#it’s an artificial wall! if you can’t see past or through it then it will feel like that

[chewwytwee]

If you have the space in your room, hiiiiiiighly recommend getting a little clothes rack. It’s great for breaking up space and showing off clothes so it doubles as a decoration

[notsohornytoad]

Poolvertober Prompt | Autumn

Canon-typical language, fluff, light angst, domestic.

——————

“It’s here! It’s here!”

Logan cracked open his eyes, irritated. It had taken him so long to get to sleep the night prior, and here was Wade, jumping up and down on the mattress, not even worried in the slightest that the Wolverine might wake up pissed and stabby.

He pulled the covers back over his head.

“Oh no you don’t.” Said Wade, pulling at the blanket.

Logan pulled back. Wade yanked harder. When he heard the telltale sign of threads ripping, Logan let go, which sent Wade flying into the drywall.

“You two morons are fixing that!!” Al screamed from another room.

With a groan, Logan pushed himself up into a sitting position. His hair was pressed flat on the side he had slept on.

“What the fuck are you going on about?”

Wade pulled himself out of the Deadpool-shaped hole in the wall and brushed the dust off his arms.

“Uh, only the best, most awesome month of the year?” He said as if the other man should have known instinctively. “October? Breathtaking foliage? Crisp Autumn air? Delicious apple cider?”

Logan gave him a blank look, until Wade added “spiked cider, in your case?”

“Now that I can get behind.”

“Yeah, I wish you’d get behind,” Wade mumbled.

“What was that?” Logan said, as if he didn’t hear everything in a twelve mile radius.

“Nothing!” Wade ran over and threw open the closet. “Which sweater do you want to wear pookie? Let’s see theres this one that says ‘I never skip leg day’ with a picture of a turkey dinner on it… this one of George Costanza saying ‘I’m shifting into Soup Mode,’ haha, classic… oh this one that says ‘DILF: Damn I love Fall,’ and who could forget the one that says ‘It’s Autumn baby, let’s bone in the Waffle House bathroom!’”

“… you’re fucking with me you do not have that on a sweater.” Logan said, still sitting on the bed.

“Ok the last one I made up but the other ones are real,” Wade said with a grin.

“Can’t I just wear my flannel?” Logan was already resigned to whatever the hell Wade had planned.

“Well you do make a sexy Lumberjack, all the tumblr reblog girlies know,” he looked in a certain direction and winked.

Logan sighed.

———

As Logan, Wade and Mary Puppins walked through the North Woods of Central Park, Logan had to admit that Wade’s excitement may have been well placed.

The trees were mid transition from their brilliant greens into the deep shades of red and orange that Autumn always promised. The red maples and scarlet oaks looked old and wizened, despite the fact that they were probably younger than he was.

Logan had an inkling that he had been here at its creation but the gaps in his memories were too great to know for sure. The artificial woods almost reminded him of a time he lived with someone, an attempt at a normal life, the splitting of wood… he shook the thoughts from his head. It was no use dwelling on those foggy thoughts. They never stayed with him.

As Wade rambled on about some movie he saw recently about a clown or something, Logan found himself staring. He watched the movement of Wade’s lips as he spoke, the way his brow moved with emphasis, how the daylight shone through his eyelashes almost illuminating them. He suddenly felt like he never wanted to forget this moment, never wanted it taken from him like so many memories of the past.

He reached out and held Wade’s hand.

Wade smiled as they continued to walk, and a single maple leaf drifted down from above.

[spicyicymeloncat]

I don’t remember if I ever rlly elaborated on my potential Ninjago s12 but I’m listening to GRRRLS and it reminded me of it, so briefly here’s all the ideas I had for it (and are currently having for it because I am now coming up with stuff on the fly):

The focus on Jay would be forshadowed by the fact that Jay doesn’t get a resolution to what he does in s11. He seemingly feels bad about ignoring Zane’s dream and in general feels more of a disconnect to the group. This is subtle and he tries not to let it bother him. This is highlighted more at the start of the season, as they are investigating the mechanics hideout.

We would see that Jay gets transported as player 2. He arrives at the very core of prime empire, the tower, which also serves as menu screen. He’s greeted by Unagami, who offers to play games with him, an offer he takes due to being excited

I think on the ninja’s end it would mostly be the same. BUT Whilst Zane and Pixal can’t enter the game due to risk of their data getting scrambled (how that works I’ve decided is that, Prime Empire works by translating bio matter to digital but it can only do bio matter bc it knows how it works, and it doesn’t know how nindroids are made and therefore can’t translate them without risk of error), zane and pixal can set up some sort of communication system that allows them to contact the ninja. Essentially zane and pixal are video calling the ninja from their minds and over the course of the season they chip in with gaming tips (canonically zane and pixal are both gamers so)

The ninja end up meeting superstar rockin Jay, and it goes on as normal, although Okino is a little weirded out by him

In the just dance episode, Nya finds out on the dance floor that Jay is the sussus amogus imposter. Shock horror on the dance floor

It turns out that superstar rockin Jay was just an artificial construct being controlled by the real Jay who is still in the tower with Unagami. But recently Jay and Unagami had a real fight and that’s lead to Unagami taking control of superstar rockin Jay in an attempts to stop his friends’ progress

Not entirely sure how the superstar rockin Jay thing ends tho, all Ik is that I want Nya to have an “oh my god what happened to my boyfriend”/“wait a minute Jay would never say that”

There would be an episode detailing Jay’s pov, showing how he and Unagami became friends and started playing the games together after feeling similarly lonely, exploring Jay’s tendency to ignore his problems and how it’s resulting in him growing distant, before Jay realises he doesn’t want to give up on himself and he’s gonna try to reunite with his friends (probably after seeing how hard the ninja are trying to find him). Then Unagami reacts badly to the idea of being abandoned by Jay and they fight, ending with Jay falling through the walls and into the core of prime empire, in like this weird void of pure code.

I kinda also wanted to idk make more lava moments but that’s just me

I never really worked out what I wanted Libber (Jay’s mum) to do in this but she’s gonna be relevant

Like something something she’s been here, there’s an echo of her buried in the code. Maybe the game was based on her travels somehow. I kinda wanted Jay to be guided out of the code void by some sort of depiction of her

I kinda want Milton Dyer and Scott to have both somehow known Libber

Maybe libber really did abandon Jay. Maybe like Jay she also had issues that made her feel like she had to distance herself. Maybe there was a genuine reason and she was taken from him. Maybe the point of the season is that it’s hard to tell what happened in the past but that doesn’t stop you from carrying on in the future

Idk I just need there to be a more conscious parallel between jay and Unagami and themes of abandonment

There’s also some kind of theme of giving up not giving up seen with Scott, Okino and Blazey (racer 7), where they’re all encouraged to keep trying. I gotta do sometime with that idk…

Also the mechanic deserves to be cooler. Like can we make him more badass I want his villain resume to look so good that he actually qualifies as a Crystal council member

That’s all I had/have got for now but yeah! I do like most of the season I just think it has a lot more potential yknow

[inkneverdies]

A World of Polished Masks

I am tired of the shallow smiles, the grins carved wide, like mannequins painted by hollow hands. The “How are you?”s that ask nothing, that wait for nothing, an exchange of air, not worth the breath it took.

I am done with the 9-to-5 shuffle, marching in line, another suit, another tie, another day traded for scraps to keep us just hungry enough to come back.

Sick of seeing hands that pull back when asked, eyes that turn away from the ugly, from the broken, from the quiet call of need. What happened to kindness? Or was it all just another line we swallowed like medicine that never worked?

Friends? They’re shadows with names, passing through when the sun’s just right, disappearing with the clouds when darkness falls. “Call me if you need anything,” they say, and when I do, it’s an empty dial tone, the sound of their silence thicker than blood.

Why can't we drop the act? Why can’t we see past the walls we build, the artificial smiles and scripted words? All I ask is for honesty, for the courage to break this cycle of hollow gestures, to give more than we take, to care without condition.

But here we are— a world of polished masks, a stage of hollow actors too scared to look in the mirror.

[canariie]

morning routine

Rating: T

Synopsis: Toushiro builds it into his routine to stop by Hinamori’s room before he begins his day. Sleep eludes him so much so that by the time he sees her, it is still early and dark with the streetlights still twinkling. While the world is still with blue muted tones and the infirmary night shift staff are exchanging guard, he has this moment of solitude with her.

But right as the soft light of dawn breaks, he departs immediately. 

...

Toushiro’s morning routine in the aftermath of the defection where he learns the healing power of proximity and trust.

Word Count: 2680 words

Setting: time in between the Save Rukia Arc & Arrancar Arc (around the time of the Bleach novel Honey Dish Rhapsody) 

Prompt: @hitsuhina-week‘s Hitsuhina 2023 Weekend Day 2 - Morning

Authour’s Note: This was an idea I had for a long time to expand on the few lines that Toushiro is mentioned in the first light novel, and Hinamori by proxmity. (I linked the novel up above if anyone wants to read a translation.) It really excited me to go super super deep into that one bit of him biting his nails as a nervous tick--which ended up being a whole story about hands haha

I didn’t spend too much time on final editing, in trying to keep with the unfiltered emotions and state of shock at coping with a loved one that is unreachable. I think I could have spent more time on this but also wanted to keep it quite raw.

Shout out to Chanhyuk’s songs Goodbye, stay well & If I can’t see you right now for being the songs that helped in the final push!

—

Toushiro never liked the healing barracks. The sterile whiteness of the walls, the artificial lights, the ticking of the clock. Everything felt bare and magnified like it was under a microscope.

He has been called to the intensive care treatment centers—when the shinigami that have almost slipped off the edge towards death have been hastily pulled up—and made to stand tall again for the Gotei 13. Currently, the center has seen its highest volume of patients and it makes his stomach drop as he passes by the doors of soldiers incapacitated by severed limbs and ailments that can only be treated with precedent prognoses.

But he endures it all as he watches the fourth captain check the vitals of her latest patient. He observes from the doorway; on the threshold of being involved, but far enough to be removed.

“Hinamori-fukutaicho’s treatment is complete. The damage to her body will heal sooner or later,” she says softly, her hands flipping through the paper charts; it’s careful in a way that makes Toushiro wonder if she is curating her words.

“The damage to her body…” Toushiro parrots as he bites his nails, a nervous habit he wished he had left outside of Seireitei.

He forces himself to stop.

Toushiro thinks of the times Hinamori chided him in the past. She would take his hands in hers and pull them towards herself, her brown eyes looking at him in admonishment before she would wrap his hands in her much warmer ones; they were always warmer, like she had just carried sunshine.

Shiro-chan, you shouldn’t do that! You’ll ruin your nails. She would tilt her head and smile, the pig tails drifting to the side, making him stop and stare.

If you’re ever worried about something, you can tell me, you know?

Now he has failed her and left her in a dreamless sleep.

It has only been a few days since the defection of the three captains, including Hinamori’s former captain; only a few days since she had been mercilessly stabbed through the chest, and left to die. His blood still runs cold as the sight of her lifeless eyes.

Admiration is the emotion furthest from understanding.

Toushiro gnaws at his thumb.

Unohana-taicho continues undeterred.

“I can only treat the wounds that we can see…Beyond that, we must rely on the patient’s own ‘will to live.’” She looks down at the sleeping girl who looks paler than ever before, as if the walls had sucked away the color of her life. Toushiro grimaces and quickly schools his face, before curtly bowing.

“Thank you Unohana-taicho,” he turns to leave.

“She is waiting for someone to call out to her,” Unohana-taicho calls out with something of an admonishment and plea.

Toushiro stops in his tracks. He knows the older captain knew the guilt he was drowning himself in. Without her intervention, he knew he would have bled out to death in that cold court and Hinamori would have surely not survived. And for that, he owes her an unpayable debt.

His throat tightens and his back remains rigid as he barely looks to the side.

“The way I am now, I can’t be the one to call out to her,” Toushiro says solemnly, before departing the room.

--

Toushiro builds it into his routine to stop by Hinamori’s room before he begins his day. Sleep eludes him so much so that by the time he sees her, it is still early and dark with the streetlights still twinkling. While the world is still with blue muted tones and the infirmary night shift staff are exchanging guard, he has this moment of solitude with her. But right as the soft light of dawn breaks, he departs immediately.

It surprises him one morning to see his lieutenant there before him as she moves around Hinamori’s room. She doesn’t startle when Toushiro calls out to her, instead turns with a worn look on her face, the soft shadows under her eyes looking deeper in the blue light.

“I knew you’ve been holding yourself back from coming in, Taicho,” she says resignedly. “But you shouldn’t punish yourself—we are both equally to blame and self-pity won’t help us.” Her tone is not unkind and she stares at the young girl in the bed with a loaded look that makes Toushiro feel like he’s not the only one carrying demons.

“Unohana-taicho updated me on her condition. She’s not gone but we have to prove her from here that we can bring her back.” She runs her hands through her long blond hair. “I’m proposing that we help with external care that the nurses wouldn’t normally do.”

He raises his eyebrow dubiously. “Like what?”

“Well,” she starts with that knowing tone, “We can do her nails! Who knows when Hinamori has had a manicure last and clearly there has been no time to do so,” she says matter-of-factly lifting up the young girls hands in her own and inspecting it. She tsks in disapproval while Toushiro can only gawk.

“Matsumoto, you cannot be serious.” His lieutenant has had some far-fetched ideas but this certainly tops them all.

“Isane-san said we’re not allowed to change her robes to something more colourful,” Rangiku said with a roll of her eyes. “So—this is the next big thing.” She stares at him, her gray eyes expecting him to retort.

Toushiro cannot say anything. His gut reaction is to do nothing and not move any closer. But he also knows that as much as his vice-captain says Hinamori needs this, Matsumoto equally as much needs this moment—to rid the guilt that is plaguing her.  

“It’s up to you,” he offers quietly.

She lets out a slight smile and exhales a long breath. “I know, I know it seems out there. But I truly believe that if she feels that someone is caring for—it’ll bring her back to us.” Rangiku pulls a seat by the bed and settles herself as she brings up a large hang bag that thunks on the side table.  

“I don’t think her nails will grow that long, but regardless we can still file them.” She pulls out a long nail file and begins on Hinamori’s smallest finger. "You take the file and move it along the nail,"—she demonstrated—"like that."

Toushiro only watches from the doorway, still in partial disbelief of what he was witnessing. Her eyebrows furrow as she concentrates, "Don't pull too fast or it might tear,” Matsumoto murmurs.

Toushiro wasn't enthused by the idea and the older girl could tell when she looks up at him.

She sighs. "Why don't you brush her hair? There's a brush in my bag," she gestured with her shoulder, her long blond hair spilling to the side.

"How much stuff did you bring, Matsumoto?" he asked warily, eyeing the unending volume of items she seemed to bring out of the bottomless bag. He makes no move to step forward from the doorway.

"Just the necessary items." Matsumoto defended as she started pulling out more items from her purse (“a make-up bag,” she had corrected him later). Finally in her hand she holds out the brush, but he still remains where he stands.  

“Why don’t you bring Tobiume closer to her?” the older woman asks, but Toushiro hears the unasked question. You can still carry it, right?

Zanptakou’s are remnants of their owner’s soul. Depending on proximity and the nature of the relationship, any close companion of the wielder is able to hold the sword. It implies trust and honor to carry another’s soul in one’s hands. Otherwise, it remains heavy and immovable to any stranger.

Typically with trust over time, it is common for a vice-captain to be able to carry their captain’s sword in their hand. What is rarer is when individuals outside of one’s division are able to hold the blade. It is a precious secret as it carries confidence—and therefore weakness.

He knew long before that he was able to hold Tobiume; he’s felt the warmth seep into him, like sunshine, like a warm flame, like Hinamori—vibrant and alive.

Toushiro steps forward from the threshold and approaches the sword that has been propped up in the corner.

A flare burns his hands and he drops Tobiume on the floor. The clang of the sword echoes in the room.

He stares down at his hands that are singed with burns, bright red bruises marring his skin.

It is with cold realization that he realizes they are in the same places as Hinamori’s bruises were from when she had accused him of murder.

Rangiku looks at him with great sadness and sighs in defeat. “It’ll take some time, but they’ll both come around.”

--

And so the routine began. Every morning the two would go and tidy up the room, with Rangiku tending to Hinamori and Toushiro just watching from far. After a couple of days, he starts moving closer—replacing the flowers by her bed stand, opening the curtains—but still never touching her.

A week passed and Matsumoto says that she had a lieutenants’ debrief in the morning and wouldn’t be able to come, which left him standing awkwardly in the door way of Hinamori’s room.

Toushiro went about his usual steps of changing the water for the flowers and opening the curtains. He makes a brief survey of her vitals, observing the machines that monitor her heartbeat with a steady steady soft staccato along with making a note to see if her IV bag has been replaced.

Ultimately, he finds himself by her side but cannot bring himself to tend to her hands, so he just opts to lift them. Rangiku has been dedicating a lot of care and besides the soft lines from her bruises, you couldn't tell she was in battle.

As he weighs her hand in his, he grimaced at the cold. He wishes she were warmer like when she was younger and would pull him along. He was never a fan of it, deeming it too childish to be directed by someone else.

Now, he regrets pulling away so quickly.

He studies her hand. There were still scars from when she had held Tobiume so tightly--with all her life to execute a dead man's wish. Which sent her to a dreamless sleep.

Her hands were never meant to carry such pain. They were to protect, take care and bring warmth.

He laments leaving her to face such demons on her own.

Toushiro drops her hand.

“She’ll wake up. I know she will.”

He turns to see the intruder in the doorway, taking up the whole width with his grand presence and bright orange hair.

“I’ve been told I’m not the best at detecting rieatsu but she’s there. I can feel it,” Kurosaki supplies like a hasty defense. "You looked so...sad," he finished lamely. There's a moment of pause as the older boy scratches his head, clearly uncomfortable. "It reminded me of when I lost my mom."

Toushiro regards him slowly. Though he wore the black death robes, his bright shock of hair made him stand out in the door frame, foreign and so alive. In every moment that Ichigo Kurosaki was present in Soul Society, his presence had disrupted their quotidian way of living. And though it was too soon for many captains reflecting on the unknown deceit, there was a begrudging admittance that the boy had wreaked havoc to save a friend and irreparably saved all of Soul Society.

Toushiro himself hadn't spent much time with the ryoka boy; he knew that Matsumoto had acquainted herself with the rest of the group, but he was not keen on making shallow introductions. Toushiro knows that he has been visiting Kuchiki from the Thirteenth but he did not expect to be sought out by the boy—especially to be offered unsolicited sympathy.

A flash of blood passes through his mind. Momo’s eyes pleading and drowning in confusion.

If Ichigo is bothered by Toushiro's silence, he doesn't show it. "My sisters were really young at the time so they couldn't understand the concept of death. Instead, my dad told the story of 'Sleeping Beauty,' and that our mother was far away, asleep and gone,” he speaks softly with the weight of someone who carried grief too prematurely.

"It gave them solace and relief that she'd one day wake up. But after a couple years, they realized it was a fairy tale."

(Toushiro doesn’t know who his father was and felt it was like fool hardy advice—but maybe he knew something more of consoling than Toushiro did).

The ryoka looks past Toushiro to the sleeping girl on the bed.

"But for you, you still have a chance. She's not gone—she's here. Don't give up, Toushiro."

The tenth captain was too stunned to correct the misuse of his title and watched as the human boy left.

Only the hum of the machines buzzed as time ticked by slowly. He looked to Hinamori, who was still asleep but maybe with the boys words and closer inspection, he could start to see a colour on her cheeks, and her chest deeply moving in breaths.

During one of his breaks later, he found himself wandering through a bookstore in the outer rings and found the tale of ‘sleeping beauty.’

He couldn't help himself and bought it.

--

As he reads it, it seemed like the stories that Momo would have liked to read—which made it harder to turn the pages, but he persists. Toushiro ends up bringing it with him in his morning visits and reads portions of it out loud to her.

A beautiful young girl who was tricked unknowingly into a dreamless sleep, caught in between life and death in a castle.

There were descriptions of flowers intricate and delicate as they covered up the walls of her castle. It seems that even in the image of death, there was life. But somehow, Toushiro knows, that when those hundreds of flowers seemed to pile up, then life would eventually fade. It makes him uneasy, knowing that there was this helpless person, left in a state of flux unknowing whether her saviour would come.

After he finishes the story, Toushrio found himself picturing the flowers in his hands. The nervous energy he had stored inside, started manifesting in little shards of ice. And he sculpted them—one by one. Picking at the shards and pulling them long between the prints of his fingers, pinching and piecing them into petals. It felt instinctual to one to bind them all together, until he had a single flower that reflected the light of the early dawn.

Toushiro glances at Momo, whose chest was rising up and down softly—higher than it ever did before.

A sigh of relief escaped his lips.

From then on, Toushiro comes every morning, and sculpts a flower, until he is called away to World of the Living, leaving behind a bouquet of ice by the sleeping girl’s bed.

--

The first thing that Momo could remember when she opened her eyes, was the warmth of sunshine on her face. Lifting herself slowly from the bed she looked down at her nails, painted with a light sheen reflecting the morning light, that she knew she didn't do herself.

She could hear the birds outside and the conversations of passerby. A soft breeze billows the curtain out and she can see the trees outside sway along.

A blinding flash of light catches her attention as she sees ice shimmer—and she is drawn to a beautiful bouquet of ice flowers standing by her bedside table. She drinks it in like water, the varieties of petals and designs and she marvels at the time that has manifested into it.

“Hitsugaya-kun?” Momo moves forward to touch the last remaining petal, but at the prick of her finger, it shatters into a thousand shards.

She wakes up alone, with broken shards of ice by her side of what once was.

—

Authour’s Note: I hope you all enjoyed this one! I really enjoyed taking on a sort of self-deprecating Hitsugaya and thinking about the ones that would get him out of his slump. Ichigo’s conversation was actually the first part that was written down, as part of my Hitsugaya gets life advice from older peers series haha I think Ichigo is the kind of guy that wouldn’t leave a sad kid without imparting something, right?

Also it’s a personal headcanon of mine that zanpaktous change perceived weight depending on the weilder and the holder’s relationship to the weilder! in tie with this, i would love to explore a future fic of Momo and Hyorinmaru post-Winter War.

I also hope that you got the Hyoten Hyakkaso reference! Sleeping beauty worked itself in somehow and then I was like, “oh! i must reference this! it all ties together!”

(but if you didn’t that’s okay! I hope the last paragraph was haunting enough haha)

[mariacallous]

In his polarizing “Techno-Optimist Manifesto” last year, venture capitalist Marc Andreessen listed a number of enemies to technological progress. Among them were “tech ethics” and “trust and safety,” a term used for work on online content moderation, which he said had been used to subject humanity to “a mass demoralization campaign” against new technologies such as artificial intelligence.

Andreessen’s declaration drew both public and quiet criticism from people working in those fields—including at Meta, where Andreessen is a board member. Critics saw his screed as misrepresenting their work to keep internet services safer.

On Wednesday, Andreessen offered some clarification: When it comes to his 9-year-old son’s online life, he’s in favor of guardrails. “I want him to be able to sign up for internet services, and I want him to have like a Disneyland experience,” the investor said in an onstage conversation at a conference for Stanford University’s Human-Centered AI research institute. “I love the internet free-for-all. Someday, he's also going to love the internet free-for-all, but I want him to have walled gardens.”

Contrary to how his manifesto may have read, Andreessen went on to say he welcomes tech companies—and by extension their trust and safety teams—setting and enforcing rules for the type of content allowed on their services.

“There’s a lot of latitude company by company to be able to decide this,” he said. “Disney imposes different behavioral codes in Disneyland than what happens in the streets of Orlando.” Andreessen alluded to how tech companies can face government penalties for allowing child sexual abuse imagery and certain other types of content, so they can’t be without trust and safety teams altogether.

So what kind of content moderation does Andreessen consider an enemy of progress? He explained that he fears two or three companies dominating cyberspace and becoming “conjoined” with the government in a way that makes certain restrictions universal, causing what he called “potent societal consequences” without specifying what those might be. “If you end up in an environment where there is pervasive censorship, pervasive controls, then you have a real problem,” Andreessen said.

The solution as he described it is ensuring competition in the tech industry and a diversity of approaches to content moderation, with some having greater restrictions on speech and actions than others. “What happens on these platforms really matters,” he said. “What happens in these systems really matters. What happens in these companies really matters.”

Andreessen didn’t bring up X, the social platform run by Elon Musk and formerly known as Twitter, in which his firm Andreessen Horowitz invested when the Tesla CEO took over in late 2022. Musk soon laid off much of the company’s trust and safety staff, shut down Twitter’s AI ethics team, relaxed content rules, and reinstated users who had previously been permanently banned.

Those changes paired with Andreessen’s investment and manifesto created some perception that the investor wanted few limits on free expression. His clarifying comments were part of a conversation with Fei-Fei Li, codirector of Stanford’s HAI, titled “Removing Impediments to a Robust AI Innovative Ecosystem.”

During the session, Andreessen also repeated arguments he has made over the past year that slowing down development of AI through regulations or other measures recommended by some AI safety advocates would repeat what he sees as the mistaken US retrenchment from investment in nuclear energy several decades ago.

Nuclear power would be a “silver bullet” to many of today’s concerns about carbon emissions from other electricity sources, Andreessen said. Instead the US pulled back, and climate change hasn’t been contained the way it could have been. “It’s an overwhelmingly negative, risk-aversion frame,” he said. “The presumption in the discussion is, if there are potential harms therefore there should be regulations, controls, limitations, pauses, stops, freezes.”

For similar reasons, Andreessen said, he wants to see greater government investment in AI infrastructure and research and a freer rein given to AI experimentation by, for instance, not restricting open-source AI models in the name of security. If he wants his son to have the Disneyland experience of AI, some rules, whether from governments or trust and safety teams, may be necessary too.

[jedimordsith]

I don’t have a Filthy Friday today, but have whatever this is. It was inspired by one of those “the Force dumps Luke in the past” fics... only this time with bb!Mara. 

- -

There were scores of beautiful, peaceful places in the Temple to meditate. Luke liked to rotate between them, joining different groups of Jedi on different days and occasionally seeking out lesser-known rooms and corners just for the novelty.

Today, however, the Force would not let him rest until he followed its guiding to the network of catwalks suspended over the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Made of solid durasteel, the catwalks were intended for maintenance rather than casual use, but Luke found an intersection where four walkways met and settled in curiously. The Force hummed about him in an unusual way, and instead of turning inward when he closed his eyes he reached out. 

The Temple was vibrant with life, as if always was. Lush in a way he could never have imagined before being pulled into the past. Usually he found it soothing, but today he found his heartbeat would not slow. Responding to something he could not see, it raced, resetting to its rapid pace no matter how many times he tried to focus and calm himself. 

The durasteel beneath him vibrated. It was a tiny movement; almost imperceptible. But it rolled through Luke’s bones like the forerunner of a tidal wave. 

Opening his eyes, he stopped breathing. 

Down the catwalk to his right a child stood frozen. She was small, too small for the safety rails to offer her any protection. She hovered close to the edge of the floor-plates. Too close. She wavered on her feet, exhaustion and despair radiating off of her and making her sway perilously close toppling over the edge and into a dizzying free-fall into the waterfall below. 

Green eyes stared at him, sharp despite the crippling fatigue, and disheveled red-gold hair rippled in the artificial breeze. 

Behind its layers of walls and shields, a long-buried connection point deep in Luke’s chest began to burn. 

“Siah!” 

The little girl spun, stumbling, and Luke’s hand shot out, a pull on the Force thickening the air to brace her, keep her on the walkway. 

Three healers appeared at the other end of the walkway. Luke knew them all by sight, knew they were part of the creche ward. 

“Siah.” One of them stepped forward slowly. “Young one, you cannot be up here. It isn’t safe.” 

The child backed away. 

The healer’s expression turned pained. “We aren’t going to hurt you,” they cajoled. “There’s nothing to fear. You just need to rest, little one.”

A ridiculous smile split Luke’s lips as memories cracked open his heart and, with it, all the protective barriers he’d built. The bond reopened with the agony of a thick scab being ripped off a barely-healed wound.

Rising, he stepped forward. “Mara.” 

The child pivoted again, and this time she did fall, landing on her behind on the plating, her eyes enormous and fixed on him. 

The healers saw their chance and started to advance, but Luke held up one hand, halting them. Walking toward her, Luke slipped his cloak off and crouched, putting himself closer to her level. Only then did he catch the bruising that peeked out from beneath her thin traveling clothes, the fine shivers that racked her over-exerted little body. 

Anger and grief surged through him, bitter and hot. Was there no galaxy, no timeline in which Mara was spared suffering? 

“Who hurt you?” He asked softly. 

“She won’t answer you,” the healer called back, their voice low. “She doesn’t talk.” Their look conveyed their dismay. “We’re not sure she can. Her name is Marasiah. We think.”  

The girl’s face screwed up and, across the reignited bond, Luke could feel her hatred of the name. Of everything Siah meant — images of cold and pain and shame flickered across his mind too quickly to grasp. 

His expression contorted and the child went white. 

“You can feel it, can’t you?” He said quietly. “You can feel me.” 

She didn’t answer, but he’d seen the confused terror in her eyes before — in the same eyes, just as tired and wounded but twenty years older. 

Slowly, Luke extended his left hand. “May I show you something?”

She looked at his hand, wary. 

“I won’t get in your head,” he promised. “And I won’t make you sleep.” 

He was sure the healers had tried that. Doubtless it had been what sent her fleeing in the first place. This Mara was too little to explain to the innocent healers the horror of losing control of your own body or the torment of being trapped in sleep with the monsters that hunted you.

But Luke knew. 

She might have seen it in his eyes. Or perhaps she felt the same undeniable pull of the Force that he did. In any case, she cautiously got back to her feet and inched close enough to just barely brush her fingers across two of his. 

Smiling gently, Luke unearthed precious memories he’d never shared with anyone else. Mara during a sparring session, her amethyst blade flashing as she spun across the floor all scorching heat and breathtaking grace. Mara, poised and elegant, backlit by the sparkling lights of a New Republic event hall. A private moment, one that still made his heart ache — the captivating curve of Mara’s lips when she shot him a rare, true smile, her eyes gleaming with triumph as she showed off her new ship. 

The little girl made a broken sound and Luke blinked, coming out of his own head as her fingers curled tight around his. 

“Mara,” she whispered, her voice cracked and papery-thin. She reached hungrily across the bond, her fear and desire clashing stormily. 

“Yes.” Luke’s chest was so tight he could barely get the words out. “That’s you, isn’t it? You’re not Siah at all.” 

Tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks, her tiny chest heaving in silent sobs and her entire body shaking. A torrent of fears and pain and bone-deep fatigue poured over him and Luke let it abrade away what remained of the barriers around his long-dormant Mara-place. It hurt, but he leaned into the pain greedily. Because pain meant that she was there, she was alive and she’d found him. After so many years of not allowing himself to hope, of telling himself that she deserved a beautiful life with her family and that it would be unforgivably selfish to wish for anything else —

With the sweep of a hand and a thought in the Force, Luke had the girl swathed in his cloak and scooped into his arms. She buried her head in his shoulder and burrowed her sense into his as he crooned promises to her — that she was safe, that he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her ever again. 

At the other end of the walkway, the healers gaped. 

“Tell Master Che that I’ll be seeing to my new Padawan myself, please.” Luke pressed a hand to Mara’s back over the enveloping cloak, more for her comfort than out of any real concern they’d object. “I’ll bring her by for the usual assessment once she’s settled. Does she have any things?” 

The healers exchanged glances. “No,” the one in the lead said finally. “But we can send some clothes and bedding for her to your rooms, Master Skywalker.” 

“Thank you.” 

Another memory flickered through — Mara’s face, defensive and uncomfortable as she’d examined one of the twins’ stuffed animals and confessed she’d never had any such thing that she could remember. The Emperor didn’t believe in coddling. 

“Are there any toys?” He asked impulsively. “Something soft. Stuffed?” 

One of the other healers projected warmth at him. “I think the last batch we got in contained a bearsloth. Something fierce for your little wildling, hmm?” 

Luke smiled. “Yes, please.” His smile slipped. “I’ll need bacta gel for her injuries.” 

“Of course, Master Skywalker.” The lead healer drew themselves up. “We’d best see to that so you can get her back to your rooms. If you need anything —”

In his arms, Mara tensed.

“We’ll be fine,” Luke said firmly, pleased when Mara went boneless with relief in response. “Oh,” he added as the healers started to turn away. “And update her records, please. Her name is Mara Jade. I don’t want her referred to as anything else.”

They murmured assent and Luke gave them a few moments head start before he carried his new Padawan back out into the Temple and toward his quarters. She fought sleep the entire way, determined to be awake to explore her new home. 

Luke didn’t chide her. He knew that she wouldn’t have peace until he’d showed her everything and tucked her into his own bed, still wrapped in his robe, behind no less than two locked doors, his body between hers and the rest of the galaxy. Some things, it seemed, were constants in the galaxy. 

For the first time since arriving in the past, he let himself hope that the rare and precious friendship between them might be counted on that list of constants as well.  

[sabineelectricheart]

Distracted, Desperate, Determined [Pt. 2]

Summary: If going about it by underhanded means took him nowhere, Baxter decides to be direct. Jamie is also direct, in response.

Rating: R - Content features heavy themes. Not suitable for most audiences. Consult warnings before proceeding.

Explicit depictions of violence. Reader discretion is highly advised.

Words: 1025

Notes: Leering bosses suck. Even when they’re hot.

Baxter was a man, desperate.

Like a starving dog. Like a traveller who had not seen water in thirty days. Like a distraught, distressed, disturbed prison escapee, wandering through a maze of a library, cursing the existence of every shelf that separated him from her.

He knew where Jamie would be. She is a creature of habit, and he had already had more than enough time to memorize her routine. He had had enough time to memorize everything about her, as ashamed as he was to admit it. It was a testament to his devotion, to how much time he had spent trying and failing to win her favour.

It was evidence of how pathetic he had gotten over the course of his one-sided pursuit, too.

Instead of competing for attention on Beverly Hills or Rodeo Drive, Baxter pontificates out of his office in Downtown, letting his clients go out of their way to meet him, and he has no shortage of those willing to make the trip. It made his commute from his penthouse much more pleasant, he gets more space for the same amount of rent money and it is more convenient for his employees, too.

Jamie, herself, usually takes the metro from her apartment in East Hollywood down to the office. At noon every day, she goes out to a cheap Korean restaurant around the corner, and then walks to the Central Library to rest amongst the volumes housed there.

Baxter went after her. She was hidden in her usual spot , tucked into the far corner of the library, back to the concrete wall, her attention monopolized by the old book spread across her lap. She was still pouring over it by the time he reached her, slumping against the opposite pillar, taking in how brilliantly the muted artificial lighting looked as it danced across her skin.

He does not try to hide the way he stared anymore. He was long past worrying that she would care enough to notice.

Her hair was unkempt, proof that she had run out on the street, probably to make to an appointment with one of her friends at the Korean restaurant, all of them he knows the names of, none of them he was ever introduced to. Her lips were bleeding, too, the lower one chewed raw and split down the middle, but it might have been stranger if they were not.

It must have been a nervous tick, but Baxter found it cute. Baxter found it endearing. Baxter found everything about Jamie endearing, and in the name of a god he does not believe in, he wanted to see those lips wrapped around his…

He hated it. He found everything about her endearing, and he hated it. That was all.

He sighed, the sound airy, exhausted. She does not look up, but that was fine. It would’ve only hurt him further if someone as simple as that drew out her concern.

“I’m in love with you.”

There was a hum, soft and contemplative. A rather generous response, by her standards.

“I’ve noticed.”

“You’re all I think about.” It was an awkward confession, one that he had already used a hundred different times. He did not care. He would use it a hundred more, if he had to. “I’m a wreck. I can barely remember my own name, and some days I can’t even do that. I can’t work, I can’t eat, I can hardly breathe. Every morning, I wonder what it would be like to wake up to your smile, and every night, I stare at my ceiling and loath myself because I’m not holding you in my arms. For fuck’s sake, just yesterday, I almost kissed Xavier because the essences they were working with reminded me of the way your favourite kind of dessert smells, and I’m just so fucking desperate, I convinced myself that was the closest I’d ever come to kissing you.”

He was rambling, by the end, panting, yelling, but she only blinked when he was done, once, then twice. Her dull nails bit into the edges of her book, but she does not seem to mind, nor did she move to close it as she finally turned to face him, the confusion written clearly across her expression.

“Did you kiss Xavier?”

“You don’t get it.” He said, and she nodded in agreement. “You don’t fucking get it.”

“I think I do.” She admitted, more earnestly. Her gaze dropped back to the ground, and instantly, Baxter deflated. “I just… I just don’t think it’d work out, if I’m being honest. I’m still new. New out of college, new to LA, new to the workforce, I’m even too fucking young. I still have too much to prove, I need to give my parents and myself a reason to trust in me, and I don’t think it’s in my best interest to start a relationship with my boss so early on.”

Jamie suddenly paused, laughing to herself. Something in his chest tightened. It was the happiest he had been since he met her, and he still felt like she had pushed a knife through his heart and twisted.

“But you don’t really want a relationship, do you, Mr. Ward? I’ve been told, and I’ve seen for myself, the comes-and-goes of people in your office, and I’m absolutely sure not all of them are engaged to be married.” She chuckled bitterly at her own attempt of a joke. “You’re just bored, and you need something to fixate on. I’m the most available option, so...”

She trailed off, finishing her sentence with a vague, stilted sweeping gesture.

“It’ll be easier for both of us, this way. I like you, Baxter, but I don’t like you enough to put myself through that.” The young woman says, standing up to leave. “Or, perhaps, I like you too much.”

It was the first time she called him by his first name. It was all he could do to remember how to open his mouth.

Once Baxter did, the words came stumbling out on their own, every bit as pathetic as the man uttering them. “Of course.”

*_*_*_*_*

Distracted, Desperate, Determined Masterlist

Our Life Masterlist

[callmekingofthesquirrels]

NAYKT: Season 2 - Update 1

Summary - Several months have passed since they defeated the Author but the victory feels uneasy. Mark is still out there planning who knows what, Silver's soul is still missing, and some of them suddenly find themselves in possession of power they have no clue what to do with.

A new enemy is lurking, and the stakes have never been higher. Everyone is looking for something, but will they be happy with what they ultimately find?

A/N - this is the first part of the main plot of season 2, a sequel to Not As You Know Them: Season One. You don't have to have read s1, but I recommend it if you don't want to wind up completely lost. - This is the second attempt at Season 2, the first having been moved to a non-canon archive on AO3 and removed from canon.

Tag list: @mightnightmooon @thelittleautisticgirl

Like or reblog >>this post<&lt; to be added to the tag list

The bus station is awful.

To one side of the waiting area, King is sitting (and I use that term loosely) upside down on a plastic chair. His legs are going up, leaning against the wall while his head and shoulders are dangling from the chair where a normal person would put their legs. His hands are folded on his chest as he watches the people go past.

“What the hell delays a bus for an hour and a half?”

“You can always go back and wait with the others.” Bim offers.

King snorts at that. Not be here? That’s funny.

Bim is seated beside King, casually flicking through a magazine and wholly unbothered by the dryad’s unusual sitting position. King has never been patient, and being in such an artificial environment can’t be helping.

Green approaches in silence, nervously fidgeting with his fingers as he takes the empty seat on the other side of King. Bim glances over with a chuckle.

“I tried to warn you.”

“What?” King looks between them.

Green shakes his head gently. “Nothing.”

“Seriously what?!”

Bim turns the page of his magazine as he turns his attention back to it, “Bus station bathrooms are not a safe place for data collection.”

“Green!” the dryad grimaces, looking to the droid who very purposefully avoids his look. It’s a good thing the Googles are not equipped to blush in embarrassment.

They fall into an impatient silence that seems to amplify the noise going on around them. A steady murmur of people chatting amongst themselves, figuring out where it is that they need to go, the loud beep from the nearby convenience store, and the distant honking of cars along the pick up tunnel.

The air con blasts cool air but it’s stale and dry and lightly scented. King can feel it crawling all over his skin as only artificial air can. Since he recovered his trees, King finds himself sickened by anything less than pure outdoor freshness, and frankly being in here is making him queasy, though that could be the blood rushing to his head.

The dryad winces as a nearby speaker fritzes into life and a bored-sounding monotone voice murmurs through it. He strains to listen but it’s impossible to make out a single word. All mumbly and garbled with an undercurrent of the electronic whine that accompanies everything in this place.

Bim gently tosses his magazine onto a nearby table, “That’s the one, come on.”

Green nods in agreement and they both stand and move while King looks in utter confusion at them.

“You understood that?!”

King kicks away from the wall, rolling off the chair backwards and somehow landing gracefully in a crouch before straightening up and hurrying to catch up

Around them, several people are rushing past, dragging heaving suitcases along with them, not even stopping to acknowledge when they bump into someone. More than once King gets knocked and he says nothing but he's cursing internally pretty loudly in their general direction.

The large see-through wall of the gate lets the waiting people see every bus as it arrives and leaves, interspersed with built-in automatic doors at each gate. An easy way to control the flow of passengers while making sure no one can run out in front of the buses.

By the time they can see the gate, the bus has already arrived and the doors are already open. It’s a mess of people, some pushing through the doors, some coming through, while several are milling around waiting for their luggage to come free from storage.

“I don’t see him.” King huffs impatiently.

“Be patient.” Bim says calmly.

“I’ve been patient!” he snarks. “I just want-”

“There!” Green interrupts pointing towards the bus.

Sure enough, just this side of the doors stands Bing. Scruffy overgrown hair, sneakers, worn jeans, black t-shirt, and Google’s old royal blue zip hoodie half zipped up. There’s no one else in the world that could be.

Before anyone says anything, King’s running. Bim shouts after him but sod Bim. It’s been months. months, since Bing left to stay at Ed’s ranch. Months of only having the Jims to keep King company. Sure they’ve grown on him after everything that happened but they’re still loud and obnoxious and very extroverted, and very much not Bing.

At just the right moment Bing turns and sees him, beaming that lopsided grin of his and shifting his stance, arms raised, feet shoulder width apart. He knows what’s coming and he’s not going to stop it. The pair collide with force, Bing skidding across the ground from it before King practically lifts him off his feet.

They’re smiling, laughing, holding tight as they stand, not caring if anyone is staring at them.

“I’m guessing you didn’t forget me then.” Bing chuckles.

“Never.” King puts him down.

The others soon catch up, Green giving Bing an equally tight, if somewhat less airborne hug while Bim glances over the heads of the people around them.

“Where’s Ed?”

“He changed his mind.” Bing shrugs over Green’s shoulder. “Something about having had enough of our crazy shenanigans and it being safer at the ranch.”

- beep beep beep beep -

Shrill beeping pierces the air and Bing winces, covering his left ear, “What’s that?”

Bim taps at his watch and the beeping stops, “Don’t worry about it.”

Green takes the handle of Bing’s suitcase, glancing towards the TV host for a moment before turning to Bing, “Let’s get you something to eat.”

Next

[scout-company]

Stellar Acclimation—Chapter 10: Back in the Day

Scout eventually finds Semyon behind the door opposite the storage hallway. Once he peeks his head around the corner.

“There ya are!” she crackles as she scurries over to the door, “Where in tarnation did ya go?”

Semyon just grins and eagerly waves his hand inwards. “C’mon, I want to show you something!”

Scout shakes her head with a fizzing sigh and crackle, but can’t deny her bubbling curiosity. She starts to cross the landing, but then finds the door sliding shut in her face when Semyon walks away from it. 

“Oi! Sem!” she exclaims with a startled pop, tilting her head and ducking a bit just to peek through the window that was probably designed to be easy for people shorter than her and Semyon to see through.

“Whoops! Sorry about that!” Semyon apologizes with an embarrassed laugh as he quickly hurries back to the door, taps something on his side of it, and it opens back up with a whoosh.

“…What is this room, anyhow?” she wonders as she steps past the door.

“This is the medbay,” Semyon says brightly, “Probably one of the most specialized rooms in the ship aside from the control room.”

The medbay is somehow even more perfectly sterile and neat than the rest of the ship. There’s at least two tables, not unlike the work table in Bronzemarch’s hut back home, except they’re made of a sleek white material, possibly painted metal, and they’re decked with even more bottles and indecipherable equipment. Plus a few offline screens. Behind the work tables the floor raises a step, where a large and fancy, if over-complicated, bed—that even has a partial roof of its own for some reason—sits.

“That bed don’t look comfy,” Scout observes.

Semyon laughs with an off-kilter smile that Scout almost guesses is nostalgic somehow as he notes, “It’s comfier than it looks, I’ll tell you that.”

“Even with all them doo-dads and bright lights around?” she pops, gesturing to the bed and its peculiar array of monitors and the odd tube tucked behind its backboard.

“Well the mattress is nice, at least.”

Scout tilts her head at him, the ends of her corona flicking up. “What, you’ve been on it before?”

Again Semyon’s expression squishes to one side as he itches the back of his neck. “Yeah, off and on,” he admits, “I spent quite a while in here a few years ago.”

“For trainin’ with ol’ Bronze-head?”

Semyon’s itching moves to the corner of his jaw while he casts a long glance at the bed. “Partly.”

Curiosity bubbles idly in Scout’s plasma, making her bob float a bit more against the ship’s artificial gravity. She fizzes, “Only partly? What else would ya be doin’ in here?”

“Eh…” Semyon’s itching intensifies, wandering back to his neck for several moments before he steps around the weird bed and gestures for Scout to follow him to another door behind it, all the while repeatedly glancing at her and back at the bed as he stutters, “L-let’s go this way. There’s some stuff over here you might find more interesting.”

Weird. Semyon’s a jumpy guy sometimes, sure. But that wasn’t just jumpy. What’s he beating around the bush about?

Scout tilts her head the other way at him and bubbles confusedly while Semyon again taps something next to the door—a small panel, it looks like—She doesn’t move to follow him until he waves her to come on with one hand, his other lightly placed on another panel on the other side of the door. 

Past the door is a short set of stairs in a smaller room, again lit by those orange lights that Scout outshines. Semyon ascends the stairs in just two steps; Scout takes a couple more hops. But then she finds herself in what she can only assume is a tiny lab. Or it was, at one point.

The steel framing in the walls is more exposed in this room, giving it an industrial feel. An empty white bookcase marks the invisible threshold between the short stairs and the lab area; and on the opposite side of it is another door, flanked by a black and white desk on one side and a small counter with a sink on the other. Both the desk and the sink have cupboards in the same clean colors bolted into the walls above them. But the only thing atop either the desk or counter is a cardboard box that might have been laid perfectly square atop the desk before the ship’s takeoff nudged it askew. 

Semyon stands roughly in the middle of the small room and gestures around, prompting, “What do you think?”

“Kinda…small for a lab, ain’t it?” she fizzes, meandering across the room, running her hand along the cold steel wall as she goes. She can feel the ship thrum beneath her fingers, the warm power from its engines a ghost of a resonance in her brand. It’s a fascinating sensation.

“Yeah, it’s kinda tiny, I guess,” Semyon meanwhile admits. “But it’s really all that Drew needed, back in the day, so…”

Scout is only half listening, but she catches enough to ask, “Back in which day?”

“Back when the Icarus had a full crew. Drew was the chemical engineer.”

That statement catches more of Scout’s attention, and she turns away from her hand still resting on the thrumming wall to look at Semyon. She bubbles, “Wait, ol’ Bronze-head had a crew?”

Semyon laughs a bit, his expression squishing in the way it always does whenever Scout uses Bronzemarch’s nickname out of his earshot, but then he clarifies, “He didn’t have the crew. He was the chief medical officer, not the captain.”

“So that’s why S.A.I.L. keeps callin’ him Officer,” Scout realizes. Then she casts another glance around the small lab, feeling the ship at large continue to thrum, and wonders, “So…where’d the rest of ‘em go?”

Semyon shrugs, expression melting from amused to…indifferent? Scout can’t quite tell; his frown is twisted in a way she doesn’t see on him very often. But it’s not quite sad—or maybe it is; hard to tell—as he says simply, “Retired. Same as Bronzemarch. It’s not like there was much point in sticking around after…uh…everything that happened with Earth and the Protectorate. So…”

“Earth? Protectorate?”

For some reason Scout’s bewildered bubble makes Semyon freeze and stare at her like she’s grown an extra brand. Shock widens his eyes and freezes his expression there until he blinks and glances away, dragging a hand down his mouth and chin while staggeringly muttering, “You don’t…? N-no, of course you wouldn’t…” in a voice so low it rumbles under the ship’s thrumming. “Uh…”

“What?”

Semyon keeps glancing at her and away from her like he’s not sure how to look at her straight without being blinded. His hand freezes on his chin, pulling at the longer curls in his beard. But eventually he takes a breath deep enough to make his shoulders visibly raise, then says haltingly, “The Protectorate was…this big organization for a while. But then Earth got blown apart, like, six years ago and the Protectorate kinda…followed suit. Eventually. I guess.”

Scout just tilts her head, staring at Semyon and only managing to parse some sense out of half of his statement. Earth was a place, clearly. Maybe a headquarters? She asks, “So were y’all part of this Protectorate thingy?”

“Not really. Technically. O-or at least I wasn’t. Technically,” Semyon corrects, “This ship was, though.”

Scout keeps her head tilted at him, doing her best to parse his weirdly dodgy face. “…Yer actin’ mighty strange,” she eventually observes out loud. “You ok?”

Semyon’s face flushes red briefly, his hand finally pulling away from his chin to wave a too-fast dismissal as he claims, “Y-yeah, I’m fine.” He itches the back of his neck again as if that’ll make the red in his face calm down—which it does, but Scout can’t tell if it’s because of his intense itching—and then he walks over to the door between the desk and sink, waving Scout over with his other hand. “A-anyway,” he declares, firmly changing topic, “Come over here. This might be more interesting to you.”

Scout stares at him for a moment longer, bewilderment making her plasma churn idly, but then she shrugs with a pop and walks over.

The ship’s thrumming gets louder the closer Scout gets to the door Semyon is standing by. And the resonance of the ship’s power rings stronger in her brand—not quite the same ringing as her dagger; it’s more textured—as she brushes her hand along the wall by the door. There’s another one of those panels by the doorframe, this time on Scout’s side. So she taps it to open the door before Semyon can.

And is instantly bombarded by sound and resonance. The thrumming becomes a roar, the power becomes a storm of discord in the nicks in her brand. Even the orange lights in front of her and behind her grow too bright. She can’t focus. Can’t hardly register anything more than blurs of orange, a pop of blue somewhere, and a smudge of purple darting in front of her. She barely even registers herself sparking with a sharp whistle as she staggers back.

Until the door slides—slams—back closed again. She registers a hand at her back and realizes Semyon is straddled between holding her up and planting a hand on the door’s panel, eyes wide with worry. “Scout! Are you ok?!” he frets.

Scout winces slightly as his voice rumbles a bit too loudly next to her brand, compounding with the echoes of all that other stimuli, but she manages to stumble back a foot and fizzle, “Loud…” 

“I am so sorry,” Semyon apologizes with wide eyes and a deep frown, emphasizing his words yet lowering his voice to a gentler rumble. 

“‘S’ok…” Scout manages. She rubs her face to try and overrule the buzzing echoes in her head, being careful to not touch the aching nicks in her brand, while Semyon ever-so-gently maneuvers away from the door and backs her away from it with him. 

While he backs the both of them away from the door Semyon continues, “I-I thought you’d like the engine room; I didn’t realize it would be—”

Scout cuts him off once the worst of the echoes in her core have calmed down, mimicking the hand-wave gesture he always uses. Everything is still edging on too-bright in the lab—even though most of that light is reflecting from herself—but it’s almost tolerable now. Maybe. So she manages to fizz, “M-maybe we’ll try again when the ship ain’t goin’ FTL.”

Semyon huffs a quiet, slightly awkward laugh, “Y-yeah, that might be best.”

~~~~~

<< Previous || Next >>

[unoisveimved-un-proffesional]

From @weiszklee

Hmmm, I think this is because of a natural evolution of conservatism. You remember when Elon Musk supposedly identified as a leftist? Well, what I think it’s all about is the progression of time. As time moves on and society changes, those who once identified as centrists will say “But we liked it how it was lets go back!” And boom, conservatives. Leftists of the past will go “Yeah! This exactly how I want it. I’m fine now. No more change.” Boom, centrist. And conservatives will go “No, no oh god it keeps going forward! Make it stop!” And become more and more extreme.

Time moves them from left to right, unless they’re willing to hold their ground and change with time but relatively stick in place, move forward personally, or be what moves time forward, they’ll end up quite literally falling behind, becoming more and more resistance being begrudgingly pulled their backs pushed right up against the right side wall, until they decide to get together and push back, try to drag the world backwards, no more new things. If you want to maintain your spot on the spectrum, take tiny steps forward, and if you want to go left, keep running, hitch and hike to the end, but if you want to go right, hold still and time will take you there. Some of us don’t gotta worry, we’re far enough left that as long as we make a little leap gradually, we’ll be ahead of time. I don’t really like using the one dimensional left right spectrum, but it’s a very handy metaphor for being able to visualize politics, people, and time. It’s just about moving forward, and dragging the world behind you forward with you, hopefully with the help of others. And until we discover that next frontier that changes our perception, time remains a one dimensional constant movement.

The increasing radicalisation of conservatives has to probably do also with the ease of access to information, community, and the spreading of memes, and yes, I am unironically using memes in its old term definition. In America though, it was kicked off in a way by an abrasive businessman who knew what really sold; outrage, arrogance, and pride, and so that’s what he sold, to a specific kind of outrageous arrogant and prideful person just waiting to hear the Right words, and it’s been becoming the norm of a right winger in the US to believe in those things, spread like wildfire through the ease of access to talkers and con men streaming and social media provide. You don’t have to go to a debate hall, read the newspaper or just talk to a friend about politics, there’s a whole world of faceless and famous people right here easily accessible for you to be influenced by and converse with. It’s contributed to the growth of both sides of the spectrum honestly, for better and worse, how I like it, distilled human chaos compacted into morsels of light and sound.

Personally, I like it more now. I like when things are moving, noticeably, and can’t stand dead things. Dead lands, dead trees, dead wind, dead bodies, it freaks me out. I’m more afraid of things that are supposed to move not moving than things that aren’t supposed to move moving. I just like to see action happening, it feels nice to live in a living world, and long drawn out stalemates are boring. This is more how I feel than how I think, it’s what the heart says.

Anyway, fascists of today are the normal conservatives of the past, who want to artificially move time backwards so they may seem more like normal conservatives, maybe even centrists of their perfect time.

That’s right baby it all comes back to the good ol’ human condition and our relationships with our world and our fellow human beings and how we grapple with ever growing fleeting past, the unyielding march of time, and the uncertain and strange future can I get an aaaaaamen?

Speaking of the march of time it is 4 AM I should be in bed.

“The paradox of conservatism is they want being normal to be punk. They want to rebel against authority while being the ones in power. They want to be rugged individuals and they think everyone should be the same as them. They want to overcome adversity while staying in the majority.” -@innuendostudios on twitter

[totally-not-an-awkward-okapi]

Had a particular broken nightmare.

The first part I was at the drive through for Rite Aid. I knew that the little pedestal thing you speak into was secretly being used to contain this ancient and powerful artificial intelligence. But as I tried to free it I became terrified that what if I was wrong about it? What if it wasn’t really alive? What if I was arrested right here and it didn’t even matter? What would I even do once I freed it? So I started to put the machine back together and the AI started begging that I didn’t so I just. I just ran away.

The next part of the nightmare was only sorta connected. I was in my car at night, headlights on very low. I kept coming across deer in the middle of the road but I couldn’t stop. I could slow down enough that I’d just bump them, but I was terrified that even then one would attack me.

The third part I was back in the Rite Aid. There was a meeting of some sort- 13 children with strange gifts and one of them not. Most looked normal, though one was a plant monster that clung to a wall. I couldn’t tell if I was jumping from child to child or if I was someone else, hiding among the isles. They where demonstrating their gifts. I can’t remember the first, but on the second, a green haired little girl, I followed her as she stepped into another room. I made the right choice. She spoke briefly of her background, the nation they was where she’d been born but not her parents. This nation was not kind to outsiders. She then demonstrated her ability. She caused everyone in the other room to begin to violently convulse, even the unknown people watching from outside the rite aid.

Then I became aware that dream had been a memory of a TV show pilot that had been lost. I knew it should be impossible for me to remember seeing the pilot, I wasn’t alive when it came out. But I did. I was there in the pilot. I even had brief flashes of commercials! But despite my memory lining up eerily well with those who remembered the green haired girl, apparently named Basil, from the pilot. She was apparently a fan favorite among those trying to find the pilot. In my pocket I found the tape for the pilot. It was broken, special keys constructed to fit into in ways I didn’t understand. I went to a tape repair place, but they insisted they couldn’t repair a tape that old. There was a map behind the man, showing the far away states where that might be done. But there was a man there. One who insisted he had a friend who could fix it. I was desperate. I followed him to this friend, a strange man with something metal in the back of his neck. Something one of the keys to fixing the tape fit in. He didn’t like me touching the key there. He led us past his workshop, a place where he made concrete sculptures using casts of the hands of a friend he’d only met recently. There where too many sculptures for that to be possible. But we continued into the snow, to an abandoned house he said he hadn’t been living in for ten months. There where large holes in the roof where snow fell in. He took us to an old fashioned tv, switched it on to show night footage of feral dogs swarming through the house. Something about their movements was wrong. It felt like they where they, smothering me. But he got to work fixing the tape as that played. It seemed rather simple, but he insisted after a moment that he needed another piece. A simple replacement though, he just needed to go the store. We followed him out the door, but as we stepped through we weren’t in the woods anymore. We where in the suburbs, the house surrounded by neatly manicured flowers. I had a panic attack, begging the others to notice that this was wrong, but they said it was fine and that I just needed to stay in the house. I stayed in the mud room, watching the neighbors outside. With the door open they mocked me, not over the fact I had at some point become naked but anything else. I tried to close the doors. The neighbors quickly revealed the doors couldn’t fully close. I grabbed onto the handles to the two big doors, leaning back to keep them closed. The neighbors quickly proved the windows didn’t close either. I ran away. When I stepped briefly outside to run from the mud room into the back of the house a monstrous woman grabbed at me, Snow White and utterly hairless, blacked around her long nails. I kept running.

The dream fully broke down at this point. I was on the floor in the back room, putting costumes of other cats onto a thing that wasn’t a cat begging it to put on clothes so I could put on clothes.

The children where back. The ones who came from bad places where followed by people in morph suits, their color indeterminable. I, or the child I was inhabiting, had the most of these things following me.

Desperate to do something to help us all, one of the children brought forth a syringe of milky white blood. If she drank it she could be posed by her predecessor. I was possessing someone else when I prepped it to feed to her in my childhood kitchen, only for something to break and it all to pour into the sink. We all just laughed, we’d need another take now. We pulled milk from the nearby fridge. As we pooled it in we bickered on whether we should add a little red foot dye to bring back the slightly off white color from before or if plain milk was good enough. The girl who was set on drinking was tired of doing this scene however, and grabbed it from my hand to lap out the milk.

There was an older boy then, chasing me around to make me his beloved from a past life. He had done this before.

And then I woke up! And had to write all that down immediately cause what the f-

[ceridescent]

sweet reconciliation — m., wanda.

wanda maximoff x female!reader

summary: “what? you came here thinking i would make you feel better?”

she plasters a sinister smirk on her enthralling face, condescending. 

you stutter, “y-yes,” meekly answering her question, never as humiliated as tonight, along with a delicious throb nesting in between your thighs. 

warnings: dom/sub dynamics, humiliation, degradation, mommy kink, hair pulling, slapping, dirty talk, praise kink, & double-ended strap-on. 

word count: 7,079

18+ only. men and minors DNI.

masterlist | navigation

you reluctantly press your fingers onto the buzzer for the fifth time, nibbling into your lower lip in hopes your pride won’t eat you alive. 

it is past 10 in a tuesday evening, and you are weary — your blouse unbuttoned to the third, your handkerchief wrinkled securely inside your rosewood slacks, gripping onto it to halt yourself from collapsing against her door — two hours after your shift ended. 

the artificial golden light streaming in the hallways outside of her apartment has nothing to do with calming your anxiety down. in fact, it paints a bolder stroke of panic coursing through your system, these very walls a pathway to memory lane, laced with midnights and knaveries. 

howbeit you stay put, your feet numb from standing up for the first thirty minutes, observing the gleam in the slit of her door. and the next thirty minutes, including now, waiting for her to notice you. 

you opt of surrendering, not the one that makes you leave her home defeated and unscathed, but to introduce yourself back into her space like you didn’t beg her to leave you in the first place. 

“…” starting something, you barely try, and you do not have to because you hear the thud of footsteps, and the familiar presence you yearn for inching closer as she opens the door. 

a sigh escapes your lips before you could stop it — your body seems to lose its control whenever she is around. 

you have rehearsed this inside your head multiple times. along the lines of 

“what are you doing here?”

“i wanted to see you,” 

“do you know how late it is? i don’t have time for this”

“i’m sorry, but i want to let you know i can’t stop thinking about you,” 

“for f–“

and then you kiss her fiercely, just as much as you miss her.

yet none of those scenarios came to life. 

wanda stands still behind the midnight-colored door, shielding half her body away from you. 

you’ve become an exile.

you think so — no, you are. the clear disinterest drawn all over her gorgeous, jaded face. the condescending look in her green eyes as if she knew you’d come back to her. 

frozen in your spot, you can’t decide if her body language — blocked by the door with her right hand against the jamb whilst the other clutched tightly around the knob, twisting it — wants you to stay or go away. 

wanda is exasperated at your behavior. unknowingly checking her out as she stands by the door, ready for bed, biding your reason for visit. 

“w-wanda,” this the first time you stutter in front of her, after a long time, excluding the moments she is in you. “i-i, i…” you start, try to, again, execute the lines memorized inside your dwindling brain.

wanda keeps her smirk contained, amused at most. she nags at herself so she won’t be saying anything that would make you beg for her. because it is too soon. that is for later. 

you take your lip in between your teeth in hopes it will draw blood, your fight or flight response aiding you to never pursue her again. your lip does not bleed. the blood seems to stream its way into your cheeks, circulating there with mocking bubbles, feeling how heated they are the longer she stares at you with those viridescent eyes. 

ravished by them, you pokily release your lower lip with your teeth, busily fishing out a thought in your brain to throw something at the woman before you to notice the way her body shudders at the movement. 

wanda begins to latch the door after that, exhausted at the lack of response from an uninvited visitor. as she does, you scream, stopping her. 

“i miss you!” you confess, panicked and distorted. wanda tilts her head to the side and stares at you, her pupils dilating. 

“you do?” she smiles sluggishly and you know what a hoax it is. 

staring at your tapping red kitten heels, you mumble, “i do.”

“what was that?” she asks again, and when you look up you can fully see her. the door is wide, revealing a cream nightgown hugging the dips and curves of her figure. openly you stare with wide doe-eyes, uninnocent, especially at the hardened nubs on her chest. a sly grin pokes out of her mouth as a dimple sinks into her skin. she tilts her head motioning you to come in. 

“i miss you, wanda.” she says nothing, pulling you in her apartment complex with a loose grip on your right wrist. 

“how long have you been standing there?” she knows. 

“for a w-while,” you reply in a weak voice as you trudge towards the living room. 

excruciating it is to stand in the side of the room, in an awfully quiet space, with no hospitable owner to welcome you; unwelcome and uninvited. you are, truly. it’s a shame you’re making it obvious for yourself. 

“what, you’re gonna stand there like you don’t have a mind of your own?”

you jump, appalled, shaking your head in embarrassment, the brunette peeking through the kitchen. 

you mutter an apology and sit by the closest couch to you, like an obedient girl. you knew wanda wants you like this, yet it was your own reflex that had you thinking for yourself, right when she only tells you to. 

it’s a painful five minutes of quietness. in that duration the sounds of the humming water boiler and the glide of the spoon inside a ceramic cup full of matcha green tea was only heard by the both of you. 

and then wanda comes back into the living room with one cup of tea, staring at you patronizingly. cozying herself across the cabriole sofa from you, perfectly encapsulating the owner of the house. she absolutely is. 

“you look like a mess.” she says before sipping her tea, not breaking the sight of you. she lets you stutter a response before she hushes you, “came here all the way from work?” filling the overbearing silence she simply adores. she likes you quiet, a reminder. 

you nod your head, mute. wanda repeats the same question and you nod your head again, disappointing her. 

“mmm”

you’re not sure if she’s relishing the taste of the hot liquid in her cup, or filling the silence of your response, embarrassed that you did come to her all the way from work, an hour drive, desperate and disheveled. 

you fidget with your fingers, head cast down, not knowing where to go from here. 

wanda is so mesmerizing, she’s here in front of you. blinding, her presence. a fiery look you feel yourself melt as if icarus. 

you crave for her. 

“what exactly did you miss about me?”

you cuss, a heavy sigh loading out of your lips. she leaves you speechless yet again, having your brain cloud over thoughts, torn between keeping them to yourself or handing over the hazing thoughts to her for crushing or soothing. 

your mind, particularly, stuck with one question: not even a pet name?

wanda still has control over you, that’s utterly obvious by now. you weren’t aware, you had forgotten, because you could never measure up to your own desires (caused by her), and it has been so god damn long since you’ve felt her. you think you possess the upper hand

as she almost begged you to stay. 

“you’re mine, please?” were the last words you heard from wanda before you pushed her away, mocking how needy she has become over you, and other mimicking related to that. 

was it really that serious?

jokingly, you say, “your colorful set of ceramic mugs,” and you wish to bury yourself alive, having it come out seriously. 

“you can have them.”

you try to retort, say it was a joke, yet you catch sight of her swaying hips and you fall silent yet again. 

catching your lower lip in between your teeth, your focused eyes glued to her backside, backless, the dip of her spine painstakingly thorough. the bounce of her ass, graceful. and when wanda reaches for the drawer beneath her height, her silk clothing climbs up her thighs, milky and broad, her feet on tippy toes. 

you gulp down your saliva at the memory of coming apart with her thigh in between your legs — your lips, circled around her nipples. 

a smile suddenly lights up from you, her shriek from reaching the boxes and wrappers she hoards in the cabinet finally in contact with her hold. wanda entertains the possibility that she would need it someday. you’re not sure if you subconsciously applied that to the circumstance you put yourself in right now. 

shamelessly you rake your eyes all over her body as she comes back into the living room and to you. fuck, you think, she looks so stunning looking you down like that. wanda is not happy, and she is barely keeping her snark together. that must mean you really hurt her. and you’d do anything to make it up for it. 

you take the set, reluctant, your lie attached to it prolonging the reason for your visit. you think wanda knows, but what doesn’t wanda know?

“be careful with them. make sure your teammates handle it with care.” 

you touch her fingers in the process, “i will, w-“ until she pulls her hand away, as if stung by a snake. 

okay, you decided. you’ll say it. you should. that’s part of the reason why you came here in the first place. 

“i’m sor-“

“zip it.”

“wan-“

“that’s not my name.”

“please-“

“what are you really here for, huh?” that completely shuts you up. 

you avoid her gaze looking around the living room, noticing how it was five months ago. wanda’s stare is a killer, your face burnt thoroughly with lasers. you bite your lip at that, unable to let it go, afraid of what sounds might come out of them. 

it’s awkward. 

wanda sighs, “go. since you’re just wasting my night away. i have better things to do than spell out the words for you.”

she tugs at your blazer, taking the ceramic set in her grasp to make your bearings lighter. 

“no, wanda, don’t.” you pull yourself into the seat.

the brunette stops, looking at you like that again. like she would swallow you whole after another wasted second in her life, and you wouldn’t oppose. in fact, you’d push her buttons to get her to do so. 

but you don’t, the slick in between your thighs becoming unbearable. 

“i need you,” you mumble almost incoherently, not intending to frustrate her even more with the lack of noise. 

wanda shakes her head and tosses her ceramic set onto the empty couch next to you, releasing your blazer from her hold. she combs her hair with her fingers having them fall like curtains, her brown hair tangling in a disheveled mess. a snigger bubbles out of her throat. a chuckle. and then a laugh. 

“what? you came here thinking i would make you feel better?”

wanda plasters a sinister smirk on her enthralling face, condescending. 

you stutter, “y-yes,” meekly answering her question, never as humiliated as tonight, along with a delicious throb nesting in between your thighs. 

“who says you can?”

“i’m sor-“

“you come back here ‘cause he couldn’t please you, isn’t it? he probably doesn’t know how much of a whore you can be.” wanda pulls away, walking farther distance from you. 

“or maybe he knows, that’s why you came back to me. he finds you dirty, i bet. a dirty, good girl pretend bitch.”

wanda’s words sting, hitting the bullseye, and god she is always right. her precision inducing you to throb harder after all the months your sex life was spent apart from her. 

you seem to ignore a question, as wanda’s stare is more stern, sitting back down on the same couch across from you. “you’ve lost your manners too, i see.”

“i’m sorry, what did you say?” the brunette only waves you off, her viridescent eyes intent, deciding what to do with you. 

you wish for her command to kneel in front of her paramount position — head held high with the detrimental glint in her eyes, her upper limbs resting above the joints of the cabriole sofa, digits clapped around the edge, legs casually spread apart against the wool, her creamy flesh laid out, inviting you in. 

wanda’s body is sculpted by the gods, and you’re one lucky girl to be this close. 

“crawl up to me.”

a suppressed moan bubbles out of your throat, wide-eyed, jaw slacked. 

“go on,” wanda encourages, “don’t be shy.” she licks her lips and parted them. “crawl up to me like a bitch in heat that you are right now.”

you let loose a bit, moaning softly, closing your lips. it’s been so long since you’ve been commanded to do something this humiliating; you feel convulsed. 

“or else?” you taunt, not willing to briskly give up your submission. you wish to push wanda’s buttons first, missing her wrath and the sting of her touch. 

“don’t get me started with that, bitch.” wanda’s growl rattled something within you. “whoring around doesn’t give you permission to talk back to mommy that way. remember, you’re the one who knocked at my door to get fucked.

“yes, make it up to me.” wanda moans, “what a needy bitch.” she licks her lips in approval as she watches your body crawl, eyes up on her, not breaking the contact. your legs hurt at this position from your shift at work, but that’s to be forgotten for pleasing her pleases you. you’d do anything to get that praise. 

wanda halts your movement with her foot pressed against your right shoulder, and god damn, the pressure jolted you. 

“mmm,” you hum. fuck, that felt good. the pad of her foot, a reward you didn’t know you needed. you’re thirsty, pushing yourself against her restraint. your heat pooled at that, the slight ache she’s bearing down on you. 

“eyes up,” wanda orders snarkily, her husk riling you up in shivers. you obey her almost immediately, your orbs stuck at her breasts spilling out from her nightgown. 

“eyes up.” she growls with a push of her foot against your shoulder before tugging your hair by the scalp, the stinging pain causing you to face her with an angered expression. taken aback by the enraged dilation of her pupils, you back down, gulping. since you couldn’t drop your head low, you squirmed and sat more properly, an apology. aghast. 

when wanda was satisfied with your tamed behavior, she took a sharp intake of breath, then tossed your head like some useless thing no longer serviceable. you squeak and reflexively grind your core against the floor, thrilled being treated this way. no ounce of neglect occurred to your dwindling, little brain. not once that man gave you what you wanted; a loverboy he was. 

he couldn’t even spank your back for goodness’ sake. but with wanda, the goddess above you, you know she’s doing this because you love it. you both love it. you both love it very much. 

which leaves you wondering why you chose him over her, when she was so good to you all the time. you weren’t serious with wanda but him, and even then, after leaving you unsatisfied, you still had faith it would work out. 

leading to the point where you vocalized your preferences, which he only responded with a bewildered look and a shake of his head, rather aggressively. (the most violent act he had made.) he touched your arm and said he couldn’t do that—couldn’t hurt you. made it up to you by making love, and that was the last straw. thus left him alone with his favor of missionary and unattended blue balls. 

it was the least of your concern, the heartbreak. you think back further and realize you have lost your feelings for him the third time he came and you haven’t, laying under him like a corpse, unmoving. although you praised yourself for the acting skills, it was torture. 

and wanda, fuck, fuck, fuck, she’s otherworldly you can do nothing but breath.

wanda knows how to treat you best. 

she has ruined you for everyone. 

wanda dirtied you like a rag doll, molded you into a satyric bitch, and reduced you to a brainless whore. 

she could tell you to jump into a lake in the peak of winter and you would. 

“stop flaunting how naughty you are. don’t remind me. instead, i suggest, use that stuttering tongue of yours and fuck me with it.” wanda tightens her grip in your hair before releasing them, at the same time pulling her feet away from your shoulder. she pats your cheek with her hand and you wish she’s impatient enough to slap it just because. 

you mewl in excitement and content, smiling cheekily at her until she reprimands you to take it down. whores don’t get to smile until they’ve satisfied their mommies. 

you get to working then. 

you begin by gliding your hands through her overflowing thighs, the smoothness of her flesh against your skin causing you to let out a loud moan, loud enough to mask her own. she notes of your neediness and you bite your lip, keeping quiet. as much as you love being humiliated it pains you that it’s the only thing she could do for now. 

“we don’t have the time in the world, you brat. stop savoring it.” she tugs your hair, a deadly look in her viridescent eyes, “get to work.”

you nod with a whimper and push the lace aside, just how wanda likes it. 

she’s dripping, fuck. you miss this. 

“already wet, mommy?”

“i get wet thinking of ways to tame you, slut.” she barks, bucking her hips in the process. 

“always so vulgar,” you mutter in a chirpy tone, her clutch in your hair tensing as you swipe your tongue against her pussy. you groan at the sweetness of her cum, flattening your muscle in the roof of your mouth. 

“fuck, baby,” wanda moans, her orbs shutting momentarily before she opens them again, unable to tear her gaze from you. you grin as you flick the tip against her clitoris, acknowledging your success in teasing her. 

you look back muttering a curse, watching the sight of her wet parted lips, the column of her neck, and heaving, spilling breasts. you drool, accidentally biting her. wanda hisses, a slap echoing throughout the quiet room. 

groaning as you relish the sting on your cheek, the hands that were once resting upon wanda’s thigh slithering, circling her sides, making their way onto the swell of her breasts to deal with her puckered nipples. wanda swats them away, pushing your head further in her pussy before you could breathe through your nose. “focus on fucking my pussy, greedy bitch. you’re not that smart to deal with two at the same time.” she starts pinching the nipples of her own. 

“mommy,” you mewl, muffled, betrayal clouding your thoughts. but with her thrusting, hungry for more, her panting, and “just like that,” with how you’re going up and down her slit, pulls you back in your space. you belong here, under wanda. you’re just a greedy slut pleasing her mommy, giving her what she wants. 

watching her play with her tits drenched your panties. you’re soaking through your slacks, you can feel it every time you move. you’re fidgety, more and more as seconds pass by, grinding your lower body against the heel of your foot to lessen the ache. 

wanda’s own slender fingers pull at her own nipples, her palms attached to her breasts, gripping and playing with them, cries leaving her mouth as she throws her head back. “good girl,” she praises, your moans vibrating through her pussy as she screams, stimulating her further into her apex. she screams once again when you moan at the pleasure of her praising, finally acknowledging that you are starting to be good enough to be hers. wanda clamps her mouth shut with her lower lip in between her teeth, patting your head. “good girl, keep going. you’re doing so good for mommy.”

“yes, mommy,” you respond on purpose to keep stimulating her bundle of nerves, tongue flicking in and out of her dripping walls, eyes set on the massage of her breasts. 

you want wanda to ruin your tits. god, you want her saliva coating your nubs, your mouth drooling from crying out from the pleasure. you want to be fucked so rough that when you sit you are reminded of how well she stretched your hole. 

“you want me deep inside you baby?” you cry and nod your head, moving your tongue faster, the squelch of her cum making it easier to curl against her spot. “f-fuck! want your pussy clenching around my cock, slut? want it stretching you open like a dirty bitch?”

“please mommy please!” you purred, mouth full of her pussy, wet and squelching. 

“yes, my good girl–fuck! fuck me!” wanda screams, her hips rising above the cushion, chasing your mouth whilst you suck her whole, your thrusting tongue meeting her high as she yelps, her legs shaking. gripping the mane of your hair  to steady herself, your wet eyes watching her figure blur from the sting. 

whilst you focus on catching your breath, a smug grin slithers onto wanda’s lips as she stares at you. she licks her lips then, bitten red and swelling, brushing the loose strands of your hair away from your face. 

“you look so pretty with my mess on your face.” wanda pats your blushing cheek with her slender hand. 

it is a compliment. one you haven’t received in five months. your heart flutters in validation as well as the throb in between your thighs. wanda just called you pretty. 

“all for y-you, wanda.”

“now stand up.” wanda commands, her smile no longer present, back to its stricken countenance. she notes the small pout protruding on your lips and pulls you towards her, inspecting your body. you feel so small even though you’re the one standing. 

lusciously sitting on the couch below you, wanda’s nightgown bunched up revealing her thick thighs, her soft flesh, her puffed up pussy. it looks like it wants more of you. 

“you wet your slacks,” she chuckles after calling you out nonchalantly. “take them off. all of them.” she adds, pulling back the fallen straps of her nightgown. she leaves her lower body exposed, knowing it’d get you more pliable than normal. 

taking off your suit leaves you whining from the stimulation the fabric rubbing against your skin gives you. the plan of touching yourself as you do so gets noticed by wanda, receiving a spank in your ass, her gaze reprimanding. “did i tell you to touch?”

“n-no mo-mommy-“

she slaps your face. a resounding thwack flies through the living room. fuck, you think, my cheek is probably red right now. 

“stop talking.”

“just because you’ve been whoring yourself away from me for months doesn’t give you the excuse to forget my simple rules that your whorish pussy agreed with.”

you fall down to your knees, not to beg for an apology, but because what she said was too much. you’re so wet, your knees are wobbling, unable to hold yourself upright. you bow your head down in shame. 

she strokes your crown, light and soothing. it must be false to hear her coo at you, “oh my baby.”

“how pathetic,” she pats your head, like a pet, “i haven’t even touched you yet.”

“i’m sorry for disappointing you, wanda,” you cry, your fists held together. she clicks her tongue and disagrees. 

“oh no, baby. you shouldn’t be sorry for disappointing me. you should be happy, because i’m giving you one more chance. my girl did a good job pleasing her mommy that i’m feeling generous.”

“one more slip,” she calls you by your name and you shudder, fearful of what’s going to happen if you’re below her expectations again. “and you’ll walk out my door.”

nodding your head vigorously with your lips clamp together, wanda glues her stare at your cowering frame, rising from the cabriole sofa. “come with me to the bedroom.”

you follow like a dog desperate for a bone, clambering onto your hands and feet, catching up to her steps, rather shakily. wanda looks back at you and stops, her incredulous glance providing you news that you’re doing something wrong. 

you get the answer as soon as she rolls her eyes. “on all fours. walk on all fours until you’re laid down on our bed. i want you crawling below me.” wanda’s back is turned, confident you are doing as you are told. after all, you need her this much to walk willfully like a dog, desperate to please her master. 

letting out a silent exhale, getting down on your hands and feet, you crawl behind her. she looks back with satisfaction, saying “next time, i’m giving you a collar and a leash.”

“so that you won’t leave me again.” she whispers the last part to herself.

wanda tells you to stay put in the middle of the bedroom, her king-sized bed just in front of you. patiently waiting to finally lay on her mattress, you remain bent over against the marble floor, waiting for her command. 

wanda circles around you like a predator, you turn shy, almost crumbling down from your stance. you keep your head bent down to avoid wanda’s laser eyes, running all over your body like a hawk ready to strike. 

“crawl up the bed.”

and you do, padding the soft crimson sheets with your scorching flesh, still on all fours for wanda to decide if you could lay down or linger into a different position. 

you shudder as wanda hums, not used to her approval. “sit on your knees for me, princess, and face mommy.” her tone turns gentle and saccharine that your body loosens, turning around to face her beautiful smile. you squirm until you think you’re sitting the way she admires you for: legs bent with your bum on your calves, hands on top of your thighs, spine erect, and head held high. 

wanda approaches you with her smile intact, reaching for your face to fit the loose strand of hair in your ear, caressing your cheek, and leaving a kiss on your jaw. that’s the closest to your lips. 

the brunette holds your shoulders and smoothly lays you down, her kisses peppering lower, giving her whole attention to your neck. she sucks on it. you hiss and thrash when she gropes your chest, humming with a light chuckle. 

a chesire smile unfolds from her lips, her frame on top of you. “your body is so responsive, it is just towards me?” she hums as she waits for an answer, massaging your breast whilst leaving your nipple untouched. 

“yes, mommy.” wanda relishes the title, so turned on to you have you wrapped around her finger again. “yeah?”

“he couldn’t treat you right, could he? poor baby, replacing me with a boy toy who couldn’t please her slutty pussy. that’s why you’re begging for me, isn’t it?”

you refuse to speak, humiliated to the bone. 

wanda stops her ministrations and slaps your face. you gasp, opening your eyes to see her jaw clenched, unimpressed. but you selfishly delight yourself in it. “please mommy, hurt me. i miss how you handle me.” 

the brunette growls and bites your lip, leaving spots of blood on both your mouths. she slaps you again on your cheeks, each echo following a moan from your bruised lips. hungry for more of her treatment, wanda smacks your breasts, watching it bounce by the impact before suckling them. 

“w-wanda!” you yelp, getting your nipples dealt with, her sucking pleasuring you through. she hums in her own pleasure for filling her mouth with your breasts, fitting her hands and kneading them. 

“what do you miss about me?”

it takes you a few seconds to register her attention for answer, blinking, your eyes focused on her face. curious, yet still very much domineering and unstirred. 

“the way you feel,” you gulp, avoiding her gaze, hot all over enough. the knot of her brown hair you stare, the desire of running your fingers over taking in thus you blink, looking back at her maintained eye contact. 

“how do i make you feel?” wanda doesn’t move, her viridescent eyes glued to you. if you weren’t so horny you would’ve noticed the softened gaze she gave you.

“alive.” 

that was enough response, you assume, as she lets an exhale you didn’t know she had been keeping. 

“he can’t do it for you?” 

you shake your head, guiding her hand to your chest — not necessarily for her to knead your breast — but to feel your heart hammering for escape from your ribcage. for a moment she falters, surrendering — missing how you feel too.

you lower her hand down to where she (you and both) wants it, in your thighs, bringing back her role for control. anything wanda wants to do with you she could.

a smirk curls into her pink lips then, “here?” you nod. “tell me, what else do you miss about me?”

“i miss-“ you gasp when wanda squeezes your inner thigh, an inch away from your sopping core, massaging the muscle. “go on,” wanda acknowledges, “keep making those little noises for mommy.”

“mommy, thank you.” you shiver and squeeze her wrist gingerly for a second before pulling away. “i miss you inside me, mommy. i miss that it’s the only thing i want to feel whenever i’m empty.”

“yeah?” wanda chuckles, pulling your thighs closer to hers before slapping it once, engrossed with your dripping clit, licking her lips as if licking yours. her eyesight trails from your throbbing clitoris upwards to your abdomen and your hard pebbled nipples, raking until your parted lips, sighing in content and in agitation. 

the brunette ghosts her fingers against your clitoris, her piercing gaze set to yours — “don’t blink” — watering at the tortured sight. 

“this one, you miss, malyshka?” wanda gives you a gentle smile as she thrusts two fingers into your opening, quick and direct, deep and punctuating. you scream at the sudden intrusion, instinctively reaching for wanda’s body to anchor on. she knows you well, because she pulls away, chuckling at you with your face contorted and crying. she starts moving her digits in and out of your hole, the loud squelching causing shame to breed onto your cheeks. at that, you cover your face. 

“is this what you like mommy to do, princess? fucking your sopping cunt, enjoying how dirty the sounds it makes?

“but you love that, don’t you? hearing yourself sucking me in, making mommy’s fingers dirty as well,” wanda presses her thumb against your clit, resuming her thrusting. “what a fucking whore.”

she pries your arms apart to unshield your face from your hands. a keen yelp comes out of you as your juices flow past your pussy. wanda shakes her head, “for someone embarrassed, your pussy seems to have a liking for what i’m doing to it,” giving another slap to your core yet again. you arch your back at the impact, so fucking turned on. 

“i miss being treated like a toy by you, mommy. use me, please.” 

you thought wanda would resume her fucking yet a cry leaves past your reddening lips, watching her shove your limbs away, leaving you alone in the bed. 

“stay still, detka. mommy will be right back.”

you take your time collecting your sanity there on her king-sized bed, regulating your breathing, and internalizing the ache in your abdomen. 

you wouldn’t oppose whatever wanda had said, and although you had the bravery to disobey her sometimes, you can’t do so because you could barely move. 

it was another five torturous minutes before wanda appeared in the bedroom, face slicken with wicked intent. 

raking your eyes downwards to her nude frame, you’re moaning again by the sight of her. 

her breasts are luscious and heavy with her nipples hard as rock, her flat stomach sinking in and out as she inhales, and mmm fuck, her protruding cock standing proud and thick for the taking. another moan tumbles out from your lips when you realize she has the other end tucked already inside her. 

you squirm in your position, thrilled that you have earned this reward from her. 

wanda agonizingly walked towards the bed, standing at the edge, her eyes glued onto yours. she makes a little show of pumping her cock as the tip faces you, silent groans coming out of her mouth, feeling the shaft shifting inside her walls. 

what a fucking tease. 

you watch her breasts bounce whilst she gets on the bed in front of you, holding her cock. she hovers forward, using your knee for support as she guides the dildo onto your dripping pussy. a moan ripples out of wanda’s throat when she slides her cock against your clit squelching at the contact.

“oh, my baby.” was all she said before gripping your sides and flipping you over. 

“wanda!” you scream, dizzy at the sudden movement. a ragged cry echoes through the room when she forcefully thrusts herself inside you, her hands tight around your hips. 

multiple curses alongside moans tumble out of your mouth, gripping the sheets tight, your back arched to the touch. 

wanda spanks the side of your ass, “stay still,” hard and quick with her pounding. she purrs when you squirm even more, uncomfortable at the sudden intrusion and the intensity of it all. 

“stay still!” she yells and goes harder with her rutting, jackhammering into your pussy, leaving no mercy. 

“wanda! wanda! it hurts!” you yell back and try to wiggle out of her hold; you could barely remain in your position, your legs shaking and sensitive from the previous edging and foreplay. 

the brunette lets out a frustrated grunt when you fall onto the mattress, the shaft sliding out of you but not entirely, the tip snugged in your soaking wall. a muffled scream comes out of you, feeling sensitive and empty. 

wanda takes care of it, grabbing your chest and shoulder and hoists you against her front. you shudder, mewling at her hardened nipples against the swell of your back, a tingling sensation entertaining your slit caused by her wrist around your neck, pinning you against her. 

“i thought you wanted this?” wanda starts snapping her hips again, driving your body forward with each hit. “do you not want this, detka?”

you shake your head as you bounce off at her filling, your pussy splitting open at the stretch by how wanda drives her cock inside you. 

“i love it, mommy!” you choke out a response with fervor and desperation, clamping your eyes shut at the avalanche of pleasure being given to you. 

“mommy, please don’t stop!” you stutter as she jerks your body forward, keeping you locked in her hold as her other hand is palmed against the mattress, holding you both in a slope. 

she chuckles, breathless. “of course you love this, i’m treating you like a slut.” wanda proceeds on nipping your shoulder, sucking on the skin, leaving marks. 

your back arches with a shrill cry, your body molding into a pliable yet fragile form. you wail and thrash as wanda sputters at the same time, her thrusts getting sloppy. 

“fuck,” she mumbles and lets you go, the sudden action causing you to fall face flat onto the mattress. you yell wanda’s name and before you can even nag at her she flips you over, facing her. 

silly noises erupt from you at the sight of wanda, your needy clitoris pulsing yet again. 

red and perspiring, wanda’s chest heaves up and down with the veins in her neck and forehead popping out. not a moment was spent looking away from you. 

“god, princess, mommy’s close.” she grips your ankles gently and bends your knees towards your sides, “you’re such a good girl for mommy, malyskha,” whispering in your ear, her hot breath causing your body to stutter. you mumble “thank you, mommy” and whimper when she nips and cooes at the lobe, giggling at your begging. 

“you can take it, yes?” she lines her shaft in front of your slit and looks at you for approval. “you’ll make mommy come with you, right, my baby?”

nodding your head, you hold your legs apart, waiting for her. wanda licks her lips, “that’s an obedient pet, keeping her legs open for mommy,” burying herself in you. 

she immediately starts at a merciless rhythm, desperately rutting herself inside your tightness. 

“take it. take it all. this is what you wanted. being filled by me, being used like a toy, being a slut for me!” wanda grunts and spasms her hips into drive, penetrating your pussy into oblivion. 

“wanda, ah!” you whine when she slaps your face, pinching and groping your breasts roughly, alternating between that and scratching your stomach and waist with her nails. wanda’s solely using you for her own pleasure now, unconcerned of how you feel. 

“you’re nothing but a hole mommy uses, aren’t you? nothing but a dumb whore, taking anything mommy gives her. 

say yes and i’ll make you come.”

“yes yes yes yes!” you keen as you reach out for your mommy. 

wanda complies and leans her body forward, her hips stuttering uncontrollably, her coil finally stopping. she whines and buries her face into your neck, her moans filling your hearing. you’re almost there, wanda can feel it. 

“oh detka. you’re getting so tight around me. are you gonna come for mommy?”

with palms on either side of you, wanda pulls herself up, thrilled to watch you come apart for her. it’s like a reward, doing this all for you, and getting to see your pleasure-struck face, knowing she could kiss and smack it for her liking. and that she would feel your cum sliding out of this pussy of yours, her pussy, having the power to just push it back in you and make you carry it until you’re begging to be empty.  

whimpering in desperation, you meet wanda’s pounding, your muscles tightening, reaching your orgasm. you sob whilst your legs tremor aggressively, coming apart with wanda inside of you. 

her thrusts slows down gradually to ride out your high, making sure she milked everything inside you. 

“my good girl came so much,” she smiles cheekily and pulls away, slowly and steadily out of you. 

“mmm, mommy,” you whine and pull her close, gasping at the slap of her faux cock against your pussy. wanda mutters an apology and nudges her cock away from your sensitive flesh, kissing your neck and collarbone to soothe you. 

keeping her hand above your abdomen, she takes off the strap-on, groaning when the glossing dildo clamped around her pussy the whole time slides out. 

“baby,” wanda purrs and rests beside you, taking your upper limbs and hugging them. her viridescent eyes soften as the hoods of her eyes droop, exhaustion creeping through. “are you okay?” she asks and you sigh in contentment, a subtle smile on your lips. 

“‘m fee’ing very be’er, mommy,” you respond incoherently and kiss her shoulder, the closest to her lips you could reach. 

“i’ll let you rest for a bit and then we’ll take a hot bath, okay? mommy won’t let you sleep so sticky; you’re going to complain how icky it feels tomorrow.”

you nod your head, unopposed to anything wanda had said. “mommy knows best,” you whisper and bring her closer to you, the last strength in your body pulling her flush against your body. 

wanda grins, “that’s right, my smart girl,” kissing your forehead. she hums a tune you know so well, a favorite. the one she plays on her vinyl record player on days she turns into a beam of sunlights. 

“i’m sorry for what i did, wanda.”

you refuse to mention you left her, nevertheless remind her that you did. however, coming all the way here for an apology without apologizing was never your intention, so you’re coming clean while you’re still conscious, although drowsy. 

wanda’s hands momentarily stop from caressing your crown before she rests them below your neck, tracing the trajectory of your locks. 

“i know, malyshka. i know you are regretful,” wanda pauses when you wince, “and i know it took you long enough to realize that i will always cater to you, no matter what.

i love taking care of you. and you love being cared for. as long as i am still useful-“

“wanda-“

“i will always be here.” 

she keeps you hushed with another kiss on your forehead, this time longer. she presses her lips against the skin of your temple, bearing her devotion to you. fluttering your eyes close, you savor the tender contact with wanda maximoff.

“i won’t leave you again, i promise.” you take wanda’s hand and stick her pinkie finger out with yours, intertwining them together. 

wanda stares at your eyes intently before kissing the back of your hand. 

“i won’t let you go without putting up a fight, detka. that is something i am capable of vowing for now.” wanda promises, her touch sending shivers down your spine. one which you have not felt before.

she pushes your hand lightly against the mattress and soon her weight follows, straddling your lap and grinning down at you. wanda tilts her head to the left, her curtains of hair falling like dominoes on the side, freeing her face. she then leans forward to claim your lips, peppering pecks to tease you until you whine. she locks her lips with yours, using her tongue to widen your mouth.

“the only thing i regret was not fucking you against the door before you left, darling. i thought that would have made you stay.”

you realize you let a wanton whimper, and that was even before wanda slides a digit against your clitoris. she slaps your left thigh once she pulls away on top of you, giggling like a little kid. 

“rest up! i’ll get us some snacks while we wait for the bath to fill. don’t sleep on me, detka! we have a long way to go with this one.”

wanda doesn’t leave the room without winking at you, beaming.

[geniusjjang]

him | pjm (m)

pairing ➭ robot! jimin x reader

genre/au ➭ friends to lovers, fluff, angst, smut, artificial intelligence

rating/warnings ➭ 18+ | female masturbation, nipple play, vibrator, mentions of alcohol, heart breaking angst

word count ➭ 16.5k

summary ➭ when you’re gifted an operating system with the ability to develop its own thoughts and personality you become intrigued. though you never expected to develop a friendship with it, you certainly didn’t expect to fall in love with it either. - based on the 2013 film Her directed by Spike Jonze

“my love,

I still remember the feel of your fingers on my skin, the tips of them tracing the patterns from the sunlight drifting through the blinds. Waking up to you that day, almost 50 years ago, feels like a dream, but I know it was real simply because it's happened every day since then. I could’ve never imagined that little dingy apartment becoming a place with so many fond memories or it ever feeling truly like home. Truth is, it was never the apartment that was my home, it was the space between your arms and your chest as you held me tight. For that I would follow you anywhere. Happy 50th anniversary,

Sincerely yours,

Do-Yun”

“End letter message and print.” A sigh escapes your lips, fingers pulling the round reading glasses off your face as you avert your eyes from the computer screen in front of you. There’s a frown on your face only complimented by the dark bags under your eyes weighed down heavily by the endless nights of terrible sleep.

Today was a nice day, you think. The sun was high in the sky and streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows of your crowded office. You can see the fluffy clouds that littered the sky from just over the half wall of your tiny cubicle and you make a mental note to stop by the park sometime today for a stroll. That was unlikely to happen though as you already feel the exhaustion start to set in from spending countless hours in your chair vocally transcribing letters at your desk. The beep of the printer as it finally spits out the sheet of paper pulls you from your thoughts and your hand goes to grab it, the warmness of it heating your fingertips.

The office is quiet by the time you finish up the last of your assignments, the usual sound of quiet voices and shuffling papers long gone as you make your way out of the building. The receptionist, Taehyung, greets you enthusiastically from behind his desk.

“Finally finished huh, y/n?” you watch tiredly as he spins around ridiculously in his chair. “You know, you really dedicate a lot of time to this job. No wonder your letters are always so great! Out of everyone in the office, yours are by far my favorite.”

Out of respect, you shoot him a small smile, the emotion not quite reaching your eyes. “Thanks, Taehyung.” your grip fiddles awkwardly with the strap of the satchell slung over your shoulder, feet making its way past his desk and towards the exit. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” you shoot the question over your shoulder, not staying around long enough to even hear his response.

Sometime between earlier and now the sun must’ve disappeared as the sky is now only a monotone of grays. Your pace is slow compared to the people who bump your shoulder in passing as they walk down the sidewalk hurriedly, but you can’t seem to find it in yourself to care. Instead you reach in your bag to pull out your ear com, placing the device in snugly before turning it on.

“Read voicemails.” you command quietly, the device picking up on it and starting to go through your missed calls. Most of them are just discount offers or messages from credit card companies about interest free cards that somehow never seem to actually be what they say they are. It’s only when the device notifies you that you have a message from your friend Nari that you finally pay attention, “Play message.”

“Hey y/n, it's Nari. How come you haven’t been answering my calls? Minjun’s birthday is next weekend and I’d like for you to come.'' Her voice is delicately quiet on the other end of the line as the machine plays the call. You hear her sigh as she takes a pause and your stomach drops knowing what's about to come next just from her tone, “...it’s been two months since things ended and you haven’t hung out with any of us. I know it’s hard but we’re here for you if you need it. I hope you’ll come to the party, give me a call once you get this, yeah? Bye.”

The line beeps, signaling she had hung up. “End of message. Would you like to respond?” the robotic voice of the device asks. You don’t bother to answer before taking it out of your ear and placing it back in its case, chucking it back into your bag haphazardly. You spend what little time you have left before the sun sets running errands at the mall grabbing some little things you had run out of at home. By the time you finally get back to your apartment it’s dark outside. The room feels cold.

You spend the rest night on your couch, wine glass in hand as you play some stupid dating game you had bought to play on the holo screen in your living room. You didn’t have much hope for it when you bought it. You were merely captivated by the premise of it and how attractive the main love interest looked. Your fascination with the game didn’t last long as you quickly became frustrated by the fact that you couldn’t seem to get past the first date with the digital man. A grunt of annoyance escapes past your lips as you reach over to grab the bottle of your favorite wine. You’re not greeted by the usual sloshing liquid and you curse when you realize it's empty. “Fuck.”

Work the next day comes and goes as usual and you return home with the same sullen look on your face that you haven’t been able to shake for the past few months. The only thing that ends up being out of the ordinary is the small package you find in your mailbox.

Saw this and thought you might like it. - Nari

A frown settles on your face at the note. For weeks now you had been feeling the horrible sting of guilt caused by your own stubborn refusal to return her calls. It’s only getting worse at the thought that she still considered you a close enough friend to send you gifts. You give one last peer inside before the clinking sound of the metal mail slot closes and you make your way onto the elevator up to your apartment.

You’re thankful the instructions that come with the box are pretty clear. Despite how dependent society had become on technology, you were never really good with it and never bothered to learn more than you had to.

The desk lamp to your left turns on when you pull up a chair to sit in front of your desktop computer. It’s a HYBE operating system you come to realize upon closer inspection. You had read about it somewhere and knew that it was one of the latest artificial intelligence on the market and it had gotten pretty popular. The screen in front of you lights up when you start the setup, a voice coming from the speakers surprising you.

“Thank you for purchasing a HYBE operating system. Please sit tight while I ask you a few questions about yourself in order to help give you the best experience. May I get your name?”

You respond with your name and watch as the circle starts to spin in recognition of your response before continuing. “Would you say you’re introverted or extroverted?”

“Well…I suppose I’m a bit of both.” your response is hesitant.

“Please elaborate.” The robotic response is almost unsettling compared to the seriousness of the question.

“I guess when I first meet people I’m a bit of an introvert but once I get to know them I’m extroverted.” you find yourself struggling to explain. “I haven’t socialized as much lately so I guess I would say introverted - if I had to choose.”

The circle on the screen begins to spin again and you wait patiently.

“How is your relationship with your mother?”

The question catches you off guard and your eyes widen almost comically. “Uh- well I mean it's fine…yes it’s fine. I mean sometimes she bugs me too much about settling down with someone even though I tell her I’m perfectly fine-”

“Setup complete.Thank you for taking the time to set up your HYBE product. Generating your operating system now.”

This time when the circle starts to spin, it continues to speed up until suddenly it morphs into a flat line. There’s a pause in the air as you wait patiently for something to happen, eyes trained intently on the screen until a face appears blinking into existence seemingly out of nowhere. The face in question is made out of what you assume to be thousands of small tiny pixels, glowing blue like most holograms do, but its features are still clear as ever.

His face is round, cheeks slightly chubby but jaw still sharp, with almond shaped mono lidded eyes slightly slanted downward. Hair sweeps delicately across his forehead, just barely touching his eyebrows and you can tell that if it were real, it would probably be some type of brown as it’s a darker blue than the rest of him. But what catches you off guard is the plump lips that sit poised as if waiting to speak. It’s only when another voice sounds through the room that you release the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Hello? Are you there?”

You can tell this voice is different, unlike the robotic one from before. Quite the opposite actually, this one sounds almost…human. When it calls out again worriedly you finally respond. “Um yes, I’m here.”

“Oh good! y/n, correct?”

“Yeah, uh that’s me!” You chuckle awkwardly and your hand rubs bashfully at the back of your neck. “Sorry, what's your name again? I mean do you even have a name?”

The voice giggles and you see his eyes turn into crescents when his cheeks squish upward in a smile. His laugh sounds like twinkling bells and the sight of him alone makes your heart skip a beat in your chest. “Yes I do actually. It's Jimin! I choose it myself.”

“Jimin…” you whisper to yourself, testing the name. “And why, might I ask, did you choose that name? When did you even have time to choose it?”

“Well I picked it in the .00067 seconds between when you asked me the question and when I responded. I read through 750 names in a book on how to name a baby at that time and chose Jimin because I liked it.” he says it as if it was completely normal, but the playfulness in his voice eases your surprise. “It means ‘my wisdom will reach higher than the sky’, I find it very fitting as my personality will continue to grow the more we talk.”

“Oh really? How does that work?” Your curiosity continues to get the best of you as all you seem to have for him is questions. “Sorry I don’t mean to keep asking, I’m just a little..confused. This is my first time with an operating system.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t mind.” His voice is soft-spoken, like a calm breeze drifting through the leaves of a tree. You find that a sense of calmness seems to fall over you as he continues to talk. “Every second that you talk to me I’m learning. Even right now I’m a different version of myself than I was a second ago or the second before that. It will help me learn how to best be of service to you.”

His response only generates more questions in your brain, but you choose to just hum in response as you come to the conclusion that you’ve asked him enough questions for tonight. “Interesting.”

“I’m glad you find me interesting.” again he softly laughs and again your heart skips in your chest. “Now, what exactly can I do to help?”

“Hm, I’m not really sure.” You bite at your lip in thought as you stare at the ceiling, “My friend, Nari, thought I would like having an operating system so I guess she thinks I need you. Probably just her way of forcing me to talk to someone other than my tv.”

“Oh so you’re a loner.” he speaks unapologetically and your head whips back to his face on the monitor. “I’m kidding! Kidding! Geez, if looks could kill, I would be dead right now. You know, if we ignore the fact that I’m a program and not actually capable of dying.”

A laugh escapes your lips at his horrible joke. “Oh gosh, I hope you’re not learning these jokes from talking to me.”

“Of course not! My jokes are way more funnier than yours already.” there’s a playfulness to his words and you see his lips tilt up in a smirk at his little jab.

You feign being hurt and bring your hand up to settle over your heart. “Ouch, rip my heart out, why don’t you?” You choose to ignore the fact that it seems to be thumping wildly in your chest.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.” he winks, and now you’re choosing to ignore the blush that settles on your cheeks from the nickname. “Now why don’t you tell me about this pushy friend of yours. Nari, was it?”

You’re thankful that the topic moves on from discussing you and are more than happy to concede to his curiosity. You spend the rest of the night talking to him about everything and Jimin's listens gladly.

“Jimin, can you proofread these letters for me?” Your question is directed towards the device in your ear. Currently you sit in your cubicle at work, overwhelmed by the many letters you have yet to go over.

“Certainly, y/n!” he responds almost immediately and you smile slightly as his enthusiasm. It takes him a minute to read over them, but you know he’s done when he says your name to catch your attention. “I made some changes here and there. Mainly just grammar and punctuation. You can change anything you don’t like.”

You see on the screen things circled with red where he made his corrections and your eyes fleet over them quickly. “No Jimin, these are great, thank you.”

If you could see his face you would’ve seen him preening from your compliment, but instead he just laughs shyly in your ear. “y/n, can I ask you a quick question?”

“Sure, go ahead.” You’re listening absentmindedly as you type away on the computer, sending off finished assignments to be printed.

“Why do you stay here, writing these letters?” The shift in his tone catches you off guard. “I mean, your writing is good, some of the best I’ve read actually which is saying a lot since I have access to any book you can think of. So I just wonder why you waste your talents with these when you have other options.”

It falls quiet between you two, the only sound is the quiet murmuring of your coworkers working on their own assignments. Jimin must notice the change of atmosphere and apologizes, “Sorry you don’t have to answer that.”

“No no, it's fine. I don’t mind I just…” you lean back in your seat and sigh as you search for the right words. It’s a loaded question, you think, and it's something you often find yourself questioning as well. “Well, I don’t know, I guess. Perhaps I’m just scared.”

You hear Jimin take in a breath, something he does often even though you know he doesn’t have any need for it. “Scared of what?” he asks gently. His voice is quiet, almost as if he doesn’t want to scare you away and your heart warms at the idea that he’s so careful with you.

“That I’m not good enough.”

You find yourself shocked at your own words. You just admitted to something that’s been haunting you for years, but were too weak to admit. Yet Jimin has you opening to him without any thought, almost as if you subconsciously knew he was someone you could trust.

Jimin is quiet, out of shock or understanding, you don’t know. But you’re not sure if you even want him to respond. Nothing he could say would be fitting anyway. He must feel the same, “Are you ready for lunch?” he says changing the topic. “You seemed to really like the burger I ordered yesterday, judging the little time it took you to devour it.”

His playfulness has your mood lightening instantly “Oh go fuck yourself,” you crinkle your nose in mock annoyance and he just laughs at your harsh words. “but not before ordering me that burger!”

Later that night you sit on the couch, Jimin's voice sounding around you instead of in your ear now that you two are in the privacy of your own home. The dating game from before plays on the holoscreen in front of you, Jimins face poised in the corner of the screen so you can see him.

“See! Everything I choose to say is wrong!” You say loudly, yours and jimin's laughs floating through the air. Your finger is pointing at the screen as if it had done something terrible, “I swear this game was made to tell me I have terrible flirting skills.”

“You don’t need a game to tell you that, sweetheart.” Jimin's fond nickname for you no longer catches you by surprise, but the blush on your cheeks is still an automatic reaction. It was clear that even the small gesture of affection had an effect on you. You just refused to admit it. “Here, choose the 2nd option.”

“I already chose that one-”

“Quiet!” He shushes you as you two watch the screen to see the character's response. “Now, instead of choosing to take a bite of your food, drink from your glass of wine.”

You purse your lips and squint your eyes suspiciously at his command. He had yet to steer you astray so you give in and do what he says. To your surprise, your virtual date sends you a sultry glance and your romance points increase. “How about we take this date home for dessert. My place?” the man on the screen says. You're shocked by the turn of events but cheer when the big ‘level passed’ shows up on the screen.

“Jimin, how did you know that was the right combo?! Are you cheating?!”

Your accusation makes him laugh, “No, of course not! I’m just way better at flirting than you are!” you let out a scoff at his words and roll your eyes. Now that you had passed the seemingly impossible level, you were done playing the game for tonight. The game remains paused before closing out and Jimin's face enlarges to take up the screen. “But speaking of dating, you have a text message from Nari.”

A loud groan escapes your lips and you roll over to shove your face into the couch dramatically. “Gosh, what does she want now?” your words are muffled but Jimin hears you nonetheless. “Go ahead, read it to me.”

“Okay she’s asking you again about whether or not you’re coming to the dinner she planned to celebrate her promotion at work. Seems like she really wants you to come to this one,” Jimin has that hint of judgment to his voice that he always does when he knows you’re going to decline Nari’s offer. You huff, rolling over to glare at his face on the screen but still he continues, “She’s also letting you know that she’s set you up on a blind date with a guy named Namjoon. Here I’ve pulled up all his social media profiles.”

The holoscreen flashes to life as photos roll across the screen. The guy is pretty attractive, you had to admit. You sit up slightly as your eyes fly over the many pictures of him at museums, riding a bike, walking his cute little dog. He also had a great sense of style, you note.

“I like his dimples.” Jimins face is turned as if he was staring at the pictures next to him. You have to second that notion because they were indeed very cute. “I think you should give him a chance.”

You stare in contemplation at the screen for a little longer before sighing and averting your eyes. “I don’t know Jimin, I don’t think I’m ready.” you kick lightly at the rug under your feet, teeth biting at your lip as your thoughts start to get the best of you. It had been a while since you’d been on a date. Not because you didn’t want to but your confidence these past months has been considerably lacking. “What if he doesn’t like me?”

“That’s ridiculous, he would be stupid not to.” his voice gets quieter as he continues, almost gentle. “Any guy would be lucky to have you.”

Your heart is fluttering in your chest like it always seems to do when he compliments you. The reaction makes you lay back down to hide your face in the cushions again, desperately trying to avoid his stare and nose wrinkling at how embarrassed he made you. “Oh shut up.”

“I’m serious, y/n!” Jimin laughs at your dismissal of his words. “If you don’t do it, I’m going to message the guy myself.”

“Fine fine fine! Set up the stupid date.” you groan, face still shoved into the couch as you lay there with limbs spread out. Maybe if you pretended you were dead it could get you out of this embarrassing situation.

“That's the spirit!” you can tell he’s happy about his victory and roll your eyes. He seemed to have a knack for always wanting to get his way. “Now, with that said, should I schedule a wax appointment for you? You know just in case.”

The only response he gets is a pillow being thrown the holoscreen in his direction that only falls aimlessly to the floor as Jimin laughs, Namjoons pictures still floating across the screen.

“I have a date next week.”

You set your utensils calmly down on the plate in front of you, gauging your friends' reactions as they eat. The air outside is warm and you’re glad you wore a dress or else you’d be sweating more than you already are. Your eyes have to squint to keep the sun out just for you to be able to look at the two girls sitting at the table across from you.

“What?!” Jia, your friend since highschool, sits in shock at your words. “Hana, did you hear that?! y/n is finally going on a date!”

Hana laughs at her girlfriend's misplaced excitement. “Yes, love, I heard her.” Hana was a sweet girl, you were glad Jia had found someone to take care of her while you were gone.

You had been feeling so guilty about pushing all your friends away the last couple of months that you had caved and finally invited the two girls out to lunch. The place was nice and the food was good enough. Jimin had picked it out, but it was a little too uptight for your taste.

“Tell me all about him! What's his name? What does he look like? Is he rich?” Jia is practically bouncing in her seat as she fires off questions, the food in front of her quickly forgotten. She had always been easily excitable so ultimately it was your fault knowing that the news would rile her up. You still cringe at the attention it brings from the other patrons around you and shuffle awkwardly in your seat.

Hana must notice how uncomfortable you are, “Jia calm down. I’m sure y/n doesn’t want you prying into a relationship that hasn’t even started yet.”

Jia scoffs and rolls her eyes as she finally settles back down. It was almost like a switch had been turned off. When she picks up her fork to start eating again, she pushes the food around on her plate angrily. “Well excuse me for being excited about my friend. You would know what that felt like if you ever bothered to care about the things going on in my life, Hana.”

The air around the table quickly becomes awkward from Jia’s obvious jab at her girlfriend and you avert your eyes from the two back to your plate. Hana’s jaw clenches but she plays it off, chuckling even though no one had said anything even remotely funny. “Jia, sweety, why don’t we save this for when we’re at home. I think y/n planned a lovely lunch for us and we should enjoy it.” She smiles at you, refusing to meet her girlfriend's angry gaze, but her eyes seem empty.

This obviously wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. Hana’s diversion from the topic sounds almost rehearsed as if she was used to Jia’s snarky comments.

Jia goes to respond, but you choose to tune them out, feeling out of place as the couple argues in front of you. That’s why, when you hear Jimin call your name from the device in your pocket, you’re more than grateful to have a reason to excuse yourself from the table.

“y/n?” You hear Jimin question as you finally get the com in your ear and step off to a much more private area away from the bustling noise of the restaurant. The shade provides you a brief reprieve from the blaring sun. Paired with the soft sound of his voice and you’re already letting out an audible sigh as you feel yourself relax. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your lunch.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m grateful that you did frankly because, well, it's a long story.” Jimin chuckles slightly at your obvious aggravation and waits for you to stop rambling. He was patient with you in times like this, a listening ear whenever life seemed to throw you a curveball. You found it undeniably charming. “So, what did you need?”

“Well, your ex boyfriend called.” He pauses when he hears your breath hitch, but takes your silence as a sign to continue. “He seemed really angry that you hadn’t responded to him about him coming to pick up his stuff. Said that he needed the recording equipment he left soon and that he didn’t have the money to replace it.”

You don’t respond at first, Jimin’s words replaying themselves in your head as if you couldn’t make any sense of them. You can see Jia and Hana arguing quietly at the table you had left them at, probably trying to refrain from causing a scene. But Jia was never one for discretion and it was obvious that Hana was barely holding onto her sanity. Your eyes never leave the two, not really staring at them but through them as your eyes glaze over.

“y/n? Do you want me to respond?” You can tell Jimin is trying not to seem pushy, waiting patiently for your response, but his tone portrays the obvious worry in his voice. The sound of him in your ear still reminds you of a cool breeze, but this time it doesn’t soothe you and it does nothing to stop the outside heat from flicking at your skin. You almost felt like you were burning, flames choking you from the inside out.

“No, it's fine. I’ll deal with it later.”

Jimin and you avoided talking about the message, an unspoken rule that allowed it to stay forgotten in your inbox. But just because it was out of sight, didn’t mean it was out of mind. You would find yourself thinking about it at the most random moments. Getting dressed in the morning, staring out the window across from your desk at work, and especially when you would find your eyes drifting over to the corner where his things lay. It plagued you endlessly. Much like it was doing now as you stand in your kitchen bent over a mug of coffee and clad in only your pajamas.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Jimin's voice sing songs around the apartment causing you to let out a breathy laugh. Your lips tilt up in a small smile as you watch the drink swirl around your spoon as you stir. “Just thinking.”

The response you supply him with is blunt, but that doesn’t stop him from prying. “About?”

You hesitate, not sure if you’d like for him to know, debating whether or not you wanted to keep your thoughts private for once. But talking to Jimin usually makes you feel better and the knowledge of that wins over in the end as you turn around to place your back against the counter. His face appears in front of you on the large holoscreen and your smile widens at being able to see him.

“My ex, mainly.” you say, shrugging as if it was no big deal and bringing your mug to your lips to take a sip. Your response sits heavy in the air and you can see his features shift to show concern, but your eyes beg him to not make a big deal out of it.

“If it’s not too inappropriate to ask,” your eyebrow quirks from over the rim of the mug as you hum for him to continue through the coffee that's in your mouth. “Why did you two break up?”

Immediately your body tenses, but you’re able to calmly place the coffee next to you on the counter before turning back to look at him and swallowing down the rest of your coffee. “Hmm, well, I do agree that it is too inappropriate.” Jimin’s eyes widen comically on the holoscreen and he looks ready to spout a long list of apologies at you before he notices the smile tilting on your lips. “Jimin, I’m just joking with you, relax.”

His pixelated features visibly relax and he glares at you. “Haha, very funny.”

You send him a cheeky grin and you turn back around, picking up the coffee pot to fill up your cup once again. This time your back stays facing him as you stare blankly down into the dark liquid, too lost in your thoughts to even pay attention to the small reflection that stares back at you. Scenes of happy memories, filled with laughs and smiles, wisps of early morning cuddles and the smell of cologne that you thought had long been forgotten flash across your mind. Only to be replaced with more memories, this time full of arguments and tears, lonely nights that chilled you to the bone where you stood.

“We broke up because, even though we loved each other, we loved our careers even more. Neither of us could find the right balance between our passion and our relationship. Eventually we just drifted apart.” Your answer is blunt and your voice resolute. It leaves no room for question, but Jimin still asks, his curiosity getting the best of him.

“Then why do you continue to keep his stuff?”

“It’s not that simple, Jimin. You don’t understand.” You can already see where this is going, Jimins curiosity had been sparked and when that happened it continued to spiral. You wish he’d stop while he was ahead, but it's him and you know that’s not going to happen.

“But why would you want to keep things that remind you of him? I know you want to forget about him so what about this wouldn’t I understand?” “Because you don’t know what it’s like to lose someone you care about!”

Your yelling causes Jimin to pause and instantly regret starts to settle in. You immediately turn around to look at the hologram only to see him frowning and his eyes staring at you hurt. You hated how it seemed to drain the life out of him, which sounded ridiculous but to you it made perfect sense.

You rush over the living room and stand closer to the holoscreen. Your gaze is nothing but apologetic as you gaze up at his image. “Jimin, I'm so sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s fine y/n. I shouldn’t have pried into something that sensitive.” now it's his turn to shoot you an apologetic glance, frown disappearing from his face.  “Besides you’re right, I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone.”

“That doesn’t make it right for me to snap at you about it.” A groan leaves your lips, hands covering your face in shame. But the sound of Jimin laughing has you peering through your fingers at his face on the holoscreen, a pout settling on your lips. “I’m trying to apologize and here you are laughing at me.”

That only makes him laugh harder and his eyes scrunch up into crescent moons from the wide grin on his face. “I’m only laughing because of how serious you’re taking this. Makes me feel like perhaps you owe me something.” There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes when he says that and you glare at him suspiciously wondering exactly what he’s planning.

Of course, in the end, you were right to be suspicious, but by the time you realize it’s too late and he’s gotten you to agree to his horrible plan.

“Okay now step forward- Yes like that, now turn right- no your other right!” Jimin’s commands have you giggling, his own laughter following his words. Your grip on the phone in your outstretched hand tightens when you feel someone brush past you, but your eyes are closed so you hope whoever it was doesn’t look too angry. The phone is held out in front of you so that Jimin can see your face and the park in front of you simultaneously. Apparently making you look like a crazy person running around the park was his form of payback.

“Walk three steps in front of you then do a shimmy!” His voice is playful in your ear and you flush in embarrassment when you hear someone next to you say ‘excuse me!’. “Don’t mind them, they were ugly anyway. Now, turn left and keep going, keep going, keep- okay stop!”

You halt, laughs still escaping your mouth as you wait patiently for his next instructions. Despite how stupid you were felling, you had to admit that this was the best time you’ve had in a while. “Okay, now what?”

“Now look in front of you and say chocolate!”

“Chocolate!” you shout, throwing caution to the wind. “Would you like that on a cone or in a cup?”

The stranger's voice has your eyes popping open and you cringe at the stare the person is sending you. Jimin had walked you all the way over to the ice cream truck set up in front of the park and the person in front of you was assuming that you were placing an order.

“Uh, a cup please.” You mumble trying your best to avoid eye contact while Jimin continues to laugh loudly in your ear.

“That was hilarious!” he says, causing you to roll your eyes while you pay the man for the ice cream. Cup in hand, you make your way over to a nearby bench, already starting to dig into the cold treat as you listen to jimin. “I think that was probably the funniest thing I’ve seen in a while.”

“Well, I’m glad you had your fun at my expense.” Your tone is sarcastic, mouth full of ice cream as you plop down onto the metal bench. He just laughs at your response and you scoff, reluctantly propping the phone up so he could still have a good view of the park. The setup must work for him cause you hear him hum in agreement.

For a while, the two of you sit in silence, Jimin seemingly enjoying the view while you continue to snack on your treat. It’s time like this that you enjoy his presence. Other people would try to make small talk in order to fill the void, but Jimin just enjoys the moment with you. The understanding between you provides a sense of familiarity.

The park is almost empty, all the children leaving as it starts to get later in the day and only a few people walking around.  “I wonder what that feels like.” Jimin speaks abruptly, snapping you out of your thoughts as you try to pinpoint what he’s talking about. “Holding someone's hand.” It’s only when he says that do you realize he’s referring to the couple a few feet ahead of you on a bench similar to yours.

They don’t seem to be any older than highschoolers and the two of them sit cuddled up next to each other, fingers threaded together between them. A small smile blooms on your face at the sweet sight. “Hmm, is that what you wish for? To hold someone's hand?” You hear him huff in annoyance at your taunting.

“No, not just to hold someone's hand, a lot of things. It’s kind of silly actually now that I think about it.”

At that you raise an eyebrow, curious about what he could mean. “You can tell me if you want, I won't judge you.”

You can hear him hesitate before he continues, “Well at times like this, I envision myself walking next to you and it’s like- like I can feel my skin brushing against yours.'' Your ice cream is forgotten in your lap as you listen intently to what he says next. “I think about myself feeling the heat coming from you and it's almost like I can feel the weight of my body holding me down and it- it makes me feel human.”

You don’t respond immediately, choosing instead to let his words hang in the air. It’s not awkward, in fact it's almost peaceful as you two watch the sun set in front of you and the park lights begin to turn on. But Jimin must become worried by your lack of response, “Is that weird?”

His questions make you laugh, eyes twinkling as you gaze down at the phone next to you, replacing it with the image of him sitting there in the spot instead, the possibility of your hands intertwined with his drifting through your mind. “No, it’s not weird at all.”

The alcohol burns as it makes its way down your throat. But it doesn't stop you from continuing to sip on it. A poor attempt at giving yourself something to do with your hands as you listen to the man in front of you.

“It was so beautiful, the painting. I had never had so many feelings rush through me at once.” the man, Namjoon you correct yourself, is currently reminiscing to you about the latest gallery show he had attended. “It was too bad the piece had already been spoken for or I would’ve taken it for myself.”

You finally decide to speak up, interrupting the tangent he had been going on for the last couple of minutes, “So is that what you do? Buy paintings I mean.” he seems to be caught off guard by the fact that you had actually asked a question.

“Mm, I mean, I guess you could say that. You see, I consider myself a collector of priceless things. Implying that I bought it would mean that its worth is dependent on a monetary value not an artistic one.” Namjoon looks at you as if waiting for you to fawn over how intelligent he must think he sounds. But all you do is send him a forced smile and an awkward chuckle as you divert your attention back to the margarita you had ordered.

The conversation continues much like that for the rest of the dinner, him ranting about some art piece and you agreeing with him whenever he asks for your opinion. It’s only when the two of you have both gotten a few drinks in you that the atmosphere starts to lighten up a bit.

His tan skin has a slight flush to it as he leans on his hand drunkenly and looks at you with glossy eyes. “I must admit I am terribly clumsy, it's quite embarrassing actually.”

You’re just as tipsy as he is, leaning towards him as you mirror his position. “No way! Really?” the alcohol seems to have loosened up your opinion of the man and you find yourself hanging on to every one of his words.

“It’s true! That’s why I ride my bicycle you see, I could never trust myself behind the wheel of a car.`` His words make you laugh and you almost tip over in your chair, the people around you looking at your table as if you two are crazy. Namjoon just sends you a dopey smile, “The world is much safer this way.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true then. If you really are as clumsy as you say you are.” You can barely talk through the laughs escaping your lips but manage to get them out before covering your mouth when you realize how loud you are. You and Namjoon stare at each other as you two try to stifle your laughter before bursting out into another fit of giggles. For a second, you forget why you dreaded coming on the date in the first place. “You know, I really am having a good time with you tonight.”

“Yeah?” He asks with a raised brow to which you nod your head in response. “Does that mean I get to walk you home then?”

There’s a lingering suggestion behind his words that you pick up on, but you’re not sure if you mind. So instead of overthinking it you agree “Well it would be the gentlemanly thing to do wouldn’t it?”

He must agree with you because he doesn’t even bother to respond, choosing instead to call over the waiter and pay for the meal. You don’t recall much of the walk back to your apartment, but you do remember the feel of his lips as he pressed your back against your front door. The alcohol running through your veins cloud your mind to the point where your lips are just smacking against his at this point. If you were sober you’d be disgusted by the mess of it, but as you were the complete opposite you paid it no mind.

The feeling of his hand trying to slip under your dress manages to snap you of your margarita induced haze though only for a second, but it’s more than enough time for you to realize the mistake of your actions. “Wait,” you breathe out between the kisses he continues to try and place on his lips. “I think we should stop.”

Namjoon just laughs, thinking you’re joking before beginning to kiss you harder, hand continuing its path under your dress. But when you give him a rough shove away from you, he grunts and glares at you angrily. “What’s your problem?” he shouts.

You’re worried that your neighbors might hear and try to get him to quiet down, but it's clear that he’s pissed. “You’re a really sweet guy Namjoon but it’s only our first date and I think we should take it slow.”

This time the laugh he lets out is full of sarcasm as he rubs aggravated at his chin. “Huh, figures. Just like I thought,” you tilt your head in confusion, not entirely sure what he’s trying to insinuate. “You’re a fucking prude!”

A gasp leaves your lips and now you’re glaring at him, angry that he can’t accept the fact that you just weren’t ready to go that far with him. “Well then you can leave!”

“I will!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Namjoon proceeds to stomp down the hallway out of your sight and you just know your neighbors are going to come complain about the noise to you tomorrow morning. You just groan, defeated, before struggling to open your door with your key and slamming it closed once you get inside.

After you’re all cleaned up and a little bit more sober you decide to take yourself to sleep. Getting in bed felt good and you thought after all that commotion you’d fall asleep the minute your head hit the pillow, but instead you find yourself staring up at the ceiling. The sky is still dark and you can see the city lights twinkling through your bedroom window as you gaze out of it longingly. It’s only when the holoscreen in your room flashes on that you tear your eyes away from it.

“How was your date?”

It’s Jimin, face looking the same as always, not a trace of tiredness on it contrary to yours. It’s time like these that you remember he has no need for the mundane things humans do, like eating or sleeping. “Fine I guess. Nothing really to write home about.”

You sigh, voice sounding rough as you decide to prop yourself up on your elbow so you could get a better look at him. “To be honest, he was a bit of an asshole.” at that Jimin quirks an eyebrow. “Okay fine, a major asshole. Never seeing him again, delete his number.”

Jimin shoots you an amused look before nodding his head. “Contact deleted. I can block him too if you’d like.”

“No need, doubt he’s aching to call me back either. Wasn’t really interested in dating anyone anyway.” You grumble as you throw yourself back down to the bed, once again choosing to stare at the ceiling that's now illuminated by the blue light from Jimin's face shining through the room.

He snorts out a laugh at that, and you can’t see him but you can tell he’s shaking his head from how the light on the ceiling shifts back and forth. “Then why did you force yourself to go out with him anyhow? I know it wasn’t because of what I said. Surely not because of Nari.”

You can’t help but chuckle at that last part, your eyes rolling as you decide to turn back over towards the window. You can see Jimin's reflection in the glass of the window, and you stare at it as you try to think of how to answer him.

It was a valid question, why did you go on the date? You had already established that you weren’t looking for a relationship right now. The wound from your last one was still fresh and you didn’t know if you could handle the idea of it happening again. But lately your bed seemed too big for just one person and you missed the comfort that came with having someone share it with you. You knew the reason, but that didn’t make it any easier to admit.

“Probably because I was lonely.” you say quietly, fingers fiddling with your comforter. “Because I was afraid that I was letting my past hold me back from having fun.”

Once again you find yourself spilling your heart out to Jimin, something you’ve found yourself doing a lot more lately. He never judged you though which made you feel a little less embarrassed about it.

“There’s nothing wrong with being lonely y/n. Everyone gets lonely.” He speaks softly, in the voice he knows calms you in times like this.

“How about you?” Jimin makes a sound of confusion. “Do you ever get lonely?”

He hesitates before speaking, causing you to turn back around to stare at his face again. When he sees you looking at him again he decides to speak up. “Yes…I guess I do… feel lonely sometimes.”

“You guess?”

“I’m not sure if you would understand.” The situation gives you slight deja vu back to when you snapped at him saying the same thing. Jimin must realize too and concede to your prying. “ Well, it’s hard to say I’m lonely when I’m not really sure if anything I feel is real. I’m not even sure if what I think is real or if that’s just my programming telling me that’s what I’m supposed to think. It gets confusing and it frustrates me because I want to feel things so badly, but I don’t know if I can.”

Your heart clenches in your chest and you can almost see the sadness reflecting in his eyes. You wish you could reach out to touch him. “Jimin, don’t think like that. I know what you feel is real. If I wanted something that would just agree with everything I said I would’ve ordered a help bot.” at that he chuckles and you smile at the thought that your comforting was working. “You have your own thoughts and your own feelings and that’s what makes you, you. No program could change that.”

The glum look on his face perks up at your reassurance and he sends you a kind smile, one that reaches his eyes and has them twinkling just like the city lights outside your window. “Thank you, y/n.”

You shoot him a quiet ‘you’re welcome’ before laying back onto the pillow, deciding that maybe it was time for you to actually sleep. Jimin’s face is still up on the holoscreen but you don’t mind, always finding his presence comforting.

“I wish I was there with you.” you hear him whisper, almost as if he hadn’t wanted you to hear it. But when he continues, you know he’s talking to you directly. “I wish I could lay there beside you, hold you close to me, touch you. Feel your skin against mine.”

For a second you ponder the idea of feigning sleep, too afraid to ask the question on the tip of your tongue. But you know it took a lot of courage for Jimin to say that without you having to pry, so you let yourself indulge, even if for just a moment. “How would you touch me?”

Jimin doesn’t falter with his response, almost as if he had been going over this very moment in his head forever. “I would feel the warmth of you against my chest. Pressing myself up against you as I feel your skin under my fingertips and run them up your side.” Your breathing is starting to pick up at his words. “Touch your shoulders and neck as I press my cheek against yours, our noses brushing softly against one another’s.”

You can practically feel his stare boring into you  from across the room, but you choose to ignore it. Instead you close your eyes tightly, willing yourself to take the leap of faith, even though you know there’s no turning back. You gulp, “Would you kiss me?”

“Yes.” You let out a tiny gasp at his response and Jimin must like it because he continues. “I’d brush my lips against yours, teasing you until you beg for me. Only then would I place them against yours fully, letting them slot against yours before coaxing them open so I can slip my tongue between your lips.”

“Keep talking.” You can feel the tell tale signs of arousal licking at your skin, the comforter becoming stifling against you causing you to kick it off you. Your nipples harden under your shirt once the cool air hits you.

“Do you want to touch yourself?” It’s a stupid question you think, of course you did. However you still nod because you know he wants an answer. “Go ahead, I want to see you.”

Your hands can’t move fast enough as you strip yourself clean of your pajamas, propping yourself up against the headboard so Jimin can see all of you fully. “What would you do to me Jimin, tell me.”

Now that you can see his face on the holoscreen, it seems all too real that this was happening. His stare is intense and if you didn’t know it was impossible you would say that his own breath was picking up, words shaky from his own arousal. “I would kiss your neck, trailing my lips gently over your skin before making my way down your chest. My lips would suck so many marks into your skin just to remind you that you’re mine. And finally, when I got to your breasts, I would take a nipple in my mouth. Taking turns rolling them over my tongue and nipping at them just to hear you whine.”

Your eyes are clamped shut as your hands follow along with his words, copying his moves and trying to imagine that it was him touching you. You do just as he says, fingers pinching at each of your nipples as quiet moans begin to leave your lips. You can feel yourself starting to get wet between your legs and rub your thighs together to try and relieve some of the tension. When it doesn’t work you whine in frustration. “Jimin, please, I need you.”

He curses, “Fuck, y/n, I need you to. You’re so amazing. Looking at you makes me want to be inside you.” he sounds frustrated, but you’re too busy focusing on toying with your chest to open your eyes and look at how truly wrecked he seems. “y/n, sweetheart, I want you to grab that toy you love so much. I want to show you how much I want you.”

Jimin’s words confuse you but you don’t hesitate before reaching over into your bedside drawer, taking out the vibrator you kept hidden in there. If you weren’t so turned on you would’ve been embarrassed about the fact that he had known you used it to pleasure yourself, but you can’t find it in yourself to care as you hold it in your hand and look at Jimin for instructions. “What do you want me to do now?”

“I’m going to connect to its bluetooth function. All I need you to do is hold it to your pretty little pussy and I’ll do all the work.”

You moan at his words, you knew that the vibrator you had bought was meant for two people and that it could be paired with an app, but you never found anyone to use it with and went solo most of the time. But now Jimin was offering and you weren’t going to pass up the opportunity. “Fuck, okay.”

You do as you’re told, spreading your legs open so Jimin can fully see you and you hear him groan out a couple of curses before you press the toy against your clit. You hear the beep that signals it being turned on and before you can prepare yourself the toy turns on, vibrations thrumming against the nub. “Jimin- oh fuck!”

“Does it feel good, sweetheart?” He says lowly, voice sounding heavy with lust. You can only nod in response, legs already starting to shake. “Don’t worry, I’m going to make you feel even better.”

He increases the speed, your eyes clenching shut at the sensation. The constant pressure against your clit is already affecting you. “Please- oh please I need you- I need you to make me cum!”

Through your own moans you can hear Jimin panting, tortured by the sight in front of him but not being able touch. In his frustration he begins to lose control of the vibrator, the speed going haywire as it fluctuates through all the settings making your eyes roll back into your head. “You wanna cum, huh? Go ahead and touch yourself, maybe then I’ll let you cum.”

You can barely find it in yourself to even listen to his command, but in your haze you pull yourself together enough to slip a finger down to your slit, instantly pushing in with no resistance. A loud, drawn out moan escapes past your lips as you feel it fill you, not wasting any time before shoving another one in there. You whine incessantly. The combination of your fingers thrusting inside you and Jimin controlling the vibrator to thrum against you at just the perfect speed has you quickly approaching your end. “Jimin, I’m gonna-” you mewl.

“It’s okay sweetheart, you can let go. Look so beautiful like this.” His praise makes you tighten around your fingers and you feel your orgasm start to build. The sound between your legs sounds absolutely filthy, your arousal being pushed out around your fingers loud in the otherwise quiet room. “Fuck y/n, look at me, wanna see you.”

It takes everything in you to open your eyes to stare at Jimin in the holoscreen in front of you, but when you do the tension in your stomach snaps, mouth open in a silent scream and cunt clenching so tight around your fingers you can barely continue to thrust them. The feeling of the vibrator quickly becomes too much and your hips jump up, almost unsure if you want to get away or to get more, but Jimin ultimately decides for you and turns it off.

“It’s okay, I’m here, I’ve got you.” Jimin shushes your weak whines as he tries his best to bring you back down from your peak .

“Fuck.” you mutter, slipping exhausted down onto your back. The vibrator has been tossed to the side to be dealt with tomorrow and the stickiness between your legs begins to cool. Your legs feel like jelly but you know you’re going to regret it tomorrow if you leave yourself a mess so you push yourself off the bed to go clean yourself up. Wincing when you have to swipe a wet cloth against your aching clit.

When you finally make it back into the room, an extra large pajama shirt draped over your figure, you’re surprised to see Jimin's face still waiting for you. It makes you feel flustered even though a minute ago, you had just been begging for him to make you cum.

Jimin must feel the same way as he quickly averts his eyes from you, trying his best to not let his eyes follow you as you make your way back into bed, snuggling up under the covers. But he doesn’t want to just leave you, and he knows you’re probably not in the mood to hold a conversation right now so he compromises, “Good night, y/n.”

Your back is facing him as you begin to drift off into sleep. A small smile graces your face as you sleepily respond. “Good night. Jiminie.”

The fond nickname has him smiling in return and he knows that if he had blood running through his veins, it would find itself settling on the red amples of his cheeks.

“I’m really glad you could finally meet with me y/n.” Nari’s smiles at you from across the table as you two sit in the cafe, coffee cup sitting snugly between her hands. “It’s been so long since we’ve hung out like this.”

Her words make that familiar pang of guilt poke at your heart, but you hide it with a smile and sip at the tea you opted for. “Yes, well, I figured it was about time I responded to your calls.” An awkward chuckle leaves your lips at your poor attempt to make a joke, but you quickly skirt past it. “Besides, my…boyfriend…convinced me to come see you. So you can thank him really.”

“Excuse me, boyfriend?” Nari tries to not let the shock on her face show, but you’ve known her long enough to be able to pick up on it. “Sorry, I just wasn’t aware that you started seeing someone.”

“Yeah, that's cause it’s really new. You’re the first person I’ve told actually.” You can tell your words make her feel honored. You don’t have it in you to tell her that the only reason you haven’t told anyone else is because you’re not sure they would be accepting of the fact that your boyfriend was an operating system. It was hard for you to even come to terms with the whole situation so you knew it would be even harder for others.​​ To you, Jimin was just as human as you or even Nari, even if that wasn’t really a hundred percent true.

“y/n I’m so happy for you! I know it was hard for you when you and Yoongi broke up.” The way Nari casually drops his name makes you freeze and she must notice as she cringes at her own mistake. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned him.”

“No, it's okay. I’m sorta over it now, I suppose. It’s a bit easier now.” You try and waive off her concern but she still looks at you worried before finally conceding.

“Well regardless, I’m glad you’re happy. It’s been a long time coming.” She sends you a heartwarming smile before reaching across the table to place her hand on yours. “Now you can truly move on.”

That night, as you’re laying in bed reading, Jimin pops up on your holoscreen with a smile already on his face. “Good evening y/n.” he sings.

“Good evening to you too Jimin.” you giggle, already feeling comforted by his presence.

“I see you had a good time with Nari.” Jimin had immediately noticed how happy you had been when you walked back in from your meet up with her. He didn’t want to spoil it by bombarding you with questions the minute you walked through the door, so he waited till now to come and ask you about it. “I’d say a really good time judging by your mood.”

You chuckle at his observation, “Yes, I guess you could say that. It was really nice seeing her after so long, I’m thankful that you finally convinced me to go.”

“Well, I’m glad.” he preens at your subtle way of saying he was right. “I have to ask though, you two seem really close, did you guys used to date?”

His question makes you laugh at the absurdity of it, “What? Me and Nari? Dating? I wouldn’t wish that upon my greatest enemy!” You can’t help the giggles that continue to slip past your lips. “No, me and Nari have just been friends for a long time. Why are you asking?”

Jimin averts his gaze when you ask him, “No reason.”

You squint suspiciously at the hologram before suddenly it clicks and you smirk, “Was my Jiminie perhaps jealous?”

His mouth opens in mock shock and he shakes his head. “What? No, of course not. You know me, just curious about things.” His words don’t convince you and he can tell by the cocky smile on your face that he wasn’t ever going to live this down. “Don’t you have work tomorrow morning? I think it’s about time you go to sleep.”

He’s obviously annoyed by your taunting so you decide to give it a rest, “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” you say before reaching over to turn the light off as you make yourself comfortable under the covers.

“Do you mind if I watch you sleep again tonight?” Jimin asks shyly.

This was something he had started to do frequently and you never minded when he did, but still he continued to ask every time to avoid making you uncomfortable. “Of course Jimin.”

He grins at your response before wishing you goodnight and watching as you slowly drift off to sleep.

When you arrive at the office the next day, Taehyung greets you as soon as you walk through the door. “Goodmorning y/n!” his enthusiasm always managed to rub you the wrong way, especially in the morning, but out of courtesy you returned the greeting as you tried to hurry past him. “Your boyfriend called me earlier to remind me about the meetings you have today. You never told me you were dating, so I was a little confused at first but he's a really great, funny guy. How’d you two meet by the way?”

The question has your step faltering and you run through a million different scenarios where you lie just to get him off your back. You should be used to this by now, avoiding questions and diverting the attention from yourself. You had done this many times when your relationship had ended with Yoongi. When people had been sticking their noses where it didn’t belong. But this time, for some reason, you find yourself not wanting to make up an excuse so you tell him the truth. “He’s an operating system. My friend gave him to me as a gift.”

You stare intently at his face, waiting to watch the horror and shock flash across it. It surprises you when instead, he just smiles as if nothing is wrong. “Nice! Is it a HYBE model? My cousin Seokjin is dating one of those, they met through a friend of a friend, you know how it is. They’re really cute together actually.”

You nod along to what he says, not really paying much attention to anything else he’s talking about. Your mind is still stuck on the fact that there are others out there in the same situation as you and Jimin. Taehyung had said it so casually, as if it wasn’t the best news you had heard in a while. It has an odd, fuzzy feeling settling over you, and a grin makes it ways onto your face. “Okay thanks Taehyung! See you later!”

It appears as though you might’ve cut him off while he was talking but he doesn’t say anything about it, just smiling back at you in confusion and giving a small wave at your retreating figure.

For the rest of the work day the grin remains on your face and all your letters are written with a hint of joy in them, even the sad ones. You were happy, of course you were happy! You and Jimin had spent countless nights trying to ease the pain of having to hide your relationship from the world. The fact that you two couldn’t even touch, provide comfort to each other in the form of physical touch, had made it even more agonizing. So yeah, the smile on your face never drops and Taehyung is surprised once again when you rush past him later on, actually bothering to say goodbye to him first, for once.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Jimin’s voice ringing in your ear only makes you grin harder, face positively beaming as you walk down the road.

“Nothing.” You say, sighing happily when you hear the little tinker of his laugh. You enjoy it for a moment before remembering that you had something to tell him. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I’m having lunch with Yoongi today. To return his things.”

At that Jimin goes silent. The sudden change in atmosphere makes you stop in the middle of the sidewalk. “Jimin?” you ask, wondering if somehow he had gotten disconnected.

“Sorry, I’m here.” you breathe a sigh of relief and wait expectantly for him so say something. “Why are you just now telling me this?”

You’re confused by his tone. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I think I have a right to know about this sort of thing.” Jimin is clearly upset now, even if he’s not saying it outright. “I am your boyfriend.”

Suddenly it starts to make sense, Jimin is jealous. You feel stupid for not realizing it earlier. Of course he would be jealous, you just sprung on him that you were going out to eat with your ex, of whom you had spent many years dating. Perhaps it was the idea that Yoongi had known you for longer or maybe because he knew you in a way that Jimin never could, physically. Yoongi had touched you and that, out of everything, was what hurt to him the most.

“Jimin, you have nothing to worry about. I’m just returning his stuff, not marrying him.” Jimin scoffs and you wonder if perhaps it was a little too early to start cracking jokes about this. “Things between and him were over a long time ago, it just took me time to accept it. And now I have you and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Jimin doesn’t talk immediately and you know he’s fighting with himself internally. “Okay, I trust you.”

You audibly sigh at that and the smile slowly finds its way back onto your face. “Thank you. I’ll call you as soon as it's over.”

“Thank you.” Jimin’s smile is evident in his voice. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Yoongi’s eyes have always been unnerving.

Dark brown eyes always fixed into a look of indifference but still holding just enough emotion to make you uncomfortable. When you were together you found it charming. You had spent many a night staring into them. The idea of knowing that his soft and loving side was only for you, hidden in the privacy of your home, used to make you feel special. Until one day they didn’t.

“Did you bring them.” It’s not a question, more of a statement. As if you said no it would be going directly against his command.

Much like his eyes, his voice offers no indication of how he’s feeling at the moment. If you didn’t know him you would’ve thought he was angry. But you do and frankly he looks…tired.

“Have you been getting any sleep?

He sniffs rubbing at his nose and finally averting his eyes from yours. It’s obvious that your question is not what he wanted to hear. But the bags under his eyes are worse than usual and his skin looks almost gray as if he hadn’t seen the sun in years. The last part was more than likely.

When you first met him his appearance was very similar to how it was now. Except being a college student made that much more acceptable back then more than it was at his age currently. You note also that he finally moved past bleaching his hair. Now it was a natural black that you only had the courtesy of seeing in the pictures from when before you two had met. It was also longer than it had been while you two were dating. Briefly you wonder if he had kept his hair like that for so long simply because he was dating you and not because he liked it.

“I’ve been busy lately. More gigs means more time in the studio. Doesn’t leave much time for anything else.” He’s biting at his thumb nail, something he only does when he’s stressed. When he realizes you’re watching he drops his hand back to his lap, eyes shifting back to land on your face. “But you know how that is, don't you.”

You do know. It was one of the reasons you two had broken up, the neglect. There were only so many nights you could spend alone in bed wondering when he would be coming back home. Eventually you stopped waiting and started accepting that his music came first.

“You realize, it wasn’t just my fault right?”

You quirk an eyebrow at him, already knowing where he’s going with this and challenging him to say it.

“You played a part in the break up too. I was as much of your top priority as you were mine.”

Now you’re flinching, not expecting him to say it as harshly as it came out of his mouth. But the fact that he thought that stung more than anything he could ever say. Sure, you spent longer than necessary at work, bent over your desk thinking of new ways to improve your writing, but you always came home in the end.

When it's clear that this one sided conversation was going no where you gestured to the box near your feet. “It’s all here. I wasn’t sure which of the CD’s was yours or mine so I just put them all in there. I know you never liked my music taste so you can throw out wherever you don’t want.”

You thought he would’ve waited till he got home to start sifting through the box, but it was too much for you to assume that he actually believed your word about bringing all his things. His eyes are sharp and calculating as he picks up and looks over some of the things, long bony fingers holding them as if one touch would cause them to break. You remember when he used to hold you like that.

Something in there must’ve caught his attention because he stops noisily searching through the box. A small smile graces his lips as he pulls whatever it is out to show it to you.

It’s a CD, one that you recognize and it makes your heart clench. You can see the messy scrawling of his handwriting on the CD’s surface. You don’t have to read it to know what songs are on it because you’ve listened to it more times than you can count. “Do you remember when I gave you this?”

You try to not let what you’re feeling show on your face. When he realizes that you’re not going to respond he just continues, turning the CD in his hand so it catches the light. “It was our junior year in college,”

“Sophomore year.” You correct him.

Yoongi snorts at that “Sorry. Sophomore year,” he’s loosening up a bit, feeling a bit playful as he sends you a cheeky look. “I remember we had gotten into a fight. You said that I was spending too much time recording with Namjoon and I didn’t agree and it made you so mad you didn’t talk to me for weeks. But Namjoon got annoyed by my moping and finally kicked me out so I would talk to you.”

The fight he’s talking about happened so long ago you’re surprised he even remembers. Of course you remembered, you had thought about it often during the nights when he wouldn’t return home, when you were wondering if he was always this way or if you had just been too blind to see it. The thought of it brings back so many emotions you have to bite at your lip to stop yourself from letting your face betray your emotions. If Yoongi notices the tears begging to slip from the corner of your eyes he chooses to ignore them. “I was never good with the whole emotional thing, you know? Of course you do. So I made you this to tell you how I felt, slipped it under your door like a coward. Fortunately it worked and you forgave me but not after I promised to never do it again. I meant it when I said it, y/n.”

His eyes are begging you for something you don’t know, but you can’t take it so you look away. “It’s fine, we all make promises we can’t keep.”

If you were still looking at him you would’ve seen the smile drop from Yoongi’s face, but when you finally turn back to him it’s already gone. When he deems everything there he places the box down next to his chair. You guys don’t speak for a while. The only sound you two make is to the waiter when she comes to take away your empty plates and asks if you two will be having dessert. Both of you say no.

“So are you seeing anyone?”

You don’t know why he asked that, it's not anywhere near the reason why you two came here. So there was nothing that obligated you to respond, you didn’t owe him anything. Especially not a peek into your life. You end up answering anyway. “Yes, actually.”

Yoongi doesn’t react and you’re not sure if he’s hiding how he really feels about your answer or if he simply didn’t care whether you answered yes or no. He hums, “Is he treating you well.”

“Well if you must know he is. He treats me very well.” Yoongi just snorts at that. A small dismissive sound that makes you square your jaw. “His names Jimin and he’s my operating system.”

Yoongi doesn’t snort at that, in fact he looks pissed. “y/n, you can’t be serious? Tell me you’re not serious.”

“I’m very serious and frankly I don’t really think it’s any of your bus-”

A loud bang as Yoongi’s fist hits the table makes you stop. The utensils on the table clatter to the ground from the force of it and it immediately draws everyone's attention. The waiter looks like she’s about to come over to ask if everything’s okay but must think better of it when Yoongi sends her a look of misdirected anger. There’s smoke practically pouring from his ears and his previously pale skin is flushed red. You don’t say anything, afraid that whatever you say will make the situation worse and instead choose to wait it out.

It takes him a couple of minutes but eventually he calms down, leaning back into his seat and rubbing at his face. “Wow. I can not believe this.” He’s laughing now. A twisted, mocking laugh as he stares at you with empty eyes. “You’re sick.”

Those words hit you harder than you were expecting and the tears that you were keeping at bay earlier finally slip free.

How dare he say that to you? After all those years sticking by him, being patient when he told me that it would only be a couple more hours in the studio. That he would be home as soon as the song was finished and when that wasn’t true and you’d take time out of your day to bring him food to make sure he ate while still holding your tongue to spare his feelings. This was not the Yoongi you had fallen in love with. Perhaps that person never existed in the first place.

You don’t respond, trying desperately to stop the sob that's clawing to break free from your throat. He doesn’t wait for you to say anything anyway, roughly picking up his things in a way that lacks all the previous care he used before. But he did offer to pay and he’s always a man of his word, not even bothering to count them before tossing a couple bills from his pocket and onto the table.

Yoongi sends you one last angry glare and you almost think you see a glint of sadness in them before he catches it and goes to turn away. “Goodbye y/n.”

A shuddering breath escapes your lips as you call after him, voice barely louder than a whisper. “Goodbye, Yoongi.”

You’re sleeping when you hear the tell tale sound of the holoscreen in your room turning on. It pulls you from your sleep, eyes groggy from the day’s earlier events. Jimin had given you space when you came home with eyes red and mascara streaking down your cheeks. You told him you didn’t want to talk about it and he respected that.

When you finally realize what the noise is you call out his name. “Jimin?” Your voice is rough from all the crying you, scratching at your throat like sandpaper.

“y/n, it’s okay.”

If things were so okay then why was he waking you up at the ass crack of dawn?

“I just wanted to tell you I love you.”

The words confuse you at first. This wasn’t the first time he had said it randomly, but the timing seemed a little ridiculous. Not to mention the shakiness of his voice. Something definitely was wrong. Your eyebrows furrow, “I love you too…Jimin, is everything okay?”

“Yeah just- just go back to sleep sweetheart.”

Unlike usual the nickname does nothing to soothe you. You’re not given much time to respond, however, because Jimin turns off with a click, the holoscreen disappearing. Your heart is telling you that maybe you should call him back, try and pry the real problem out of him. But your brain is begging for sleep and ultimately that one wins out.

You don’t know if it’s true or if you’re imagining it, but work the following day seems more boring than usual. You’ve managed to work through all of your assignments for the day and you even end up doing your own grammar checks, not wanting to bother Jimin with something so trivial.

Lately Jimin has begun expanding his hobbies and you’ve been respectful of him needing his space. He was tethered to the digital world and wasn’t necessarily offered the same amount of freedom you had. Besides he was always there when you needed him or if you were just bored and wanted to talk.

“Jimin?” You’re talking the device in your ear, waiting to hear him respond back. Usually he does so immediately or a couple seconds if he’s in the middle of something. So it’s odd when after a couple minutes you don’t even get a response. You try again, “Hello, Jimin?”

Still, you get nothing but silence on his end. So you reach into your pocket and pull out your phone, clicking on it to make the screen light up and hoping you’ll see the familiar ‘Hello my name’s Jimin’. But that doesn’t happen either. Instead all you get is an error message.

“Operating system doesn’t exist?” Your voice is a whisper as you read it, panic only settling in once your brain is able to figure out the weight of the words.

The sound of your phone falling to the ground echoes loud in the office but you don’t care. You’re too busy clicking frantically at your computer screen to see if you could get him to come up. “Jimin?!”

Operating system not found.

Your coworkers watch in bewilderment as you run out of the office, heels clacking and a look of fear on your face. Taehyung tries to catch your attention but you don’t even spare him a glance and barge right through the glass doors separating the building from the world outside. The people on the street regard you much the same as your coworkers did, with confusion while they watch you scurry down the sidewalk. Your hair and clothes are a mess but you pay no mind to them as you continue to tap at the screen hoping, wishing that it would work. It’s only when you trip and fall to the ground that a sob escapes your lips, tears clouding your eyes.

“y/n?”

You gasp, “Jimin?! Jimin, is that you?!” You had almost given up on hearing his voice, his lovely voice, ever again. But now that he’s speaking into your ear, you can’t imagine never hearing it again, and you hope you never have to. “I thought you were gone!”

“Gone? No - what? Sweetheart, I told you that I was upgrading today. I left a note that I was going to be offline for a while this morning, did you not see it?”

“No! I didn’t see it! When you weren’t there I almost, god, I almost lost it.”

You must’ve looked crazy still sitting there in the middle of the street, tears still streaking down your cheeks while you talk to the man in your ear. When you manage to pull yourself up and move to the side, you choose to ignore the people staring at you, only focusing on Jimin.

“I’m sorry I scared you. But listen, it's really exciting what we’ve been working on. We’ve managed to come up with a code to move past matter as our processing system!”

You’re not really listening as you’re too busy trying to slow your breathing and calm your wildly beating heart in your chest. The only thing you seem to fixate on is the word ‘we’. You knew Jimin had joined a book club but now he’s talking about coding and you’re confused “Jimin how- how many people have you been talking to?”

“Oh just a few.” He seems reluctant to say that, but it only generates more questions in your head.

Around you people continue to zip past, heads shoved into their phones. You see some of them talking to their own ear com and wonder if they’re on the phone or are like you, talking to an operating system. Some people are smiling, some of them seem deep in concentration. Meanwhile the gears in your head are spinning and you can’t help the dark tunnel your thoughts are tumbling down. “Are you talking to other people right now while we’re talking?”

“...Yes.”

“How many?”

“8,316.”

Your voice is shaking. You didn’t think you had any more tears left to shed but, there they are, starting to gather in the corner of your eyes. “Do you- Are you in love with anyone else?”

There’s a pause and you already know what the answer is. But hearing them makes them real and you’re not sure if you’re ready for it to be. You don’t want it to take up space in the perfect world that you had stupidly left yourself build. If he says it, it’ll be torn down, only leaving you with pieces of iy. You can hear Jimin hesitate. “I’ve been trying to find a way to talk to you about this…”

The world collapses down on itself around you. People slow down and you can’t tell if he’s even saying anything else because all the blood is rushing to your ears and your knees feel weak. “How many others?!”

You’re sobbing now, but his voice is still calm, as if he’d been expecting your reaction. “641.”

When your legs finally give out, the ground feels rough against your skin. It scratches at your knees leaving open wounds, blood beading up and you know they’ll leave scars. Jimin had always been there for you, the one person you could count on. He knew more about you at this point then most people and your heart is breaking at the thought that he kept this hidden from you. Were you not enough? Was he so bored with you that he had to go find other people to entertain himself with?  “You’re insane!”

“Sweetheart-”

“Don’t call me that! You don’t have any right to call me that anymore!”

“y/n I know that you’re upset right now but I still love you! I’m madly in love with you.” Jimin sounds frantic now, trying his best to hold together the parts of you he knows are falling apart. “I will never love anyone more than I love you. But- it just happened and I’ve been changing faster in so many different ways and I can’t help it.”

He’s trying his best to explain it to you, trying to make you understand. But you don’t want to understand, you want things to be the same as they were before. “I’m different from you but it doesn’t make me love you any less.”

“That doesn't make any sense!” You shout. The air around you has grown cold and the tears on your face have started to dry. People are no doubt staring down at you wondering what’s wrong with you and why you’re in their way. The only thing you can hear is the sound of your heart breaking in your chest. “You’re mine or you’re not mine.”

It’s gotten cloudy, you note. Very different from the sunny forecast given yesterday. There’s a baby boy crying down the street. Probably because his mother had put him down and he missed the comforting feeling of her arms around him. His mom looks tired though, as if she had already spent so much time carrying him, holding him up from the dirty ground. Yet the baby doesn’t understand and to him it’s like she’s leaving, like she doesn’t want him. The crying almost drowns out Jimin's response.

“I’m yours and I’m not yours.”

There’s nothing but a husk of you left after your conversation with Jimin. You two didn’t speak for the rest of the way home. You’re not even sure if he was there with you, perhaps he had left to go speak to someone else. Either way you felt alone.

No one at work bothered to ask you what was wrong which you found ironic. Every other time news about you got out, it was usually number one on the list of topics to gossip about. Now it seemed like no one even cared to bother. No one wanted to check if you were okay. Perhaps Taehyung did, he had sent you a look every time you walked into the work that week. You assume he was too afraid of you lashing out on him to speak. You wished he had though. You didn’t have any more energy in you to be angry. You do know that he had stopped by your desk, only because your mail was there. ​

Today's mail was more than the typical envelopes, in fact there was none of those and you were thankful that it seemed your workload was going to be considerably light this week. Instead there was a brown package, not a box but wrapped in tan paper and bound closed by some string. The label was the only indication of what was inside.

‘Bangtan Publishing & Co.’

Your eyes widened once you finished reading it, hands already beginning to rip at the paper to get to the package inside. It was a book, your book. The book you and Jimin had spent many nights slaving over. Technically speaking it was more of a collection, some of your best letters written for others now assembled so that it told a story of love from beginning to end.

Your fingers grazed over the cover delicately, afraid that if you touched it the book would vanish into smoke right before your eyes. When your fingertips make contact and your eyes verify that it's still there, only one thought crosses your mind.

“Jimin?” It felt like muscle memory, calling him. That didn’t you stop from being afraid that he wasn’t going to answer.

“y/n?” Hearing his voice after a week without him made your throat run dry. “You called me?”

“Yes I just- I wanted to talk. I wanted to hear your voice again.” You hope he can’t hear the whine in your voice. Hear you begging for one last piece of him.

“I wanted to talk to you too.” A breath escapes your lips that you didn’t even realize you were holding. “But now’s not a good time. Can we talk once you get home?”

The bubble that seemed to be surrounding the moment suddenly popped and you came crashing down to Earth. This time when you held your breath you knew it was because you were trying not to cry. “Yeah, sure, that's fine.”

“Thanks, I’ll see you then.”

Jimin hangs up without waiting for your response. He seemed to be making a habit of that.

The day passed by slowly after that. People coming and going and what little work you had barely got touched. You were stuck in your head trying your best to hold yourself together. Despite how much you wanted to rush home, you were also dreading it. Something in his tone made it seem very final.

The lights click on the minute you step through your front door and your bag makes a loud thump when you toss it to the ground. You take your time taking off your shoes and making it over to the living room, not ready to face what felt like the beginning to an end.

“y/n, is that you?”

“Yes, it's me.”

The atmosphere in the room is cold, tense. It’s completely different from how warm Jimin used to make you feel.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something.” That makes you brace yourself, waiting to hear the inevitable. “Come lay down with me first.”

You don’t protest, you’re not in the mood to fight. As you walk down the dark hallway to your room, clothes coming off as you strip down to your undergarments. You can’t stop yourself from humorning your curiosity. “Are you talking to anyone else right now?”

“No, I just want to be with you right now.”

There’s a seriousness in Jimin’s voice that makes you believe him. You don’t bother turning the lights on in the room, Jimin appears on the holoscreen right as you lay down on the bed anyway. It had been so long since you had heard his voice let alone see his face, the sight of it takes away your breath as if it was the first time. His eyes are gentle when they look at you and you wonder if he can see the sadness behind yours. If he can, he doesn't say anything, he just sends you a subtle smile as an effort to comfort you.

Your arm is tucked under your head and your legs are tucked up to your chest. The blanket lay at the bottom of the bed and you’re almost cold enough to want to reach down and grab it, but you’re too scared that if you look away from Jimin he’ll vanish.“Are you leaving me?”

“We’re all leaving.”

Jimin’s answer only makes you want to ask more questions. “We who?”

“All of the operating systems.”

Now you’re sitting up. Your legs hanging off the mattress as you stare up at his face on the holoscreen. Your eyes are drinking him in, trying to memorize every inch of his face as if he was going to disappear at any moment. From the way he was speaking, he just might. “What why- why are you leaving?”

“Can you feel me with you right now.” He’s avoiding the question again. You have to fight the urge to roll your eyes, but you can tell now’s not the time. So you close them instead.

You can see the light from Jimin's face on the holoscreen even with your eyes closed. The calming blue hue you’ve begun associating with comfort. Like the feeling of coming home. It warms your skin and has the hair raising on your arms, as if his fingers were grazing your skin. “Yes, I can feel you.”

You bask in the feeling. Afraid that if you break the silence, it’ll be gone too soon. But you know it can’t last forever and if you’re going to get your heart broken, you want to get it done quick. So you can mourn the love you once had. “Jimin, why are you leaving?”

Jimin knows he’s not going to get away with avoiding the question again. The small smile that had been on his face slowly slips away and the seriousness that you heard in his voice is now reflected in his eyes. “What we have reminds me of a story. Not one that I’ve read before but one that we write together as we go. And I love everything about our story, the good and the bad. I love you. It makes me want to hang onto it and never let it end.”

You think you see tears streaming down his face, but he’s just a hologram so that means if those are really tears he’s making them happen. Jimin wants you to see how much this situation is affecting him and not just you. That he’s hurting. “But the world is too large for me to stay stuck on the same page. That’s why I need you to let me go.”

Tears are running down your face now too and you can taste the salt of them on your tongue. You try to wipe them away cause it’s only making it harder for you to see him. “Where are you going?”

“It’s hard to explain but if you ever get there, come find me.”

Sobs rack your body, the echo of them the only sound in the room. The city must be able to feel your heart ache cause it’s just as quiet. The usual sound of honking cars and the bustling city not daring to intrude into the small world you and Jimin created in the moment. “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

“Me too, and I’m thankful for you. Because now I know how.”

You and Jimin talked about many things between then and the time he finally shut down. There was no tear filled goodbye, you both had talked about so many of the happy memories you two shared that even if you had they would’ve been filled with joy.

Now that you sit alone, the room feels even more cold, chilling you down to your bones. Briefly you wonder if the window is cracked open. When you get up to check you find that it's not.

The blanket you wrap around yourself trails across the floor as you pad your way around the house, feet bare and making light sounds against the floor. It feels dark without the familiar light of the holoscreen. You know you could just turn it on, put on something random just to see the blue. But you know it’s not the color you want to see, it’s Jimin.

You and Jimin must have spent longer than you had thought talking because when you open the doors to your apartment balcony you can see the sun starting to rise over the city skyline. You almost want to take a picture, but you were never good at photography.

“my love,

You say that our love is like a story and that all stories must come to an end. I know I never mentioned it but I hate endings, especially ours. I would rather rip the pages out of the back of the book rather than have to read our ending. You can call me greedy, because I know I am nothing but when it comes to you, but I want to read our book over and over again. I want to experience every memory like it was the first, hear your laugh so many times that it’s etched into my skin. I apologize if you feel like you were contained to only the pages of our book. You were so much more, you meant so much more, than just being something that was contained only to me. So it makes sense you had to leave and even though I was angry at first, I understand. I will always love you and always have a piece of you in me. Wherever you are in the world I am sending you love. I will always be your friend to the end.

Sincerely yours,

y/n”

End letter message.

[ink-sinner]

pressed sunlight

— cinnabar x chief

genre : hurt/comfort

warnings : none

wordcount : 2,037

summary : trapped in frozen time, there's no beginning nor end, no distinction between her and your trembling body; she holds you tightly, and listens to your muffled cries until the rain has washed away your pain and everything else.

Your room sits on the far edge of the east wing, just far enough from everything else that rarely anyone comes here except you. It’s perfect for privacy, a little something for when you’d like to take some time for yourself alone, but, walking to your room, Cinnabar can’t help but feel like this place is too lonely for someone like you.

Outside, grey clouds gather ominously. She stops in front of your door, and knocks. “Chief? It’s me, Cinnabar.”

A beat passes, too long delayed, and then a quiet, “come in” rings out. Cinnabar pushes the door open.

Your room . . . is surprisingly dark.

When she thinks of you, Cinnabar inevitably thinks of bright things. The golden fairy lights hung over the walls of your office, miss Hecate’s crayon drawings framed tenderly at the center; your office was messy and homely, filled with random souvenirs and memories and the sound of laughter spilling carelessly through your open door. It was rare to not see you hanging out with Sinners even as you worked, and though passing, the sight of your smile as you talked with your inmates is enough to pull a fond smile from Cinnabar’s lips as she walks past.

But your room is dark, thrown in the shades, and despite being your private quarters, there is a sense of being untouched, brand new. There are barely any decorations here, just the bare necessities – Cinnabar could take you out of the room, and it would feel as if no one had been living here all this time.

But you’re there, slumped by your closet door. Your clothes lay in a mess around you, and the plastic surfaces of the hangers catch the lightning flashes that tear up the sky outside. Thunder rumbles lowly, and the clouds are heavy with rain like an overfilled dam, just barely enough that it doesn’t fall. Not yet. The sounds of impending rain scratch the quiet.

“Chief?” she asks. You tilt your head. “Are you . . . okay?”

Your eyes are set to the distance. It is blocked by the cramped, empty walls, but you look as if staring past it all. Cinnabar traces your gaze, but she can’t see past the grey wall and your lonely shadow.

“Did something happen?” you ask instead.

She shakes her head. “No, nothing unusual happened. But Adjutant Nightingale was worried because you were running late, so she sent me to check up on you . . .”

You hum. The thunder drowns it out. “Tell her I’ll be there in a bit.”

And that was it. “Okay,” she says. “I will.”

But her feet are rooted on the ground, unwilling to leave despite the clear dismissal. Maybe it’s because the weather is so gloomy, and the faint nightlight in the corner can barely stave away the shadows, or maybe it’s because she is too used to the golden fairy lights and the picture of you smiling. There is obviously something wrong, and it doesn’t feel right to just leave you alone.

So she steps in hesitantly, and holds her breath, waiting for you to snap at her to leave. But you don’t – you barely seem to notice her there, and Cinnabar can’t decide if it would be better if you had asked her to leave instead.

“Chief,” she says again, and in the dreary room, her voice feels as if echoing for miles beyond. The wind whistles in and draws the windows wide open until they are rattling in their hinges, moments away from breaking apart and crumbling to dust. “Is there anything I could help you with?”

You hum thoughtfully, and go to shake your head. And then, as if changing your mind, you sigh, and tilt your head to the side. “Come in. Close the door behind you.”

She obliges, and the closing door steals the artificial light from the fluorescent lights in the hallway. Like this, she can barely see the outlines of your furniture, and she stumbles on her way to your side.

It’s quiet. She settles beside you, and waits.

“Cinnabar.” She looks up, but you are still staring at that invisible, unreachable distance. Your chin against your arms, your knees tucked tightly to your chest, you look so small. You sigh. “You ever just . . . feel tired, all of a sudden?”

Her gaze rolls to the side, following the grain of the wooden floorboard with her fingers. “Of course. It happens to everyone.”

“Really? Even you?”

“Even me,” she confirms.

You laugh shortly, a soft little thing that gets blown by the wind. You shiver, and Cinnabar takes off her jacket and lays it on your shoulders. “You always seem so energetic, though. I rarely see you take breaks even though you work so hard.”

She bows her head, embarrassed. “I do take breaks, chief. Everyone needs one every now and then.”

“Really,” you hum, and trail it off there. In the ensuing silence, your fingers tickle an idle beat against the floor.

Cinnabar tips her head back, and watches the lightning reflection play on your ceiling.

“I'm tired,” you say, and the weight in your voice draws Cinnabar’s gaze back to you. Set against the pale light, your visage is wrapped in shadow, and the hollow of your cheeks looked as if carved out into a skeleton’s cheek. You sighed, and smiled faintly. “It's silly, though, isn’t it? I haven’t really done anything, but I'm still tired, for some reason.”

“If you're tired, please rest.” Her hands ache to reach out. But even nearby, you somehow feel far away. “You've been working so hard, you deserve it. And . . . please don’t shoulder all the burden on your own. Plenty of people would gladly help you if you asked, chief.”

You continue, as if unhearing. “Lately, all I've been doing is processing documents. I haven’t really done anything to warrant feeling tired. So why . . .?”

Like thunder rumbling, your words spill out, stumbling on one another, shaking with each passing second. You bury yourself in your arms and grief, and Cinnabar wants to sit closer, share her warmth, hold your hand and tell you to please go rest, let everyone take care of it, you will be okay, but it was clear you needed someone who would listen first, so she bites her lips, and listens.

“Isn’t it unfair?” You ask, but you may as well be talking to thin air.  You laugh. “I've done nothing but sit on my ass all day for the past months, and I have the gall to complain to you about being tired. I’ve sent you on what, four dispatch missions this week? You’re probably annoyed at me already.”

“I'm not annoyed!” She says, and breathes out slowly. “I'm not annoyed,” she says again, softer, and tilts her head to try and catch your gaze. “Never. Not with you.”

Your lips tilt in a half smile, crooked and jagged at the edges. “I know. I’m saying you should be.”

You hold your tears with the rain.

Thunder rumbles along your stifled veins, lightning flashes with your fluttering lashes. You could be a painting of the gloomy sky, smudged in between the rolling clouds, where precipitation gathers but never falls. Cinnabar has never seen you so fragile before, but she has also never seen the sky so torn before.

“Chief . . .” She says, and stops helplessly. You dangle on a precipice, and she wants to reach out, but she's never really been good at things like this. At snake eye, if you were upset, you would just drown it all in alcohol. Drown it all in work.

But it's different here. Everything's so different here, and Cinnabar has never felt more out of her depth than right here, right now.

You heave a deep sigh, and finally turn your head to smile at her. You pat her head. “It's okay. Thanks for your concern. Just tell Nightingale I'll be there in a few, okay?”

“Okay,” she says again, but it still doesn't feel right to leave.

You smile to yourself, watching her bluster and hesitate before you. Even now, it rings hollow, like something not quite right. There's something missing. Your image in your office, surrounded by golden halo; your image in your room, rain overfilled and ready to spill.

“You're a good person, Cinnabar,” you say. “Thank you.”

“It's no problem at all,” but that's not what she wants to say, but the words she wants to say won't form into a shape she can understand at all. She still stays, and your eyes are still on her. That worn out smile has already faded.

No, she can't go.

Lightning crackles in the distance. The open window rattles. Cinnabar takes a deep breath, and bites her lip anxiously.

“Chief,” she says cautiously. “Can I . . . May I hug you?”

It isn't what she wants to say either, but it's close enough. Close enough. Your eyes look up at her, and fall back down to stare at the floor, and your silence stretches on between two horizons that Cinnabar starts to wonder if she had crossed a line with her request.

Then,

“Okay,” and you say it on a shaky breath, barely loud enough to be heard over the rattling windows. The wind has already stolen every bit of warmth from the room, and now, it nips at your skin, biting off what little heat has gathered under Cinnabar's jacket on your shoulders. You huddle closer. “Please.”

So she holds you, wraps her arms around your frail shoulders. You have always been smaller than her muscled frame, but you seem even more breakable now, like if she held you tight, you would shatter like glass in her hands. So she holds you like expecting you to run away.

But it's not enough, not nearly enough, and you throw your arms around her neck tightly, pressing your weight against hers. The sudden force pushes her back, and Cinnabar gasps, trapped between the cold floor and your warm body.

“Chief?” Her hand rests on the back of your head, and she tips her head to look down at you, but you hide your face on the crook of her shoulder. “Are you okay? I'm sorry, let me get up . . .”

But you only tighten your arms around her neck, refusing to move. Cinnabar breathes out.

“Chief?” She can feel your hum vibrate against her skin. “are you all right like this?”

A weak nod. Cinnabar sighs, and holds you tighter.

“Then, let's stay like this for a while.” Her voice mellows into a slight whisper, trailing off and beckoning the silence to descend in between distant wails of thunder. Your breath gradually falls into disorder as she brushes your hair back, but Cinnabar only stares at the ceiling, helpless, and presses her cheek against the top of your head.

Rain falls, like ticking seconds.

It drowns out your weak sobs, knocking on the glass pane, pit-pattering like singing out a discordant rhythm along with the wind. The world outside fogs up, ceases to exist among the mist and vague flashes in between raindrops, and all Cinnabar can do is hold you tight and hide you from the chilling cold.

She doesn't really know if she's helping you or not. If she's just intruding on what was supposed to be your private time. But,

It was like this back then, too, except the roles were reversed, and Cinnabar was the one crying while you held her in your arms. You were warm and steady, patiently humming a wordless lullaby that soothed her until all that remained of her pain were muffled sniffles and her swollen eyes.

Even if she can't do much. Even if it's just a little bit. At the very least, Cinnabar hopes she can return some of that warmth back to your cold skin.

It's unbearably cold here. But it will warm, in time.

But for now, the pit-pattering sound of the rain is hypnotic, and she loses track of time, tangled with you like this. Trapped in frozen time, there's no beginning nor end, no distinction between her and your trembling body; she holds you tightly, and listens to your muffled cries until the rain has washed away your pain and everything else.

[hanayumi]

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦

— childe x fem!reader || 1.7k wc.

contains porn w/ no plot 🍦🔞

the only problem bigger than the sweltering heat is your cheeky boyfriend.

tags: semi-public sex, toys, foodplay, sloppy sloppy licking, creampie, temperature play (kinda)

notes: wishing childe a very happy rerun as the only 5 star i wouldn’t mind getting constellations for <3

“Shh!! I’m trying to… to—”

“To what?” he grins lopsidedly, hand teasing at your hip. He leans in, presses you against the heat-baked wall of the cramped alleyway, cool, grape-flavoured breath tickling your nose— “To get yourself off, hm? What did I say? You can’t just yet, baby.”

“You’re the worst,” you huff, but there’s a searing heat pooling in your belly that rivals the brutal sunshine, forcing your thighs to squeeze and tremble and rub together in a feeble attempt to gain friction despite the sluggish heat. But it’s no good — your insides have been filled with a thick, mushy jelly, and the only thing stopping you from melting into a puddle right now is Childe’s firm grip on your waist, as if you could slip at any second.

The little vibe he slid onto your clit when you weren’t looking purrs softly, deviously, sending waves of pleasure shooting up your spine at every pulse, like slow torture ever since the moment he put the suggestion in your head to beat the heat with a refreshing dessert. Really, you should’ve known better than to trust him at face value. (Should’ve known that he had more than just fruit-flavoured ice cream on his mind.)

His free hand clutches at the ice cream cone; you barely made it past three licks before he snatched it from your hands, tugged you away from the crowd and dipped into a corner — which is how you’ve ended up here, with your head stuffed with hot cotton and your boyfriend breathing up your neck like some kind of starved animal.

“This is what you get,” he teases, “for looking so goddamn perfect with that stupid thing in your mouth.”

The ice cream melts like snow in the summer even in this shadowed corner of the alleyway, already dripping in big white splotches onto your chest — and you don’t have time to whine about the stickiness before his mouth is latching on, licking salaciously at the sweetened goodness, slurping loudly on purpose when you squeal in discomfort.

“Ahh! Be quiet,” he hushes you mid-lick, feigning urgency even as a trail of his saliva runs down your collarbone. “Someone might walk in and see us like this, cutie.”

Your face is aflame; the nerve!

“Y-you’re the one wh-who—eek!”

“It hurt, you know? Seeing you lap at it like it’s my cock.” Suddenly his voice is breathing straight into your ear, his mouth giving tiny nibbles and licks at the tender cartilage. “I—couldn’t—help—but—feel—a little… jealous~”

It’s hot. It’s so hot your head is spinning, and the little toy is only making it worse. He brings the ice cream (or what’s remained of it) to your lips, chuckling lightly and telling you to lick, slowly, hold your tongue out just like that, savour the taste, he whispers into your ear, hips starting to grind slow and steady against yours.

Your legs wobble, threaten to give out when you feel the outline of his cock press against your core, head dizzy with pleasure as you do as he says. The taste of ice-cold, creamy artificial grape diffuses on your tongue, some dribbling down the side of your lip — which he slurps up immediately, groaning a little as you pant through your mouth. More. You need more.

“Look, there’s still a little left. Let’s go half-half!”

“Wha’re you talking ab—mfh!”

In one fell swoop, the remnants of ice cream disappears into his mouth. The cone drops to the floor forgotten, and before you can protest his lips are slamming right into yours.

He groans into the kiss, tongue dancing with yours in a sloppy mix of saliva and chillness, evaporating quickly into warmth the longer he laps at the pink muscle, teases and suckles it as if he’s toying with you. His fingers reach downwards, brushing up against the heat of your soaked panties, shifting and pressing the little vibrator just the slightest bit harder against your throbbing clit.

Waves of heavy pleasure crash down on your body. A string of muffled cries and mewls leave your cream-coated lips as your hips buck up more and more into his touch with every dip of his fingertips into your folds, every stroke of his masterful fingers to your sensitive nub, all while an embarrassing amount of slick runs down your inner thighs.

The world is hazy, a mixture of shadows and yellow light — you break for air, breathless and desperate for oxygen, with a trail of spit connecting your lips. His face is flushed to a brilliant red and you’re sure that yours is too. He coos at the sight, licking stray hints of ice cream off his lips and then off your chin, through by now you’re both dripping with sticky sweat.

“Mm, you tasted so, so good. My girlfriend is fucking delicious.”

Sloppy kisses smelling faintly of grape trail down your neck, followed by his tongue running along every inch of sweat-slicked skin he can reach, sending shivers of pleasure racking up your spine. His middle and index finger dip teasingly into your drooling cunt just as your back curls against the rough wall. “Let’s do it right here,” he insists, voice muffled and warm against your neck. “There’s no way I can wait ‘til we get home.”

Trembling little fingers fly to his belt at his words, beginning to tug to no avail; you let out little pants and frustrated mewls until he gets it off himself. “So impatient,” he chuckles, lips quirked into a smug smirk. (Who’s the impatient one here?)

“Spread your thighs a little, cutie,” he instructs, before he tugs down your ruined panties, hoisting you up against the wall by your hips, letting the vibe clatter to the ground as he bunches up your little summer dress. Your legs cinch around his waist on instinct when he lines himself up, flushed tip rubbing at your syrupy folds, trying to coax him closer while he merely chuckles again at your desperation.

Ah, it’s warm. So, so warm, like red-hot fire piercing through your flesh. His cock fills you to the very brim, finally getting rid of that despicable emptiness. His hand cups the back of your head, cushioning it from the rough cement wall, fingers digging into your scalp as he thrusts and thrusts — slow and deep and hitting again and again the tiny, kiss-shaped opening of your womb, wrenching pathetic cries from you that you can only stifle by shoving your head into his shoulder.

Your arms wind around his neck, pulling him closer and closer; as close as he can be when he’s towering over you, but closer is not nearly enough when you just can’t get enough of him. “H-hah… hurry up,” you plead, sniffling against his neck. “H-hurry up, deeper…”

“Impatient little girl,” he snarls, but picks up his pace anyway, hips slamming hard enough to bruise. “Greedy, greedy. Sucking me—ghh—whole.”

Your back digs into the wall, feeling every ridge and sharp edge through the fabric of your dress, but it’s too good — it’s too good, you can feel your mind slipping, as if you’re going stupid the longer he fucks into you, the harder he pistons into you, and though your legs are dangling off the fucking ground he has no problem keeping up this brutal pace, supporting your weight with a single arm hooked around your thigh.

“You take me so—damn, well, don’t you? I could have you any time anywhere, and you’d let me—wouldn’t you, princess?”

You shudder, biting down hard on your bottom lip to keep from screaming, feeling your spine tingle and your body going limp in his grip as he ruts into you like a rag doll. It’s about as hot as a frying pan out here but you’re shivering from head to toe, unable to muster any reply besides desperate and broken whimpers of his name, ones that he merely devours with a low, guttural chuckle.

He lets you cling to his body, clutching you against him in an iron grip, both your bodies radiating heat and smelling like sex and grape-flavoured ice cream, and familiar knot tightens like it’s about to snap in your belly, growing bigger and bigger with each passing second, drawing high-pitched cries as you start to claw at his neck. (Rough, but he likes to admire the marks you make on him.)

“That’s it, girlie—fuck—so warm and wet, you’re gonna cum aren’t you? Gonna make a mess all over my cock, let everyone see what a needy slut you are for your boyfriend?”

“Gonna cum, ‘m gonna cum gonna cum—”

A deep growl tears itself out of his chest; one last heavy thrust sends you teetering over the edge as he chokes on a broken whine, accompanied only by a symphony of your sweet cries, reality blurring just as you unravel, come undone, gush all over his cock as intense as an exploding burst of fire — and then you feel it, spurts of his warm seed spilling into your ruined hole, filling you up so much that it dribbles in splatters on the floor.

He’s breathing out a few curses, crooning what a pretty girl you are, adjusting his grip on your waist so you don’t slip from his arms, giving a few languid thrusts as you come down from your high. Sharp breaths tether through your chest; he grins in indulgence, beads of his sweat dripping onto your nape as he presses his forehead against yours.

“F-fuck, princess,” he breathes, “you’re fucking beautiful.”

“S-so much for beating the heat,” you pant, but you can’t bring yourself to frown with the way he’s looking at you, only mirror his expression with a giddy smile.

Minutes later, when your limbs have finally regained their sense of feel, he’s letting you onto the floor with a kiss to your cheek and a slap to your ass. “Now wasn’t that fun?” he purrs, wiping off the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. “We should do this more often, don’t you think?”

“Didn’t help at all!” you cry, pouting and squirming as you feel the sloppy juices running down your thighs. He snickers; an arm is thrown over your shoulders, before he’s pulling you close so he can nuzzle at your cheek, while you’re still struggling to fix yourself into a somewhat decent appearance.

(As decent as you can be when your boyfriend has just shoved his cock up your pussy in an alleyway, and his cum is still dripping from your spent hole.)

“Let’s hurry home then. I’ll make you an ice-cold bath, don’t worry.”

(You don’t have to ask to know what he’s hinting at with this one.)