#desktop small fan

[slepyborb]

[devilbooru]

😈 source F.K

[ramunnae]

never posted irl stuff on here before but I redid my room (and specifically my pc set up) lately and I think it went amazingly! so here's a little silent desk tour and a couple photos

[ciaoteamo]

Milk and Water Pt. II

pairings: doppelgänger!Milkman x fem!Reader

summary: the aftermath of letting him in

pt.I

(art credits: @yunonoaii)

warnings: 18+ content

“…what. the. fuck.” You mutter to yourself, watching the scene before you unfold.

“mmm, how about letting me in now? promise i won’t bite you too hard” His eyes were dangerously seductive.

Your desktop fan and the slight rustling sound of (what you could only assume was) him touching himself filled the eerie silence of your office space.

However, he could still tell that you were hesitant to let him in, especially considering what he just did to D.D.D.

“how about this, sweetheart we-“

“if i open this door.” You cut him off. He shuts up quickly and halts his movements with a blank stare. His eyes watching you intently.

“you come straight to me, or else i swear to fuck. it will not be a good time for you. you copy?” Your hands were firmly grasping the edge of the desk as you stared the man in his color changing eyes.

“i promise” He kisses the window and you give him one last short lived glare before unlocking the door for him.

BZZT!

He slowly turns away from you and walks toward the door and you felt relieved to hear a light knock a few seconds later before he let himself in.

“see? you can trust the milkman” He grins.

He was a mess. Between the torn clothing, the blood, and his unzipped slacks that displayed his black briefs holding back a huge bulge, he honestly looked like something out of a wet dream.

“this is quite a small space… you think i’ll be alright in here?” He closed the door behind himself and strides toward you.

“you don’t have any choice but to be alright” You retort and he chortles.

“i love this mouth of yours… i’ve never crossed paths with a human as bold as you…” He tilts his head, placing a hand under your chin to lift it a bit.

“unless you’re actually scared… and using this boldness as a tactic..?” His irises turn white once again and his grip on your chin tightened slightly.

Though you were enduring a near death experience right now, being that you were this close to a doppelgänger, you were unbelievably horny.

“tactics?” You start. You already knew that you probably wouldn’t be able to get out of his grip just by moving, so you used a more… inappropriate approach.

You took a step closer to him, closing in the 2 foot gap that sat between the two of you and you placed your palm over his hard-on.

His grip immediately loosened a bit and his fingers twitched against your skin. What a reaction that was…

You feel more confident, realizing that he’s just another horny good looking guy. “is there a reason i should be afraid of you?” You ask, hand squeezing around him and a finger rubbing his tip.

He shudders and his hand falls from your chin and rests around your throat. His forehead tapped against yours, and your eyes were fixed on each other. “…you really are something”

“wish i could say the same for you“ You start, breaking the eye contact to look at his lips and sharp canines. “you’re just a slutty and messy excuse of a monster” Your words would probably be venom to anyone else, but this only riled him up more.

You felt his throbbing under your palm and grin to yourself before being greedily pulled into a kiss. For a brief moment, you could taste a metallic bloody taste on his tongue.

You moaned at the warmth of his mouth and felt his hands rested on your hips, rubbing circles into the area.

You release yourself from the kiss with his bottom lip between your teeth and a smile. “desperate, are we?” You tease.

“painfully…” His eyes glistened. “what’ll it take to get those pretty lips to go a little lower?”

“show me what yours can do first and i’ll see about returning the favor” You challenge. His eyes go back and forth between yours before he kisses you again.

This time however, he started to undo your uniform. Groaning so deeply that you felt the rumble in your throat. His skilled hands loosened your belt and your slacks came down and off.

Next he lowered himself and lifted you a bit to get off your socks and shoes, making him get more sloppy and needy within the kiss.

At this point he was squatting and you were standing over him, holding both sides of his face. His hands travelled up and down your leg as he stayed in his position and this time, he’s the one to break the kiss.

You were both breathing heavily, and staring each other down. You almost forgot your resolve and let him fuck you right then and there.

But you had to stay strong, for both of you guys’ sake. You take a deep breath in and til your head.

“well, you gonna show me? or are just sit there and look delirious from a simple kiss?” You teased.

“…may i?” He asks with a slightly raised eyebrow, gesturing toward your leg.

“go ahead”

“hold on to something right”

“why am i h- shit!” You would’ve fell right to the ground if it wasn’t for the shelf behind you that held last months documents. Albeit, they’re scattered over the floor now.

Your legs were snatched from underneath you and each one was hooked over the man’s shoulders. His warm breath against you felt sinister. It sent a slight chill up your spine.

His eyes stared down at your sex and he licked his lips, looking more excited than you did for this. “don’t let go” He says before using gis fingers to spread you sticky lips.

His tongue pressed hard into you and drug from your hole, up to your clit. You bit your lip at the warmth and felt your back arch against your will.

“ha~ this all you got? Thought you said you’d be bet- anghh~!” Your eyes widen and your mouth drops at the new feeling below.

“you were saying?” He mumbles into you. His tongue was longer with a pointy tip, and his lips were wrapped tightly around your clit.

The pleasure was almost overwhelming. You could definitely admit that he made you eat your words and replace them with loud endless moans.

As you felt yourself getting closer you began to grind your hips over his face, chasing after your high.

“don’t stop” You could barely get out the last word before the wave of immense overstimulating pleasure came over you.

You curse and take in a few deep breaths, calming yourself down a bit, and only then did he let your clit go with a ‘pop’, making your legs to twitch.

“that wasn’t fair” You jokingly glare at him, the sweat making your skin shine and chilly from the fan air.

“i told you i was better” He wipes his chin with his thumb and licks it clean without breaking the eye contact.

“you have to be some sort of… sex demon” You shake your head in disbelief.

“maybe i am?” He lets you tug him closer by his tie and give him another sloppy kiss. The change in size of his tongue being just below too much for you as it explored your mouth.

“well let’s see how long you can last then… hm?” You ask, beginning to leave a trail of light kisses on his next before a harsh bite.

You could feel him shudder and decided to have him sit in your office chair. “let me borrow this..” You say, undoing his tie while he sat.

You spin the chair around and bring both of his arms to the back and tie them to the chair. When you spin his back around, his had such a mischievous grin that you went ahead and addressed.

“yes, i know you could probably get out of that in a heartbeat” You start and roll your eyes. He chuckles, amused at your awareness. “but, will you?” It was your turn to put on the sly grin now. The second he managed to break free from his restraint, would be the moment you’d send him off.

“…” He read your face, bit knowing if he should say something sly or not.

“right, thought so” You smile and give him a few taps on the cheek.

You kneel between the man’s legs, finally addressing the large and throbbing penis before you.

“god you’re hard… you weren’t kidding when you said you needed help” You joke, rubbing his wet tip through his boxers with you finger.

He grunted a bit and readjusted himself in his seat. You look up at him before pressing harshly on it with your thumb.

“oh fuck you~” He throws his head back and you giggle.

You reach for the hem of his briefs and tug at them, signaling him to lift his hips. Once he’s exposed, you could really see the girth and length of him.

He was veiny, thick… bright pink tip, and god knows how long it was.

You put your hand around the base, it was warm and nearly pulsating. Your pace was moderate, giving him just enough to work with. You knew it was a nice steady pace when his hips slightly jerked up for more friction.

“needy boy wanting to fuck my hand? this wasn’t even the main event you asked for, love” You coo, strengthening the grip you had on him by a smidge.

“i can’t help that you know how to use those hands of yours so well” He remarks, still facing the ceiling.

You pump your fist higher up and use your own skilled tongue to drag along his vein.

“@$?!~” He moaned and immediately looked down at you with a snarl. An almost threatening one telling you that he wanted more.

And were you planning on giving it to him? Absolutely not.

You stare right back at him and smirk, using the same motion and occasionally sucking the pre cum from its leaky pink source.

“i’m gonna cum” Your eyes welled a bit at the large shaft triggering your gag reflex. But he was close so you would endure the slight pain.

His thrust his hips up a few times and you force your head as far as you could before completely stopping.

“fuck- why’d you stop” His voice was almost a whisper and suddenly thick white ropes shot into the air and landed on his thigh.

“oh i’m sorry, i’ll keep going” You reach for his most sensitive spots, overstimulating him into a nervous laughter as he begged you to stop.

It was fun watching him experience more than he could handle, but all good things come to an end.

He sighs in relief, sweaty, heaving, and dazed.

“can i be freed now?” He asks.

“sure, why not. looks like you’re done here anyway” You shrug.

“who’s done?” He stands up, simply snapping the tie apart.

“oh… you’ve still got more in you?”

“im the milkman, i never run out” He suddenly picks you up and sits on you on the desk. Jesus, these things are strong.

You wrap your hands around your neck, suddenly feeling the arousal for another round yourself.

His hands find your slick entrance, teasing the outside and slipping two cold slender fingers into you.

“mmm!” You mean into the kiss, holding onto his forearm as he fingered you at an inhumane pace. You break away and cat h your breath trying to slow him down a bit.

“i don’t want to cum from this, put it in” You say.

“yes ma’am” He lines himself up without your entrance and slowly pushes himself in with a moan. You could every centimeter of the stretch as he went deeper.

You tapped the back of your head onto the window behind you and felt him kissing on your neck and collarbone.

“fuck you’re big” Your voice slightly shook as you stated the obvious.

“and you’re so warm and wet inside, i ashamed to admit that i almost came putting it in” He chuckled before biting back another groan.

RIIIIING

RIIIIING

You snap your head in the direction of the phone and see D.D.D. calling.

Shit.

“stop, i have to take this.” He halts his thrusts and you grab the phone. “hello?”

“agent number” A deep voice says over the phone.

“5 5 8 4 3 7” You state clearly.

“thank you agent (Y/N), we’re calling about a few M.I.A. cleaners? it says in our system that you were the last to call. is everything alright?”

“ye-es~” You feel something rubbing your g-spot and look over at Francis. ‘stop, now.’ You mouth silently. He just smirks and speeds up.

“are you sure? you sound like you’re being threatened” The man on the phone asks.

“mhm~, im fine sir, just a little shaky” You put your hand over the phone speaker and look at Francis.

“what the fuck is wrong with you??” You ask, interrupting yourself with a few moans.

“just a little thirsty for some water” He thrusts harder, causing him to hit your g-spot, and your clit back to back.

You cover your mouth with your shirt and moan into it, hearing the buzz of a voice on the phone. Honestly you should be scared, they could show any minute, but right now, you could care less.

“im gonna cum” You whisper, still being mindful of the potential listeners.

“yeah?” He grabs a young and stands straight up, slamming you down into his cock. You let out something just short of a scream into the crook of his neck and find yourself twitching and shaking in his grip.

You heard a splash and felt him fill you up with his seed. You both were a moaning, groaning mess, heavily breathing in place.

“(Y/N), do you copy?……. we’re on our way” The phone then hangs up and the low buzzy voice is replaced with a prominent beep.

“you have to go, they’re coming” You lazily try to leave his strong hold with a tired push against his chest.

“but first” He puts you back on the desk where you rest your back against the cold glass window. “a drink..” His tongue grows longer right infont of you, and cleans you from your ankles to your navel, and of course he ran it over the bundle of nerves he’s been abusing all night, making your body jolt.

“you’re so delicious… i wish i could always taste you” His tongue goes back to its normal size.

“well i’ll get going now… i’ll be seeing you again soon, love. i’ll try not to cause too much trouble next time…” He gives you a peppery kiss on the nose and leaves.

Well, that’s one way to end your day shift…

[very-lucky]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, FOURLEAF ʚ♡ɞ WE LOVE LAIKA'S COMET

A number of the Laika's Comet Fan Discord members came together to create a small birthday zine for the author. The comic is currently on hiatus, so we made a collection of wallpapers for phone and desktop for Willow or other members of the community to use as they like ʚ♡ɞ

The whole collection of wallpapers can be found available to download here in high quality

[prettyboykatsuki]

I LIKE IT BETTER WHEN YOU CAN'T KEEP WARM | ODXNY

✮ tags ; heavy themes, gender neutral reader, mentions of past suicidal ideation, getting together, romantic tension, angst to fluff, extremely lovey-dovey ending, some implicit and suggestive content (lit one paragraph n non descript), themes of touch starvation, small height difference (reader is shorter)

✮ wc ; 6.3k (this is so shameful bye forever)

✮ a/n ; every time a semester ends i lose my mind and me writing this in several hours straight is evidence. if i had a nickel for every time i wrote a character study with the central theme of loneliness, i'd have two nickels - which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

i will spare you the insane rambling for the authors note at the bottom of this fic.

✮ synopsis ; he wants something. to live maybe. and if he could be a little selfish, to be with you. he wants that, too.

Bright.

Could just be the dark room he keeps himself in talking. His computer system and encrypted Internet browsers are all in dark mode - and his desktop set-up doesn’t have any L.E.D. strip lights to keep him company. He prefers it that way, the ambiance a better environment to work in  when he’s doing his usual rounds. Down to the programs U.I. - Odxny spends most of his time in perpetual darkness. Cozy and familiar - totally safe and secure. Nothing but the low whirrs of a computers fan and the faint blinking of routers to keep him company.

You’re the brightest thing he’s had on his screen in a long time. You’ve got white walls and no precaution, really. You’re sitting at your own desktop - and he can see everything of your life in the background of where you sit. There are photos of you graduating high school, being around unnamed friends, vacations and trips, and head shots like the kind you take for a resume. It’s all so personal. Bookshelves, trinkets, poorly made clay sculptures. Posters of musicians you like and Studio Ghibli movies. Evidence of life surrounds you like a halo.

Awful. Angel comparisons to someone he’s only known for a day make him wonder if he’s more pathetic than he thought. He probably shouldn’t think so hard about a stranger, a real stranger. Thrim generated randomly, though he thinks it sounds like a name. Finds it fun to say, for better or worse.

Natural light pours in from a window nearby, casting shadows in your room. He already knows you, in a way. He did the background search. Where you were born, raised, grew up.  The schools you went too, the career you seek. Bits and pieces of you are all scattered in his memory and are not at all thorough. He wasn’t really trying for that at the time, just needed to know if you were dangerous. There’s a cognitive dissonance. To know a life so thoroughly and to witness it is completely, and utterly different.

There’s miles between you. Must be thousands. He can’t remember the last time he’s really met someone, though. It’s hard not to notice that this feels akin to that. Like the embers of a campfire, glowing but not burning. A comfortable warmth.

Bright. His screen is very bright talking to you. Even obscured behind the mask, it’s a little difficult to look at it and leaves him on edge - restless and mildly painful.

When his vision adjusts though, there’s clarity. A person, a stranger - with an exceptionally nice laugh and who is exceptionally trusting. Odxny tries not to think too hard about the feeling of warmth that flutters at your overflowing sincerity.

The conversation is easy.

“Does that mean you trust me now?”

Odxny pretends to think on it. “Enough to keep you around.”

“See you later.”

“See you.”

You accompany your last words with a wave - short and sweet. Darkness pulls him in, back where he started. He has a mild headache from all the light.

__

You pick up on the language better than he thought you would.

He underestimated you. Can you blame him? Your choice is language is ArnoldC, for fucksake. Sure, he has limited knowledge on esoteric languages but can it really be in-depth enough to show you the basics.

(It can. Or at least, Od presumes this to be the case because you’re rather helpful in Incri’s hacks and Incri is hardly helpful to anyone in the world, no less the server.)

You pick up on things quickly with little guidance - always to the point and not usually making many errors. He has to commend your abilities and give you credit where it’s due. It’s not a hard language to learn, but for anyone with no familiarity with coding at all he’d expect there to be a learning curve. Even if you had coding language, it’s not like you knew SQL coming in.

You fit strangely well into the server somehow. You’re happy to learn and nonplussed about helping with small things, though you don’t know these people at all and have no reason to participate in their nonsense. You talk to Incri fine, and manage to get Pep to accidentally reveal telling information. Odxny finds all of this rather… entertaining maybe. More than impressive, really.

He has a hard time making sense of the feeling. He would hope you don’t think you’re under duress - given the fact your relationship in two days has been pleasant. Then again - maybe he’s missed some social cue and you do think that. It’s possible. After all, he doesn’t actually remember the last time he’s spoken verbally to anyone with very, very few exceptions.

He manages to call you again after the fact - opens the call with sincere and heartfelt congrats and feels pleasant seeing you take the compliment in stride.

You land on the subject of programming again, inevitably. He interrogates you a little more over your choice in language - almost like he can’t help himself. It’s basic curiosity. You had said you were the best in ArnoldC. A little research proved that to be true, presence of you in the forums of various esolang pages. He landed on many things. You’re the best at ArnoldC, but you also know Brainfuck for some ridiculous reason.

He thinks you’re a little ridiculous in general.

“It’s really for the love of the game, huh?”

You nod when he asks this. Smiling, bright and unbothered with a soft edge of smug pride that makes the muscles of his face twitch up. “Mhm. I like my little collection.

Odxny doesn’t doubt it for even a minute. He’s seen the proof, but perhaps he doesn’t need to mention that. “Your trophy case of ridiculous language?”

Your eyes come to life all of a sudden. “Wait. A real trophy case would actually be so cool.”

He pauses, blinking as the words sink before a smile breaks onto his face helplessly. “That was not to enable you.”

“Too late. I’m already looking up the ugliest wood trim display cases I can find.”

The laugh comes naturally. “You really are just like this?”

You look proud again. “What? Fun?”

Yes, Odxny thinks but doesn’t say. “Baffling.”

You ask Odxny to elaborate and he does. The conversation flows with frustrating ease. So easily that he mouths off about his plans to you without a second thought. He doesn’t know why he does it. Not really. He’s thought it through over and over - so it’s not like he needs to disclose it. He made his choice.

He thinks about moving it along. About ending the call or simply brushing past without going into any detail.

When he glances at the screen, you’ve got a pillow in your lap and your eyes completely focused on him. There’s that feeling again, alarming clarity in your gaze and brightness that causes him immense unease in the world he’s made of nihilistic, apathetic darkness. There’s a plan, always has been. He’ll do this and disappear and the world will soon forget him. If it happens that way, than at least this loneliness is a choice he’s made for himself and not something the world has cruelly decided for him.

His lips move faster than his head, than even his heart. Compelled by a nameless and brilliant force. “I don’t have any reason to stay. I’m just — tired. Of everything.”

“No reasons? Nothing makes you happy here?”

His response is measured. Quiet. It’s not secret. He finds his voice crumbles around the words anyway as if they’re a confession. “Not for a long time. I don’t feel much of anything, really. It is what it is.”

You frown. He’s seen it all before. Heard it all before. “That’s…”

He cuts you off quickly.

“We just met. And we’ll be strangers again soon enough.” He says with as much conviction and resolve as he can possible manage. Who he’s convincing remains unclear. “So, not to be cold but..you know.”

The disappointment in your face leaves an impression, but you relent. He tries to make amends for the depressing conversation of talking again and you perk up so genuinely it makes want to cry, in a distant and foreign way.

“Catch you later, then.” He says, and closes at out the call. The room falls dark for the second time. He blinks a few times to get rid of the light clouding his vision.

__

Wnpep is eager to teach you on the third day.

You’re eager in reply - matching energy with sharp wit and enthusiasm. Wnepep is a better teacher than Incri by several miles. Evident in how much faster everything falls into place for you. Not that you really need too much help in the first place. You break down the crumbling walls of an insurance scam with ease and come out of the other side more accomplished.

It’s a noble last hack, Odxny thinks.  Not unsurprising from Pep - unofficially the most sane and likeable member. He figured it’d be something like this less than a matter of personal vengeance.

You go back and forth for a bit in admin chat. Od types an apology about winding you up and tries not to read too much into the innuendo of it as you reply back with your own faux offended replies. He insists he’s somewhat sorry, and you’re far from believing him.

He finds himself grinning at his screen while he texts you mid conversation. When the realization hits, he almost curls into himself from embarrassment - a hand covering his mouth like it’ll do away with the grave sin.

The inneundo happens twice in one conversation, before you get to call under the premise of a victory toast.

A brief conversation about the last hacks barely leaves room for much else except Odxny plans of total isolation.

“Mm. I should’ve known it would come back to this. Why do you care what I choose to do with myself?”

That baffles you in a terribly genuine way. “Am I not allowed to care about another person?”

Odxny speaks honestly. “You are but I mean…” He trails off. He knows how he feels. “I’m not really a person anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m no one. I’m going to be no one. You have other things to fill your life with.”

There’s a vulnerable edge to his voice that he winces at when he hears it. It’s true isn’t it? All of it is true to Odxny, but especially where he says you have other things to fill your life with. You might share the same hobbies, but he’s seen it. He’s seen how different you are - your livelihoods, your existence. You’d be missed if you suddenly disappeared. Odxny knows the same isn’t true for himself. It’s been like that for a long while now.

(It’s crushing. That’s what makes your very ephemeral existence feel like a burden. Why it casts the shadows of doubt on choices he made, about how he would live so long ago. You care, don’t you? At least, more than anyone else in his life in the present. You care so undeniably, and so obviously and it is all so simple to you.

He almost envies it. Almost resents it, too. It’s such a small shred of humanity, the barest forms of sincerity but it is painfully raw. A split nerve. An open wound It’s not like the server, all of whom have accepted this distant fondness. It’s a delicate thread - spider silk accuracy and just as much strength. There’s conviction in your missing him and it haunts him.)

You think of what to say for a long time before landing on it. “I do. But I can care about multiple things at once,”

It sounds like I care about you too closely. He finds himself shivering. He’s truthful with you, unsure of how else to be when it comes to these conversations.

“That sounds burdensome.” He says. “Isn’t that exhausting?”

You don’t lie to him either. “Sometimes. But it’s worth the trouble.”

“Why?”

“Because I like your company,” You reply. Soft sincerity in your words. More clarity. More painstaking light.

“It can’t be that simple.”

“Why not?”

“If it was that simple then -“ Then it makes it seem like things could be different. He doesn’t say that. Stops himself before it can happen. “I don’t know why I’m bothering to argue. Why do I feel like I need to prove this to you?”

He’s almost afraid to look at your face, wincing when he sees how knowing you look. Not in a condescending way - but genuine, full blown understanding. Like you see through him.

He wonders if he knows you as well as he thought he did.

Your face is so sympathetic. “Are you sure it’s me?”

He cuts the conversation short on his own - making an awkward transition from the topic at hand into whatever he can manage. It’s an awkward fumble - a poor attempt at distracting both of you from this line of thinking. You’re kind enough to let him have it. He asks about your hobbies. You tell him about how you like to try the weirdest things and combinations you can find in a restaurant.

He finds it suits you.

A lot of things suit you. Even your piss poor attempt at the Terminator that he quickly mimics - possessed by god knows what.

You laugh when he does. Brilliant and bubbly and characteristically warm. You say the words through giggles.

“That was so bad!”

“It was a lapse in judgment,” He replies back defensively, smiling against his will. He finds himself laughing too.

“I like your laugh, by the way.”

He pauses caught off-guard. “Oh? My laugh. Oh, uhm. Thank you.”

You make a face that he can’t read. Knowing. In a different way than the last. He feels nervous.

“I have been laughing quite a bit, haven’t I?”

You grin. Smug and deliriously happy. “Sure have.”

He looks away from you. “Ha...Odd.”

You giggle again. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, nose scrunched in genuine delight. It’s a pleasant sound but not because it’s particularly wispy or floaty or delicate. But it’s real. Pleasant in the way the white noise of park during summer. Pleasant like the varied playlist overhead in a record shop. Pleasant like a moment of humanity tucked between everyday. He clears his throat.

“I like your laugh, I think.”

You laugh again, gasping with faux offense. “You think???”

He tries not to feel so grounded by that sound and fails. “Yeah. I think. Laugh again.”

He tries not to add please. You shake your head like you’re reprimanding him.

“No, no, you have to earn that. Make me laugh.”

“Nevermind. Shut up.”

You do laugh again that time. He joins you soon after. “And now you laugh? At me?”

The conversation moves again, comfortable like a tide. You ask about his favorite language and he tells you as much. You’re quiet and growing cheeky, listening to him talk.

“So you do like coding.”

“Maybe a little.” He replies, not giving in. “You remember far too much of what I say.”

The conversation comes to a close again. He thanks you for how nice its been and you make an off-handed attempt to get him to change his mind. You could always talk more. The implication delicate beneath it.

We don’t have to forget each other. Odxny brushes past it - but says he’ll see you tomorrow anyway.

__

Extorting Elimfs childhood friend (?) is an easy enough endeavor. Odxny texts you through out - to ask advice on what things to take when he leaves.

He calls you again when its over too. He can’t find a reason for it - nothing that makes sense. He just wanted to call you. He hasn’t wanted something like that in a while,  but he tells himself its fine. This is the last time you’ll ever know each other.

So its fine. He won’t waver.

He’ll just.. call you.

He asks you on your weed habits, mildly surprised when you tell him you smoke and take edibles sometimes too. The conversation loops back to the fund at one point. You don’t hide your displeasure about the whole thing today.

You’ve talked about it already. No need to keep bringing up. But you seem to feel so strongly and Odxny can’t figure out why. Can’t shake the feeling of wanting to know why every single time.

“Is it really so hard to believe I’ve come to like you in a few days?”  You ask, after probing.

“In a way that matters, yes.”

You frown at him when he says that. It’s the most upset he’s seen you look, if he can call it that. You’ve never been upset when he’s been rude or insulting - but this is bothering you. It doesn’t help him pull away from you.

He says it again. Reinforces how temporary this all is. He’s trying to convince one of you. Both of you, maybe, of his unimportance.

“I don’t think that little of you.”

He finds it hard to reply to that. It’s that feeling against. It makes him uncomfortable. It’s not empty platitudes or some vague sense of responsibility for his life. All of it is real, and all of it is meaningful in how plain it is. You make it seem easy.

“It’s life. It’s normal. People come, people go.”

You shake your head. “Not for me. I can’t forget you that easily.”

He wishes you would. He’s painfully, painfully relieved that you wouldn’t it. He voices neither thought.

“Then- try! You’re putting so much on yourself, and for what? You don’t stand to gain anything.”

You shrug. “Peace of mind. Knowing you’re still out there.”

It’s heavy. The implication is heavy. He’s not going to kill himself. He doesn’t want that anymore, though he thought about it. At the beginning. Loneliness is more painful when you have memories of what not being that way was like - he thinks. At the start of all that loss, the hollowness bared an almost painful gravity inside of him.

It’s like being told to breathe or blink - becoming conscious of what was once a natural function, how full life was once when it’s escaped. He doesn’t want to kill himself, but living is meaningless.

 These things aren’t paradoxical to him. They haven’t been for all this time.

(They weren’t until he met you at least. A mirror of wanting. Odxny looks at you and sees life reflected back. Despite it not being his, its moving. It’s beautiful in a human way, reachable. Tangible. Earned.

Wherever you are. Whenever you’re together, the black hole inside of himself seems to fade back into average planetary darkness. He becomes cruelly human again, feeling warmth and laughter.

He’s tells himself he’s not afraid of dying and that’s mostly true. He’s most afraid of living. Afraid he won’t be able to learn it again.)

 He manages to tell you some of what he’s thinking. He has no clue how to start over. He doesn’t know if it’s possible. You don’t feed him any false hope, but he tells you how he sees it. You’re feeling pity for him right? And you should figure that out sooner rather than later.

“Is it really that easy for you?”

You shake your head. You’re smiling but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “It isn’t. But I have to try.”

“Is that what you’re doing with me?”

“What?”

“Is this…?”

He cuts the call off when he hears himself, unsure of what answer he’s hoping for. The realization dawns on him too much, too quickly. The feeling of hope is loud in his chest but there is another feeling, embarrassing in it’s swiftness that follows shortly after.

Oh.

Oh.

__

The servers shuts down after a mildly sappy adventure to close up shop. The closest Odxny has gotten to flirting with you in his own way. He’s sad to see everyone go, despite there being no other choice.

It’s easier than he thought it’d be. To give you his number he means, even after shutting the entire server down. After leaving everything behind. He gives you the choice to make. Call me if you still want it - a silent promise.

 Maybe because deep down - some part of him always wanted to make this choice. Just maybe.

Your voice is different over the phone line. A little clearer, spoken softer. Just as lovely as it was the first time he heard it. Maybe more. Maybe.

The city beneath him is bright. So bright. It doesn’t hurt to look at, he thinks.

__

You call him every day.

You’ve been doing it for months.

He thought, at some point, you’d let up or start to forget. He’s been waiting on it to happen as horrible as it sounds. Like some self-fulfilling prophecy, he’d slip back into the background as is natural. A proof of his nonexistence, if you will.

You don’t forget though. He almost wonders if he’s dreaming when it happens. There’s a routine between you two, these days. You have your own life that you’ve been living the same as normal. When it’s night time for you, though - you hop onto your desktop and call Od like you’re two very average people.

There’s nothing solid to define your relationship aside from friendship as is. This is less frustrating than he expected it to be. Getting to know you better has only made him like you more. Your relationship is solid in a strange way. It’s been about six months total, and as corny as it sounds - Odxny feels like he’s known you for his entire life. You understand him in an intimate way, with vulnerable tenderness and radical acceptance.

He kind of misses the privacy of his old stomping grounds, but he doesn’t mind speaking though discord. It feels… normal. In a not displeasing way. You mostly talk to talk about whatever comes to mind. Sometimes it’s your job search, other times it’s  your part-time or friend drama. You’re vibrant as always. Without the wall of anonymity, Odxny gets to know of you like he’s just your average person. He finds he really, really likes that.

You play games together frequently. He’s never been interested in cozy gaming, but you play Minecraft and Stardew Valley together per your request. Odxny streams himself playing Ocarina of Time for you on Discord in the background sometimes too, and you keep it on when you’ve got work to do or you’re cooking or something else. There’s something very mundane to it.

You’re not doing anything with him today though. You’re calling him on facetime, rather than at your desktop. You’ve made the executive decision to laze around and Odxny has no problem joining you though you speak less than usual as a result of being sleepy. You had a long shift yesterday so perhaps Odxny can’t blame you.

“Need to get better shoes. For walking and stuff.” You say thoughtlessly. The corners of his lips twitch up.

“Yeah?”

You nod. Your face is smushed against your pillow at an unflattering angle. He smiles a little.

“Yeah. I’m on my feet for like nine hours when I serve and it hurts wearing flats. Need something sturdier even it diminishes my drip.”

He laughs at that. “Please never say that again.”

You continue onwards. “Decreases my aura, even. But alas, utility comes first.”

He snickers as he glances at you through the phone. You’re propped against one of his monitors as he does work on his computer. He’s getting back into programming for the love of the game, just seeing what he can do.

“Want help looking?”

“Feels a little ridiculous asking a super pro-hacker to shop Sketchers with me.”

“You seriously thinking of buying Sketchers?”

You laugh lightly. “Maybe I’ll get tipped more if I get the light-up ones.”

“Please don’t.”

“Hater.”

You break out into genuine laughter as Odxny shakes his head in despair. It’s something you’d do, no doubt. You sigh.

“I really do want a break from work.” You roll around on your mattress. Odxny can hear your rustling but can’t see you much. “The chains of capitalism shackle me in place. Woe is me.”

Odxny thinks on what you’ve said for a long while in silence. The question comes up every now and again though he’s never brave enough to ask it. His ludicrous amount of disposable income however is still sitting in his bank, collecting dust. It’s been six months and he’s hardly made a dent in it.

“Do you want to come visit?” He asks, cringing at the sound of his own voice. The words are strained and a little too eager. “I can pay the difference for expenses for wages and stuff. And, uh. Uhm,”

He loses his train of thought trying to speak, worsened by the way you pop onto his screen when he says that. Your expression is unreadable to him, comfortable and even. You smile a little as you lift the phone so he can see what you look like laying in your bed. Your face is in full view.

“It’d be a little weird to visit you before we start dating officially, no?”

His eyes go wide at the implication. You grin, mischief and mirth making your eyes practically beam. He can feel a blush crawl up his neck as soon as he registers it.

“Excuse me? Why are you saying that like it’s already been decided?” He bites back, not sure what else he could say.

“So you don’t want to date me?”

“I didn’t- you - damn it,” He groans at his own bluster as he giggles on the other side of the line. So cheeky. Damn him for liking it and damn you for being cute. “…You are saying you like me right?”

Your face softens. He can feel his heartbeat quicken. “Uh-huh. Just wanted to take it slow. But I’ve liked you for a long time.”

“How long is that, exactly?”

You shrug playfully and the fact he can’t be within reach to kiss you feels especially harrowing. “A secret.” You smile again, all trouble. “So. Wanna date?”

“Terrible confession. Zero stars,” He says petulantly. He leans back in his chair and finds himself smiling uncontrollably. “Fine. I guess.”

Your laugh fills his room. He doesn’t get tired of hearing it. His face hurts from smiling.

__

He manages to stave off on the anxiety of you coming to see him for a lot longer than he thought possible.

Making arrangements proves to be a little difficult. You have to tell your roommates that you’ll be gone for a while but promise to still pay rent and explain to your boss where you’re going. You have a good enough relationship and have been working long enough for them to agree to keep a spot open so you can start working when you come back.

After that, there’s the matter of Visas. Odxny goes out of his way to make that process go much faster than normal, though he doesn’t actually tell you. Once all of that’s sorted, there’s living arrangements. Try as you might to insist to live somewhere else, his place is too spacious for him to let you stay anywhere else. You can take the guest room.

He pretends that all of this is just happening in his imagination. He doesn’t even know the last time anyone came over, let alone lived with him. He does his best to make things presentable, and makes a guest room for you to live in should you desire. He even buys more decor (plants and things) to make it look… less like a cave and more like a home.

Nothing really feels real until the day arrives though. It’s a long flight and difficult trip. You refused to let him pay for the tickets so he moved it around to get you into first class both ways through other methods.

You text him the terminal, the arrival time, any and all delays. Still. None of it feels real until he’s already waiting for you near the bags. He can feel his heart race, his lungs short of air. He’s never experienced something so ridiculously contradictory in his entire life. He wants to run away while feeling stuck in place.

The anticipation nearly kills him.

He would recognize your voice anywhere though. Like he did for so many days alone in the dark. A hand waves high, shouting as loud as it can.

“It’s you!”

The sound of sneakers skidding across tile floors make his breath hitch. His eyes go wide as you stand still in front of him, luggage in hand and a million-watt smile on your face. He feels his heart beat so loud, he wonders if he’s going to throw up.

“Hey.” He says, dumbly.

“Hi!”

__

The adjustment period to living together isn’t what he expects.

It’s been a long time since he’s been so close to another human being. It becomes clear that you’re really living together though when your things end up in the bathroom completely incidentally. There’s something about finding your sleep shirt on a towel rack that makes reality settle in. You’re living together.

He’d be stupid not to notice the purposeful distance between you. An attempt to be thoughtful and not overwhelm him. It’s never awkward when you’re together. You eat together, watch movies and play games while sitting too close on the couch. You’ve been on a date in the two weeks you’ve spent, and it barely took any convincing on your end to make him go along with you.

Isolation aside though, Odxny is not clueless to the conventions of modern dating. You avoid touching him too casually. He doesn’t blame you, but he can’t help but crave your presence with a little more bittersweet longing as the days pass. He has to get past it or bring it up eventually, but it feels like something he’s never going to get over somehow.

The opportunity to do so gets thrown at him all at once. You’ve been living together for sixteen days. A conversation about love languages is what undoes it.

“Whats your love language, Od?”

He gives you a quizzical look. “Dunno actually. Never bothered to look.”

“I’d guess… hm. Quality time maybe? Or words of affirmation.”

He shrugs as he sits next to you on the couch, glancing at your phone as you read through the different ones. “What’s yours?”

“Physical touch. I’m super touchy. With anyone who will let me, honestly. Bad habits.”

Odxny gives you a long look as you say it. He debates if he should bring it up.

“You don’t have to be so careful around me, you know?”

You look up at him, startled by the comment. Several things pass over your face before you settle on an apologetic smile. “Sorry. It’s not like I don’t want to. I just don’t want to be too much for you.”

“That wouldn’t happen.” He says automatically. You laugh good-naturedly.

“Your confidence is assuring, but you underestimate how touchy I am. I’m afraid of I get my hands on you, I’ll never let go again,”

He thinks he wants that more than is normal. He shakes his head. “I don’t mind.”

You give him a long look, seeming struck by an idea, before humming and standing up. You turn around with your hand out towards him. His brows furrow in bewilderment.

“Have some faith.”

He takes your hand and stands up with you. He likes that he’s taller than you. Staring at you, he feels your fingers clasp around his hand and his heart thuds - loud and messy.

“Your room or mine?”

“What?”

You laugh. “Get your mind out of the gutter. Or don’t actually, but I don’t bear lewd intentions.”

He crinkles his nose at the word usage and laughs. “Shut up.”

“Just trust me, okay?”

He concedes with embarassing swiftness.

“Okay.”

__

You lead Odxny to the guest room you’ve been living in for the last two weeks. The bed is well-made and all the new furniture he bought is occupying so many of your belongings. It makes him dizzy. You shut the door behind him as you lead him in. It just feels especially surreal.

Wordless, you let go of his hand and hop up onto your bed. Once you’re laying down, you prop up on your side with your elbow and pat the empty space next to you, smiling at him as you do. Once it clicks what your asking, he can feel his face grow hot. He can’t refuse it though, and he doesn’t want too.

The sheets you bought together smell like you. Between there’s practically no distance between you at this angle. He’s gotten to look at you plenty through these few days but it’s different. You scoot impossibly close to him until there’s nothing separating you.

Your breath is warm - a soft exhale leaving your lips as you inch closer.

“What’re we doing?” He asks in a murmur, stone stiff. You smile, coyly.

“Touching each other.”

He frowns at the joke. Your expression goes a touch serious right after. The sincerity is debilitating. “Can I touch you?”

He nods. Can’t do much more than that.

He stares at you with impending, long-suffering longing as you bring a single hand to his face and cradle his neck. He flinches unintentionally, but pulls your hand back when you try to move it. He wants this. You relax a little when he does that.

Your hands are softer. Softer than a heartbeat. He can feel the various cuts and scars from years of working against his skin but they’re still so soft. He can feel how warm you in such a brief touch his chest aches. Your hands cradle his face tenderly, thumb brushing across his lip with a smile brighter than thousands of lights. Something in your expression wreaks havoc on his heart. Something so raw and so gentle and so full within it - all directed towards him.

It’s been so long. So long. He’s never wanted something so bad  he couldn’t remember needing. He’s never wanted to be closer to someone than he does to you in the moment.

“You’re handsome,” You say, so sweetly. Not a confession, but gentle appraisal. It’s rare he cries but he wants too. “I like looking at you. Can I kiss you?”

“Please.” He rasps, gravel in his voice unfamiliar.

You hum a little. Closing the space between you with a press of lips. It’s not chaste. Odxny is grateful for how long and how deep you linger. He wants it so badly. He wants you in some damning and unforgiving way. How could a human being feel so warm? Feel so pleasant with so little?

You press your foreheads together. His hand trembles when they grip onto your waist but you encourage him just a little. It’s just a kiss. His heart might beat out of him. It’s just a kiss. He thinks he loves you.

Your hand moves away from his face. You let it go underneath his loose shirt to touch his shoulder, running your palm down the plane of his chest. You squeeze his waist, and wrap your arms around his back and pull him to you until your bodies touch somewhere in the middle.

You guide his face to your neck and chest as you hold him. He grips onto you tight in response, a gasp in the back of his lungs at the sudden sensation. You coo above him, soft and light - your fingers threading through his hair and nails massaging his scalp.

Your voice sounds above him, despite how deep in a haze he is. He can’t do anything but cling to you with impossible longing. You speak softly as you pet him. Your heartbeat soothes his.

“I’m glad you’re here.” You tell him. There’s that familiar clarity that makes him want to cry. “I’m glad you let me come with you.”

He can’t think of anything to say back. It’s a soul-shattering emotion. “I love you.”

You laugh wetly above him. “I love you, too. So much.” And then much softer. “Let’s be together for a long time.”

__

You lay in each others arms until sunset. In small talk and silent murmurs. It takes him hours to work up the courage to kiss you again - but only minutes to take it further.

It’s desperate. Terribly. Inevitable. You’re beautiful in a way that is undescribable, best expressed through his teeth on your neck and his hands all over where he can reach - each grip and thrust and bite a reminder. You’re pretty when you’re pleased, warmth reaching up inside of him whenever you make the right face.

He buries himself in you. You’re soft and warm and beautiful and he wants to stay with you. Time is a thief. He damns the sun when it tears you from him come morning.

__

He decides to make breakfast when you wake up. Nothing complicated. You go to shower after him and he plates up toast and eggs and other various things. It’s half done when you come downstairs.

Your skin is still damp, and you smell of vanilla and soap. Your coffee sits in a cup on the table as you pad over to him. He turns to look at you as you reach your hand up and cup his face. You pepper a kisses along his cheeks stopping at his lips for the last one before you’re satisfied.

He fails in his attempt not to blush.

“Morning.” You grin. He tries not to be sick at the domesticity of it all and fails.

“Yeah. Morning.”

You sit at the counter and drink your coffee, glancing outside the window. “It’s bright outside.”

Odxny can’t tear his eyes off of you. “Yeah...” He agrees. He’s not torn his gaze away. “Very bright.”

✮ a/n ; i want all real life compsci men to kick rocks but odxny sweeped me off my feet in a way i can only describe as humiliating. he is a bit like astarion for me in that i see a lot of myself in him at least in the past. he is also incredibly babygirl and uhm . other things (fine. he's very gorjus.) but i truthfully was most compelled by his idealized idea of isolation. as the fic will show it resonated with me as a fellow compsci dork who also tends to isolate like crazy LOL

this fic was like a demon that possessed me. literally no meds, no caffiene - just balls to the wall demonic possesion of needing something out of my system LMAOO. and adhd of course. im working on all the other stuff too i promise. consider this a short interlude 👍🏾

[hwaightme]

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🩺 pairing: paediatrician!bf!seonghwa x neurosurgeon!gn!reader 🩺 genre: fluff, doctor au, established long-term relationship, festive fic 🩺 summary: in the early hours of a shared night shift right before christmas, the present turns into a gift, and seonghwa can't be happier and more in love 🩺 wordcount: 7.8k total 🩺 warnings/tags: slightly edited, the fluff is strong, simpery is real, two doctors with heart eyes, marriage, proposals, family, hwa is yearing, woo cameo, woo+hwa banter, yeo+yunho mention, mom+kid side ocs, needles/syringes, injections, hospitals, night shifts, unconventional marshmallow toasting, a lot of love and sharing life <3 🩺 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🩺 a/n: happy holidays and merry christmas~ the idea for this was in the drafts for ages, reignited hardcore by @starrysvn(...the cameos hehet), and it feels right for the festive season~ much love! comments, reblogs, notes all appreciated

Clean and comforting. The poster-room of an office, personalised, and yet retaining all the professional qualities necessary. The gentle swaying of the tulle that transformed the twinkling of a myriad of skyscrapers outside and a magnificent deep navy and inky black star-filled sky into a soothing haze, the ticking of a clock adorned with illustrations from the doctor’s favourite franchise. There was a unity even in the multicoloured shelves and cupboards. Stickers, kindly left behind by particularly pleased, proud and excited patients turned into permanent decorations on the sides of the otherwise strictly uniform desk, bringing relief and encouragement to its occupant. The newest additions - a small desk Christmas tree that was decorated on theme with the rest of the space, and a couple of garlands elegantly hung on the top cupboards and above the tulle served as reminders that it was, in fact, the festive season, and celebrations were only a day away. Even so, healthcare could not take a holiday, and the hospital was busier than ever.

“Hey… do you like… Lego?”

It had been long enough since the beginning of the appointment, as Doctor Park Seonghwa had noted, but the little patient sitting in front of him was still refusing to succumb to the wrath of a ‘spooky scary needle that makes him go ouchy’. Seonghwa could not blame the boy though - if there was something he never did, it was to project a child’s behaviour outwards into adult societal expectations. As a matter of fact, he rarely did that for adults too. He never saw the point, nor did he wish to impose some alternative spin on reality onto anyone who he had the pleasure of meeting, especially his patients or their relatives. As L/N Junseo crossed his arms in disapproval, Seonghwa could not help but spin a tiny fraction on his stool that he used during appointments such as this, and sneak another piece of sporadic scrutiny towards the mother. As he had assumed, there was little comfort to be offered from her side - she was sitting in a corner across the room, fanning herself and sending worried glances in the approximate direction of both the doctor and her son.

So, he had no choice left. He had to pull the most powerful weapons out of his arsenal - inspired by the many pieces that served as baubles on his desktop tree. Seonghwa was grateful that he had the foresight to not unpack the disposable syringe before checking the kid’s tolerance. Judging by the smile that spread across the boy’s face, and the confused expression gracing his mother’s, Seonghwa knew he hit the jackpot and there was potential for him to catch a break if the appointment did not run over, and if he was lucky enough, perhaps the main reason behind his rush would be free too. The simple thought inadvertently crawled into Seonghwa’s mind, and he lowered his gaze to suppress a shy smile and return to being the amiable paediatrician that he needed to be.

“Now, mister Junseo, will you wait a couple of seconds for me?” After receiving his patient’s enthusiastic nods of approval, he spun around on his stool, and rolled towards the cabinet that occupied the majority of the right wall of his office.

Stopping himself from crashing into his desk with a fast hand, he opened one of the lower doors to reveal a series of colour coded and labelled trays, each one filled to the brim with even more vibrant hues, but maintaining a strict order. Pulling the first and then the second tray from the top, the doctor inspected the contents, and decided to give the final decision to Junseo, turning to him with a grin on his face.

“Dinosaurs or spaceships?”

“Spaceships!” just as Seonghwa had thought, this question broke through the storm clouds of doubt and fear, cutting right down to Junseo’s primary interests, some of which the young doctor just so happened to share – the only difference was that the latter had to also remember that he had a job to do, and that job involved convincing, or cleverly deceiving with good intentions, a little kid into a routine shot. It was hard not to wonder what your, his life partner’s, reaction would be if you were in this room with him, considering that this environment was probably the furthest a space from your natural habitat - the operating room, could be.

“A man of good taste I see. I mean, dinosaurs are cool too, but I will let you in on a little secret… I have matching spaceship band aids,” As he pulled out the tray that contained some pre-built spaceships, with the bricks being from a younger-child-friendly set, along with stray pieces that turned the set into the perfect cognitive and sensory exercise, Seonghwa took time to explain his actions to the boy. In a way this was not too dissimilar from the preparation of instruments for surgery, so perhaps you would find joy in this interaction to the same extent as him. He shook his head lightly, reeling himself back to the matter at hand.

Sometimes, Seonghwa pondered whether too much of his budget, and, on occasion, personal finances, went towards making his office be more of a playground than what one would imagine ‘a doctor’s lair’ to be – in his mind, that was your office, one that he visited enough times to memorise. An ode to modernity, with books and documents, diagrams and an anatomically accurate model of a brain with various labels - just what one would expect of a real doctor. But both fortunately and unfortunately, this was a style that Seonghwa would not attempt to achieve in his own office. There was a mat on the floor made out of foam puzzle pieces, there was every form of toy transport he could find, animals, dolls… he swore he appeared in toy stores more regularly than in the pharmacy at this point. But the joy with which his patients’ faces lit up was more than encouraging, reminding him that he was on the right path, he was doing well, and that everything was worth it.

“NO WAY!” Junseo yelled out, excitedly kicking his feet. The paper towels that lined the bench rustled slightly, the link between the sheets being stress tested – much like the mother, who appeared to be speechless, but at least no longer faint.

Seonghwa imagined that his present conclusions and responsive actions were not too distant from how teachers felt when they saw a certain type of action be executed by a child, and then saw its origins during parent teacher conferences. The conclusion had come to his mind on its own accord but resounded loudly enough for him to send a reassuring gleam to Missus in the corner, and observe her delayed reactions as she, evidently, was battling the instinct to throttle him to the ground and save her child from danger. How wild and fascinating the generational sharing of fears and burdens was. Seonghwa turned his attention back to the star of the show, who was eagerly waiting for the eloquently advertised, and much anticipated, spaceships.

“Yes way! And I can show them to you later.” Seonghwa responded with a chuckle, setting the tray next to the boy, making him turn to the side and better expose the arm that was to receive the intramuscular injection. Even though Junseo was now fully immersed in the toy provided, he still expressed his gratitude, forcing the man to use every ounce of strength in him to not melt.

“Thank you so much Doctor Park!”

"No, thank you! Lego is my favourite, you know, but if you picked dinosaurs, you could have heard my tyrannosaurus rex impression." He could hear some shuffling outside of the room, turning into a thud as he introduced his ‘special ability’ when it came to distraction tactics. It was straining, conducting all his appointments without a nurse, since quite a number had arranged to go on holiday for Christmas, including his favourite in the form of a tall man with the brightest smile and enough energy to power the whole building - Jeong Yunho. Was it a challenge for Seonghwa? Perhaps, but he was coping. Besides, would he really want anyone here with him except a certain someone who was not even in this specialisation?

"Awh... no... but that sounds so fun I wanna hear, I wanna hear!!!" The cute boy was practically begging, giving Seonghwa his best puppy dog eyes with a turn of his head – that would not do for the doctor’s mission, however, Junseo needed to be practically in a different realm for it to work.

"Could you attach this jet engine please?" In the softest voice he could muster, Seonghwa guided attention back to the spaceships, commenting on how well Junseo was assembling them. He infinitely admired the ability that children had to disregard common practices, ignore rules and simply create. As Junseo would get older, he would undoubtedly have to succumb to standardisation, but in the meantime, he could enjoy picking a wild palette of coloured bricks, not think about astrophysics when constructing the ships, and be perfectly satisfied with what he was crafting.

"Mhm..."

Using the moment of distraction, Seonghwa turned and reached for the hand sanitiser pump on his desk, cleaning his hands. With practised motions, as he returned to his seat in front of the kid, the doctor took out the prefilled syringe out of the pocket of his white coat, peeling the decontamination seal to fish the item out. He had a small window of opportunity and needed to act fast to seize it. From the other pocket, he produced a packet with an alcohol swab, carefully tearing it, as far away from Junseo as possible so that he would not be shocked by the smell.

"Now, Junseo, could you sit a little closer to me, so... oh thank you!" The child obediently shuffled, not taking his eyes off the Lego pieces. "You might feel a little cold on your arm, but don't worry I will roar that away, okay, you with me? Ah wait, how do we make that ship the strongest in the galaxy?" breath in, breath out. Watching the child’s movements so that he would not accidentally hurt himself. Lifting the sleeve of the t-shirt the Junseo was wearing ever so slightly, Seonghwa crept towards the bench on his wheeled stool, praying to every higher power that he would be done with this appointment soon, but retaining his professionalism. It was now or never.

"Imma show you-"

"Nyaaaaaaah~"

As soon as Seonghwa started, he was done, and the syringe was long hidden behind his back as he pressed a cotton ball to the area, though Junseo could not care less, having broken into a fit of giggles over the interesting interpretation of a t-rex. No matter how exhausted he was, this was one of the things the doctor lived for – having the ability to make medicine, doctor’s visits, and hospitals just a little bit less miserable for the little ones, something of a game or an adventure, him being of the opinion that these pocket-sized humans did not deserve to be exposed to the struggles quite yet. If it was in his power, he would have changed the ‘quite yet’ to never, but that was far too utopian, and something wiped out of him in first year of medical school. So, Doctor Park simply tried his best.

"DOCTOR PARK THAT WAS NOT A ROAR!!!" Junseo proclaimed, still giggling as he clutched onto a bright green brick. Seonghwa chuckled, sliding to the left to dispose of the syringe in a biohazard bin, stretching himself out so that he could still keep holding the cotton ball. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the mother beginning to come to her senses, the ‘high alert’ mode dropping to a more manageable, generally healthy parental worry.

"Then come on, show me what you've got. I bet you have a-"

"ROOOOOOOOOAAAAAR!!!" With him being startled by what he should have expected, he could not help but throw a glance at the other adult in the room, finding her surprised. Hands clasped together, she whispered ‘goodness gracious’, and upon finding out that she had a one-man audience, gave a sheepish grin and looked down. Seonghwa was calming down from his ‘performance’, the doctor, actor, caregiver and child-friendly comedian in him began to leave his body, giving way to a straightforward happiness of a man who could see that he helped out people in need.

"Wow now that is IMPRESSIVE Mister Junseo! Ah wait, could you hold this for me?” he gestured towards the cotton ball, and once the boy complied, backed away to get some more hand sanitiser. “We are done!"

"Huh? Wait... no ouchy?" genuinely confused, the toddler asked, dropping the Lego pieces entirely and blinking in slow motion.

"We scared the ouchy away with spaceships and your awesome roar, didn't we?"

"WE DID!! WE DID!!" With the cotton forgotten, Junseo was about to hop off the bench, his hands pressed into the dark grey material he had been sitting on, but before he could Seonghwa caught him, easily picking the boy up in his arms despite the weight that it put on him. After all, patients came first, and this was always a clear sign that he was trusted – besides, the kid did not have any other ailments, so a little hug would not hurt anyone, especially not Seonghwa’s soul.

"We did! I promised you a cool band aid too so... ah hold on let me... watch your head please." With Junseo still in his arms, Doctor Park ambled towards the other side of the office, closer to where the mother was now standing, to reach into one of the shelves and retrieve the packet of what he considered to be something akin to achievement stamps. A final well done from him to the patient, for being so courageous and letting Seonghwa poke them with a needle.

The rest of the appointment went by in a blur. The boy was safely back in his mother’s arms, sporting a colourful bandaid, babbling away about spaceships, quietly repeating Seonghwa’s dinosaur impression, and emphasising for the umpteenth time that ‘the injection actually did not hurt at all’, much to the mother’s delight. She looked to be on cloud nine as she held her bundle of joy, and even though he was bouncing on her lap to the point where the doctor would assume that she was in discomfort, the woman showed no sign, and instead gleamed at him, expressing genuine gratitude.

"So sorry for all the trouble and that I could not help in any way, please accept my-"

"No need no need! Junseo is such a sweet boy, and it was all his bravery in the end. I am just doing my job." He tried to assure her, flipping through the vaccination booklet she had provided and filling out the details of the shot. While checking the date just in case, despite him having a mental countdown to Christmas with the precision down to an hour practically built into his brain, he still noted the clock on his computer, memorising the time in order to figure out when approximately you would be done with the surgery you had arranged for this evening. Maybe he would have enough time to stop by your department, and manage to catch you there to ask about what plans for celebration you two would dare have in between busy schedules. His attention was guided back to the jovial duo on the armchair, as the mother spoke once more.

"You perform miracles, Doctor Park. Really. You are truly one of a kind! Before today I was convinced that he was wired to cry at every appointment..." she lowered her voice a little, just as Junseo turned away to pick at one of his trouser pockets.

"If you are worried about him developing any phobias and the like, I can recommend some amazing medical experts who can work with you and him?" Whenever anyone voiced a concern, he took it as part of his responsibility to respond wholeheartedly, and as such, once he completed the record, offered assistance. Perhaps this was also a safe zone for him, a removal from what otherwise would inevitably make his heart melt or ache. But to no avail.

"Oh no, no, I think I found the cure right here. Really, my husband will be so impressed about this!”

Husband. Happy family. There it was. Seonghwa felt the corner of his mouth twitch as he lifted himself off his chair, shut the booklet and returned it to the mother, and wife. It was difficult to convince himself that this was not jealousy tugging at his nerves and heartstrings, as the more he pondered the image of what had to be a perfect union, the dinners, the days out in the park, the little meet ups for lunch if either partner was otherwise busy… the domesticity got to him and made him want to slam the table in frustration. So, he did the next best thing, and clasped his hands behind his back so that he would not dare act out of line.

“Is that so?” he forced out, remaining composed as he returned the mother’s bows while she ushered her son forward and stood up to head for the door. He could not help but imagine the duo walking under the lights that adorned every shop, every street and coming home to their own tree, coming together as a small family in a cosy atmosphere. Similar routines, similar time off, the space to love and to live and to enjoy being ‘one’ to the fullest. 

“I think he will want to come with us next time, to meet you, really… of course if you don't mind us scheduling check-ups with you from now on?" meet him… so Seonghwa could see the whole assembly… Really, right in the moment when his head was filled with thoughts of you, he had to be reminded of just how adorable some aspects of paediatrics could be, to the degree of malicious irritation. 

He bet that the reason why you were so relaxed about your relationship was because you were not in direct contact with families and cute kids, for the most part. The closest you came to communicating with patients was in briefing, de-briefing and maintenance of their condition pre- and post- operation. He had to see the bad and good, the downs and ups, the rollercoasters and the memorable highs over long periods of time. Some of his patients he had known for so long, they were basically his relatives, and the personifications of sunshine that would rush to greet him, nearly stumbling over tiny shoes and sometimes barely reaching his waist, or even mid-thigh, restored his faith in the universe. It was exactly because he was aware of the downsides, and still desired this closeness and this next step with you, that he was cursing time itself for not allowing him to express this hope properly. Sure, you had discussed marriage, and both of you were more than committed to one another, but no words had been said about the part where someone popped the question. Was there ever going to be ‘the right time’? Especially when both of you were at the early stages of your medical careers, and were caught adrift in the chaotic shifts, training, exams and had to sacrifice yourselves for thousands who came through the doors of the hospital.

"Ah, whatever you would prefer, Missus Hwang. It would be an honour.” He squashed his nerves for the remainder of the appointment, and peacefully parted with the two visitors to KQ Hospital, wishing them the happiest holidays and for a stable recovery from the vaccination. 

Seonghwa remained standing in the corridor, his back propping the door to the office. Closing his eyes, he listened to the opening of the elevator, and let out a breath he did not know he had been holding once Junseo’s excited, shrill voice was muted by the doors. Gears moved into action as the machine carried the mother and son away from the paediatric ward. The doctor rolled his head in an attempt to relieve at least some of the tension that had built up from the back-to-back out-patient care, the abominable late nights, and the vexatious haze that plagued him in his own life.

It was going to be a long night. And he was barely a quarter of the way through his night shift; perhaps the winter cold and the shorter days were to blame for the melancholy mood. As he straightened himself up once more, Seonghwa instinctively reached for the phone that was hidden in the pocket of his black trousers, hoping for any kind of distraction. Checking the time, messages, whether you had even seen his text about the maintenance people coming to check the plumbing next week… any sign that there was a world beyond his job. But the communication flatlined, and he resorted to simply staring at his lockscreen: a picture of the two of you during that one vacation that you had managed to book together. The one where, three days in, both of you had severe work withdrawal, but thankfully laughed it off and soothed the pain by falling asleep in each other’s arms. That was what he missed. The simple things. If there was one thing he wished for this Christmas, it was for you and him to spend it together - no one else, no pagers going off incessantly, no family members intruding on your time, not even friends. He missed you, even though you were right there. Of course, he still felt blessed to be able to embrace you almost every time you two would be floating into dreamland - be it in the morning or in the evening, aside from when shifts did not align, but he craved more, always. Maybe he was being greedy, wanting for even more of your time. Nonetheless, he hoped that his readiness to sacrifice all of his for you would, at some point, result in his most romantic dreams, akin to castles in the sky, coming true. He wished to well and truly build a life with you. Seonghwa had never thought that he would pay so much attention to labels, but something about settling down officially, being together ‘in sickness and in health’, as he had heard in the vows at his friends’ weddings, was leaving him in a state of longing, constantly, until it was a permanent buzzing in his head.

"So... Doctor Seong-nyah-" rudely tearing through his daydreams, a familiar voice startled the doctor, causing him to gasp and shove his mobile phone into his pocket with panicked haste.

"Wooyoung, don't test me, you are not my patient." Seonghwa gasped, and retorted with sudden venom, spinning to face the man who, evidently, had been loitering around in the corridor behind him for a lot longer than he would ever accept.

"But I want a sticker or a bandaid please~"

But the action only resulted in a stupor, as right there, hands in pockets, the ghost of a mischievous smile on perfectly tinted lips, was his favourite person. Doctor L/N Y/N, neurosurgeon, and definitely the one who had changed his brain wiring to short circuit every time he saw you. Before Wooyoung got any cheekier due to the lack of a response and the less than discreet gawking from Seonghwa’s end, he forced out a random commentary; anything to keep himself from going into cardiac arrest.

"You keep stealing my Disney princess ones anyways!?"

"Can't help it. Besides I've seen you snatch the toy sword so consider us even."

A light blush was threatening to coat his cheeks as he gazed at you, mesmerised by your cheerful reaction. Without a doubt you were imagining the scene, and had you been alone, would coo at ‘just how endearing’ it was. This was not the kind of ‘break between appointments’ that he was imagining, and while you were here, before him, very obviously free, Seonghwa was questioning whether this was a manifestation of luck or a curse.

"That was for safety… and… uh… hello my love.” he mumbled, while you smiled at him, and gave him a gentle wave, already anticipating that even if you were to speak, you would crack and reveal what you had been planning - a major step forward that had been plaguing your mind at almost all hours, even in rare snippets of quiet. Technically, what you had said to Seonghwa was true - it had been an operation, just of a different kind. Careful to not let the mandatory Santa hat you had tugged on your head as part of your department’s senior residents’ effort to ‘keep the spirits up’ slip, you adjusted it to be more snug, and rapidly returned your attention to your boyfriend, who was intently studying you, admiring every detail as though he had not seen each one a million times over.

"Y/N here found the dinosaur impression cute, just so you know." Stuck in a limbo between locking himself in his office and throttling Wooyoung to the ground, Seonghwa chose neither and was simply amazed at how you could remain so nonchalant.

"Were both of you… listening to the… but that is not-”

You and Wooyoung exchanged a knowing look, causing suspicion to rise in Seonghwa. He was not fond of it. Not in the slightest. There was something brewing, and that glint in your eyes was less than reassuring. What were you hiding from him? A million questions a second ran through his mind as he subjected you to scrutiny. First off, you had said that the surgery could be challenging. And yet he could not detect the slight furrowing in your brows, the slouch, the pursed lips that you normally had if you were monitoring a patient in critical condition.

"They were around the department, and I just so happen to know that you are a certified clown so..." Wooyoung began, purposefully winding the taller man up until he was ready to break the Hippocratic oath and cause harm.

"Says the person who can literally replace the fire alarm with his-"

“This is why you should follow my methods and do the whole ‘energy drink and coffee” cocktail before those ghostly long shifts, I tell you-” crossing his arms, Wooyoung appeared to be enjoying every moment he spent teasing his fellow colleague, ignoring how you were starting to get impatient, glancing down the corridor and back to the bickering friends.

“How even-”

"Well, I would more than like to consult the lovely, charming clown please, because I have a whole circus on my hands and need some help.”

That was all that was needed to regain all attention back. Seonghwa gave Wooyoung one last sidelong stare before focusing on you, attempting to figure out just what you were scheming. He knew better than to pry, however, if there was anyone in your relationship who was an expert in dissecting, be it literally or metaphorically, it would be you. That was exactly why he stood and waited with bated breath, fingertips dancing on his upper thigh. In trepidation, the young man’s mind replayed every shared moment with unfathomable clarity, leading him to wonder if this mischievous glint in your stunning orbs was further foreshadowing, much like your sudden announcement that you would be working the same hours as him today, and upon questioning passed it off as “a bit of Christmas luck”. 

“Right…” Wooyoung’s voice appeared distant, barely audible against the thrum of nervousness and lighthearted suspicion. Running a hand through his wavy, neatly parted long hair Seonghwa gave you a lopsided grin before following you down the corridor and giving his colleague an amiable wave, along with a cheerful call of “see you later”. His friend had the whole night ahead of them - much like you and Seonghwa. Except, unfortunately, you and your partner were floors, departments away. Not that far in the grand scheme of things, but far enough for Seonghwa’s heart to start hurting when he least expected it.

Just like now, despite you being within arm’s reach, the proximity reminded him of just how much of a luxury such moments were, and how, should anything go wrong, you would metaphorically evaporate. The beeping of a pager would be enough to make you or him leave, that damned device having to be strapped on and prioritised above everything else. As less and less time remained until Christmas, the probability of it going off climbed higher and higher, so every step was a risk, and every scheduled consultation or out-patient care call when Seonghwa was mandated to hand off his monitoring duties to another resident - a temporary salvation.

You were in your scrubs, and were sporting a standard issue doctor’s coat, ever so professional. Though your back was facing him, Seonghwa could easily imagine the identity card clipped to the pocket above your heart, along with the embroidered hospital name and emblem, and your department. Neurosurgery. The top of the top, an art and a science so complex that Seonghwa was in awe of you eternally. How you dedicated your life to the mystery behind a person’s eyes, and how you could heal the terrifyingly enigmatic organ with astounding success. Determined, passionate in all ways, that was what had drawn the enamoured man to you, and what had made him fall deeper and deeper and vow to stay for as long as you would allow him. Would you be fine with him tagging along, just like this? Would you be willing to walk in the same stride?

“Hwa,” turning your head, you exclaimed your boyfriend’s nickname and then turned back to scan your pass to let you both through to another corridor, “how has your day been so far, lovely?”

“It’s been good, not too bothersome. Last appointment was a vaccination - not sure how or why the literal holidays were chosen for this, but who am I to judge,” looking around, Seonghwa responded. Quickly, he caught up to you, and in a matter of moments you felt how his fingers intertwined with yours, and his palm was pressed against you, as though a mirror image. Jigsaw pieces falling into a perfect union, your hands, stilled in harmony. 

“Maybe not everyone wants to skip school,” you mused, poking fun at the times when your boyfriend did just that - at least before university and him choosing to major in medicine hit like a truck; in the blissful middle and high school days, so easy in retrospect - a fever dream. 

“I’d love to hear what the little patient would think about that one… but really, Christmas? Why would you run the risk of having side effects over Christmas?”

“That’s true… but I bet you made the appointment a really good time. In fact, from what I have heard I am sure you did,” you teased, making Seonghwa squeeze your hand and click his tongue in pretend annoyance.

“Hey, I’m trying my best here-”

“-and you are making the world a better place,” you cut him off, squeezing back and urging him on, closer and closer to your final destination. 

Seonghwa shook his head, bewildered at the sudden outburst of affection. You were normally not the kind to get too sappy at work - if anyone, it was him who would gush about the simplest things to you during a brief lunch break, while you would be nodding along with a grin on your face. You were excited about something, without a doubt. What it was, however, was beyond him, so he let you lead, while playfully questioning your behaviour.

“What’s gotten into you? Did you forget to put the plates back in the cupboard at home?” he squinted, slightly relieved when you chuckled but still left without a concrete answer:

“Can’t I praise the love of my life every once in a while?”

“You can, but-”

“-Besides, Yeosang, you know, my friend from paediatric neurosurgery, he said kids who you had treated talk about you non-stop. Maybe you should pay some of them a visit. If their treating doctors allow it, of course.”

Eyes widening, Seonghwa barely noticed you slipping away from him to grab a large bag you had stationed by a heavy exit door, and in bewilderment was concerned if he should believe your overwhelmingly kind message. All those little lives he had the honour of getting to know and trying his best to help… remembering him? It was at times like these, even the hardest days were worth it. For the present and for the future. He returned to reality only when he felt a gust of freezing cold air hit his form and goosebumps ran over his skin. Your proud, loving smile greeted him and encouraged him to walk on. When Seonghwa attempted to query your spontaneous adventurism, you waved it off - forward, only forward. Making a note of something fluffy in texture peeking out of the bag, he hoped for it to be at least a scarf; a doctor should know to not expose themselves to the risk of colds. 

You led Seonghwa to one of the many secluded areas of the hospital - forgotten by most staff, this portion of the roof was the prettiest at night, when the lights of surrounding high rises and the rest of the metropolis stretching out as far as the eye could see all glimmered like a blanket of stars laid down on the precious planet. The city, forever awake, bustling with activity. A hand brushed against his upper arm, and he turned his head to see you holding his coat that he swore he had left in the call room. Gingerly, the article was in his grasp, and yet another question was travelling for you to tackle:

“Now when did you get this? I know I did not just leave it lying around.”

“Mhm, call room. Coat hanger. By the door. I am very aware. I picked it up on the way.”

“Sounds like someone had a lot of time…” trailing off, Seonghwa put on the coat, watching as you did the same. Apparently, that was not all that was in the bag, and with each item that was revealed, his surprise grew and grew.

“Just enough to prepare a little something,” in one swift movement, you caught your boyfriend off guard with sudden Santa hat attack - nearly covering his eyes with the white fluff, previously styled hair shooting out in different directions from under the accessory, you still deemed the mission successful, and giggled, elaborating: “now, we match.”

He could not not love you. Much like the nights in December were dark and his exhales turned to steam that was to be whisked away by the wind, he was confident in the fact that he was born to love you, and only you. It was funny to think that years ago he thought of other kinds of forever, only for them to fall apart in months. Seonghwa mused about different realities, but was never afraid of losing them until inevitably happened; not because he did not care at all, but because his heart was never in the right place. Now that his heart was home, it was clear. Most of all, the clearest sign of the truth that belonged to your relationship, was the subconscious fear, continuous and blended into every note of adoration. It was in his love for you that he found what it meant to be afraid to lose. 

The young man did not want to lose these priceless moments - how you would make an elaborate plan and surprise him with it. How out of nowhere, before his very eyes was a blanket that you laid down on the roof, a portable heater that emitted a glow akin to that of a campfire, and a large wool throw that he assumed you wished to use to keep you both warm. That shine that he swore was coming from something heavenly within you as you dragged him to take a seat, your adorable cooing over him as you wrapped the two of you tight with the throw, and scooched until your body was pressed against his. On instinct, Seonghwa’s arm was around you, and he leaned in until he could smell the faint, comforting aroma of your strawberry shampoo. Staring into the heater, he imagined a gentle flame, falling into a beautiful daydream - a world where there was just you and him.

This was a long-standing fantasy of his, a picture of which he had painted for you many times while you counted stars on the ceiling of your bedroom, drifting off to sleep just before the chirping of the birds, the dawn bidding you farewell and wishing a good rest. Somewhere nowhere, in a place with no name, surrounded by no one and nothing, you two could stay for a little while and indulge in simplicity. An escape from the daily stresses, a dive into the daily bliss of being enamoured and having found one’s soulmate. In a little cottage that you two could rent out, with a little spot outside so you could pretend like you were properly camping, Seonghwa prayed for time in an earthly utopia. 

“I couldn’t find sticks, So I hope you are fireproof,” a marshmallow was held between two delicate fingers right before his eyes. A large, white cloud and a hint that you might have been listening a lot more intently than you had let on. 

“I- are we- are we about to be toasting marshmallows?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” the doctor followed your lead, stretching out his hand to the heater, imagining the marshmallow roast away; if Seonghwa were to squint hard enough, he could almost see the colour change.

A giggle escaped you, and you huddled into him, at peace due to the safety which you always said he naturally oozed. Without fail you told him how he was a walking spring day, a blessing, a shining star. The more you said it, the more confident he became in accepting the words as truth, and then, one day when he caught you admiring him from afar while waiting for him to finish rounds, acceptance turned into a fact. By loving you, and by letting you love him, Seonghwa learned to love himself. Thoughts of fond memories prompted him to give you a gentle poke, making you lift your head in perplexion. This, however, was quickly dispelled by a the sweetest kiss, deepened by a gentle hand that found purchase on the nape of your neck.

Lips so familiar, so addicting; each time they met was the kindling of a miniature paradise. A journey through time, to end only in the future, the present turned into a miracle in which he could immerse himself, all of his senses attuned to you. The touch of your lips was the rays of a sun in May, kind and soothing, blossoming into the finest beauty and the most satisfying serenity on verdant green leaves and gorgeous flowers. The only thing he could hear was the breeze creeping across the not quite as picturesque cement and metal, and the ghost of a mumble of “I love you” as you parted for air, still close enough to share it.

Lost in your eyes, Seonghwa wished he could never be found. He was willing to endlessly draw the maze that trapped him in them, adapting it to formulate a personal infinity. Eyelashes, eyebrows, nose, cheeks, lips, every blemish and freckle and scar were all priceless to him. You, in all your personal divinity, a universe that so intently studied him, loved every part unconditionally and invited him in to do the same. A symbiosis, a system of two stars orbiting one another - a gorgeous celestial waltz was how he saw you and him. Under the night sky full of constellations, you two were still the brightest. Seonghwa’s heart was full. He ever so softly let his hand slide to the side of your face, thumb gliding slowly over the skin of your cheek. Once, twice - perpetual motion, each one marking another second in which love grew stronger, and the yearning for his dream more intense. If only he could put it into words. And yet, courage only allowed him to muster a mere two which were far too general, ambiguous:

“Thank you.”

“I am glad we could do this,” you answered, sharing in his delight. You did not need anything else, seeing past the mellow, pleasant triviality.

“I think the only downside is that now I want to do this all the time,” his hand guided your head into the crook of his neck, so you could sit side by side, looking out into the urban expanse. Silence weighed on you, until a long-awaited suggestion reached Seonghwa’s ears.

“Well… we could. At least for Christmas.” 

“As if we will be taking days off, yeah.”

“Who says we won’t?”

“I- huh?” 

You took his hands in yours, and shuffled for you to be face to face. Much to your astonishment, when it came down to the critical moment when you would start being blatantly obvious in your intentions, you were not as anxious anymore. Everything felt more than right, and the comfortable quietude resembled the globe holding its breath for you. 

“I have an idea,” your boyfriend was intrigued, but doubtful. He had hopes, sure, but he knew better than to keep them up, “so… ahem, well, for us it is standard practice to not schedule anything major on holidays, just in case, and thankfully I could… reschedule some things…”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded along, raising his eyebrow. Your hands held his more tightly on their own accord, shaking a little as you spoke.

“Well, so, yeah, you know how the head of… the head of paediatrics is a big family person right?”

“Yeah, comes with the job I suppose, and?” tongue darting over his lips, Seonghwa began to sense what you were getting at, and he swore there was not enough oxygen to sustain him, and a dizziness settled over his mind, clouding it, leaving behind only you, you, you-

“Hm… well… I think they would be more than happy to let a new family celebrate together… yeah?”

“...Yeah…yeah?”

“So what I’m saying is-”

“Will you marry me?”

“Beat me to it,” gleaming, you pulled him in, stopping a mere few millimetres away, seeking approval.

Hints of tears welling in his deep brown eyes induced your own. Pressed forehead to forehead, you memorised every tiny detail, how you felt, how Seonghwa felt, how you were both fondly mumbling ‘yes's and ‘always’s and ‘I love you’s over and over again; vows uttered at the beginning of a new chapter of a miraculous life, in perfect harmony.

“I’m sorry for the ‘no ring’ situation-”

“I’d marry you with paper rings,” Seonghwa responded at the speed of light, quoting one of the many songs that both of you loved to listen to, and would blast in the living room many times over, “how did you even plan this-”

“Don’t bash me, but Wooyoung was an accomplice-”

“Of course he was,” he flicked your nose with his and guided you into another kiss, your hat sliding away and almost falling to the ground, saved only by Seonghwa’s reflexes. Smiling against your lips, he only deepened the sensual expression of devotion, parting simply to confess,

“To think we were rehearsing the same thing but I was too scared to say it.”

“You are too precious. And I’m sorry if I’m too scary, angel,” you winked, earning an amused, airy laugh.

This could not be the furthest from how Seonghwa felt; the notion of you terrifying him was hilarious. Everything but you was the issue. You were his safe haven, his clarity. The one to whom he had already given away all his hours, be it in closeness or in his dreams both in the day and night. You were his and he was yours, and now that the one change he had been begging all the goodness in the galaxy for finally happened, he wanted to shout this from every rooftop, starting from this fated, isolated spot that must have been made for just you two. 

“No, I am just more certain that you can read minds,” he gestured to the heater, the untouched marshmallows, the stars, and finally stopped at you, alluding to what was to be your proposal, turned mutual.

“Just because I poke around brains-” you began, only to be stopped by unparalleled cuteness in the form of a scrunched up face and a tiny smirk.

“Yeah, yeah, you aren’t even a cardiologist and you stole my heart-”

“Park Seonghwa, cease the flirting, we are getting married-” playfully, you slap his shoulder.

“Oh, you only saw the beginning,” a wiggle of the eyebrows. Your very soul fluttered at the sight of his megawatt grin, and the innocent peck left on your cheek.

“...I hope so,” your wish. To cherish the many sides, colours, shades, edges, angles of your spectacular Seonghwa.

“It’s decided. I’ll hit you with all the festive pick up lines starting tomorrow.”

As you settled back into an embrace, regarding the golden glow of your inner oasis that transposed onto all, previously dark, surroundings, you unwillingly played the role of the realist.

“Ask your department head first.”

“For a blessing?”

“No, silly, to confirm your freedom.”

“Yes, Doc’,” in jest, your fiance saluted you, and you wrapped your arms tighter around his waist, brushing your jaw against his shoulder.

“Page me after."

“I will page myself across the hospital to tell you.”

“Awh, my Seonghwa Claus and my present in one,” absent-mindedly, you reached for a stubborn strand of his hair to push away, and twirled it around your digits, careful to not ruin the perfect balance of the themed hat beneath which they tried to establish their own order, threatening to disturb your elated angel. 

“My future spouse- oh I’ll be saying this so often.” 

From one day to the next, under the sun and moon, with many seasons passing by, you became the time that you seeked and previously fought against. As you looked to one another for more and more in your lives, it was destined that eventually, the idea of any other path would be simply impossible. At the end of a year came a new beginning, witnessed by the observant stars and by the long winter night.

“Me too, my love, until I can call you my husband.”

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enjoyed? please consider reblogging and leaving a comment. thank you, much love!

[luveline]

hiii, can i have a blurb with emily, it can be literally about anything, i miss her and you write her impeccably ✨🥺

thank you ♡

Emily frowns at her computer screen. She's been having a hard time using the new system, and she can't stop batting at the feathered bangs that kiss her eyebrows, an agitated tic. 

She really doesn't like admitting that she can't do things. 

You rifle through your desk drawer. A few weeks ago you'd stopped for throat soothers on the way to work and found a packet of strawberry flavoured mentos at the gas station. I love the strawberry flavour, Emily'd said once, but I don't like any of the other ones. It feels like too much of a waste to buy the bag. 

You bought them. Chickened out on giving them to her. They're still sealed. 

"Hey," you say quietly, careful not to draw the attention of her deskmates. If Spencer or Derek were to witness this, they'd both laugh at you. Everyone knows how you feel except Emily, because isn't that always the way? "Emily?" 

She immediately turns her attention and concern to you, her eyes so dark and pretty it makes you feel sick. "Hey," she says, her voice dulcet, near melodic, "you okay?" 

"I got you these." 

You pass her the box of mentos without fuss. 

Her lips part in shock before melding to a smile that brags the pearl of her teeth. "Oh my god. Where did you find these?" Her gaze flickers between you and her newfound treasure. "How did you–" 

"I remembered, um, when we went to Austin, you," —you look down at her hands— "said you liked only the strawberry ones. So when I saw them I hoped you'd like them."

"Have you ever tried them?"

You rub at the inside of your wrist. "No." 

Emily's chair rattles as she stands, and mentos hit the sides of the box as she breaks the seal with her finger and tips a few into her palm. They're a light pink and smell strongly of strawberry, though there's a subtle coolness to them. 

"Here," she says. "I think you'll like them." 

You take it because she could offer you little tiny rocks and you'd eat them. You'd smile at her with cracked teeth. Emily doesn't realise how much power she has over you (remarkably) nor the effect of her closeness. You press the mento between your lips and she does the same, beaming this beatific, heart-racing smile at you as strawberry pops over your tongue. 

"They're good, right?" she asks, nearly smug. 

You nod quickly. You're not a reliable narrator and you'd say yes no matter what, but something about looking at her makes them sweet. 

"The– the new computer system, it's buggy, right?" you ask. When she looks at you dumbfounded, you correct, "Non responsive. Doesn't wanna listen." 

"Right?" She looks so relieved that it knocks you off kilter. 

"I think I figured out how to get my emails to stay in one place," you say, aiming for casual, barely making the mark. 

"Could you show me how to do that?" 

You sit in her desk chair at her computer and fix her emails to the desktop. The system isn't buggy, but you want her to feel capable. She is capable. Strawberry mentos over your shoulder, her hand resting on the back of her chair, fingertips brushing your back and silky dark hair skimming your shoulder, she's perfect. 

Spencer meets your eye from over the desktop monitors. He, of similar disposition, seems to be commending you on your demeanour with widened eyes and a small nod. 

Derek, on the other hand, taunts. "Is it hot in here?" he asks, fanning himself with his t-shirt. 

Emily leans over your shoulder to grab a case file from her desk, tossing it onto Derek's. "You can fan yourself with that once you've peer reviewed it for me." 

Spencer shakes his head in pity. 

"Hey, what's wrong?" Emily asks you, looking down. "Are you hot too? You look flustered." 

"I'm feeling it," Spencer says. 

"Huh. I must be cold blooded," she says under her breath, the exhale tickling your neck. "Weird." 

[admin-cock-creations]

Waxing Poetic

Fandom: Gravity Falls Pairing: College! Stanford Pines / Reader Summary: Stanford lets his thoughts wander, and he can't help but indulge himself a little when those thoughts instinctively come to you. Warnings: Recreational Drug Use

There weren’t many moments where Stanford allowed his thoughts to wander. And not just wander to thoughts of his next class or project but really and truly wander to things that itched at his mind in unscratchable ways. Such moments were often elusive to his grasp and took, laughably, a certain amount of concentration to achieve. Luck seemed to be his friend today; that itch came up again, and his roommate decided he needed the delicately balanced library environment to study, leaving Ford alone in their shared dorm.

The twin had absentmindedly waved over his shoulder to the leaving Fiddleford, nose too deep in his studies to truly take in the other’s words until he had been alone in the silence for nearly 15 minutes. As if some energy washed over him, Ford sat up straight at his desk, placing his book on the crowded surface and blinking his widened eyes like he’d been jolted into consciousness. Taking a moment to observe his surroundings, the man twisted side to side in his chair, relieving some of the tension in his back and making sure he was really and truly alone in the room. He’d surely be called a paranoid loon if someone saw him in his current state, but Stanford had fair reason to confirm the absence of his roommate.

Standing up, he quietly strode over to the door and flipped the lock to secure himself from someone barging in, letting out a shaky little breath of mixed emotion once he settled back at his desk.

Reaching over the piles of books, paperwork, and pencils, Ford nudged aside his curtains to tug open his window, giving himself a healthy little crack for air to flow through. His attention then turned to the desktop fan he kept at the corner of his workspace, adjusting it just so before flicking it on. He let the blades turn for a moment, watching in silence how the curtains fluttered with the airflow before nodding to himself and pulling open one of the many drawers in his desk.

College was a time for experimentation of all kinds, so it seemed only natural that Ford would end up trying the delights of recreational drug use at one point or another. Hell, he and Stan had snuck their first cigarettes back in their freshman year of high school, so he was no stranger to smoking. Of course, he hadn’t taken to cigarettes quite like Stanley had, though he had smoked at least a couple more in the years until this point in his life. Still, that didn’t mean Ford had separated himself from all forms of smoking. Fiddleford had shared his first time smoking marijuana, and while Fidds didn’t seem keen on having another go, Ford discovered he quite liked the sensation. It stilled some overworking part of his brain and allowed him a moment to breathe. Oftentimes, it even ended up helping him work better if he found himself in a slump caused by his methodical madness.

Fingers nudged aside some small containers of gummies and a Tupperware with a half-eaten cookie inside, deciding this wasn’t an occasion for edibles. He needed a proper smoke. Ford’s brows furrowed as he pulled out the drawer to its full depth, sorting through pencils and pens until he found what he was searching for: a neatly rolled blunt that had migrated to the back of the drawer. His matchbook was kept on his person as a habit now, having come across so many classmates asking for a light or needing it in his labs. It had become a familiar little weight in his pocket, and he was happy to pull it out and strike up a match as he held his blunt between his lips. The crack in the window and the fan made for a nifty flow of air that quickly swept up the evidence of Ford’s rule-breaking, grateful that the autumn breeze worked in his favor.

Leaning back in his chair, Ford let out a blissful sigh and a lungful of smoke, letting the warmth seep into his mind and body and relax the muscles he hadn’t even realized he was clenching. Thankfully there was an old cup of coffee nearby he could flick his ashes into, because he certainly didn’t feel like getting up again now that his joint was lit.

Slowly and mindlessly, Stanford smoked down his joint, finding himself in a delightful state of bliss when he was left with little more than a quarter of his original joint. He decided he didn’t need to smoke anymore today and was perfectly content with his current state, so he carefully snubbed out the embering end of the joint with full intentions of saving the rest for another time. For now, it rested between his fingers as Ford enjoyed the solace of his freed mind. His gaze was seemingly focused on his hand, but in truth, he was miles away, drifting peacefully until he blinked and came back into the present.

Now he was looking at the mostly spent joint, and his thoughts flowed easily to thoughts of you, his drug dealer. But you were more than just that. You were his classmate, his friend, a fellow intellectual, and someone he respected and admired, perhaps in a less than platonic way.

Ford had met you in an art course, something he had taken out of interest and to fill up a slot in his time. You sat next to one another during lectures, and it was almost instantly clear that you held a brilliance of your own. While Ford saw the world in numbers and equations, you saw it in shapes and colors, and it was so wonderfully enlightening and entertaining to share conversations with you just to get a glimpse of how your mind worked.

But even more than smart you were kind, and pretty. You had been the one who offered your ‘services’ to Ford, able to readily supply any type of marijuana product he could imagine, not to mention you baked an incredible infused cookie, so he didn’t feel so awkward about seeking out supply from a stranger he didn’t know. Sometimes, you even got high together, sharing edibles in the privacy of your own dorm while chatting and laughing to yourselves over a movie or TV show. Could he really be blamed for taking such a liking to you when you were so warm and genuine? The thoughts of you, despite their simplicity, quickly turned into fleeting moments of wondering that had a different and familiar kind of heat rising in Ford’s jeans.

Giving in to himself, Ford undid the button and zipper on his pants, shoving his thumbs under his waistband and lifting his hips just enough to tug his jeans and briefs partly down his thighs, exposing his hardening cock. He couldn’t help but wonder about less than pure things regarding you. He wondered what your lips would feel like against his, what you looked like under your clothes, how you’d look under him, how you’d sound whimpering his name.

“Sh-shit…”

Taking himself in hand, he began to work up a firm pace stroking his cock, the joint now free from his fingers and his opposite hand supporting the weight of his head with an elbow upon the desk. His brows furrowed, his lower lip tucked between his teeth, his intoxicated mind unchained and swarming with the lustful thoughts he normally did his best to keep tucked away.

He thought back to a moment in your dorm, where you’d both gotten high and found yourselves in uncontrollable fits of laughter over something he couldn’t remember now. You were literally falling all over each other, smiling and unworried about how your hands wandered and fought to support yourselves and the other person. You’d been so close, if he had tilted his head right you would have been kissing.

Ford suddenly whimpered, a leg kicking slightly as he found himself working up to a peak rather quickly. He couldn’t pick what thought of you to focus on, what memory to choose, what words to morph your voice into, but it seemed his own hungry mind had decided all that for him. In a vision of his own fantasy, you were sprawled beneath him on his bed, laid bare for his eyes and hands to take in, moaning and gasping in time with his stroking as if he were pounding into you.

“Ford… please…”

He’d heard you say that before, but never in a context like this, nothing so filthy. But now it was so easy to piece those words into the gaps of his mind, gritting his teeth and huffing as he bucked into his fisted hand until Ford finally found himself spilling his release across the floor. Panting and swallowing thickly, it took a few solid moments until he felt strength come back to his legs, forcing himself to stand up and begin cleaning up his mess and the remaining evidence of his smoke break before Fiddleford returned from the library.

Perhaps one day he’d have the nerve to admit his interest in you, but for now, he’d just enjoy your shared moments and the escapism of his mind.

[antimony-medusa]

man, just going through and queueing my thousandth emduo fan art and considering my emduo writing I'm doing this evening and with a VOD of an emduo stream open in a tab and with emduo art as my desktop background and I was just struck by a thought:

Undoubtedly this would be kinda weird to see people getting this into your friendships.

Like not even getting into whumping characters or aging them down or shipping or doing deep lore and meta of off-hand comments, just like, just the fact that I have been posting emduo art approximately 12 times a day for the past three years. Not even getting into the fact that one of those creators is dead. Like. That's gonna be a little weird to come across in the abstract, if you are a person with a friendship, seeing this friendship be like someone's blog theme. Multiple blog themes. The hashtag updates hourly.

Like I'm sure fandom is flattering, but also, there is undoubtedly a point where someone is like 'oh wait, so your entire hobby is about these characters that have my name? Like you spend hours a day on this? You have art up?" And then they go Oh Dear.

Which is why I think it's just so much greater for everyone if we keep our little derangement in fandom-specific corners of the internet and do not throw it into the creator's face. At all. Even the harmless stuff! Do not TTS about your fanfic! Sharing fan art and cosplay in the designated fan art channel— awesome. Inviting creators into your fandom group chat— boy. Can we not. As much as I am like man I could probably reach so many people, I probably should not promo fandom events in the philza discord! The actual guy is there, saying "here people can request gifts made for them about you" is gonna be weird.

There's just— there's a thing on twitter right now where this artist was making music and videos in a created world with characters, all very dreamlike and artistic, based in their childhood. And because it's the internet, someone wrote/drew NSFW of these characters. And because the internet is the way it is now, people were finding, searching out NSFW content to send it to the creator, presumably so they could take it down?

And I know these people had good intentions, however much I think that they're wrong, but I would argue that sending someone porn of characters based on you/on your kidfic is pretty close to harassment? Like do not show them that stuff. Come on. But the 'tattle to the creator' mentality was too strong.

And the creator, unsurprisingly, did not deal well with this! And then in what I think is a mistake, they have put together a team of people and a google form so that you can report if you find inappropriate or offensive content with their characters and the team will presumably try to copyright strike it. Which. Uh. Again. Is a whole horrible boundaries discourse, is going to lead to witch hunts, and I'm not sure about the legal success of copyright striking fan art and fanfic ANYWAYS.

But like this could have been avoided if instead of going "the creators need to know about this Bad Stuff" people just blocked and moved on. And I think so much more of modern fandom would take a step towards health if we could put more of a creator/fandom separation in place.

Like when I think back to the heyday of DSMP fandom and how these creators— many of them underage— were getting people sending them porn of themselves/their characters, to tattle. Oh look isn't this dark fic too dark. Look how horrible this gore is. This is borderline shipping. People were sending Phil's mods stuff tagged as QPR, because they couldn't get to Phil but he clearly so desperately needed to know this, so that he could condemn it as too close to shipping? Because that is respectful and a great idea?

And like this ranges from stuff where I'm like bro, he doesn't need to know that (small /neg, about stuff that isn't a big dealt), to bro, he doesn't need to know that (LARGE /neg, stop sending the creators porn), because like, okay, yes, you have correctly identified that this would be weird to have happen to you/to a character based on you. What you are missing here is that unless you want to usher in an era of insane copyright overreach that would make disney's lawyers ascend to a higher plane and also kill transformative fandom, there is effectively very little way to stop most of the bad stuff. Those characters are out there, people get to do what they want with them, no matter how much it's in poor taste. All you're doing when you show creators the bad stuff is making them look at stuff that is going to be unpleasant and they can't stop. So, y'know, harassment?

And even the good stuff— I know how to behave myself and act cool in public spaces the creators are in, but if they were to see the full depths of how much of my brain space is taken up by the blocks, I'm sure they'd kinda be left going hahaha you what????? Tomathy Innit was struck speechless by a single person doing a video essay analyzing L'manberg. I see that energy on the dash from dozens of mutuals every damn DAY.

Just like, man. Fandom is just a lot to shove at creators, and if they want to step in willingly that's fine, but I really think we should be so so so cautious about throwing them in bodily when they didn't ask for it. Do not rec family dynamic fics to tommy in his youtube comments. Do not tell tubbo to scroll his hashtag on tumblr. Stop telling Phil about your fanfiction in TTS. I"M SURE THE POSTING YOU ARE ALL THINKING OF IS FINE IN TERMS OF TECHNICAL WEIRD STUFF, but like— even the good stuff! Even the good stuff is a lot! "I was having a bad day but I watched some videos with the friendship in it and now I'm okay" is just a lot to drop on someone! Can we allow creators/writers/musicians/actors/authors to opt into this stuff, and not shove it at them?

And for the love of all things good stop sending people porn of themselves.

[fredwkong]

Virgo Season: Harold

There was no way in hell that Harold was going to do his presentations on the lawn. This conference was supposed to be prestigious, and all that he had seen so far was every so-called “real man” in the Astra Hotel running in terror from a group of deviants.

Harold had been a police officer in Detroit for decades, and even retired he knew he cut an imposing figure. Where the inimitable Pastor Blanco had failed, Harold had succeeded, forcing the staff to clean up the conference hall in the early hours of the morning, after the nightly freak party ended. The day’s discussions and meetings had been held in their rightful place again, and now it was Harold’s turn.

If only he could get the damn projector working properly.

While Harold had been on the force, everything had been microfilm and slides, even into the 2000s. The Astra’s conference hall contained such newfangled gadgets as an “HDMI port,” an “audio jack,” and the horrifically misnamed “Smart Board” that Harold had no hope of interacting with. Harold had been expecting that some of the young professionals attending the conference would be able to help him with setting up.

Alas, all the young cowards seemed to have fled the conference over the last few weeks, and so Harold had spent 15 minutes struggling with the technology before he turned to Blanco, his face purple with rage. “Get… me… the concierge,” Harold gritted out.

Blanco seemed about to protest at being ordered around like one of his lackeys, but then clearly thought better of it. Without a word, he fled the hall.

The door closed with an echoing bang. Without meaning to, Harold jumped as if he had been touched by a small electric shock. The small audience—not more than twenty, and yet more than half the people still at the conference—all jumped too.

Harold turned back to the podium where the mess of wires surrounded his ancient brick of a laptop, only to see that one cable was neatly plugged into a port on his device. Behind him, the large screen flickered to life, displaying his desktop background.

“Ah, that’s fine then,” Harold said gruffly. “Let’s begin, we’re behind enough as it is.” He launched PowerPoint exactly as the man at the tech support desk had shown him once and began the slideshow.

The screen went black, then flashed bright before the first slide came up. Harold could have sworn it had shown a picture of a smooth-skinned man in a rubber bodysuit, lying at the foot of someone in high heels. But there was no such image on his device, so he must have imagined it.

“The police and their policies are an important part of America and make ordinary life possible,” Harold began, following the notes he had written in his notebook. He went through the first few slides, on the glorious history of the American police force and how essential they were to the protection of real Americans, like him and the other attendees.

As he did, Harold felt himself beginning to get warm in his suit. He wasn’t the type for nervous sweating, but he found himself tugging at his collar, feeling beads of sweat run down his grey, buzzed temples. After the third slide, he took a moment to take a drink of water, and saw several of the conference attendees doing the same, or fanning themselves with paper and notebooks. Maybe it had been a mistake to close the doors.

“Please pay close attention,” Harold said, clicking to the next slide.

The slide was meant to show an image of Harold during his glory days on the force. Instead, for an instant, Harold was sure the picture was of some deviant in a rubber bodysuit, long socks, aviators, and a leather cap. Like a horrible fetishistic parody of his younger self.

He blinked, horrified, and the picture he was was as it was supposed to be, a younger Harold in his perfect police uniform. Somehow, he had imagined such a horrific image. Harold coughed awkwardly. “In my time on the force, my district…” he continued, rattled.

The statistics and policy changes relevant to Harold’s presentation seemed to swim before his eyes. He was sweating like a pig in this suit. It felt like there was something under the cotton and silk, something pliant and sticky against his skin. The audience seemed to be moving uncomfortably. Some were tugging on their dress shirts, trying to force air into the humid interiors.

Harold continued reading his notes. “Police put great attention on stepping on—I mean, stamping out—less desirable elements in the city,” he said, stumbling over his words. “Employee satisfaction reached an all time high when police were given free rein to fu—no, that’s pluck—potential criminals from their hiding places preemptively.” Why had he written that word?

But the idea was somehow enticing. That would have changed things in Detroit, Harold thought, as he kept on reading and clicking through slides. Walking into a raid lubed up and hard in a rubber—rubber? Yes, rubber—jockstrap, fucking sense into those deviant criminals’ asses… He tried to resist getting hard in his dress pants.

When he clicked to the next slide, it showed an example of exactly the kind of criminal Harold was thinking of. Tight rubber pants, his chest bare, giving fuck-me eyes to the camera.

“The criminal element—” Harold’s voice was hoarse for some reason. He coughed and continued talking about the inherent criminality of non-white men in America.

The men in the audience were leaning forward in their seats as Harold went through the next few slides. He knew that look. The attractiveness of the hedonistic lifestyle of a deviant criminal was getting to them. It was getting to him, too. He could barely remember where his discussion was leading.

No one in the hall heard the main doors stick as someone attempted to open them from the outside, but found them held fast by some force other than the lock.

The atmosphere had become close and humid. Harold could see some of the men palming their bulging groins through their pants. He wanted a taste of that. Pictures of men in rubber continued to flash on the screen, even though Harold wasn’t clicking on it to continue. Harold couldn’t tell if they were criminals or civilians anymore. Maybe they were just ordinary people. The images came faster and faster until the screen was a blur of rubber men.

Suddenly, the onslaught stopped. A video started to play. Two men, of very different skin tones, furiously kissing. Harold heard moaning from the audience as they started to imitate what they were seeing on screen.

Harold felt overwhelmingly warm, and started to unbutton his shirt. Had his hands always been so tan? As he worked, he tried to continue speaking. “In-in short, the police force… Oh god, the police force should totally fuck more, can you imagine? In uniform?” The pitch of his voice rose as his grey hair darkened to black. Graceful hands stripped away his shirt to reveal a translucent rubber tank top underneath. “Can you imagine if they put on some rubber booty shorts instead of those boring pants?” he continued.

The audience started to strip each other, following Harold’s example. The squeak of rubber on rubber sang out in harmony with smooth moans and gasps. Skin darkened and youthened everywhere as everyone let go of everything that had been holding them back for decades all at once.

Harold clicked to the next slide, knowing what was coming now. A man in boots and a rubber shirt, sniffing a black sneaker. “You gotta show your partner you appreciate all that sweat he’s been building up under his rubber!” Harold told the audience, hearing the licks and snuffles begin as men enthusiastically dove into each others’ armpits, groins, and abandoned shoes.

Hadn’t Harold had a water bottle? No, just the spare sneaker his husband had sent with him to the Astra Hotel this year. Giving the audience a moment to put his command into action, Harold gave the shoe a sniff, feeling as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders as his body tightened up into a tan, muscular physique.

He wanted to stretch out his long tongue into the shoe’s interior, but Harold knew that would spoil the musk, plus he needed to keep focussed on his presentation. Instead, he imagined giving his husband’s feet a nice tongue bath once he got home, giving his cock a squeeze through his sweat-soaked pants. Still sniffing, he wriggled out of the pants, revealing his black rubber shorts, rivulets of sweat still running down his sturdy legs.

Harold clicked to the next slide, the final moment of his presentation. A guy in a full bodysuit, his rubber toes extended to the camera. “Remember, it’s all about playing with power,” Harold called out, feeling his mouth slip around the English consonants. His mixed heritage, raised in a house where he spoke Lebanese, left him with a faint accent that came out specifically when he was horny. “You do what another man says because you trust him, and it feels so fucking good, right?”

There was a roar of assent from the crowd, drunk on their own lust. “Good boys,” Harold said firmly, and drank in the responding chorus of submissive groans. Leaving the slide up, Harold stepped down from the presenter’s dais back into the seating. He pulled his long rubber gloves back on as he went. Best to be prepared in case someone wanted to feel his arm up inside them.

One couple, a Chinese man and his little Black boy, had actually started fucking, the Black guy’s rubber pantseat unzipped so his tight ass could take his dom’s cock. An older Arabic man had his hands tied behind his back as he sat on the floor in a circle of men, all taking turns using his mouth. As he walked past, Harold tugged on the long ponytail of a Brazilian in a rubber shirt, enjoying the man’s groan as he kept bouncing on what must be a plug on the inside of his pants. They were all gonna have a good time until the non-rubber guys joined them for the night’s party.

The conference hall door burst open, and Harold turned to see some old white man standing there, surrounded by terrified hotel staff. Harold raised himself to his full height and crossed his gloved arms, showing off the bulge in his rubber shorts and the muscles in his translucent shirt. This was his place, and he was gonna protect it.

The hotel staff fled, and the old prude wasn’t far behind. Harold rolled his eyes and turned back to his fun.

Click here to see all of Virgo Season.

If you feel inspired, write a story set at the Astra Hotel and post it @ me to join in. Help me celebrate my birthday by turning more conference attendees into geared up gay kinksters.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The DUFF 13

Warnings: groping, insecurity, food and body issues, manipulation, and the usual. Proceed with caution.

Feedback is always welcome. Love you and thanks for the wonderful responses so far.♥♥♥♥

Image credit (I want to give dues where due but don’t want the creator to keep getting tagged in my posts as I have been approached by some before that they don’t want me in their notifs)

Silence compounds your castigation. Whether it’s you or Curtis who refuses to speak, you can’t really tell. You’re too afraid to go first and maybe he is too. Or maybe he’s just that pissed. That thought irks you. You haven’t done anything to deserve his anger.

You watch the lush landscape dwindle out to urban architecture. Your return to the city is both a relief and a fall to earth. Your usual dread for work is laced with a sense of excitement. You just want to reclaim some sense of normalcy.

Curtis pulls up to the curb outside your apartment. Your hand is already on the handle, ready to escape. You stop yourself as you give in to the tension.

“Thanks,” you say, “for the ride.”

“Yep, no problem,” he utters flatly.

“I, uh, I’ll see you later?”

He’s quiet, one hand on the wheel, his other arm draped against the door. He stares through the windshield. He really is upset but you can’t apologise if you don’t even know what you’ve done.

“Right, well, I should go. I’m already late.”

He sighs and bends his arm, brushing his fingers over his hair, “you need a ride to work? I can hang around…”

The weight in your chest lightens as his tone softens. You exhale, trying to scatter your addled nerves. “That’s really sweet but I’ll be fine. Go home, get some sleep, get cleaned up. I’m sure you have stuff you need to deal with.”

“I have time,” he insists.

“Really, you’ve done enough,” you pull the door handle, “see ya.”

“Yeah, see ya,” he mutters.

You get out and shut the door gently. You turn and walk up to your building without looking back. After the morning you’ve had, work will be easy as pie.

🐰

You rush into the office and nearly collapse into your chair. You untangle your bag from your arm and tuck it under the desk. You hit the button to boot your computer and catch your breath as you watch it load. 

There’s three of you in the small space, tucked into cubicled desks as the partners retreat into their offices. You sign in and fan yourself with a folder. Only two hours late!

You get up as your desktop buffers and peek over at Marnie’s head, the constant tap of her typing nearly drowns out her grumbled, “morning.” You return the unemphatic greeting and stroll away. Taylor doesn’t say a word as usual as his eyes cling to his monitor.

You go into the shared kitchen and put a cup under the spout of the keurig. You open the cupboard and take out the small box marked with your name. Everyone brings their own supplies. It’s not a very friendly or cooperative environment.

You sift through and find a pod. Hazelnut. You grimace. You knew you shouldn’t have grabbed the variety pack. As you fish around for any other flavour, a pare of sole tap into the kitchen behind you. You glance up as Andy, one of the partner’s, enters with a black mug in hand.

“Oh, go ahead,” you move your cup off the tray, “I’m just looking for coffee.”

“Thanks,” he nears and grabs his own bin. It’s neatly sorted with tea and coffee, and a small pack of rice crackers. He mostly eats out with the partners or clients.

You continue your futile search. Hazelnut, hazelnut, hazelnut…

“Ooo, hazelnut. Can I interest you in a trade?” He intones as his hands rest on the sides of the box.

“You don’t even have to trade, you can have them.” You drop the pods back into the bottom.

“I got… caramel or some dark roast,” he offers. “Caramel’s a bit sweet but it was a gift.”

“Hmm, well, sure, I’ll take one of those,” you hold out a handful of pods, “keep em.”

He chuckles and lifts the box instead. You dump them in and he plucks out one of the orange pods in the other corner. “I wouldn’t mind if these one went mysteriously missing…”

You smile and thank him as you take the pod. He inserts one of the hazelnut into the machine and pushes down the lid. You wiggle your foot as you wait for his coffee to brew, trapped in another silence. Do you really need the coffee?

“Good weekend?” He cracks the icy lull.

“Uh, yeah, I… sorry I’m late.”

“I wasn’t meaning that,” he assures you, “really. I’m genuinely curious. You got caught in the storm? Must’ve been a nice getaway.”

“Uh, yeah, wasn’t really planned,” you fold your arms and lean your elbow on the counter, “me and my friends went out on Friday and then… I dunno, long weekend.”

“I’m jealous. I don’t even know the last time I went out anywhere,” he taps his fingers on the wood finish as the machine grinds, “my buddy was telling me I should. I’m a bit too old for clubs but he’s been on my ass to get out and meet someone… any tips?”

“Tips? From me?” You scoff, “barking up the wrong tree. But I definitely wouldn’t recommend a club.”

“Oh, bad experience?”

“Eh,” you tilt your head back and forth, “not really my thing. My friends are more into it.”

“Makes sense,” he nods as the last few drops spit into his cup. He slides it out and turns cautiously on his heel. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“I don’t?” You wonder as you play with the pod between your fingers.

“Nah, a woman like you, you seem classier than that.”

You can’t help a crooked expression. It’s a compliment, you think. Unexpected for sure. 

“Thanks,” you take your cup and slide it across the counter, “enjoy the coffee.”

“You too,” he raises his mug and blows across the top, “and don’t work too hard.”

[lovelykhaleesiii]

chubby!aegon as a game streamer…. having his pretty girlfriend sat on his lap whilst he streams, when he does face streams the fans can see all the love bites on his neck🤭

something about chubby!gamer Aeg sends me over the edge... hope you enjoy this nonnie xox

Playboy

PAIRING: chubby!Gamer!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader [Modern AU]

WORDS: 1,340.

WARNINGS: thigh riding, praise kink, swearing, breast play/kink, slight dacryphilia.

A/N - not really feeling on par with the fandom at the moment, so I''ll be posting my fics and bolting off, appreciate the small few that keep up with me 💓

"Aeg, sweetie, really? How much more longer are you going to keep me waiting?" You defeatedly exclaim, as you throw your phone down, losing the device in the plush covers of the duvet. Your tiresome eyes wander over the backside silhouette of your boyfriend, immersed by the large screen of his desktop television. Making a promise many hours ago that it would be his final round, before joining you in bed to watch a film, you were met with disappointment each passing minute.

"Yeah-Yeah, I'll be done soon, babe. Just another 5 minutes," Aegon hastily interjected, followed by a sudden, loud outburst of swears as he cursed his younger nephew, Jacaerys, through his bulky headset. Cursing beneath his breath, one hand remaining tightly gripped on the controller, the other reached keenly for a handful of crisps, the crisply rustling beneath his reach before shoving the handful into his mouth. Not even a mouth full of potato crisps, could deny your boyfriend from spitting aloud vile threats unto his younger nephews or brothers.

"Seriously, Aeg? You said that fucking half an hour ago-"

No response. Whether he had actively ignored you or blatantly had not heard your mewling cries, it stung the wound deeper. Sensing your blood boil beneath your flesh, wickedly rolling your eyes at Aegon's ignorance. Finally succumbing to the notion of taking matters into your own hands, for this was becoming a far more frequent recurrence than you would've liked it to be...

"Jace shut the fuck up, and Aem quit being a punk-ass bitch and-"

Without warning and much to Aegon's utmost surprise, you strategically aim and toss aside your lace, pink g-string landing directly atop the edge of his illuminating screen. Firmly pushing yourself in between the desk and Aegon, the slight distance gathered, you cease the chance to drape your leg over his wide, stocky thighs, straddling his lap as your hands grip over his broad, fleshy shoulders. Steadying yourself, you tediously adjust yourself over him, tauntingly grinding down against him, as you seek comfort above him.

"W-Woah, babe, what are you d-doing?", Aegon stutters, as his plump mouth falls open in shock, those lilac eyes rapidly wandering over your nestled frame.

"Since you think it's okay to ignore your girlfriend, and since you think a fucking video game is more important than me... Let me show you exactly what you'll be missing out on."

Slowly and steadily, your hips began to move, bucking backwards and forwards as the throbbing heat between your inner thighs began to stir against Aegon's chunky, clothed thigh.

"Think you can just brush me off like that, and treat me like I'm nothing? Think you can just ignore me, and think you can get away with it? Not on my fucking watch, big boy," You sultrily whisper directly into Aegon's ear, as you pluck the headphone, lifting the device off his ear for him to hear clearly. Not sparing a second, Aegon lunged his headset off onto the desktop, as the mumbling voices of his online companions echoed wolf whistles and pleas to hear more from you, became fainter against Aegon's groans.

The longer you paced yourself rocking and rubbing your bare, moist cunt against his thigh, the further you dug yourself into Aegon's larger, sturdy frame: his larger chair swaying in rhythm to your lustful movements.

Since Aegon took advantage of his newly found sedentary lifestyle, occasionally working from home and currently relishing in his vacation from work, he'd grown accustomed to comfort. Often ordering food when you were absent from home at work, too lazy and occupied to whip himself something fresh from home, he sought immense pleasure in gaming and dining in takeout: the simple life. Yet his recent pleasure-seeking behaviour had its perks...

His round, portly stomach pooled slightly over his lap, extending subtly beyond his waistline now hidden beneath his generous adipose flesh. Your cunt grinding against his thigh, and your breasts pushing up against his paunchy chest, earning a few deep, growling whimpers from your boyfriend.

Your face buried against the soft crook of his neck, your lips nuzzling at his skin, guiding your hands over Aegon's forearms, noticing how tightly he was gripping to the arms of his chair.

"Easy playboy, you seem a little tense? Was the game so captivating, so invigorating? I must be such a disappointment for you to forget me so easily, huh?" You sadistically whimper, moaning closely into Aegon's eager ear.

"A-Am I a disappointment, baby? That you feel the need to distract yourself so, neglecting me without a second thought-"

"N-Never-" Aegon groaned, propping himself up for a split second as he shifted in his seat, one pudgy hand supporting your back as he did so, and the other remained gripped to the chair's arm. Doing so, you plunged deeper against his porky frame, your body leaning in closer to Aegon's larger frame, as you felt his strong hands shoving you closer, his palms coincidentally gripping tightly at your rear cheeks. Your boyfriend's notorious, hard bulge now prominently probing beneath the entrance of your cunt, feeling the pulsating tension growing stronger the second you could feel him against you.

"Then why have you left me practically begging for you, for the past hour? Is that what it is, playboy? You love to see me beg? Begging for you and only you, hmm?"

"And if I do, so what? It turns me on seeing you crying and whining for me like that, Princess, you know that." Aegon menacingly uttered, his palms tenderly kneading at your cheeks, even earning a sudden, sharp spank as he lowly chuckled.

"And I also know, how much these turn you on too, huh, handsome?" Releasing your grip, your hands having found their way to Aegon's short mottled, blonde strands: to gracefully draw down the straps of your night silk gown, baring your perky tits right in front of his hungry eyes. Like a predator meeting its mindless prey, Aegon's mouth latched eagerly to your sensitive nipple, as his eyes had glued shut, whilst suckling onto them. You swore, you had felt the second his rigid, growing cock twitched with excitement beneath the tight fabric of his track pants, against your aroused, wet cunt: leaving a evident patch of your titillating mess.

"Such a greedy man you are. Nothing can ever be enough for you, hmm?-"

"You are enough-" Aegon breathlessly moaned, as he broke apart before re-latching onto your other breast: the innocent skin from where Aegon had suckled previously now swollen and rosy, evident marks of Aegon's lips and teeth bitten down against your tender flesh.

"And yet... You have me waiting at your beckon call hours on end, as you play your meaningless, little game and think you'd go unpunished?-"

One hand aggressively pulled at Aegon's hair, as his face no longer buried deep into your bosom, earning a defeated, wincing look strewed across his handsome, chubby face.

"Absolutely not."

With your instant outburst, you promptly stood back up, redressing your nightgown, as you plucked your g-string off his screen, tossing it onto Aegon's ruffled face. Vexed speechless, he remained frozen, before the silence that drenched the room was sliced by the static voices booming from Aegon's headphones, as they taunted their elder Uncle and brother. 

Aegon, struggling yet just managing to reach for his headphones, directed the microphone to his mouth sternly cursing the boys for his ruin before bidding them a haste goodbye.

With strenuous effort, as he stood himself up, Aegon rushed striding towards you, laying himself stomach down, as his upper body pinned over your legs, weighing you down.

"Okay, okay, Y/N, I deserved that. L-Let me make it up to you, baby. I promise, I'll be your good, good boy-"

"You're going to have to try a little harder, Aeg-" You teasingly sang, grinning as your arms crossed over, eyes mindlessly shut, imitating the act of drifting off to sleep.

"Whatever you want, Princess. You have my undivided attention, forever and always, I swear it."

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Aegon ii taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @amiraisgoingthruit @bucknastysbabe

[scraplette]

This is random but I noticed you mention you were a big Rung/Skids shipper and I'm curious about something. I wasn't active in the fandom where MTMTE/LL were coming out and I feel like I missed huge discourse or something, because I'm really confused about why I have always seen Rung/Fort Max and Rung/Whirl and MegaRung everywhere but nobody seems to ship Rung with the guy he was super close with from the beginning and committed suicide thinking about and coughed up crystals over? I know it's not because it's wrong for therapists and patients to date because all of those people were Rung's patients. Do you know why this is?

Hello there! Sorry for the late response, I wanted to do this on desktop and just hadn't found the time.

You've sent a really interesting question but, I'm sorry, I'm not sure I have an answer for you. Heck, even at the time the comics were coming out I was always surprised by the lack of content for the ship. There was some discourse about Rung dating paitents but, funnily enough, Skids was never really a part of it. He wasn't really considered by the fandom as one of Rung's paitents so it wasn't an issue. The storyarc we the readers found out that Rung was treating Skids, was also the same arc where Rung quit. You did have some folks producing some excellent content for it(@littlestowl is still hands down my fave writer for this pair and @herzspalter did some hecking good fanart!) but never to the same extent as other ships. Not gonna blame people for that, we all have our preferences! Live and let ship and all that! So, since I had no anwers of my own I decided to counsult THE COUNCI(my friends who like Transformers) for their opinions and they came up with the excellent points. We even gathered DATA(we looked at Ao3 XD) Nothing definitive, of course, because obviously we're just a group of robot fans and can't speak for every TF fan on the net. These are just our thoughts and general vibes. 1) Rung is just so darn shippable. He potentially works well with a lot of characters and was pulled in lots of diff directions. Speaking as the main Rung/Skids shipper of the group I sort of get this(stupid sexy Rung) but even with all the diff ships sailing Rung/Skids still seemed oddly small in comparsion. 2)Another friend brought up a good point, Rung/Skids are a lovely ship but they're very wholesome and nice. Now, there is nothing wrong with that but you can't deny that spicy ships oozing with, as they put it, DRAMA just get folks excited. Lots of the other ships had this in spades. 3) Another friend had a lovely thought to add to this and I agree with it 100%. I'm just going to quote them directly "Which is kinda a shame because they have other kinds of cool drama - Rung basically compromised his position for Skids! Skids revived Rung's memory! The non-goodbye! But not conflict -drama." 4)Perhaps the venn diagram of Skids fan and Rungs fans didn't neccisarily crossover. Looking at the DATA, we can see that the most popular ships for Skids(in order) were SkidsSwerve, SkidsGetaway, and SkidsRung. I'm not sure if the Getaway fics were written pre or post betrayl.

5) Not really important but something I thought was a cool detail. Rung/Skids was really popular in the Japanese side of the fandom. I even own a physical doujin anthology for the pair! I can't remember any names of the top of my head, it's been years, but there were lots of lovely pieces of Rung/Skids fanart on the JP art sites.

I'm always a little sad about Rung/Skids. I always thought here were always lots of hooks throughtout the story that could lead the pair to more. Lots of little quiet personal moments just for the two of them. Like, Skids defending Rung against Getaway's snide comments. Ratchet sending Skids to Rung because he things the little chap is lonely. That final weirdly tense exchange between them will always sit a bit oddly with me. I know at the time there was a theory that Skids might've been into Nuatica at the time but nothing seemed to come of it, so I geuss we'll never know. I think I remember reading that Alex Milne didn't realise that would be their last interaction together, otherise he would've done the panel differently* Thank you for your ask! It was lovely to look back on old fandom memories ^_^ I hope I gave you some insights. As for myself, I'm hoping to get back into fic writing so no doubt I'll be adding to my collection of Rung/Skids drabbles.

*IMPORTANT UPDATE EDIT THING! I couldn't drop the final goodbye between them and the Alex Milne thing(it was nearly a decade ago so I was worried I'd misremembered) so I hunted down the original tweet and I've misremembered!

Sigh, what a shame that the final on-page interaction of my fave ship is forever off key and weird because of Writer/Artist miscomunucation :<

[two-white-butterflies]

riptide (two) | a. targaryen

Description: Aemond finally knows who his brother's gf is. Pairing: college-student!aegon/ceo!reader part one

Another sigh escaped his mouth.

"If you keep messing with me, I'm switching dorms." he threatened, moving his mouse slightly to the left - there was no way in hell that he'd let himself banned for afk because of his brother. "-or are you switching to her mansion?" Aemond keenly teased.

"Do you have nothing do with your life?" he groaned - pressing his mouse frantically as he spots an enemy. "Yes," the man replied, walking towards his desktop.

"Can I borrow it now? I have to play Sims4,"

"Nope, I deleted the Wicked Whims thing you downloaded."

"Bitch?"

Aemond was about to throw hands - but the doorbell to their apartment suddenly rings. "Get the door," Aegon pushed his brother backwards - eyes planted on the game in front of him.

Aemond's eye widens seeing the woman in front of their apartment. "Anything you need?" his eye widens - seeing you in front of him. He was usually a good judge for character, and his radar was beeping red; you were rich. He could smell it from your expensive perfume.

"I'm here for Aegon," you smile - eyes lighting up at the mention of your boyfriend's name. On your hand - there was a small giftbag, it was teal and Aemond spent enough time with women to know that it was Tiffany and Co.

"Aegon!" Aemond cautiously called out for his brother, careful to not frighten you away. "I'm playing!" he responded in an annoyed manner. A small chuckle exits your lips.

"Can I come in?" you inquire.

"Sure," he breathed - slightly moving away to provide enough space for you to enter. The entire apartment smelled like faint axe body spray, and all of their clothes were stacked near the washing machine. It was something out of a zombie film.

Aemond walks towards his brother's room, not bothering to knock - just opening the door wide and tapping the door impatiently.

"Bro, your girlfriend is here." he informed - with an intrigued smile. Aegon abandons his match immediately, not giving a fuck whether or not there was a penalty.

"Baby!" he ran out of his room, arms wide open as he welcomed an embrace. It's been a week since he's seen you - due to the business trip that you had to attend. "I missed you so much." you buried your face on his shoulder - inhaling his scent of aftershave and cola.

He presses butterfly kisses on the crook of your neck. His hands were about to go somewhere deeper, but his brother clears his throat. "We should leave him not traumatized," you scrunch your nose - a small laugh exits his mouth.

"Trust me baby, he's already traumatized with life." he answered, entwining your hands together. "We should go out," you offer and he nods immediately. "I'll leave your gift here, grab your coat." you ordered, smiling as he followed everything you said.

You turn to look at his brother.

"Bye, Aemond - it was nice meeting you."

agn.high's story

agn.high: i don't know how it gets better than this.

234 comments 2,669 likes

Alexander_Gomez: No effing way bro 🥲 - agn.high: my only flex in life

aemtargaryen: i knew about it 1st 🏆

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[zuzuelectricbugaloo]

Crepic: Letters

Synopsis: What if Cross’s ‘secret admirer’ was none other than Epic, a scientist attempting to establish communication with alternate universes?

Rating: Teen (just in case because of swearing and the characters’ backstories)

Pairing: Cross/Epic

Word Count: 1,567

Chapter One: Dear Stranger,

There was a letter on Sans’s desk.

He paused at the sight of it. He usually didn’t get letters, most of the mail directed to XGaster from the King and Queen. The letters he did receive were usually from Frisk, the human prince. Frisk was his childhood best friend and would often write to him either for playdates or for casual conversation. Usually the latter consisted of him gushing endlessly over the spider monster in the Guard, Muffet.

Sans thought his obvious crush was adorable, and couldn’t help the twang of pity he felt for his human friend who remained in the body of a young child even as the monsters around him shed their stripes, unable to receive anything other than rejection for his apparent youth.

Addressed to “Anyone On The Other Side”. Quickly inspecting the letter and flipping it over with an inquisitive hum.

What a strange term. ‘Anyone on the other side’ of what? The fence? An allude to the ever classic joke of the chicken crossing the road?

Or…

Sans gasped.

Wowie! Could it be? He finally received his first fan mail as part of the Guard?!

He knew he looked too cool in his badass armor, and with this letter he (potentially) held within his hands definitive proof! At last, he would bathe in the shower of magnificent affection he deserved!

Any recognition of his character would always brighten his day. Especially when his father, XGaster, gave so little of it…

Sans eagerly and carefully began the meticulous process of removing his armor, dismantling the pieces one by one until they were nice and clean. Gingerly hanging it into its suit container in his closet, he picked up the letter and sat down, ripping it open with a phalange and slipping out the singular piece of paper from the inside. A small blue square the size of his thumb metacarpal slipped out of the envelope as well, falling onto his desktop with a tiny clink.

He dismissed the strange tile after a quick once over ensured it was not some kind of bug or malignant spyware and turned his attention back to the paper. Unfolding it, his eyelights began to read.

Testing, testing, 1 2 3

…Huh?

That was certainly an interesting choice for a starter sentence, though Sans had to admit it got brownie points from him for its ingenuity.

Whelp, here we go! Hopefully this spooky action at a distance doesn’t get me ghosted. It would really lift my spirits if this actually reached somebody, and if somebody wrote back.

Sans chuckled. Although he wasn’t sure what the writer meant by ‘spooky action’, he did appreciate solid puns and clever jokes.

Theoretically, if my math mathed right, this should arrive in an alternate re—

Written in black penned ink, whatever the other had written was scribbled out.

—whoops, can’t say that. If I am right then I’d kick off some kind of butterfly effect, knowing my rotten luck. Can’t have that. Anywho, if somebody does get this, do me a solid and write a letter back. Put the pod, the little thingy I’m sending over, inside the envelope when you’re done after you push the tiny button in the middle. And hopefully this’ll be a two-way trip and send it back.

If not, oh well. I tried. Ya miss all the shots you don’t take, amiright?

…My name’s not Frank, but I’ll be real with ya pal, I really do hope this works.

Laters gators, A Friendly, Far-Off Neighborhood Bruh

Sans flipped the letter over just to be sure that was it, and let out a small, perplexed noise. No further writings or any other strange devices. He picked up the pod and dangled it across his black-gloved fingers and gently tapped the letter in his other hand.

It wasn’t a letter of admiration he’d been hoping for, but it was a letter that had him no less intrigued. The casual, almost informal way the sender wrote, the purposeful witholdance of a name or address. All this, including the odd device he was currently running across his digits, he should probably take it to father and let him inspect it for himself before Sans did anything.

He felt himself whither a little inside after that contemplation. He could already picture the quiet, sullen disinterest. Maybe leaving with a curt remark that he is busy, or needs to resume his work. No, Sans should be a good soldier son and leave his father be while he thought about how to address his impromptu pen pal.

For starters with a pen or pencil, he thought, snickering at his internal quip. What would be the harm? He’d greet the mysterious author back, perhaps make his own joke, and hope the letter successfully reaches them since they implied it might not.

Sans couldn’t help but hope that it did work.

Frisk had been…distant, for quite some time now. The Royal Guardsman wasn’t sure what had happened, only knowing that ever since they were kids, there’s been this sadness in the human’s eyes, a contradiction of both sullen resignation and steely determination. The moments of time they spent together in joy farther and farther in between.

He missed his best friend.

He missed having a friend.

Mind made up, he opened his drawer up and searched for his favorite pen with the tacos decal that Papyrus had got him for his birthday and a piece of paper and unused envelope. Uncorking the cap, he set to work, pen scratching along the paper as he hastily wrote his reply, the scritches filling the silence of his empty room.

Elsewhere, the co-Royal Scientist idly spun around in his swivel chair, languidly kicking his feet in and out to repeat the cycle whenever his momentum slowed. The clock ticking by behind him echoing in the otherwise empty room. Machines of various designs hummed with electricity. The others had already gone home for the day, long discouraged by the same unsatisfactory experiments depicting the same depressive results.

The Barrier was unbreakable. No one monster, let alone all of Monsterkind, could escape.

While the others including his dear old man (ugh, gross, just jokingly saying that gave him the ick) sought the comfort of whatever idle fancy they desired outside of work, Sans preferred anywhere that wasn’t there. Under the same roof with the same cold, aloof man he had the sincere displeasure of calling ‘father’.

And he couldn’t help but stay and hope that his gambit paid off. He didn’t care all too much about saving the Underground. Gaster’s metaphorical heart was as dark and cold as the prison all of monsterkind found themselves entrapped in. He’d fought long and hard his entire life to make sure none of that darkness ever put out the bright light of his younger brother.

If he was right, if this worked, he could get him and his brother onto the Surface. And potentially, eventually, all of the Underground.

A soft buzzing hum of static. Probably one of the appliances, he mused. When did they last get that fridge checked out? He’d make a note of it.

Instead of trying to get everybody out all at once and failing, Sans would do it one by one and succeed.

If this worked, that is.

It had been months. Who knew if he was even successful?

Then again, who knew if time was constant for every individual universe? For all he knew, his message could’ve gotten lost in the stone ages. Although it would be the coolest thing ever if he could ride a T-Rex, Flintstones style.

He spins around, practically slouching completely back onto the swivel chair. There’s the wall again. The fridge. Gaster’s creepy as all hell determination extraction machine. The wall. His desk. Fridge. Wall. Creepy doohickey. Wall. Letter on his desk—

Wait. Letter?

Sans sat up so fast he fell up and over his chair with a yelp. Landed flat on his face with his legs and lab coat over his head. Ever grateful no one was around to witness his embarrassing tumble he quickly stood back up to grab the envelope and rip it open with slightly trembling phalanges.

Dear Mystery Writer,

Receiving your letter was quite the pleasant surprise! I’m not sure what you meant by ‘spooky action at a distance’, but don’t worry, I don’t have any intention of leaving you at a dead end, and if you are open to it, would like to continue these messages. From what I’ve heard, nothing lifts the spirits like clever wordplay over the grave-vine.

Sans chuckled, tentative grin widening further. So they liked jokes too, huh?

If so, I can promise I’m not too boo-ring of a conversationalist.

Another small buff of laughter. Well, they sure did uphold their word. His crummy mood was all but gone now.

What do you say, mystery writer? Fr—

Scribbled out blurb for the rest of the word and the sentence continued.

Penpals?

Sincerely, A Magnificently Friendly Neighborhood Dude

Sans couldn’t believe it. He was right. He was right.

He’d successfully established communication with another universe. With someone from that alternate reality.

Holy multiversal theory, Batman!

Sans’s soul pounded in his Soul like a drum, joy unrestrained as he scoured his messy desk for an unused envelope and a blank piece of paper. He had a letter to write.

And a penpal to befriend.