot of touchiness" she giggled "but I minded my business"

"ah this is embarrassing" your hands flew to cover your face, now knowing your own mother knew about your relationship before you could say anything.

"no, I dont think so" she hummed, looking at the carpet. "I just know when a boy is in love, i remember your father-"

you inhaled sharply at her words, biting your lip and looking away.

"-...he would always look at me like I was the center of the universe"

You stayed quite for a moment before speaking up softly, "what happened?"

She smiled sadly, "he chose a different life, and I resented him for so long, but I accept it for what it was, and now that I have..I feel like im free to live again. And thats what you need to do, accept it, accept whats happened." she whispered, calming voice infiltrating the bedroom at such a late hour of the night.

Your eyes met hers, a glimmer of love was bright enough to see through her dark brown orbs. You nodded as she began to speak again,

"Taehyung and you.....I always knew it would happen" she giggled, "I remember once you guys hit middle school, and the moment I caught you sneaking into my closet for makeup before he came over to play video games-"

"oh god, stop" you blush, shaking your head

"it was cute even if you wouldnt admit it" your mother waved her arm at you.

You hummed, crossing your arms over your chest as you got lost in thought.

"so, how is he taking everything?"

"taehyung?"

she nods, eyes burning a laser into yours.

"well...i dont know" your answer was honest as she sat up.

"what do you mean?"

You sighed once more before speaking, "he and I kinda argued before I left paris...im an asshole mom" you offered a sad laugh, looking down. "im an asshole...because, I got mad at him for trying to help"

She tilted her head, listening, "Im sure he just wanted to be there for you, he was hurting as much as you"

"i know, and thats the thing mama...but I just needed to be alone and away....and he got mad when I expressed it...its not like we are married" you roll your eyes

she giggles, "I understand my dove, but listen" she grabbed your hands, "things like this happen all the time, we cant run away from our loved ones when life gets bad. What happened between you both was terrible, and im so sorry sweetheart" she whispered, your own eyes getting a bit misty, "but running back home isnt gonna do anything"

You nodded before smiling, "I came here because its comforting, you're comforting.....now you're scolding me?" your voice had humor.

She laughed, "you are a 23 year old woman, I cant control your actions, like whether you stayed with Taehyung or came back to me, however I can tell you my opinion, and if your decision was right or wrong, not trying to guilt you, just being a mom"

You nod slowly, fidgeting with the heating pad sitting on your stomach to help ease the lasting cramps that only served as a painful reminder.

"you make your own choices hun, but...let me ask you this, do you love him?" she whispered

Your eyes shot up at her, your heart singing with sadness yet love.

"....yeah.." you whispered so quietly it was barley heard. "yeah I do" you couldnt help but begin to cry as she wrapped you into her arms.

A mothers loving embrace.

It could heal all, and this is exactly why you came back.

"You find comfort here, but as you get older, you need to find comfort in new things." your mother began, " life is scary, but its all about changing. Without change, life would be rather boring, huh?" her hands ran up and down your back as your face rested on her shoulder. "Taehyung has been here forever, youve grown together, but these new feelings? they offer new experiences,...amazing ones too. Im sure he loves you just as much, thats why he let you go..." she whispered, "but my dear, you have to fight through the darkness to find the prize, to find why you had the connection at all"

You were full on Niagara falls into your mothers sweater. Her words provided insight, but as well as pain. You shouldnt have left him behind, it was wrong, and you hoped he understood.

you realized that you were your fathers daughter, and not just in DNA. Your first instinct was to run away from your loved ones, run away from family when they would give you everything.

You were becoming your father.

And you hated how much you still loved that man even if he left you. and you hate that you take after him in such painful ways.

But most of all...you hate how you didn't even see it happening.

"shh" your mother cooed, holding you as she rocked back and forth slowly. "my child, life will settle, but you need to find your way, and if thats with him, you need to tell him"

"i know" you whispered, wiping your eyes as you clutched the tiny bear you packed.

The bear.

Fuck, you wish you didnt bring it in your suitecase.

It was the teddy bear taehyung bought the day after finding out you were pregnant, The perfectly placed initial on the middle that always made you remember he thought of you as a Kim, as well, even if you werent married.

It was a reminder he wanted you in any way he could grasp you.

As a girlfriend, a mother to his child, eventually a wife, but always....always his best friend in life.

Your mother looked down at the bear, smiling. "y/n..."

"hm?" you mumbled, leaning back as she put your hair behind your ears.

"im so sorry this happened to you" her voice was quiet again, "you would have been a beautiful mother....and if you decide to have kids in the future, thats exactly what youll be"

You nod sadly, "thank you...."

It was quiet for a moment before she spoke up again, "when I was in my twenties, your father and I decided to try and have another child..we saw how you clung to your pre-school friends and called them your sisters" she chuckled "so we thought maybe another baby would be good. Well- I got pregnant right before your 4th birthday" her voice choked softly as you watched, this being news to you.

"unfortunately I, too, had lost it" she teared up explaining the situation. "it was one of the most painful things I ever went through....but looking back at it" she smiled at you gently, rubbing your back, "im so greatful"

"grateful?" you whispered, in shock

"I had you, my little best friend whos always stuck by me even in the worse situations...you never had to fight for my attention, we were always together"

You wiped her tears as you smiled sadly, agreeing.

"and you have always been more than enough." she mumbled, "so my love, I guess the lesson here is...that once you learn to accept it and know the situation for what it is.....you'll heal"

You hugged her tightly as her words struck your chest with a great force.

She was right, whether you liked her advice or not, shes been through exactly what you have, and if she can make it out and be such a wise, resilient woman today, than you can too.

But you'll be damned if its in the steps of your father.

Later after she went to bed, you were left alone, the covers up to your neck as the tv played some old school tv show that only got airtime in the late hours of the night.

You found your hand resting on top of your stomach as you laid calmly. You had to acknowledge it to get past it. "im not pregnant anymore..." you whispered, feeling an overwhelming sadness fulfill you. Your eyes drew down to your hand as you rubbed your stomach, feeling a bit stupid at what you were doing.

taking a few deep breathes, you opened your eyes and looked up at the ceiling, "its okay to be sad....its okay to cry" you remind yourself aloud, voice quiet and shaky, "but I can heal....its not my fault" you nod, tears falling for the millionth time within the past few days.

You were exhausted, mentally and physically, but after tonight you feel like perhaps you made a breakthrough, you were proud of yourself even if it was just a baby step.

You turned over in bed to look at your phone, the time was 3:55 am, yikes.

You barley had time to register it before the lock screen caught your attention, now all you could think about is how Taehyung was feeling.

-

"why are you already back?"

"dude just give me my fish and dog so I can go" Taehyung mumbled, standing at the front of his friend Jin's apartment.

He laughed and turned away for a moment before returning with Hae swimming around in his tiny tank, the packet of food wedged underneath jins chin. "here"

Taehyung took the bowl and the food, nodding "thanks..."

"mhm" he smiled, "so wheres Y/N? The last thing you posted was a photo of her standing on the edge of some fountain, did you push her into it?" he snorted, trying to be light hearted with his friend.

"no shes just, busy I guess" he shrugged, trying to leave quickly, "wheres yeontan?"

Jin looked behind him and picked up the small dog, putting the leash on him securely before handing it to taehyung, who took it with his free hand.

"thanks for not killing my pets and taking care of them, even if it was probably Stephanie who did everything" taehyung referred to Jin's wife, who stood behind him with a wide grin of acknowledgment. "i'll see ya" he nodded before turning down the hall to leave, Yeontan leading the way on his leash.

Taehyung walked on the sidewalk, his feet finding the familiar path to his own apartment.

He left Paris a day and half after you did, only communicating with you through occasional texts that left much to the imagination when it came to how you were doing.

He unlocked the door and walked in, wincing at how messy you two left it before leaving. His hands gently put Hae down on the kitchen counter as he began to pick laundry up, tossing them into a ball and making a mental note to do a washing load this weekend.

Tae checked his phone for any sign of you, frowning when he was met with 0 notifications.

Would it be wrong to call you? he didnt know anymore, things felt awkward...you left with no closure or definitive answer on what was okay or what crossed the boundaries.

It definitely felt uneasy being alone in the apartment, he missed your loud laughing, and the good food you always made for him.

He even missed when you would force him to watch shitty reality shows with you because it meant he got to cuddle with you on the couch for a few hours.

The rumbling sound of his stomach knocked him out of his head as he turned to the kitchen. There wasnt much, other than a few now rotten bananas sitting on the counter.

His hand gripped the fridge handle as his eyes were met with an ultrasound photo hung up by a hello kitty magnet, it felt like salt was poured into his wound...his hand slid off the handle. he wasnt hungry anymore.

Beside the photo was doctors reports hung up for upcoming appointments and reminders.

This upcoming weekend was supposed to be the gender reveal. Deep down Taehyung didnt care if it was a boy or girl, but not that he'd be having neither, it felt more upsetting.

It was a reminder of something that he might never get to experience with you.

He found his way to the kitchen counter, sitting in the quiet room as yeontans tiny pitter-patter paws echoed through the apartment wood flooring.

Taehyungs eyes were drawn to hae, the tiny yellow fish swimming around in his spongebob tank, a toy pineapple placed perfectly in the center for him. For some reason he teared up.

suddenly he felt the urge to hear from you, but he felt selfish for doing so. You should be the one to reach out, right?

He didnt know anymore.

"oh hae....I miss mama" he sighed, leaning down to rest his head in his crossed arms over the table.

-

"are you gonna just sit in bed?" your mothers voice echoed into your room, the lights were off and the curtains were closed as two large blankets covered your body....it was noon.

"I'll get out soon"

She shook her head, leaning against the door frame "Hun, I need to go shopping, I need to know you are up and alive before I leave you here alone"

Reluctantly you sat up, wiping your sleepy eyes as nostalgia from high school mornings hit you.

"there she is!" your mom cheered, directing her cat to follow over to you as she turned to leave.

You smiled at it as you stretch, "hi baby" your voice cooed before turning over and unhooking your phone from the charger

2 notifications

"oh" you mumbled, quickly unlocking it and going to your texts. You wish it was Taehyung, unfortunately it wasnt...

Kaito: hey, I know this is sort of inappropriate to text you like this, I get it, but I cannot stop thinking about you. I cant stop thinking about the baby. Can we please talk about maybe getting a paternity test?

you frowned, petting the cat as she climbed into your lap

kaito: and I know btw that you dont want me to be the father figure, which is fine. Ive taken time to understand that...however i need to know if its mine, I cant live without knowing y/n. please call or text.

Oh thats just great, another person you had to break the news to.

Your mother came back down the hall, knocking on the door frame "so are you coming or not? im leaving" she smiled

"I'll stay here, thanks though mama, hows your back?"

She waved her hand in dismissal "oh im fine honey, I got my brace"

You smiled sympathetically as she turned to leave, knowing she was probably lying about the pain.

Shes always been stubborn, thats where you get it from.

After getting cleaned up a bit, you made your way outside to sit on the front deck, propping your phone up as you sit in the rocking chair. Were you really about to facetime Kaito?

....guess so...

After a few rings, you began to feel the tightness in your chest...the anticipation...the nervousness...

"hello?" his voice echoed through your ears, for some odd reason you felt like crying already.

"hey....are you at work?"

"on break" he smiled softly, eyes looking into yours through the phone screen. It felt odd to sit here on call with him, you havent done it since you both had been dating.

"so..."

He sat down, propping the phone up against a wall as he watched you, making it clear he was ready to talk. "listen, please understand this isnt me trying to make my way back into your life"

You nod, picking at the skin around your fingernails.

"I just want to know if its mine is all, I mean, I figured theres a chance it is, no? so this is warranted right? i dont want to seem pushy...."

You sigh, looking at him, "um, well I called you because I wanted to discuss everything"

"what do you mean?" his head tilted softly

"kaito, I uh, I lost the baby" you said aloud, nodding as you did so. In some way, the words left your mouth a lot easier than just a few days prior.

You were knee-deep in the healing process

"oh." was all he responded, his face appearing confused and unsure, "you lost the...baby?"

"miscarriage" you add, "it happened a few days ago, I never had the chance to tell whether it was yours or taehyungs"

He frowned, "y/n, im sorry"

"dont apologize its fine, im fine"

"god...."he ran his hands over his face, obviously deeply upset by the news.

"its okay" you assured again as he watched you for a moment,

"do you think it was mine? genuinely?" he whispered

You shrugged, eyes dragging away from the screen to look at the cars driving past the house "I dont know"

You did, you were 90% sure it was taehyungs, this was decided last night as you carefully calculated the dates between periods, and the breakup vs when you and taehyung got together.

If it was kaitos, that would have meant you were close to being 5-6 months pregnant, and at the time of the miscarriage, you were about 3-4.

regardless, it was still upsetting, and in hindsight, it didnt matter anymore especially when you had to sit and break everything down to your ex.

He sighed again, "how are you managing?" he whispered

"im good, im at my moms house right now"

"wheres taehyung?"

you scoffed slightly, even after telling him the situation he only cared about you and taehyung. "Kaito I called to inform you about the baby and the baby alone, we dont need to discuss my personal life, you dont get to know information that no longer involves you"

He sat watching you for a moment before nodding "okay....sorry?"

"thank you for being understanding during this, and all I ask is that you continue to be respectful to not only me, but taehyung"

He rolled his eyes slightly "okay"

"okay" you repeated, sitting near the phone, "well...thats all I suppose, text me if you have more to discuss on the topic, have a good shift"

with that, you hung up and couldnt help the slight smile that popped up on your face, you finally stuck up for yourself, and taehyung

It felt good.

so good that you almost called taehyung out of instinct.

would he be okay with that?

you decided against it, putting your phone away as you sat back and swayed in the rocking chair.

-

Taehyung gently creaked open the door of what used to be his bedroom, but was now reserved in the space of a future nursery.

He hadnt been in here in a while, and now as he sets his eyes on it all, he wishes he didnt walk in.

There were boxes of items you ordered online piled up in the corner, he smiled sadly and looked through them.

The crib you bought, he promised he would put it together for you, you were never good at building things, instructions or not.

The thought made him giggle softly as he looked at the other things, the vanity and picture frames. The familiar grief found its way into his chest as he went over and laid on the rug in the center of the room.

It was a lilac purple rug, you picked it out and decided the nursery will be just that color scheme, regardless if it was a girl or not. His fingers weaved through it as he began to cry, eyes scanning over the room that will forever be empty, items put to waste. The small bundle of baby toys that never get to be played with.

He never realized just how much he was hurting, but he had to say not having you at his side made it sting even more.

Yeontan nudged his way into the room and grabbed one of the stuffies, making his skilled exit quickly as taehyung got up

"hey! thats not yours!" he frowned and chased out of the room after the small dog, following him around the living room before running into your room. He gave up and dropped the giraffe by your desk, his tiny legs leading him away to hide.

Taehyung kneeled to pick it up, unable to help the way his eyes scanned over the items on top of your desk.

Unorganized homework for school, binders left open and messy, he smiled a bit at it as he walked over, his arm accidentally pushing some of the books off the side.

"shit" he sighed, leaning down to pick them up.

There was a smaller brown notebook that caught his attention, he didnt want to snoop around your things, but when the front of it says "to my love", its pretty hard to ignore.

He carefully sat on the ground and opened it, feeling wrong for doing so but unable to stop.

The first page was full of your handwriting.

May 11th

so...today I just found out the biggest news of my life. im pregnant, its weird to even write. I just bought this notebook at the flea market because I need to tell someone. Im really scared, and im unsure of what you will think of me. I love you a lot, and I hope I get the chance to gift this to you after all is said and done

suddenly he felt like he was doing something wrong, reading something forbidden.

He scanned over the next page quickly, seeing how you spoke about dedicating this as a future love note for him, a chance to let him see inside your mind.

He tossed it back on top of your desk and sighed softly, he missed you so much and it seems like every second only let that feeling grow.

He wasnt sure what position you two were in, but he loved you dearly, probably a lot more than a person should love another human being.

He hoped you felt the same deep and burning desire.

Thoughts passed into his brain, he realized he was grateful you went through the crazy process of the past few years, in which referred to the friends with benefits situation.

If it never happened, you would have never been this close now.

Little does he know, that miles away from Busan, you laid on the floor of your room too, looking over older texts between the two of you and giggling

even if it was about groceries, or a small message asking him to pick you up from class, it made you smile.

Taehyung and your mom have been the only ones that you can say have never left you, the only ones who are there when you need them.

were you going to let him go over something that can be talked over and fixed?

you looked out the window and silently spoke,

"i'll see you soon”

-

Going back to your old doctor in Gwangju was an odd experience, you had too have been no older than 18 the last time you visited her.

“It seems that everything is going smoothly, and you said you’ve stopped bleeding?”

You nod, fidgeting with the gown you put on as the doctor wrote down everything.

“Your tests seem good, i would say you are coming along healthily after this, which is a good thing, right?” She smiles cheerfully, “do you have any questions for me?”

You shrug, looking up at her “I don’t really know”

She sighed and sat down “y/n, what you went through would be hard on anyone. You are so young and you already are stressed with work and college, and this being thrown on top had to have been difficult right?”

You nod, resting your head in your palm.

“Do you think seeing a therapist would be helpful to you?” She asked sweetly

You quickly sat up “well…im going back to Busan eventually and-”

“I can contact your doctor in Busan and have them find you a therapist”

You sighed deeply, therapy was something you never really considered. Would it help? Maybe. But bottom line was that you never liked discussing your problems, you have always been closed off and the thought of being vulnerable with some stranger is terrifying.

“Look y/n, I’ll send your doctor a note and you can discuss it with her once you go back, how about that?”

You nod reluctantly “okay….”

-

Once you arrived back with your mother at the house, she began to cook something up for lunch as you laid on the couch, cuddling the cat.

She purred in your lap, making you smile.

"how was the appointment?" your mom spoke from the kitchen, peaking over to you as her hands chopped veggies up on a cutting board.

"well...It was fine I suppose"

"just fine?" she smiled, adjusting her glasses, "did she say anything bad?"

"no, no, nothing bad, but just...she wants me to do this therapy thing and I just-"

"oh that sounds like a good plan...I think therapy would be beneficial"

You sigh, looking down at the cat, "well I probably wont be doing it so..yeah"

She stopped cutting, looking over at you "and why is that?"

You simply shrug in reply

"you know theres nothing wrong in getting help...right?"

"yeah but im not sure im ready to go talk to someone yet"

She laughed softly, "thats when you should talk to someone, when you are unsure, get it out before its all locked up"

sitting up a bit, you look back at her, "I guess, I dont know, we will see...."

Your eyes returned back to the tv in front of you as your mother continued to create a meal for the two of you. As a mom, she felt defeated, she knew the other alternative here but knowing you, the reaction may be less than ideal.

The last thing she wants to do is interfere with your current situation, but hey.....

what is a mom if she isn't nosey?

taglist!-

@turnthepageandbeburnt @taebangtanbabe @borahaexoxo @lelefoodlover @tan-veee

[bellysoupset]

I know you said you want Jonah to be a caretaker more, but I can’t help asking for him to be the sickee because he’s my favorite ;) and also because out of all sick fics I’ve read he’s the only character who’s a sympathy puker and I find that so interesting.

So to get to the point, could you write a fic about what happens when a patient throws up in front of him?

This is very short because I don't love writing about other randoms, but here's just a taste of Jon's personal hell hehe

---------

Jonah groaned loudly as he glanced at the file of his next patient. Fuck the flu, he thought sourly. It had been a pretty strenuous month at the hospital thanks to this bug. While he had managed to avoid the initial two weeks of it, soon enough even the doctors were dropping like flies and he could no longer hide in orthopedics. Wendy had gone down and then he had followed suit, so now he couldn't even pretend he was trying avoid contagion.

Jonah: i'll trade ur next patient for mine. I'll even pay

Wendy's contact turned green and then she sent him a bunch of puking emojis.

Wendy: mine is the flu too, no such luck.

Fuck.

He sighed and collected himself, ready to face his patient. It was a teenager, their mom hanging anxiously right next to them and the kid had already been given an emesis basin. Just the sight of it made Jonah's stomach roll.

"Hi Oliver, I'm Dr. Banks," Jonah lead the conversation, his full customer voice on. He listened painfully as Oliver's mom - Cathy - rattled off her son's symptoms. It sounded just like the flu, like the front desk nurses had put as prognostic, but still Jonah didn't like taking any chances.

"I'm gonna palpate your stomach, alright Oliver? I'm fairly certain is the flu, but we don't want to risk it."

Cathy looked visibly relieved as she aided her son climb on the examining bed, but Oliver not so much. He pressed a hand to his mouth, burping wetly, "it hurts..."

"I'll be gentle, I promise," Jonah promised, aiding the kid to lie down correctly and rolling up his shirt to the middle of his chest. He held the stethoscope to the teen's bloated belly, while pressing gently in the fashion had been taught to. Left lower quadrant first, right lower second- He pressed, then released suddenly and didn't get a cry out of pain, nor met any tenderness there. Rule out appendicitis.

In the stetoscope he heard as a gurgle moved through the boy's belly, followed by a nauseated burp, "doctor..."

"almost done," Jonah cringed, wanting to hurry the fuck up, but he knew he couldn't in good conscience. He pressed on the upper right, it was sloshy and gross-

"Doc-URrp-" Oliver grabbed on his mom to roll to the side, shoving Jonah off just as he brought up a splash of bright yellow bile all over the pristine floors of the office.

Jonah immediately gagged, but he pressed his lips tightly, planting a hand on the boy's heaving back, while his mom cooed and fretted about.

"Mrs. Grant," his voice didn't sound like his own, thick with nausea, "can you keep Oliver company for a second, I'll call in one of the janitors."

"Of course," she took the emesis bowl he passed her and then Jonah did his best not to run out of the door.

He hardly made it to the staff's bathroom, leaning over the sink as the coffee he had previously chugged came back up. It tasted bitter and that alone had him gagging for another solid minute, spitting up ropes of acid.

His stomach hurt, tender from all the abuse it had been going through lately. There was a knock on the door.

"It's fucking occupied!" He snapped angrily, washing his mouth, only for another wave of queasiness to have him gagging up the water. He panted, holding his belly, "fuck."

"Dr. Banks," Wendy's voice was like a balm, "do you need help."

Ah fuck, yes, Jonah sighed in relief and unlocked the door. Immediately Wendy entered, slamming the door behind her so no one would see him.

"Shit, Jon..."

"I need-" he burped again, squeezing his eyes shut, "janitor in my office. Patient-"

"Patient is still there?"

"Yes..." he swallowed the urge to throw up once more, "I can't do this."

"You can," she rubbed his arm in a reassuring manner, "I'll go deal with your patient, take my office. My next one is a broken leg."

He nodded, squeezing the sink, "thanks."

"No problem" she squeezed his arm, "get it together."

"Trying," he took another sip of the water, only for it to come back up as the smell of the puke flashed through his mind, "fuck-"