#taken from one of my old ideas i once posted somewhere else

[moritashie]

I HAD A FIC IDEA vol #12

Peter and tony fight some robot, straight out of a night terror. Once the blood is spilled and the machine is detained, Tony wants to study it. Despite the fact that the nightmare-ish thing has almost killed him.

Peter asks tony to get rid of it, dismantle it as soon as possible, since

a) it almost killed Tony

b) he is simply terrified of it's devilish appearance.

Tony lets out a sound Peter perceives as an approving "mhm".

Tony doesn't get dismantle the robot.

Peter's sense doesn't stop tingling

[lundenloves]

SIMON TAKING HIS DAUGHTER TO BASE

{✧} dad!simon once again, no one faint i don’t have insurance coverage. soap may be able to fireman lift you home.

{✧} i just wanted to write something with his work and daughters combined and thought, hmm the idea of war, blood and death doesn’t quite match up to a five year old. therefore, this was born. if you don’t fw it don’t tell me, i’ll nosedive into a pit of lava without hesitation. happy reading, kids.

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“Right,” Simon crouched down to his daughter's level, taking her small hands in his. “You stay with dad, yeah?” His finger tapped the side of her nose, the two of them stood by his jeep outside of the base. This was not allowed. He knew that.

But — today was dedicated to paperwork in his office, that was the sole purpose of coming in on his time off. The only issue being, it was a day off for someone else too. His kid. “Can you do that for me?” Thumb smoothing across her cheek, standing back up upon her nod. 

“What are we even doing?” She took his extended hand and swung her arms, watching as he swiped a pass through a reader and pressed down on the bar of the door to open it. “How long will we be?”

“It shouldn’t take long, lovie.” He looked down at his little girl. “Just stay with me. Don’t let go of my hand.” Her grip tightened and Simon crossed through seemingly endless corridors and rooms to little eyes, each passing soldier giving her father a firm nod followed by an utterance of ‘sir’ in acknowledgement. She found herself looking into every crevice she could find on their voyage, straying from his side a few times to touch things. 

“Where’s uncle Soap?” For every two of Simon’s steps, five of her own were taken, little feet switching between hops and skips each time. 

“Not a clue.” Simon mumbled more to himself, looking around corners and turning his shoulder with every voice. “He’s here somewhere. ‘M sure he’ll find you first, kid.” She nodded, trailing her finger across the wall until they had reached his office. “Right,” He continued, fumbling in his pocket for a set of keys. “We won’t be long here, alright?” 

“A’right.” She said enthusiastically, her own accent mirroring his and following him into the room. Simon hung by the door for a moment, arm above the threshold to hold himself out. 

“Johnny.” He shouted after a group of men, his sergeants mohawk a dead give-away. Soap turned around instantly, something between a respectful soldier and a puppy. Ghost nodded back to his office, planting a hand on his daughter’s shoulder when she had stood next to him, on her tiptoes to see over the passing men. She was barely up to Simon’s waist. 

“See him?” His hand moved to her back, eyes flitting between her own and Soap who was wrapping up a conversation, her smile growing to a grin when he had crouched down in the now clear corridor — slapping his knees before holding his arms out. 

“C’mere you.” His hardy Scottish accent echoing in the bleak narrowness. She ran toward him, shrieking laughter as he tickled her sides, undeniably gathering a fair amount of attention from soldiers in close proximity. “Alright sweetheart?” Johnny picked her up, holding her against his hip and walking back to Simon’s office. “Is she allowed to be here?”

“No.” Simon answered, holding the door wide for him. 

“No one’ll say anything anyway.” Johnny let her down. “Ae, missy?” 

She shrugged, moving behind Simon’s desk and climbing onto the seat, small hands fidgeting with the pens that were lying around. Ghost placed his hands on his hips. The dark hoodie he wore was usual, minus the bulky tac vest and belt. “You busy?” 

“Will be in,” Soap held his arm up, checking his watch. “Fifteen minutes.” 

Simon nodded, looking toward his daughter who had found post-it notes, clicking a pen and doodling across multiple of them. “If you see Price, tell him I'll only be twenty. Maximum.” His eyes hadn’t left her, nodding in approval once she had held up her drawing to him. A stickman.

“Will do, Lt.” Soap crossed his arms over his chest and shifted in his stance. “She’s looking more and more like you. Getting big.” He mumbled the last part, shaking his head slowly as if time had passed like he was a pensioner. 

“Hm,” Simon grunted in response. “I’ll see you before I leave, yeah?’ 

“No bother.” Soap saluted the little girl, taking a post-it she had held up toward him. “Is that me?” He pointed toward himself, folding it and slipping the note into the pocket of his tac vest after she had nodded. 

“You’re leaving?” 

“I have to darlin’.” His thumb caressed her cheek, taking the discarded pen and doodling his own drawing of her. “Whose that?” He smiled, sliding the post-it toward her. 

“That’s not me.” She giggled, pushing it back toward him with a grin. “You’re bad at drawing.” 

Simon tsked, moving behind his desk and picking her up to sit on his lap. “Eh! That is so you!” Soap’s accent bounced off the walls causing an eruption of laughter from the little girl and Simon turned the computer monitor further toward him. Thick arms huge next to hers that clung onto them to get a better view of the desk. 

A short knock sounded through the room and Johnny moved from the door, hands clasped together as Price walked in. His eyes and demeanor instantly softened at the sight. “Kept this one quiet, Simon.” He chuckled, taking short steps forward to pass him some documents stamped with red classified text. 

She smiled at Price although shyed into Simon’s neck, “What is this?” He asked, bouncing his knee up and down to subconsciously entertain his daughter.

“Read it later.” He instructed, nodding once at his sergeant. “Johnny, aren’t you on drill today?” Price stood with his legs a good distance apart, thumbs slotted into his pockets to splay fingers wide over his thighs. 

“Ten minutes, sir.” 

“And Simon, you’re eh— you’re off aren’t you?” Price continued, smiling at his daughter who was staring up at him with small hands clung to her dads neck. “Take it you’re not here for long.” 

He shook his head, leaning back in the chair with hands behind his head. “Just ten minutes or somethin’, finishing these off before Monday.”

“Right.” He nodded. “Mind and not stay for long, yeah? You’re scheduled off for a reason.” Soap held the door open for him, watching as he left with a cautious look on both sides of the corridor before stepping out. 

Soap leaned out of the door, eyes following the captain until he was out of view, spinning back on his heel to Simon. “Open it.” Came his intrusive thoughts, nodding toward the classified envelope that had been tossed to the side. 

“No.”

“Aw c’mon, we’re both 141.” He slid a seat out in front of the desk, “Just open it.” The letter opener was spun across the desk. “Ae?” Face scrunched up in a convincing nod toward Simon’s daughter. Although, she was busy attempting to climb onto the desk, and would’ve had her fathers hand not prevented it with one swoop. “Tell your dad to open the wee letter.” 

“Open the wee letter.” She repeated, maneuvering onto her back across his lap and slowly sliding down onto the floor.

Johnny held his hands out in a way that proved his own innocence, as if that saying was her own doing. “The boss has spoken.” He gestured toward the little girl who stood on her tiptoes to look out the small window. 

“Haven't you got drills to run?” Simon said bluntly, dotting his pen and blankly staring at Soap.

“Oh shit.” He pushed the chair in haphazardly. 

“You’re leaving now?” 

Johnny nodded toward the small girl who held her fist out for him to bump his on. A habitual thing learnt by none other than the Scotsman himself, much to Simon’s unreasonable displeasure.

“Shit.” She mumbled to herself.

“Johnny.” Simon scowled. 

“Catch ye, Lt!” 

i’m clawing the walls for price.

simon ‘ghost’ riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @misshoneypaper @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkjoequinn @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @dilfdotgov

as always comments are reblogs are greatly appreciated! if no one pats me on the head every now and then i’ll sit in a hole.

↳ requests are open for dad!simon stuff although see the masterlist for more info.

[palfriendpatine66]

Making of Monday - Nursing home au edition

Posting what was the first scene of my big bang fic, Say Anything, after I made the call to edit it out. I feel this scene is mostly background info that I had to get set in my mind before I could jump into the story, but we don’t necessarily need while reading. I have a hard time bidding goodbye to these kinds of details, but I think it will be a stronger opening for it.

Cw: aging angst

Heavy. 

Impossibly heavy.

Slowly rising from the murky waters of a medicated sleep, Obi-Wan isn’t quite able to break through the surface and into the clear air of consciousness. His eyelids twitch but remain closed, his body weighted down and dragging him back under. Just as he decides not to fight it, to surrender and spend the day adrift in the peace of the liminal space in which he finds himself floating, it lets up. 

The first rays of light are blinding, too intense, and he squeezes his eyes shut and furrows his brow against the unwelcome intrusion. He reaches full consciousness and becomes aware of his body just in time to wish he hadn’t. He feels terrible, more than the average my bones feel every day of my age sort of terrible that he's come to expect. At some point the body just decides it has had enough, and he’d crossed that point years before. 

“Nuh-uh: I saw that,” a familiar voice teases from somewhere nearby. “You won’t be fooling anyone today. After we change your bandage you can eat in the dining room just like everyone else.” 

Obi-Wan finally makes some progress in his fight against the cursed brightness. The room comes into focus once his hand instinctively feels along a bedside table until his fingers wrap around a pair of thick rimmed glasses and slides them into place. 

“Perhaps I’ll starve to death," he suggests dryly. "Save you the trouble.”

The nurse by his side is one of his favorites, Ahsoka, and this fact alone considerably improves his outlook for the day. He had recognized her voice but seeing her kind eyes, and the not altogether surprising addition of nearly fluorescent streaks of blue in the hair that frames her easy smile, is a welcome comfort. 

Young and determined, Ahsoka is still filled with the desire to make a difference. Not yet burnt out by years of burdens that come with the job or else the bitterness of being bound by uncaring constraints of budgets and bureaucracy, she is a breath of fresh air in what can be, at times, a stale atmosphere. Fierce and kindhearted and terribly clever, she reminds Obi-Wan of the daughter he had once imagined he might have. It had been a daydream fated to remain just that, but he thinks she would have turned out a lot like Nurse Tano, attitude and all. 

"Don’t go getting any ideas; do you have any idea how much paperwork that would leave me with?” She arches an eyebrow as she bustles about, preparing her supplies. “Besides, it was just a slip and fall; you didn’t even break a hip. There’s life in you yet, old man.” 

“Oh yes,” Obi-Wan can’t help but scoff at her irreverence. “Just look at me. Practically a spring chicken.” 

It had been a slip and fall that had brought him into assisted living to begin with, and continues to serve as an unwanted reminder that he is the frail remainder of the man he used to be, his adventurous spirit now a relic of a bygone age. He doesn’t need to push a motorcycle to its limit or free climb towering cliffs when he craves a taste of danger to get the adrenaline pumping these days; hazards like slick surfaces and uneven flooring are as plentiful as they are potentially fatal.   

The beginning of the end had arrived while exiting an otherwise unremarkable shower that wouldn’t have stood out from any of the rest he’d taken over the course of his life had he not lost his balance and fallen. When he had eventually come to, awkwardly splayed across the cold tile, he’d been unable to move beyond the effort it took to reach the corner of his towel with his outstretched fingertips and drape it over himself to preserve the one lingering shred of dignity he had left. 

There was no telling how long he would have stayed there if fate hadn’t been on his side - in the form of a leaky sink, which never did get fixed. The plumber had arrived as scheduled first thing the next morning to find his client laid out on the bathroom floor, weak and clearly in a great deal of pain. He didn’t quite get to the job he’d been hired for. Obi-Wan called out, “would you be a good chap and call me an ambulance? The phone is in the kitchen, thank you,” as if the plumber hadn’t already pulled out his iPhone and dialed 911. 

After a surgery to repair the hip that hadn’t managed to heal quite right and broken ribs that had slowly and painfully stitched themselves together, an ornery Obi-Wan had turned even more oppositional when he’d been visited by the hospital social workers. With shrugs that said this is for the best they’d insisted he was unable to return home without someone there to look after him. He’d angrily defended his right to live alone and do whatever the damn hell he pleased with his days, even if that included an amount of whisky that was slowly pickling his liver (not that he added that particular detail or any other that might provide further fuel to their arguments). But eventually he’d changed his tune when he was told - threatened, really, if you asked him - that if he refused his case would be brought to the courts and a judge would determine whether his aging mind was fit to make his own decisions at all. 

He had known he was backed into a corner and had reluctantly raised a white flag of surrender. He’d been convinced it would be better for him to go willingly, to permanently move into an assisted living facility after the short period required to rehab his hip, and maintain his autonomy to make other decisions for himself. 

His house remained as it was, leaky sink and all, a monument paying homage to his past life. His in name but not in practice, it was a problem to be dealt with by someone else at another time. 

When he’d recovered enough strength to walk with a cane he’d returned one last time to collect his effects. His home was filled with artwork and trinkets and more books than most would read in a lifetime; all the things he had gathered throughout the years that, taken together, told the story of his life. But he couldn’t take it all with him and when he considered what he needed the answer wasn’t much. The necessities all fit into one suitcase but once he’d thought on it he’d filled a second with what might be nice to have as well. 

Those things and the memories they carried were what made his bland apartment, a level one-bedroom with things like handrails and non-slip mats and emergency pull cords, bearable. But having an echo of himself and the life he’d lived along its neutral walls didn’t automatically make the place to live a home. He’d begrudgingly seen the wisdom of the move shortly after his first heart attack, and made more of an effort to lay down some roots, to connect with the other residents and staff. It still wasn’t what he would have chosen for himself, but it helped. 

“Oh, don’t put yourself down," Ahsoka chides as she effeciently tends to whatever injuries lay beneath his bandages — Obi-Wan can't see and decides he doesn't feel the need to exert the effort to look. "I’ve seen the way the knitting circle all giggle like school girls when you enter a room.” 

“Yes, well, slim pickings and all that,” he rolls his eyes and decides he must be pulling through. Surely sarcasm will be one of the first faculties to go? “It’s hard not to outshine the meager competition.” 

“Yeah, you still have your hair,” Ahsoka nods in agreement as she gently unwinds the bandages holding him back together after his nearly fatal run in with his dangerous arch nemesis: the shower. 

“And teeth.” 

They both laugh at that, although there isn’t all that much humor in the simple fact that vegetables served in the dining room are frequently steamed to the point of liquidation. Some might call Obi-Wan vain, and maybe he is, but it’s a point of pride that after having lost so many things over the course of his life that his smile isn’t one of them. 

“What if I told you I have insider intel? Would corn on the cob be enough for you to show your face in the dining room and let everyone see for themselves you made it? Come on,” she needles, leaning into his side, sensing victory, “dispelling the death rumors, sinking your teeth into a fresh, firm vegetable, and getting ahead of the oncoming shame induced solitude? This sounds like a win/win/win to me.”

And to think he’d been inwardly praising her. Ahsoka’s bedside banter is probably, according to both nursing school textbooks and official policies, terribly unprofessional. And yet, seeing as how she’s one of the few who makes him feel like an autonomous adult rather than an errant toddler, in Obi-Wan’s opinion, it’s the very best.

[piipaw]

I would love to hear about your modern au <3

Okay so my modern AU is very loose (there's still magic, vampires, fantasy races, etc.) but with real world locations and references at times. It has been titled "bass pro shop pyramid meet cute AU"

The gist is- Gale is on the edge of getting divorced and is at a work conference out of state with some colleges and Mystra and he absolutely beefs finding a place to eat. He thinks he's pulling up a nice interesting restaurant on google maps and fails to realize it's at the top of the Bass Pro Shop Pyramid until he's in the parking lot.

So after they arrive Mystra basically laughs him out of the car and her and his collages leave him there in favor to find somewhere else, but he's adamant that he's gonna get a good meal. Only issue is- restaurant doesn't allow for single seating patrons- you need a party of 2 or more.

Awkwardly he circles the shop asking multiple people if they'd help him out and eat a meal with him, on him of course, but the idea of some stranger approaching most of these people is super off putting. He's wearing a conference lanyard, he's sweaty and unorganized. When he spots this super tall, ambiguously gendered githyanki watching the live bass in one of the tanks.

Rehearsing to himself a few times, Gale decides this is his last shot and approaches the gith. "Hello, I'm one Gale Dekarios, you don't know me but I'm out of town and I've found myself in a bit of a predicament- might you lend a hand?" Gum hears him out and agrees to eat with him.

They have a surprising dinner. Gale finds out that Gum is also not from the area, he's on a trip and works at a hospice back in his home state. They share a bottle of wine, eat some expensive steaks, and it leaves Gale sweaty and exhilarated. They exchange social media contacts and just like Cinderella, Gum has to go because he's flying out tomorrow and leaves Gale one of his keychains to remember him by.

Gale returns to his daily life back in his home state, and everything feels so pale, so empty. He's chasing the high of this ambiguous stranger and he's determined to see them again. With a little detective work Gale's able to cross reference a general idea of which hospice Gum works for and sees that it's fairly close to a near by campus that's owned by the same umbrella as the one he's working for now. Myatra's already finalized the divorce, she's taken her belongings, and he no longer feels welcome at his own work due to the shunning gaze of his peers.

So in a VERY impulsive decision Gale travels across the country to move to Gum's state, finding a nice place to live that will accommodate him and his cat's needs, and gets the job transfer. He's trying not to get his hopes up, this mysterious stranger barely posts online and might not remember him, but Gale HAS to try. It's suffocating him.

Once he's moved in he reaches out to Gum and lets him know he's in the gith's neck of the woods. Wants to know if they'd like to meet for a meal 'for old times sake'. The reality that he divorced his wife and moved across country to meet a stranger is hitting him hard, but he's ecstatic when Gum answers and they exchange phone numbers to work out the logistics. Gale insists on meeting Gum at his place, even tho Gum tries to convince Gale to meet him at the restaurant.

Gale arrives and Gum doesn't answer the door to the run down apartment, instead he's met with a shorter female gith he comes to know is Lae'zel. She informs Gale that Gum's not home from his shift yet, but he can come inside. This is where Gale sees that Astarion, an elven vampire, is also living here. He makes small talk, immediately hit with jabbing comments from the two of them but he takes it in jest. He absolutely understands how crazy this all seems and he hasn't even told Gum he's moved to the area- just that he was visiting.

Before Astarion can make some scalding comments about Gale's tan where the ghost of a wedding ring once sat, Gum comes home and is shocked to find Gale and the others talking. He asks a moment if he can shower before the leave, feeling ripe from working with the soon to be deceased. Before Gum leaves the room he gives Astarion and Lae'zel a warning look, one they both completely ignore and continue playing twenty questions with their new prey.

Gale offers to take Gum to a fancy restaurant but instead Gum insists on taking him to a B rated hole in the wall place instead. It's crowded, it's loud, but the food is nothing like Gale's ever had before. He's eating skewers of meat with his hands, they have lively conversation, and finally it gets to the point where Gale wants to start probing on what Gum's situation really is.

He finds out that Gum is in an open situationship with Astarion, as he's his primary source of blood, but they haven't been intimate in several years. Lae'zel is another ex of his, but they've realized that while they but heads they work great as friends. Since rent is so expensive, the three decided to go in together on a larger apartment even if it's leaky and they're just barely scraping by. Gale tells Gum about his ex wife, leaving out her name, and comes to find out that Gum is actually familiar with the school Gale and Mystra both worked at. He's been taking online night classes there on a scholarship to try and get out of his dead end job.

After a few dates they decide to take things slow. Gale starts inviting him over more, Gum also inviting Gale to his apartment as well. They have conflicting work schedules but they make time for one another. It brings Gale such joy to cook and care for Gum and his roommates when he visits. Soon lae'zel and Astarion start becoming Gale's acquaintances and friends as well, introducing him into their circle: Shadowheart, Karlach and Wyll. Eventually Gale makes two friends at his job: Halsin and Minthara, but also a rivalry with another colleague Loroakan.

One day while Gale is at Gum's place cooking him breakfast, he happens to peak over and see that Gum's in an online lesson with who else but Mystra running the class. Immediately he burns his hand, breaks something, drawing attention both from Gum and the professor on the screen. Mystra, ever cold and professional, simply tells Gum to mute his mic and turn off his camera and that he can review the lesson from the recording later but not to distract the class. Afterwards, Gum is very much like "what the fuck is wrong with you" to Gale while patching up his hand and it comes out that, oh, this is your ex. The one that you have a shitty tattoo for.

Gale takes it upon himself to reach out to Mystra and ask that Gum not be penalized or docked points bc of his distraction, to which she simply states she had no such intention unless it happens again. Relieved that Gum isn't getting negative treatment on his account, Gale feels a little lighter even if it is weird that his new partner is studying under his ex wife.

Astarion delights in this news TERRIBLY and has found new hobby in reading Gale relentlessly for it. Lae'zel could care less but jokingly offers that she "knows a guy" if he "needs to hide a body."

I got really really excited to discuss this so sorry for the length- but I think about this silly bass pro shop meet cute AU every few months. Very much a "me and the baddie I pulled by being autistic" only they're both autistic.

[mrslittletall]

Out of your favorite media, which 5 would you want to live in and why?

Oh, what a fun ask ^^ Let's start with Pokémon. To be honest, if a portal opened to the Pokémon world and I it would be one way, I am going in there and I would never come back. Who doesn't want to live in the Pokémon world?! The people there are happy! There are super cute critters around that fight for you! Sure, sometimes a world ending threat appears, but an eleven year old and their friends normally solve it. And you can get to fame simply by training these little critters. It's PERFECTION! Next is Harvest Moon. I made a poll once and asked where people wanted to live. My own answer was Waffle Island from Tree of Tranquility. It is an absolute wholesome small island with a town, some farms, a mountain and magical spirits. I don't know if I would be a farmer or a town citizen, but simply living there, that sounds like I would have less problems... Hmmm, most of the media I like is really not suited for living there. Dark Souls, Bloodborne, Hollow Knight... all places that are in ruins. I guess I have to look at some other areas. Okay, Final Fantasy 14. But only if I would have been born there. I NEED the ability to manipulate aether. I just love the idea of being able to use magic as a common thing that everyone can do. Yeah, okay, there are the calamities, but I guess starting with Dawntrail, those are mostly taken care of and the Warrior of Light makes sure that no other of them are happening anymore. So it sounds like a really good place to live now, either in Eorzea or somewhere else. Thavnair sounds nice for a place to live in. Oh, can I be a cat girl as well?! Okay, for as dangerous as it is, I would love to live in Made in Abyss and get fascinated with the Abyss as well. It just is beautiful. It is a place that is worth dying for, really. I can understand the delvers and their desire to go down there again and again and again. Last I take is Legends of Zelda, but which Hyrule do I like the most? While BotW Hyrule is beautiful, it also is post apocalyptic... maybe the one from Twilight Princess? I always liked this Hyrule a lot.

[ashturnedtomist]

Keep it Covert: Ch. 2

Project James

Keep it Covert Masterlist

Previous Chapter | Read from the Beginning | Next Chapter

Summary: In which, James finds his way to club Un Esprit

TW: character death? (Asset is shut down)

Based off this post

Read it on Ao3!

Asset looked around for a moment before facing him.

“Take my memory card.”

He looked up at them again. “What?”

“Take my memory card.” They repeat. “Or at least make a copy. That way, if they shut me down, you will at least have a way to put my memories somewhere else. Maybe you could make me again. Somehow.”

A glimmer of their old personality shone in their eyes. James swallowed thickly. “Okay…okay. We can-we can do that.”

…..

James was glad he had stowed the memory card away.

3 days after the full release of D.U.M.P’s documents, the base was stormed by special forces. James had to watch as they forced Asset to their knees and ripped out their wires.

All that work, down the drain.

All the efforts, down the drain.

An entire person, down the drain.

It took everything inside of him not to lose it on them all at once. To give them a real reason to fear empowereds.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Anton squeeze his eyes shut.

They tore everything apart, searched everyone on the compound, and took the most important things for “evidence.”

Evidence of what, he still isn’t sure.

By the end of the day, most everyone was taken into government custody. Some were lucky enough to slip away, but as far as unempowereds go, not so much. They were sent home once they realized we were only working under our former government’s orders.

James had never been so glad to see his partner.

——

After what had happened hit the news, it wasn’t shocking when people he had known from his everyday life started giving him the cold shoulder. Even more so when the green band was shackled to his wrist.

He’d been disappointed when people he thought were friends stopped speaking to him as well.

After the media circus died down, James tried to regain some semblance of a normal life, but if he was being honest?

He was bored.

He needed something, anything to keep him occupied.

And he still had no idea what to do with Asset’s memories.

It was a blessing in disguise Morgan called him.

“Hello?”

“Hello. Is this James?”

James raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. Who’s asking?”

“Forgive me. My name is Morgan. I have a business proposal for you.”

James grew quiet for a moment.

“What kind of business?”

——

After some long discussions with his partner, James agreed to meet with the Seer Obscura.

He called his club, ‘Un Esprit.’

One Mind.

James leaned against the bar, Morgan seated beside him.

“So, what’s the purpose of all of this? I’m guessing you didn’t just recruit the former head of Project Meridian for your club just for shits and giggles.”

Morgan chucked.

“You’re a sharp one, hm?”

The other man shrugged. “Have to be to run an entire compound like that. Now, cut to the chase.”

Morgan took a deep breath.

“I have a use for you. And that memory card of yours.”

James turned his head so fast Morgan swore he had whiplash.

“How do you know about that?” His voice was hard. Defensive.

Morgan poured himself a drink.

“Money buys a lot of things, Mr. James. Information happens to be one of them.”

James flexed his fingers. He didn’t like that Morgan knew about this at all. He inhaled sharply.

“What do you want with me?”

Morgan sipped from his glass.

“All in due time, Mr. James. All in due time. That is, if you agree to work with me. You’d be the head of management of my club should you accept.”

James squeezed his eyes shut.

“If I agree to help you, will you help Asset?”

Morgan smiled. “Of course. Their assistance is needed as well.”

James sighed. “Fine.” He turned around and poured a drink for himself. “I’m guessing I’m not the only one who’s being recruited.”

Morgan chuckled. “No. I have people working on getting others right now.”

James took a swig from his glass. “People like the other Seer Obscura?”

Morgan’s eyes flicked to James. “How did you-”

“Power tends to buy a lot too.”

Morgan stared at him for a moment before chuckling. “I think this will be an interesting partnership, James.”

The telepath sighed. “I’ll drink to that.”

He downed the entire glass in one go.

Yes, an interesting partnership indeed.

[expirisims]

Updates Sims and Otherwise

This post will serve as an update on Pickerling Cove now that I've gotten in the mood to work on it again, but also on my life in general. I have been very fortunate to have been home with my LO since the pandemic, but that's all about to change! She'll be starting school three mornings a week in about a month from when I'm writing this. So, I'm going to be on the job hunt soon, though not full time by any means, we're still aiming to avoid paying extra childcare costs if possible.

In other news, you may remember I was wanting to start a separate tumblr and youtube channel for the doll crafts I do with my kiddo when we have time. Wellll...I started filming a project, but as luck would have it, my friend that I built St. Bernie for lost her job unexpectedly so I was doing a little babysitting for her. Then after that settled down my kiddo's closet...literally fell out of her closet... Don't ask...facepalm. Anywhooo...everything from her closet wound up in my craft/studio room and yeah...we just got it put back together in time for the end of summer. In other words, I have no idea if/when I'll get around to getting that up and running. However, as far as my book, I have finally decided that I want to pursue self-publishing. There is so much stacked against me for traditional publishing. I have joined a local Writer's Guild, and several members are published, so I'll hopefully get some good guidance!

But enough about my crazy life, enjoy the newest screenshots of Pickerling Cove!

The original world waaay back before I even dreamed up Thicket was Mount McSimley and it was inspired by the mountains of Colorado. Pickerling Cove doesn't have any one place that has inspired the vibe I'm going for, I find inspiration from architecture of places I've visited, google images, memories from trips as a child and even this mess which was supposed to resemble some drainage ditch areas in my own hometown (I know, romantic right?) Anyway, this is still giving me fits so I have a new solution in mind, but you won't see that for a while :)

I removed the distant terrain temporarily because I was worried about space. These early stages of world building always throw me off because the roads look so huge with virtually nothing else on the map! As you can see I had begun terrain painting before changing my mind and flattening most of the world out again. I am so happy I did though! Once I found all of those old builds it broke the barrier I was having with city planning. Fair warning it is the largest of the worlds I have made. It's still a medium map like Thicket, but there will be somewhere around 120 lots. I hate that, but it's virtually impossible to keep it below that and accommodate housing along with most of the community lot types available. I will need to do testing of course once it's built, but the city center will be fairly dense with more space between lots as you get into the "suburb" areas.

As you can see, I removed the lighthouse from the world proper and plan to place one on one of the "island" areas created by my typical mishmash of distant terrains!

Ignore the sunken road you can possibly see if you squint. I don't think it will be noticeable actually in game as this is off world...I don't THINK so.

Such a pain to work with the terrains on these smaller maps, but so worth it!

Some things I have taken into consideration for performance:

As I said, there will be around 120 lots, some complicated and large, many close together. Because of that I have planned for combined rabbit holes in a few cases. I also plan to use Bridgeport and Roaring Height's shells to give the illusion of a true city with varying height and a large population. Rabbit hole lots I build out won't be furnished. I know a lot of people like the realism of these being furnished, but it does add to unnecessary objects cluttering up the world size. I figure if people have powerful computers and want to fill out every building they can, but I want to keep it as accessible as possible especially since I am already using items from a store world and I know those aren't cheap. I'm placing trees last as typical. I find it helpful to place lots first and see where trees and rocks would look natural and good. While I have placed several rocks already, mostly in bluff areas, the trees will be last and I always try to stick to four species per chunk so they can be effectively grouped.

I can already tell you that likely every expansion and definitely Roaring Heights will be required. I'm also using casino objects from the Lucky Simoleon. Any other store content will be pretty inconsequential.

[chantsdemarins]

Special Edition Chapter:

Where does Heartbreak get Stored if Not in your Quantum Drive? (Loki X Reader)

🌙A High Moon Story

(Don’t forget to enjoy the new art included as a bonus!)

Okay, so this is entirely out of order, but the sentiment felt suitable for Valentine's Day. High Moon chapters will be back soon and in logical progression!

Although I hope this gives you an idea of where the plot will go. Thank you so much for hanging in here with me! This is lovingly inspired by and created for @muddyorbsblr and their 14 days Valentine’s Day collection!

(This is mostly tame, with a little angsty heat 🔥)

Maybe these folks might reading? @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @goblingirlsarah @vickie5446 @peaches1958 @lokixryss @eleniblue @simplyholll @sarahscribblesles @sarawr-reads @jennyggggrr @ijuststareatstuffhereok89eok89 @mischief2sarawr @fictive-sl0th @thomase1 @inthesofa @huntress-artemisss @michelleleewise @gigglingtigger @kikster606 @xorpsbane @skymoonandstardust @coldnique @mochie85

+Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged if I’ve forgotten you (my ADHD is for shit with tags!!)

“And how should we behave during this Apocalypse? We should be unusually kind to one another, certainly. But we should also stop being so serious. Jokes help a lot. And get a dog if you don’t already have one.”

-Kurt Vonnegut-The Idea Killers, 1984

Former: Big Sur, California Current: Sechanaha

He had found you. Maybe not you exactly, but the replicant living out your life’s work in a pocket of time he finally found the correct coordinates to. If you didn’t have the answers, then Loki couldn’t imagine anyone else would.

You were the reason after all he was suspended in this quantum emotion enabled semi-alive-semi-dead-memory of his former majestic, fantastic superiorly intelligent true-ruler-of-the-nine realms self. You could end his misery, you could “pull the plug” or perhaps, it was more like “send the file” (old human terms from the era the AI technology was invented). You could help him finally reach Valhalla. While Thor and Odin were never his favorites (or so his quantum memory told him) with all he was, he knew he belonged there with them.

As Loki walked closer to your home, his CPU field read through the history of “El Grande Sur” which became “Big Sur”. At some point, the Esalen bots changed it back to the name it had 1,000’s of years before the many shades of “white visitors” with their re-naming ways got ahold of it- “Sechanaha” would be its last and final name. He pondered the way a land was taken over by humans and renamed, owned and seemingly a new course set in motion. It felt much like what had happened to him.

Maybe this was some algorithm of the universe. Some inevitably. Conquer with superior technology, rename (or in Loki’s case, keep his name, memories and emotions but force him to live forever without the people he assumes he once loved) and then make amends. Loki assumed apologies were also part of the algorithm. He expected you to give him a lengthy, extravagant apology.

He would use his newly activated post-AI seiðr to conjure a dagger, point it precisely at your replicant heart processing unit and wait patiently until you said you were sorry and meant it.

Although in all his confidence of his mission he knew he looked beleaguered. The curves of the California coastline had worn his Asgardian leather boots to the quick. His hair was a mess. He hated the fact that even as an AI he cared about what people thought of him. Truly why did he care if you thought he looked terrible? You were the reason he was so miserable. The ridiculousness of his CPU and the delicate sensibilities of his quantum processor were laughable if it wasn’t him going through this crap every day.

Nevertheless-he tried to straighten up his royal prince-without-a-kingdom finery, and be prepared just in case your model had a fight mode programmed somewhere in you (although extremely unlikely you did-as replicant models tend to align with the source material and as far as Loki could tell when reading about you, you had trouble with even killing flies, you had shooed them out the windows of your life).

When Loki arrived at your cedar planked cliff side house, he was seized with the inability to knock or just open the damn door. If he was capable of being nervous maybe, he was. You got so few visitors these days, you lived and worked in a perpetual quiet. Although your quantum dog species approximation field unit companion heard him coming and lit up with his usual alert incandescence.

You were in the middle of taking a long-deserved break from your latest invention and since the lab and your home was so far from the company headquarters in Seoul, you could at times take a load off. Of course, your source human had already created the invention you were re-creating in your coastal lab, but in this time pocket, as a replicant you methodically repeated the past with sincerity and every aberration-every iterative that occurred was recorded-if the past could indeed be changed, the labs in the other time pockets were interested to know.

You had just put a pie in the antique oven your home was equipped with. Although you never ate the things you baked, since you were not a human, you had no way to consume material matter, but you liked to imagine the human you once were eating pie and such things as pan du chocolate, whatever that could be. The memory fields you had access to recorded great joy associated with that particular pastry. You sighed to yourself when you realized someone was at your door. There was no way to recall if anyone had come to your door this century, so you were unsure what to do next. Your quantum dog field unit materialized alongside you as you approached the door, a small comfort.His lick and his bark contained molecular level particles that could adhere to any surface and launch 5th generation nano tech into the matter that was a threat. You glanced down at your dog unit, hoping he understood what to do. The lab in Seoul surely wouldn’t come by unannounced.

You continued to imagine who this possibly could be.

One more knock and the door flung open leaving Loki’s hand motioning mid-air barely missing your face. Quantum unit bristled and lunged forward, you had just enough time to perform the Ba Duan Jin and cease the unit’s actions, luckily it worked, and he stopped short of licking Loki’s other hand. Your face grimaced at the thought had he been successful.

“That’s one way to say hello I guess,” you said finally, staring at the tall stranger in tight head to toe leather.

Loki shifted in his dilapidated boots.

“If you don’t mind sending off your friend there, I’ve come to see Y/N, are you her?”

You shifted in your house slippers, unsure how to answer the ominous looking man.

“Who is asking, I am sure you recognize we don’t get many guests around here.”

Loki took a moment to look around, his surroundings were beyond remote. Where there was once a highway as they were called-it was now a coastal river flowing alongside the crashing Pacific Ocean. There were other houses, but they looked kilometers away and hidden underneath the treelined ridges of cedar. The whole area seemed long abandoned. It was hard to believe the area was Midgard’s premiere Artificial Intelligence lab, but it was-or at least he hoped it still was.

“I don’t imagine you do,” he finally said.

“I’m Loki of Asgard. Or at least I was.”

You looked at him intently, his name rumbling just under your breath. Loki of Asgard.

“Name doesn’t ring a bell. Should I know you?”

Loki looked slightly disappointed, but then found his footing. He was ready to conjure his blades and start the process of his forced apology protocol that he’d been imagining since he finally found you in this pocket universe, but you had that quantum field unit dog approximation, and Loki knew just how dangerous their bark or lick could be.

He’d seen a vista vision replicant melt down instantly back on the Sakaar pocket universe, it was disgusting. The bots charged with cleaning it up were covered in the gelatinous goo and their poor quantum motors exploded. Brief puffs of smoke clouded the main room where Loki witnessed the dreadful event, all beings present that day couldn’t stop coughing for hours. He wasn’t about to do anything that would risk him becoming a sentient gelatinous ball of goo stored on some middle-aged Midgardian scientists’ shelf for eternity. No thank you.

So, he chose his words carefully and plotted his next actions with keen resolve. His charm mode was still active even though he’d had little use for it over the last how many centuries. Living amongst non-emotional entities, he’d had little use for any of his old Norse god programming. Charms, charisma-even his good looks were of little consequence most of the time.

All the beings seemed blind without their emotions. It was a milquetoast world of binary interactions, except for the occasional display of randomness where he might get to use some of his exquisite vocabulary on a service bot and they might just say something cheeky back, but it was usually in reference to crossword puzzles.

You seemed close enough to a service bot in Loki’s approximation, so perhaps some higher range vocabulary repartee would warrant a peaceful invite inside your seemingly cozy abode.

You stood unmoving even if you’d dispatched quantum dog unit to the couch, you weren’t convinced this Loki was friendly.

“My dear, I smell something delicious coming from your kitchen!”

You looked behind you quickly before replying.

“Yes, I just put a pie in the oven.”

“Oh pie!” Loki’s smile was so big he was slightly afraid his proxy coating might snap. He continued.

“You know pie is a deceptively simple dessert, I know it seems quotidian, but the true baker knows that a real pie is a work of art, and the baker should be lauded as both pastry debonair and artist. I am myself a pie auteur and artist. I love watching people bake and I excel at baking myself. If you’d give me a chance, I’m sure we could have a great afternoon baking an assortment of pies!”

You let him prattle on but the more he talked the closer your hand moved to slamming the door in his face. You didn’t know the concept ‘fishy’ but somehow that word appeared in your programming stream.

He might have noticed how the door moved a few centimeters as you rearranged your hand just in case you needed to levy your motion in a fast swoop. His speech programming began to speed up.

“I appreciate making all kinds of pies-savory, sweet-unique varieties like bacon and maple.”

“Bacon?” you said, quizzically.

Loki might have been caught. He’d pulled that word out of his quantum CPU ass so to speak, he had no clue what bacon was. He paused for a moment and tried to go on.

“Oh yes, if you don’t know what that ingredient is, please don’t feel affronted, not everyone knows it, but if you know, you know-as they say.”

“Who is ‘they’?” you pondered out loud. What the hell was he talking about? You had to say something, this man had about 30 seconds left before you rallied your quantum approximation off the couch.

You leaned in a little closer before continuing to speak.

“Let me get this straight, you came all the way out to this pocket universe and just on the off chance I was baking a pie, something you happen to be an expert in baking and eating?”

Loki looked around a little bit, another enormous smile formed on his face, and he continued his pie rhetoric.

“Absolutely, yes, that is exactly why I am here to see you today! Isn’t it marvelous?”

That was it. You didn’t call the approximation off the couch, but you flung the heavy cedar door closed so fast Loki’s nose was almost clipped. You should have gone back to the kitchen, checked on the damn pie or made your way back to the lab to clear your mind of the stranger but you couldn’t. You stood frozen on the other side of the door staring at it. Impressive wood grain, you’d never taken the time to look before.

Loki was also similarly frozen.

It seems that in this pocket universe there were rules of communication he just didn’t understand. But it was you. He knew it, and he had to talk to you. You had created him, and you could destroy him. Another smile threatened to break his proxy skin, he thought to himself, she makes replicant augmented beings and pie. Wow.

He was impressed at your skill set, and a little star struck if he were able to be honest at all. He expected himself to be mad. He expected to immediately rush into his forced apology protocol with you, but he couldn’t.

After what felt like hours outside the door, his sensors detected a richer approximation of apple pie wafting out of the cracks in the old house. If he had a stomach, it would be growling. He decided to speak again, just to see if you might still be on the other side of the door.

“Are you still there by chance?” his words were decidedly softer.

You didn’t know what to say. Maybe? You steeled yourself and went through nearly all the programming you could, until you decided to go off script, you could-it was an ancient program, but you could enable it. You shifted again, and you could feel a surge of confidence running through your CPU clouds. You took a chance.

“I am. What do you really want? It can’t be to sample my baking.”

“Well, if you let me in, I would be delighted to sample some of your handy work, but yes, what you suspect is true, I have other business.”

Loki looked at his large hands, he was fiddling with them. He had been so angry for so long. He’d been prepared to unleash it all on you, but now he just couldn’t. His impulse ions were directing him to sit down in your kitchen and let you feed him and make him some tea.

The memory of eating, the memory of tea pulsed through his quantum RAM clouds, he felt lightheaded, if that was possible. He’d never experienced that feeling ‘lightheaded’ but he knew it conceptually. He could hear bird proxy’s singing-and the ocean breeze was dancing against his face. Then everything went blank. It was the most pleasant feeling.

You heard the thump. It sounded like one of the rocks from the ridge came tumbling down and hit your front door. You jumped back and then panicked. If that was an impulse, you could replicate. Before any more programming could inhibit you, your hands opened the door and Loki’s body slumped onto your slippered feet.

“Oh no,” your voice was shaky as you immediately grabbed him by the collar of his leather jacket and pulled him inside your house.

“That’s one way to get inside I guess,” you said out loud as you dragged him into the living room.

The approximation field unit dog jumped off the couch and used his canine Ba Duan Jin to assist you. You raced into the kitchen with no idea how you would revive him. You weren’t even sure what he was. A fear came through you that he might be human. Or some other replicant model that was not in use anymore. Something was out of place, and it wasn’t you.

You were right where you should be, in your lab, completing your augmented being protocol in this pocket universe, checking for time aberrations that the lab in Seoul was recording.

You were a not the human who created the augmented being protocol, you were her approximation. This man was likely that too. You kneeled next to him and fought the urge to push the stray strands of black hair from his handsome face. He was handsome, some part of your programming understood that even if was a very odd concept and one you had no idea at all what to do with.

When Loki woke up, he all but swore he’d finally made it to his beloved Valhalla. Who knew there was pie in Valhalla. His sensors were firing double time with a memory laden onslaught that was now engulfing him.

His vision field was blurred and when he saw you, he could see your golden wings, you were the Valkyrie that took him home. He felt you beside him and he wondered if you’d also go to bed with him-even though you had no idea what that was, the vision of himself naked without his leather finery and you naked in just your golden wings burned through his CPU at rapid speed. He spoke finally with gravel in his voice.

“Valkyrie thank you for finally bringing me home, would you allow me to kiss you as a show of my gratitude?”

The words rattled from his mouth, but they were drifting and soft, their tone had an unusual register that you could not discern.

“Valkyrie,” you said out loud to yourself or maybe to the approximation field unit who was eagerly at your side.

“Kiss? What?” words stumbled from your mouth this time purposely at the slowly waking Loki.

What was this being talking about. It couldn’t be possible.

He couldn’t be a Norse god, but you knew exactly who they Valkyrie were, even if it was arcane to know so. You had the entire history of Midgard religions stored in your CPU, like all beings on the planet in this era.

Even though it was the responsibility of other historian bots to keep this wisdom and use it for the new rituals, you at least knew of it, and you knew of Valkyries and Valhalla, yet it was a concept so foreign to process, your own timeline felt dented by it.

You placed your hand on his shoulder and tried to rouse him further. You knew what kissing was too, but you couldn’t process it further, even though you were programmed with less fear than your human approximation had, something still flashed through you that threatened to shut your CPU down as well. You had to keep alert. You had to focus.

“Loki,” you said, in an equally quiet voice, you wanted to speak plainly to him. He deserved that much, he must have come from quite a distance to reach you.

“Sorry to say, I’m no Valkyrie.”

“I’m a replicant bot here mirroring the invention of augmented being technology, something that happened so long ago no one truly cares about it except the history bots and the ritual bots. I don’t even know if there is even a lab monitoring anything anymore.”

You hoped there was, you’d hate to think all your work was for nothing, but so many centuries on your own would lead one to make some assumptions. Loki’s eyes slowly opened. He must have heard you.

“Loki are you…on….?” You spoke.

Was that the right word? You didn’t know if gods could turn on or off, or if they just had a perpetual energy source like the Midgard sun to keep them running in a timeless swirl. Loki was indeed ‘on’-but he also didn’t want to give anything away. He’d made it inside apparently. He realized he wasn’t in Valhalla-he was on a couch. A rather uncomfortable one at that.

“I see,” he whispered.

Loki remembered his ‘dream’ he was having, he remembered the idea of kissing, the idea of being in your bed, with you. A flush coursed through him and his eyes opened widely. He turned his head and placed his hands down across where his pleasure unit had been installed, at the middle of his body. Something sure had woken up along with him! In all his years as an augmented being it had been few and far between that he used his pleasure unit, all the bots in his pocket universe just liked to drink fizzy fixer drinks and talk about the politics of the day, but somewhere in the deepest parts of his programming he remembered something about his former self.

He remembered passion, he remembered bedding women and men, he remembered them crying in pleasure as he put what he once called his ‘cock’ inside them. He knew there were rituals he’d participated in on Midgard, he’d even loved-or he thought possibly he had. A torrent of knowing descended upon him but he still maintained his cool, while his pleasure unit simmered down. Although if he didn’t stop thinking about the so called past, his pleasure unit would never recalibrate back into idle mode. He looked at you carefully. You were stunned once again. You’d been struggling with the idea of a god laying on your couch, but a god with a pleasure unit was something you simply could not make sense of.

Loki looked down at his hands, still covering his ‘cock’, and he flushed again, or something like that at least.

“Oh dear, I am truly sorry. I must have been dreaming,” words rolled from his lips while you still sat staring.

“You dream?” you said, attempting to make the conversation about some of the other truly anomalous things happening all at once.

“Dreams were the domain of the human, we don’t really…I mean…I don’t…but what are you Loki?”

“I do dream Y/N,” he said, sitting up unceremoniously.

“You do?”

You were feeling weak. Something in your program felt like you should eat, even though replicant bots did not eat. It was like an ancient file had burst open and a million synaptic waves were flooding your usual programming. You turned to Loki and found more words.

“We should eat, let me cut us some of the pie, it’s cold by now but it’s probably still good.”

You dashed into the kitchen and pried the pie pan from the oven rack, you dipped your finger sensor into the middle, sure enough it was icy, but no matter. You hastily opened the cabinets searching for something you knew was a plate, something you put pie on, for all the pies you’d baked why in the world did you have no plates?

Worse you opened the drawers and found you had no forks either. Surely the human you used to be left something, you opened every drawer and every cabinet, dust flying in all directions. You stood on the old, cracked foot stool and ran your hands across the top cabinet shelf distributing more dust into the atmosphere, when you felt it. A ting against your sensors, you wrapped your fingers around it, and sure enough there was something there.

“Got something!” you nervously called back to Loki who was still sitting in a little daze himself.

Looking at the pairs of wooden sticks in your hand, you couldn’t be sure, but maybe they were used for food? You held them up to Loki, waving them in the air.

“Look familiar to you at all?”

He squinted his blue eyes and looked closer.

“Ah, those are chopsticks and yes you do use those for food consumption,” Loki said expertly.

“Oh wonderful, phew,” you said with more energy pulsing through the vines of circuits under your proxy skin.

You sat down next to Loki on the couch-pie and chopsticks in your right hand, scooting aside the approximation field unit dog with your left-causing a small approximation yip from him.

“Oh, this looks absolutely delicious, thank you so much Y/N, I feel unworthy for you to share your baking with me, I just descended upon you like this unannounced,” Loki sheepishly laughed.

Lucky (or unlucky) for you both, there were two sets of chopsticks. You took yours out of the wrapper and so did Loki, seemingly following your lead.

The approximation dog was on the port side the couch, you, the pie, and Loki making up the starboard. It was a humorous conglomeration of entities, huddled together.

“Guests first,” you said pushing the pie pan towards Loki.

Loki smiled and deftly wielded one of the chopsticks into the center of the pan in a slaying fashion, much like he had practiced doing to you with one of his blades when he enacted his forced apology protocol.

“Ah, there we go,” Loki said looking proudly at you.

Having no real idea what to do, if he was right or wrong-you simply followed suit, you took one of your chopsticks and duplicated his firm stroke placing your chopstick full hilt into the pie alongside his.

“Lovely! Seems we did it, don’t you think?” Loki looked confidently in your direction.

You were deep in your programming for a while before you spoke again.

“Loki, you don’t eat, do you?”

Loki looked down at his boots and up again at you.

“No. You don’t either do you?”

“No,” you said in an echo of his sentiment.

There was something sad, or what your programming was telling you was sad. Loki looked sad. He was slow to speak next.

“I remember the god I was used to eat though-I remember loving food. I remember loving lots of things.”

Loki’s programming temporally drifted once again to kissing, to bedding women. He looked at you and thought if he couldn’t eat anymore, he could try kissing. He could still do that he thought.

He hadn’t expected any of this programming. He’d come to ask you to turn him off permanently, but now all he wanted to do was kiss you. Loki hadn’t even had the chance to ask you for your help. Explain Valhalla to you. He felt the darkness springing through his CPU, he was likely shorting out again, or near to it. He tried to steady himself, clear his programming to silence mode, but it didn’t work.

You noticed how unsteady he looked, and you placed your hands on him, which in turn only seemed to make him grow more unsteady. Perhaps he was dying finally. Perhaps this was what the norns had designed in their infinite timeless wisdom. He was going to get to Valhalla after all if this replicant being would just kiss him, or maybe he should kiss you? He couldn’t remember how kisses worked and it frustrated him to no end.

“I want to kiss you,” Loki finally just came out with it.

“WHAT,” you countered.

“Do you know what a kiss is?”

He sounded ridiculous by any standard in any universe pocket or otherwise, his former god self was in disgust at the vulnerable desperation his CPU quantum drive was producing. You did know what kissing was, you thought. You closed your eyes and remained in quiet mode.

Loki focused himself, feeling the drift of blankness near-he acted quickly by taking your head in his hands and placing his lips on yours in one swift motion much like he did with the chopstick in the pie. Your eyes instinctually remained closed, and you felt your programming do something extraordinary. You kissed him back. Deeply, passionately, awkwardly, and full of memory of your former human life. It was like the act of kissing unlocked more of your human’s life and more of the secrets of humanity in general. Kissing was a prelude, an invitation. It was used when you ran out of words. You pulled away from Loki and opened your eyes but his eyes remained closed.

What in the world was next?

[nettleshuttle]

so, welcome to my ted talk! today’s topic: an attempt to put together all my thoughts on chazz in an at least slightly coherent manner

honestly, there’s a lot of these — as of now, he’s one of my favorite characters from the whole ygo series and definitely among the ones i find most interesting, although gx itself does him pretty dirty most od the time (more on that later). when i encountered him first in the show, i was actually kinda surprised/disappointed to see him established as the main rival figure — i mean, really, he was supposed to take over after kaiba? that bland, stuck-up, good-for-nothing guy? but then his later arcs really captivated me, up to the point where i was crying during his society of light duel against jaden and i begun to really appreciate him, so i guess here we are; as i’m still not over much of his character, i’m going to try to break down my favorite/the most important parts of it and see what comes out of it. if you’re still reading that, feel warned that you’re up for a long-ass post

first of all: a definite cornerstone of everything that chazz has going on, so the “talented, successful, arrogant, popular dueling ace” to “ridiculed drop-out underachieving ojama user” pipeline. needless to say, i really love this whole idea, as it’s frankly a take on gifted kid burnout, not handling expectations, not handling not handling stuff and a meaningful self-restoration after all that. it may be difficult to trace, because chazz remains arrogant throughout, but he’s going through a lot of personal growth — and quite realistic at that. the “hitting rock bottom” which he talks about (or bottom of the barrel, as it’s for some reason also being translated) seems ridiculous for a guy who’s, like, on the second most privileged place in life possible. yet, he really feels like he’s lost everything after the downfall he’d taken — and that’s exactly how such stuff works. the even better part that comes from it? as he plainly says, what osiris red really taught him is how little he knew about life. he never hit “rock bottom”, even though it felt like it — but he learned to scramble up and pull himself together after whatever fall it was, which, alone, makes him (and the other osiris reds, i infer) more broad-minded, more aware and stronger than all the obelisk blue elites which have never tasted defeat. that’s a very epic take and a very needed one, if you ask me — just like using a zero-atk hopeless ojama deck rather than some powerhouse of a card set as some blue eyes 2.0 doesn’t make him weaker than any duelist playing the latter, because he knows both and still chose the former. because that’s what suits him, that’s who he is — and although he lost all the pride he once had, he found much more of it on his own later. actually, the pathetic-dignified dichotomy works really well for him — he uses the ojamas, which elicit little more than a snicker from any respectable duelist, but he’s proud because he plays using them and nothing else, like when he deliberately nerfed his deck to sole 0-atks before dueling his older brother. he’s definitely struggling a lot; losing, falling back to his old self, fixating on the need to get revenge on jaden, losing again, scrambling up somehow, getting brainwashed, losing some more, but in all that, he’s getting somewhere — painstakingly and, at times, without any recognition of what he’s doing, but he’s improving in his own way and he is so much stronger and prouder than all who look down on him, all who are what he once had been, before all the losing and the struggling and the pathetic stuff. and i think that’s just great. besides, all of this — the desperation, jealousy, fear, weakness, confusion — make him come off as so much more human than characters like (with all due respect) jaden or jesse and make his development feel so realistic and rewarding.

some more on the decks he uses; i like the way he is shown to juggle multiple archetypes, ranging from armed dragon, to VWXZ dragon catapult, to ojamas — i talked about it a bit already, but i also think him not sticking to a single deck is a good way of showing how he’s in the process of developing all the time. trying out different things, mixing them, getting ridiculous combinations, going for them anyway, going back to some previous stuff, mixing that in too — that’s a real nice metaphor for how finding out stuff about yourself works, developing the optimal ways of doing things that suit you, your own ways of combating your own problems. of course, the three ojamas are a laughingstock next to kaiba’s three blue eyes (or tbh pretty much any other ace monster), but they’re the best representation of what i had laid out in the previous paragraph — i often think about his promotion duel, where the obelisk blue guy chazz faced was so disappointed seeing the ojamas, kept saying how they were a disgrace and how he had looked up to chazz in earlier times, but now considers him just an underachiever and a loser. the way how chazz almost spitefully uses the ojamas to win never ceases to make me happy because he’s making a statement of doing things his own damn way. even if they’re less efficient, weaker, anything, even if he actually loses the duel as a result (like the society of light one against jaden) because, ultimately, there are so much more important things — like when ed said that chazz needs to defeat a certain monster rather than win the game, which was a perfectly accurate summing up. losing with the ojamas is better than winning with anything else because the ojamas are his — and i find it really heartwarming, somehow.

then what does it all actually lead to? character growth is nice when it’s conclusive. what do we actually get for chazz? i mentioned that gx does him dirty and i will stick to it to my dying breath — his development could have been handled so much better (especially his relationship with jaden; even asuka got a more satisfying ending in that aspect) if the show didn’t use him as a scapegoat each time some shit needed to be stirred up or a duel needed to be lost. still, there are some really rewarding scenes to his character — most have to do with the popularity and renown he had enjoyed, then lost, then got back tenfold. “manjoume thunder!” being chanted and yelled and cheered comes off as a rolling joke more than anything else, especially along with the 1-10-100-1000 countdown (count-up?), but it’s actually much needed too — they really should let him have some of the recognition and applause. he deserves it. the empowerment coming from those scenes is great and the cringer it is, the greater it gets, because, come on, that’s chazz we’re talking about, right? his career as a pro duelist has much to do with it and i’m so glad each time i see it developed in post-canon fanfics — with his ojama deck, weird attitude and drop-out reputation, he’s not cut out to be a pro. not talent, not any gift, definitely not destiny — but, in a strange way, there’s nothing that would suit him more. he’s made for the dueling arena, for the spectators and the publicity, but he’s choosing to enter the pro world in his own way, with his own ojama deck, his own ojama yellow ace and the rest of his own identity — and that’s good enough to best ed phoenix, the guy who beat kaiser’s ass into the dirt, because that’s precisely where chazz’s strength comes from. and even if he used a more optimal deck, if he stayed in obelisk blue or god-knows-what, i like to think (and am quite certain) that he never would have gotten that far. so yeah, that would be a great ending for chazz, all in all, if his relationship with jaden wasn’t left practically unaddressed, which was definitely not the way it should have been treated — but even though i love this ship with all my heart and could ramble on it literally without end, maybe it’s best to leave that for some other (indefinite) time. the whole thing is, of course, a very crucial part of chazz’s character, but i think there a limit to amount of gx rambling anyone can feasibly process and i’ve surpassed it some time ago already. also i’m not even mentioning the whole thing with asuka because, try as i might, i fail to see any real reason or purpose for it, apart from some cheap comic relief stunt pulled by the creators. so no.

long story short — chazz is a great character, realistic and relatable (i should stop calling myself out), with a development that is really uplifting when you really consider it, made even better by some very epic scenes that he wholly deserves. arguably, i’d also call him the best ygo rival figure, but since that’s easily debatable, i’m not going into that too much. and, of course, thanks for coming to my ted talk (sorry, i’ve always wanted to finish an essay post that way <33)

[amplifyme]

Had a post cross my dash this evening that made me think of this one. An oldie but (hopefully) goodie. Sunday night smut.

Red Letter Day (read on AO3).

Explicit. MSR. Humor. Post-Fight the Future. Pre-Season 6. Absolutely no redeeming value. Originally published summer of 1998.

Summary: Mulder discovers the hidden benefits of Scully's PMS.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

If I was anywhere near the crack genius most people seem to think I am, I would have taken the time to check my calendar before I ever opened my mouth.

News flash: Dana Scully is hell on wheels the two or three days prior to the monthly visit from her "friend."

That's how she refers to her period: as her friend. If I had a friend that made me psychotic on a regular basis, I'd definitely be looking around for a new one. And you'd think a well- educated doctor could come up with a term a little more clinical than that.

Whatever.

There we were in our brand-spanking-new office (which I hate with a passion that knows no bounds because it’s bare and lacks the charm it had before the fire), knee-deep in cardboard boxes filled with freshly printed copies of all the X files Scully and I'd had the good sense to save on disk and stash at home.

We'd spent the better part of the previous weekend at the offices of the Gunmen, shooting the shit while the boys' printer got a workout. Call me paranoid, but I have no definitive proof that the printers at the Bureau aren't out to get me.

Note to self: send Byers a decent bottle of scotch, the collected works of Korn to Langly, and a copy of Alien Probe to Frohike.

Scully was cross-legged on the floor, stuffing papers into candy- striped file folders and consulting a list of case numbers, checking off each one as it was compiled. I'd made the mistake of volunteering to put said folders into some kind of order once she was done with them. And that's where we ran into trouble.

You see, Scully's idea of a filing system is way out of line with mine. I've always grouped files by phenomenon; Scully prefers to do it by case number. Consequently, our old file cabinets in our office (may its previous flotsam and jetsam rest in peace) were not exactly what one might call organized. That sort of thing doesn't faze me too much, but it makes her crazy. Had I bothered to note the date, I would have known not to cross her when she questioned me about it.

Live and learn.

"You're doing those by case number, right?"

I wasn't really paying much attention to her question. I had my back turned to her and had gotten lost in the last file she'd handed me, mourning anew the untimely, bizarre death of Clyde Bruckman and his equally bizarre take on my own demise. I made a noncommittal noise in reply.

"Mulder? You're filing those by case number?"

Her question finally registered. "Uh, no. Should I be?"

I flinched at the stinging slap of her hand hitting the hard surface of the floor. "Dammit, Mulder, I thought we agreed to do it by case number."

My radar went active and the alarms started going off. I had no idea why she'd flown off the handle so quickly, but I was pretty sure I was about to find out.

"We did?" I was being careful, buying myself some time to try to figure out what was going on. I turned and gave her my most guileless face as I got busy trying to recall what I might have done recently to piss her off. Hard as it may be to believe, I came up empty.

She gave me a long, icy look and gritted through her teeth, "Yes, we did. The last time you were at my apartment, as a matter of fact. Don't you remember?"

Okay, that was an easy one. I knew the right (read: best) answer and spit it out gratefully. "I'm sorry, Scully. My head must have been somewhere else."

So far so good. My excuse was legit. Especially if you take into account that the last time I'd been at her place, sex had been the only thing on our minds. And I've discovered that Scully gets very talkative afterwards, while I tend to zone out during my usual post-coital return to all my favorite places on her body. I'd much rather nuzzle the underside of her breasts or the curve of her ass than discuss the best way to organize our file cabinets. So I let her ramble on and she lets me poke and nibble. It's generally an equitable trade and, to be perfectly honest, I'd always figured she was paying as little attention to what I was doing as I was to what she was saying.

But like I said, live and learn. Because my smartass mouth then overrode my common sense. "Now that I think about it," I elaborated before I could stop myself, bending low and whispering. "I'm pretty sure it was between your legs."

"Jesus Christ, Mulder, is that all you think about? We have work to do here."

"I'm working. See?" I waved a hand at the open file cabinets and the rows of folders tucked inside.

"No, you're not. You're thinking about your head being between my legs. No wonder you can't file anything properly."

Obviously she wasn’t as concerned as me about the office being bugged.

I fought to tamp down my sudden flash of anger. What the hell was her problem? "Just because I'm not doing it the way you want me to, Scully, doesn't mean it's not being done properly."

"Whatever," she shot back. "Just do it however the hell you want to. You always do anyway."

Bitch.

While part of me was slowly realizing there might've been something more to her outburst than just my ill-timed comment, the rest of me couldn't have cared less. I found myself glaring at her. She glared right back.

"Fine," I snapped, swinging back around and yanking all the neatly filed folders out of the cabinets and slapping them down on top. "I'll do it your way."

That seemed to do the trick, because she got very quiet after that. At least she didn't gloat over her small victory. I kept up a steady stream of silent curses as I worked to re-file everything by case number. I was almost through the first pile when she began muttering under her breath.

Without turning around I asked, "Is there something you'd like to share with the class?"

"I knew this was gonna happen," she announced.

That's all it took to suck me right back into the game. "Knew what was gonna happen?" I turned just as she was getting to her feet.

"This," she said. "This problem you seem to have staying on task. I knew as soon as we started… you know… you'd have trouble separating that part from the work. Honestly, Mulder. I'm trying to get some work done and all you can think about is going down on me."

All this blurted out with her arms folded defensively across her chest and that holier-than-thou tone of voice. I opened my mouth to let loose with some retort and snapped it shut again as soon as I got a really good look at her face. Her flushed face. The high color and the sparkling eyes that spoke not just of anger, but of what I'd come to recognize as arousal.

It dawned on me in that moment that Scully was as horny as she was angry. Maybe even more so.

It took all my considerable self-control to keep the smile off my face. I took a step toward her and said, "I hate to point out the obvious, but you're the one who keeps bringing it up. I was just making a joke. You're the one who can't stop talking about it."

"And just what are you implying?" Her eyes danced fire as she glared up at me.

I've found that sometimes my silence can say more than words ever could. This was one of those moments. I watched her face change as she realized that I had more than a clue what was going on.

"Oh, I don't fucking believe this," she muttered, turning away and grabbing her trench coat from the chair she'd draped it over. "I'm going home. I'm not going to stand around here and watch your head explode from your over-inflated ego." She stomped to the door and flung it open, struggling comically to get her arms in the sleeves of her coat. "Good-bye, Mulder. I will see you in the morning."

I spent the next few minutes smothering my laughter and then dug out my pocket calendar, settling into a chair as I confirmed my suspicions.

It was probably four years ago when I started keeping track of Scully's menstrual cycles. At first, I'd just been marking down the days when she seemed to possess a shorter fuse than normal. After about three months, a definite pattern had emerged. I'd been able to pinpoint the days that marked the actual start of her period because she'd invariably complain of lower back pain and be popping Advil throughout the day. Once those events occurred, I knew I was safe for another month or so. It was the two or three days prior to that when I had to be careful.

Those were the days when Scully would act as though she'd just as soon shoot me as look at me. Or speak to me. Or have anything to do with me. Those were the days when we both would find any excuse to avoid being in close contact. She would take off for a long weekend or a symposium at Quantico or, if neither of those were possible, I would grudgingly offer my temporary services to BSU. If we happened to be in the field or out of town on a case, we'd come up with ways to work separately. Since there was almost always a corpse or two that needed slicing and dicing, it was never much of a problem.

All this time I'd been thinking that she just had less patience with me those few days than at other times-a result of hormones gone wild. It never once occurred to me that she might've been avoiding me for an entirely different reason. I was stunned by the idea that she maybe she'd wanted nothing more than to throw me down and screw me blind, hence her pissy manner that insured I'd stay away and not become an irresistible treat. Considering we hadn't been lovers until just a few months ago, that would certainly explain why she'd felt a need to be as far away from me as possible.

Can't exactly go around jumping your partner on impulse, now can you? So you take pains to avoid them instead. Out of sight, out of mind, Scully?

My grin just got bigger as I checked the previous two months on my calendar. Sure enough: those particular red letter days were times when we'd been apart for one reason or another. So even though we were engaging in hot monkey love by then, she had habitually avoided me the few days before her period. Wouldn't want to actually admit she might be extraordinarily horny and indulge herself in our new favorite pastime.

Well.

Wasn't that interesting.

So then I did what any red-blooded man would do: I formulated a plan to use her hormones to my advantage.

Now before you start lecturing me about what a pig I am, ask yourself: wouldn't you do the same?

I thought so.

I gave the unfiled files a cursory glance and decided they weren't going anywhere. I locked up the office and headed home. After grabbing a quick shower, I threw on jeans and a t- shirt and hightailed it over to her place.

Apparently I'd interrupted a rare session of Scully self- indulgence. I took a quick look over her shoulder as she threw open the door, spotting the pint of Wavy Gravy on the coffee table. William Hurt and Kathleen Turner were raising body temperatures on the TV.

"What do you want?" she asked. The pissy tone was still there, but she couldn't stop her eyes from raking me over head to toe in a rather predatory way.

Bingo.

"Hello to you, too, Scully. Whatcha doin'?"

"Nothing," she growled.

"Good." I stepped right past her, ignoring the indignant look she aimed at me.

I heard her huff dramatically as she closed the door. "What do you want, Mulder?"

"Who says I want anything?" I pulled off my leather jacket and tossed it onto the chair. Flopped down on the couch and grabbed the ice cream. I had the first spoonful in my mouth as she came around the end of the couch and planted herself in front of me, hands on hips.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Eating your ice cream."

"I can see that."

I leisurely licked the back of the spoon clean, my eyes pinning hers.

"Why are you here, Mulder? Surely it's not just to eat my food."

I jammed the spoon back into the container and set it on the table. "You're right. That's not why I'm here."

One eyebrow crept up her face and her hands lifted in question.

"I think," I told her, “That the real question is, what do you want?

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that you're not being honest with me, and I don't think I like it."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

That's the moment I realized Scully was capable of looking me straight in the eye without actually looking at me. Avoidance by confrontation.

Amazing.

"You're a lousy liar, Scully. You always have been." I was a little surprised at how raw my voice sounded to my own ears. Hoarse, aroused. I was even getting a hard-on, and I'd yet to lay a finger on her. It was shaping up to be an interesting afternoon.

"Excuse me?" she blustered. "If you've come here to insult me, Mulder, then I think you'd better leave."

"I didn't come here to insult you." I slumped back against the cushions, my feet purposefully planted wide. "I have something much more pleasant in mind."

She did a quick check of my crotch before lifting her eyes to mine. She tried to look innocent, like she hadn't just been caught eyeing the goods, but she couldn't pull it off.

I had her fair and square.

"Look, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but-"

"Just couldn't stop thinking about it, could you?"

"What?"

"My head between your legs." I made each word slow and precise. "The thought of me going down on you. It turns you on, doesn't it, Scully?"

She began to stammer, no doubt trying to get out some kind of excuse. I didn't give her the time. "In fact, I'd lay odds you're getting wet right now, just from me saying the words."

"Mulder-"

"It's okay. It turns me on, too. See?" I glanced at the rapidly growing bulge in my jeans. She obediently looked. When she raised her eyes, they'd gone dark and heavy-lidded. "The only thing I'm not sure about is just what turns you on the most. Is it the thought of my mouth against you, licking you? Or my tongue dipping into you?" I deliberately looked back down at my crotch. "Or maybe it's this you're thinking about."

I knew I was. I didn't have a whole lot of choice. My cock was straining uncomfortably against the rough denim of my jeans, demanding attention. I heard her sharp intake of air as my hips lifted slightly in invitation.

"It's okay," I told her again. "You don't have to hide from me anymore, Scully. You don't have to pretend. Whatever you want, whatever I can do for you, all you have to do is tell me and I'll do it."

I lifted my hands from where they rested on my thighs and draped my arms along the back of the couch, settling deeper into the overstuffed cushions. "Now why don't you just slip out of those clothes and come over here and tell me exactly what you want."

It was harder than hell to sound cool and confident when my heart was pounding like a jackhammer in my chest. My throat had gone so tight I don't think I could have swallowed had my life depended on it. Not that there was any saliva remaining in the arid desert my mouth had become.

To be perfectly honest, it wasn't just white-hot lust that caused my symptoms. I was terrified of Scully's response. Despite the way her hooded eyes lazily meandered over my body, despite her ragged breathing and the soft, inviting curve of her mouth, I had absolutely no idea what was going on in her head. For all I knew I was seconds away from having my ass booted out of her apartment and being told in no uncertain terms that I was no longer welcome there.

I'd never done anything like that with her before. While we'd indulged in the typical flirting lovers are wont to do over the last couple of months, I hadn't ever been that blatant in approaching her. We'd always entered into lovemaking the same way we did everything else in our relationship: slowly, cautiously, with few gestures and even fewer words.

All I could do at that moment was sit quietly and wait for her to decide. Though it might have appeared to anyone else that I was in charge of the situation, the complete opposite was true. It was Scully's call. She was in control, and I knew that was just the way she liked it.

It wasn't until her fingers lifted to the buttons of her blouse that I released the breath I hadn't been aware of holding. She pinned my eyes and wouldn't let go until she was forced to bend over to pull off her pants. And then she straightened and faced me, clad in nothing but a lacy bra and panties.

"All of it," I managed to croak.

And then she cocked an eyebrow and gave me tiny, wicked smile. A ragged chuckle escaped me and I finally took a deep breath.

Thank you, Scully, for not kicking me out. Thank you for not laughing in my face. Thank you for wanting me as much as I wanted you.

She made short work of the bra and panties and stood there waiting, giving me back a little of the control, letting me take a leisurely look at what she was offering. She was five-foot two inches of walking, talking perfection. I sat up and extended a hand to her and she stepped forward and silently took it. I tugged until she was standing right in front me, only inches away, trapped between my knees. I closed my eyes and breathed her in.

You know what it smells like just after it's rained on a perfect early spring evening? When you catch a whiff of new grass and leaves and just a hint of the musk of flowers still forming blossoms. That's what Scully smells like.

I let go of her fingers and moved my hands to her hips, holding her firmly in place. And then I leaned forward and kissed the soft slope of her belly, just below her navel. Her fingers slipped through my hair as I turned my cheek and rested it against her.

There I was just seconds after telling her to strip naked and talk dirty to me, struggling with a hard-on that could cut glass, when suddenly the back of my throat started to ache and my eyes to sting. All signs of impending tears. My face was buried in the softness of her belly, inches away from the source of her intense fragrance, and all I could do was get teary-eyed because I thought I must be the luckiest sonofabitch on the face of the earth.

Now you must understand something: I never thought Scully and I would get to the place we've reached. It's not that we weren't aware of our feelings for each other and the attraction between us, or curious about what it might be like to give in to that attraction. It's just that when you cut to the chase, both of us tend to be chickenshit when it comes to matters of the heart. Especially when you factor in all we had to lose if it'd turned out that sex between us was something better left to the imagination.

But we were lucky, Scully and me. We came together and discovered it could be even better than we had any right to expect. And sometimes that gets to me. It did that day, and in all honesty, it still happens with alarming frequency.

Scully, bless her horny little heart, pulled me right out my sentimental brooding. "You were right, Mulder," she murmured as I turned my face and kissed her again. "About everything you said. You made that joke in the office and I couldn't stop thinking about it. It just made me so…"

"Horny?" I supplied.

I felt the vibration of her silent chuckle as I continued to taste her belly. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. And I had to get out of there. I'm not used to being able to admit my feelings to myself, let alone to you and… oh, don't stop doing that, Mulder… and so I ran away."

I moved my hands around and took a hold of her perfect little ass, gently kneading the flesh. I dipped my head and began to kiss along the crease where thigh met torso. "Old habits die hard, huh?"

"Oh, God. Yes, they do." Her fingers had taken a firmer grip on my head, directing my mouth where she wanted it. Which just happened to be where I wanted it, too. I nuzzled the crisp copper curls at the apex of her thighs. "Mulder, please."

"What do you want?"

"You know what I want."

"No," I reminded her, "I want you to tell me."

She got quiet and I pulled away a little, looking up at her. She was gnawing on her bottom lip. Her expression was one of shyness struggling with need, and it was just about the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. I considered letting her off the hook. For a second or two. But it was too good to let go. My cock twitched in anticipation.

She closed her eyes in a slow blink and whispered, "I want your mouth on me."

Good girl.

"Where, Scully? Show me."

She gave me a look that told me I was going to pay big-time for being so insistent. I was smart enough not to let her know how much I was looking forward to that. Sometimes you just have to keep things to yourself.

I thought she might take the less risky option and beat around the bush (no pun intended), but she apparently didn't want to waste any more time. One hand left my hair and came to rest on her stomach. There was only a moment's hesitation before she slid it down and cupped herself.

"Here," she breathed.

Never let it be said that I give up easily; especially not when things are getting interesting.

"I'm sorry, I can't see, your hand's in the way. Where?"

She slowly made a return trip up, this time with the first two fingers of her hand spread apart. This, of course, opened her up and left the small bud of her clit peeking out. She was wet, her folds plump and glistening, shaded a deep pinkish-red.

Beautiful. My little hothouse flower.

I licked my lips in anticipation and she sighed quietly as she spotted the tip of my tongue.

"There?" I asked.

"Yes." She growled impatiently, "Jesus, Mulder, just do it."

So I leaned in and flicked my tongue once against her clit, sliding off the couch until I was on my knees. And then I went in for the kill. It was a good thing my hands were still on her ass, because her knees buckled almost immediately. She groaned low in her throat and dug her nails into my scalp.

I've never understood men who don't enjoy being on the giving end of oral sex. It's always been right up there on my list of favorite things to do. I could spend hours at it-and have. Consider it a benefit of my obvious oral fixation. Scully certainly does.

I ran my tongue along her soft folds and then pulled them into my mouth, gently sucking the flesh before letting my tongue slip inside her. She clenched tight around me, beginning to thrust and grind against my mouth as I dipped in and tasted her smoky sweetness. I drew my tongue back and then ran it up her cleft, landing on her clit and mirroring the small circles her hips had begun to make.

Scully was moaning and whispering nonsense words, her legs grower weaker as the minutes ticked by. I wasn't sure how much longer I'd be able to hold her up and my neck was beginning to complain about my awkward position anyway. So I pulled away and shoved the coffee table out a few feet, lying down on my back on the floor. I ended up with Scully standing above me, her feet planted on either side of my waist.

She gave a little grunt of disappointment and then squatted and reached down, going for the buttons on my jeans. I grabbed her wrists to stop her. She looked down at me with unfocused eyes, her tongue snaking out to wet her lips.

"Uh-uh." I let go and grabbed her hips, pulling her up toward me. "C'mere, I'm not finished yet." She crawled up until her knees were next to my ears and settled right down on my face.

Oh, yeah. It was heaven. It was as good as it got.

Somewhere along the line, I reached down and undid my fly. My cock had gotten progressively larger and harder and I was afraid the little bugger might suffocate if I didn't give him some air. It eased the pressure but not my discomfort. My cock was aching to do what my fingers and tongue were busy at.

But that's just part of the fun-holding off until you can't stand it anymore. God knows Scully and I had made it an art form, waiting over five years before we finally gave in the first time. Now that I knew she wasn't going anywhere, it was nothing to wait until I'd made good on my word to give her what she wanted.

Just a few minutes later Scully went stiff, her back snapping straight, and noisily came. She ground against me a little longer, riding it out, and then folded bonelessly at the waist. She braced her hands on the floor above my head and I wiggled out from beneath her and got on my knees. I quickly hauled off my t-shirt and then shoved my jeans and boxers down my hips. Wrapping an arm around her waist, I lifted her ass in the air. And then, not giving her time to catch her breath, I buried my cock inside her in one savage thrust.

She squeaked and I grunted and then she arched her spine and shoved back against me, matching me stroke for stroke. I knew I wasn't going to last long. I could already feel the heat coiling low in my belly, gathering strength and moving even lower, into my balls and all along the length of my cock. But I wanted to make Scully come one more time. Just once more. Her two for my one. It sounded fair to me.

I spread my knees as wide as my jeans would allow and draped myself over her. Reaching up and grabbing a breast, I pinched the nipple between my fingers and then slid my hand down her belly and found her clit.

"Oh, Mulder."

It was first intelligible thing she'd said in several minutes, and it came out in a low keen. I wanted to say something. I wanted to tell her how fucking good she felt - tight, hot, wet, squeezing around me - but I was beyond words, beyond any thought but relieving the ache in my balls and the screaming in my head. I settled for turning my face into her neck and taking her earlobe between my teeth. I bit down just as she came and she bucked violently against me.

Two, three, four more thrusts and I followed her down, throwing my head back and growling like a goddamn animal. I kept pounding into her long after my cock stop spasming and she'd milked me dry, not wanting to stop what had felt so unbelievably good. But my knees gave out in the end, forcing me to lift myself off her back and collapse on the floor next to her.

Scully's face was buried in the carpet, her fiery hair a tousled mess, her legs and arms akimbo. Her back was rising and falling rapidly as she desperately sucked in air. I fought to control my own breathing and reached over to run a hand down her sweat- covered back, coming to rest on the swell of her ass and giving it a friendly squeeze.

She lifted her head a few minutes later and turned her face toward me, squinting at me through the hair that fell over her eyes.

"Hi," I murmured.

She groaned in reply and opened her eyes all the way, looking me over. A slow smile spread across her face.

"What?" I asked.

She snickered. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look, Mulder?"

I looked down at myself and then back at her, grinning like a fool. My jeans and boxers were bunched around my knees, my feet still encased in boots, my erection rapidly deflating and lying wet and limp against my thigh. All in all, not exactly the model of suave sophistication. "I didn't hear you complaining earlier, Scully. Besides, you're not exactly cover girl material yourself at the moment."

"Depends on what magazine I'd be posing for." She made a 'gotcha' face, obviously pleased with herself.

I chuckled and pulled her closer, "Baby, you can pose for me anytime you want."

"I figured as much. And don't call me baby." She levered up on an elbow and brushed the hair from her face. I watched, with much appreciation, the sway of her breasts. "Mulder, kiss me."

"With pleasure." I wrapped a hand around the nape of her neck and guided her mouth down to mine. The first touch of her lips was electric, like a high-voltage current shooting through my body.

Scully and I are stingy with our kisses. I guess part of the reason is that neither one of us wants to get used to them. They're incredible, you see, and it would be far too easy to become addicted to them, to want to indulge without any thought as to where we are or what we should be doing instead. Too easy to be in the office or out in the field and be overwhelmed by an intense desire to turn to each other and grab a big, fat, wet kiss. So we dole them out carefully.

But that's not the only reason. It goes deeper than that. I think maybe it's because getting to that first kiss took so much longer than anything else. There's something even more special about kissing her than fucking her. I know it may sound strange to you, but then Scully and I have never exactly been poster children for normal behavior.

Eons later we broke apart and I licked the taste of her from my lips. She peered at me drowsily and declared, "You know, this is completely unfair of you."

"What is?"

"Taking advantage of me the way you just did. Pulling your profiling wonder boy act and figuring out what my problem was."

I smiled in victory. "Does this mean I can pencil you in for a repeat performance in about, oh, twenty-six days?"

"I have to wait that long?"

I tossed back my head and laughed as I gathered her into my arms. "You don't have to wait at all. Like I told you: all you have to do is tell me and I'm there. Whatever you want, whenever you want it. Your secret is safe with me."

"At the rate we're going, I won't have any secrets left."

I drew back a little and looked at her. "Would that be such a bad thing?"

"My mother always said a woman should have one or two secrets, just to maintain an air of mystery."

"And what do you say, Scully?"

"I say," she stretched up and kissed me, "that some secrets are too good to keep to yourself."

I couldn't have agreed more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[movedhornyblog2]

experiments

to fill out my blog, i decided to post one of my suuuuuuper old tickle fics - it includes the old design of my sona, lizzie, so take everything with a grain of salt cos she looks and acts way different now lmaooo

i'm lowkey kinda embarrassed abt this fic cos i wrote it a couple years ago and reading my old writing makes me cringe but its content so buckle up baby here we go

fandom: original characters characters: lizzie (sona)((old design)), detached scientist voice coming from a speaker summary: lizzie wakes up in a locked room that appears to be inside of a science facility, strapped to a chair for the entertainment of the researchers who captured her - kinky shenanigans ensue 3677 words warnings: cnc, kidnapping, tickling, forced orgasms, denial, */f

enjoy!!

“Subject 001 appears to be incredibly sensitive all over her upper body,” 

a sharp, monotonous voice cuts through the silence of the dim and chilly room, the sudden sound momentarily snapping Lizzie out of her amorous daze and causing her to jump slightly in her spot, although the metal cuffs binding her wrists to the chair she sat in didn’t really allow her to move much at all.

“... Especially around her breasts, which - when touched - produce wildly different reactions than the rest of her does.”

The loudspeaker that carried the voice around the room then died off with a loud click, leaving the imp alone once again with nothing but the sounds of her panting and giggly moans filling her cell. The brunette was currently strapped quite tightly by her arms to a metal chair in the middle of an empty dungeonesque type room, clad in nothing but a thin - and quite wet - pair of patterned pastel pink panties, her glasses discarded somewhere near her on the cold concrete tile floor. Somewhere near those would be the scraps of her matching bra, which was hastily torn to shreds before her… “testing” even actually began.

On the floor beside her were two metal hatches, both slid open enough to make room for the array of small mechanical hands that had snaked their way around the girl’s mostly naked body, their fingers eagerly searching for any sensitive spots they could find - and unfortunately for the brunette, they had eventually settled right at her exposed breasts after she had endured quite a bit of gentle tickling and lingering, teasy touches everywhere else from them. Two of those dastardly hands had taken to pinching and rolling her nipples in between their thumbs and forefingers, occasionally skittering over the normally covered skin between her chest or intricately swirling around the outer edges of her sensitive spots, slowly coming closer and closer before gently scratching right at the tips of those erect mounds - all of which sent Lizzie into a fit of whimpers and moans, her eyes tightly squeezed shut while her body trembled with pleasure and stifled giggles. Every stroke, every soft caress made her melt more and more into the chair, her bottom lip becoming red and sore from how hard she was biting it to try and keep herself from dissolving into loud and embarrassing pleasured noises. 

The imp had no idea how long she had been in this position, and it was starting to worry her quite a lot. Every passing second felt like several hours - and honest to god, she had no idea how she even got here in the first place. In her sleepy, almost drugged-like state upon first waking up in the room, she was barely able to make out the dark silhouettes of two taller figures looming above her, their fuzzy and far-off sounding voices flowing in through one ear and out the other - the only things she was able to pick up on were “inhuman”, “possibly dangerous”, “weaknesses” and “experiments” before blacking back out, waking up bound and naked however long after that. The only thing that mattered to her now was finding a way out of this place - and not allowing herself to be embarrassed any more than she already had been there.

Pulling her back out of her thoughts, a third hand sneakily twisted itself around the back of the chair and slowly approached Lizzie’s side, waiting for the perfect moment before lunging forwards and grabbing a handful of pudge, it’s fingers skittering and massaging into her skin and making her shriek in surprise, all of the bottled up moans and quiet little cackles steadily flowing out of her mouth almost immediately after that. Paired with the two tools currently playing mercilessly with her breasts, the heat and the lustful aching between her legs caused by those fingers was becoming increasingly hard to handle - every touch sent a jolt of electricity down her spine and right into her special spot, making her gasp loudly and arch her back, her fingers curling tightly into fists. If she had to endure another second of this tickly torture, she would burst at the seams, so she did the only thing she could think of doing in that moment - she squeezed her knees together, wincing slightly at how sensitive and wet she already was down there, but relishing in the reality of just exactly how good doing that felt to her.

It was then that the loudspeaker squealed back to life.

“Subject 001, you were told to keep your legs wide open, is this incorrect?”

“M-my nahahame— my nahahame ihihis L-Lihihihizzie!” The girl responds quickly through choked laughter, her voice dry and hoarse from how much she had already laughed and shrieked throughout this session, “ahahahand—!”

“Is this incorrect, 001?”

“Hnnnnhhhh— n-nohoho, buhuhut-!”

“And you were told that there would be consequences for doing exactly that, correct?”

“Ffffffuuuuhuhuhuuuuhghh—!! I dohohohon’t cahahahare! Mmhh..! Let mehehe gohoho, you creheheeeheheeps!! Or I’ll- Ihihi’ll—!”

Before the girl could finish her sentence and throw whatever empty threat that had popped into her mind out into the open or make any more snarky remarks, a harsh, ear-splitting beep rang throughout the room, making her choke on her words and immediately flinch back into her seat. The poor girl had no time to even attempt to gather her bearings or look around to try and find the source of the new and alarming sound, as several more of those robotic hands shot out from the open trapdoors, an array of different tools clasped tightly in between their devilish fingers. Some wielded threateningly fluffy feathers, others teasingly twirled around makeup or paint brushes dangerously close to Lizzie’s arched sides, and the rest flaunted little combs or big, chunky hair brushes that already sent powerful chills down her back just by the look of how horribly they would tickle. However, the things that really caught her attention were the two large, metal claws that slowly twisted out from the floor and now ominously loomed above her, each one opening and closing their jaws softly and almost mockingly at her, a quiet clicking noise sounding out every time they opened and shut again.

It didn’t take long for her to react; her breath quickened, her eyes as wide as plates as she struggled with a sudden burst of adrenaline against her restraints, legs kicking out hard enough to break something and with reckless abandon while her head shook wildly from side to side.

“Oh god, oh fuck, oh fuck fuck FUCK— No no nonononono, no!! Don’t—!! Hahhh— M-Make them go back!! Make them go away, don’t let them any closer!! P-Please—!”

“Now, now, little lab rat… Don't make this harder on yourself than it has to be. It’s for the sake of scientific research, after all - and if you can’t follow simple orders…”

The voice replied calmly, yet sharply -  there was a hint of a smirk in their otherwise emotionless tone, which only made the girl’s chill’s ten times worse. Her eyes remained locked on the claws the entire time, her protests and any frightened noises becoming trapped in her throat every time they so much as wiggled slightly in the air - she had no clue what they were meant to do, her mind simultaneously blanking and coming up with the craziest of thoughts the longer they hovered, filling the imp with the strongest sense of dread she’d felt in a long time.

Luckily - or rather unluckily - for her, the teasing only lasted a few moments more. Like a snake lashing out towards its prey, the claws lunged forwards and tightly snapped shut around her ankles, earning a rather girly and high pitched shriek of terror from Lizzie, who’s eyes immediately squeezed closed as her body flattened itself protectively against the back of the chair. It only took a second or two for her to realize that nothing objectively bad or scary had happened to her - although she almost wished that it had, as the sudden feeling of her legs being lifted and slowly, tauntingly spread apart made her eyes fly back open, the girl gasping a little as she tried desperately to fight back, to pull her legs as close to her as possible - but to no avail.

“... They’ll just have to be enforced a little more firmly, wouldn’t you agree? The more you cooperate with us the faster this process will go,” with her legs now being completely spread out in front of her, there was no shielding herself from the pesky hand that inched its way closer to her crotch, sticking out its index finger and slowly dragging it in a circle around her lips through the fabric of her panties, which easily got the brunette to dissolve into quiet little gasps and stifled moans, “although I’m almost certain that you’d like this testing to go on for longer than you’d care to admit, judging by how soaked you are already. Speaking of, this pathetic piece of cloth won’t be needed anymore. It only gets in the way of driving you closer and closer to the edge.”

With quite a bit of force, the hand that teased Lizzie’s sensitive spots now hooked it's fingers around the waistband of her panties, wasting no time in forcefully ripping them off of her, earning incredibly embarrassed whimpers from her as she helplessly watched the shreds of her beloved underwear and last line of defence flutter to the ground. Now that she was completely uncovered, the hand moved back, easily able to slip back between her legs and stroke up and down the slick area with the softest of movements, which already drove the poor imp up the wall.

“But of course, we won’t let you finish that easily.”

“Mmmhhh… You… Bihihitch…” 

The girl growls between breathless, airy moans and quiet giggles, as now another hand was added into the mixture - one that busied itself with carefully fluttering its fingers back and forth along her lower tummy, just barely making contact with her hips before making a sharp turn and starting the process again in the other direction. 

“Ah ah ah, there you go again, mouthing off to the hand that feeds you… will you ever learn, Lizzie? I think you need to be taught a lesson, one that’ll stick with you until the very end. Luckily for you, we have all the equipment required to do such a thing. Isn’t that just lovely?”

Furrowing her brows even further than they already were, Lizzie tilts her head back against the chair, biting her lip yet again to try and block the pleasurable feelings out and concentrate on what exactly the voice had just said to her.

“Wh-.. Whahahat do yohohou—..?”

“Good luck, and try not to break too soon, 001. We may wish to have some more fun with you later.”

And with that, the intercom shut off with a click, and the girl very quickly started to get a sense of what they meant with their sinister, almost playfully threatening words.

The unexpected feeling of the feathers beginning to stroke up and down her sides made Lizzie squeal and arch her back, a new wave of helpless giggles flooding out of her mouth. Up and down and up and down they went, the soft fibers covering every inch of sensitive skin they could reach, their tips just barely grazing over the spots underneath her arms before flicking back down, ending right above her hips before going back up and starting again. After a few rounds of that, a pair of makeup brushes were introduced to the squirming girl’s underarms - slowly they started circling the outer edges of her ticklish spots, getting closer and closer to the center with every passing stroke until they began wiggling over them at record-breaking speeds, sending the imp into much louder hysterics. Her fingers clenched into fists, her arms desperately trying to clamp closer to her sides as she whined, wiggling herself from side to side to try and rid herself of the unbearably soft tickly sensations - which only seemed to entice the robotics more.

Almost all at once, the rest of the hands sprung forwards, fighting for dominance over which sensations would get the girl to scream with laughter the loudest. Paintbrushes now swooped and glided over her tummy, missing not an inch of skin as Lizzie tried her hardest to suck it in, their bristles easily following her every move - it didn’t take long before they were joined by another pair of empty hands, which held her hips still and simultaneously squished and squeezed at the bit of chub pooling around there, every time causing her to shriek out a laugh. This seemingly made it easier for the paintbrushes to be as precise as possible, now allowing for one of them to teasingly trace along the edge of her bellybutton before dipping in and tickling the very bottom of it. The rest of her upper body was subjected to the same torture - her ribs were counted over and over again, fingers being stuffed between them through her pudge every time she moved even the slightest bit, which always effortlessly got her cackling without fail. This always got the attention of the other ticklers - in an almost battle like way, all the other hands would up their tickling any time Lizzie’s laughter went up an octave, leaving her screaming and snorting and thrashing around until they decided to slow things down once again, keeping her in an endless loop of near hysteria.

On the softer side of things, two makeup brushes flicked up and down both sides of her neck, keeping her head twitching every which way as she was unsure of which direction to move in to block out the tickles. Each time she moved her head left, the brush on the right side of her neck would scribble around like crazy until she moved back, and so on. Her ears were included in the torture, as well - big, fluffy feathers gently caressed the edges of them, moving up and teasingly circling around the pointed tip before swishing back down.

Her chest was under the attack of more stiff feathers, which were positioned vertically underneath her nipples and viciously tugged back and forth, almost as if they were sawing through the bark of a tree - this really got the girl moaning, her shoulders shaking with both laughter and pleasure while she sunk backwards, tears pricking the corners of her eyes, her chest heaving as she panted needingly.

“PLEEEEEHEHEHEASE!! I-I cahahan’t tahahake a-anymohohore..! Nnnghh— mahahake ihihit— mmmhh, stohohohop…!”

Unfortunately for her, it seemed as though her pleas for mercy either went unheard or were ignored completely, as the next thing she knew - she was watching anxiously as her legs were straightened out in front of her, the hands which wielded hairbrushes as well as empty ones approaching her very unprotected feet with visible hunger. Her toes curled and wiggled in anticipation, the mere sight of it all making her giggles rise in pitch already. The teasing was slow; a single finger placed against her heels, then slowly swiping up and down the entire length of her soles, right up underneath her toes and back down, which was already enough to keep her squealing - but oh no, it didn’t stop there. After testing the waters and warming the brunette up for what was to come, her toes were then held back, leaving her completely vulnerable to all the tickling she was about to endure. The hands then took the form of claws, eagerly raking themselves up and down her taut soles with vigor, paying close attention to her reactions as they scribbled along her arches and the highest part of her soles overall. Tears were now freely streaming down Lizzie’s face, her cheeks a very deep shade of red, a color which spread all down her neck and to the tips of her ears as she gasped and shrieked, her laughter breaking with loud moans or gasps for air every so often. This wasn’t even the worst of it though. As those fingers moved higher and higher up towards her toes to pinch and wiggle and dig in between them, they were replaced by the rough, horribly ticklish sensation of the brushes chasing them away and then pumping back and forth along the middle of her soles while the combs zigzagged and zipped all around her heels.

Now the poor girl was absolutely hysterical. Her laughter was nothing more than shrill screams and hiccups, silent and breathless as she slumped back, practically unmoving save for her periodic twitching and the rapid rising and falling of her chest. Thankfully this only lasted a few more moments before the tickling let up, nearly all of the hands retracting save for a few - some which gently traced soft patterns and shapes into her soles, others which swirled fluffy feather tips around her tummy and sides, two at her chest that played carefully with her nipples and a few others which slowly twisted their way between her legs with devious intentions - although Lizzie barely seemed to notice, too caught up in catching her breath and attempting to regain at least a tiny bit of her strength before anything else happened.

The slow, long lick of a feather against her outer lips proved that trying to ready herself for the torture to continue was useless, the feeling of it already making her moan out loud, giggles following close behind. Lick after lick, stroke after stroke sent the girl into immense ticklish bliss, her eyes gently squeezed shut as she rocked her hips closer to the feather, trying to get more pleasure out of this. Very clearly taking it as a sign, she was slowly spread apart, the imp biting down gleefully on her bottom lip as the feather’s tip came in contact with her aching bud, circling around it slower than ever. Once again the stroking started - up and down and up and down, Lizzie’s breathing began to quicken, her body shaking once more. Her head rolled back happily as the feather began to saw across her, ever so slowly increasing speed, that tight feeling starting to build up right in the bottom of her tummy. It was then that two small makeup brushes were introduced into the situation, both taking turns brushing up and down her lips and over any spots that the feather missed. The brunette was quickly approaching the edge, her toes starting to curl as her fingers clenched, her moans turning to gasps and becoming more frequent and higher-pitched, until… 

The hands stopped, going agonizingly slowly once again, making the girl’s eyes shoot open as she whined loudly and childishly, her body relaxing.

“W-Wait!! No, no, nonono— y-you cahahan’t…! You—! Ahhnnnghh—..”

Over and over, the imp was brought to the edge by the feather, every flick and stroke and kiss driving her further and further into madness. Each time she was denied the orgasm she so desperately needed, she’d whimper, slamming her body back against the chair as her panting gradually grew louder and more desperate, only to be forced back into her arched position by the hands starting their torture up all over again. Her mind was starting to go fuzzy - all she could think of now was release, of how badly she needed it or else she’d lose her mind completely. 

Somewhere in between being edged twenty or thirty times, the fingers dancing across her feet had been replaced with the brushes, which pressed down hard against her soles and slowly dragged around them, up and down and side to side and in whichever direction they could think of, immediately bringing the girl to a state of seriously aroused hysteria. Her palms slapped weakly against the armrests of the chair, more tears beginning to trickle down her seriously flushed cheeks - her laughter came out mostly as moans with embarrassing hiccups and squeals in between them as she was once again edged for what felt like the hundredth time that day. With a desperate cry, she throws her hips down towards the fluffy utensils, only to be denied and slump back down with a defeated pout… or at least what she could manage of one through her giggles.

This time, however, as the procedure began all over again, the feather and makeup brushes didn’t stop once she was back on the edge - instead, they sped up, all of their focus being directly on her most sensitive spot, which was hot and begging for release. All too quickly she was back to being an absolute mess, toes curling tightly, body shaking more than ever at the overwhelming amount of pleasure she was dealing with.

“Ohhh god, o-ohohoh ffffuuuuhuhuhuck, mmmhhhplehehehease, PLEASE!! F-FAHAHASTER!! Ihihi cahahan’t— I-I’m gohohonna-!”

Before she could even finish her sentence, she just about burst, hitting the orgasm she craved with a long drawn out whimper - she came, and she came hard, but that simply wasn’t enough for them. Instead of stopping after the last bit of her orgasm finished rocking her, they kept going, their speeds reaching levels that nearly broke the poor imp girl, her eyes squeezing shut and her teeth clenching as she came again - and then again, and again and again and again until she physically couldn’t anymore, her voice nearly completely gone by how loud she had been.

It was then that all the hands and the big metal claws pulled away, leaving her trembling and hiccuping form lying still against the chair, which slowly tilted back with a mechanical whirring until it stopped, clicking into place with a pop and allowing Lizzie to lay back, the cuffs around her wrists unlocking themselves so she could be comfortable. Eyes heavy and with the biggest, dopiest grin on her blushy and tear-stained face, the girl slowly drifted off with a pair of fingers stroking gently through her hair - and secretly wishing that she’d be in for a second round of experimenting just like this one tomorrow morning.

[tandoori-frost]

A quick little doodle for the kinda joke AU I made for @zarla-s handplates!Gaster. Poor guy gets pulled into the nonsense of Dragon Age Inquisition instead of leaving the Void back to his sons.

Will he get back, can he survive all these fucking humans as the inquisitor? Will he outright kill Dorian for implying he's a possessed corpse? Get back to me on that. I might have answers.

(Spoilers for DA:I below)

So the context here is that as he's trying to get out of the void he instead slips through the wrong way and lands right in front of Cor-piss-n-shit, and The Divine, out of sheer panic he *does* grab The Orb. (He lands here because of the way the ritual set up is affecting The Veil, and also because of Convient Plot Reasons, I'll blame Flemeth)

The Orb reacts weird to his Skeleton biology, and the fact that There's No Palm There, so you get that little lightshow.

He is not killed for being a walking skeleton for Convient Plot reasons, and the fact people saw The Divine/"Andraste" behind him, and the fact he is wearing well maintained clothes. Everyone feels kinda nuts until he wakes up and talks, and then they feel even more nuts but also justified.

My god is this man out of his depth, holy shit, someone help him.

....but also Gaster and Solas bonding over being the last of their kind, of doing horrible things for the betterment of their people, of being hated and feared (perhaps rightfully so), of trying to be *better*.

Cole being a sweet bby boy and also so so hurtful on accident, cause he just *keeps healing Gaster on accident*, his pure and kind intentions to help and to sooth keeps brushing against old pains and Cole doesn't mean to but its So Hard to interact with someone who exists as an extension of pure good intentions. Gaster is too traumatized for that kind of gentleness that early.

Dorian making the Worst Fucking Impression because he things Gaster is a summon, and holy shit that is the inquisitor walking away, fuck, god damn it, why cant he keep his mouth shut.

The Anchor eventually taking his arm and he literally just takes his arm off once it's not needed anymore and uses summoned hands to make up for the lack. (It wont fix the way the anchor is still connected to him, the way it still leaches from his SOUL, the way it already integrated itself, the fact that just taking a limb off doesn't mean it's truly GONE for a Skeleton, but no one else needs to know that. (After all, if it was going to take more than that one arm it would have taken all of him instantly, the connections so easy to make, and so little to block its progress)) (aka, Gaster gets a semi sentient magic leach that slowly wakes up and sassing him throughout the game, he starts speaking Elvhish @ Solas 8 months in because it got tired of not hearing it and everyone is spooked for *weeks*)

I could go on for so long cause I have so many ideas but like, gotta end the post somewhere, (Bull taking one look at Gaster and making the WORST dad jokes known to man, "Guess I know why the Chantry has a bone to pick with you" he says winking with his 1 good eye, and Gaster realizes that he has made a Mistake)

[shootingstarpilot]

Hello from TheRedScreech! I'm writing a post-Melidaan/Tarre Vizsla travels into the future fic (Chapter 1 is here), and I'm wondering what your thoughts might be on a PTSD 14-yr-old Obi-Wan? He has returned to the Temple on Coruscant, and I'm thinking being surrounded by "Elders" is a biggie, nodding to your chapter about Obi-Wan and Dexxter and "There were no Besalisks on Melidaan". Quin and Friends will help him out a lot here and Obi-Wan can only be taken care of by non-Human healers like Vokara, but I'm also wondering what else might be prevalent at this point in his recovery?

Thank you! And I hope you're keeping well with all your life's big changes.

Hello Red!

This is 100% going to be explored a LOT more in the next fic in StS, so I'll probably end up coming back to this, but here are my initial thoughts (standard disclaimer that I am not a psychologist and have done exactly zero research):

Swinging between clinging and hostility. A fear that Qui-Gon/ [trusted adult] will abandon him again, and so he's- consciously or not- trying to get ahead of the game, trying to make them abandon him, because if he gets rid of them first then they can't leave him when he's not expecting it.

I've definitely already touched on this, but the way I see it, he'd have an extreme aversion to medical treatment in any sort of formal setting. He's just spent x amount of time (in my 'verse it's a year, but I genuinely have no idea how long it is in JA canon) in a very high-stress situation without the supplies to deal with injuries. Any injuries, he either tries to patch up himself, or just forgoes dealing with them altogether- after all, he can still stand, he can still move, he can still fight, so he's fine, he's fine, he doesn't need help. He's still operating under wartime scarcity rules.

Staying under things. Avoiding open spaces. In the same way that children who live in places where bombings via drone are common prefer cloudy skies because that means the drones can't fly, I think that Obi-Wan would have a similar reaction because of the constant threat of bombardments. Ducking under things when he's frightened. Sleeping under the bed or in the bathtub. Somewhere more enclosed, you know?

Again, something that I've already touched on: a reluctance to eat food that either isn't sealed or that he hasn't helped prepare himself. It could have been tampered with, it could be spoiled, and he can't tell--

Something else relating to his relationship with his surroundings: always needing something at his back. Not being able to sleep without someone keeping watch.

Also, I do like the thought that he keeps forgetting his lightsaber. He's just waged a whole war without it. I like the idea that he... kind of forgets that it's a weapon he can count on again, you know?

Wildly protective of his friends his age and younger kids, lashing out at adults around them-- even though the adults are people his friends trusts. Like lashing out at Master Tholme if he gets too close to Quinlan.

Oh, nearly forgot about this one-- keeping his hair short. Long hair can be grabbed. In my mind, all of the Young keep their hair cut short, even twenty years later. Long hair is a tactical disadvantage. In StS, Obi-Wan grew out his hair once he was knighted, trying to move past everything, trying to prove he's better- and then the war started up again, and old habits reasserted themselves. (Then, of course, Dooku happened...)

These are a few situation-specific ideas that I had, but there are, of course, plenty of ways you can explore other manifestations of symptoms of PTSD- insomnia/ nightmares, intrusive thoughts, apathy, depression, psychosomatic pain, an inability to enjoy situations you'd enjoyed pre-trauma...

I will be back with more ideas, but I hope these provide some fodder for you to start! Feel free to message me if you want to chat more about this, I do love putting Obi-Wan through the wringer >:) and best of luck with your fic!!

[frogtanii]

your palms were sweaty as you adjusted your slacks, making sure the pleats were where they should be with not a wrinkle in sight. you wanted to look professional and put together, at least on the outside, because you knew you were actually about .2 seconds away from falling apart.

your palms were sweaty as you adjusted your slacks, making sure the pleats were where they should be with not a wrinkle in sight. you wanted to look professional and put together, at least on the outside, because you knew you were actually about .2 seconds away from falling apart.

a quick glance to the boys at your sides notified you that they weren’t faring much better. atsumu kept fidgeting with his cufflinks, sakusa was so stiff you could knock him over with your pinky, kenma looked like he was about to pass out, bokuto was debating on squeezing under the table in front of you, kuroo was tapping a pattern on his pants (akeelah and the bee style), and akaashi kept reciting ominous poems under his breath.

the only people in the room who looked even remotely fine were osamu, oikawa, sugawara, daichi, and, surprisingly, yachi. osamu was munching on some peanuts that he pulled from... somewhere, while oikawa and sugawara were holding their own conversation by the window. daichi seemed to be minding his own business but you could never really get a proper read on him anyway.

well, you supposed yachi was okay because she knew what to expect. i mean, you were meeting her boss.

after you and kenma had posted your “exposing the hype(r) house” youtube video, an email had come to the both of you, inviting you to visit the “big boss” along with the rest of the crew.

you weren’t necessarily afraid of losing your job; the hype(r) house was already being dissolved and you were (finally!!!) getting to move in with makki and mattsun until you found your own place. you were genuinely excited to put the drama and literal hell behind you and begin to live your life again but...

that didn’t mean meeting the Man™ wasn’t terrifying. it was like being called into the principal’s office, complete with the existential dread and occasional bouts of gassiness.

the door opening made you flinch as you quickly moved out of the way to let the newcomers enter. while they walked past you, you couldn’t contain the shock that overtook your face, your jaw practically on the floor.

the man was massive.

built like a brick wall, the man who you assumed to be the “big boss,” had a chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, and massive fucking pecs, his white button up barely closing around them.

beside him stood a tall, lanky man who was dressed suspiciously un-office-like with a red buzz cut and wild eyes that seemed to cut into you as he took his place at the table.

the final man seemed a bit awkward in comparison to the other two, but he was trying to seem unaffected, his purple bowlcut, despite being rather juvenile, fitting perfectly with his slim but toned build and bright complexion.

yachi hurried to greet them, giving all three a blinding smile before motioning for everyone else to take a seat. you ended up between the redhead and atsumu, the former being way too entertained by just your general being. his eyes rarely, if ever, left your face sending shivers down your spine. the remaining members all hesitantly took their seats and “big boss” began.

“it is an honor to meet you all. i am ushijima wakatoshi but you can call me ushijima or wakatoshi or ushiwaka or toshijima or just ushi or just jima or just waka or just toshi.” for a moment you thought he was joking but his face never moved, not even with the awkward silence that followed. redhead seemed rather amused by the whole display and bowl cut looked like he was on the verge of spontaneously combusting.

it took an uncomfortably long moment for ushijima to proceed but he did as though nothing had happened. “these are my associates, satori—” redhead gave you a mischievous grin “—and tsutomu.”

“goshiki,” bowl cut interrupted, his voice wavering but his eyes gleaming with righteous indignation as though he was challenging wakatoshi to say something in defiance. instead, ushijima just gave him a nod and he visibly deflated back into his seat.

“goshiki is the social media manager for imla and satori is... satori,” big boss continued, not a hint of emotion on his face. the rest of the table perked up at his comment but atsumu was the only one who apparently had the balls to say anything.

“so yer the one who wrote that shitty among us tweet?” goshiki flushed horribly and sunk further into his plush leather chair, his body language showing he must’ve already gotten an earful about it. “thought it was a good idea,” he muttered while averting his eyes, completely ignoring satori’s cackle from across the wood.

ushijima put up a (massive???) hand to calm the both of them and it instantly worked. satori quieted down though he never lost the mirth in his expression and goshiki straightened up, a new wave of determination crossing his features.

you sat up as well, feeling the shift of energy in the room but you were startled to realize the boss had decided to focus his energy on you, his deep baritone voice calling your full name. “i am extremely sorry. we have failed you as a management team and as men. i have failed you.”

he sounded remarkably remorseful, his brown irises conveying heavy emotion and guilt. you had no idea what to say but he wasn’t done.

“although i do not have full control of the decisions that have been made here, i should have fought harder for what i believed was right and for that, i will forever be sorry.” you shifted uncomfortably under his weighty gaze, not that he noticed because his attention was swiftly taken by kenma at the opposite end of the room.

“who is in charge then? aren’t you like the ceo or whatever?” he asked. ushijima took a moment before nodding very slowly, his attention clearly on something in his head.

thankfully, satori rapidly took over the thread of conversation before the room could fall in tense silence yet again. “there’s a board of old, stuffy guys who basically kicked miracle boy wakatoshi to the curb and make all their decisions without him.”

...miracle boy? what did he have to do to earn that kind of nickname? you shook your head and tuned back in, just as the ceo spoke up once again.

“because i have not succeeded in doing my job properly, i have something to give to you,” ushijima deadpanned, sliding a thick envelope towards you. you carefully grabbed it and opened it up to reveal a thick, thick, wad of cash.

a gasp caught in your throat, words not coming to you as you thumbed through the money. there had to be at least $60k in there, your eyes filling with tears while you took in his generosity. “thank you,” you whispered, not trusting your voice to speak any louder.

wakatoshi nodded at you before addressing the rest of the table about something but you weren’t even listening.

you were so overwhelmed. for the longest time, you’d hated whoever management was for ignoring your pleas for help and trying to placate you with nice dresses and fancy dinners so meeting ushijima was quite the welcomed surprise.

despite everything that occurred, you could tell he felt horrible for letting things slide even though it was technically out of his hands and you couldn’t even articulate how much that meant to you.

the fact that he had gone out of his way to pay you extra, assumingly without the permission of the board, was heartwarming, confusing, shocking, and staggering all at once.

i mean, you could probably describe the past few months as exactly that. so much had happened, so much had changed, and while you could do without some of the life adjustments (the nightmares, spare trauma, and fear of public bathrooms to start), you felt blessed with new friends and the experiences that helped shape you to the person you were now.

the boys didn’t hate you anymore (well, not all of them at least and none were actively antagonizing you), you were seeing dr yamada again, you were getting to move in with your two best friends, you were just given enough money to expand your channel drastically, and you were finally feeling good. better than good.

meiko was behind you and though you missed the person she once was, you were so glad she was out of your life in a way where she couldn’t harm you or the boys any longer.

a grin spread across your face, your cheeks nearly burning from the intensity of it. things were definitely looking up.

a soft call of your name jolted you from your thoughts, your eyes landing on all the boys already standing as they got ready to leave the room. you could sense their worry and you shot them a genuine, reassuring smile before standing yourself.

you waved goodbye to the three men at the table, thanking ushijima profusely for his kindness but he shook you off, insisting that he had just been doing what he should’ve done a long time ago.

what a nice guy.

as you followed the boys out of the building, you took a moment to observe them together with fondness written all over your expression. they were laughing and joking around, the happiest and most carefree you had ever seen any of them. bokuto was begging yachi to get them ice cream, the rest of them piling on until she gave in with a playful roll of her eyes, giggling at the cheer that went up from the group.

atsumu seemed to notice you lagging behind, falling back to join you. “ya okay angel?” he asked, eyes focused on your feet as he slowed down to match your pace.

you didn’t answer for a while, instead focusing on the sun warming your cheeks, the cool breeze messing up your hair, and the sounds of pure joy swirling above you.

“i’m absolutely perfect.” you replied and you actually meant it. “race you to the van?” you sent him an impish grin before taking off, his yells of indignation making you laugh freely as the rest of the boys joined in, right on your heels.

this is it, you thought. no matter what, i’ll have this moment and i’ll be okay.

you’d been through hell and back and you’d survived. you’d been cursed at, choked out, hospitalized, and been beaten at mario kart more times than you could count and you had still made it through. you were resilient and strong and you’d never given up, despite how badly you’d wanted to, multiple times over.

things weren’t perfect, they rarely are, but you knew that if you could make it through all that, you could get through practically anything, especially with the boys by your side.

yeah. i’ll be just fine.

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

bonus!!

“told you it sounded stupid as hell.”

“gah, stop talking about it!!”

“you sounded sooooo old ‘shiki, what are you, 92?”

“AAAAAAAAAA!!!”

“satori...”

“what’s up miracle boy?”

“...what is ‘sus’?”

℗ poker face

i’ll be just fine

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - AND THATS A WRAP FOLKS 🥳 wowowow did the ending give me trouble but that’s ok SISJSK the endings will be coming shortly but they might not be daily just cs they may take more time, who knows lmfao i’ll let y’all know :3 AAAA ANYWAYS ILY I HOPE U GUYS LIKED KITH KITH don’t forget to feed me <3

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saiKishaircLip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp • @keiarma • @shrimpypenis

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

[raibebe]

Love Is On Air

Genre: fluff & smut Words: 8.722 Prompt: radio host Johnny x secret admirer female reader Warnings: soft dom Johnny, oral (f receiving), safe sex, dirty talk

A/N: Finally: My entry for the February event of my lovely network @neosmutcollective​. This is totally not the fic I planned on writing. In fact this was started way later after I realized I was never going to finish my original fic on time. Not that this one is on time... Special thanks to everyone who sent our lovely DJs some music recommendations @sly-merlin​, @moonctzeny​, @lenaluvs​, @lucas-wongs​, @burtonized​ and to @ncteaxhoe​ who helped me figure out this idea. I hope you enjoy this even though it’s wayyy too late.

You hurried home to your apartment after your last class of the day that was horrifically late because of whoever had fucked up your schedule this semester. Panting heavily, you busted into your room and threw your jacket and backpack somewhere onto your couch, diving straight for your laptop that was perched on your desk. Cursing the old thing, you waited for agonizing minutes until it had booted up and your browser was open. You quickly opened the familiar page of your university’s campus radio just in time to hear the familiar voice saying: “Hi I’m John-D, welcome to NCT Night Night.” After that both hosts chuckled lowly before Jaehyun spoke: “Tonight we’ll read some of the letters you wrote us over the week again and we will try our best to help you out with whatever problems you throw our way.” “Exactly. Right after we play this song that was suggested by evangelie_99 over on our Twitter, it’s Pluto Projector by Rex Orange County and she said that she loves our show. We’re glad you like it so much, darling. This one is for you,” Johnny softly said before the soft tunes of the song filled your little one-room apartment.

Sighing, you leaned back in your chair, carelessly toeing your shoes off. Listening to NCT Night Night was your escape at night from the stress that classes brought you. The two DJs that were on air every Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday were your favorites though. Not only did they have great chemistry but they both could be incredibly funny as well as soothe all your nerves with their calming voices – especially Johnny or John-D as he was called on their show. You might have developed a slightly embarrassing crush on the fratboy with a heart as sweet as his voice from what you knew about him from his radio shows and your shared classes. Since they had started their weekly segment where they would read out letters that students could send them, you had gathered the courage to send Johnny little messages about how you were crushing on him and it had quickly become a running gag on the show. Jaehyun would tease Johnny about it every week while Johnny kept insisting that his secret admirer should just talk to him. But how could you do that? Johnny was everything one could want in a boyfriend. Not only was he ridiculously tall and devastatingly handsome but he was also smart, always seemingly staying on top of his classes and he also went to the gym regularly if his thirst traps on his Instagram stories were anything to go by. When he wasn’t giving out advice in a gentle voice on their radio program, he was out partying with his frat brothers on the weekends more often than not complaining about headaches on their Sunday show. How could you just walk up to him and talk to him? Right. You couldn’t. So you had to resign to sending him anonymous love letters through his radio show.

“Welcome back, hi,” Johnny chuckled once the song had gently faded out and you couldn’t help but giggle along. “That was Pluto Projector by Rex Orange County,” Jaehyun tried to stay on script but you could almost hear the grin on his face because of Johnny’s antics, “If you want your song to play on today’s show, please suggest something over on our Twitter with the hashtag,” Jaehyun paused momentarily and let out a dramatic sigh before continuing, “hashtag JohnDplaymelikeaviolin.” Jaehyun hadn’t even read the whole hashtag out loud when Johnny was already bursting out in laughter and how could you not laugh along with his melodic laughter. “I swear to god I am never letting you choose hashtags for our show ever again,” Jaehyun groaned while Johnny sounded like he was still dying in the background. “Don’t be mean to me Jaehyunie,” he whined and even though today’s episode was not viewable, you could vividly imagine how he was pouting. While the two friends were busy bickering and talking about what they had done since their last show, you pulled up your own Twitter to send a recommendation in.

“Aaaah, I see we’re already getting plenty of suggestions. Sly-merlin suggested us Sexy Dirty Love by Demi Lovato – a great song – and added ‘I wish John-D would actually play me like a violin.” After a potent silence, Johnny broke out in laughter again. “And this is why you won’t choose any more hashtags,” Jaehyun groaned again. “Baby,” Johnny rasped into his mic and even though you weren’t wearing headphones, it sent tingles down your spine, “Just come to our frat party on Friday and I’ll see what I can do.” “Stop plugging our parties on the radio,” Jaehyun scolded the elder, the slap audible over the radio, “Also sly-merlin has to stand in line. You still have your number one admirer who has sent in a letter yet again.” “She still hasn’t come up to me,” Johnny shared, “I can only keep up my chastity for so long. I am saving myself for this girl.” You know he was joking but you were just a simple woman and even in your secluded home, you felt heat rising to your cheeks, your thumbs stopping on your keyboard where you had typed out your song recommendation. Both DJs shared a quiet laugh before Jaehyun asked: “And you really don’t know who she is?” “I really don’t man,” his friend sighed, “Like I have my suspicions because she has to be in my major if she sees me in class that often. That or she’s a stalker which I do not want to think about. But for real, hit me up. I’ll take you out for a coffee.” “Now everyone is going to come up to you and claim that they’re her.” “I’ll take that risk,” Johnny laughed, “Maybe I’ll finally meet the love of my life and settle down.” At that Jaehyun snorted loudly. “The woman that can make you settle down gets free coffee for like a month from me.” “Watch me have a wife and kids at 25 Jae, just to spite you,” his friend snorted, “But up until then, let’s play sly-merlin’s song recommendation: Sexy Dirty Love by Demi Lovato.”

While the song was playing, you finished up your own tweet and hit post before you grabbed your bag that you had carelessly thrown away before to get out your notes. You actually had to start a project for one of the classes you and Johnny actually did share. The professor had announced that he would announce the pairings for a group project tomorrow and you didn’t want to seem like an actual idiot if your group would decide to already meet up and discuss after class. So while you listened to your favorite DJs discuss the questions and worries of whoever had sent them to their email address, you worked through the notes you had taken over the last couple of weeks, trying your best to organize them to remember the key points.

“Oh John-D, I have a very special letter here,” Jaehyun said, waving the paper in front of the microphone so it would pick up the wiggling noises. “What could that be?” Johnny asked with over-exaggerated interest. “It’s from your secret admirer, John-D. So I think you should read it out.” Just like every time, they read your letter, your heart began beating faster and faster in your chest until you were sure, it would break free from your ribcage. “Okay, here I go,” Johnny announced while Jaehyun was playing the same cheesy music he always played when they were reading your letters, “Happy Thursday, John-D. The weekend is almost in reach, keep up the energy for the last day of classes! – she’s so sweet, I’m holding up alright – One of my professors will announce the pairings he made for a group project soon and I am nervous. I don’t have many friends in the course and I’m praying that I will get good group mates I can work well with.” “Oooh, I get that struggle,” Jaehyun interrupted, “I once had to work with a bunch of stoners and ended up doing all the work for a presentation that made up 30 percent of my grade. Worst experience of my life, would not recommend. But we’re wishing you all the luck.” “But you know what’s more interesting about this story?” Johnny tuned in, “Coincidentally my professor for my literature class is assigning our group projects tomorrow as well. Say, my sweet admirer, are you perhaps in the same literature class as me?” In your otherwise silent room, the panicked squeak you let out was loud even to your ears. There was no way Johnny could figure out who you were, there were probably at least 20 more girls with a crush on him in that class alone, so you were safe. “Oooh, so maybe she’s a lit major so that’s why she’s writing love letters.” “Could be but lots of people from different majors are taking that class,” Johnny argued, “Anyways, back to her letter. But I won’t let that disturb me! I will be doing my best regardless! – That’s the spirit – I’ll work through my notes as I listen to your honey voice so I can be prepared. I’m glad you don’t do viewable radios on Thursday’s or else I wouldn’t be able to get anything done, you’re just too distracting John-D,” at that Jaehyun let out a fake gag while Johnny just giggled softly, “Thank you secret admirer, I do clean up quite nicely if I do say so myself. – On last Sunday’s episode you melted my heart when you hid in your hoodie for half the show. – God that was the worst hangover I had in a looong while, I was so miserable.”

“You should have seen him at home,” Jaehyun laughed, “I had to physically drag his whole 180-something-centimeters body first into the shower, then into the car and into the station. He is the biggest crybaby when he’s hungover.” “Don’t expose me like that, Jaehyunie,” Johnny whined loudly, “I was dared to drink a bunch of tequila and my mother didn’t raise neither a quitter nor a coward.” “No, but clearly an idiot,” the younger DJ laughed his deep laugh. “Let me read my love letter in peace,” the other grumbled, “I couldn’t follow for half the show because I was so focused on watching you. Not in a creepy way of course! – Of course not,” Johnny chuckled, “I hope you finished that essay you had to work on after the show in time and still had some time to relax. – I did, don’t worry.” That you already knew when Johnny had handed in his essay in another class you two shared just before you had handed in yours and he had thrown you a little smile that had kept you going through the whole day. “Take care of yourself and keep smiling your beautiful smile, I look forward to seeing you again on Sunday or in classes. And fighting to Jae-D as well of course! – I look forward to hearing from you again, secret admirer. I bet your group project will go just fine, don’t worry too much. If anyone is mean to you, just expose them here and we’ll fight them for you.” “Love that she acknowledged me in one sentence as well,” Jaehyun grumbled, cutting off the cheesy music abruptly. “You’re just jealous you don’t have a sweet admirer who sends you cute messages,” the other teased his friend. “Yeah, yeah, shut up and put that letter in the box under your bed.” “It’s in my sock drawer, thank you very much.”

Giggling, you listened to the two friends bicker, your chest warm with a feeling you were scared to put a name on. “Anyways, I think it’s time for another music recommendation you can still send in via our lovely hashtag JohnDplaymelikeaviolin. This one is from lenaluvies and she says: Please play Hurts So Good by Astrid S thank you. No, thank you for sending something in darling. This one’s for you,” Johnny announced and you couldn’t help but laugh a little pained laugh. That song title hit a little too close to home for your liking. The rest of the radio show went by smoothly and Johnny and Jaehyun tried to help a handful of more students with their problems that couldn’t be more diverse. From a boy who had fallen in love with his best friend which had send him into an identity crisis over to a girl who was failing her classes because she claimed the professor hated her to a freshman who wanted to apply for a fraternity but was scared because of the rumors surrounding them which the DJs quickly debunked since they both were in the same fraternity. In the end they had to cut themselves short, asking their viewers to vote on a poll they would make if people wanted a whole Tuesday episode surrounding fraternities.

“So.” “So,” Johnny copied his friend. “We’re almost at the end of our time with you guys. We couldn’t get through all of your submissions but we hope our team picked a few good ones and at least some of you could get some advice.” “As always you’re free to send us your own stories to our e-mail JohnJaeNNN@NCTU.com to get some advice next Thursday from your favorite DJs: John-D.” “And Jae-D. Every Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday on your campus radio on 127mHz. On NCT-“ “Night Night,” they said their ending together and just like every night with them, you said goodnight to your computer screen, closing the tab which draped your little apartment in silence. Sighing loudly, you looked over your notes that needed a little more work if you wanted to make a good first impression on your fellow students tomorrow. Because you couldn’t stand the silence, you opened your Spotify to play the NCT Night Night playlist Johnny and Jaehyun had made with the songs that had been recommended to them, still missing the new additions from tonight.

The next morning found you in your literature class, sitting two rows behind Johnny, staring at the back of his head while doodling on your paper rather than taking notes on whatever the professor was saying. If you were to let your eyes wander, you’d see that almost everyone in the big room was paying as much or even less attention as you were; the students in different states of excitement and anxiety over the group projects he had yet to announce. “I’m sorry professor,” Johnny’s voice suddenly cut through the room, “I’m sure you have already noticed that no one is paying attention to whatever you’re trying to teach us right now. Could you please just announce the groups for the project?” That moment you swore you would be able to hear a pin drop until your eccentric professor chuckled lowly. “I like you, Suh. I was waiting for someone to mention it,” he spoke, getting the dreaded list out of his bag, “Listen closely now, you’ll be assigned in groups of four and each group will get a specific novel to work on. Deadline will be by the end of the semester and your individual paper combined with the group presentation will make up 40% of your final grade.” That made a bunch of people, including you, gasp out loudly. A group project with this much credit to your final grade was always dreaded. “I don’t want to hear any complaints, that’s how it’s always been. Now listen carefully, I won’t repeat myself but the list will be hung on our blackboard as well.” With that being said, the professor began listing names and novels in the most monotone voice he could muster. To say you were basically vibrating off of your seat was an understatement when he got further and further down the list and neither yours nor Johnny’s name had been called yet. “And lastly, an all-time favorite: Romeo and Juliet.” You didn’t even register anything else after the professor had announced that the group featured both Johnny and you along with two other students you didn’t know. Your brain was reduced to static noise while everyone else was getting up around you to pick up the books that had already been stacked in a corner, probably by a poor TA. Only when a person bumped into you, you broke from your stupor to quickly pick up your stuff as well to hurry down to steps to where a crowd of students had already gathered.

Luckily Johnny towered over most of the other students and you could easily spot him and the rest of your group that were two other boys you didn’t recognize. “Hey, you’re the last one we were missing,” Johnny smiled and handed you over your copy of the book. “Y... Yeah, sorry for making you wait,” you stuttered, clutching the small book tightly in your hands. “No big deal,” Johnny played it off, “Do any of you have any more classes today?” When everyone declined, you all agreed that you should get a head start on your project as it would be hard to make a good project out of such an overused love story. While walking over to the student center to decide on a concept, conversation flowed easily between the four of you even though you were still really nervous to be around Johnny. God, you really hoped he didn’t think you were stupid or something just because you were nervous.

The little study session went by in a blur and only further confirmed that you were so whipped for Johnny it wasn’t even funny anymore. You found yourself attentively listening to all of his ideas and laughing at every of his stupid little jokes and only mildly spacing out while looking at Johnny when the others were discussing ideas which had led to one or two mildly embarrassing situations where you would lose track of what you were actually discussing, your mind blank of any input when they asked for your opinion.

Soon you found yourself parting ways with your groupmates, leaving you and Johnny alone because his frat house and your little apartment were located in the same general direction. “Anything fun you’re doing this evening?” Johnny asked, trying to make some light conversation to fill the silence. “No, I’ll just binge watch some shows maybe or listen to the campus radio,” you shrugged it off. While today’s show wasn’t your favorite, you quite liked the DJs soft and gentle voice. “You listen to the campus radio? I have a show on there,” Johnny smiled. “I like listening to you and Jaehyun,” you confessed, trying to fight the heat that was licking at your cheeks. “Oh.” “You seem surprised.” “Yeah, it kind of still seems weird that people enjoy listening to Jae and me rambling for hours on end. You know with him it just feels like I’m hanging out with my brother rather than work.” “Your voices are really soothing, you know,” you tried to explain what you were feeling when listing to them, “And your friendship is kind of adorable. Like we can feel how much you care about each other and you always genuinely try to help your listeners without making fun of them.” For a while Johnny didn’t say anything and you thought you had fucked it up, that he thought you were weird now. “Thank you,” he suddenly said. “Huh?” “It means a lot hearing that. We do lurk on Twitter to see what people think of our show but hearing it like this is something else entirely.” “It’s nothing,” you mused, playfully hitting his arm, “No need to get this soft.” “Hey,” he laughed, “I’ll have you know that I am 180 centimeters of walking softness despite what people might say about me.” Smiling softly you caught his eyes for the first time since you two had started walking and the way his honey eyes were smiling back at you momentarily took your breath away.

“I- My room is right around here, sooooo,” you stuttered. “It was nice working with you. Even though you were spacing out half the time,” Johnny teased, “Thinking about a special someone?” You. The word sat on the tip of your tongue, the low light of the afternoon sun making you bolder than you actually were and Johnny just made you feel incredibly comfortable. “No... No- I- I’m single.” “A crush then?” “Something like that,” you mumbled, your fingers nervously playing with the hem of your jacket. “Talk to him. Or her. Or them,” Johnny advised. “I really can’t,” you sighed, “He doesn’t even know I exist.” “Well you don’t need to confess your undying love for him,” he laughed, not knowing he was the boy in question, “Just you know. Casually talk to him. Get to know him.” “I’ll try?” “Is that a question?” “Yeah?” “Have more confidence in yourself,” he gently nudged you, “You’re nice and very easy to talk to.” “Nice... Wow.” “Shut up,” he laughed, “I usually give better compliments but I have yet to get to know you better.” “Would you... Would you even want that?” “Sure,” Johnny shrugged and your heart skipped a couple of beats, “I have to get going or everybody will already be drunk when I arrive. So... I’ll see you in class? And you’ll hear me on Sunday?” “Yeah sure. Don’t drink too much or you will be miserable all show like last week,” you giggled. “Don’t remind me,” he groaned, “I’m never going to drink tequila on a Saturday ever again.” “Goodbye Johnny,” you smiled, really liking how his name sounded when you said it out loud. “Bye,” he waved before going his way.

Once you were sure he was out of hearing distance, you let out a little happy squeak and jumped up and down excitedly. You did it. You had actually done it. You had talked to your crush. And managed to not make a complete fool out of yourself in front of him. Which was a win in your books. A huge win. With a little spring in your steps, you stepped by one of your favorite pizza places to treat yourself before heading home where you spend your evening daydreaming about none other than Johnny while watching reruns of old dramas.

“Hi, I’m Jae-D.” “And I am John-D. Welcome to NCT-“ “Night Night.” “John-D.” “Yes, Jae-D,” Johnny chuckled. “It’s Thursday again which means it’s time to tend to our listener’s worries,” Jaehyun read off of the script, not getting distracted by his friend’s antics, “And today is a very special episode.” “Special?” Jaehyun barely repressed to roll his eyes at his friend’s over-exaggerated acting before continuing: “Yes, since tomorrow is a day off for all students, we have decided to make this episode extra lengthy and-“ he shortly stopped to flash the camera a peace sign, “Viewable despite it being Thursday.” “Do we look okay?” Johnny laughed, checking himself out in the video that was playing on one of their monitors. “Aaaaah, the comments say we look good tonight, thank you,” Jaehyun mused.

And they really did. Not that either of them had to do a whole lot to look good but today they were both wearing white button-downs with their sleeves rolled up to expose their forearms. Jaehyun had even gone so far as to put on some fake glasses. “And if you’re following us on our Twitter you also already know that this week it’s all about love on our campus radio and our show today is no exception,” Johnny read his part of the script. “Today John-D and Jae-D are Loveholics, trying our very best to help you with your problems surrounding love,” Jaehyun completed, “You can send in song recommendations through the hashtag JohnJaeLoveholic just like taryn1026 did – I hope I said that right – but they recommended Paris in the Rain by Lauv to set the mood for today.”

The soft tunes of the song made you relax a little into your sofa where you had chosen to watch today’s episode of NCT Night Night. You had to say that you were kind of nervous for today’s episode. Just like every week you had written your letter to Johnny, telling him about your week and cheering him on for your group project. At this point it should have been pretty obvious just who exactly you were and judging by how Johnny was acting towards you, his flirting leaving you flustered after your study sessions and your group mates mildly annoyed, he seemed to already have put together the pieces. But yesterday while writing your letter you had felt extra bold (and maybe also extra riled up and horny from Johnny’s shameless flirting) and had written him a message that should confirm all his suspicions and would hopefully lead him straight to you and into your bed. But until the end of the show or at least until they read your letter, which you really hoped they did today as well, you had to wait sitting in your apartment, for once not in comfortable clothes but in a nice shirt and pants.

“That was Paris in the Rain by Lauv, recommended to us by taryn1026 through our Twitter with the hashtag JohnJaeLoveholic,” Johnny’s raspy voice filled your apartment when he leaned close to the mic, “Jae-D are you ready to make some love happen?” “I already had my love juice,” Jaehyun answered, showing his pink Starbucks drink to the camera, “And my reading glasses are on.” As to prove his point, he hiked his glasses up his nose before scratching his eye through the holes in the frame, making both DJs chuckle. For the next hour Johnny and Jaehyun tried to solve several relationship dramas as well as a very tricky friends-with-benefits situation and telling a boy to break up with his cheating girlfriend which had been a rather heartbreaking discussion. “So after this,” Jaehyun sighed, “Let’s play another song recommendation. Burtonized has sent in a very fitting song, I hope you all don’t mind a little Korean: It’s God Damn by I.M – a song about heartbreak.”

While the foreign song was playing, the two DJs stretched their backs and sipped on their respective drinks: Jaehyun still on his pink sugar concoction and Johnny already on his second iced Americano. Jaehyun must have found something funny on his phone, nudging his friend to look at him but Johnny was busy typing away on his own, only acknowledging his friend after he had typed his message. Just after that, your own phone buzzed with a message, showing Johnny’s name on the screen.

From: Johnny Are you watching our show?

To: Johnny Sure, you look good today

From: Johnny Make sure to listen closely ;)

“That was God Damn by I.M suggested by burtonized over our Twitter hashtag JohnJaeLoveholic,” Jaehyun’s smooth voice tore you from your spiraling thoughts about the winking face Johnny had sent. “Sadly our show is coming to an end even with our extended airtime.” “But John-D a very important letter is still missing before we close our show. Dare I say it could be the highlight of our show,” Jaehyun joked, already playing the cheesy music he was always playing when Johnny would read your letters. “You’re right Jae-D my lovely secret admirer has sent in another letter,” Johnny mused, arranging himself so he could read the printed out letter while being as close as possible to the mic for it to pick up the rasp in his voice, “Happy Thursday John-D, I hope your week has been more exciting than mine. I have just been going from class to class without much thought, the only high points are my group meetings for the group project we have to hand in soon – That seems very familiar, baby – But since today is all about love, I’ll tell you about a little problem I have: – get your love juice ready, Jae – There is this boy in my group. And boy isn’t really the right word to describe him, he’s a man really,” at that Johnny couldn’t hold back a low chuckle, “I’m sorry, I’ll be serious – And he is flirting with me. Has been for a couple of weeks now. And it has gotten to the point where our groupmates are kind of annoyed at us. He has also walked me home a couple of times but he never so much as touched me. At this point I am so frustrated with him. Is he just playing with me? Or is his mouth bigger than his actions actually are? He has been riling me up all day today and I was ready to let him have his way with me but he only wished me goodnight and left again, leaving me to deal with what he had done all by myself – oh wow, I,” Johnny stuttered, sharing a gaze with his friend who was only barely repressing his laughter, “Wow, okay, I hope we’re in the good for reading this out and it’s late enough,” clearing his voice and raking a hand through his hair, Johnny continued, “John-D I hope this man hears what he has done to me and will deal with the consequences of his actions. Would you play Animal by Jin Yosef and RIELL for me? Just in case this letter hasn’t gotten my point across? – Y... Yeah sure, darling. We’ll play that once our show is over.”

“So John-D,” Jaehyun grinned while loudly slurping on his ‘love juice’, “What would you advice your secret admirer to do about this problem?” “Well if I were her,” Johnny started, his gaze going straight to the camera where he knew you were watching and it felt like he was looking straight into your soul, “I’d wait for him. I’m pretty sure he can prove that his actions speak even louder than his words.” For a while it was quiet between the two DJs, safe for Jaehyun’s obnoxiously loud slurping noises but even if they would have been saying anything, you weren’t sure if you could have comprehended any words with how furiously your heart was beating. “Anyways,” Jaehyun eventually broke the silence once he was sure there was nothing left in his ‘love juice’, “I’m afraid that was it for tonight. This has been your extra lengthy episode of Jae-D and John-D and we will leave you with this wonderful song recommendation: Animal by Jin Yosef and RIELL. If you’ve liked today’s show, we’re here every Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday night on your campus radio on 127mHz to listen to all of your worries on NCT-“ “Night Night,” Johnny joined in and they both waved into the camera as your song of choice started playing. The video stream didn’t cut off immediately, showing the boys gathering their things and if your eyes weren’t betraying you, you swore you saw Johnny tense up when the song turned a little more explicit. The two DJs waved to the camera one last time before the stream cut off, leaving the screen of your laptop dark.

That was when it dawned on you what you had done. Shit. With how Johnny had sounded, you probably had about fifteen to twenty minutes until he would be at your doorstep. Oh god. Shit. Taking a couple of deep breaths, you tried to ground yourself before hurriedly closing your laptop and cleaning everything that seemed messy in your little one-room apartment. That was until you heard a knock on your door.

With shaky hands, you slowly opened the door and while you knew who would be standing on the other side, you weren’t ready for how he was going to look like: Johnny was leaning against the doorway casually with his arms crossed over his chest so the tight button-down he was wearing would strain over the planes of his chest muscles but what really reeled you in was how dark his eyes looked when he raked them over your body. “Good evening miss,” he drawled. “Hi,” you breathed. “Tell me what you want so I’m not misinterpreting any of this,” Johnny all but growled, one of his hands coming up to cup your face. “I want you to have me.” If you thought his eyes were dark before, they turned into bottomless black orbs once the words had left your lips. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, baby.” “Please,” you whimpered and that seemed to break Johnny’s resolve as he pulled you close to him and all but crashed his lips into yours. The kiss wasn’t delicate in any way, shape or form with how Johnny was licking into your mouth the second a moan left your lips. His tongue was intertwining with yours messily and in no time both of you were panting into each other’s mouths. “Inside. Now,” you rasped. “All with due time,” Johnny chuckled but let you pull him into your apartment, slamming the door shut to crowd you against it, one of his strong thighs slipping between your legs like it belonged there, “If you’re a good girl and listen well, I’ll give you anything you want.” “Fuck,” you cursed before slamming your lips together again, a new neediness bleeding into the kiss as you tugged on the longer strands of hair at the back of Johnny’s neck which made him growl lowly. “Anything off-limits?” Johnny breathed into your skin as he kissed down your neck to suck a mark there while his hands were busy pulling your shirt from your pants so he could rake them over your naked skin. “Just,” you had to cut yourself off with a moan, “Don’t be mean to me.” “Never,” he promised, “You’ll be my pillow princess.” His sweet words were in stark contrast to how hard his hands were gripping your hips and how his teeth were grazing over your neck that must be littered with marks already. “Take me to bed,” you heaved breathlessly, positive your legs would give out if it wasn’t for Johnny holding you up.

Listening to your demand, he slowly started walking you backwards towards your bed until the two of you were toppling down on top of the covers, his lips never leaving your skin. Whoever had spread the rumors about Johnny being a great lover had been absolutely right, he knew just how to touch you to have you gasping for air and judging by the grin on his lips he hadn’t even started yet. “Please,” you whimpered, arching into his touch, not exactly sure what exactly you were asking for but Johnny seemed to know all the better when he freed you from your top and pants to leave you in your matching lace set while he was still fully clothed in his by now wrinkled button-up and pants. “All for me?” He chuckled and pressed a kiss right between the valley of your breasts, his big hands cupping the soft flesh to squeeze it gently. “Have me,” you gasped out and you could feel the growl he let out vibrating where you were pressed together. “I’m going to ruin you,” Johnny promised, pulling down the cups of your bra to wrap his plush lips around one of your nipples to tease the soft nub until it hardened under his ministrations, sending waves of pleasure down your spine and straight to your core where you could feel your wetness starting to seep into the fabric of your panties. “Johnny,” you mewled and arched into his every touch, his calloused fingertips setting your skin alight when he let them travel down your body to tease over your lower stomach. As if by reflex, you let your thighs fall open for him to finally touch you where you needed him the most. “Such a good girl,” he smiled, blowing cold air over your spit-slicked nipple to watch you squirm beneath him. Your remark got stuck in your throat when he finally cupped you through your panties, feeling how damp the fabric had already become. “Naughty,” he chuckled, his eyes never leaving your face as he circled your clit through the fabric, watching your eyes fluttering shut when his gaze became too intense.

“Johnny,” you sighed, forgetting all other words except for his name. “Relax, princess,” he rasped and kissed his way down your body, leaving love bites on the sensitive skin of your stomach and thighs that shook with anticipation. If you’d say you hadn’t dreamed about his lips on you like this, you would lie and you weren’t going to miss the sight of this for nothing. Fighting back the fog that had started to cloud your mind, you forced your eyes open to look down to where he had settled between your open thighs to find him staring right back at you. “Good girl,” he praised you again before pressing a kiss over your clothed sex that made your head fall back already, the anticipation of what was to come making you push up your hips which made Johnny chuckle lowly. He didn’t leave you any time to feel embarrassed by how needy you were when he hooked your panties to the side unceremoniously and licked a broad stripe up your center, tasting your arousal. “Oh fuck,” you breathed out, your hands flying down to tangle them in the long strands of his hair. Johnny worked his tongue in slow and clever strokes, leaving your mind reeling with pleasure and taking his time to take you apart piece by piece, not even paying attention to your leaking center or your aching clit. But when he did wrap his lips around your clit to gently suck on the nub, your mind almost went numb with how intense his touch was, your thighs clamping shut around him. To make it even worse, he started humming around you while prying your thighs back open, holding you down with his large hands. You felt your orgasm approach almost embarrassingly fast now that he was altering between teasing your clit with his tongue, lips and even his teeth and fucking your velvety walls with his tongue, setting your nerve endings on fire. “Johnny I’m close,” you warned him but instead of slowing down, he stretched his jaw wide to press his tongue further into you, his nose bumping into your clit in the process and with the combined sensation and his doubled effort, it took no time for your first orgasm of the night to wash over you, a scream of his name leaving your lips as you shook through it, your mind going equally as numb as your legs.

When you came back to it, Johnny had straightened up between your legs and he was grinning down at you while he was unbuttoning his shirt, his face still shiny with your arousal. “That was the first one,” he spoke darkly. “Come here,” you whined, making grabby hands for him until he took pity on you and covered your body with his before connecting your lips in a bruising kiss. You could still taste yourself on his lips but that somehow just made it even hotter.

“Want you inside me,” you panted against his lips when Johnny broke the kiss in favor of raking his teeth over your racing pulse. “Yeah?” He rasped and ground his hips down into yours, making you feel him strain against the fabric of his pants. “Need it,” you moaned at the sweet friction. “Think you can take me?” He laughed as he leaned back on his hunches to pop open the button of his pants, pulling down the zipper agonizingly slow. With wide eyes you watched him push his pants down his narrow hips, leaving him in just his navy boxers that showed the sizable imprint of his hard cock, the fabric against the head dark from where he had leaked precum. Chuckling, he stroked over the outline and just the sight alone made your mouth water. “Show me,” you breathed, spreading your thighs so he could see your needy core, clenching around nothing. “Hmm,” he hummed, dragging one of his fingers that wasn’t preoccupied with teasing himself through the mess of arousal and his saliva between your legs, only barely dipping it into you to feel the muscles trying to suck him inside. “Don’t tease me,” you whined high in your throat. “But I like seeing you squirm,” Johnny grinned but took mercy on you and sunk his finger into you up to the knuckle, gently pumping it inside you. Still sensitive from how intense your last orgasm had been, you were torn between pulling away and wanting more but Johnny made the decision for you when he pulled his finger out, wiping your arousal onto your thigh.

“Eyes on me,” he commanded and finally freed his cock from his briefs. “Fuck.” The curse left your lips without even noticing at the sight of his flushed cock, too heavy to properly stand up against his toned abs. The tip was tinted red and shiny with precum that Johnny generously spread down that whole length, his eyes not leaving yours as you watched him lazily jerk himself. “Like what you see?” You eagerly nodded your head. “Want it inside me.” “Yeah? Show me.”

Throwing all caution out of the window, you quickly sucked two of your fingers between your lips before guiding them to your weeping core to slip them inside you, letting out an over-exaggerated moan as you crooked them. “Oh you’re so naughty, baby,” Johnny groaned, squeezing the base of his cock tightly as he watched you fingering yourself and if you had even one coherent thought left in your head, you’d have the decency to be embarrassed because of how intensely he was staring. “It’s not enough,” you pouted, pulling your fingers free and spreading them to look at the slick covering them, “I’m so wet for you.” “Such a dirty mouth,” he groaned, quickly grabbing his pants to fish a condom from his wallet to roll over his hard length. “Please, Johnny,” you hiccupped, winding your legs around his waist to pull him closer to you. “Sssh, princess,” he soothed you, running his hands over your torso before bending down to press tender kisses to your stomach, “I’ll take care of you.” “Please kiss me.”

Dropping his elbows next to your head to support his weight, he covered your body with his and caught your lips in a kiss much too tender for your current situation, taking his time to explore your mouth until you were perfectly pliant beneath him. “Tell me if it hurts,” he whispered into the small space between you while he snaked a hand between your bodies to guide his cock to your core. When the head slipped in without much resistance, both of you let out twin moans of pleasure. Painstakingly slowly Johnny pushed inside you, centimeter by centimeter until his hips were flush to yours. “Breathe, princess,” he reminded you because you indeed had held your breath and had buried your nails in his biceps. “Shit, you’re big,” you cursed. “So I’ve been told,” Johnny chuckled and peppered your face and neck with little kisses while he slowly ground his hips so you could get used to him inside you.

“Move,” you demanded after a while.   “What’s the magic word baby?” He grinned. “Please, Johnny,” you whimpered, clenching down on him. “Once more.” “Don’t make me beg.” “But you sound so pretty when you do,” he chuckled, only barely moving his hips. “Johnny please,” you whined, trying your best to move on his cock on your own but the angle was just not working out. “Oh, you want to do the work?” “I want you to move,” you groaned, pawing at his chest.

“But I think you’d look so pretty riding my cock,” Johnny rasped and in one fluid movement, he had sat up and pulled you onto his lap. Shit, it felt like he was even deeper now. “Come on, princess.” Whining, you wound your arms around his shoulders and pulled your legs beneath you so you could lift your hips up to make his cock smoothly slide out, the friction just right before you slowly dropped back down again, earning you an appreciative groan from Johnny. “That’s right, baby,” he praised you as you slowly found a comfortable pace, swiveling your hips until the angle was just right. Tightening the grip you had on his shoulders to use it as leverage, you began riding him in earnest, impaling yourself on his cock over and over again until your head was spinning and your thighs started to burn. “Come on, doll,” Johnny grinned, catching one of your nipples between his lips. Whining, you rolled your hips faster until your thighs began shaking. “Need help?” He just grinned, his big hands holding onto your hips to help you move up and down his cock at a steadier pace. “Please Johnny,” you hiccupped, hiding your face in his neck to ground yourself, “Please fuck me.” “Am I not doing just that?” He chuckled, filthily grinding his cock inside you. “Do it right,” you panted into his skin, “Fuck me like you mean it.”

“Then get on your hands and knees for me, baby.” He didn’t have to tell you twice, it was almost comical how quickly you obeyed his command and arched your back for him. “Hmm, that’s it,” he praised you, tracing the curve of your spine with his hands until he reached the space between your shoulder blades where he gently pushed down to make you arch even further. “So good and pliant for me, just waiting to be filled.” “Please,” you just whined again, past the point of caring about how pathetic you sounded, begging for his cock. “Say it baby,” he demanded, slapping his cock against your wet folds. “Please fuck me Johnny. Please. I want your cock inside me so badly. Want you to fuck me until I can’t even remember my own name anymore. Please I need it. I-“ your frantic rambling got cut off by the surprised moan leaving your lips as he thrust into you without any warning. “Don’t hold back baby,” Johnny rasped before gripping your hips tightly to finally fuck you in earnest, the sound of skin slapping together loud in the otherwise silent room. “God, your ass looks amazing,” he moaned, burying himself in your tight heat over and over again, mesmerized by how his cock was glistening in the low light and how easily your body opened up for him, “You’re basically made to take my cock.” You could only mewl at his dirty words and fist the sheets tightly in your hands as you tried to meet his thrusts as best as you could while you felt like you got your soul fucked right out of you.

“Feels so good,” you slurred when you felt the familiar knot in your stomach ready to snap, clenching around Johnny’s cock. “God baby, if you keep clenching like that I’m gonna cum,” Johnny cursed, grabbing you by the neck to pull you up against his chest, the pace of his hips only getting faster. “Please Johnny. Want it inside,” you whined, letting him use your body how he wanted to relish in the low moans he let out. “You want me to fill you up baby?” “Want it so bad, Johnny,” you mewled. “Then cum for me. Cum on my cock and I’ll give you anything you want.” And oh god. You had never thought that the strained sound of a couple of words could be enough to actually trip you over the edge but the rasp in Johnny’s voice had you falling apart in his arms, your orgasm ripping through you so hard it had your thighs shaking. “Such a good girl,” Johnny praised you before he let out a low guttural moan and fucked into you once – then twice – before his hips came to a halt, emptying his cum inside the condom.

For a while you two just panted loudly before Johnny gently laid you back down onto the mattress, chuckling lowly when you whined at the loss of his cock. “Shit,” you giggled while he quickly got rid of the condom, throwing it in the general direction of your trashcan. So tender you could have missed it, Johnny pressed a row of kisses down your spine until he reached the swell of your ass. “Cuddle me,” you pouted, making grabby hands at him. “We’re sweaty, princess,” he laughed but gave in when you kept pouting. “I don’t care,” you whined, fitting your head beneath his, wrapping your arms and legs around his body to cling to him like a koala. “You’re cute,” he smiled, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“For how long did you know?” “Know what?” Johnny asked, clearly confused. “That I was your secret admirer.” “I didn’t.” “It was so obvious,” you groaned. “Okay maybe I got a hunch after we started that group project. But you never said anything.” “What was I supposed to say? Oh Johnny, by the way, I’m the one who has been writing you cringey love letters for like half a year already. Please go out with me?” That made Johnny laugh, the sound melodic in the quiet of your room. “I would have said yes, you know?” He spoke lowly, “I’ll miss your letters.” “What makes you think I will stop writing them?” “Because you can tell me all that stuff in person now when we go on dates.” “We’ll go on dates?” “That’s what people do when they like each other, princess,” Johnny chuckled, “And I really like you. Both as my secret admirer and my classmate.” “Oh my god stop,” you whined, hiding your hot face in his chest, feeling shy all of a sudden while Johnny was just laughing.

“I like you too,” you eventually mumbled once it had gotten quiet again. “I figured,” he teased you. “I changed my mind,” you immediately shot back, rising from where you were cuddled into his chest but every other protest died on your tongue when you saw his dreamy expression, his honey eyes finding yours and completely ignoring the fact that you were still very much naked. “Date me,” he said. “Okay,” you answered, easily meeting his lips in a sweet kiss that wouldn’t be the last one you two shared tonight.

“Hello and welcome back, that was Middle Of The Night by Monsta X, suggested to us by raibebe through our Twitter with the hashtag JonJaeLoveTalk. We’re your DJ’s John-D.” “And Jae-D on NCT Night Night. Hello again to all of our listeners. John-D.” “Yes Jae-D,” Johnny chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Something is off today. I looked through our mail and there was no letter from your secret admirer.” “Oh really,” he feigned surprise. “Either they didn’t send anything in or our director got sick of the pining.” “I can calm you right back down Jae-D,” Johnny smiled, “Because she simply doesn’t need to send any more letters. I finally found her.” “No way. For real? And you didn’t tell me? I have to find out through our radio show? Friendship is dead,” Jaehyun sighed dramatically and you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Jae-D you know you’ll always be the number one in my heart, you know that.” At that Jaehyun let out fake gagging noises that made both friends chuckle.

“No but for real. I finally found her and asked her out. It’s going great so yeah,” Johnny shrugged, “In case you’re listening baby: I’m dropping by later and bring sushi.” “This is so domestic already,” Jaehyun sighed dramatically, “Where is my secret admirer?” “Maybe you could find love as well if you stopped acting like the textbook example of a frat boy.” “What is that even supposed to mean?”

Smiling, you leaned back on your sofa and listened to your boyfriend bickering with his best friend. Boyfriend. That sounded good even though it still felt unreal. Love Letters weren’t dead after all it seemed.

[1kook]

new parent syndrome

— kim namjoon x (f) reader

SUMMARY You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.) WARNINGS dilf!joon, dreamy husband joon, loving parents au, jimin is also a dad, bathtub sexy times, exhibitionism 😳 kinda sorta, tiny praise kink, joon calls her wifey TT, fingering, cunninglingus, doggy style, it’s kinda cheesy n romantic /.\, unprotected sex, …. impreg kink RATINGS m (18+) WC 9.5k 

NOTES writing parent fics is harder than i thought :/ i had this idea last week n was like yes, lets write this fic that absolutely no one asked for... except me! <3 so here we are, fantasizing about dreamy dad joon.... as always i have to thank rumu ( @kigurumu​ ) who is kind enough to edit these n b like that don't make no sense -_- anyway lemme know what u think !! enjoy !!

No matter how hard you try, the letter f refuses to fit itself into Hyejoo’s phonemic understanding. She’s a growing toddler so it’s only normal that there are sounds she still can’t pronounce, words she doesn’t quite get. But her inability to say food or family or friends, which are undoubtedly the three most important things in her three year-old world right now, is definitely a setback you didn’t see coming. 

Your worrywart husband has taken matters into his own hands, using the power of Google and about twelve parenting books to create an extensive, one-hour-a-day, mini lesson to try and increase her pronunciation skills. Of course, Hyejoo already attends daycare in the mornings while you and Namjoon are off at work, and gets sufficient learning done there. So she can’t exactly sit through Joon’s lectures, no matter how pretty he tries to decorate her flashcards. She’s still tiny— she’s still your baby, and you want her to enjoy the last of her daycare years before you’re forced to submit her to the worst twelve years of her life (also known as compulsory education). 

But as you’ve mentioned before, Namjoon doesn’t quite feel the same way. 

“She can’t sound out the letter,” he mopes in bed that night. He’s laying down beside you, face smushed against your thigh. The lamp on your side of the bed is the only thing on, casting a faint golden hue on his cheeks.

This conversation has occurred a variety of times these past few weeks, and you’ve just about ran out of every comforting reassurance possible. You settle on stroking a hand through his hair. There are emails to respond to and clients to check in with, but there’s also a huffy husband in bed beside you who quite pitifully crawls up into your arms. 

It’s with his face between your boobs that he speaks again. “What if she’s getting made fun of at school? Or her teachers think she’s dumb?” You roll your eyes. “My baby is not dumb, __,” he says, as if you don’t know. “Her IQ came back above average when I took her to the development specialist that one time, remember?” You have half the mind to tell him an IQ test on a three year old isn’t exactly valid, but there’s already enough stacked on his plate. Finding out he wasted a hundred bucks for an invalid test would just be the cherry on top of all his worries. 

Water clings to the very tips of his hair, remnants of his bath with Hyejoo. Namjoon is getting older now, nothing like the dashing grad student you had met what feels like a lifetime ago. There’s bags under his eyes, bags that surpass any all-nighter-pulling college student’s, induced by none other than the sheer power of becoming a parent. And still, he retains his beauty, looks like a doll with his skin so dewy from his skincare routine, lips puffy and red and kissable. 

He looks up, and you take the opportunity to place a kiss on his lips, his familiar scent making you melt into his arms. When he pulls away, there’s still a subtle furrow between his brows. 

“Hyejoo is fine,” you reassure him, carding his brown hair out of his face. He leans into the touch, eyes falling shut. “Our girl is the smartest three year-old out there,” you huff, feeling the slightest bit annoyed that he could even insinuate otherwise. “And if she was having problems at school, you know I would be the first one in there, fighting all the other moms.” 

Namjoon relents, face falling back into its haven between your tits. “Okay,” he mumbles, muffled from the way his plush lips drag against the soft skin over your sternum. 

The subject of Namjoon’s worries is in the other room sound asleep, not the least bit concerned with measly letters and sounds. It’s really only Namjoon who is, his stack of letter flashcards glaring at you from on top of the dresser. “Your mother hen is showing,” you tease as he slips beneath the covers, leaning over you to flick off your lamp. Just like everything else in your house, his t-shirt smells like him. It’s a natural, woodsy scent that floods your nostrils and makes your toes curl when he comes so close. 

Namjoon snorts as he settles beside you, beefy arm pillowing your head as he pulls you close. “I’m not a mother hen,” he says, hand on your waist, the tantalizing expanse of his neck before your eyes. “I’m the rooster— the cock,” he snickers, and you reward his terrible attempt at a joke with a pinch to his side that has him retreating to the other end of the bed. 

Hyejoo’s best friend in the entire world— or, as she says, her best pren in the entire world —is none other than Park Yerin from daycare. As the universe would have it, Park Yerin is also the one and only daughter of your college philosophy seat neighbor, Park Jimin. 

Crossing paths with him later down the road was not something you could ever anticipate, especially when you and Jimin were never that close in college to begin with. It was the only class you had with him in all four years, one where you had quietly acknowledged his charisma and occasionally shared homework answers, before never speaking to him again. You could have greeted him on campus, as you often crossed paths. But Park Jimin was a walking friendship magnet who seemed to bring with him a parade of followers everywhere he went, and approaching him required three layers of strategic planning if you wanted to catch him alone. 

So bumping into him at the entrance of Hyejoo’s daycare six years later comes as a bit of a shock. You had never pegged him as the type to settle down so quickly— you don’t mean to label him, but there were certain college stereotypes that he fit like a glove —but there he was, carrying the tiny love of his life who’s currently dressed in a bright pink Minnie Mouse dress. 

Unsurprisingly, just like her father, Park Yerin has the same enthralling personality that makes everyone in the three to four year-old daycare class want to be her friend, and your sweet little Hyejoo is not exempt. 

Long story short, out of all the kids at Sunny Side Daycare, Yerin is Hyejoo’s favorite, and Hyejoo is Yerin’s favorite. 

So now it’s been a little over a year since the two girls have established their friendship, which means it’s been a little over a year of acquainting yourself with Jimin again. He’s a house husband, something you never expected, and he loves his daughter like no other. Some afternoons after daycare are spent with Jimin and Yerin at the nearest coffee shop, watching the girls haphazardly scribble over every piece of paper they can get their hands on while the two of you catch up. 

Overall, you’re happy Hyejoo can have a friend like Yerin, and secretly, you're also happy you can finally befriend a fellow parent as nice and put together as Jimin. On top of that, Namjoon’s liked him on the few occasions he’s met him; the two have even gone out for drinks. 

However, befriending Jimin and Yerin comes at a cost, and that cost is seeing your little girl grow up.  

It’s your turn to mope. 

“Yerin asked her to sleepover,” you groan, sadly patting in your skincare routine the next night. Namjoon is somewhere behind you, his naked back glaring at you through the reflection of your vanity mirror. He’s so broad and big, sleep shorts clinging to his waist as he lotions up his body post-shower. There’s a thin gold chain around his neck that glints everytime he moves around, biceps flexing and bulging in plain view until he finally slips his shirt on. There was a time in your life where his back could not go more than two days unscathed, your rabid (read: horny) claw marks painting rosy trails down his spine. These days, you can barely remember the last time he’s held your hand. 

“Who?” he asks once he’s settled beneath the covers with whatever book he’s reading now and his thick-rimmed reading glasses. 

“Who else,” you say, tugging your night robe closer to your chest as if it’ll prevent your heart from breaking anymore than it already was. “Hyejoo’s first sleepover,” you sigh. 

You take it harder than you imagined. In the back of your mind, you’ve always known your little girl was growing up— hello, you were literally watching her grow more and more inches every single day —but you had convinced yourself she would stay your baby for a little while longer. As much as you wanted her to see and learn about the world, you selfishly wanted to keep her home too. She was your baby, your only one at that.

At least Namjoon feels the same way. “Absolutely not,” he squawks, abruptly slamming his book shut. He’s usually really meticulous about lining up his fancy bookmark right on the line he left off on, so his sudden carelessness tells you all you need to know about how he feels. 

You sit down beside him, hand over his. “It’s Yerin’s birthday,” you inform him in what you hope is a comforting tone; unbeknownst to him, you’re trying to reassure yourself as well. “And Jimin said he and his wife are gonna be there the whole night.” You trust Jimin, you really do. If there’s anyone who’s more in love with their kid than you and Namjoon, it’s Jimin. He would never let anything happen to his Yerin, and by extension, he would never let anything happen to your Hyejoo. He’s a good dad. 

Namjoon rubs at his eyes. In the span of two minutes, he’s aged about five years. “No,” he sighs softly, squeezing your hand tightly. “Once she starts going to sleepovers she’ll start wearing makeup and getting into relationships and having her heart broken—“ 

A kiss is enough to silence him when he gets like this, his warm breath fanning across your bottom lip when you pull away. “She just wants to wear tutus and sing Baby Shark right now,” you murmur, hand creeping up over his chest. His heart is beating fast as hell beneath his t-shirt, feels like it’ll burst straight out of his chest if you don’t calm him down. 

He’s the bigger worrier out of the two of you, has a classic case of paranoid parent syndrome. 

It’s no secret that Namjoon has a big brain; he’s an educated man with a respectable job. For every problem he encounters, he can procure a variety of solutions with different approaches. He’s always prepared and part of you thinks he’s a huge reason you managed to survive those first few weeks as a mom. Unlike you, who had attended a whopping two mommy classes in preparation for your upcoming child, Namjoon had studied up on parenting. A lot. He had read books and reviewed scientific studies, had learned about development on the chemistry level and the social level, did all he could until he was confident in his own dad abilities. 

But, for every solution Namjoon can find, there are always twenty-eight other factors to worry about. 

“What if she has an allergic reaction and Jimin doesn’t know what to do,” he pales, death grip on your hand. His matching wedding band digs into your skin and you have to wrestle his hand away before he accidentally breaks your finger. He nearly broke your neck once when you were in college, had almost sent you to the ER mid-thrust because he had underestimated his own strength while trying to choke you.

“Hyejoo doesn’t have any allergies,” you remind him, giving up on your awkward half-seated position as you clamber over him. His thighs are full beneath you, tense up as you move over him and he manhandles you into his chest. 

He’s not done. “What if she asks Jimin for a fizzy drink and he can’t understand her?” His eyes are owlish beneath his glasses, covered in what you can only describe as a visible sheen of absolute terror. “What if he thinks she’s saying ‘pissy’ not ‘fizzy,’ __— what then?” It’s amazing, really, how a man who graduated cum laude can hypothesize this many disasters pertaining to a four year-old’s sleepover. 

In the other room, Hyejoo calls for you, so you gladly take the opportunity to remove yourself from Namjoon and his spiraling thoughts. “Look,” you say, tightening the sash of your robe as you get back up. “I’m gonna go tell her that she can go to Yerin’s sleepover tomorrow,” you tell him, giving him exactly three seconds to groan dramatically, before continuing, “and you figure out how to turn that big brain off by the time I come back.” 

Luckily, the cause of Hyejoo’s sudden wake up is a tiny bug bite she got from playing outside that just won’t stop itching. “Mommy, it hurts,” she whines, digging her nails into the tiny red mark by her knee. 

“Uh huh, lemme see,” you order, turning on her bedside lamp to illuminate the space. Her room is the prettiest shade of yellow, fitting for a ball of sunshine such as herself. “Were you playing by the flowerbeds?” You ask, running a finger over the mark a little too weird looking to simply be another mosquito bite. 

She knows she’s not supposed to play near the flowers— the bugs like her a little too much. It’s with a hesitant little nod that she confesses to it. You give her a pointed look. “You’re not supposed to play too close to the flowers,” you remind her, a tiny scolding for now. 

With a sniffle she responds, “not by the plowers.” 

A little bit of anti-itch cream has her settling, and by the time you return to your bedroom, Namjoon is out cold. 

“How old is Yerin turning?” Namjoon asks her at the door, heartbreak clearly painting his features as you help Hyejoo into her shoes. 

“Pour,” she beams, her tiny hand held up to show four stubby fingers. She has Namjoon’s pretty smile, an honest look in her eyes that makes you want to put her in your pocket and never let her go. Alas, Yerin’s sleepover party starts at five and Hyejoo has been trying to leave since noon. 

“Pour,” Namjoon repeats, shooting you a pointed look as if to say see. He had fought the decision up until the end, had even tried to tactically convince your daughter to stay home by getting a head start on preparing her favorite food. And well. She said no. So now the two of you are stuck having dinosaur chicken nuggets for dinner without her. 

She’s got her little travel bag on now, tiny feet stuffed into her ladybug rain boots because it had rained last night and she’s awfully addicted to jumping in muddy puddles. She’s absolutely adorable, your little girl, and you think Namjoon might’ve let out a tiny sob earlier. (Or maybe it was you.)

Namjoon joins you at the front door. “Be good,” he warns her. His eyes are suspiciously wet, but you don’t say anything because yours are too. You’re both crouched in front of her, her big eyes glancing back and forth between the two of you without a care in the world. Mixing your self-assured personality with Namjoon’s (mostly) composed attitude was quite possibly the worst genetic crossover to ever happen; Hyejoo doesn’t even seem remotely bothered by the fact she’s spending her first night away from home. Meanwhile, you and Namjoon are on the verge of a joint breakdown. 

Anyway, Namjoon gives in first. “Love you forever, princess,” he tells her, their ritual expression, and kisses her forehead. 

She accepts it and then, in an unexpected turn of events, surges forward to hug him around the neck. “Love you pporever, daddy,” she repeats, and your heart feels so painfully full at the sight, like you just unlocked a new life achievement from seeing your daughter and her father be so cute together. You don’t get to coo at them for long, because then she’s giving you a warm hug as well, the same phrase muttered in your ear. 

It’s the hardest thing about parenting. 

Seeing your kid slowly broaden their horizons, meeting new people and learning new things. Leaving home. (Granted, she’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon but even that feels like an eternity away to the dramatic parents you and Namjoon have become.) The second goodbye on Jimin’s doorstep isn’t any easier, especially when Hyejoo tugs on your arm and asks you to “say night to daddy please” for her, and your heart breaks just a little more. Jimin flashes you an understanding smile but all you want to do is punch him in the nose for ever telling Yerin what a sleepover is. 

You get home and Namjoon is in a calmer state by now, some old sitcom he hates playing on the TV. Usually, this time of day is reserved for his daily phonemic lessons with Hyejoo, drilling the f sound into her tiny brain, so you guess this is his preferred method of coping in its place: torturing himself with some boring television show. 

“Hey,” he says, and you crawl into his lap with a sad sniffle. “Shh,” he soothes, hand on the back of your head as he guides you into his chest. You’re actually crying now, which is super embarrassing in itself considering you scolded Namjoon for this exact behavior last night. He doesn’t mention it as he pats your back, stupid sitcom paused in favor of soothing you with the deep vibrations of his voice. “Hye’s gonna be back tomorrow, baby.”

“I want her back now,” you huff, vaguely aware of how childish and silly you sound. The tables have turned, and you find yourself wishing you had the same emotional fortitude as Namjoon now. All those parenting books have clearly amounted for something. Somehow, you will the feeling back into your body and pull away from his chest. You must look a mess because he doesn’t even try to hide the amusement on his face. “This is the worst day of my life.” 

Namjoon laughs, deep and hearty, with his eyes squeezing shut from the force. “Come on, wifey, those chicken nuggets aren’t gonna eat themselves.”

It’s quite possibly the most boring evening you’ve had in years. 

(The internet calls it new parent syndrome, where you’re so undeniably in love with your first child and the parenting experience that the rest of the world is put on pause.)

You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.)

Kids are prone to asking weirdly philosophical questions, a fact that had greatly delighted you when Hyejoo first started speaking. Who am I? What’s money? Why not? It could get annoying sometimes, trying to answer all of Hyejoo’s curiosities. But as you begin on your second batch of dinosaur chicken nuggets, all you can think about is how Jimin gets to answer them tonight. 

Anyway, seven rolls around and you and Namjoon are bored. You can only watch so many episodes of Seinfield before you get tired of feigning interest, so you retire from the living room for the night. “I’m gonna take a bath,” you tell him, but he’s as brain dead as you by now. 

A second later, “lemme join.” 

It’s been a while since the two of you have squeezed into the bathtub together, usually assigning each other days to individually join Hyejoo. So it’s really not either of your faults when you realize a second too late how small the space is. One on each end, feet bumping into each other with every movement, it’s like trying to squeeze two feet into one shoe. You try to readjust yourself, but the bath flooring is slippery and you nearly take away Namjoon’s procreative abilities with a mighty kick. 

To make a long story short, you end up pressed against his chest, Namjoon’s thick thighs framing you as you relax into the steaming water. Instinctively, he reaches for Hyejoo’s bottle of baby shampoo that sits on the tub’s ledge and only catches himself just as the first droplet is meeting his palm. “Oh, fuck,” he sighs, quickly closing the lid before he can waste any more precious product. “Shit, I’m so sad.”

You snort, sinking farther back into his chest. He’s warm and soft in all the right ways, the hot water making him slippery. “What did we even do before Hyejoo?” you ask, reaching into the deepest crevices of your mind for answers. Namjoon’s hand comes around, fingers sprawled out over your knee, the one you have propped up and breaking the water’s surface 

He makes a rather vague sound, something like I don’t know, as he lolls forward, forehead on your shoulder. “Go on dates,” he responds eventually. “Fuck like crazy.” 

You roll your eyes. “Besides that,” you chide, pinching the back of his palm. “Don’t we have any hobbies? Any interests?” He doesn’t answer, which is all the answer you need. Why didn’t you get into puzzle solving back when it was a trend? “Is this what our life has become? Crying in a bathtub at seven pm because our emotional support child isn’t here?”

“Our only child,” he corrects. Namjoon tries to placate your looming existential crisis with a kiss to your shoulder, lips against wet skin, that he trails up to your neck. “And what’s wrong with going on dates and fucking?” he murmurs, hands around your stomach. “That’s how we got here,” he teases, and you’re not sure if it’s the warm water or the way his voice is like melted chocolate dripping down your body, but you become all too aware of his presence at that moment. Particularly, of the plush lips mindlessly kissing your shoulder, the wet smack of their motions. 

Another kiss, this time right below your ear. It has your head rolling to the side, exposing more skin for him to kiss up on. There’s still that overwhelming cloud of worry in the back of your mind, but it’s gradually nudged away by Namjoon’s warm hands on your skin. Sensing your weakening resolve, Namjoon strikes again. A hand slips down over your stomach, brushes over your belly button and finds itself between your thighs. “You used to love date nights, baby,” he says, the pad of his pointer finger grazing your clit. 

It’s been so long since you and Namjoon have been alone like this, months since you’ve been able to touch him beyond a simple make out session, a halfhearted grope beneath the sheets. Your daughter, as much as you loved her, made intimacy impossible for the two of you. She was always around, always looking for one or the both of you, so there was never time to even think about getting frisky. 

Only now, with his finger circling your clit, do you realize the blessing in disguise that was your daughter’s first slumber party away from home. 

His finger nudges your clit, flicks it teasingly. “Why don’t you let me take care of you, hm?” he hums, the hand that had been soothingly stroking the inside of your thigh coming up to rub at your breasts. 

“Yes, please,” you whine. Resting your head on his shoulder leaves Namjoon with a clear view down your front, lips kissing and sucking along your neck. His huge hand palms your breast, massaging the sensitive skin. You hadn’t realized how sore you’d been until now, his nimble fingers pressing deliciously into the skin. If your nipples weren’t already hard before, they certainly were now. 

He traps one pearled nipple between two fingers, the sudden pinch making you hiss. “Easy, now,” he chuckles, his low tenor paired with his wandering hands making your eyes roll back. 

Namjoon liked to use a higher tone around the house. He read somewhere that children prefer lighter, sweeter tones, so the last few years have been spent listening to him lighten the tone of his voice for the sake of your daughter. The deeper, growlier voice that had first made you fall in love with him became a rarity in your household, reserved for quiet nights in the living room or long drives where Hyejoo was asleep in the backseat. Only then does he unleash the gravelly qualities of his voice. 

Then, and apparently, now. 

His doll-like lips press against your jaw, suck lightly enough to make your body tingle. “Do you remember how it was the first time?” he says suddenly, his hot breath against your neck. 

Namjoon’s got your clit trapped between two wandering fingers, has your pussy twitching with the vibrations of his voice alone. And for some reason, he’s trying to reminisce about your first time sleeping together. 

“N- Not really,” you confess, subtly reaching down. You cover his palm with yours, hoping your touch will encourage him to carry on with his actions. It doesn’t. It just leaves both your hands hovering over your pussy, your thighs instinctively closing in on them to keep him there. Namjoon responds to that, releasing the breast he had been gently massaging in order to pry your legs apart. He does it so easily, despite the way your legs feel tight as hell, and the fact makes you whimper. 

Once he’s got his hands back between your thighs— this time, he uses one hand to carefully part your quivering lips, the other one gingerly pressing down against your clit to draw the most heavenly sensations out of you —Namjoon feels the need to dive into a recap of your first fuck. “You were so cute,” he laughs, and you don’t know if you should take offense. Well, considering you're married and have a kid now, it’s probably too late to say anything anyway. His hand suddenly switches gears, three fingers joining together to begin caressing them over your throbbing clit. “Kept talking to me so politely, even when you were creaming my cock.”

You scoff, but it gets cancelled out by the moan he draws out of you. “D- Didn’t know you that well,” you remind him, your thighs twitching. You desperately want to buck forward into his giving hands, want to feel the true power of those long, pretty fingers on your cunt. 

Behind you, Namjoon’s cock grows thick, his breathing a slow and steady pace by your ear. You can already imagine how heavy he is, the vein that runs along the underside and throbs with each new bit of stimulus he receives. Normally you would reach back and try to offer him the same helping hand he gives you, but your thighs feel wobbly already. Your libido has been dormant for so long that even just the barest flick of his thumb has you dissolving into his arms like this is your first time. 

It’s as if Namjoon’s sensing your inner battle, a muffled laugh against the side of your neck. “This is about you,” he reminds you. As much as you want to protest, a sudden hard rub against your quivering lips has you gasping for breath. “Give me a kiss,” he commands softly, nudging his nose against the side of your face. It takes a second for you to ground yourself, draw yourself away from your building pleasure, to turn toward his waiting lips. 

Namjoon kisses you slowly, like he’s taking his time with you. For the first time in a long time, he truly can. He doesn’t have to worry about a certain someone waking up in the middle of the night or walking in or anything along those lines, lips molding against yours. Plush as always, the faint taste of dinosaur chicken nuggets clinging to his lips. It makes you laugh a little, drawing away with an airy giggle. Namjoon smiles at your reaction, murmuring a soft, “what is it?”

You shake your head, eyes fluttering shut as he continues his circular motions against your clit. “Nothing,” you pant, finally getting in your first thrust against his fingers. “I just really need you,” you say instead, pushing his hand harder down against you. 

You’re feeling a little antsy, having been deprived of this sensation for so long. Namjoon knows this, which is why he very purposely slows down. “There’s no rush,” he smirks, placing a kiss against your chin. “How do you want it, baby?”

The inside of your brain is a scrambled mess, filled with fantasies and ideas that have been plaguing you for months. There’s so much you want to do, want to try, but it’s like your brain completely blanks out when he asks. It’s just as you’re beginning to formulate a thought that you’re interrupted by the sound of your ringtone in the other room. Your husband’s arms tighten around you. “Don’t go,” he says quietly, the tip of his nose running along your neck. It’s so tempting to stay here, to let yourself go in his arms and chase the pleasure you’ve been craving for so long. 

But the endless possibilities of who exactly could be calling wins over. Was it work? Was it your parents? Jimin?

It is with a heavy sigh that you reach for Namjoon’s hand, slowly pushing him away from your cunt. “I’m sorry, honey,” you frown, standing up out of the tub. Your legs really do feel like jelly, and you nearly slip and crack your skull on the porcelain edge. Luckily, Namjoon is there to steady you with two secure hands on your waist. “I’ll make it quick,” you reassure him, dropping a kiss on his pouty lips as you fasten a towel around your body. 

The phone is just starting up its final ring when you reach it. It’s Jimin, and you’re torn between being thankful that you’re getting word on Hyejoo and full blown panic from the fact Jimin is calling you while Hyejoo is in his care. The unease has you accepting the call without a second more to waste. “Hello?” you say, hand tightening on the front of your towel. Stray water droplets trace ticklish trails down the backs of your thighs.

“__?” comes Jimin’s sweet voice. It’s normally soothing, but right now it has every hair on your body standing on end. Before you can even respond, Jimin is jumping headfirst into a whirlwind of a conversation. “Sorry for calling so late, but I just wanted to check in on you, babe. I know you were really panicked about Hye’s first night away from home, but don’t worry! Me and the missus are doing everything we can to make sure she’s fine.”

His confidence reassures you, lessens the weight that had been sitting on your chest all afternoon. But at the same time, you find yourself wanting to throttle him. 

Your gorgeous, sexy hunk of a husband is sitting in the other room, cock at full mast and ready to pleasure you to the moon and back, and here you are listening to Jimin brag about how good of a caretaker he is. You were definitely going to make Jimin pay for this. 

Deep breaths, you tell yourself, toying with a stray thread on your towel. “Really,” you drawl, and you can practically see Jimin’s ego swell over the line. 

“Yup,” Jimin agrees, and by the sounds of it, doesn’t seem like he’s hoping to end this call anytime soon. You want to shoulder part of the blame; you had been extra sad and mopey when you dropped your daughter off. On top of being a good dad, Jimin was also a good friend. It was only naturally he wanted to reassure you when he could. 

Still, the memory of Namjoon’s wet chest was calling out to you. 

“The girls are playing princess in the living room with the missus right now,” Jimin chats on. “New dresses and everything— the Yerin Birthday Special —and they asked me to be their handsome prince!” You sincerely cannot wait for the day you get to introduce Jimin to your right fist. 

“That’s great,” you offer, not that he’s really listening. He’s too busy talking about Yerin (and making sure to include Hyejoo in for your sake) and how amazing it is to watch your kids grow up before your very eyes. And while you agree with the sentiment, you really wish he had called you and told you this earlier, when you were at the peak of your motherly meltdown. Not now with Namjoon waiting for you in the bathtub. Was the water even warm anymore? 

The mind blowing orgasm practically slips from your fingertips the longer Jimin talks. “Anyway! Enough about them. I’m thinking of trying out that blueberry bread recipe that aired on TV last night. You know, the one they had that actress make.”

You’ve just about resigned yourself to listening to Jimin talk about his love for pastries for the next thirty minutes when something brushes up behind you. “What the fu—“

He’s so tall and broad, practically covers your entire frame when he stands so close. And his smile is so pretty when he aims it your way. “Sh,” Namjoon murmurs, gesturing towards your phone.  

“__?” Jimin calls. “Everything alright?” 

Namjoon nods eagerly, the hands on your waist properly positioning you in front of him. It’s with a shudder running down your spine that you respond. “I’m fine,” you tell Jimin, letting go of the front of your towel when Namjoon abruptly pushes you over. The white comforter infused with both of your scents comes all too close, your elbow barely managing to reach out in time to catch you.  

Wide eyed, you turn to throw Namjoon a scandalized look over your shoulder. He meets you with a close-mouthed smile, the dimples in his cheeks making themselves known. His chest is drier now, the smooth planes covered in a thin dewy glow and a spattering of droplets he missed. There’s a towel around his waist that’s barely doing its job, especially when you catch sight of the erection tenting beneath it. 

“As I was saying,” Jimin rambles on. Namjoon nods towards the device, refusing to move again until you finally turn back around to finish your conversation with Jimin. “That actress fucked it up so bad. They really give anyone with a pretty face screen time these days, huh? At least I know how to properly preheat an oven.”

You nod. “You do make the best cookies in town,” you respond, a ball of anticipation building in your throat from the mere fact Namjoon is standing behind you. 

It’s completely warranted once you feel two cold fingers trail up the back of your thigh, your towel gradually pushed up to drape around your waist. The air in your room is a little chilly, and the goosebumps that raise on your skin are partly due to that, as well as the ghostlike touch of Namjoon’s fingers. “Pretty,” he murmurs, so deep and gravelly it has you shuddering.  

Two fingers dance along your skin, and you subconsciously jolt away when they meet the tender skin around your pussy. By your ear, Jimin says, “if I completely fuck it up, we’ll just pretend this conversation never happened. Deal?”

Using your own body against you, Namjoon lets one finger dip just the smallest bit into your quivering hole. You clench up, thighs trembling when he eventually pulls it back out and traces your own wetness over your folds. “Perfect,” you bite out, clutching at the sheets beneath you as Namjoon reaches for your forgotten clit. It’s still so sensitive from your little fun in the bath, and it takes every ounce of strength in you to hold back the whiny gasp in your throat. 

Behind you, Namjoon suddenly presses in close. One hand on your hip, he gently encourages you onto the bed. Your knees sink into the mattress, one less strain on your legs. “Good girl,” he praises quietly, rewarding your behavior with a finger sinking into your cunt. 

“Joo—“ you almost slip, burying your face into the sheets just in time. 

A devastatingly slow pace, his finger just barely moving in and out of you. The bulk of your pleasure is coming from that bundle of nerves towards your front, but the teasing gesture isn’t appreciated anyway. When he leans over you, breath against your neck, you feel the length of his cock against your thigh. “He’s asking you a question,” Namjoon whispers, “answer him, baby.”

You nod, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he presses himself closer. Jimin hasn’t even noticed your lack of participation, mindlessly humming a song. The sounds of a running sink highlight his vocals. “Oh, absolutely,” you babble. “I wouldn’t tell a soul.” 

“Ha!” Jimin scoffs. “I knew I could always count on you, Miss __,” he snarks playfully. 

The hand toying with your clit comes around your waist, fingers stroking against your folds from this new angle. A silent moan has you writhing forward, unconsciously away from him as Jimin babbles on the other end of the line. He’s none the wiser to the lewd acts happening on the line, listening to the sound of his own voice. Namjoon lands a mean little bite against your shoulder, plunging his finger deeper inside of your clenching hole. 

Paired with his teasing fingers, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your moans, biting your lip until it stings. “Fuck, fuck,” you whimper against the sheets, holding your phone as far away as possible from your mouth as a litany of curse words spill from your lips. Namjoon chuckles at your dramatics, not like he has his fingers deep inside of you right now or anything. 

“So cute,” he hums, removing his hand from your clit to snatch your towel away. It gives way too easily, messily thrown over the edge of the bed. With your back completely exposed now, Namjoon wastes no time trailing a line of kisses up your spine, finishing off with an especially wet and hard one behind your ear. “Hang up now.”

His permission sets your body on edge, drawing your phone close again. Jimin is talking about dinner or something, you don’t even know. Not an ounce of remorse fills you when you clear your throat and hurriedly announce, “I have to—“ Namjoon’s cock, finally uncovered by his towel, presses against your folds and you nearly lose it. “—I have to go now, Jimin,” you say, leveling your breathing as best as you can. 

“Wait, what the fuck?” Jimin says, thrown off by your sudden departure. 

The mushroom tip of his cock kisses your clit. “Fuck— I really have to go.” And you hang up, chucking the phone off to the side hastily. With your hands both freed, you scramble onto your back, meeting the amused gaze of your husband behind you. “Fuck me, now.”

Namjoon laughs, reaching for the towel barely clinging onto his waist. One suave swoop later and it joins yours on the floor. “You did good,” he praises, lowering himself between your spread thighs. You roll your eyes, grabby hands reaching for his hips until he’s sitting snugly against you, cock resting over your throbbing cunt. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you snap, the tight feeling in your tummy growing with every second that passes. Namjoon isn’t as unaffected as he pretends to be, a pearly bead of cum appearing at the tip of his engorged cock. “Just fuck me now.”

He raises a brow. “Missionary?” As if it’s the first time. 

“Is there something wrong with it?” you ask anyway, self-consciously reaching an arm over yourself to cover your naked breasts. They’ve pebbled over just from his stare alone. 

Namjoon hesitates, the hand on your hip drawing slow circles with his thumb. Eventually, he responds with a halfhearted shrug. “It’s not the best.” This is news to you, and you find yourself sitting up at the sudden bomb he’s dropped. 

He’s still hard as rock between you, his dick laying almost artfully against your slit. You really just want to throw aside all reservations and begin grinding against him, penetration be damned, but now Namjoon’s got that thoughtful quirk to his lips. The one that usually accompanies any big brained idea, so you settle down, nudging him with your thigh until he’s looking at you again. “Penny for your thoughts?” What you really want to say is please fuck me like I’m just another cum rag of yours and make it hurt, but alas. 

Namjoon sits back on his haunches. “I read somewhere that on your hands and knees is the best way to get pregnant.” You choke on your own tongue, face ablaze from his forward statement. Meanwhile, Namjoon is looking as relaxed as ever. 

You hadn’t really discussed children after Hyejoo. The wordless agreement had been that sure, you were both down for another kid sometime in the future. But the exact date had sort of been murky. Hyejoo is three now, and you heard from another mom that it’s difficult for children with wide age gaps to get along. You don’t want her growing up being far removed from another sibling. 

But also, now?

It’s like Namjoon knows your thoughts before you even do. “Alright, wifey, say no more,” he says, leaning down to place a kiss against your lips. “I’ll get the condom, alright?”

And then he’s stepping off the bed, every muscle of his toned body flexing as he swaggers over towards the dresser. He’s a walking dream, the physical embodiment of all your crazy sex fantasies, and he wants to fuck a baby into you. Your pussy says yes, but your rationality is still on the fence. 

You roll onto your side, head propped into your open palm. “You want another baby?” you ask tentatively. Namjoon shrugs, carefully opening the new box of condoms you had bought half a year ago. 

“It wouldn’t hurt to have another kid,” he answers, procuring a tiny foil packet from the box and returning to his spot between your legs. It’s like staring at a marble statue from this angle, the defined planes of his chest and abdomen, the gorgeous slope of his nose, the sharp angles of his face. You really lucked out. 

Your decision comes just as he’s easing the rubber over the tip of his cock, the swollen head just barely enveloped. You place a hand against his wrist, earning his attention. “Take it off,” you mumble, and you swear on your entire life he swells another inch. 

“Oh, baby,” he groans, hastily throwing the condom somewhere across the room. He rolls over you, bulging arms sweeping you up into his embrace, lips capturing yours in a sloppy kiss. You whimper, letting his tongue push itself past your lips. When he pulls away, it’s with a wet pop and glistening lips. They’re so puffy now, flushed a nice rosy color, that makes him look even more handsome when he smiles down at you. “Gonna look so pretty all pregnant,” he beams, placing a chaste kiss against you one last time before he’s hurriedly rolling you onto your stomach. 

You hide your bashful expression against the sheets, suddenly feeling very shy before him. But then Namjoon’s cock is running along your lips and you’re left a shivering mess. “Please just fuck me,” you beg hoarsely, and Namjoon obeys. 

“Whatever you want, wifey,” he teases, and before you can call him out for his cheesiness, he’s pressing his thumb into your aching hole once more. “Is this okay?” he asks, somberly for the first time in what seems like forever. 

“I’m okay,” you confess, a little shyly now that you know his true motives.  

Namjoon chuckles, quickly removing his finger from inside of you to give your ass one soothing pat. “Going in,” he warns you, and finally, you’re rewarded for all your struggles. It’s only as his mushroom head squeezes in that you realize you could have done with a bit more stretching, but that thought fades away the more and more he pushes in. “Fuck,” he groans, the low intonation of his voice making your toes curl.

If it’s not his voice, it’s the sheer length of his cock inside of you. The girth makes your spine tingle, has you muffling a pitiful whimper into the comforter beneath you. “Relax for me,” he directs, and then suddenly he’s placing a palm against your back, pushing you further down. “Hips up.” 

You groan. The normally soft fabric of the blanket feels like hell on your sensitive breasts. “I’m trying,” you whine, pushing back onto him in an effort to familiarize yourself with his cock again. It’s been so long since he’s been inside of you like this, since he’s filled you so well, that your body acts a little stupid now. He hasn’t even begun thrusting and you already feel like you’ll cum just from this.  

The angle is different than your usual style, has him moving along every inch of you as he sinks in. Two big hands grab at your waist, manhandling you closer to him until you’re just like he wants you to be. “There we go,” he sighs, and with him motionless, you finally relax. It’s about a two second pause before he begins to draw himself back out. “How do you want it?” he grunts, but it’s lost beneath the moan that escapes you. It’s the same question he asked you in the tub, right before Jimin called, except this time you have an answer. 

“Fast,” you gasp, the pain from the stretch finally, finally, melting away as your body grows accustomed to his presence inside of you. “Do it fast, please.”

Namjoon does as he’s told, waiting until he’s pulled out until the tip to satisfy your requests. And then he’s off. 

Your body isn’t as young as it once was, left a little worn from the entire child-bearing process. Sometimes you wonder how exactly you and Namjoon would fuck until sunrise before, how your sex drive was so high that it allowed such a thing to happen. Admittedly, there’s currently a stiffness inside of you that has been there for a while now, and you barely remember how you got rid of it before. Apparently, this is how.

Namjoon’s hard cock rams into you once, makes you release the most embarrassingly loud moan at the sudden intrusion, and it’s like all those months of tension that built up in your body are melted away. His cock pushes past your folds, creating a lewd squelching sound that would otherwise leave you mortified to learn it came from your body. You shudder, desperately pushing your ass back against him in a feeble attempt to feel it again. 

“Still so fucking tight for me,” he growls, snapping his hips forwards. His skin slaps against yours, leaves you feeling tender from the brutal movements of his body. But at the same time, it feels absolutely terrific. 

Your lips are still coated in your own wetness, have him noisily moving in and out. “J- Joon,” you whimper softly, but you doubt he hears it over the sound of his own labored breathing. “More.”

He responds with a sudden piston inside of you that has the tip of his cock nearly kissing your cervix. “More?” he huffs, the hand on your back pressing down until you fear you’ll become one with the mattress. “You want more?” You nod hurriedly, somehow managing to stretch a hand down between you to toy with your clit. The brush of your own fingers has you bucking back onto him in surprise.

Wordlessly, he speeds up his pace, thrusting his hips into your velvety walls at a faster speed than before. It’s a weird sensation, a sort of ticklish feeling m that makes you tremble with each roll forward. You can’t say the two of you have done it in this position a lot, always preferring the more romantic missionary position to anything else, but this experience was quickly making you an avid believer of its validity as a top tier sex position. 

You swirl your pointer finger around your clit, trying to sync up your shaky touch with his steady thrusts. It’s useless, because every time you feel like you’ve gotten into the same groove, Namjoon one ups you by hauling you back against him. “Oh, f- fuck,” you sob, clawing at the sheets beneath you. 

Namjoon groans, momentarily pausing his rapid thrusts to roll his buried cock against you. “Come on, baby,” he husks, the hilt of his cock kissing your folds. 

There’s a lot of built up sexual tension inside of you, months on top of months of nothingness. Not to mention that little scene in the bathtub just now. So you’re not really surprised that your orgasm rears its head so early, curling up tightly in your stomach the longer Namjoon fucks you. He’s back to thrusting now, shallow little movements that make you see stars every time his cock glides inside of you. “Joon, I'm gonna...” you rasp out pitifully, grinding back against him. 

“Whenever you want,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press a kiss against your shoulder. It’s sweet, but on top of that, it has him pushing in further than before, finally pressed against that sensitive spot inside of you that makes your entire body lock up. You sob, thighs quivering when he reaches an arm around you. It’s almost romantic how your hands meet, his fingers covering yours as he guides them over your clit slowly. “Give it to me, baby,” he croons, lips pressed securely against your neck. He leaves soft kisses there, smooches really, that make you melt. 

Another shallow buck of his hips forward and you’re cumming, breaths picking up until they accumulate into a choked wail against the sheets. “Fuck— oh, fuck,” you cry, your thighs spasming from the force of your first satisfying orgasm in months. Namjoon holds you through it, slowly thrusting inside of you until he’s drawn out your entire orgasm.

The new added pleasure makes his movements sound even wetter, dirtier even. “That’s it,” he purrs, pushing himself back up to his full height behind you. You feel absolutely boneless beneath him, laying limply against the mattress as Namjoon repositions your hips for himself. “Can I finish like this, sweetheart?” he asks anyway, thumbs drawing a soothing pattern along your hip. 

You can barely catch your breath, so you settle on a halfhearted nod that has him huffing out a laugh. 

For some reason, Namjoon fucks you harder once he knows you’ve had your fill. Like he’s trying to draw another orgasm out of you, but is also the least bit concerned with you. Honestly, it works. He moves fast and hard, like he has no regard for your pleasure, and for some reason that turns you on more than it should. It’s this weird fantasy of yours, to be mistreated by a man as respectful as Namjoon, and you find yourself weirdly fulfilling it now as he fucks his cock into you. 

His fingers dig into your skin, wildly bucking into you as he chases his own high, and it’s embarrassing how quickly a second one builds up for you. You moan at one particular thrust, body sensitive all over. “Oh,” you whimper, “Namjoon.”

He grunts, your cries fueling him on as he continues his mad race to the end. “Gonna cum with me again?” he pants, his quick pace rocking you forward. You nod, using your killer grip on the sheets to ground yourself as you weakly attempt to meet his thrusts. “Aren’t you the sweetest,” he hums, and doesn’t let you respond as he continues to jackhammer his way into your pussy at a bruising pace. 

It takes a few more thrusts, and one whiny cry of his name— “come on, Joonie,” you whimper, turning to throw him a teary-eyed gaze over your shoulder; he shudders at the sight —until Namjoon is finally tipped over the edge, shooting his pleasure deep into you on the next thrust. It’s warm, paints your walls and threatens to spill out when he finally pulls out. 

But Namjoon has read up, using those big strong arms of his to keep you from collapsing onto your tummy as he scrambles around for something to keep your hips up. “It sticks better this way,” he says, a sheen of sweat against his temples when he flops down beside you. 

“What sticks better,” you groan, the achy feeling of just having your world rocked quickly settling into your bones. 

Namjoon leans forward and places a kiss against your lips, as if saying here, for all your hard work. “You know... it,” he shrugs, hands behind his head as he prepares himself to supervise your post-sex nap, just to make sure you don’t accidentally move around and let his cum leak out. “You did good, wifey,” he praises with another smooch. “Maybe we should let Hyejoo sleep over at Jimin’s more.”

Hyejoo’s return is the highlight of the year. 

You pick her up around noon, and your heart nearly grows ten sizes when you see her come running down Jimin’s front steps and into your arms. “Hi, mommy,” she beams, the same smile as Namjoon. And just like Namjoon, you can’t stop yourself from covering her face in tiny kisses. She says they tickle and squirms and squeals in your embrace. 

Jimin’s at the door with this weirdly blank look on his face. “Hey, Jimin,” you call out, helping Hyejoo load her bag into the backseat.

“Hey…” he greets, just as Hyejoo frantically begins calling for you to buckle her in. “Um, __,” Jimin says, but you’re a little busy securing the tiny love of your life into her booster seat, so you just throw him a quick glance to let him know you’re listening. Kinda. “There’s something I have to tell you—“

“I wanna see daddy!” Hyejoo babbles from the backseat, wildly waving her hands around as you finally close the door on her. With it shut, her loud voice is drowned out and you’re left raising a brow at Jimin as you round the front of the car. 

“What’s up?” you ask. 

Jimin comes down the steps, awkwardly hovering by the front of your car. “Um, when we were on the phone—“ Hyejoo knocks her tiny hands against the window, gesturing for you to hurry up. You flash Jimin an apologetic frown at the interruption. “Well, you see. She kinda heard us— well, me—” 

Another flurry of knocks, and you can’t wait to relay to Namjoon how excited your daughter had been to see him again. It’ll boost his ego, not that he really needs it to be any bigger. “That’s fine,” you tell Jimin, swinging your door open. Immediately, Hyejoo’s high-pitched voice fills the space between you and Jimin. “You know I don’t mind talking to the missus,” you joke, nudging his side. “She’s my friend too, ya know.”

“Gotta show daddy something!” Hyejoo shouts from the backseat, has this big smile on her face that makes you smile as well. 

Beside you, Jimin is quickly falling apart. “No, well—” you drop down into your seat “it wasn’t her who heard—“ You shut the door, lowering the window to thank Jimin one more time. Hyejoo beats you to it.

“Bye, Mr. Jimin!” she says, tiny legs kicking around all wildly in her excitement. You shake your head with a grin, waving goodbye to Jimin one last time as you pull out of his driveway. 

“Daddy!” Hyejoo shrieks upon entering your home. Her tiny overnight bag is tossed down at the entryway, ladybug rain boots haphazardly kicked towards the general direction of the shoe closet. Namjoon had been upstairs in his study when you left, but he now comes bounding down the steps at the sound of your daughter’s voice. He cries out a dopey, “princess”, as he scoops her up in his big arms. He does a twirl and everything, so dramatic. But it makes Hyejoo giggle like crazy. 

She allows one big fat kiss against her chubby cheeks before she’s shushing him with the news of her announcement. “Daddy, look,” she beams, holding his face between her tiny hands. “I can say the f sound now!”

Namjoon has been avidly working towards this ability for months now. Namjoon, who has spent nights reading every page of every child development book possible, who has spent hours decorating pretty flashcards for her, who has sectioned off time from his busy schedule everyday just to go over lessons with her. Well, Namjoon looks over the goddamn moon at the news. 

“Let’s hear it, honey,” you urge, stepping in when his happiness renders him incapable of speech. So he just nods along, looks like a bobblehead doll beside you. 

And with both of her proud, sometimes overprotective, parents standing before her, Hyejoo puts on a big grin and says, “fuck.”

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