#in case you're wondering why these four in particular

[akuma-tenshi]

one more post before bed

[xerotiny99]

The Lewd Rituals of a Typical Day // Our precious #6

The Lewd Rituals of a Typical Day. (Our precious #6)

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Pairing: main - Park Seonghwa x Reader. Side - Reader x Jeong Yunho, Reader x Kang Yeosang

Warning (for all parts): smut, hardcore smut, soft dom!seonghwa, dom!yunho, dom master!yeosang, sub!reader/slave!reader, breast stimulation, teasing, biting and marking, DD/LG, seonghwa has a feeding kink (does not overlap with fat fetish), praise kink, food play, unprotected sex, fingering, cock warming, thigh riding, nipple play, bits of master-slave dynamic, rough sex, manhandling, cum play/cum shot, dirty talk/degradation (just know yunho has a filthy mouth), size training (vaginal), etc.

Note: do not proceed if you're uncomfortable or triggered by any aforementioned tags. Feeding kink/feedism can be triggering for some people, if that's the case, please do not engage or skip over the beginning parts. I apologise, I had no ill intentions with this. To avoid boredom, this time i decided to divide this chapter into four parts, each part with each pair. Not proofread.

Gist: it's the weekend and you finally get the time to spend it with your so called "boyfriends".

Total Word Count: n/a

Part One [6.1]: Feed Me Please, Daddy - Park Seonghwa x Reader.

Word Count: 13,354

Song Rec: In The Trees by Stalgia

Taglist: @t3kandson @therealcuppicake @sebastianswhore13

 Reliving some moments can be detrimental, some can be joyous, while some can be a mix of both. You weren't sure where exactly you were leaning to in this particular moment. Or maybe, your approach was more of a two-fold interpretation than concluding all at once. Staring into the deep brown eyes of the person you were least likely to be interested in, was a moment of deja vu you resented living in, despising every passing second of it. In the much steeper part of your stomach, you were starting to sense the underlying distraught creeping up your gut. As one might wonder why you'd be so invested in this particular case, but to your own acknowledgment, you knew you were being stubborn.

There was no way you were backing down from this; you couldn't look away either, not when he's been waiting on the chance to watch you lose. In sullen silence which pertains the more you hold onto your stupidity, you have yourself comfortably perched on the kitchen counter while the subtle sounds coming from the balcony fill up any unnecessary noise between you two. Mingi was at it again, not once wavering in his motive to make you feel small with his broad shoulders or his bulging bare arms as he held them across his chest. A deleterious glint sits in his eyes. He stood at a distance from you, studying the curves of your body and how it was capable of fitting in the space on the kitchen counter next to the stove. You, on the other hand, are trying to condole with your hammering heart; it was no surprise, even to yourself, to know you were attracted to Mingi. If you got the chance, you'd pounce upon him and act out all the fantasies you deliberately hide from everyone. If only Mingi was allied to you the way others were. Sadly, that's not how it worked, did it?

A few hours after the break of dawn, and you're forced to have a ruthless encounter with him. Mingi had just woken up, judging from his bed hair and the way it was tousled, besides he was still dressed in his night clothes. The white tank top which hugged his body like a second skin had an assortment of stains on them. Some prominent, some faded; they were probably stains from food. Though, you were deeply infatuated with Mingi's personality, you equally reviled it too. If not, your somber morning would've never been blighted by his rueful gaze or his inanely gracious satire. You'd be a fool to think you'd have a normal morning for once; waking up to Seonghwa's voice was the ultimate rapture of your significant morning, and then he had asked to you meet him in the kitchen so he could prepare breakfast for you before everyone's awake. And to your satisfaction, everyone slept-in on a Saturday. Obviously.

Really, you'd be a fool to pass on that opportunity. Groggy with sleep, you somehow managed to drag yourself out of the nimble futon you slept on, brushed your teeth and carried yourself to the kitchen. The nifty oversized shirt on your body, the one which you had borrowed from Jongho last night, clung too close to you to expose your curves and godly figure; seamlessly you had booty shorts under your shirt, which had no point in wearing because the shirt covered most of your skin till your mid thighs. When you were ushered into the kitchen by the heavenly scent of coffee and your own enthusiasm, Seonghwa had been sipping on his morning coffee, his favourite mug in his hand and a doleful haze of sunshine in his eyes; everything was wonderful when alongside Seonghwa, you had your morning coffee too and engaged yourself in a fatuous conversation with him. Until Mingi walked in, half-asleep and Seonghwa excused himself to the balcony to get himself some freshly harvested coriander for the breakfast he had planned ahead. You had just gotten comfortable on the counter, as on Seonghwa's suggestion who thought it'd be a great idea for you to watch him cook.

So, now you're here. Waiting on Mingi's derisive comment to wrung you out like one would do to their wet towel. All this could've been avoided if Mingi hadn't woken up to get himself a bottle of water, or if you had just let it go after your eyes met with him.

"I don't remember the last time I had walked into the kitchen, and you weren't there," Mingi spits, spitefully enough to let his tone prick you like a thorn. "But you know, what? It'd be more surprising if you were actually useful in here."

"Man, you're really obsessed with me, aren't you?" you scoff, swinging your legs off the counter and landing on your feet. "I must be taking up every fraction of your mind, for you to come up with useless remakes and snarks."

"Aww, don't flatter yourself." Mingi smirks, "it's sad you think of me as one of your playthings to be infatuated with you and whatever that is you offer. Quit dreaming, princess. I will never bend to your words or whatever tricks you have up your sleeve."

"You seem very confident about—"

"You two are at it again?" Seonghwa groans, walking in the kitchen with his hands occupied, "how many times have I told you to not bother yourself with him, Angel? Some people aren't worth our attention." He sets the pair of scissors and a bunch of coriander, which he had freshly cut from his thriving garden in the balcony, on the counter and glances at Mingi, "and you, can't you let your differences go? You don't like her, we get it. But that does not validate your curt attitude towards her."

Heaving a sigh, he turns around and faces you, a smile already lilting on his lips, "look, I just want to have my breakfast in peace. You want to argue, bite each other's necks off, or borderline kill each other, do it in your own leisure time. My only request is, please let me eat in concord of my mind."

Mingi couldn't help but scoff, "you know, this would've never happened if you all hadn't allowed her to live with us."

You take offence in what he has to say, but don't voice it out as you usually would; Mingi and you had a bone to pick, you two could never get along no matter what. Though, listening to Mingi sometimes would leave your heart broken. In much simpler way of eluding, Mingi's resentment towards you was a blow to this ornate mirror you would view yourself in, and his words were the scattered pieces of glass ready to plunge deep in your heart. Whiling in the same momentary haze, you're dwelling unreasonably over his injudicious words again. It wouldn't come off as a surprise to anyone but being pampered and taken care of by the seven men in the house, Mingi's hostility always marred your pleasant disposition.

"Mingi," Seonghwa mutters, his tone threatening, "you're crossing the line here."

"Am I? Am I really crossing the line here, Seonghwa?" Mingi mumbles, posing it as a question onto Seonghwa. "I never had a say in this arrangement, yet I respected your decisions and went along with it. Maybe, I shouldn't detest her for what you've done. I should resent you all."

As his words falter to a mere whisper, Mingi shakes his head and turns around; but before he could leave either of you stranded, he glances over his shoulder and adds, "I'll go live with Lani for a couple of weeks. You guys can get comfortable, you know, I won't be around to make you guys awkward..."

With that, he leaves. His silhouette dithers to the morning sun flooding in through the balcony doors. Mingi had gone and you were seemingly, more heartbroken than ever. Your stomach lurches into your chest, your heart slowly regressing in its palpitations; Seonghwa clicks his tongue and places one of his hands on your thigh. Comforting warmth engulfs your disturbed mind and you're pulled out of your despondency. When you turn your head, you find Seonghwa's smile growing further into his cheeks and his eyes disappearing in crinkles.

"Don't you worry about him," he says, "he'll get around. I'll have Yunho talk to him. Unless they're both on bad terms with each other."

"What?" you mutter under your breath, tracing your hand along his to intertwine your fingers together. "I don't let his words bother me, seriously. You shouldn't trouble yourself with this. Or, even Yunho."

Seonghwa chuckles, "compared to me, Yunho would've taken a much violent approach if he had heard what and how Mingi spoke to you. I'm just saying, he wouldn't have been as tolerant as me." He clears his throat and lets his smile fall to line, "and whether you are bothered by him or not, it's no way for a man to treat you like that. Mingi is one of us, and we wouldn't be setting much of an impression on you if we let him get away with these things. Like I said, don't let his words get to you, he's a better man under all the facade of arrogance and revulsion."

Giving your hand a gentle squeeze, Seonghwa steps and untangles your hands; he stands in front of the stove and smiles at you. "Let's forget about him, alright. I know you're feeling down, so, what do you want to eat?"

"I thought you were making me fried rice from yesterday's leftovers," you wiggle your legs dangling off the counter and let your lips curl, "I'm not a picky eater. You can cook whatever you want."

"There's no harm in asking my lady, is there?" he muses, offering you wink before grabbing the bunch of coriander he had brought from the balcony.

"Who would've thought you tended a garden in the balcony."

He chortles, "not many know of it, sure. However, it doesn't take a genius to plant some coriander."

"Hey, it still keeps you in touch with your nurturing psyche," you pout, swinging your legs at a steady pace, "after all you're the guy who takes care of six kids in this household."

Seonghwa bites back on a laugh and lets his lips curve instead; he shakes his head, studying your clement eyes with his before he brushes it off. The avid affection in his eyes could've misread yours. He doesn't want to believe what he interpreted, but he knows you were being grateful to him. As the conspicuous moments cling to either of your speechlessness, Seonghwa clears his throat, and steps away from the counter.

"Seven kids, sweetheart. What, did you forget to count yourself?" he whispers lowly, "but you're not wrong, gardening has helped me get over many slumps in my life. And to be fair, any guy, stuck in my situation, would've done what I'm doing. Let's not romanticise what I do."

You are weirdly confounded by his modesty; allured in some delightful sense, you can't seem to get your eyes off of him. Seonghwa had his back faced to you while he rummaged through the refrigerator. Dainty crinkles of polythene bags and containers reverberate till they're softened by your own, an airy voice calling out to him.

"Are you sure?" you muse, "because I've seen you take on countless responsibilities. You somehow manage to balance your work life and still have time for the things you love doing vis-a-vis your gardening hobby. So, yeah. You're pretty much like a superhero."

"Anyone could do that, Angel. Come on." His humility is endearing, but you couldn't understand why he was dodging your compliments. With his head still buried in refrigerator, he continues, "if we're talking about parenthood, then I believe Hongjoong deserves some credit for keeping us all together."

You let out a soft giggle before leaning back on the counter, propping your hands on either side of you and gently oscillating yourself back and forth.

"You two have your roles predestined for this household, don't you? You're doing a great job, seriously. Just take the compliments and don't backhand them," you lick your lower lip, adoring the view in front of you. Seonghwa hums as a response because he knew there was no winning against you, while you suck on your teeth, "this is totally off topic, but damn, I might have one of the bestest views in front of me right now."

There was no lie in your testimony; you were indeed revelling in the perfect view of Seonghwa's rear raised in the air as he leaned over to rummage through the refrigerator. Sweatpants hang loose on his waist, accentuating more of his curves and his ass. It'd be a lot shameful to admit you were ogling at him, then ever denying you felt yourself losing to your demarcated eroticism.

"Oh really, my little girl likes what's in front of her? Adorable," he remarks, pulling himself out of the open doors of the refrigerator, "sad, all you can do is watch and drool. We both know who's incharge here, right?"

You watch him holding a few bags of veggies; though it wasn't feasible for your mind to come up with something this early in the morning, you still manage to go along the inner voices. A spark of tease takes over your mind when the oxytocin in your body passes its threshold.

"You are," you bring your voice down a few baritones and lace it with seduction, "daddy."

As a blur of sinful hope crosses his eyes, Seonghwa's face shrouds with utmost impropriety when he prances across the very little distance between you and the refrigerator. Carelessly, he lets go the bags in his hands and they land on the counter with a placid crinkle, soon submerging into your gasp; Seonghwa forces you to spread your thighs apart while you sat still on the counter. His hands sear their touch on your skin, pushing your legs further apart for him to slot his body perfectly against yours. The tender caresses of his fingers, running in circles on your skin, under your shirt, start trickling your spine with shivers. On your amiable instinct, you're quick to wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders, supporting your body as he pulls you into his body. He kept you upright while you were almost suspended off the edge of the counter.

"Be careful with that word, sweetheart." Seonghwa warns, tracing his lips in almost like a trail of wispy kisses to your ear; he licks up the shell of your ear before biting down on the earlobe. "You throw it around too much, and I might not be able to tame myself."

Your throat runs dry, once having discerned the softer but grimy undertones of carnality in his voice. In the wrinkle of a second, you wind your legs around his waist and push your hips into his lower abdomen. His flimsy shirt rides up with your movement to have you peek on his toned abdomen, and a cute little belly button. Seonghwa's dainty fingers crawl down to the hem of your shirt, pushing it over to expose your bare chest.

"I wouldn't mind you losing yourself to me, daddy." You slur your words, tilting your head to a side when you find him staring at you.

"You're playing with fire, sweetheart," smirking, he whispers and lets his hands drag up your sides, till they're cupping your tits, "aren't you scared you might burn yourself?"

A breath hitches in your throat, mind fogging with absolute darkness when his warmth is groping your tits like that; you let out a soft whimper, your eyes fluttering close and your lips parting in a mere attempt to get your words out. Nothing came out of your mouth, not even an utter; you were too engrossed in his touches and warmth, the one which slipped away from you after teasing and tugging at your taut nipples. You were sensitive to touch, and it had only been brought to your attention during your make out session with Jongho last night.

"Hmm, you're...responsive," Seonghwa mumbles and pulls back, letting your shirt drape your body fully before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "We'll continue this after breakfast, hmm? I am really hungry right now. Hungry for food."

Tangled limbs become free as he pushes himself away from you; you weren't fond of the coldness which slipped in between too immediately after, but you couldn't complain either way. Seonghwa ties his apron around his waist and bends over to grab a chopping board from the cabinets below the stove.

He sets it on the counter before smiling at you, "I could use your help. Why don't you wash the vegetables and I'll chop them?"

"Sure."

It came off as a suggestion than request, the one you couldn't quite resist. You hop off the counter, gently tugging on your shirt before standing next to him; Seonghwa unwraps his selection of veggies from their respective polythene bags and places them on the counter. You share a glance with him, and a smile curls your lips. Soon, you two are drowning out every superficial thought in your head, lost in a void of affection while your eyes never once wavered from each other. He almost leant in, lips puckered and eyes half-lidded, you were prepared for whatever that was going to happen, anticipation breaking at the seams. Warmth of his breath fans your cheeks and then your lips, before it melts into your skin; his lips are delicate with yours, brushing softly till it turns to a passionate kiss. Seonghwa winces softly when he forces himself away from you, breaking the kiss in that moment.

"If we carry on like this, there's no way I'd finish preparing breakfast for nine people."

"Then maybe you should learn how to control yourself," you joke, bumping your hips into his, as playfully as you could, "come on, we've got a lot of time after breakfast to do whatever your heart desires to do now."

"Duly noted, ma'am."

Cooking with Seonghwa was fun, endearing even. You two spent the time laughing and talking around, making harmless jokes about the others who were somehow still not awoken to your chaos. There wasn't a lot to talk about any way, so you settled on asking him questions about Mingi and his relationship. At first Seonghwa hesitated in his head to answer your doubts, but soon enough he was opening up and spilling everything. Mingi and Lani, his girlfriend, have been on and off from the freshman year; the two met in their department and have known each other since then. Lani is a ballet major and according to Seonghwa's first impression of her, she's a pretty woman with an ugly heart and soul. She had been stringing Mingi along to her tricks, taking advantage of his good persona and also his wealth. Yep, if you hadn't known it before, Mingi, similar to Jongho, belonged to a well-heeled family.

"Mingi's too much of a kind heart to see through her lies and chicaneries," Seonghwa scoffs, continuing to sauté the vegetables, he glances at you and shrugs his shoulders lightly, "we've all tried our hardest to get him out of the illusions she's weaved around him; so far, we've only offended him with our stupid trials."

"You told me not to be bothered by him, on the contrary you yourself are troubled—"

"—there's always some sort of hypocrisy hidden in my words, sweetheart," his laugh interrupts you, "time heals, doesn't it?" As he sighs, he fixates himself on the pan of sizzling of vegetables, "I'm just hoping he realises his worth and knows what he deserves."

"He will, I'm a firm believer of that."

You hum and lean back into the counter, stretching out your upper body and legs to destress yourself; the sublime morning dawned over, spilling with golden cast and untimely bloom of chirping birds. It had been approximately fifteen minutes since Seonghwa and you had taken on the venture of cooking egg fried rice for everyone, almost done with finishing with the task at hand. Amid the silence of all, where only the occasional sears of vegetables and oil resounds, your stomach growls and all hell breaks loose.

Seonghwa bites back on a laugh and looks at you, "if you're that eager, there's an assortment of cut fruit in the fridge. Help yourself to it." He redirects your attention by pointing the spatula in his hand towards the refrigerator, "I'll be done in ten more minutes. You can have a light snack till then. And do you want me to brew you some green tea with the rice?"

You're already a few steps ahead, already by the refrigerator, "I'm fine. I'll just have some orange juice instead."

Opening the door of the refrigerator, you shuffle around with the various takeout containers and a box leftover pizza from last night. Along some saran-wrapped plates of Wooyoung's experimented recipes, you find the colourful bowl of cut fruits, which also happened to be covered by a large sheet of saran-wrap. The gelid ceramic bowl fits snug in the palm of your hands when you bring it out to the dining table; sitting down on your designated chair, you put the bowl on the table and flick the wrap from it. Your place at the dining table had been preordained by the others, you were given the seat between Yunho and San, while the others sat in their usual chairs. There was one chair, centrally placed along the width of the table, claimed by Hongjoong. And the others would then sit around him; it started with Hongjoong, and clockwise to him, it went, Seonghwa, Jongho, Yeosang, Mingi, Wooyoung, San, you and Yunho.

As it was only the two of you this morning, you decided to settle down on the first chair you see; which happened to be where Seonghwa sat. Aimlessly, you let your hand dive in the bowl to pinch out a piece of peach, the first bite is juicy, tangy and sweet, forcing you to reminisce on your bittersweet encounter with Mingi. You're in a dour state of your mind again, forced to have mindless notions, if there could ever be a time where you and Mingi would get along just fine. Lost in your heady wonders, you blindly pick out another piece, a piece of melon and put in your mouth; juices trickle, splashing on your chin and rolling further down your neck. Chewing through it, you're still immersed in the intangible truth of your downtrodden relationship with Mingi. You munch and chew, without having the knowledge that you had nearly finished all the fruit in bowl, and how sticky your chin was from all the fruit juices.

Louder your thoughts are, the more unaware you become of footsteps ascending out of the kitchen. You're snapped into reality by a certain weight lingering on your shoulder. When you raise your head up, you're stricken with Seonghwa's beaming smile and his amused eyes.

"Angel to earth," he muses, "what are you thinking of?"

You shake your head, lips quivering, "nothing really."

Seonghwa doesn't believe you, yet he nods his head and places the plates on the table which had been carrying in his other hand. Slipping his hand from your shoulder and sliding it across the back of your chair, he leans over and traces his other hand along your chin; fingers collect the remnant of fruit juices from your chin before his thumb swipes just under your lower lip. You watch him, flustered and confused, mouth agape, seemingly out of the daze, as he brings his fingers to his mouth and lets his tongue dart out. He licks up the length of his forefinger, fluttering his eyes close before humming in satisfaction. When his eyes open to your soft whimper, he continues to lap his tongue around his thumb; sucking on it, he brings it out with a pop and smirks lightly at you.

"Sweet," he whispers, leaning further to reduce whatever distance that was between you two. His lips hover on yours, ghosting their soft brushes till he mumbles, "you're not a good liar, sweetheart."

"I-I really wasn't—I wasn't thinking of anything," you stutter, jerking up your shoulders and taking a deep breath to keep yourself composed.

On the brink of letting your lips touch, you're at loss for words and thoughts; the close proximity muddles with your brain in ways you couldn't quite comprehend. Not when Seonghwa's hand had slithered its way on the nape of your neck from the chair. His delicate grasp pulls you in, your lips touching in some sort of fervent delight, till you're lurching and leaping, tilting your head to augment the desires palpating in both of your hearts. He cups your face instead, using the warmth of both of his palms. One of his thumbs presses against your cheekbone and you wince, fumbling with your own hands to wrap them around his shoulders.

This kiss drags on for long as it could, minutes murmuring to nothing more. Seonghwa's mind is left craving for more when he tastes the sweetness of fruit on your tongue and lips, when his own had been exploring the hot crooks of your mouth. You let him do as he pleased to, eager for his tongue to explore and taunt your own, to let both of them rub and wrestle together. Until, you're past the threshold of your contentment. A concept frozen in time, bounded by nothing till you're both breathless, chasing for the breath of air you needed to appease the burn in your chest. Seonghwa breaks the kiss, rupturing the rhythm of your lips; he rests his forehead against yours, his warm and ragged breath thrashing against your cheeks.

"Something has to be wrong with me today," he frets his words with the air he inhales, "I can't seem to let go of you, neither can I rid my heart of this devout yearning to taste you on my tongue. What have you done to me, my darling?" He chuckles in the raspy and breathless state of his, "do you not want me to stay sane?"

"I'm—I'm doing nothing," you respond, words hitching in your throat and heart pounding on the walls of your chest, "you were the one who kissed me."

"I am aware," he adds, whirling his tone with a deep laugh, "couldn't help myself when I saw you sitting here, lips and face glistening with the juices. You wouldn't know how tempting you were, how fucking beautiful it was for a man like me, to find you—" he chuckles in your face, "—every bit of you is so fucking precious, sweetheart. No doubt I lack self-restraint when I'm with you."

One of his hands on your cheeks, falls to grab your chin in his fingers' subtle grip, he pushes his thumb under your lower lip and forces you to open your mouth.

"This mouth had done some wonders back then," he mutters, "do you remember that night, Angel? When I had fucked this pretty little mouth of yours..."

You nod.

"Such a good little girl," he rasps, drunkenly, "such a good girl to remember the time I had wrecked her throat. Hmm, fucking perfect."

And you're rendered speechless; it's very unlikely for you to be so horny in the morning, let alone, your day had just started, and you were already dripping through your shorts. Swallowing thickly, your throat wobbles with you having no words to voice them out; instead, Seonghwa steps back, begrudging to himself as he straightens up and stares down at you.

"I know what you're thinking of," he muses, "and I've got something for you regarding it. Don't worry, sweetheart, all your desires will be quenched; let's just eat first, okay?"

Again, you're only sane enough to nod your head vigorously. Biting on your lower lip, your mind goes astray, the reminisces of the said night flooding your conscience with zeal and ecstasy; only recalling the vague memoirs that night left you with, had tipped you past your edge, urging your arousal to soak your shorts and causing more to seep out. Seonghwa's muted whistle howls in your ears when he's placing the pot of cooked rice on the table. While you're still disoriented from the remembrances of your game night with him and Yunho, Seonghwa makes himself comfortable on one of the chairs and pats his lap, hoping you'd take on the little hint. You obviously did not need to be told twice. Scampering off your feet, you're quick to fit yourself in his lap. You prop your legs across his, leaning your body onto his chest while resting your head on his shoulder. Mumbling out an incoherent sound, Seonghwa wraps his arms around your waist and presses a soft kiss against your forehead.

"How are we supposed to eat if you're going to..." he says, suggestive enough for you to sit a bit straighter, "you know, you can get needy at times. A lot."

Plucked by a sense of curiosity, you compose your posture and wrap your arms around his neck. Seonghwa's lips curl with the utmost bewilderment, while your brows squeeze together in the centre of your forehead; he shakes his head, fathoming your deliberate gestures. He pinches your chin, thumb pressing into your bone for your lower lip to tug out.

"I'm not complaining, it's adorable." He adds in a wispy voice, "really fucking adorable when daddy's little girl gets to bat her lashes at him and he falls head first into her trap."

You smirk, squirming on his lap before leaning over to whisper in his ear, "isn't daddy all talk and no show?"

"Daddy doesn't want to hurt his baby," he mutters, tracing one of his hands along your back to your neck. Though, losing his grasp on his own tongue, he lets out a chuckle and looks away from you, "bless my soul, I thought I'd be able to keep a straight face through this vulgar oration, but turns out I can't really utter anything without absolutely cringing my spine."

"Why not?" you laugh along him, as his eyes are back on you, twinkling with unsaid words, "I believe, you said it was a part of your "kinks" and preferences."

He shrugs, slightly shifting you on his lap, "it is; however I don't want our fellow readers to crawl out of their skin listening to me exaggerate..."

You peck his lips and shut him up, "I bet the readers like it. So, don't you worry about it."

"The main concern should be, do you like it?" he rasps, his voice husky, "it's important to know if you're comfortable or not."

You brush your lips against his, "it might take me some time to get used to it. Not a lot of guys I had been with, dabbled in this kink, you know."

"Lot of guys?" he instigates, his lips curling into his cheek, revealing his canines, "how many guys have you been with before us?"

"I never asked you how many women you've been with before me," you drawl, jutting your lower lip out, "why do you care, anyway?"

Sliding his hand further up your neck, he entangles his fingers in your hair and pulls you with it; you arch your head back, succumbing to his strength and chuckling softly before he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He traces pleasant kisses on your skin, eventually letting his tongue dart over to lick and suck, eliciting pretty sounds from your mouth.

He murmurs his words, letting them collide with your skin, "fine. I'll tell you everything. Would you like that?"

His hand which had stayed around your waist, tightens and using your body to have some leverage, he bucks his hips into yours. The thin material of his sweatpants wasn't enough to let the impression of his erection go unnoticed by you; seemingly immersed in the sensation his lips offered and the way his hardening cock rubbed against your inner thigh, you let out a mangled gasp, smiling to yourself.

"Sure—ah fuck—sure, tell me everything about your past." In your line of sight, you could only catch the minute glimpse of his tousled hair tickling your throat.

Seonghwa hauls a soft chortle against your collarbone; not knowing when he had drifted off from kissing your throat, to your collarbones, you whimper ever so slightly, lurching over to hug his shoulders tighter in your grasp. Your body somehow manages to stay on his lap, somehow rattling to his the movements of his hips and the sensitive teasing of his lips on your collarbones; if you were to squirm or shift even to the slightest to your side, you would be slipping out of his lap and landing ass-first on the floor.

"What, do you need a number or names?" he jokes, "I'm bad with both. Could never keep a count, or remember their names."

"That's just sad," you enunciate, shuddering to his teeth sinking right above one of your collarbones, "very much like you, I don't recall a lot of things from my past endeavours either."

Seonghwa hums along, "you certainly know how to play a risky game, don't you?" teasing you with his teeth, he proffers a few more nibbles to your flesh before pulling back. His hand drops from your hair and lets you move your head freely; though, he brings the same hand down to cup a side of your face, "don't bite more than you can chew."

"Oh, you're one to talk," you retort, rolling your eyes at him, "aren't you redirecting my attention to something else." He understands your intentions when you subtly glance down, and scoff, "I thought we were going to eat. You just seem to have all different kinds of ideas, anything but eating breakfast, apparently."

"And who's responsible for putting these ideas in my head?" he taunts you, patting your cheek before backing himself away and wrapping both his arms around your waist.

A dark sheet of serenity falls over the two of you, simmering your thoughts till he's making an effort to create a sound. Seonghwa's grip tightens around your figure, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder as he mumbles, "I've slept with many women in my past, maybe a few men here and there; but I could never connect with them on a spiritual level. Could never engage each other in meaningful conversations. Our emotional compatibility was almost close to negligible, so we kept it limited to our bodily passions and intimacies. All of my past experiences, they're more jarring than you could ever imagine them to be."

You listen to him draw in a sharp breath, his chest heaving into yours when he does. For the fractioned beat of a second, he grows quiet and then sighs, breaking his silence, "in the end, I came to terms with it; I had no problems living that lifestyle, even though it was, in practicality, destroying me." He adds, "so, due to my internalised needs and desires, I stopped meddling with the dating culture altogether. Now, I wander around, meeting new faces every night and indulging in most of my darkest desires."

"Does that sate your curiosities, sweetheart?" he wrings out a jagged laugh, shaking his head, "I truly hope so."

You nod, "yeah."

There's an underlying forethought concealed in Seonghwa's eyes; it glimmers softly while you're still figuring your way through the labyrinth of his words. Seonghwa may not be as forthcoming as you might have predicted him to be, though you couldn't really judge after only living with him for a month or so. It took time for him to peel his shell off, engage with you in much profound and deeper conversations about literally anything and those tête à têtes were your habitual secrets to seeking an ardent relationship with him.

"Good," he smiles, "let's eat then. I can feel my stomach growling for some food, while I'm starting to see stars behind my eyelids."

"Oh, you're so dramatic," you playfully scoff, before propping the lid off the pot, "and so hungry today. Are you sure it's food that you're craving and not something else?"

"What else would I crave on a Saturday morning?" he deadpans, licking his lips.

"I don't know, I was thinking about..." you trail off and let out a simple laugh, "me, aren't you craving me to fill your mouth with my sweetness..."

Seonghwa groans, keeping a mellowed out smile on his lips, "daddy's little girl really wants to test his patience, doesn't she? Well, daddy is going to make sure his little girl knows not to tease him."

Your spine crumbles to his husky voice, his arms tracing up your sides; fingers clasping onto the hem of your shirt, he lifts it over your head and discards it down on the floor. A soft crinkle resounds, but you aren't too bothered by it, because you were too fazed by his warm breath prickling your skin, fanning with an intensity. Bare chest, see-through demeanour, you fix your hungry eyes on his and wait for them to shift a shade, wait for them to lose all the light before he becomes feral in a way only you could understand. Wetting your lips, you slide your hands into his hair, picking at the soft tuft of ebony strands, and tangling yourself in the much needed strength. And there it goes without saying, ambient dark shrouds his eyes and a smirk fleets on his lips.

Till the time a breathless gasp leaves your mouth, his face is buried in between your tits. His tongue slithers out, rubbing up stripes, licking your skin; a moan gets trapped in your chest when you find the same warmth graze along your sternum. His lips hover over one of your tits, you're anticipating when he opens his mouth and engulfs you with a want you had been sitting on. However, he doesn't give it much thought before wrapping his soft lips around your flesh and guiding his mouth down. All in his mouth, you bite your lip and throw your head back, eyes screwing shut with the absolute pleasure you were bubbling with.

Your arousal seeps through your shorts when his teeth sink in lightly at first, and then he bites down, hard enough for his teeth to mark your skin. Strapping his hands to your waist and pulling himself away from your chest, he somehow manages to shuffle you on his lap. A second sounds in your head and his mouth is back on your chest; immersed in the holy delight of his lips and mouth sucking your tit, you voice a strangled whimper and fist your hands in his hair. Seonghwa winces at the way you were tugging on his hair, but doesn't make a sound and continues to do what he had taken up on.

Somber serenity in the surrounding is filled with fervent echoes of moans, groans and whimpers, all shuddering from your mouth; your lips remain parted, your eyes now half-lidded to gaze down at Seonghwa, and your cunt leaking with excitement. Whiling himself in his own carnality, he slides one of his hands up from your waist and gropes your other tit. The softness of his hand caresses your skin before the raggedness of his fingers envelops it whole. Pinching your taut nipple in between his thumb and forefinger, he lets it roll before pulling on it.

"Ah, fuck—Seonghwa," you voicelessly mutter out, bucking your hips into his to let your clothed cunt grind against his thigh, "you—you fucking switched up—you just—keep doing that, please."

Your desperation amuses him, but he doesn't let go. Seonghwa's tongue keeps lapping and tickling your taut nipple by rubbing its tip too harshly over it. At this point, you're gasping for air and your lungs could collapse any moment due to the suffocation your mind brought upon them. Moving your hips vigorously to a steady pace, you try to get as much friction against his thigh as you could. Internally, you writhe with a bolt of desperation striking down every rational thought in your body. While his other hand stays around your waist, he supports your back and lets you ride his thigh.

The slick of your arousal is starting to seep through your shorts and soaking into his sweatpants; if you could translate your and his neediness, you both wanted the same things. To rid yourself of your clothes. You were piqued beyond your desires, wanting to rub your drenched pussy against his bare thigh, and Seonghwa had his heart in his mouth, picturing how pretty you'd look cumming on his thigh. With his hand slipping against the small of your back, he gives you subtle hint and you take it; propping yourself on your feet, you stand while Seonghwa pulls away from your chest and suppresses a groggy grunt in his stomach.

"I better have you moaning my name when you're riding my thigh."

As he voices the steepest craving of his heart, he pinches your nipple harder and twists it in between his forefinger and thumb; you gasp, your lungs burning to the sting of your chest while you're starting to pool in your shorts.

"Do you understand that little girl?" he emphasises and tugs harshly on your nipple, red blotches starting to fade in across your skin.

"Yes—yes," you mutter, catching a breath, but aren't really given much time when Seonghwa's hand cups your tit before the palm lands flat and harsh against it.

"What do we say, Angel?" he slurs your name, and it rolls off his tongue coated with honey.

"Yes, daddy." he nods, willingly palming your tit before slapping it again, "that's what I like to hear, hmm..."

The meagre vibrations of his voice are just resonating in your ears when his delicate touches ghost your waist. Your bare skin gets trickled with goosebumps the moment he engulfs you in his warmth. Effortlessly, as you meet his eyes, pleading him to rid you from your shorts, he hooks his fingers under the waistband and tugs them down. Not a second is wasted in kicking the shorts off your body; they lay strewn on the floor, sprawled by the legs of Seonghwa's chair.

You're about to lower yourself back into his lap when he makes you cease your actions with a simple nudge of his head. Seonghwa, unfazed by your glistening cunt, quickly pulls his sweatpants down and lets them bunch at his ankles. Trapping a mewl in your chest, you then straddle a side of him, situating yourself and your aroused cunt on one of his thighs.

"Hmm, fuck me, Angel," Seonghwa moans, throwing his head back when he feels your slick caress his skin, "you're fucking leaking down here. Such a—such a wet cunt rubbing up and down my thigh," he takes a deep breath and squints his eyes close, "you seriously want me to lose it, don't you?"

You bite down on your lower lip and nod your head, pressing your back into his thigh and letting your cunt drag over; the very first brush of your folds against his skin was ecstatic, beaming a haze of sheer raw carnality through your body. Seonghwa catches his breath and straightens his head to have his gaze fixed on you. The specs of brown are mild and pale in his eyes, mostly because they were concealed behind a thick curtain of lust. The look in his eye is quite similar to the one you had caught up on that night, the night where you were sandwiched in between Yunho and him.

"I just—I just want to cum," you cry in absolute agony, the dragging minutes turning your arousal painful and harrowing. "I can't—Hwa, I can't take this much long—longer."

"Darling, no one's stopping you," he growls, "go ahead, make a mess on my thigh," he clicks his tongue and shakes his head, a sly smile curving his lips, "or does daddy's little girl need his cock to set her straight?"

When he rasps his words, you let a part of your sanity slip away into the dark of your lust; craving most of him, you rock your hips against his thigh, your wet folds fretting with a want so inhumanly strong to break you apart in meagre seconds. Needless to say, you were long gone, led astray in the land of darkness and pure lechery. How could you take things slow when you were beyond any hope, beyond the particulars of your aroused body forcing you to fold and rile up in all the worst ways possible. Your body jolts to the upheaving urge of suffering; cinched by your mind, you tense up the moment a tight knot fickle with your gut.

Winding your arms around his shoulders, you procure a much needed leverage for your hips to rub on his thigh. The sensation kept dragging out your high, kept you in the steady motion while you were whimpering in utmost pleasure. And the man under you was completely unfazed, however bewildered and amused to watch you use him to help you come undone. This was his first time watching you so desperate for him, his first time touching your cunt; it blew up a fuse in his head, mouth drooling at the sight of you and your tits bouncing, the sinful sounds your mouth parted with, and how lusciously loud you were starting to get. Combusting with the remaining desire, you steady the rhythm of your hips and tighten your arms around his shoulders. Your cunt kept clenching around nothing, your clit in a sensory overdose from grinding for long and your needy self still ached to be filled by him. Moans grew louder, your eyes welled with tears and blurred your vision.

"Daddy..." a whimper shudders in your most devastating voice ever, "I want you—I want your cock, please. I need you—I need you so bad, daddy."

Seonghwa's unholy chuckle resounds only a little when he immerses himself in the play of his cravings and dives in to lick your already shimmering tits. His spit layers on your skin, his cock springing and straining in his briefs at the way your delicate cunt kept stroking his thigh. This could be the ultimate end of your struggle, you were so sure the tension in your stomach would ease out if you continued for even a minute more. But to your disappointment, one of Seonghwa's hands comes down to caress your mound; he offers you a little slap before using his other hand to stop you. A bashing strike of his hand against your stomach is enough to bring you out of the daze, to have your hips rolling back while your body manages to comprehend the situation.

"Hmm," Seonghwa clicks his tongue, "my little girl needs daddy's cock to fuck her good, hmm..?" continuing to muse, he mumbles against your chest, "such a needy little girl."

"Please daddy," you whisper, tilting your head down to meet his eye.

"Get on your feet," he commands and you oblige, standing up with your legs on either side of his.

Seonghwa lets a teasing curve slide on his lips before he starts pulling his briefs down; he manages to slip them off his legs, shoving them to a side while he glances at you and how your eyes were tracing every inch of his cock. Indeed, you were staring down at him, salivating with the anticipation of when you'd be stuffed by him. Biting back on a groan, you could barely keep yourself up, merely have strength to keep yourself on your feet. When your knees buckle with an absolute want and feeble enthusiasm, you land straight in his lap. Seonghwa clicks his tongue, in an attempt to distract you from the embarrassment you thought you were delving in; he pulls your further down by your waist and lets the tip of cock nudge a side of your inner thigh.

In the heat of the moment, you mewl from the pit of your stomach and lurch into his chest. Simmering kisses along his clothed chest and collarbones, you graze your lips painfully slow to meet his; a fracture in time melts all boundaries for your rationality, and the next thing you know, you're licking his lips and shoving your tongue into his mouth. You pry his mouth further open, letting it fall wide while your tongue slithers past his and plunges to the base of his throat.

Seonghwa hums, letting you do as you please; he was more concentrated on bucking his hips into yours, to let you feel his hard cock, let it dent in your lower belly. You're far too gone, though a few minutes prior to this you were on the edge cumming, and now you're riling yourself up again. Pressing your tongue against the roof of Seonghwa's mouth, you shift in his lap and situate yourself in a desperate position. Your cunt stroked up his cock, the tip almost slipping inside but you veer slightly to let it slide out and up your mound. Musty stench of sweat and sex had already dissipated in the morning air, how the sunshine basked in glory of shining across your bodies and entrapping them in warmth of refined pleasure.

Breathless, Seonghwa pulls you by your waist and angles his head back; he takes a lug of air through his mouth and lets his lips mould into a smirk.

"What was that?" he questions, his husky voice dwindling to a mere whisper, "my little girl knows how to play, doesn't she...?"

You nod, succumbing to such neediness that you have to stable yourself by holding onto his shoulders. "Yes daddy..."

Seonghwa has had a good grasp on his untamed mind for quite long. Though he knows he's going to lose it soon, and the more you heed him by the word he so often goes crazy listening to, he might not really not go too easy on you. His hands glide down the small of your back and cup your ass. While his eyes are too busy fixated on you, he leans in to catch your lower lip in between his teeth. You give into him because you were wasted, intoxicated by carnality to have any logical notions to think straight. The raggedness of his calloused hands rubs against your ass. Taking the hint, you lift yourself only a bit for him to guide you down onto his cock. And he might have struggled a little to slip inside you, because he was distracted by your desperate eyes and the way he had trapped your lower lip in his mouth.

You whine, managing to get your words out, "fuck—daddy, I need you—fucking please."

"You're doing great so far, love," he praises you, freeing your lip from his clasp and continues, "come on, you can get it in by yourself, can't you?"

On the verge of crying out, you quickly nod your head and bring one of your hands down from his shoulder to wrap it around his cock. You give him a few strokes along the shaft and then proceed to pump his tip; bracing yourself, you use the same hand to align him against you, your attention solely fixed on Seonghwa's as he watches you with so much admiration. The moment the tip of his cock prods with your folds, his brows scrunch to the centre and his eyes flutter close. He voices a guttural moan, clasping down hard on his lower lip while you swallow the length of his cock. It slips right in because of your abundant arousal leaking out; he grows harder inside of you, twitching slightly you completely sink down and wrap your velvet walls around him.

"Ah, fuck. Angel..." he mutters under his breath, peeling his eyes open to find you were equally stuck in the trance of pleasure with him, "is daddy's cock perfect for you?"

You nod, "yes, daddy's cock—daddy's cock fits so well in my cunt."

And there goes your ability to structure cogent responses and voice them at the same time. You were bound to get drunk on all the dopamine and serotonin dispersed in your bloodstream; Seonghwa's body was just another excuse for your brain's haphazard behaviour. His cock nestles deep in your cunt, slightly straining again as you try to adjust to the stretch and his length. Seonghwa may not be as girthy or thick as Yunho, or Jongho for that matter, regardless, he had a good length to reach places which were probably not easily accessible to anyone. It wasn't a good time to recall, but the night you deep throated this man, you were practically left sore in your throat and Yunho's suggestion of drinking hot tea was a failed attempt.

"Such a good girl," Seonghwa mumbles, slotting one of his hands in the small of your back and tracing up the other one to your neck, "such a good fucking whore to take my—take my cock in. Feels good, hmm? Daddy's cock feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes," you whimper, wincing softly before leaning over to envelope his shoulders with your arms. "Daddy's cock—daddy's cock feels really good. So fucking good."

Your voice starts breaking towards the end; throat drying to the possible thought of rolling his hips against his, for his cock to plunge even deeper than this. The moment you try to move your hips even an inch, Seonghwa slaps a hand across your tits to get you out of the daze. Bothered and immensely frustrated, you let out a saccade series of jumbled up whines and gasp.

"Fuck—what was—what was that for?" you stutter, watching the man with tears in the corners of your eyes.

"Don't move." He smirks, "not yet."

"Why not?"

Seonghwa's smirk grows deep into his cheek, "because I'm hungry. And I need to eat."

"Fucking really?" you heave out a low-pitched laugh, sliding your arms down to the hem of his shirt, "daddy really is un-fucking-predictable."

"And daddy's little girl shouldn't have such a foul mouth on her," he teases, bringing his hand again to strike it against your chest; to you surprise he doesn't, rather he slaps your already puffed cunt, "hope she's aware daddy knows a way to cleanse it. Does she want—ah fuck, love, you're clenching around me."

He leans over to grunt in your ear, "be a good little girl while I have my breakfast, darling. And I'll give you what you deserve, hmm?"

"Okay," you murmur, but bite your tongue, adding, "daddy..."

Seonghwa scoffs playfully and props your body against his chest; he makes sure you're resting on him while he reaches out to the cutlery holder on the table to grab himself a spoon. The plates were ready in front of him beforehand, from back then. He helps him to a small serve of the rice you two had cooked together. As the rice spills over the plate, his spoon clatters delicately; he collects a spoonful and brings it close to your mouth. In all honesty, you were indeed hungry, but didn't want to admit it to him. Not when you were frisky and needy in the beginning.

"Here," he rests the spoon by your lower lip, "open wide."

Rolling your eyes at his trivial attempt at mockery, you open your mouth and let him put the spoonful of rice in. The spicy and tangy undertones hit your taste buds, quickly followed by the crunch of veggies. You were baffled, struck by a dilemma; there was a party of flavours in your mouth and in the merry land of downtown, your cunt was stuffed with his cock. Which plight was more engaging and pleasurable? Obviously, eating.

You hum in a strangled manner, gazing at Seonghwa who himself had a spoonful of rice in his mouth. A blotch of sauce stains under his lip, just below on his chin and your mind goes off with an idea. Leaning in, your breath fans along his nose and lips, eventually turning intense on his chin. Your tongue darts out in the latter second and laps up the stain. You've licked it clean, and while you were immersed in doting on Seonghwa's lowly groans, you could feel him twitch in your cunt. It turned him on. Victory for you.

"Really?"

"What?" you act coy, rolling your hips into his to let the tip of his cock thrust into you slightly. "You've got weird kinks, I did what I thought you'd like..." you drag it to a mumble, "daddy."

He shakes his head, a smile splaying on his lips; he gets another spoonful of rice and feeds it to you. Again, you relish on the savoury taste and moan softly. Again, Seonghwa's cock pulsates in your cunt.

"I do." He answers to your priorly posed question, "in fact, feeding you is weirdly turning me on."

"Touché," you roll your eyes.

"Do you want to cum or not?" he mocks, sliding his other hand up your bare stomach to grope one of your tits.

"You're a fucking tease."

Uh-oh.

You shouldn't have said that.

'Cause the moment those words left your lips, Seonghwa's eyes lost their light, and his lips pursed together in a straight line. He lets the spoon drop against the plate, clattering louder at the impact and the echoes kept resonating around. You swallow thickly, your mind fogged with deliberate thoughts of him and anticipation. It takes a fraction of a second for Seonghwa to thrust his hips into yours, ramming his cock further up your cunt. You press on a moan, fumbling with your arms to allot them a place to rest; finding his shoulders perfect for your body to support itself you tangle them around him and hope for the best.

"Fine," he mutters, growling through his words halfway, "I'll get straight to the point then. Get on your feet."

His voice is as dark as his eyes, stern clear and firm; you swallow down on a lump in your throat again, and get on your feet. When you do, though, his cock slips out of your cunt and you wince at the emptiness; your much elated indulgence comes to a sudden halt but it doesn't leave you quite yet. As you're steadying your quavery feet on the floor, Seonghwa stands up from his chair and steps out of his sweatpants pooling around his ankles. Your eyes meet with his, losing yourself to the push and pull of your horniness; he takes a step towards you, while your back is pressed up against the table. The edge of the table dents into your flesh, but it's nothing compared to the steely despair in your stomach which bubbles through your body. He lurches over and rests his arms on either side of you, putting his hands on the table to trap you in between his body.

"Ass out, little girl," he rasps, "daddy is going to remind you how to behave around him."

With little to no resistance in your mind, you flip your body over and stick your ass out; he, on the other hand, does not hesitate in grabbing your waist or pulling your ass back into his crotch. He grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up to clutch it in between his teeth; the shirt rides up and exposes his toned abdomen, and chest. You glance over your shoulder to bask in the sight, the delicious sight of him biting down on the hem of his shirt and sporting a smirk on his lips. There's no denying, he was a piece of art and even more so, he appeared so fucking hot while pushing himself into you. His cock nudges against your asscheek as he rolls his hips into your rear; he continues to do so until his cock slips perfectly in between, under your cunt. The tip prods with your slit, tracing back and forth till he makes an attempt to sink into your warmth.

Seonghwa's grunt is partially coarse when he plunges the tip of his cock into you. The way he slips in so effortlessly into your cunt, reminds you how wet and aroused you were. Though, you wouldn't have minded if he had rubbed his cock along your slit for few more minutes; it was driving you insane how he drags his ministrations and tipping you off the edge. Your patience were disintegrating and it was hard to keep up with your body.

"Fuck, Angel," he slurs his words, "you're swallowing me in, fuck—so fucking eager."

He winds an arm around your waist, resting it right over your stomach to steady you before pushing himself further into your hips. Inch by inch, the entirety of his cock is buried in your cunt, the fullness causes you to tremble and shudder, forcing you to take a deep breath which apparently only stings your lungs. Seonghwa uses his other hand to slot it in the curve of your back, pushing you over the table and bending you into him. It was all about the convenience, finding the perfect angle for his cock to thrust and ram into all the good places inside you.

"Seonghwa..." you whimper, resting your hands in front of you, holding onto the table as you're pushed into it with his force. "Fuck—daddy, you're—a little faster, please."

Stringing out a few words to create something coherent, at least you thought you were. Seonghwa's thrusts pick up their pace, only by a tempo while he still teases you: he pushes in till the base of his cock, and pulls out fully to leave you whining on the empty feeling. He does that quite a lot, frequently slipping out of you and sliding back in with much fervent enthusiasm than before. The teasing was only so much you could handle at the given moment of time, because you were already in the hopeless state of mind, wanting to be railed by him without any restrictions or distractions.

It had certainly left your mind that you stayed here with seven others men; one of which who resents you but the other six are patient, awaiting on their chance with you. If any one of them were to walk in on the two of you, it'd be a mess. Not that you did not anticipate it. You would be propelled into a new world of kinks and chaos if someone were to watch you get dicked down by Seonghwa. Just picturing it makes you clench around Seonghwa's cock, groaning at the slow-paced thrusts and pokes he eventually made at your clit with the tip of it. You were beyond helpless and had a vague outline of future possibilities streaming in your mind. That is, if someone were to really walk in on the two of you, you really hoped it to be Yunho.

Fuck. That doesn't seem like a good idea, considering Yunho had conveyed a part of his jealousy when you were sucking Seonghwa's face off that one night. If he were to see you get railed by his friend, it'd make him vicious enough to pull Seonghwa off of you and complete the task himself.

Probably, you'd want San to walk in on you two; there's no logic to this, but to your better judgement, it seems right for him to. You and San hadn't had much of an interaction, though you're a hundred percent assured he'd revel in the sight of your ass sticking out and into Seonghwa's crotch. San was definitely an ass guy.

"What are you thinking about?" Seonghwa asks, losing his grasp on his shirt; it falls down over your back, tickling your skin softly.

"Nothing—nothing really."

"Liar. Tell me," he chuckles, dark and loud. "I know you're—fuck—thinking about something."

Seonghwa's grunt settles heavy against your shoulder when he pushes his cock back into and proceeds to fuck you with the tip; he leans in to rest his chin on your shoulder, his ragged breathing harsh against your skin, tickling a side of your face and your ear. The material of shirt chafes your skin to the slightest degree, but should you really be worried about that? Your mind had been numb to his cock prodding and thrusting harshly into you, the rhythm of his hips not once faltering; he's certainly going at it, but somehow drawling out your orgasm and his too. He brings both of his hands on either side of your waist, clutching and denting your flesh with his fingers.

"I know what you're thinking about," he groans, "fuck—what if someone were to—what if someone walks in on us, hmm?"

You moan, "daddy..."

"Little girl wants someone to watch her while she gets—fuck—while she gets railed by her daddy, hmm?"

"Yeah, thinking bout someone—someone watching me."

"Ah, daddy's little girl is really filthy," he plunges deep into you, the tip of his cock settling in your warmth, "wants someone to watch her—wants others to see how good—fuck—how fucking good her daddy fucks her."

"Please," you mewl, nails scratching against the wood of the table, varnish slipping under them. "Please daddy—wanna—wanna be a good girl for you."

"Hmm," he hums close to your ear, licking up a stripe to bite down on the shell of it, "you are. Such a good girl—such a good fucking girl—fuck, taking daddy's cock so fucking well."

His hips rattle your body, the pace building up to a heavy speed, and continuing to follow so; pushing at your back, he bends you further onto the table, almost pushing your chest flat against it. In your haphazard world, you are cautious not to fall on the half eaten plate of food and the little sauce pan of rice which remained covered. You turn your head to the side, cheek pressed up against the wooden top and catch in the glimpse of Seonghwa's sweaty face. A few drops cascade down his forehead, while a few strands of his stuck too close to his skin. He has a very fucked look in his eyes, losing himself to the insatiable temptation of hitting you from the back.

You stretch your hands in front of you, pressing the palms flat and supporting your body to the wild impacts of his hips. As the benign force of his thrusts causes you to oscillate back and forth against the table, you're somehow lost in the trance while staring at him. Seonghwa throws his head back, his throat arching so perfectly, so expressive of him; his adam's quivers under his skin, and he screws his eyes shut. You're on the verge of letting your tears slide down your face, stricken with immense pleasure and delight in the way his cock was ploughing through your puffy walls.

"Good girl for..." you muffle your words on your spit, the drool starting to accumulate and trickle past your mouth. "Good girl for daddy."

"Yes, sweetheart . Such a sweet girl." Seonghwa replies incoherently and continues, "such a sweet little cunt, swallowing my cock in—so fucking well."

He had lost it too; he rambled useless words in the daze of your walls cleaning around him. It was the sweet disposition which got him to thrust himself even deeper. Too deep. Too many long and hard thrusts. His crotch and lower abdomen stays flushed with your ass, his thighs boring into your hips with every thrust of his. The tip of his cock plunges in the steeper end of you, pushing through your walls and jolting your body close to your orgasm. One of Seonghwa's hands comes to rest on the nape of your neck, wrapping delicately before pushing your head further into the table. His other hand lays flat against the small of your back, somehow forcing you to arch your ass into his cock. It worked.

"Daddy..." you moan, eyes half-lidded and lips slick with your drool; not just your lips, your chin had a sheeny coat of your spit.

"A little more, darling," Seonghwa groans.

When you whimpered his name, it was the point of no return for him; he diverts his mind towards your cunt, and how your warmth had engulfed his cock in sheer pleasure. Your walls tauten around him, and devour his cock further into your heat. You weren't fond of the table, your body felt sore and aching against it; and his thrusts weren't easing out any of the pain, not when he had picked them up. The inhumane lunges of his hips, shoved his cock deep. Stroking his thumb on the back of your neck, he leans over to rest his forehead on your shoulder blade. His hot breath fans your skin, edging you close to your orgasm.

A unlikely and familiar heaviness knots in your gut, twisting them ferociously as your stomach growls with a need. Seonghwa's cock keeps hitting you in all the right places, in all the right ways; you were minutes away from crumpling down and easing out your orgasm. Sensing your walls clench around his pulsating cock, Seonghwa peppers your shoulder with gentle and light kisses. The fluttering sensation crawls down to your stomach and causes it to twist; you're so close, almost on the verge of letting it go. The hand resting against your back, traces up the length of your arm and pulls it down; he bends it over and slots it in the curve of your back. Doing the same with your other arm, he has both of them together against your back, while he traps your wrists in his death grip. You're far too fucked out of your mind to resist against anything.

"Go on, sweetheart," he whispers, "you deserve it—fuck—go on, make a fucking mess on daddy's cock."

"Holy fuck—I'm—I'm fucking—I'm..." your voice gets lost in the sound of your skin slapping with his.

That was it. The last bits of his words make you go crazy, snapping every string of self-restraint and control, cutting off every thought to your brain and body. He drills his cock into you, keeping it concise and easy, and you're unravelling all over him. The knot in your gut nicks at your stomach, tightening it up further in your chest, and when the lightness washes you down, you relax your muscles and hear your juices splash. The cold drops trickle down your inner thighs, coating every inch of his cock as he continues to thrust through it.

"Such a good girl," Seonghwa growls, stuttering in his words, "daddy's gonna fill you up, sweetheart—daddy's gonna fill this sweet little cunt up."

Your lungs burn, your throat feels a little sore and your body feels lethargic; you're almost certain you'd pass out if he were to continue like this. Seonghwa heaves out a groan, which comes out hard from his chest as he fixes his drunken gaze on your face. His continues to caress his thumb against the back of your neck, which you had forgotten about a few minutes ago, and rolls his thighs into yours; his hips stay flushed against yours for a meagre second until he's pulling back. Keeping up with this, he thrusts in deep for the last time before his cock twitches with the urge; drenching your walls in his warmth, he spurts his load into you and rides it out with a few more thrusts.

The warmth of his cum dribbles on your skin, trailing further down to your knees when he pulls out. Emptiness scorns your body, pulling it out of the trance and your mind clears up with the post-orgasm clarity. His heat dissipates to cold air when he pulls himself away from you; stepping back, he heaves out a heavy sigh and runs a hand through his sticky and sweaty hair. You take a moment, a short second to compose your breathing before pushing yourself from the table. Your body feels lightweight and relaxed, but at the same time, you're drained. Even standing on your feet seemed like a task you'd fail at miserably. You plop down on the chair instead, hugging its backrest close to your chest and resting your head down against its edge.

"Now, that was something," a deep voice rumbles; the man clicks his tongue and pulls your attention on him. You raise your head up, almost too quickly and it gives you a good whiplash.

"How long have you been standing there for?" Seonghwa questions, pulling his briefs and sweatpants over his waist. He sounds a little breathless as well. Obviously.

"Fuck," you whisper under your breath, your naked form in all its glory in front of the man you hadn't spoken to a lot before.

He stood aimlessly by the kitchen's entrance, giving him the flawless view of you and Seonghwa doing it on the dining table. You were trembling with so much excitement after knowing there indeed was someone watching you while you got dicked down. But you did not expect it to be him. Not at all. The man has a flustered face, cheeks, the tip of his nose and ears, tainted with the subtle shade of red. He wore a black tank top and grey jogger shorts, his long ebony shaded hair sat disheveled yet neatly framed his face; half of it was tied back in a small and messy ponytail, while most of his hair stayed loose and tickled the sides of his face.

"Since she brought up someone walking in on your two," he simply shrugs and steers his gaze away from Seonghwa and onto you, "don't worry, Angel. You were fucking hot, writhing under his body. Look—" he glances down, and you do too, finding a tent in his shorts, "—my cock was so excited to see you like that."

"Well, we're actually done," Seonghwa wraps an arm around your shoulders and leans down to kiss your temple, "she's all yours if you want her."

The man standing by the kitchen, with a chilled water bottle in his hand, muses and contemplates for a good minute before his sleazy smile turns into a mischievous smirk. He unscrews the cap of his water bottle and chugs a good amount of water before sighing out in satisfaction and putting the cap back on. You could roughly translate what his eyes spoke to you at that moment, there's no way you wouldn't understand the hunger and wildness in them. And if you were honest, he was the last person you wanted to spend your time with.

"Sounds good," he mumbles, "we actually have a bone to pick, don't we Angel?"

Seonghwa gawks, "oh really?"

"Yeah," the latter continues, "we better get it done, right Angel." his voice drops down a baritone and his eyes lose their jubilant temperament, "you've already pissed me off too much, Angel. I better not find you stalling today as well."

Dread crawls your stomach and your mind goes blank, if it isn't the consequences of your actions. You're biting on your tongue, wondering how you'd get out of this. If you recall anything from the past, you might remember you were handed a contract and asked to read through it. You stalled, procrastinated and did everything else but pay any attention to that contract over the past week. Of course, now the devil haunts you, just as he had been haunting you in the past week. To your defence, the contact withheld a lot of information and most of the times, you'd fall asleep reading it. So, you put that task off till you were in a good mood and free from your university assignments. That day never came actually.

Yeosang's smirk grows in his cheek, his eyes devouring your naked stature as whole before he heaves out a breath and tugs at the straps of his tank top. You had no idea what he was thinking about. There was no way to know since you weren't a mind reader. But if you could vaguely rely on your imagination, you could tell he was thinking of ways to punish you. And that somehow, turned you on like a bitch. You were yet to venture into his kink, know his preferences and the anonymity itself made you wet, wetter than before when you were with Seonghwa.

"She's all yours, Sangie." Seonghwa kisses your cheek this time, "just give her some time to clean herself. I came in too hard."

"Of course, but yeah," you chime in, an awkward chuckle leaving your lips, "why don't I take a shower and meet you in your room once I'm done?"

He listens to your suggestion intently, ponders over it and breaks his silence to give out his testimony. "It's just cum, I'm fine with it."

As the serenity falls over the three of you, Yeosang clears his throat, "come on now."

You tense up, your shoulders going stiff and your body convulsing; you were caught up in your mind, reeling back to your moment with Seonghwa. Regardless, you were attentive enough to listen Seonghwa's clueless chatter further on.

"What is this about, Sangie?"

Yeosang shrugs, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms over his chest; the way his muscles bulge and flex, cause you to lose a part of your sanity. "Do you want to join us for a round two?"

Seonghwa shakes his head, while you're comprehending what Yeosang had just uttered and why was it so filthily hot coming from his mouth. "I wish," the older sighs, "gotta clean up the mess here and then wake the others up. I've got a few tasks lined up for the day, too. I'm taking a rain check, regardless of how fun it sounds."

His warmth clashes against your forehead when he turns and leans down to kiss it, "Angel helped me with my lethargy in the morning. I'm as refreshed as a daisy blooming on a Sunday morning."

Yeosang hums and Seonghwa adds in a mere whisper directed to you, "I have something planned for you tonight, though. Meet me in my room after dinner, hmm?"

You nod, eyes shuffling across the span of the space to meet Yeosang's; he has something lurking in his, something cruel, a few dwelling strokes of sinister intentions and a bit of malice to have your heart palpitating for no reason whatsoever. Shifting your legs on the chair you sat on, you sense something trickle down from between your thighs; the jolt of realisation strikes you hard and you quickly get on your feet before you stain the chair.

Seonghwa casts you a bemused glance, and upon understanding your actions, he lets out a soft chuckle. "It's fine, Angel. You don't have to worry about it."

You pout, "I wouldn't want to add in to your troubles, you've got a lot of them already."

"I can manage, Angel."

Seonghwa shakes his head and picks up your shorts; he hands them to you and you're quick to slip into them, preventing any flow out that might cause with your curt movements. Running his eyes on your bare chest, and the emerging purple blotches around your neck and tits, he grabs your shirt as well, and tugs it over your head. Exalted by his mannerisms, your heart does a little leap and drops down to your stomach.

"Well, thanks..."

"Are you two done?" Yeosang questions, voicing out his ire and annoyance.

"Yes," Seonghwa laughs, "go easy on her, Sangie. She's new to your kink."

"I'll think about it." The latter smirks and straightens himself off the wall, "any day now, Angel. I hate it when people keep me waiting."

"And it irks me even more when they aren't obedient."

M.list | Previous | Next

[louellaby]

FORGET-ME-NOT

REPLACED!MC AU

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W A R N I N G

May contain bad grammar, limited vocabulary, and OOC characters. Please mind that English is not my first language, and it takes a lot of courage for me to post due to my anxiety and paranoia.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

taglist: @books-and-catears @owl778 @yourlocalgrass @kaiserkisser @hhurric4ne @amberheavendremurr @yu-ulda @bk-4-trash-fire

PROLOGUE | CHAPTER I | CHAPTER II | CHAPTER III | LOUE'S LETTER | CHAPTER IV | CHAPTER V | LOUE'S LETTER | CHAPTER VI | CHAPTER VII | CHAPTER VIII | CHAPTER IX | CHAPTER X | LOUE'S LETTER | EPILOGUE

E P I L O G U E

「 I'm Right Here! 」

"Y-You're not really going to k-k-k... m-me, are you? I know you won't...! Y-You are all a bunch of sweethearts, after all, and you're all just messing with me right now! Y-You can't do this to me...!"

"Have you forgotten, Lady Soley? They're demons. And with one command from me, you'd be gone."

In the Devildom, the lives of the demons continued on as usual. The streets were bustling with noise, the shops full of customers, the forests as quiet as they have ever been, and the servants of the castle were all busy preparing for an upcoming festival which should bring more cheer to the realm. But in that particular castle, a man sighed deeply as he eyed the paper that slowly crumpled in his grasp.

"That's the 16th sigh this minute, Lucifer," Diavolo lightly chuckled as he watched his friend with an apologetic look. The prince knew what Lucifer was extremely bothered with.

It had already been four weeks since school ended. Everyone should be on vacation, including Lucifer and Diavolo, but they couldn't stay away from this specific problem. Why? Because it was the case of their failed human exchange student, Soley Day, who was thought to have disappeared months ago during their trip. That's right, no one outside the group knew what really happened to her. It's all a big secret.

"What are we going to do about this, Diavolo?" Lucifer sighed once more before dropping the paper on the table and leaning back on his chair. He tried to soothe his headache by rubbing his temples, hanging his head to the back. "I'm supposed to be on a trip with my family, and you told me two months ago that you would handle this on your own."

"I know, I'm sorry, but I really need your help on this one. I thought I could handle it, but it turns out this is a bigger problem that we hoped for, considering everyone's wondering where Soley has disappeared to. It has become a huge headache."

"Yeah, I can feel that." Lucifer sat up straight again and looked at his friend. "Does the Celestial Realm have a problem with this as well?"

Diavolo shook his head, "No. For reasons unknown to me, they left this one alone. The only problem now lies in Soley's family."

"I see, so that's what's bothering you. Despite their title, they're still just humans, Diavolo. It would be easy to deceive them."

"... Do you really think that that's the only way left to go?" The prince got bothered by Lucifer's reason. He knew Lucifer was getting impatient that he'd suggest something like this, but... is that really what it has come to? Deceiving humans who he wanted to gain the trust of?

A lot of time has passed. Eventually, even Diavolo understood how irritable Lucifer has become, the more the paperwork kept piling on and on. And so, the Avatar of Pride was dismissed for the day.

"You know, it's rare for you to admit you want to spend time with your family," teased Diavolo, enjoying the sight of Lucifer's face turning red as the man got up from his seat.

"My family is important to me, Diavolo. Every single one of those seven; they're all important to me. That will never change." Lucifer left the room, hurrying back home where seven people were waiting in chaos for him to return.

"Family, huh..?"

"Mother! Father! I'm back!" A certain girl with light orange hair and lime green eyes exclaimed, excitedly running out of a limousine and rushing into the arms of her awaiting parents.

"Soley! Welcome home! We were so worried about you! So, so worried!"

"I told you you didn't have to worry so much. I'm fine and in one piece." The girl then looked towards the man who stood behind her parents. "Heath!" She ran past the couple and jumped into the man's arms; an action that surprised both the man and the couple, along with the other servants surrounding them.

It was the first time in a very long while that their young lady showed any closeness or emotion towards her butler. While most were happy about this unexpected development, some were suspicious. Nevertheless, everyone was happy with the events, and her parents were so proud of her.

Little did anyone know, a translucent figure with tears in her eyes was watching them up close.

"Mother! Father! Heath! That's not me! Everyone! Listen to me! I'm right here!"

Despite her constant shouting, her unbearable protests, her desperate efforts in making them notice her; not one of them reacted to her presence. Every time she tried to touch any of them, her hand went through their bodies as if they were made of air; but it was, in fact, her own figure that was the problem.

"Come, Soley, we prepared a party for your return. All of your friends are here, and they can't wait to see you!"

"Alright, I'm coming, but after the party, can we have our own time together? You know, as a family?"

Once again, everyone around them was taken aback. Even the invisible form of her, who cringed at the suggestion.

Everyone knew Soley wasn't one to spend time with her parents anymore. Not since she grew up and had her own friends that she called her family. Because of the surprise, Soley's parents hugged the girl with tears in their eyes. They were so happy to hear that their precious daughter wanted to be with them again that they didn't even question anything. The ghost just watched it happen; her claws digging into her arms and her biting her lip in frustration.

"How dare that fake steal all the attention meant for me... I refuse to take this!"

That day had been a difficult one for the young lady. She watched in pain as her impostor lived the life that was meant to be hers. She did her best trying to get just anyone to notice her. Most painfully, she watched as the fake walked through the halls of the place she called home, with the man she held closest to her heart.

"Heath, I have a question."

"Yes, my lady?"

The two of them were in Soley's room. Heath was helping the lady prepare for the grand party happening later that day.

"What would you do if someone confessed their romantic feelings for you?"

"Oh, no. No, no, no. You're not doing this to me."

The butler dropped the brush he was holding, freezing in place as he locked eyes through the mirror with the girl in front of him. "I, uhm, I-I beg your pardon?"

"If someone confessed to you, what would you do?"

"Heath, don't answer that!"

The more the questions popped up, the wider Heath's eyes went. His brows furrowed. He suspected everything would've been a joke, but the look in Soley's eyes told him they weren't. And so, putting his heart on his sleeve, he opened his mouth in response.

"I suppose it would depend on my own feelings as well, my lady."

"What do you mean?"

"I will be happy and accept the confession of the person if I also feel the same way for them as they do for me."

"But if you don't, then..."

"Then, no, I'm afraid."

The lady sitting in front of the mirror removed her gaze from Heath and placed it on another. Soley's ghost gasped in surprise when she realised her impostor was staring directly at her, a smirk on her face forming before she opened her mouth and spoke to the butler again, her eyes not looking away from the spirit.

"What about me?"

"... my lady?"

Soley got off the chair and approached the butler, who stood still in confusion. She reached out and held both of his hands in hers, longingly staring at his eyes.

"What if I tell you, Heath, that I have feelings for you? Would you accept them?"

"My Lady, I—"

"Don't worry about your job, Heath. It's secure, and I'll keep it that way no matter your answer. I just want to know how you feel about me."

"No, please. Don't do this to me...! Y-You can't take Heath away from me, ple—"

"I..." The butler paused for a moment. And at that moment, all of his precious memories with his lady rushed through his head, displaying themselves one-by-one.

Heath stared into Soley's eyes just as she had hoped he would. His breathing quickened the more he realised the weight of the situation. But that was a moment he had always been waiting for. The moment he thought would never come. Not even in a million years.

"... I love you, Soley."

"What do you suppose happened to Soley's soul up in the human world?"

"Everything went according to plan, Young Master. Lady Soley had seen her life taken away from her, including the one she felt romantic feelings for. She is currently on a breakdown as we speak."

"What about MC?"

"MC is doing better than before. Their bond with the brothers has deepened greatly."

"Good. Perfect. ..... It's time to find a new exchange student. This time, let's hope they won't be as troublesome as the previous one. And even if they are, we can count on MC to handle it."

"Of course, my Lord. I will prepare the papers."

The moment the Seven Rulers of the Underworld and their human master returned from their family vacation, they were met with stacks and stacks of papers with information about new candidates for the exchange program. As the prince and his butler expected, a tsunami of complaints and disagreements washed over them. After a long while of discussions, everyone agreed to close the exchange program temporarily until they could find the perfect students for it.

Little did they know, a human sorcerer was watching them from his crystal ball in the human world. The moment his deep blue eyes glowed, a piece of paper appeared in his hands. He studied its contents for a moment before placing it in an envelope, a smile appearing on his face as he held the letter out towards the white raven that rested on its perch.

"Deliver this to the prince of the Devildom. Tell him I'm interested in his so-called exchange program."

"Your wish is my command, Lord Ceowald."

「 LOUE'S LETTER | THE END.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Loue's Note:

Whether you've been here since the beginning, or you've just stumbled upon this story recently, I thank you so, so much for taking the time to read this! Thank you for the ones who supported me all the way (you know who you are) ! I'm really grateful for the wonderful reactions I've received! ♡♡♡

Forget-Me-Not has reached its end; but just as one story ends, another one begins. I hope you look forward to my next replaced mc au!

I give you lots of hugs and wish you the sweetest of dreams whenever you fall asleep.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

[bzhitstruth]

Many "gifts" from GG and DD

So much has happened over the past three or four days that I couldn’t even gather my thoughts together to make a post.

Of course, everyone already knows about the cameras Leica, about the number of GG's photos (18-33-28 and 18-25-23), about camping and the cake with sheep, and so on.

I want to write about some moments that especially impressed me, in addition to the main “candies” that fell upon us in abundance. This post will probably turn out to be chaotic, but I am now very impressed by everything, and there are a lot of emotions.

Everything is fake, fiction and my stupid fantasies, don’t pay attention.🤡🤡🤡

“Everything is cute, everything is cool.” We saw the phrase in the post by GG's studio: “Life is bright, everything is cute.” Less than a day has passed (namely 19 hours 50 minutes), and YBO replies: “Everything is cool collected”. And we're reminded of the old LRLG fake material where it was about "ok, you're cool, I'm cute." Can anyone say that this is the coincidence?! This is the real dialogue during short time!

Yesterday DD again showed us many photos with Leica. It would seem, why focus so much attention on it? It's funny that if you leave a comment or repost, the effect with flying small pink cameras appears on Weibo:

It occurred to me to count all the DD's photos from the trip to Paris on Weibo and Instagram (including duplicate of photos), where the camera Leica M11 is present. You won't believe. There are 23 of them. The word “coincidence” already gives me a callus on my tongue.

Yesterday DD stunned everyone with his 100500 photos around the small iron pole. Turtles on Weibo wondered why he paid so much attention to this inconspicuous place. And it turned out that it was not in vain! Of course, this is the street corner with special numbers - 23 rue Bachelet 75018.

And also the red-yellow-green dog, and DD standing proudly against the background of bicycles. When GG traveled abroad in February, there was the episode in his video where he was in front of motorcycles. Such a funny "exchange".

There are also some interesting things in the GG's birthday photos and video. For example, in some photos GG looks strikingly similar to DD. The turtles mostly took notice of this photo. If you close the right half of the face, you get an almost mystical resemblance.

But I also noticed another photo, the first time I saw it, I really thought it was DD. How can this be? It really looks like some kind of magic.

Of course, GG put on the little lion again. It is interesting that it was in this jacket that GG returned from Paris to Beijing in March (Paris again!). And it was in it that he was photographed for his birthday. And this is not the first time that the little lion appears in the GG's birthday photos. By the way, one more interesting detail: it seems that this particular jacket is hanging in the background in the famous GG's photo that captivated everyone:

The phone card case appears again:

Inscription in the sky. In GG’s video at 4:16, a certain effect appears that resembles the legendary “wangxiao” inscription; in one of the BTS of “The Untamed” GG puts his name under DD’s name and then crosses it out in embarrassment. I'm not really sure if this is intentional or just a visual effect and abstraction, but it looks very similar!

The Chinese turtles, at least, were very enthusiastic about this effect (and they are still better versed in written characters than I am). Even if it's not intentional, it looks amazing because it really does look a lot like those signatures.

At the end of GG’s vlog, the phrase appears: “So, did you come up with a name?” (所以, 想好名字了?), this seems to be a reference to the ending of The Untamed when Wei Ying said, "You need to come up with a name for this song":

Another thing that no one seems to have noticed is the DD's Douyin video. Look at the time of publication. This is the screenshot from my phone, I'm in the same time zone as Paris, in Europe. In China at this time it was 16:05. Don't you think that this is another gremlin-DD's trick - to make the post on 5.10 at 10:05, but in Paris time? In my opinion, this is quite in his style.

And a little about personal impressions.

Interesting is the photo where GG is holding the cake with sheep. This is the only photo in his first photoshoot where he is smiling. In the rest of the photos he is thoughtful, even seemingly sad, and in some places stern. Only in this photo does GG have bright and gentle expression on his face, and the special smile, the look in the other photos is completely different, tougher or directed inward of himself. Even the jeans he's wearing don't appear anywhere else except in this photo. It seems to me that this is the special photo, taken by the special person and at a different time. Can be compared with other photos supposedly taken by DD.

This is probably very subjective, but it seems to me that there is some subtle similarity in these photos. Love. Well, I think so.

BJYXSZD 💚❤️.

sources: Weibo.com, Douyin.com

[konigsblog]

whorentia or however it was spelt, literally has in her pinned post about not bullying people for their preferences, being yourself and having fun etc. but orla, when people do that to you, you have to accept it!!!! you can’t block them!!!! they might find something out about you!!! 💀

a reply also said people might just come across your post without realising you were a dark content writer after you literally already said that your posts have warnings. if that’s the case, it would literally be impossible to not know what they’re going to read. people are really trying to grasp at every last thing possible to make you look bad. deep down they know they can just block but for some reason they don’t and they choose to be upset about it. this is why these people have so much hatred, because they’re always so negative and can’t take responsibility of their own content consumption. i always wonder if these people are actually 18+ because the way they act always seems really immature.

honestly it's laughable!! i know exactly WHO they're talking about. because they're all friends, they're following each other. there's three people involved, and a couple names i won't be mentioning because i have a suspicion they may be underage, while one is a confirmed minor. definitely weird how one account made FOUR different accounts to send me a message simply because they couldn't keep their immaturity to themselves, then acted as if i was obsessed, while they probably have a whole group chat dedicated to me by the looks of it, it wouldn't surprise me.

look, people need to realise that you're not owed an explanation for why you're blocked. it was pretty funny to see them not make one singular valid and clear point and then call me immature for blocking them because they were being disrespectful and disregarding my boundaries, while they had made countless comments and accounts to try speak to me. i wasn't surprised they were underage honestly.

they acted as if i got my friends to harass them. i didn't get anyone to respond to them, my friends chose to do it, whether that's because they wanted to support me, or had an opinion they wanted to share themselves. when you post a comment publicly, you have to be prepared for comments, responses, and opinions form other people. if they didn't want to receive responses, then they should've kept their comment to themselves.

and the person you mentioned? yeah, pretty strange how they say you shouldn't judge someone for their preferences, while doing the exact same thing. these people are hypocrites; they don't care if it happens to you, just as long as it isn't them.

and the other person (you know who you are, if you're reading this — which you shouldn't be able to, considering you're blocked, but i assume you keep tabs on people... 🥴😬) they acted as if i blocked them because they asked me questions respectfully. they were respectful in the dms, but began to reblog hate posts about me. don't act oblivious. i mean seriously? what did you expect? when you reblog hate posts about me, agreeing with them in any way, i will 100% block you.

i won't continue talking about these people, and i won't be mentioning their usernames (unless you want to block them yourself, then message me), because again, i have doubts they're actually adults, and can tell one person in particular wants attention BADLY.

[gaydiation-poisoning]

HORRIBLE MESSY IN-NO-PARTICULAR-ORDER AMP BULLETPOINT POST BEFORE SIDE ORDER COMES OUT LETS FUCKING GOOOO

THIS IS AMP ^ (art by @for-a-new-life)

SHE IS MY NEO AGENT 3

Age: 14

Height: 4'8

Full name: Amphitrite Takowasa

°She was born a little less than a year after the events of Splatoon 2 (we have a slightly altered timeline)

°She will BITE you if you call her Amphitrite

°Amp's mother Ashta disappeared when she was about 7 years old, ever since she's been growing up on the streets of Inkopolis alongside her best friend/little brother Sammy.

(pictured here, by @redginaldusrooiakker)

°She does not know her own full name

°She has faint memories of Off The Hook playing on the television when she was little, this inspired her dream of becoming a big time DJ. (cus there's not enough of these Octo DJ bastards running about)

°She made her way to Splatsville at age 13 looking to make it big, although having no money and no home took to crashing on the couch in the Lobby.

°Despite practically living in the Lobby, Amp does not play much Turf War or any other sport. She tends to find them limiting and aggravating, as she's not much of a team player and tends to prefer an aggressive solo charge over working with others. As a result she turns to working at Grizzco for cash.

°She is very reckless on the job, with a tendency to charge in headfirst with a seeming lack of self preservation, most coworkers dislike her for her behavior and think she's a liability. She is, however, effective, and thus Grizz keeps her on and assigns her 'mentors' to keep her focused. (At least until they burn out and she's passed to someone else)

°Mains Octobrush

°After about four months of working for Grizzco, she had a falling out with her favourite mentor and wound up meeting Craig Cuttlefish and joining the Squidbeak Splatoon

°She just wants to feel useful

°Amp has a very casual way of speaking, very rarely using honorifics. Some find this rude, but it's typically a sign that she likes someone a great deal and feels comfortable. She doesn't typically gel well with Authority figures for this reason. (Albeit this is not intentional on her end.)

°She takes to calling Cuttlefish 'Uncle' not long after meeting him.

°Also has very little in the way of a filter with profanity, and tends to cuss a lot when the urge strikes her.

°Very fidgety, tends to chew on wasabi sprouts or tug on her tentacles to keep her mind occupied. Hates sitting still.

°Has very little sense of aim, her method with a splattershot essentially comes down to 'Can't hurt me if you're atomized'

°Almost shoots Octavio after he fell out of the Octobot, Craig had to knock the gun upwards to deflect the shot.

°Prefers baggy clothes

°Will eat anything. Not picky at all.

°Has a love for spicy food, the hotter the better.

°Sometimes eats things with her hands that really should not be eaten with one's hands

°VERY loud for someone her size

°Has no concept of an 'inside voice'

°If you do so much as give her a sandwich she'd probably be willing to die for you.

°Runs very warm

°Very heavy sleeper, can sleep in almost any position.

°The notch in her ear is from a Grizzco Charger by her mentor turned nemesis turned best friend Mono

----

°The scar on her forehead comes from accidentally bashing her forehead against the Octobot's control console during the fight with Grizz

(on that note)

°If you have talked to me about her or simply read her name, you'd probably have figured out that Amp is the granddaughter of DJ Octavio

(This charming fella. Art once again provided by @for-a-new-life)

°Neither of them are aware of this connection until post Splatoon 3's story (although there are a couple AUs where that's not the case)

°Her mother is named Ashta, she is Agent 8 and a Clone of Octavio (if you're wondering why she came out female well the answer is 🏳️‍⚧️)

°Amp's lack of knowledge of or contact with her grandfather comes from her mother's distaste for her father (to put it lightly)

°She looks up to her grandpa a lot, she definitely sees him through rose tinted glasses in her younger years. (Honestly the Takowasa family drama will probably get a reblog dedicated to breaking it down)

°She wouldn't have even been accepted by him if Craig hadn't basically reverse psychology-ed Octavio into actually being a grandpa to her

°Amp is close with Octavio but the relationship is...complicated to say the least

°Despite this she is very determined to upkeep a relationship with him

°When she eventually starts her DJing career, she does so under the stage name of DJ ANG3LFISH, a mix of her title as Agent 3, and of Octavio's occasional nickname for her, Angelfish.

°She keeps up this stage performance until one particularly traumatic performance scares her into silence for a time

°She later comes back onto the music scene in a somewhat fishing themed band called The Reel Deal, with her once again as the DJ, and her friends Mono and now much more grownup Sammy as vocalists.

°Amp would not start singing in their songs until some of their later albums.

°She has a lot of vocal fry which can be very good for their harsher tracks

And finally (for now)

°Amp is a Virgo

(doodle by @redginaldusrooiakker)

(Second part breaking down the Takowasa Family Issues will be out soon!)

EDIT: PART 2 OUT NOW CHECK RBS

[cainache]

more butcher than man ♱ rockstar!eddie munson (reader goes by cady brocks, it’s her middle & last name!)

He'd known you weren't that bright the second he met you at that party in the hills six months ago. And no, he doesn't mean bright in the way you think. You’re smart, so damn smart. He means bright in just the way that you are. You're not a very happy girl.

Anyone who knew your insides could tell. If they’d taken the time to slice you open and personally talk with your organs, they’d know. You repulse at just about everything you do, and it makes him kind of sad. But he doesn't know how to tell you that—tell you that you’re the best and he kind of cares about you. No, he does care about you crazy, he just doesn’t know it yet. It’s so out of character for him, being serious with one girl.

He’s not going to tell you. He definitely won't. He has a reputation to uphold.

He's big bad Eddie fucking Munson.

He's been around the scene since he was twenty two—clawing his way out of Indiana with two guys he called his best friends, he's almost twenty seven now and has just about seen it all and more. At this point, it's like Corroded Coffin is never going to die.

He hopes they won't.

There's five of them now. Gareth, he's grown out his baby face, finally, has gotten ridiculously taller and more lean. Jeff, the tallest of them all, which hadn't been the case back home, his jaw as sharp as butcher knives. And Eddie, he’s everything and everywhere. He’s as quick as those butcher knives. Eddie likes to joke that all the drugs they did made them grow up all big and bad. They’re fucking rockstars.

The ones who didn't come from home, Tatum and Brooks. They're cool guys. Tatum's everyone's fuckin’ heartthrob, him and Eddie's names are always clashing in magazines at who's better with the ladies and occasionally guys. But it's Eddie, only because Tatum's got a chick who's been a soft secret for the last year and a half. They wonder, the media, what Tate's been doing recently. Why he’s been so silent with his night rendezvous that just randomly stopped. He doesn't give a minded fuck, he's keen on making sure the world doesn't dig its nails into Stella. She's a real sweet girl, Eddie knows, she's almost too sweet for Tate. Brooks is a different story, he's as loose as they come. He doesn't pick fights, he plays his music—get his job done, does the drugs, has the girls, and still manages to be at sound check early. Eddie doesn't understand how he does it. Really.

Crystal wishes he'd take some notes from Brooks.

Crystal's a dear. Corroded Coffin's all too dedicated manager, a woman who couldn't have kids and somehow ended up with five too old son's. Eddie loves her, she reminds him of his own before she passed.

But all of that’s besides the point. Right now is about you and how you’re a ticking time bomb he’s been trying to disengage for months now. He likes to think he’s made some progress.

Brooks thinks he’s stupid as fuck for getting caught up in a girl like you. But Eddie’s stop listening to Brooks around year two. So…

You play the guitar in a girl band called Bitten Lace. The names a bit much for you, but you didn’t have a say in it. It’s a four women show, one that makes you feel queasy and really silly. This was a stupid high school thing you guys did for some extra cash to get out of high school and into college; Boston wasn’t fun. But at one particular, silly, wedding—an all too rich man from New York was there and he liked what he saw.

You weren’t ready to pick up and leave, your little sister was six and your mother worked too much at the hospital—and your college essay was almost done. But Mave, a too powerful lead singer was persistent, full of guilt trips and gaslighting. Cady, c’mon! We’d be nothing without you! Don’t do this to us, we need you. With two pleading girls behind her, Trixie and Adina, what were you supposed to do.

You left home, with them.

You weren’t even sure if they really would’ve needed you to get by as a band, but your manger, Summer Lovewell, has said otherwise. You’re good at what you do, even if it’s not what you wanted to do.

It’s why Eddie notices you so quickly the night of that party. Everyone looked more than pleased to be there. Sex on walls and couches and unknown beds. Drugs on skin. Music in ears. It was his scene, his favorite fucking scene.

But staring at you on the balcony by yourself with a sparkling water down by your small kitten heels made his chest feel kind of funny.

Why were you alone?

Of course he knew who you were. You were younger than him and the media loves younger things. You, twenty two and new to fame. Cady fuckin’ Brocks! Beautiful and a little too soft by the media’s words and digs, they were awfully mean to you.

Bitten Lace had popped up like a firework and repeated sending colors to the sky. You guys were fuckin’ good. You were fuckin’ good.

He doesn’t remember what he said to you that night, too coked out. Sometimes, when he simply observes you—he wishes he had been sober that night. He wishes he remembered talking to you. He’s not even really sure how it escalated from there, but now, your like this all too big scarlet secret he’s trying his very hardest to keep away from flashing cameras and attention seeking tabloids.

He knows you, but he wants to know you better.

“Eds. Do you think I look silly in this?” Your voice is soft and your sitting on the hotel floor of Eddie’s room. He’s on tour, again, in Chicago—Bitten Lace happens to be here for press on a new world hit single.

He’s just gotten off of a show, shirtless, jeans a little too big in the waist, black socks, smudge makeup, and a bit of a smell.

He can’t find the wipes to get the glitter and black liner off his face. He’s still a mess. “Silly in what?” He asks with a mumble as he goes through another black book bag. Unlike his band mates, he doesn’t fuck with suitcases. He travels the world with three Jansport book bags that have kissed hell and back about six times. You tease him for them.

“In this..?” Like he’s supposed to know what you’re talking about, he doesn’t even know what you’re looking at—but he let’s you talk. He can’t find the damn wipes— “I don’t know, I didn’t like the shorts. They’re too tiny and the top was even smaller. Like I get it, we have an image, but the image only seems to look decent on Mave. I don’t have strong muscles in my stomach like that.” He hasn’t looked back at you but he gets what you’re talking about now.

He pauses with his bag and looks at you from over his shoulder. Your peering down at Blitz Magazine, Bitten Lace making the cover and a pretty thick section in the pages. The photoshoot for that had been agonizing. Mave’s judging looks to get your shit together and stop tweaking and Adina’s complaining was enough to have you crying in the shower after you’d gotten back to your small apartment. Trixie is much kinder and actually a friend. She’d been pretty silent throughout the whole thing, saying her thank you’s and giving her kind smiles when she needed to. You had tried to follow that method, but it hadn’t stuck.

You guys are big now, a year and a half in and Mave would kill someone if you guys started to slip in relevance. You’re tired and this isn’t what you signed up for in the slightest. But you don’t complain, you send your mother too much or your money, one might think, so she can work less and you call your little sister way too much. It’s really all you can do from here, where ever that is at the time. You don’t get a lot of free time to head back to Boston every now and then and see them. Eddie knows it bothers you. Unlike you, he hates going home and hasn’t been in four years. Hawkins does not need him. Plus, Wayne just likes to chat on the phone. Letters are cool too.

Eddie’s forgotten about the wipes now. His eyes on you as your fingers drag over the photos of the magazine. He hadn’t even been aware you were going to be in it, you hadn’t told him, of course you hadn’t. Brooks had, smacking the article into his chest after the show an hour ago—check out your chick, Munson. Goddamn. It had been moments before you arrived. He hadn’t even been able to look at it yet or give Brooks shit for his foxy words and tone.

He’s standing before you and looking down at the page, he spots you instantly. You are in tiny clothing. You’ve got white and tan cowboy boots on, small-small denim shorts that are tight in the waist and loose around your thighs. There’s a silver chain around your left thigh with a heart charm, it’s cute, Eddie thinks. Your shirt is indeed even tinier than the shorts, tight to your skin and flattering. It’s knitted and triangle shaped around your breast. It’s a nice tank top. You’ve got jewelry everywhere, much more than he’s ever seen you wear. Your hairs blown out and looks lighter—has your hair gotten lighter? He hasn’t seen you in almost two months, this shoot was almost a month ago.. His eyes drag to your hair now, pulled back in a very loose ponytail, you’ve got strands falling and framing your face. Your hair does look lighter. He wonders why you hadn’t brought it up? He kind of wants to kiss you.

“You look killer,” he says softly. He means it.

Your eyes flicker up to his, your chin now aimed up at him. You look so clean. Your lips are parted. “Seriously?”

Eddie smiles and sticks his hand out for you, you take it instantly as he yanks you up too aggressively. You slouch into his chest a little as he leans down to snatch up the magazine. He has a hand still on your arm and the other is holding up the pages. “I think the outfit is fuckin’ cool.” And he’s not just saying that too make you feel better, he really does means it. You look good and it’s all flattering, despite how you see yourself.

“Are you yanking my hair?” Eddie rolls his eyes at your weird phrases and drops the magazine on his made bed. “No. I am not yanking your hair. You look hot, killer.”

Your rolling your eyes now, shoving away from him as your cheeks go all red. He beams like a schoolboy at your sweet reaction.

You’re a slice of heaven.

You slouch into his bed, the sheets creasing under you. Your face is lined with his waist now. You lean forward and let your head meet his bare lower abdomen. It flexes for a second before a hand of his gently cups the crown of your head. “The wipes are by your first bag, by the way. You’ve missed them twice now.”

Eddie scoffs and laugh a little mean, he messes your hair. It is lighter. They’ve add more highlights to you. “You’re so mean.” He says as he pulls away from you to get the wipes, sticking out from under his first bag.

You smile and slide back onto his bed. “I’ll make it up to you and take off the glitter for you, rockstar.”

Eddie smiles, it’s faint and he’s glad you don’t see it. Not very metal of him. “Deal.”

[slytherinwolf-16]

Zenipapa au

Acquired Children part 2

To his surprise, they hadn't been up during the night, at least not that he knew of, but how sneaky can a bunch of little kids really be? It takes his sleep addled brain a moment to realise that a baby is screaming, as well as another kid, when he properly wakes up.

He'd swear high and low that was the fastest he's ever gone from asleep to wide awake in his life. The scene was not what he was expecting though. Goemon was laying on the couch on his back, kicking and crying, with Jigen trying to calm him down while pinching his nose shut, the newsboy cap he's wearing covering his eyes. Lupin was off in the little kitchen, sitting on the counter with his hands over his ears and Fujiko was on the carpet, hands over her ears and kicking and screaming to high hell and back.

Going over, he realised he forgot that a 6 month old would still be in diapers and the smell was atrocious. Jigen looked at him when he walked over and moved to go quiet Fujiko down instead.

"How do you change a diaper?" Zenigata wondered out loud, to no one in particular. Jigen rolled his eyes before glaring at Zeni from under his hat, "How am I supposed to know?! You're the adult!"

It took a very embarrassing call to his mother and sacrificing one of his old bath towels but eventually he managed a change. That was that problem solved, and since the baby stopped crying, Fujiko stopped screaming. Apparently she didn't like loud noises, he noted.

A clang from the small kitchen made him remember he'd left a little pickpocket alone on a counter, so he dashed over there to see if he'd fallen. Luckily that wasn't the case, but Lupin had managed to climb into a cupboard and knock down a pan in the process. He was happily chewing on some crackers straight out of a box, while Zeni tried to figure out how the hell the kid had gotten that high. Some stacked pots and open drawers were his answer and he had to wonder if Lupin had to go searching for his food wherever he lived before.

It didn't matter at the moment, Zeni reached up and pulled the kid out his cupboard, not bothering to take the crackers away. At least he was eating.

"Why don't you share those with the others," He suggested and little Lupin runs over to the couch to hold the box out for Jigen and Fujiko.

Jigen took some crackers and seemed fine with that, but Fujiko stuck her nose in the air and stomped her foot. "What, don't like crackers? C'mon, they're good!" Lupin says, wagging the box in front of her face. She pouted for a few more seconds before grabbing a handful and starting to eat as well.

And Zeni thought he'd have a problem there for a second. To his surprise, little Goemon was also chewing on a cracker, albeit making a big mess of crumbs but that solved the problem of what he was gonna feed them.

A call from the Department made it clear the four were Zeni's problem until further notice, so he didn't need to worry about going to work for another couple days.

He turned around to see Fujiko had his hat again and was running around with it like it was a crown or something. Lupin was running after her and it took Zeni a moment to realise they were just playing some sort of game.

Jigen was currently trying to burp Goemon, but the baby was more interested in pulling the boy's hair rather than cooperating with him. His hair was shaggy in length at best, down to his shoulders, making for an easy target to grab.

With it feeling like chaos, Zeni picked up the landline and called his mother again, asking her to come over and if she felt like going shopping. These kids were gonna stay a while, so he might as well get them a change of clothes and maybe proper diapers for the baby. Thankfully his mother agreed, so now he just had to wait for her to arrive.

Lupin had caught Fujiko and was now swinging her around haphazardly. "Careful!" Zeni called over to them. Kids were one thing to deal with, injured kids were not something he was prepared for yet.

In the hour it took his mother to get there, he learned several things about the four.

1, that Goemon does not like it when Zenigata holds him. Jigen is allowed to do so and Lupin is sometimes allowed to, but only when he sits still.

2, Lupin does not sit still. He climbs on the furniture, the windows and everything else. He'd managed to get the grate off the vents and climb in there, much to just give Zenigata a heart attack and ten minutes later, he was out the window and running up and down the emergency escape stairs. Zenigata had to wrestle him back into the apartment and figure out a way to keep the window shut.

3, that Fujiko thought she was in charge. She was giving orders to the two boys and Zeni, whether they listened or not, and would throw a tantrum if she wasn't getting enough attention. Fujiko also had a colourful vocabulary that she likely learned from being raised in a brothel. 4, Jigen didn't do much of anything for himself. He kept Goemon happy and tried to shut Fujiko up when she screamed, looking like he was expecting to be yelled at for the noise and once he noticed Zenigata was keeping Lupin inside and off the counters, he started trying to keep the four year old in one room, once even bodily wrestling with Lupin, until he tired him out enough for the hyperactive kid to actually take a nap right there on the carpet.

Zenigata was about to start pulling his hair out when there was a gentle knock at the front door. Immediately the chaos changed, Fujiko sped off into the bathroom to hide, Lupin jumped behind the couch and Jigen grabbed Goemon and ducked into the bedroom. He wasn't sure why they were seemingly trained to hide their presence, but he'd figure it out later. For now, he needed to explain the situation to his mother.

It took a while to explain the situation to his mother, but she eventually understood. Zeni was just starting to get worried because of how quiet the four were being, when a high pitched scream pierced the air from the bathroom.

A moment later Fujiko runs out, tiny hands tucked to her chest and running towards Jigen and Goemon, who are still in his room. "What, what what?!" Jigen grumps, going to check the bathroom, Goemon on his hip. "Oh for-" he stops himself, shakes his head and pops back out of the bathroom, "It's just a cockroach".

Zenigata isn't sure he's ever heard such exasperation from a kid that young before. Goemon had somehow picked the roach up and he and Jigen were taking pleasure in chasing Fujiko around with it, Goemon laughing the whole time. She ducked behind the couch where Lupin was for a moment, then screamed again and ran towards Zenigata. "What now?" Jigen asked.

Lupin popped out holding a rat in both his hands, "I made a friend!" Jigen seemed amused, judging by the lopsided smile on his face, and then had to stop Goemon from stuffing the roach in his mouth.

Zenigata picked Fujiko up and she hid her face in his shirt. "The boys mean!" She said, sounding every bit the toddler she was. Zenigata looked towards his mother for help, who was sitting with a hand covering her mouth to try and not laugh at the chaos that was happening.

[romance-of-three-memes]

I know talking about the war in Ukraine has fallen out of the regular new cycle in many parts of the world so talking about it isn't vogue anymore, but anyway if you've ever wondered why Russia wants Crimea *so badly*, it can be broken down into three primary reasons.

1. It provides those sweet, sweet warm water ports Russia is always dying to have since it opens up a lot more commerce options, and with the way Russia's been doing economically, it needs all the help it can get, but unfortunately due to uhhh history, most everyone else is unwilling to help. Many of its neighbors in particular have been getting bullied by it for centuries, and when your bully comes up and asks to borrow a coat because it's cold, you're probably not going to be inclined to hand it over. That, plus Russia is often too proud to ask for help anyway.

2. It offers a nice little foothold into Ukraine, which we've seen them take advantage of.

3. What's most relevant to the general interests of this blog, the fact that Crimea is a defender's wet dream. It's a textbook case of just about everything you could possibly want, it's a peninsula connected to the continent by one small isthmus that at most is three or four miles wide (or about five to seven kilometers). That isthmus is marred by lagoons, and the terrain often changes significantly with the tide, which goes from low to high and vice versa approximately every six hours. It's a perfect choke point. There are a couple of major bridges connecting it to other parts of the continent, but those can easily be guarded or sabotaged. Moreover, Crimea also has some pretty steep mountain ranges, so if you were smart enough to make sure they were under control, you'd have the high ground, especially since so much of the rest of Crimea is pretty flat. It has a ton of rivers acting as natural barriers to either keep the enemy at bay or slow them down if you have to retreat.

Likewise, Crimea is a nightmare for invaders. Sure, they could attack via air or sea, but that's much more expensive and logistically nightmarish than just having your guys march or drive across dry land, and that mostly necessitates having had a really good navy or airforce to begin with. The most 'reliable' strategy is also one of the worst case scenarios for just about any military force, having to throw people into that choke point and cross your fingers hoping that if you throw enough people hard enough for long enough, eventually they'll make headway. This is an incredibly costly strategy, for Crimea in particular just about every successful invasion with somewhat accurate stats count tens of thousands or even hundreds of thousands of deaths often spread out over months, the majority of those being on the invader's side.

'If Crimea is so great for whoever's occupying it then why did Russia take it so easily in 2014?'

A few reasons, largely because they'd been planning ahead for a long time. In the 1940s the Tatars who inhabited Crimea were forcefully removed and it was resettled by ethnic Russians, many of whom continued to be loyal to Russia even when Crimea was made part of Ukraine. A lot of the guys in the military had also been there since the soviet days and felt some sense of loyalty for that, and they happily defected due to that loyalty (or because they knew they were on the losing side and wanted to save their own skin). Basically the population was preemptively primed to not resist because Russia coming along and taking over was seen as a good thing by many of them. The state of the Ukranian military also didn't put them in much of a place to put up a fight, and even the few who tried were quickly handled by the Russian military. So that was a process at least seven decades in the making, but it sure did work out for them, unfortunately.

[addictedtostorytelling]

another question for our meta queen ❤ i completely agree with you on the entire gsr finally getting together having to do with 5.21 committed but i was wondering if you think they got together during the episode (like after adam threatened sara) or after the case was closed? love your analysis ❤

hi, anon!

you are too kind. ❤

re: your question:

so in the years since i made those old posts about grissom and sara first getting together in vegas circa the events of episode 05x21 "committed," i've actually revised my stance a bit.

i now place them getting together a little earlier in s5, between the events of episodes 05x19 “4 x 4" and 05x20 “hollywood brass”—not for any super definitive "it could only be on this particular date because x, y, or z!!!" reason but just because i like that earlier date better.

i think it's fun watching the last several episodes of s5 (including episode 05x21 "committed") with the assumption that they're already together by that point!

i have a post discussing the (admittedly neither-here-nor-there) rationale behind my new favored date here, if you're interested.

as for the possibility of grissom and sara getting together circa the events of episode 05x21 "committed," certainly, my flipflopping aside, it does remain on the table.

as i state in the above-linked post, based on certain benchmarks from both inside of the universe of the show and outside of it, there exists a window of possibility for when grissom and sara might first get together in vegas extending from events of episodes 05x13 "nesting dolls" at the earliest to just prior to the events of 06x05 "gum drops" at the latest, with any date between those two points being fair game.

one thing we can say for certain about the possibility of them getting together circa the events of episode 05x21 "committed" is that if they do so, they don't actually "cross the threshold" during the events of the episode itself.

and why can we say so?

because the events of episode 05x21 "committed" take place, within the universe of the show, on tuesday 04.26.05 and wednesday 04.27.05, and in episode 08x02 "a la cart," sara tells ecklie that she and grissom first became intimate on a sunday.

that so, unless we assume that sara misremembers the calendar day when they first sleep together in vegas, which, given its significance to her, i don't think she does, then they couldn't actually sleep together at any point while they are actually investigating the trent case; they would have to wait until four days later, on the next weekend—which, considering the emotional nature of the case and how it probably affects them even after it's officially wrapped, does seem very feasible if episode 05x21 "committed" is one's favored "get-together date."

thanks for the question! please feel welcome to send another any time.

[science-lings]

Revali desperately wants some kind of reaction from link. Everything he tries fails miserably. After a particular comment about links family, he finally got one! In the form of a punch to the beak

okay I'm combining this one with a very similar prompt: wild gets mad and punches someone in the face hard enough to break their jaw

Link was the very pinnacle of self-control. Even against pricks like Revali. He was an expert in bottling up his petty anger until he was in front of a monster and using it to slice the poor creature into purple dust. He rarely even flinched when confronted with jealous warriors who believed they deserved the sword on his back more than he did.

As if he hadn't spent his whole life with a blade in his hand and an easily verified history of undefeated victory under his belt ever since he was a child. It was that idea that kept him from getting upset when warriors with massive egos tried to taunt him into a fight. He knew his ability and it wasn't his fault that they were threatened by him.

But he wasn't as untouchable as people seemed to think. He wasn't a statue or an idol to be looked upon and prayed to for their salvation, he wasn't a figure from the legends, although, maybe he was. He didn't really feel like one. Behind his well-crafted mask of stone, he was still a person, a teenager.

No matter how perfect he tried to be, he was still just a mortal boy. And he was really dreading the week-long excursion to Rito village to attempt the divine beast's first flight. A whole week spent within earshot of Revali and his constant infuriating squawking.

Unfortunately, the Rito champion had made it his mission to get a reaction out of him, and after hours and hours of endless mocking and fluffing up his feathers, he succeeded.

The princess was off inspecting Vah Medoe for some last-minute checks and had left her personal knight and the divine beasts pilot behind, as neither of them were well-versed in ancient mechanics. Link stayed on his guard while Revali came up with more and more things he could say to bother his fellow champion.

"At this point, I can't even tell if you're simply too stupid to speak or if you have some kind of mental affliction damaging that puny head of yours. I suppose that's what too many moblin clubs to the cranium will get you..." Revali rambled while Link focused on taking even measured breaths.

"Is that why they got rid of you so fast? All those stories about your impossible feats as a toddler were all made up so your parents had a reason to get you out of their sight? I mean, are we supposed to believe that a scrawny four-year-old hylian could even pick up a sword? It's just... too asinine to even consider!" The rito laughed, within the hidden confines of his mouth, the hero clenched his teeth together.

"Well, if that's the case, I don't blame them! Perhaps they were fools for not simply leaving a runt like you to succumb to the elements! I've seen you, you won't even speak to them! I wonder if they regret not leaving you to the beasts as a babe..."

It was then that Link snapped. Before he could break his teeth or let his nails cut into the skin of his palms. After years and years of relentlessly focused control, that was the thing that tossed all his training out the window.

With a swift yank to the bird's champion blue scarf and a satisfying crunch, Link's fist made contact with the side of Revali's beak, sending the rito to the ground causing a heavy thud and a distressed squawk.

"If you wanted me to grace you with my voice so badly you could've just asked, now shut the fuck up for once in your self-obsessed life you overgrown cucco," The hero growled as the rito champion cradled his jaw in his feathery hand and looked up at him with a certain kind of indignant horror.

For the next six days and surely beyond, the mouthy bird had his beak bound by bandages, unable to open it for even the simplest mention of gloating.

The silence was just as sweet as he hoped it would be, and though it was impossible for a single punch to keep Revali's ego at bay, from then on, his insults tended to remain far away from the line he had crossed that day.

Send me prompts?

[railingsofsorrow]

𝙾𝙲𝚃. 13th; 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖗 𝖗.

summary: spencer's letter.

pairing: spencer reid x oc!iris valentia

w.c: 506

warnings/content: brief discussion of coulrophobia (fear of clowns); gushing about gothic literature; false claims about coffee; flirting?

navi

masterpost

series masterlist

whoever wants to be tagged for this fic, fill this out or dm me.

[letter 1] [letter 2] [letter 3] [letter 4] [letter 5] [letter 6] [letter 7] [letter 8] [letter 9]

October 13th.

Dear, Iris.

I had to resort to my friend to understand the meaning of the symbol in your last letter. The “<3”. Apparently, it is a heart? I had no idea.

You don't need to apologize for any delay. I understand.

As for the coffee, did you know recent research proved that coffee can actually count as a meal? It has the necessary nutrients for one entire meal, however. So, one cannot replace it with two or three meals a day. Therefore, I am not totally in the wrong here... But you are. Eat vegetables! They are responsible for reducing the risk of heart disease, stroke, cancer, and it also lowers your blood pressure. They're very good. You're trying, that's what matters.

I don't have a reading goal, but I do read a lot in my line of work. I'd say approximately twenty-seven books per-week and half an hour to finish a book. If I'm focused. If not, then it might take two hours maximum.

I hope that means you're free to rest for a few days. I'd be glad to know you're not sleeping in your lab again, Iris.

About my godson: his name's Henry. He's my best friend's four year old son. Henry loves my magic tricks and our walks in the park. I babysit him sometimes, it's fun. He's the sweetest kid.

What do you classify as a “troublemaker”? And no. I do not have any pictures of that moment.

Yes. Some days, I feel as if I'm used to them. The cases, I mean. But at some point we realize that we can't be as impartial as we try to be. It's just hard. I love what I do, trust me, but it takes a toll on me. I won't deny that. I feel bad writing that, but it's how I feel, I cannot change it.

In this case, I have another irrelevant fact: approximately 14% of the North American population is scared of clowns. Have you ever wondered why? There's a psychological explanation behind it. “Coulrophobia”, or the fear of clowns, exists because their exaggerated facial expressions and make-up creates uncertainty and, to some extent, it can also convey a direct sense of threat.

It is interesting, isn't it? I'm just pondering that because we are currently investigating a case related to this.

How are you liking Romance of the Forest? Is there anything in particular that grabbed your attention? Yes, Radcliffe's writing is exceptional, I felt the same way.

Ps: I don't need to see your hair, I know you're beautiful.

Best regards,

Spencer R.

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taglist: @lilyviolets

[twistedtummies2]

How would your twst ocs react if someone proposed to them?

Ohhhhh...oh, this is gonna be a HARD one. XD I'm really not good at the hyper-romantic type stuff! But I'll try my best... First of all, let's completely disregard the gender of the other party: male, female, undecided...it doesn't matter, love is love, a proposal is a proposal. So if you're looking for explicit M/M or F/M stuff, not happening. XD With that said... I feel like, with James, Elias, Grit, and Maelstrom, in particular...no one would propose to them. Oh, no. THEY would propose to YOU first. Inarguably. Why? Well, James has a swashbuckler's sort of cavalier chivalry, despite his piratical attitude at times, so I think he would feel it's his duty to be the one to make the proposal first. Elias, meanwhile, just has a tendency to be very melodramatic in general. So he'd WANT to make that proposal first. He'd have a freaking speech or poem or song prepared for it and everything. Grit and Maelstrom...I feel both of them have a commonality of being raised a certain way by their parents. In both cases, they were taught to be the ones to make the proposal, so propose they shall. So ask not how they would react to someone proposing to them: ask instead how YOU would react if THEY proposed. ;) With those four out of the way, that leaves us with Nakoda, Billy, Reno, Smitty, and Theodore. In all five cases, I think there's a better chance of the other party proposing before they do, for various reasons. With both Smitty and Billy, I think they'd be very, very blushy. I mean, they're both still getting over the fact they have an S/O to begin with, somebody who is "more than a friend," someone who will give them hugs and even kisses and say loving things to them and go out on dates and so on. They're honestly very content there already. So when the other party reveals they're ready to go the next step...it's a mixture of excitement, nervousness, and absolute bewilderment this is happening at all. And you can be darn sure it's going to end in a LOT of cuddling...in Smitty's case, it's like hugging a teddy bear. In Billy's, it's more like the teddy is hugging you. ;) In Reno's case, he'd be caught off guard, but he'd also try to recover and save face as quickly as possible. He'd smirk and try to show off, laughing about how he wondered how long it would take you, before sort of snorting and saying that he'll accept, provided you give him a kiss right there and then. Just ignore the way his pale cheeks turn a bit pink, or how fast his heart is beating. ;) Theodore would, I think, just sort of freeze up, his eyes VERY wide. He'd be absolutely stunned. After you finish, he'd actually start laughing hysterically; a high-flying, cackling, almost insane laugh, wiping as he eyes and cackling about how he thinks you MUST be joking. Once he gets it through his head that, no, you are VERY serious...I think he'd switch instantly from cackling at the "joke" to sort of scowling as he tries to figure out what you even see in him. But eventually he'd accept it and give you a rare, soft smile before saying yes...mind you, with the added (affectionate) taunt that you have to be very dumb to propose to him. The kiss on your nose indicates he doesn't mind. As for Nakoda...he is different from all the rest. Because while all the rest will accept right then and there...he won't. He won't say no, either. He'll say he has to think about it. And he means it: he DOES have to think about it. Nako, as I've indicated many times in the past, isn't really used to long-running romantic relationships. He's used to one night stands...and a lot of those end with his partner ending up as food. So, even more than Smitty and Billy...he NEVER thought he'd get this far. He's been trying hard, mind you, but the very IDEA that this could become something more...that's something he almost can't wrap his head around. And it now means he has to really figure out what it's going to mean if he says yes. It's not that he doesn't trust you with all this, it's that he doesn't trust HIMSELF. Eventually, he'll say yes...then it's all a question of what comes next.

[imjustanasshole]

I was just sitting here, studying, and listening to my funny little gay byler playlist when my funny little gay brain had an idea for a funny little gay scenario so I'm going to explain it because there is no way I'm gonna be thinking about this all day on my own.

So we all know that Mike wants to be a writer, right? I'm assuming that's like an established fact (no idea if it's 100% canon but idgaf, it's canon). And as a fellow writer apprentice I know for a fact that the first thing you have to learn is to write in all four literary genres (drama, fiction, nonfiction and poetry), and then when you find the one you're most comfortable with you look into the subgenres and usually find one (or two) and kind of stick with it (this is not always the case but it's the most usual).

Right, so you may be wondering why the fuck am I ranting about my special interest instead of just getting to the point but bear with me dear.

I imagine that Mike is probably more inclined to fiction, and inside that either fantasy or sci-fi (because of the whole being a DM thing, which involves A LOT of fantastic writing and plotting), but he still tried other styles because why not? It's not like he can really experiment with anything else in his life, so might as well. When El and Will moved to California my boy probably had way more free time than before, and I'm guessing he started writing more to distract himself.

--

So he suddenly found himself writing poetry. About nothing in particular, a few of them were about saying goodbye to the summer and welcoming autumn, in others he romanticised random moments, and there were some that he just shoved on the bottom of a drawer in embarrassment when he realised what he was doing. But he had never told anyone about them.

Writing letters to El was easy, like everything with her, they were all organised and simple to read since it was still kind hard for her. He always knew what to write to her about: how was everyone doing, the begging of the school year, his teachers, a lot of 'I miss you's... And asking about Will, he always asked about Will. He found it easier than directly writing to him, since every single time he tried to his mind went blank after "Dear Will".

One afternoon, after recklessly neglecting his best friend for weeks, he decided that enough was enough and promised himself that he wouldn't get up from his desk until he had written a letter to Will. And so he started to write. He spent hours and hours writing and erasing and scratching words, using multiple pieces of paper, saving some and throwing others away, extremely focused. So much that he didn't even hear his mother calling him at dinner time, Nancy had to go up and knock on his door, which made him snap out of his trance.

"Mike, dinner!" She yelled from the hall.

He went down and ate with his family but couldn't concentrate, he wanted to make sure the letter was good, Will deserved at least a decent letter. So as soon as he was dismissed he ran up stairs and locked himself in his room. He suddenly realised he had blacked-out completely and didn't remember essentially anything that was on the papers, so he grabbed what at the time he had considered the best draft and started reading through it. He was shocked. For a moment he thought he was accidentally reading one of his practice poems, but soon realised he had never wrote one titled "Dear Will", well, now he technically had. It was line after line of poetry, describing the feeling of missing Will with metaphors and comparisons such as how the trees miss their leafs on winter. 'You're my summer, Will' he had written on the third page 'I long for you like I do for the flowers on winter'.

What. The. Fuck.

By the time he finished reading through everything it was already past midnight. Mike was speechless. He kept staring at the letter as if hoping that it would change the content on its pages.

He couldn't understand. He had never had any trouble switching back from poetry when writing to El, why was it different with Will? Why did he write him a poem?

Then he abruptly came to a realisation.

"Oh no." He mumbled to himself getting up from the floor. "No, no, no." He staggered towards his desk, landing on his knees. He pulled out all his poems from one of his shelves and he scattered them on the floor. "Oh no."

All of them were about Will. Of fucking course.

The place were they met, their sleepovers, old campaigns, his old house in Hawkins, his drawings... Even the poetic description of an "imaginary person" was just a written portrait of Will.

Mike's whole body went numb. How could it be? Is this even a coincidence? Was Will his muse?

"No." He said, a little louder than intended, and he threw all of it to the trash. He wanted to scream and cry and burn it all.

He just decided to go to bed and never think about it again. But of course, things are never that easy for Mike Wheeler, aren't they? Through his head echoed the question 'Is Will my muse?' Over and over. He knew one thing was true, that letter was one of the best things he'd ever written. Could he even call himself a writer after throwing away his best work?

He groaned and got up from his bed, then he rescued all the crumbled pieces of paper from the trash can and hid them very deep inside of one of his drawers. All would be well if he never wrote a letter to Will ever again. Yes, that's it, that's the best solution. The only solution.

--

Yeah so, that's it, I didn't plan for this to be a whole ass one-shot, just a little thought, but now it's done so thanks for reading!!!!

I thought this could be a cute explanation for why Mike didn't write to Will and heard about him through El instead, but it's just an idea.

edit: I had to go through this again a day after and I changed some minor things (mostly just orthography), I think it's better written now. anyway thanks to everyone who interacted, you're all so nice :')

[weekend-conspiracy-theorist]

an entry in the tim&steph role swap au

"Bullock," Jim said, just pointedly enough to drag his detective's attention away from the shitty breakroom coffee he'd just spilt on his eternally hideous tie. They'd paused in the bullpen on their way out of a conference room, where they'd been discussing the kind of case that made Jim feel ever closer to retirement.

God, he missed Montoya. She'd have had something incredibly crass to say that would at least have made him want to laugh, even if he wouldn't. He couldn't say she hadn't seemed to be happier with whatever it was she was up to these days (he, very purposefully, did not know what that was), last time she'd caught him for a drink, but he still missed her on the force.

Harvey grunted, glancing up as he snapped his fingers at a nearby officer and made a hand gesture that could easily have meant something rude rather than "go get me some paper towels." Luckily, Marquess caught his drift, and with a roll of her eyes she set aside her pen and rose from her desk. "What?"

"Who is that." Jim tipped his chin across the bullpen, sipping from his own terrible paper cup of breakroom coffee.

Harvey looked over. Squinted. "Berkowitz, I think," he said, and then caught Jim's unamused glower out of the corner of his eye. He squinted again--this time not focusing on Officer Piper Berkowitz, who Jim knew at least by sight because Jim made it a point to know all of his officers (and also because she was taller than every other person in the bullpen), but on the maybe-teen with the big camera and the piercing eyes who was inducing that look of begrudgingly amused annoyance on her face. She had her arms crossed over her chest and her hip propped against her desk; closed body language, unwilling to be convinced by whatever had her conversational partner gesturing so passionately, yet where he looked combative, there was an answering tick of a smile on her lips.

Even as Jim watched, his officer unfolded her arms, sighing, and there was a flash of smug victory in the kid's eyes.

Harvey grunted again. "Some kinda PI. He's popped up a few times recently. For one, he was at that club Supergirl and Wonder Girl busted up, few months back."

It was Jim's turn to grunt. What a headache. It made him appreciate the Batman all the more whenever he had to deal with the young adult super powered set. Even if most of the Bat's brood weren't metas, he had no idea how the man handled that many teens and twenties vigilantes at once.

He sipped more of his coffee. Watched the PI lean on the back of Berkowitz's chair as she pulled up what looked like a license plate search on her computer. "Why's he here and what's he want with Berkowitz?"

"What do they ever want?" Harvey asked dryly. "Information he's supposed to be asking for through official channels, I'd assume."

Sure. But why Berkowitz? was the more important part of the question. She was a beat cop with no particular pull in the department; he only even knew her name because he made it a point to know all their names. He hadn't thought she was crooked, or easily bribed or cajoled--no more than anyone else, anyway--nor especially brilliant at her job. He'd know more than just her name, if she stood out from the crowd, either positively or negatively.

Marquess returned from the bathroom, one hand full of paper towels which she shoved into Harvey's chest. "You're welcome," she said, pointedly, and Harvey scowled at her.

"Keep an eye on it," Jim said.

"Sure," Harvey grunted. He was already more focused on blotting coffee off of his tie.

Jim sighed.

***

The PI--the junior PI, he learned--wasn't any kind of priority for Jim. There were a couple dozen private investigators floating around the city, most of them attached to three or four larger detective agencies, most of them getting their work from law firms and bond agencies. The kid's age and his attitude made him an oddity, but--

Jim was a busy man, with a horrible, thankless job. Oddities were just--

Oddities.

Harvey brought him tidbits occasionally, when he bothered to remember that Jim had asked him to be paying attention. Tim Drake had recently turned 21; he worked for Red Bird Investigations; he owned controlling shares in Drake Industries, a company formed and previously run by his now-dead parents, but he had as little as possible to do with the business; one week, he brought in enough evidence to close the case on a string of robberies that had stretched across the East End, after a young woman grew frustrated with the GCPD's progress and hired him on; the next, he broke the nose of one of Jim's officers after getting in between him and one of Gotham's many sex workers. (The incident was under investigation; no charges were being pressed until it was determined whether the officer had in fact attempted to sexually extort the young man as was alleged.)

Most of Jim's rank and file officers seemed to dislike the kid, and the feeling was clearly mutual. Harvey said it was because Drake made himself easy to dislike, but Jim knew it was deeper than that. He was fighting a constant, losing war with his own people to remind them that they were not above the law; that they were public servants; that just because the man or woman beside you wore the same badge as you did, didn't mean you automatically trusted their word above that of the civilian on the other end of their gun. He just could never seem to convince them not to blindly close ranks around each other--even the clean ones seemed to think camaraderie trumped the need for objective detective work.

Tim Drake afforded Jim's officers none of the respect that they believed they deserved for wearing their badges, and that was what they disliked. Berkowitz, Jim assumed, was one of the few officers with her head on straight enough to recognize the kid could be a useful source of information, if an annoying one.

Jim told Harvey to shut it down, next time he heard anyone talking shit about any private investigators, but he knew even as he said it that he was wasting his breath.

***

"Piper."

It wasn't a shout, but the sheer command behind the name had every head in the bullpen whipping towards the door, including Jim's--

He saw disheveled black hair and wide, pale eyes, a swollen nose and heavy bruising blooming across a tense jawline, and then Officer Miles Franklin threw up his arm and stepped in between Tim Drake and the rest of the bullpen. Berkowitz was pushing her way out of the breakroom, but even her lofty height and broad shoulders had a hard time parting the sea of gawking policemen.

"What are you doing in here, Drake?" Franklin demanded. "This isn't open to the public--"

"Out of my way, pig," Drake snarled, actually snarled, and brushed his arm out of the way. "I need to talk to--"

"The fuck did you just call me?!"

Jim had been halfway out the door into the stairwell on the opposite side of the room when Drake burst into the bullpen, but he still found himself shouting and his feet moving the moment Franklin grabbed the front of the kid's shirt, knowing Drake was about to get shoved bodily into the wall--

Drake moved, faster than anyone Jim had seen without a mask over their eyes, and Franklin was the one plastered against the wall as Drake twisted his arm up behind his back.

Half the room was yelling, but Drake's voice carried. "I don't have time to play games with you when there are kids in danger, you self-aggrandizing scum of the earth goddamn poli--"

Berkowitz yanked Drake backwards by the collar of his tshirt. His feet actually briefly left the ground. "What kids, Tim?" she demanded. Steady; calm; a distinct counterpoint to Drake's trembling fury.

"Fuck," he cursed, with feeling, and even before his toes touched back down he was fumbling in his messenger bag for that same massive camera Jim had seen him carrying the last time he was in the precinct. "Piper, I found Carrie Prentiss--"

"The runaway?" Franklin asked scathingly, as he yanked his uniform shirt back into place.

Drake and Berkowitz ignored him, though she shifted between the two of them to break his line of sight on the PI. "It's a fucking trafficking ring, at least ten kids involved, and I think they're moving them tonight. I've got--"

He barely had to shove the camera into her hands before she was already flipping through the pictures in the gallery, her own jaw tightening.

When she noticed a presence leaning over her shoulder, she whipped her head around, something nasty on her lips--but it died when she realized it was Jim. Neither of them had noticed him telling the rest of the room to shut the fuck up and stand down.

"Where is this?" he asked Drake, gruffly, as he took the camera out of Berkowitz's hands; Drake rattled off an address down near the docks, his hands flexing at his sides and nearly vibrating in his boots. Had to have taken him thirty minutes just to get here. "You couldn't just call 911?"

"And have them send a marked cruiser to check my story? Make them move those kids immediately?" A trickle of blood had begun to leak slowly down his upper lip, and he swiped it away with his shirtsleeve, adding sardonically, "I also may have stumbled into some of Falcones' boys in my haste to put enough distance between me and their people to safely make a call to Berkowitz. I was three-quarters of the way here before I shook them."

"Your fucking luck," Berkowitz said flatly. "That's got to be the third time this month you've 'stumbled' into some kind of enforcement bullshit."

"It's a talent. Comissioner, please--"

Jim had seen enough. License plates; faces; identifying marks. Zip ties on wrists too small for handcuffs. "I need SWAT on the phone yesterday," he snapped. "Simmons--"

***

It was a long night.

Most of them were long nights, but this was--

It was a long night.

"Thank you," he said, gruffly, and resisted the urge to give Berkowitz a side eye. She was a full head taller than him; he wouldn't get much out of it.

Berkowitz was the one to bring him coffee, looking tired and faintly apologetic, as he observed Drake's after-the-fact questioning. Jim suspected he wasn't the only one on an adrenaline crash; despite his typical standoffish and abrasive demeanor, the kid had turned over his SD card readily, additionally offered up the case notes he also had shoved into that messenger bag, and was at least neutral, though not quite polite, as he walked Simmons through the work that was going to result in fourteen reunited families, by the time they finished tracking the rest of the kids' parents down.

(Carrie Prentiss's mother was out in the bullpen, holding her daughter tightly and sobbing, comfortable in the knowledge that her decision to hire a private investigator had saved over a dozen lives.)

She just sighed, staring through the mirror at Drake. "He been behaving himself this whole time?"

"More or less."

"Minor miracles."

Jim snorted. He sipped the coffee. "How'd you end up in the middle of this?" he asked, keeping his tone neutral. "Not exactly your beat."

"No, not my beat at all," Berkowitz agreed, and there was something in her tone that had Jim turning, his eyebrows rising. She scrubbed a hand over her face. Left it pressed against her cheek as she watched Drake through the mirror.

"Four years ago," she said quietly, "I'd had my badge just long enough to think I knew a little bit about what I was doing, when me and my partner of the time got dispatched to the aftermath of a home invasion. The paramedics were already there, and it was--well. There've been way nastier murders in Gotham, but not ones I've personally been on the scenes of. The guy's sixteen-year-old son had got home right after the perps left, tried to do CPR; he was covered in blood, had been going so long he'd broken some of his dad's ribs, was refusing to let the paramedics pull him away. Turned out I actually had absolutely no goddamn clue what I was doing, that had become clear the second I stepped into that house, but someone had to get that kid out of there. So I picked him up under the armpits and carried him right out the door." She held her arms out straight, demonstratively. "Kid cursed up a blue streak, fought like a demon, and I just held him there on the front lawn, let him go at it until all the fight just... left him."

Berkowitz breathed in slowly through her nose, letting her arms fall. "When the tabloids came knocking, wanting the scoop on the most violent murder in Bristol since the eighties, straight from the lips of the first responders who had pulled Jack Drake's son off of his lifeless body, I was the only one who told them to go to hell. Guess Tim appreciated that. There are a few other officers he's willing to work with when he has to, but I'm the only one he ever seeks out willingly. He's a perceptive little brat, probably knows I have a hard time holding his attitude against him when I know where it comes from. When I don't always disagree with him."

Jim, as deliberately obtuse as he ever was, definitely did not think about a coat draped over a young boy's shoulders or a black cape that may have one day replaced--

He didn't think about it. "This goddamn city," he said, instead, and Berkowitz snorted.

"Every day I wake up and I think, 'This is it. The day I finally fucking quit.' But I never do it." She scrubbed a hand over her face. "Sometimes I think Tim's probably right, when he gets frustrated with me for acting too much the cop and starts getting nasty about my life choices. I don't know if we can really change things from the inside. But what the hell else am I supposed to do?"

It wasn't like Jim had never asked himself the same question.

"The best you can," he told her gruffly, and drained the rest of the coffee she'd brought him.

***

Jim had added new data points to his list about Tim Drake:

The kid was, objectively, a genius. He was also, objectively, an asshole, and a trouble magnet, and suffering from a terminally self-important case of "being twenty-one years old." It all formed a picture of a brilliant, traumatized teenager who was growing up into an ewually brilliant adult with a massive chip on his shoulder, but Jim didn't--

There were still questions.

Where the hell the kid's boss ever was, for one. It had been a minute since Jim had brushed up on the State of New Jersey's training requirements for private investigators, but he was pretty sure Drake shouldn't have had as much free rein as he did. Why even a traumatized millionaire's son would turn to private investigating instead of running the company he wanted nothing to do with and nonetheless refused to let go of. How he got half the information he turned up with, because even a genius didn't have encyclopedic knowledge of Gotham's crime families because he "liked to keep his ear to the ground," as Berkowitz reported, making scare quotes and rolling her eyes.

The oddity was becoming a genuine concern, low in Jim's gut. Drake only seemed to be blunt and standoffish; Jim became more certain, every few and far between time that he watched the PI move around his precinct, that Tim Drake was a man who played his cards close to his chest; who never gave up more than he got back; who was pulling strings to get what he wanted even when it wasn't clear what that was.

It was time for a second set of eyes.

***

Jim wasn't surprised that Drake figured out what was happening before they made it to the roof of the GCPD. Those sharp, pale eyes of his didn't miss much; they certainly didn't miss the ROOF ACCESS sign or the keycard Jim swiped to open the door.

"Gee," Drake drawled, massive coffee cup in one hand and the other tucked nonchalantly into his pocket. "I don't think I'm supposed to be up here, Commish."

Jim had been amused to realize, the first time he had an actual talk with the kid, that Drake was utterly torn between his instinctive dislike of police officers and his begrudging personal respect for Commissioner Gordon, and he tended to compromise by alternately being sarcastic or quiet, rather than boldly rude and antagonistic like he was with most of the department.

An expression twisted across Drake's face, there and gone before Jim could identify it.

"Special circumstances," Jim said gruffly. He didn't even have to look to find the switch for the Bat Signal; his fingers found it on autopilot. He'd summoned the Bat on accident more than once when he'd come up here to smoke and didn't notice himself going through the motions. "You've helped us close a few big cases recently, and I like to make sure all my resources are familiar with one another."

"Makes sense," he said, with another unidentifiable note in his voice. Amusement, maybe. Not that that made sense.

The Bat wasn't going to take long to show up--Jim had given him something of a heads up in advance--and so Jim was particularly on alert as he lit his cigarette. He didn't go so far as to peer directly into the shadows, but he kept his attention on his lighter and searched his periphery. He felt the shift in the air when he arrived, but wasn't sure yet where he'd landed. Was that corner there darker than normal?

"Batman," Drake greeted calmly, turning his chin to gaze at a different shadowy corner, and Jim felt his eyebrows raise as Gotham's Dark Knight stepped slowly into... well, not into the light. But out of the worst of the gloom.

"Tim," Batman returned, as unflappable as ever.

Jim took a drag of his cigarette, fighting back the surprise that wanted to blossom across his own face.

"OH MY GOD!"

The excited shriek split the night, and Drake--who Jim had yet to see wearing any expression that wasn't some combination of stoic, smug, or pissed off--lit up like a Christmas tree. His coffee cup sailed towards the trashcan by the door (missed, barely) and he sprinted towards--

Jim took an involuntary step forward, a gasp strangling his voice, as Drake leapt off the roof.

He seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and then a second figure, blonde hair and a grapple line streaming behind her, slammed into him. Drake's arms flung around her neck, Batgirl's arms flung around his waist, and she spun him in a circle once her boots touched down on the rooftop, laughing delightedly. In a move too fluid to be improvised, their grips reversed as she was setting Drake down, and then he was spinning her around instead.

"Tim!" she cried, throwing her arms up as she leaned back into his grip. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

"When the hell did you get back from space?!" Drake demanded.

He tried to put her down, but Batgirl was suddenly clinging to him, octopus-like, with all four limbs. "God, check your messages. Literally, I had walked into the Cave when B was like, 'Oh, I've gotta go to the GCPD,' and I was like, 'Fuck yes, it's been forever since I got to hang with the Commish,' and stowed away in the Batmobile. Wonder Girl and Impulse say hi, by the way, and--"

Batman cleared his throat.

His expression, even through the cowl, even through the gloom, was long suffering. Jim--remembering the migraine he'd gotten from dealing with Supergirl and Wonder Girl--felt an uncommon surge of pity towards the man in the cape.

"Go find another roof for your meeting, B, we're busy," Batgirl told him sternly, but she did disentangle herself from Drake, leaving only one arm possessively curled around his shoulders.

"I take it you've all already met," Jim said, with nominal good humor and just enough bite to remind the Bat that their flow of information was meant to be a two-way street.

Batgirl's eyes got big behind the cowl, reflected in the way it pulled at her cheeks. "Ooh, is that what this was supposed to be?" she stage-whispered to Drake. "What'd you do, huh? Break another cop's nose?"

"Another?" Batman repeated.

"Don't worry about it," Drake said calmly. Batgirl cackled as Batman's expression grew further pained. "Officer Pickens has bigger things to worry about. Like the IA investigation." He paused, squinted at the Bat, and added, "Don't give me that look. Unlike all of your little minions--" he flinched as Batgirl pinched him in retaliation-- "your disappointment has literally no effect on me."

Batman, visibly, took a breath. "Honestly, Jim," he said, just a hint more exasperated than gravelly, "I was trying not to jinx you. You don't deserve to have to deal with this."

"What am I, Beetlejuice?" Drake asked dryly. "You say my name three times and I'm summoned from the ether?"

Batgirl pressed her nose to Drake's ear, whispering something that made his mouth curve up in a wicked smirk. He tilted his chin towards his shoulder, telling her quietly, but not quite quietly enough, "Robin and I bonded while you were gone. I think it's giving him a better idea of the kind of shit we used to pull, and he wishes he was still oblivious."

Used to pull, Jim thought. (Didn't think, not really, because he didn't want to know.) They'd clearly known each other a long time. He couldn't remember any male, black haired, teen vigilantes in Gotham when Batgirl had been Robin, which meant--

He wasn't thinking about it. He genuinely, deliberately, would not be looking for 5'8"-5'11" blondes in Tim Drake's personal life.

(Especially not ones who intersected with his own daughter's.)

Jim took a drag off his cigarette. Although...

"There was a kid," he said slowly, "who used to 'run messages' into the precinct on behalf of some anonymous tipster. Montoya always suspected he knew more than he was letting on. Kid had such a baby face, wonder if he's lost it now that he's an adult."

Neither Drake nor Batgirl reacted, in a way that was a reaction in and of itself.

"Sounds irresponsible on behalf of the tipster," Drake managed, keeping his face as straight as possible. "Getting a kid involved like that?"

Batgirl coughed.

"I'm gonna stop asking questions before the answers keep me up at night," Jim decided, stubbing his cigarette out on the side of the Bat Signal--there was a bare spot in the black paint, just there--and tossing it into the trashcan. It stuck on the coffee splattered against the lip, drawing attention to the cup on the ground next to it, and Drake looked faintly embarrassed.

Batgirl cocked her head to the side. "You could've almost looked cool if you'd actually made that."

"I hate you," Drake told her.

"You wish you hated me," Batgirl told him.

"I wish I'd never had children," Batman told Jim.

Batgirl brightened, even as she picked Drake up in a fireman's carry--he yelped, scrambling to hold on--and grabbed her grapple gun off of her belt. "Good thing I'm not your kid!" she said, cheerfully, and for the second time tonight someone jumped off of the GCPD roof.

Jim tucked his hands in his pockets, surveying the living gargoyle in front of him. He waited long enough he thought the kids were out of earshot, then waited some more until the Bat gave him a slight nod. Figured they'd tried to hang around to eavesdrop. "I take it that whatever ulterior motives I'm detecting in him, they're probably nothing to worry about."

"Hngh." Batman shifted, and his cape brushed gently against the concrete rooftop. "I recently found out she's been manually deleting him off of my World Domination Predictive Algorithm spreadsheets for years," he admitted. "There's a lot of uncertainty to those anyway, of course. And I... trust her judgement."

"You trust his?"

"Nominally." The barest hint of a smile. "As far as I can tell, he hasn't ever tried to take over the world."

Jim snorted. "Your opinion has been noted."

"Anything else you needed me for?"

Jim crossed one leg over the other, leaning back against the wall. "Word on the street is Black Mask has been making moves into Triad territory. Any ideas why."

"Mm. Three weeks ago..."

[lasitakh]

Sun, Nov 12

Hi there,

It's almost midnight in Jakarta, and I find myself unable to sleep, with a thoughts swirling through my mind. I couldn't quite pinpoint who to talk to about all of this, so I ended up scrolling through my contact list, but no one in particular came to mind. That's why I'm writing this letter to you, imagining that you're somehow listening, even though your existence is still shrouded in mystery, huh.

These past few days have been really tough, you know. I feel like the universe has been putting my patience and anger to the test, pushing me to my limits.

Let me tell you about what happened yesterday. I was just about to to sleep when I stumbled upon a post from one of Sal's friends, celebrating his birthday. And there she was, Sal's most recent ex, looking all happy. Sal had assured me that their relationship was over, but seeing her there made me feel a mix of jealousy and sadness. She was there, regardless the separation.

Why could Sal love her more than me? We had a solid five years together, and this new girl just breezes in for four months and suddenly she’s the queen of his world. Why was she even at his birthday bash when she's out of his life? And here I am, playing the role of the ex, but I didn't get an invite? I mean, seriously! The best ex gets the VIP pass, and I, who practically took on the roles of mom, mentor, and rehab center, didn't even get a nod?

You know what really got under my skin? The fact that Sal could walk away from our relationship without suffering the way I did, and yet, when he split from this girl, it seemed like he went through all the trauma. It was as if he fought for her, not for me. And that really messed with my ego.

I've carried this insecurity with me throughout my life. I've always wondered why people could so easily walk away from me without putting up a fight (Well, except for Bi, but he's a bit of a unique case). I've often felt like I wasn't enough for anyone, like it was effortless for them to continue their lives without me, while I was left suffering after each separation.

So, Sayang, if you ever contemplate leaving me someday, please, let's not even start building a relationship in the first place. I'm terrible at goodbyes. Unless you're willing to come back to me, no matter how challenging it may be, let's give this relationship a shot. But if you plan to walk away just like the others, please don't.

-------

So, Sal and I had a five-year relationship, and he was quite the breath of fresh air in my life – a real game-changer.

See, ever since I was a kid, life was all about grinding and fun was a rare guest. Then Sal came in, and he brought something I'd never really experienced before – pure joy and fun. Being with him was like taking a vacation from life's constant stress. It was just non-stop fun. He opened my eyes to the idea that life isn't all about being in a perpetual fight-or-flight mode; we can actually loosen up a bit. It was my first taste of really enjoying life, something I'd never truly known.

But here's the twist. Constantly being carefree and happy seemed too good to be true. The real world requires hard work and making tough decisions. Sal was 100% fun, but when it came to the nitty-gritty of adulting and facing life's tough stuff, he always seemed to back away. That made me wonder if all this fun was enough or if it was time to grow up and tackle the real-life problems that might pop up any day.

Before Sal, I was the type of person who mostly used my brain to make decisions, and some people thought I was a bit cold-hearted. Sal changed that. I started using my heart more and my brain less. But eventually, my brain told me to cut the nonsense because what I had with him was a fantasy. Life isn't all sunshine and rainbows; there's thunder too. If Sal couldn't step up to face the thunder, maybe I needed a partner who could tackle tough challenges with me, not just party and goof around.

After the breakup, it felt like my world was falling apart, and happiness seemed elusive because the happiest I'd ever been was with him. I started questioning whether my decision to trust my brain over my heart was the right call.

Those 2.5 years that followed were rough. I lost my confidence, questioned myself, felt like a completely different person, couldn't sleep, and my heart felt hollow. Countless sessions with psychologists, psychiatrists, even hypnotherapist – I even saw a neurologist because the trauma messed with my brain, causing sleep issues and near-daily headaches. Some days, I couldn't get through without painkillers or antidepressants.

As I made some progress, I jumped into another relationship, which turned out to be another tragic chapter that sent me spiraling again (I'll spill those beans later).

It took yet another round of countless sessions to recover from Sal's breakup and the toxic rebound relationship afterward.

Then, out of the blue, Sal sent me a message in the middle of the night, apologizing for how things ended between us. He admitted he was a chicken who ran away, not really thinking about how I felt at the time.

At first, I was all mixed up, and part of me even wondered if this was a sign of another chance for Sal and me. But I tried to keep my head above my heart, so I dug deeper to figure out why it took him 2.5 years to apologize.

Turned out he got stressed out after breaking up with his most recent girlfriend and decided to ask for forgiveness from people in his past who he had issues with. It was more about setting himself free. So, meh, the apology wasn't really for me.

I asked him why he just left when I suggested we part ways, and he said it was because my pace was too fast, and he couldn't keep up. He also claimed he was stressed when we split (though he couldn't quite remember how he coped). Total BS, if you ask me, because he seemed just fine, and no one forgets how they survive a heartbreak.

His explanation made me realize that trusting my brain was the best decision I ever made. Without my love, he was just an ordinary dude, and without all the fun, well, he really was nothing. So, that's the story.