#to you who asks if ill ever be normal about the old man i say this: no

[devotedlystrangewizard]

i dont think veilguard is bad i think it displays a very sanitized version of thedas and in doing so destroys what the past games have built rather than building upon it. but i dont think its bad. it literally has emmrich volkarin

[satoruwiki]

Aah!! As the strange anon who requested Naoya. I gotta say I totally agree with these headcanons! You got him perfect lol basically a d**k..unless your super hot, don't speak and magically anticipate exactly what he wants when he wants it...in which case he's slightly less of a d**k. Ooh please do gojo headcanons now I'm addicted haha

lmfao strange anon 😭😭 but fr you’re right tho, naoya would usually be the type to say “you look prettier with your mouth shut, keep it that way”.

♡.°₊Satoru is the type of man to…ˎˊ˗

content: jjk headcanons; half sfw/half nsfw; afab!reader; i love my cutie patootie boo boo bear pookie blue eyed king gojo >.<!!

n/a: i love this man sm, I already kinda did hcs of him before, but they were mostly nsfw, so i really scratched my head to not repeat them as best as i could.

these are my hcs! feel free to agree or disagree :b any request/interaction supporting this post is very much appreciated <3

sfw ver! ୨ৎ

Satoru is the type of man to… have gifting as his love language. Aside from being extra clingy, he’s the type to gift you stuff at least twice a week. They’re mostly things that reminds him of you or that he thinks you’d like (even though he might fail sometimes when it comes to treats, since he has a sweet tooth it may or may not be too sweet for you).

Satoru is the type of man to… act sassy/petty when jealous. Satoru isn’t the type to make a scene (at least not directed to you) or generally be ill-tempered/insecure. However, whenever he sees someone who looks at you in a different way than the others or tries to engage in a conversation with you that seems too intimate to be friendly, Satoru is the type of man to walk up to you and hug you from behind, giving you neck kisses. While you may think him being overly cuddly with you is normal due to his clingy character, Satoru is doing all that on purpose to let whoever is ‘bothering’ you that you already have someone else, with a damn smug smile plastered on his face (and maintaining direct eye contact with the stranger).

giggled and kicked my feet while writing this.

Satoru is the type of man to… try new things for you. So it is more than obvious that Satoru is old money rich. Like this dude was RICH RICH and spoiled rotten since he was child, not to mention that he’s a special grade sorcerer (he basically gets bank as a salary), therefore he’s accustomed to getting the finest things, either for you or for himself. What may seem expensive to you is probably normal for him. That doesn’t mean he’s some type of snob or is condescending about middle and working class. Satoru would be the type of be slightly skeptical when you take him to a ‘not so high-end’ restaurant, but since it was a “spot you knew”, it must be good, right? Satoru would be surprised to know that the food in the less wealthy places is sometimes even better than his common luxurious michelin-starred restaurant.

sounds like a cute trope imo

Satoru is the type of man to… taking pictures of you without you realizing it. It’s a hidden hobby of his, he thinks you look prettier when you’re distracted. Satoru has certain photo albums in his phone gallery that require a password, that is because you’d probably be embarrassed if you ever found out, but he really likes them, in the least creepy way.

Satoru is the type of man to… pretend not to know certain things as long as he has something to approach you with. Despite being good at pretty much everything, Satoru will lie and pretend to be terrible at something you are specifically passionate about so that you can teach him because he loves to see you get excited about sharing your hobbies and likes with others. His subtle way of knowing about you and collecting information he needs for when he wants to ask you out.

nsfw ver! ୨ৎ

Satoru is the type of man to… have public sex. Whether it’s at home or at some expensive restaurant’s washroom, nothing will stop him from pounding his cock balls deep inside you, though the thought of getting caught being freaky in public always gets his adrenaline rushing and his cock throbbing.

Satoru is the type of man to… have you modeling the lingerie he buys for you. He loves to see how excited you are to show him the little lingerie you bought with his card. But he loves it more when you thank him bouncing on his dick.

Satoru is the type of man to… have phone sex with you when he’s away. Due to his work, he has to sometimes to fly across Japan and this can take a few days before he comes back home. Satoru will call you late at night to ask how your day was then ask you to play with yourself, maybe even do a video call so he can see your pretty ‘o’ face.

Satoru is the type of man to… cover you in hickeys. He takes pride in letting everyone know he fucked you real good last night as well as to mark you as his. It also helps to keep other men from you, so he does this pretty often.

Satoru is the type of man to… fuck you in front of a mirror. Satoru likes to fuck you in doggy as well as to see your fucked out face, so he came up with the solution of placing a mirror in front of his bed so he can plunge his cock deep inside your walls just the way he likes and get to see you roll your eyes to the back of your head as he rearranges your guts. He also gets to look at himself and brag a little. (a little narcissistic from him if you ask me lmao)

[yoyomomiko]

TYSM 4 THE HEADCANONS U DID I LOVE THAT MAN SM I WAMT TO TAKE HIM AND PUT HIM IN MY POCKET OR BAG LIKE RAMONA FLOWERS HAD SCOTT IN HER BAG AND TALE HIM EVERYWHERE WOTH ME I WJBABWHWHAHABWHAHAHWH.

i love him.im SO normal abt him.

also ik that halloween is over...but... halloween headcanons with him?🤨🤭

-👻 anon(thats how ill go from now on ig-)

Pairings: Daisuke x F!reader (gender isn't implied but like that's what I had in mind while writing this)

HC: costumes, pumpkin carving and scary stories!!

Warnings: a little bit cringe, super short mb gang, a bit rushed. not proofread, probably contains grammar mistakes, english isn't my first language!!

(A/N): YOU'RE SO REAL FOR THAT, and anywaysss, ask and you shall receive😋 btw I don't celebrate Halloween so like... I hope it's accurate😢 Also I'm so sorry that this is short but like yeah😔 -> m.list

★COSTUMES

Even with limited resources aboard the Tuplar, Daisuke WILL find a way to make Halloween happen.

He's gonna have to get creative along with you because he loves you and wants to include you🔥

He's probably only gonna be able to craft a makeshift vampire cape from an old maintenance tarp or something

And you'll probably make a witch hat from scrap fabric, or pretty much whatever you want to be. The witch costume was his suggestion btw he told me that himself

Daisuke's gonna promise you that when you two are back on land he's gonna make Halloween super special for you, and actually buy or make better costumes!!

IF you're on land, prepare to have the best (just feed into his delusions atp) couple costumes ever

He'd probably suggest something simple like Mario and Princess Peach

But if he's feeling silly he's gonna want to be ketchup for Halloween and you will not be able to turn him away from that idea no matter what. You will have to be mustard.

★PUMPKIN CARVING

He's gonna be so sad that he won't be able to carve a pumpkin on the ship😢

He's probably gonna make it out of paper and you two will cut out a face!!

Truth be told he's a bit disappointed that he won't be able to carve a REAL pumpkin, but he's together with you and that's all that matters.

Again, promises you that he's gonna carve as many pumpkins as you want the moment you're back on land.

IF you're on land, Daisuke will genuinely be so excited and silly about carving the pumpkins

Why did I say pumpkins instead of pumpkin? Because he's carving more than one.

He probably saw those dumb pumpkin faces on the internet and he WILL take part of the trend and make their faces look so silly

And you're gonna laugh😤

★SCARY STORIES

UGH he loves these so much

He prefers to be the one who's telling the stories ngl

And he like, acts out exaggerated parts to make you giggle

Daisuke WILL randomly flinch while telling a scary story and you'll mist probably jump.

The stories told by him are either super funny or the most horrifying and gruesome thing you've ever heard other than the name Jimmy

And he'll say that WITH A SMIRK ON HIS FACE LIKE DAMN

If you're still a bit scared after he finishes the story, GET READY. He's gonna wait for you to be alone and jump at you randomly or just straight up make you scream

Another thing he loves is at night when you two are under the blankets and he just randomly starts whispering a "horror" story

This ALWAYS ends up in you two sleeping together and cuddled up close with blankets over you so you can barely breathe.

★yoyomiko ★miko

[theoxenfree]

FATHOMLESS

eldritch detective x reader | 2.1k | 18+

everyone at the precinct spoke at length about detective arsenè being the best in watt city. others claimed he'd always been there; meanwhile, he seemed to have just appeared one day. more concerning than that, however, was the fact no one ever pointed out he had no face.

warnings; dubcon, alcohol consumption, fictitious precinct + detective work, roughly proofread.

repost from my old blog 2kmps. please interact + reblog of you enjoyed!!

Everyone at the precinct called him Detective Arsené, but they never said anything about his face. It was simply that there wasn't one there, not that you were able to discern in any instance you'd seen him wandering the floor. You'd blamed the long hours, the glowing blue screens and useless eye prescriptions and corporate greed and mixing alcohol with allergy medicine before you finally accepted what you were seeing was real, yet no one else noticed it apart from you.

“What's wrong with his face?” you'd ask anyone with the time to spare to listen.

“Who? Arsené?” they'd laugh, whether in disbelief that you were speaking about Watt City’s genius detective in such a fashion, or that they thought you were the funniest person in the office. “What are you talking about? He's always looked like that! Lay off the booze, yeah?”

Those responses had never been satisfactory enough, going as far to set you ill at ease for the remainder of your shift, sufficiently distracting you from furthering your workload because your mind always came back to the detective and his non-existent face.

“He looks pretty normal to me,” said a senior member in your division, an older man you'd come to know as forthright and virtuous with a history showing that integrity. He had taken eyes off his computer screen, set aside his bifocals and pinched the high-point between his brows. “What's this about, really? I've worked with Arsené for years. You know that. He's been here since before I started. Good guy, hard worker. Drinks too much, though. Just like someone else I know.”

But, this was the first time you had heard he'd worked with Arsené, let alone acknowledged his existence at all. There was no reason for him to lie; he had spoken without inflection, warily, almost accusatory towards the end when he spoke about the alcohol.

“Detective Arsené? Well, I think he's really handsome. He just has that look about him, y'know?” The next person you questioned was a junior at the precinct, a pretty woman with silky black hair and long, blunt nails she used the tips of to clack away on her keyboard. “I've heard he has a really specific type, though. I've also never seen him take anyone out, or take a partner on cases, now that I think about it. Isn't he just a stand-up guy? I'd say he's the sort to bring home to mom and dad, but I hear he's got a drinking problem. Why do all the hot ones have vices like that?”

She particularly enjoyed her gossip, especially if it involved the detectives at the precinct; you were positive she'd never mentioned Arsené before now. As smart as she was, she didn't look below the surface very often when it came to men, so for her to say nothing at all of the detective’s smooth face was mystifying.

After that, you started paying attention to Arsené in a way you convinced yourself was discreet: slowly peeking your eyes above your computer screen to observe his movements across the floor. Always in motion, he stalked around the place with undaunted familiarity, maneuvering the razored corners of desks and blockades from doors and walls, and languidly sidestepped the oncoming traffic of bodies in such a way that seemed premeditated. Practiced. Repeated.

This staunch dedication of yours lasted well over a week before anything came of it; until one morning you found him waiting in your seat, teetering a bloated manila folder on a thigh while bouncing it impatiently. A very real sensation of unease took hold of the back of your neck, like a cold hand stroking lightly at the downy hairs there until they stood straight.

You thought about pretending you hadn't seen him, swiveling around, and leaving in a burst of urgency. It'd be easy to call in to say you had a personal emergency or became suddenly, very viscously ill and wouldn't be able to handle staring at a screen for twelve hours. No one would ask questions because you were exemplary, always on time, and seldom took time off as you couldn't afford to do so.

Arsené’s head slanting sideways and the waxy, flat face pointing directly towards you prevented you from acting on that impulse, however. He gestured you over with a lethargic wave, though the jitteriness in his leg seemed to worsen from impatience into sheer excitability.

“Clocked in early, aren't you? You have quite the habit of doing that, I've noticed.” He greeted, voice simultaneously undefinable and velvety. It wasn't so deep that you felt like it was gravelly or reverberated in the same way a baritone would, but there was a heftiness to it that weighted in your mind, as if it were possible for someone to reach through all your blood, tissue, and bone and press down directly on your brain. “I've seen you come in a few times, hours before anyone else. And you know what I think? I think, ‘That’s the kind of person who keeps a place like this running. That's the kind of person we want here in this precinct. That's the type of person who believes in the work that we do and who I’d want as my partner’.”

As much as you wanted to get away from the horrid sight before you, the no-face and potent voice wriggling around the wrinkles in your brain, you couldn't bring yourself to do so just yet. Not while you had questions you couldn't find answers to, not while you needed to sedate yourself at night because they ruthlessly endangered your dreams and were thieves of peaceful slumber.

“I've never met you before,” you said, giving a cordial handshake when he had offered it to you. The skin of his palm was warm and humanlike, though his grip was all wrong and entirely too firm. You didn't convey this to him, though. “I've seen you around, though. Were you transferred from a different department or precinct? Everyone says you've been around for a long time, but I find it hard to believe I've noticed.”

“Oh? Well, they'd be right.” Arsené said, finally releasing your hand to take up the thick folder. “I've always been there, and I'm always here. Now, that aside, I've cleared it with the Chief and I'd like you to help me on a case that I'm stuck on. If I've read right, you're the most recent person who's looked through everything to update the records, correct?”

“Probably.” You didn't move when he rolled up another chair from a desk nearby. “I'm a Recorder. It's my job to go through files and periodically update them. I'm not qualified to help detectives on their cases, though. You'd need to speak to the Chief about getting an Assistant for that.”

“Ah, didn't you hear me? That's all been handled. Sit down. Sit down.” He waved you close, then took you by the arm to sit you in the chair next to him. “We have a lot to cover. I think we should start from the beginning and work our way through the evidence list, and then the interrogation tapes. After that, it'd be a good idea to revisit the site of the crime. Don't worry about clearances, I've got everything we need.”

It wasn't often that you saw the inside of the precinct after that day as Arsené particularly enjoyed his busywork and bringing you along for it. Most days you simply operated as a Field Recorder by transcribing statements into the handheld device provided by the precinct to maintain a digital trail. The work wasn't especially difficult, but it did take a level of skill and technological literacy to be able to do effectively, more so to be the sort allowed to tail after a detective on his cases and still maintain an overall ninety-eight percent accuracy.

Despite your job dictating it as such, Arsené never allowed you to fade into the background or stand around as a fancy accessory to go with his title. Oftentimes, he utilized you as his sole confidant as he worked through evidence and suspects, waiting in revered silence for you to offer your insight (however weak it actually was), and afterwards only let you bask in a glow of confidence through streams of unending praise.

“Egads! Eureka! Genius! How is it that it never occurred to me that way? Truly, you're spectacular! You're divine! Who knows how long I’d be running around in circles if I didn't have you as my partner.” They were all slightly variating compliments, though essentially all the same at the core and all very untrue.

You'd never forgotten about the things your colleagues had said about him, of his unrivaled prowess and veneration as the best detective Watt City had ever come to witness. He didn't need you. He had never needed you to solve a case, so you had learned to take his praise in the same vein as you did the silky-haired woman’s comments on men: uninspired and shallow.

When your disinterest became palpable, he seemed to only rely on you more as though he couldn't stand to be burdened with the idea of a rift. He had started calling you late at night about cases, going as far to come knocking at your door and walking inside reeking of stale smoke and a haze of booze, neither of which you could comprehend as possible considering he had no face.

“I just don't get it. I just don't get it! Where am I going wrong?!” He said so wretchedly, sides of his head cradled in his hands that were tucked between his legs. “This case, it’s getting to me. It's getting under my skin. I can't figure it out. Have I finally met my match? Have I finally been defeated? You! You’ve got to help me. It can't end like this.”

For all his dramatics, there was something obscenely cruel behind his words. Perhaps he thought you wouldn't have caught onto it because you simply a Field Recorder, just a person at the end of the day.

“Why haven't you mentioned anything about the victim? You're acting like they don't exist, Arsené. Is this about solving the crime so they get justice and the family gets closure, or for your reputation?” you asked.

He immediately stopped complaining and jolted upright, taken by surprise like he had realized this oversight and wasn't sure how to navigate around it. On that glossy slate of a face, one you knew was piercing deep into you despite a lack of hollow sockets and rolling gelatinous orbs within, you could tell he was now thinking of an answer.

“Neither,” was what he gave you. “It's neither of those. Come here. Sit down and talk to me for a while. I can't go home like this.”

The pitying part of you usually won in those moments where Arsené presented himself as his weakest. There was a part of you that believed he was taking advantage of your feeble heart, your kindness, your blind generosity because at his worst, he'd find a way to strip you down and fuck you.

At least, that's what you assumed happened. You never really could remember as the memory was pitch black, his body was unfathomable above yours, but you were sure you felt his cock penetrating you, his hands desperately fondling your flesh and fat like there was too much to touch yet too little time to feel it all. He said things to you inside your head, words that you couldn’t seem to piece together yet ignited the tension between your legs, lit your skin on fire, and delivered lewd, high-pitched sounds to his ears that he reveled in.

He never left you a mess and he never spoke about those times after they happened. Since you were never sure of them yourself, they suffered the same indifference as his praise and the days simply moved onward in a similar way.

“Another case solved!” Arsené cheered, lifting a stout mug in the air for you to reciprocate with the long stem of your wine glass. It was a fragile tinkling sound, a gentle vibration up your fingers and into your wrist as you toasted his success. “I couldn't have done it without you, my beloved partner! If it's you and I, I could do this forever.”

You swirled the liquid inside; a light and dry, raspberry and vaguely earthy smell wafted up your nostrils before you tasted it and let your cheeks pucker. As you drank, you watched as Arsené lifted the stout towards the expanse of taut, clear skin that should've been his face, and saw liquid inside empty into nowhere.

[blacklegsanjiii]

I keep thinking about a Roger who got his illness cured and raising Ace with Rouge and being retired after faking his death. Ace who is suddenly two years older than normal as they settle in Foosha in the East Blue with some mountain bandits nearby. They're out sailing when they stumble upon the Germa fleet and Sanji escaping to the orbit when Rouge goes and gets him before he makes it to the Orbit and gets back to the small ship they sail and twelve year old Ace is looking at the kid as Roger, who had babies on his ships, frowns at the shape the kid is in.

So they go back to Foosha and get Sanji situated and Ace really doesn't like the new kid taking up his parents time. He's acting like a toddler when a new baby comes home basically. Ace is pissed despite the kid having a lot of scars and Ace spends a lot of time in the jungle. So he spends even more time there. He eventually meets Luffy and Sabo and decides to go tell his parents he's living in the jungle since they have a new kid and he found brothers he actually likes.

Roger and Rouge know how hard it can be going from an only child situation to suddenly having a sibling but like, fuck Ace, look at the kid who is hiding? Also where did you find more more kids? Can we meet them? It's fine if you want to live in the jungle with them, but you all can also live here? It's fine?

Sanji feels bad and avoids Ace who is still absolutely a mama's boy so he spends most of his time with Roger. Ace brings home Sabo and Luffy to meet them but Sanji just stays in the other room. Turns out they're spending the night so Sanji climbs to the roof to sleep, it's nice to sleep outside in Foosha. Roger climbs up and sits with him and explains that sometimes forcing a situation doesn't work; a lesson he's learned the hard way. Roger pets Sanji's hair and holds him and apologizes for not knowing what to do but he knows in time Ace will come around. Sanji shrugs and says it's okay, he's used to not being wanted.

Roger feels his heart breaking because he knows the ways he's failed Shanks and Buggy. Knows how he fucked them up and nothing he'll do will ever fix it. Sanji who is small and has a permanent red ring around his neck that he and Rouge put lotion on every day. Sanji who is smaller than he should be and quieter and so well behaved unlike the noble boy Ace brought home. Not that Roger has room to judge because the kid spoke viciously about the government and nobles so it made sense and Luffy only talked about Shanks with them.

Garp shows up when Ace is out with Sabo and Luffy. Sanji is looking at the marine as Roger holds him and Rouge laughs and talks smack about Roger with Garp(we all know Rouge was above him okay? They know it too) and introduces him to Sanji. Garp asks them to keep an eye on Luffy and raise him for him and Dragon, which they agree to easily after everything he has done for them. Garp asks Sanji what he wants to be when he grows up and Sanji says a chef on the All Blue. Garp nods and says the Marines would be a good way to get there and Roger kicks the man out of his house and says to stop spreading propaganda. ASL, who happen to be walking up, cheer until Luffy realizes it's his grandpa and gets a fist of love which makes Rouge chase him with her staff.

Rouge tells ASL when she's done and after Garp leaves. She explains what he asked and how they won't stop them but they are there for them if they need them. Luffy asks if they really can stay there longer and Rouge is like 'Of course, the more the merrier!' and it's like a light bulb for Ace when his mom says that because she wanted more kids, Ace remembers wanting siblings when he was younger but nothing ever came of it.

Until Sanji came along. Sanji who was thin and wiry like Luffy. So Ace tries to do better by Sanji after that. Luffy and Sabo don't get it but they go along with it and grow to accept Sanji as another brother. Sanji becomes more open and free with them and of course the three of them fight over Sanji being their cook. Roger and Rouge laugh at the antics until the terminal fires and they lose Sabo. They comfort their children and they heal in time.

Ace still sets off at seventeen and then Sanji and Luffy set off together later. Everything is the same still. Like Rouge and Roger and them keep up with the papers and they know Ace is in the White Beard fleet and they've seen poor Sanji's poster. But then Ace disappears from the news and there was a buster call on Enies Lobby so now the former King and Queen of the Pirates are setting sail as fast as they can to go see what's going on when news of Ace's execution comes out so they head there and then Roger says while they're there they should get Buggy out of Impel Down so he can meet the others. Rouge screams and asks why he didn't mention Buggy was in Impel Down and Roger yells he absolutely did and said Garp did it.

They barely make it in time to Marineford to help save their son-is that Luffy? Rouge is screaming at the top men of the marines as Ace stares at them and Roger is yelling at Luffy and Buggy. Buggy is gaping at them as Luffy runs forward yelling 'mom' and 'dad' and makes the Impel Down escape team shake their heads before running into the fight. Once it's over, Ace and Luffy both taking life threatening punches and being shipped off and most of the battle field passed out from the sheer amount of haki Roger has let out and Shanks shows up and is there to end the war and pick up Buggy.

Rouge is dragging Roger by the ear after explaining everything to his brats and apologizing but says they need to find Luffy's crew and their other son and Shanks and Buggy keep asking how many kids they have and Roger says counting Shanks and Buggy he has six, one's dead though.

Also Roger and Rouge sending the crew off at Sabaody and Roger casually asking how it was training Luffy and if he checked in on Shanks and Buggy after everything. Rayleigh keeps trying to avoid the second question but Luffy went with Boa six months before. Rouge, terrifying Rouge who is glaring at Rayleigh demanding to know why he never checked in with them when that was Roger's technically last request to him and why would he let Luffy go with Boa. Rayleigh is pale. So fucking pale he looks like he's about to pass out as he stutters about Roger not being dead and lying. Roger gives him the most unimpressed look because that still doesn't cover not checking in on their brats and the punch he gets is well deserved.

[starlightkun]

➠ word count: 13.5k ➠ warnings: scenes of a child crying if you don’t want to read that (nightmares and stuff), also people are called mommy/daddy in this so if you can’t be normal abt that please skip this one ➠ genre: fluff, angst? but like around them in terms of life not within their relationship, established relationship, parents sungchan/reader, former hockey captain sungchan, chronically ill reader (chronic migraines), part of the buzzer beater series (after freezing the puck, or if you’ve only read buzzer beater & 27jsc, this should still make sense!) ➠ extra info: the reader in this has chronic migraines, which i have. when the reader’s migraines, experiences as a chronically ill person, and thoughts about being chronically ill are described, that is me writing directly from my own life. i am not generalizing the lives of all people with chronic migraines/chronic illnesses, but i am sending all my love to any readers out there living with a chronic illness, and here’s a reminder to go take your meds! ➠ author’s note: i can’t believe we’re finally done omg. i miss them so much already 🤧 thank you so much to everybody who has followed along with this series! i wasn’t expecting this to be a whole series, nor for so many people to like this fic that i started when i was feeling super frustrated with my migraines. it was definitely something that was super personal and specific to me that i was blown away by how many of y’all liked it and told me you related. so thank you, again!! ➠ series masterlist

“Really? You’re reading Breton lais to our child?” Sungchan’s teasing whisper was barely audible. “He’s going to start school saying stuff like nary and furthermore.”

“Says the man who knew I was reading a Breton lai,” you shot back just as quietly.

“Binnie, are you ready to go see Daddy?” You asked your son excitedly as you unbuckled his seatbelt, helping him out of the backseat and onto the parking lot pavement.

“Yeah!” He yelled out, the small sound echoing impressively in the open area. The five-year-old ran ecstatic circles around you as you walked calmly towards the university’s ice rink. “Mommy, am I skating with Daddy today?”

“I don’t know, you’ll have to ask him nicely after he’s done working,” you informed Woobin as he skidded to a half-skip half-walk next to you, grabbing your gloved hand with his.

Walking into the hockey rink that you knew like the back of your own hand at this point, you saw the Raptors still practicing, and guided your son into the bleachers so you two could watch. Woobin climbed up on the seat next to you, standing on it so he could actually see, and you offered a hand for him to keep himself balanced. He used it until he felt stable, then pushed it away insistently. A few of the players waved at you two, and you both waved back, your son as enthusiastic as ever when he got noticed, waving practically with his entire little body.

Sungchan was on the ice, directing two players with his back to you, and as he skated backward away from them for them to line up and continue practicing, he happened to glance over his shoulder and in your direction. You raised a casual hand in greeting, and he waved back. Woobin sent him a zealous, flying kiss with his whole arm, and Sungchan visibly laughed and immediately went to do it back. After the two players that he’d been instructing had presumably corrected the issue, your husband gave them both pats on the shoulder before skating over your way.

Woobin screamed out a “Hi Daddy!” so loud you were sure the entire campus could hear him, and every head on the ice turned around to look. You burst into laughter, rubbing his back fondly at his enthusiasm, and Sungchan covered his face as he chortled as well.

A few minutes later and Coach called practice, the players slowly starting to filter off the ice and into the locker room. You guided Woobin down through the bleachers towards the gate, where Sungchan was waiting for the two of you.

Your husband had already opened the gate to the ice, standing on the flooring just off it, where you and your son were walking. Woobin flung himself at his legs at full-speed, and Sungchan easily picked him up, beaming as he kissed his forehead.

“Hey, buddy!” Sungchan grinned, readjusting your son’s beanie.

“Hi, Daddy!” He chirped back, bouncing in his arms.

“Hi, hon,” he kissed your cheek, and you gave his a quick peck in greeting as well.

“Hey, Channie.” You slipped your arm around his back in a one-armed hug. “Little dude wants to ask you something.”

“Oh really?” Sungchan focused his inquisitive eyebrow raise at your son.

“Can I skate with you? Please? Pretty please? Pretty pretty please?” Woobin immediately put on his best pout and puppy dog eyes, a display that always made you wonder how he wasn’t genetically Sungchan’s. The two of you had agreed some time ago that with your chronic migraines having a genetic component, you didn’t want to risk passing it down, and had looked into fostering initially. Woobin was your first placement at just a few days old, and he never left, the adoption going through right before his second birthday.

“Mr. Coach ended practice early, so we do have a few minutes,” your husband qualified his acquiescence.

“Yay!”

“You joining us, hon?”

“Sure.”

After fetching yours and your son’s skates from his office, Sungchan helped Woobin put his on, then double checked yours as always. Having married a former collegiate hockey player turned collegiate hockey coach, you’d gotten proficient enough at lacing up your own skates, but he wanted be sure every time that you weren’t going to twist your ankle, or have them come untied, or something else unfortunate.

Coach was still on the ice with the current goalie and center on one end, so you and your family kept to the other side. Woobin squealed and yipped with delight as Sungchan half-carried and half-pulled him around on the ice, you trailing behind with a fond smile on your lips as you watched on.

“Mr. Coach!” Woobin suddenly called to the other end of the rink.

“Oh, Binnie, Mr. Coach is working right now,” Sungchan tried to divert him. “We should leave him alone for now, buddy.”

“What was that, champ?” Coach’s gruff voice responded, the older man starting in your direction.

Woobin was absolutely thrilled to have his attention now, trying to pull Sungchan that way. “Mr. Coach! Mr. Coach!”

“I’m right here, kiddo,” he smoothly stopped right in front of your son. “I’m old but I’m not deaf yet. What do you want to tell me?”

“Mommy signed me up for my own hockey team today!” Woobin told him proudly. “Are you gonna be my coach too?”

“I don’t coach every hockey team in the world, you know.”

Woobin looked down at his skates dejectedly, as if he hadn’t considered this possibility before now.

“But… I did let your dad talk me into being his assistant coach for a certain little league team this season. Was that yours?” Coach asked teasingly, making the boy let out a loud gasp of realization.

“Was it, Daddy? Was it?” He looked up at your husband with wide eyes.

“Maybe…” Sungchan replied with a sly grin.

Woobin rounded on you, buzzing with excitement. “Did you hear that, Mommy? Mr. Coach is gonna be my coach!”

“I heard, buddy. Just like he was your Daddy’s coach,” you chuckled. Looking up at the older man, you added, “How does that make you feel, Coach? Teaching multiple generations?”

“Like my back is going to give out any day now,” he groaned and grabbed his lumbar. “Don’t remind me, Y/N, please.”

You laughed, making a motion of zipping up your lips and throwing away the key.

“Anyway, let me finish up with these two,” he gestured to the two Raptors still milling about on the other end of the ice. “Are you locking up, Jung?”

“Not today, got some errands to run before buddy’s naptime,” Sungchan explained.

“I’m five, I don’t need a nap anymore!” Woobin insisted.

“Hey, champ, look at me,” Coach requested, and waited until he had his attention before continuing. “How old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know, like a hundred?”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter, grabbing Sungchan’s arm for support as he at least had the decency to cover his mouth to hide his chuckles.

Coach nodded, not breaking eye contact with your son. “Exactly. I’m like a hundred, and I still take naps.”

“Really?”

“Really. You need them to make sure your brain—” he poked the boy’s forehead “—and your body—” he poked his belly, making him giggle “—are at their best. Especially a growing kid like you.”

“So why do you need them? If you’re not a kid anymore?”

“I’m saying you need them extra because you’re a kid. Grown-ups need them sometimes too.”

He pouted thoughtfully for a moment, then pointed up at you. “Mommy takes naps when she has a migraine. That’s when her head hurts really, really bad.”

“There you go. Told you they weren’t just for kids.” Coach stood up straight, cracking his back with a satisfied groan. “I’ll see you all later, okay?”

“Bye, Mr. Coach!” Woobin waved enthusiastically.

“See you Monday, Coach,” Sungchan nodded to him.

You mouthed a ‘thank you’ to him, and he shot you a wink over his shoulder before skating back over to his players, his voice immediately souring as he started barking out orders again.

With the excitement of his upcoming little league team on his mind, your son insisted on having Sungchan show him moves and maneuvers today. You were of course the default practice dummy both for Sungchan to demonstrate, and your son to practice. Which only worked so well since none of you had sticks or a puck or gear of any kind except for your skates, but Woobin was having fun, so you were happy.

Coach eventually finished with the guys at the other end, and as you saw him start off the ice first, you called out to him, “Done for the day, Coach?”

He turned back to you. “I wish! Got some paperwork to finish up in the office! If somebody’s bleeding—call 911, not me!”

You laughed, giving him a final wave as he headed off. About to turn to your family to suggest that you leave to do your errands as well, you spotted the two Raptors players still loitering by the goal, no longer practicing, and yet still not rushing to leave.

“You boys need something?” You asked them knowingly.

“Well, if it’s alright with you, Professor…” the goalie, who had been in your Intro to Literary Theory and Criticism class last spring, began.

“We were wondering if we could see if we could skate with the MVP too?” The center finished hopefully.

“Just for a little! We heard you telling Coach you guys had errands to run before his naptime!” His friend rushed to add.

Woobin’s focus had already started waning on his impromptu lesson from his dad, and as you looked over, you could see Sungchan beginning to wind down on his instructing as he realized this. You checked the time on your phone, then looked back to the two college boys. “Sure, you can ask Binnie if he wants to skate.”

They erupted into celebratory hoots, chest-bumping before practically tossing aside their unnecessary equipment. Suddenly realizing themselves, they collected themselves and turned to you, bowing their heads politely. “Thank you, Professor.”

“You’re welcome, boys,” you replied with humor in your voice, watching as they took off, seemingly racing each other to Sungchan and Woobin.

You could hear bits of their conversation from where you were leaning against the wall halfway down the rink, and watched fondly as your son’s face lit up with enthusiasm, then the Raptors players started pulling him down the ice with them, his delighted laughter bouncing around the rink.

Sungchan leisurely skated over and stopped in front of you. With a great flourish, he bowed and offered his hand out to you. You laughed, placing your hand atop his, and he dropped a kiss to the back of your gloved fingers. He stood up straight again, pulling you off the wall with little resistance from you, before taking both your hands and beginning to skate backwards in front of you, guiding you along with him. Neither of you chose to mention the fact that you knew how to skate just fine, playing along with the fun of the moment as he easily took you around the rink that you were sure he could navigate with his eyes closed at this point.

“Oh, do we have dishwasher pods on the list?” You suddenly asked as soon as the thought popped into your mind.

“We put it on there last night when we loaded the dishwasher and saw that we were almost out,” he reassured you, not even breaking stride.

“Right, thanks.” You smiled, giving his hands a squeeze.

“I also put dish soap on there this morning, by the way.”

“I love you.”

He slowed the two of you down on the far side of the rink, letting go of one of your hands to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you closer. “I love you too, baby.”

After doing a few things out and about, the three of you headed home.

“Hey, buddy,” Sungchan called for your son’s attention, his hands occupied with groceries. “Do you want me or Mommy to help you get ready for your nap? Or are you going to try to do it yourself?”

“Mm…” He looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Mommy!”

“Alright, help with the groceries then I’ll help you, Binnie,” you bargained, putting a bag down on the ground in his reach.

As Woobin dutifully put the bags of chips and boxes of gummies on the lower shelves of the pantry that he could reach, you and Sungchan quickly put away the rest of the groceries. When there was just cleaning and other household supplies left, your husband grabbed those and nodded towards your son.

“Go put buddy down, I’ve got this.”

“Thanks, Channie,” you pecked his cheek before turning to your child. “Lead the way!”

Woobin was able to get into his pajamas by himself, so you were really just there to tuck him in and kiss his forehead. You never bought into the “cry themselves out” mindset from the get-go, and to this day would sit with him until he fell asleep if he asked.

Except this time, he didn’t get into bed at all, standing next to the piece of furniture with you and staring at it like you were about to cliff dive instead of nap. He looked up at you, and you already saw his bottom lip quivering.

“Mommy?”

“Yeah, Binnie, I’m right here, my sweet,” you promised, kneeling down in front of him so you were eye-to-eye. “What’s wrong?”

He threw his arms around your neck, taking quick, shallow breaths as he very bravely tried to communicate with you. “I don’t wanna—I don’t wanna…”

“Okay, I won’t make you right now,” you promised, rubbing his back. “Will you tell me what’s making you upset? Is it the nap? Going to sleep? Did you have a bad dream?”

But he had already devolved into incomprehensible sobs, and you bit your lip at the twinge in your chest. “Alright, sweet, how about we go to Mommy and Daddy’s room? Hm? And I’ll read you something. If you don’t want to nap, you don’t have to today, okay? Sound good?”

You could feel him nod into your shoulder, and that was all you needed to pick him up and settle him on your hip to carry him out of his room. As you passed by Sungchan putting away new bottles of dish soap and dishwasher pods under the sink, he gave you a concerned look. You mouthed a ‘later’ to him as you took your son across your house and into your room. As you passed by your bookshelf, you quickly selected a book, then sat down at the head of your bed, Woobin on your lap. Pulling your blanket up over you two, you let him get settled in and comfortable, still very much crying all the while.

Holding your book with one hand and resting the other on his back, you started reading. After a while, his sobs died down to hiccups, which petered out to just the occasional sniffle. But you could see that he was still awake, his eyes open and following your place as you read. Then, after a while longer, they started to slowly fall shut and his chin would tilt down, then he’d quickly open his eyes again and jerk his head up. Finally, he couldn’t fight the heaviness of his lids, and he fell asleep. You put your bookmark in where you were just before his eyes closed, but kept reading past that, just in case. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the door handle slowly turn, and your bedroom door inch open before Sungchan peered in.

Your husband pointed to the boy in your lap, then made a gesture of pretending to sleep on a pillow, lifting his eyebrows questioningly after. You nodded, still reading softly.

Sungchan slipped in the room, closing the door quietly behind him as well. Having come to a stopping place, you finally closed your book and set it aside on the one you already had on your nightstand.

“Really? You’re reading Breton lais to our child?” Sungchan’s teasing whisper was barely audible. “He’s going to start school saying stuff like nary and furthermore.”

“Says the man who knew I was reading a Breton lai,” you shot back just as quietly.

“Getting married to a lit professor, you pick up a few things.” He then looked down at Woobin. “What happened?”

You sighed and readjusted slightly to hold him tighter now that you had two free arms. “I don’t know. He couldn’t tell me. As soon as he had to get into bed for his nap he just… broke down.”

A deep frown cut across Sungchan’s face as he stroked your son’s hair, but he said nothing else. He left the room, and you heard him moving around throughout the house as you picked up the other book from your nightstand. Eventually, he meandered back in, sitting on his side of the bed and setting up his laptop to quietly work beside you as your son continued napping on your lap and you continued your book. In addition to doing research at the university and being the assistant coach for the hockey team, Sungchan had picked up teaching a couple of Intro to Biology for majors sections, and you could see him answering emails from his students out of the corner of your eye. You were rereading the material for the Direct Study you were leading next semester.

Eventually, Woobin slowly started stirring, grumbling, yawning, and rubbing at his eyes before burying his face back in your chest with a sigh. You stroked his back, attention still on your book. He turned over in your arms when he finally decided that he was awake, blinking his eyes open and staring off into the middle distance.

“Hey, Binnie, you awake?” Sungchan asked quietly.

He nodded slowly, stretching his arms up, and you had to duck your head out of the way to avoid getting smacked in the face by a stray hand.

“Sleep good?” Your husband kept talking to him.

He nodded again, letting out another adorable little yawn.

“Of course you did,” Sungchan chuckled, gently pinching the tip of his nose. “You got the best seat in the house right there, bud.”

Woobin made grabby hands at Sungchan, and he moved his laptop to the side to transfer him from your lap to his, pressing a kiss to his forehead once he was settled in against his chest.

“Uncle Chenle is going to be over soon,” you reminded your son of your plans for the night. “Are you excited?”

He perked up at this. “Yeah! He said he was gonna bring me back a souvenir!”

“He does love to spoil you,” Sungchan shook his head, ruffling the boy’s hair.

As Woobin busied himself with his toys in his room, the horrors of naptime all but forgotten, you and Sungchan were having a fervent, whispered conversation in your bedroom.

“Should we even go tonight?” You asked, pulling your outfit on.

“I know, I’m worried about bedtime…” Sungchan sighed, nevertheless assisting you with your zipper.

“Chenle’s really good with him, and you know how much he dotes on Woobin.” You paused in front of the mirror, smoothing out the wrinkles. You weren’t sure if you were trying to convince yourself or your husband at this point.

“I know, I don’t doubt how much he loves our kid, or how much buddy loves him,” he replied, fidgeting with his tie behind you. “I just… would hate to not be there.”

“Me too,” you replied quietly, turning around to fix his tie yourself. “I can practically feel the stress migraine coming on thinking about it.”

“Okay, well don’t do that, baby,” Sungchan insisted, resting his hands on your waist to pull you closer. “I mean, that didn’t happen at bedtime yesterday, did it?”

“No, it didn’t,” you agreed. “Or naptime yesterday…”

“Who’s to say it’ll happen at bedtime today?” He suggested. “Might’ve been a one-time thing. Or only for naps.”

“Right.” You breathed out, having finished with his tie, and now looked up at him questioningly. “So we’re going?”

“Seems like it.”

“We should still give Chenle a heads-up.”

“Of course.”

Chenle pulled up in his sleek luxury car soon after, and you made sure to greet him at the door while Sungchan helped Woobin put his toys up.

“Whew! Look at you!” Chenle whistled as he pulled back from hugging you, grabbing your hand and twirling you around. “MILF! MILF! MILF!”

You laughed, shaking him off. “Quiet! You’re a menace, I swear. You better be filtering around my child.”

“Of course, of course.” He held his hands up in surrender, and you saw that one held a gift bag. A rather large gift bag.

“And what did you bring him this time? Milan, was it?”

“A model of the Arco della Pace for us to build together, of course.”

“Oh, of course.” You shook your head fondly, but couldn’t stop the worry from overtaking your mood. “Chenle, I do have to tell you something.”

Your friend immediately matched your change in mood, furrowing his brow with concern. “Everything okay, Y/N?”

“When I was trying to put Binnie down for his nap today, he couldn’t get into his bed. He couldn’t tell me what was wrong, he just started crying and saying he didn’t want to. He had to take his nap in our room with the two of us. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I wanted to give you a heads up, in case it happens again at bedtime, since I know you always say he’s really good for you. If it does, just call and we’ll come right back, okay? Don’t feel bad at all, it’s not your fault.”

Chenle listened carefully and nodded thoughtfully as you explained the situation to him. “Okay, yeah. Are you two sure you even want to go? We can all have a really fun hangout with Uncle Chenle and then I can peace before bedtime if that’s what needs to happen tonight.”

You gnawed on your bottom lip, but ultimately shook your head. “We told Ten we were going to be there. I’d like to at least try to see him accept the award.”

“Of course.” Chenle patted his chest. “I won’t take it personally if he starts crying for Mommy at bedtime tonight.”

“When you put it like that I really don’t want to go.”

“Go,” he insisted. “We’ll be fine.”

“Uncle Chenle!” A delighted squeal came as your son ran in, wrapping himself around Chenle’s legs like a koala.

“Hey, Binnie!” Your friend beamed down at him, squeezing his cheeks in one hand. “How are you?”

“I’m good!” His words were a little garbled as Chenle smushed his face.

“Hey, Chenle,” Sungchan greeted him as well, patting him on the shoulder as he walked by to get to your side.

“Hey, Sungchan!”

“Are you ready to go, hon?” Your husband asked you as the other two started an enthusiastic guessing game of what Chenle brought Woobin back as a souvenir from Milan.

“Yeah.” You nodded. Raising your voice slightly to address the others, you announced, “Alright, guys, we’re heading out. Binnie, Daddy and I will be back after you’re asleep, okay?”

“Goodbye and goodnight!” He darted over as you and Sungchan knelt down to each give him a hug, and two more kisses—one for goodbye, and another for his goodnight kiss, since you wouldn’t be putting him to bed. Really, when you came home, you two always checked on him and gave him one last peck goodnight then, but he of course didn’t know that.

The award for Literary Theory Journal Editor of the Year had barely been placed in Ten’s hands when you saw Sungchan’s phone light up in his lap out of the corner of your eye. He squeezed your shoulder in a silent ‘be right back’ before standing from your table and quietly slipping out of the ballroom. You kept your eyes on Ten as he gave a short and charismatic acceptance speech, clapping when everyone else did, though you stayed keenly aware of the empty seat next to you. Your friend got his picture taken and shook lots of hands on his way back to your table, and your colleagues at your table all rose to greet him when he finally returned.

“Congrats, Ten,” you hugged him, your eyes straying over his shoulder to the door that Sungchan had left through.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he patted your back, pulling away still with a wide grin. “I saw Sungchan get up, is everything alright?”

You waved off his concerns for now. “Chenle probably set off the smoke alarm or something.”

Sungchan returned just a moment later, staving off his clearly concerned face for long enough to give Ten his congrats as well.

“You missed my hilarious acceptance speech, Sungchan,” Ten clicked his tongue in feigned disappointment.

“Damn, maybe next year.”

“Ooh, you think I’ll win next year too?”

“Why not?” Sungchan shrugged. “I don’t know how all the other editors could suddenly get better than you in a year.”

“Great point.”

The awards had continued, and everyone took their seats, though your focus was only on Sungchan and whatever that call was about. He leaned over to inform you quietly, “That was Chenle. SOS for buddy’s bedtime, sounds like the same as naptime.”

You bit your lip and nodded.

“I’ll get the car,” he murmured before giving your shoulder a fleeting touch and leaving your table.

You turned to Ten to give him a real reason behind your sudden departure. “Hey, that was Chenle, and Woobin is—”

“It’s all good,” your friend cut you off with a smile, patting your arm. “Go be good parents, you’ve already been good friends. Promise.”

“Thanks.” You could feel the relieved smile on your face. “Congrats again, Ten.”

After giving your hushed goodbyes to the rest of your colleagues, you hurried out of the ballroom. Sungchan didn’t complain about the anxious death grip you had on his hand the entire ride home, simply smoothing his thumb over your knuckles as the fingers of his other hand tapped out impatient rhythms on the steering wheel at every red light you got stuck at.

Finally, you arrived home, and you didn’t even have to go searching for Woobin and Chenle, as you were barely in your foyer and Sungchan hadn’t even had the chance to finish locking the front door behind him when a small form came running in, barreling into your legs. Chenle was a few steps behind your son, entering right after him. Woobin was blubbering and sobbing against you, beyond the point of any sort of intelligible speech. You sighed forlornly and rested a hand on his head, feeling your heart break as you looked down at him, not knowing how to help him.

Sungchan immediately took your purse from your other hand, rubbing your back briefly as he passed by. As he and Chenle went to talk in the living room, you hooked your hands under your son’s arms and heaved him up onto your hip, carrying him into your room with you. You maneuvered to support him with one arm so you could take off your shoes with the other hand, tossing them in the vague direction of your closet door. Sitting on the edge of your bed, you readjusted him so that he was sitting in your lap, crying into your neck, and you gently stroked the back of his head as he shook in your arms.

“I’m right here, Binnie. I’ve got you. Mommy’s right here,” you told him softly, a hard lump growing in your throat. “You’re okay, my sweet. You’re okay. I promise, I’ve got you.”

Eventually, you heard Chenle and Sungchan’s hushed voices pass by, then the front door open and close. A couple minutes later, there was a soft knocking at your bedroom door.

“Hey, that’s Daddy,” you informed Woobin. “Is it okay if he comes in and stays with us too?”

Woobin nodded from where his face was still hidden in your neck. His sobs hadn’t stopped, and at this rate, you were worried he was going to make himself throw up with how much he was crying and hiccupping.

“Come in,” you called out.

Sungchan had already discarded his suit jacket and tie elsewhere, you realized as he slipped into the room. A pained look quickly took over his features as his eyes immediately found the two of you. He set the no-spill cup he’d brought in with him—Woobin’s favorite cartoon characters printed all around the outside—down on your nightstand as he sat down next to you.

“Hey, buddy, it’s me,” Sungchan said quietly. “I brought some water; I thought your throat might be hurting a little.”

You son let out a couple sniffles, as if contemplating this for the first time.

Your husband continued, “Do you think you can sit with me and drink some water while Mommy changes into her jammies?”

“I won’t leave the room, sweet,” you assured him. “I’ll be right here with you and Daddy.”

In lieu of a verbal response, he nodded again and loosened the vice-like grip he’d had around your neck, letting you shift him over into his dad’s arms. Before you could go run and do the fastest change of your life, Sungchan grabbed your hand, pulling you around to look at him. As you gazed down at him, with Woobin bawling inconsolably in his lap, the two of you exchanged a brief, unspoken moment of uncertainty, unknowing, of knowing that neither of you knew what to do for your son. Your hand was shaking—or maybe that was his—as you clutched each other tightly for just a second.

Then you had to let go of him to rush to change, and Sungchan tried to gently coax Woobin into taking a sip of water. You could hear him coaching your son through taking just one little sip at a time and not chugging, or he’d make himself sick. You, meanwhile, were throwing clothes into the general vicinity of where they needed to go as you pulled on new ones. The nice material now had snot and spit all over them, you were sure they’d need to be dry-cleaned anyway, so you didn’t care about the wrinkles they’d garner from being crumpled up on the floor for the night. You then rushed through taking out your hair and brushing your teeth, keeping the en suite bathroom door open all the while.

Back over with your husband and son, you saw that the task of sipping water had forced his crying to slow down considerably, and you took a deep breath to not pass on your stress back to your child. The last thing you needed to do was get him going again just because you were so worried. He also had his favorite stuffed animal tucked under his other arm, the only one that had survived from his infancy to now, a deer plushie. You didn’t even remember seeing Sungchan bring that in with him, your brain was so scrambled.

“Here, Binnie, Mommy’s back. I feel left out, I’m not the only one not in my jammies,” Sungchan joked, which didn’t even earn a giggle from your child as it normally would’ve. “You want to go back to Mommy and I’ll get changed?”

Woobin nodded, and Sungchan let you get into a more comfortable position up by the headboard before depositing your son into your arms. You could at least see some of his face from the new angle of him sitting sideways in your lap, and it was of course red, puffy, and covered in tears. Sungchan must have already cleaned up some of his snot, as you spotted several discarded tissues on the nightstand.

“Did Puck come to make sure you were okay, too?” You asked quietly, gently tapping one of the plushie’s soft antlers. Puck the Buck, as he had been so brilliantly named some time ago.

Another nod and a sniffle.

“That was nice of him.” You stroked the deer’s head. “Thank you, Puck.”

Woobin patted the deer’s head, too, and as you watched more tears fall down his cheeks, you pressed a long kiss to his hair, silently apologizing for not knowing how to fix it all right now. Sungchan came back from the bathroom just a moment later, scooting onto the bed from the other side.

“Okay, Binnie. What do you think? Do you want to watch an episode of your show?” He suggested. “Or Mommy can finish reading you Bisclavret? Or…”

As he tried to think of other options, you gave him a bewildered look over your son’s head at the fact that he apparently knew which Breton lai you were reading earlier. That was something to address later, though.

Woobin shook his head, though.

“No?” Sungchan said questioningly. “No to what? Do you want Mommy to read?”

Head shake.

“Do you want to watch an episode of your show?”

Head nod.

And so you, Woobin, Puck, and Sungchan all settled in under your covers to watch an episode of his favorite cartoon. Except you and Sungchan didn’t have a TV in your bedroom, and both of your laptops were charging across the house in your home office, so you all had to scoot in close to be able to see it on the much smaller screen of Sungchan’s phone. Puck took up a considerable amount of space when crowding around a phone to watch something, and from your vantage point mostly behind your son and the plushie, you couldn’t see a thing past the deer head and antlers, but you didn’t really care about catching up on the children’s cartoon. You were much more preoccupied with listening for Woobin’s sniffles to cease, and watching as his breathing evened out. He was still awake after one episode, but quiet, calm, and Sungchan went ahead and played the next one.

You gently rubbed his back, smiling to yourself when you heard his first yawn of the night. When his second came before the five-minute mark, you knew he wouldn’t last the whole episode. And sure enough, he was out before the halfway point. Sungchan turned his phone off and set it aside. The two of you were curled up on either side of your son, with Sungchan facing him and you.

Your husband reached a hand up, and you thought he was going to stroke Woobin’s hair, but he kept going and gently wiped a thumb under your eye instead, at the fresh tears that had just brimmed there. You placed your hand over his, turning your head just enough to leave a kiss on his palm.

You woke up early in the morning with a stress migraine. When you shuffled into the kitchen to get a glass of water, the stove clock read 3:03. You quickly chugged your first glass of water, then refilled it to take back with you. Walking through to your bathroom, you retrieved your bottle of rescue medication from your drawer. This one was a muscle relaxer, so you didn’t see any point in keeping it in your purse, as you weren’t able to drive after taking it, which you typically needed to do when you were out and about. You knocked back a tablet before screwing the lid back on and putting it away again. After taking a few more sips of your water, you slipped back under the covers with your family.

Your head felt like it was being squeezed in a vice, but you still blearily opened one eye to look at your son, watching as his chest rose and fell peacefully. He was on his back now, and you couldn’t help but lay a hand on his front, feeling his even breaths under your palm. Sungchan’s foot tapped yours under the blanket briefly as he readjusted in his sleep, and you smiled to yourself. And then it happened again, and you peered over to the other pillow suspiciously.

In the low light, you could see Sungchan looking right at you. He pointed to his own head, then raised his eyebrows.

You lifted your hand in a ‘meh’ gesture, then held up 5 fingers to rate it out of 10, before setting your hand back down on Woobin’s front. Sungchan found your arm under the covers, gently squeezing your forearm. You tapped his foot in return, a silent exchange, before closing your eyes and settling back in to sleep.

Two hushed voices woke you up for the second time that morning. Well, one hushed voice, and one who hadn’t quite mastered whispering yet.

“What do you think Mommy—”

“Quiet, buddy, remember?” Sungchan’s words were barely discernible from behind the closed bathroom door. “Your mom’s got a migraine, and—”

“—and Mommy needs to sleep when she’s got a migraine,” Woobin finished dutifully, his voice a notch quieter than before. “So her head feels better.”

“That’s right, bud. Now come on, breakfast.”

“That’s what I—” Your son stopped himself as his voice raised with his excitement. He continued, in his best half-whisper, “Sorry, Daddy. I know: We gotta whisper. Quiet. I was asking what Mommy wants for breakfast?”

The two of them were quiet, and you heard the bathroom door open, then one pair of feet quietly tread across your room to open the bedroom, then shut it softly. You could hear their voices slowly fade as they walked further away.

“I don’t know. Why are you asking?”

“Because you always bring me breakfast in bed when I’m sick!” Woobin’s voice was back to it’s normal volume as he tried to emphatically get his point across to his dad. Sungchan must have gestured for him to quiet down again, as he dropped down to a part-whisper once more, “It’s Mommy’s turn.”

“You’re right. Let’s see what we can make…”

When you first got Woobin, you only got a migraine a couple times a year, a significant drop from when you were first diagnosed. The frequency fluctuated over the years and seasons, though, and there was a short period of time after becoming new parents, that you had been getting them weekly. You knew that put a strain on Sungchan, since a spouse with noise-sensitive migraines and a crying baby didn’t exactly mix. You of course would go through any migraine pain to take care of your son, but your husband couldn’t stand seeing you do it if it could be avoided. After some medication changes, you were fairly consistent with one every other month now. When Woobin was a toddler, and couldn’t quite grasp the concept of needing to play quietly when he wasn’t napping, Sungchan would take him on “field trips” while you rested. You’d decided to give him a simple explanation of a migraine to him when he was a little older, so he could easier differentiate between the migraines that you got, and when he might have a headache from a cold, or because his body was telling him he needed to drink some more water. He was also now your designated band-aid picker for your monthly injection, and had a better grasp on when, why, and how to keep quiet when you needed it.

Your head unfortunately still hurt, though your heart was warmed by your kind-hearted kid. There were lots of times where you and Sungchan felt like you had no clue what you were doing—like your current predicament with bedtime—but you figured you were doing a pretty alright job overall.

You contemplated getting up to take another dose. The only plans you had for today were a family trip to the park and some chores at home. Your husband would probably insist on you skipping the park for today, but if the second dose worked, you could probably get some things done around the house at least. Unfortunately, your days of laying in bed all day when you had a low-level migraine were long gone. If you could open your eyes, you usually had something that needed to get done.

But for this morning, at least, for now, you could close your eyes for just a little longer. You rolled over, away from the window where a thin strip of light had gotten in through a gap between your blackout curtains that Sungchan must have pulled closed.

You didn’t quite go back to sleep, but you dozed somewhere in between as you fondly listened to the sounds of Sungchan and Woobin trying to make breakfast as silently as possible. The running of the sink, sizzling of something on the stove, beep of the microwave before it was hastily shut off, fridge opening and closing, Sungchan’s quiet murmured directions to Woobin, and your son’s inquisitive tone in return.

Eventually, you heard someone shuffling up to your bedroom door, sounding much too small to be your husband. The door very slowly creaked open, and he tiptoed over to your side of the bed.

“Mommy?” His whisper had gotten better over the morning, though it didn’t matter much, since he was definitely right in front of your face.

You cracked open one eye, and offered him a soft smile. “Morning, buddy.”

“Are you awake?”

“Yeah, Binnie, I’m awake,” you chuckled, propping yourself up on one elbow and rubbing your eyes.

“Daddy and I made you breakfast, hold on!” And he darted back out of the room.

You looked at the empty doorway fondly, slowly pushing yourself up into a sitting position at the head of the bed. Sungchan and Woobin reappeared a moment later with a tray filled with various breakfast foods.

“Morning, beautiful,” Sungchan greeted you quietly, pecking the crown of your head as he went to set the tray down in your lap.

“Mm, morning, Channie,” you kissed his cheek before he could stand all the way back up. “This looks wonderful, thank you guys.”

In one corner of the tray you spotted a colorful assortment of pills, all of your morning doses plus what looked like a couple of your acute medications from your purse that was definitely in the dining room. You grabbed your water from the nightstand to get that out of the way first.

“We’ll let you eat in peace,” Sungchan declared, patting your son on the head to start to usher him out.

“No, it’s okay,” you stopped them. “It’s not so bad. I want you two to eat with me.”

Woobin’s face lit up, and he wasted no time in clambering up on the bed with you. You held the tray steady as he wedged himself in next to you.

“Alright, I’ll go get mine and buddy’s plates.”

Woobin was still earnestly pointing out each piece of food on your tray to you, explaining exactly how he had helped Sungchan prepare all of it when your husband returned. Sungchan sat down in front of you, and as he handed your son his plate, you noticed that there was nothing on it that could make too much of a mess if it happened to capsize.

“Sounds like you were a big help,” you praised your son, stroking the back of his head.

“He was,” Sungchan agreed. “Breakfast in bed was his idea.”

“Really?” You feigned surprise as Woobin nodded proudly. They didn’t need to know that you’d heard their entire bathroom conversation. “Thank you, sweet, it was a very good idea.”

After a very quiet breakfast, Sungchan took the plates into the kitchen, and you started making your mental list of tasks for the day. No vacuum—you weren’t a masochist—but there was laundry to do, and if Sungchan started the dishwasher before he left, it would be done and ready to put away before they got back from the park.

Just as you had put your feet over the edge of the bed to get up, with the bathroom as your destination, you were caught off-guard by Woobin trudging into your room with an armful of toys. He dropped them onto your mattress before hauling himself up after them.

“Hey…” You greeted him with an air of question. “What are you doing, Binnie?”

Sungchan must have spotted him on his way over, as he poked his head in right then, already laser-focused on your son. “What’s all this, bud?”

“We can’t go to the park,” he said matter-of-factly, beginning to sort out the toys that had gotten all mixed up in being carried over and dumped into a pile. “I’ll be quiet, promise!”

“I didn’t say we weren’t going at all,” Sungchan clarified. “I just said Mommy needed to stay home this time, because she’s not feeling well. You and I are still going. Minha and her dad are going to be there too.”

“I don’t want to go. I don’t like the park,” he declared, a stern pout creasing his face.

“What? You don’t like the park?” You asked.

“No,” he mumbled. “I hate it.”

You exchanged bewildered looks with Sungchan at this sudden development. Deciding to try again, you said calmly, “Binnie, I’ll go with you next time, okay? I promise. You have lots of fun at the park.”

“No. I don’t want to go.”

“Okay, no park,” Sungchan acquiesced. “But it’s such a nice day out, I think a walk sounds good. What do you think?”

“No.” He crossed his arms.

“Ah, you know, my head feels good enough for a walk,” you said brightly. “I think I’d like to go on a walk. Are you sure you don’t want to go, buddy?”

“Well… okay.”

“Alright,” you beamed at him, patting his cheek as he finally looked up at you. “Mommy’s got to shower then I’ll be ready to go.”

“How about you get out of your jammies too, Woobin?” Sungchan suggested.

“Go ahead, sweet,” you sent him off with one more pat.

Your son wordlessly got off the bed and left your room. As soon as he was gone, you look at Sungchan, utterly at a loss.

“What was that?” He whispered, following you into the bathroom and shutting the door behind you two.

“I don’t know,” you whispered back, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“He loves the park! I mean, he loves going to the grocery store! He’s one of the most go-with-the-flow kids I’ve ever met!”

“He was obviously lying about hating the park. But why? His best friend’s going to be there, he’s been talking about it since we planned it at pickup on Friday.”

“You think it’s related to what’s been going with bedtime and naptime?” Sungchan paced in front of you. “I mean, what if it’s like separation anxiety? Or something?”

“But he loves you.”

“I know, I know.”

“He even went through that phase when he was a year old where he wouldn’t let me put him to sleep, it had to be you every time.”

“I know, I know.” He held his hands up. “I’m just saying… we might have hit a new phase.”

“But I could at least take him to the park without you. And he went to daycare. Now…”

“Hey, tomorrow, I’ll drop him off at school,” Sungchan said. “You know, so it’ll be gradual. The two of us at home, then just me, then he’s at school.”

“Channie, he wouldn’t let you take him to the park today.”

“I just think that if your choice is between leaving him crying at VPK or not, you’re going to be getting a new little TA in your classes tomorrow.”

You chewed on your bottom lip before sighing and nodding. “You’re right, you’re right. Okay, we’ll try your way tomorrow.”

“We’ll figure this out, hon,” he reassured you, wrapping his arms around your waist and hooking his chin over your shoulder. “But not right now in our bathroom while you’ve got a migraine.”

You hugged him back, burying your face in his neck and taking a deep breath. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s just worry about today right now.”

After your shower, you got dressed in peace and meandered out of your room to find Sungchan and Woobin by the front door. Woobin hadn’t quite mastered shoelaces, so your husband was helping him out. You slipped your own shoes on, and grabbed a pair of sunglasses on the table by the front door.

“Alright, ready?” Sungchan asked, having finished with your son’s shoes.

“Ready!” Binnie chirped.

You offered a thumbs-up, silently reaching to unlock your front door. Woobin went out first, eagerly bounding down the steps of your front porch. You followed after him onto the sidewalk as you listened to Sungchan lock up behind you, then catch up to the two of you with just a few large strides. The sun outside was painfully bright, even with your sunglasses on, and as you held up one hand to cast a shadow over your eyes, you reached your other out to grab Sungchan’s hand. He held yours firmly, even as you squinted and winced against the light, nearly missing a step when you walked in a brighter patch between shadows of trees, keeping you upright and on the paved path.

Woobin was just a couple steps in front of you, seemingly having a great time. He was talking to himself, interspersed with some singing, and of course pointing out anything he found remotely interesting to the both of you.

“Snail!” He yelled out enthusiastically, pointing to said small creature on the ground.

“Cool, buddy,” Sungchan responded encouragingly.

“Worm!”

“I see. Careful, we don’t want to step on him. He’s using the sidewalk too.”

That made Woobin giggle, giving the worm a wide berth as he stepped around it. You stepped over it.

The boy suddenly gasped, and stopped in his tracks as he pointed to a flower in one of your neighbors’ gardens. “Butterfly! Mommy, do you see it?”

You squinted in the direction he was pointing, finally seeing which one he was indicating. A dark butterfly on a bright yellow flower. “Yeah, Binnie, I see it. That’s a swallowtail butterfly.”

“Swallowtail butterfly,” he repeated, slowly to make sure he was pronouncing it right.

“That’s right.” You patted his head with your free hand.

“What other kinds of butterflies are there?” He asked as you continued your walk.

“Oh, lots,” you mused. “Your dad might know a butterfly expert, you know.”

He looked up at Sungchan with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Yeah, Dr. Hwang, one of my co-workers, she’s an entomologist.”

Your son furrowed his brows in concentration. “Entee— enah— innamolologiss.”

“Come on, let’s sound it out, bud: En,” Sungchan talked him through it. Despite his earlier teasing of you reading Breton lai to your son, your husband was just as much to blame for Woobin’s inflated vocabulary, always taking the time to teach him lengthy scientific terms for things.

“En.”

“Tah.”

“Tah.”

“Mol.”

“Mol.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.”

“Gist.”

“Gist.”

“Entah.”

“Entah.”

“Molo.”

“Molo.”

“Gist.”

“Gist.”

“Entomologist.”

“Enamolgist.”

“Yeah!” Your husband beamed, holding up his hand for a high five.

“What’s an enamolgist?” Woobin asked.

“A scientist that studies bugs. Like butterflies.”

“Butterflies aren’t bugs!” He insisted.

“They are.”

“But how can they be bugs? They’re butterflies!”

Sungchan laughed. “When you meet Dr. Hwang, you can ask her and she’ll explain it. She can also tell you all about all sorts of butterflies. Okay?”

“Your dad studies fish, remember?” You added. “Way different than bugs and butterflies.”

“And you study books!” Woobin said. “And stories! And reading! And writing!”

“That’s right.” You chuckled fondly. “Way, way different than bugs or butterflies or fish.”

By the time you got back to your house, you could barely open one eye enough to navigate the steps and get through the front door. It felt like you were being stabbed in your left eye, the pain shooting back through the entire left side of your head, and you patted Sungchan’s arm before wordlessly heading off towards your room. You beelined for your bathroom, knocking back another dose of the rescue medication you had in there.

As you clutched your eye with one hand and gripped the bathroom counter tightly with the other, the door was pushed ajar. You quickly went to drop your hand and throw on a smile, then saw it was Sungchan, who put another tablet into your hand, your second rescue medication in the dining room.

“Thanks, baby,” you mumbled, taking that one as well.

He sighed, but said nothing else as he rested a hand on your back. You covered both of your eyes as you turned into his chest, feeling when your fingers quickly turned moist. You took deep, shaking, quiet breaths. One of Sungchan’s hands cradled the back of your head while the other slowly rubbed up and down your back.

“Eye mask?” He murmured, referring to the cooling eye mask you kept in the fridge to help with migraine pain. It could also be microwaved if you wanted it warm instead.

“What’s Binnie doing?” You sniffed.

“Picking a movie for me and him. You’re going to lay down. Do you want your eye mask?”

“Yes, please.”

And so Sungchan grabbed the mask from the fridge for you as you crawled back into bed, handing you your earplugs from your nightstand drawer first.

You tried to refuse, eyes drifting towards your bedroom door. “No, but—”

“I’ve got him, hon.” He opened the case and pushed the earplugs into your hand. “You’ve done plenty, Supermom. Okay?”

You nodded slowly, pushing the earplugs in one at a time. He helped you adjust the eye mask, then pulled the covers up over you. You felt as he stood up from the bed and gave one final pat to your arm.

You woke up to find that the medication and nap had taken the edge off the migraine, at least. There was still a dull ache in your head, and you felt like shit, but it wasn’t the worst that you’d ever felt. You pulled the room-temperature mask off your face and set it on your nightstand before rolling over, fully intending on burying your face in your pillow and going back to sleep if you could.

You weren’t expecting to see Sungchan lying next to you on top of the covers, hand tucked under his cheek. His eyes were open, watching you.

“Hi, Channie,” you said quietly, taking your earplugs out and setting those aside as well.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, voice barely above a murmur.

“I’m alright. Still hurts, but not as bad,” you replied, reaching a hand out towards him. He grasped it, gentle but steadfast. “Where’s Binnie? Down for his nap?”

“Snacktime. I called in backup, though, my dad’s here.”

“I’m—” You stopped yourself before you could apologize, biting down on your lip before mustering up a smile. “Thank you. For taking care of me and buddy today. More than you usually do.”

“I wish I could’ve done more for you, baby,” he sighed, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand.

“You were making sure our son was okay. He can’t use the microwave, I can manage my ten-thousandth migraine on my own.”

“But you shouldn’t have to.”

“It’s not your fault,” you insisted. “You’ve been Superdad and Superhusband today. So relax, okay?”

“Alright.”

“How long is your dad staying?”

“He brought ingredients to make dinner. My mom’s coming when she gets off her shift.”

You smiled fondly at your in-laws’ kindness, and lifted the blankets up. “Five more minutes?”

Sungchan joined you under the covers, immediately wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your neck. You held him close, savoring his familiar warmth and the comforting pressure of him laying practically on top of you. You curled your fingers in his hair, resting your cheek against the crown of his head.

“Ten,” he mumbled against your skin. “Ten more minutes.”

“Hey Professor, mind if we hang out in here?” A familiar pair of heads had poked into your office, two freshmen Raptors players who definitely weren’t in any of your classes this semester.

“Is there somewhere you should be?” You asked, gesturing to the couch across from you nevertheless. It made no difference to you if two adults decided to skip their college classes, you were more-so just curious. “It’s a bit early to be getting to campus if you don’t have a class…”

“Well, we usually have Coach Jung’s class right now, but he just sent out an email cancelling,” the left wing explained, dropping into one corner as his friend splayed out across the remaining two-thirds.

“And our next class is in this building, so we thought we’d see if you were in,” the right wing finished.

“What class do you have in this building?” You tried to keep a casual tone as you checked your phone for any missed calls or text from Sungchan that would clue you into why he’s suddenly missed his class this morning.

As they proceeded to rant about the 2000-level Grammar class they had signed up for in order to fulfill their Gen Ed requirements, mistakenly thinking it would be easy since it was only a 2000-level, you sent a quick text to your husband.

[you: just checking in. did drop-off go okay?]

Woobin once again slept in yours and Sungchan’s room last night, and though he was a little confused at his dad taking him to school today since you usually dropped him off on Mondays, there was no meltdown when you gave him his goodbye kiss. So far so good, until now.

“What classes are you teaching in the fall, Professor?” The left wing asked you.

“Oh, uh, I’ve got Lit Theory, Direct Study, and I’m teaching a Special Topics section in Contemporary Short Stories. We’ll mostly be focusing on magical realism, surrealism, that sort of thing,” you started rambling, still half-focused on your dark phone screen, waiting for it to light up with Sungchan’s reply. “I know neither of you are Lang majors, but it’s my first Special Topics class and I enjoyed having both of you last semester, so if you have a free slot in the fall, I’d appreciate it if you considered enrolling.”

“Hell yeah, that sounds cool,” the right wing grinned. “Is it going to be like, a bunch of essays, though?”

“There will be a final paper, but it will be mostly Socratic discussion, and the occasional short, one-page synthesis assignment,” you clarified. “No tests, no quizzes. As long as you read and participate enthusiastically, you’ll pass.”

“We’ll be there!” The left wing promised. “We loved your intro class. You’re like, one of the coolest professors ever, that’s why we asked.”

“I’m honored, boys, thanks,” you laughed.

“Coach Jung is cool too,” said the right wing, then he exchanged a mischievous grin with his friend. “But you’re cooler.”

“Oh, I’ve known that for quite some time, I assure you.”

“How long have you two been together?” The left wing asked curiously.

You twisted your wedding ring contemplatively. “Let’s see… We’ve been married for seven years, we started dating our senior year of undergrad, so… fifteen years? Yeah, it’ll be fifteen years this fall.”

“Wow. I didn’t even think you were that old.”

“What? Fifteen?” You chuckled, eyes straying to the picture on your desk of you, Sungchan, and Woobin from the party you held to celebrate his adoption being finalized.

“I mean, like, old enough to have been in college fifteen years ago.”

“Surprise.”

“So you met in senior year—”

“No,” you shook your head. “That’s when we started dating. We met freshman year. First day of classes, actually, if I’m remembering correctly. In one of Dr. Son’s classes, so that tells you how long he’s been teaching.”

“Wow, he needs to retire,” the right wing snorted. “And I mean that with his best intentions at heart.”

“Why are you two so interested in me and Coach Jung all of a sudden?” You questioned, tilting your head and folding your hands over your lap.

“Well, we see you and Coach Jung and our MVP all the time but, you know, we don’t know a lot about you, outside your jobs,” the left wing shrugged. “You two seem cool, you know?”

You couldn’t help but laugh again. “Where are you guys from?”

As they informed you that they were both from the same small town about five hours away, you nodded in understanding. Freshmen that hadn’t seen their parents since the holidays, a break that was only made even shorter by their being on the hockey team.

“You two are more than welcome to pop into my office whenever you happen to see me in here,” you reassured them. “And talk to me about whatever you want.”

By the time the players had left to go to class, you still hadn’t heard back from Sungchan, and you had your own class to teach. It was your Direct Study, which usually met in your office anyway since it was just two students. The conversation in this one was student-led, so as they evaluated what they thought the developing themes in the book were, bouncing ideas off each other, you tried to listen and engage earnestly, even as you stayed painfully aware of the lack of response from your husband.

You never forced them to stay for the entire block of time allotted for the class if the conversation didn’t need it, so when they were about done only forty-five minutes into the hour and a half block, you gave them the next chunk of the reading to do before next week, and bid them farewell. Then immediately left your office.

The Science building was across from the Lang building, and you headed for Sungchan's office first. If he was teaching a class right now, you knew it would be an Intro class and, therefore, most likely in one of the large lecture halls on the first floor, but you weren’t going to interrupt his lecture because he hadn’t replied to your message. You just wanted to check to see if he'd made it to campus yet. His office was on the second floor, past some of the teaching laboratories.

When you tested the door handle, you found it unlocked, and pushed it open. His desk lamp was on, illuminating the pictures he had there: one from your wedding day, another of the three of you from a hockey game, decked out in blue and orange Raptors gear, and a third of just you and Woobin from when he was a baby, the exact occasion you couldn’t pin down. He wasn’t in the office, but his backpack was on his desk chair, so he had at least made it to campus.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, and you looked to see that it was Sungchan calling.

“Hey, Channie,” you answered.

“Hi, hon,” he sounded a little out of breath. “Where are you?”

“Uhm, I’m actually at your office. I got worried…” You admitted.

“Oh, okay. We went to your office but couldn’t find you. Stay put, we’ll come to you.”

“Okay—Wait, ‘we?’”

“Yeah, uh, buddy’s with me,” he sighed shortly. “We'll be there in just a sec, okay? Bye, love you.”

And he hung up.

When Sungchan’s office door opened a few minutes later, Woobin was, in fact, the first thing that came through, immediately running to wrap his arms around your legs. Sungchan stepped through the door a moment later, looking disheveled as he took your son’s small backpack off his shoulder and put it on one of the chairs across from his desk.

“Hey, Binnie,” you greeted your son brightly, despite your alarm and confusion, hugging him back tightly. The harrowed look on Sungchan’s face was enough to let you know that this was something for you two to talk about later.

“Mommy!” Woobin was practically buzzing with excitement. “Mommy, guess what!”

“What, buddy?”

“Daddy said I can meet an enamolgist today!”

“Wow! That’s awesome,” you patted his head. “Did he say when Dr. Hwang was available?”

“I was just about to call her,” Sungchan answered. “We wanted to find you first, hon.”

“I saw some cool posters in the hall, Binnie,” you let go of your son and offered him your hand. “Let’s go look at those while your dad makes his call, okay?”

“Okay!” He took your hand and let you guide him out into the hall, shutting the office door behind you.

The first one you found was a diagram of a wetland ecosystem, taller than your head, and spanned the entire wall between two offices.

“I can’t see it,” Woobin craned his neck to look at the poster. “Can you pick me up, please?”

You hoisted him up by his underarms and onto your hip. “Is that better?”

“Thank you!” He then pointed to an animal. “What’s that?”

“Here, it’s labeled. Do you see?” You showed him the black line connecting the animal to its common name and scientific name. “Can you read that first one?”

“Spotted… sal… uh… man… der?”

“Spotted salamander, good!” You confirmed.

“So this one is a…” he pointed to another animal, following the line to its name. “Green… ana… con… da. Green anaconda!”

“That’s right, Binnie.”

The two of you were still on that same poster sounding out animal names, when Sungchan poked his head out from his office just a few doors down. Woobin was in the middle of a name, so you indicated to your husband to wait a moment before listening to the boy continue to sound it out. Sungchan walked over to join the two of you as Woobin had just finished his first attempt at the bird’s name.

“That was a good guess, it does look like the words ‘her’ and ‘on,’” you said. “But the animal is pronounced heron.”

“Hair-in,” he echoed slowly.

“You got it. Can you put it together now?”

“Great blue heron.”

“Good job, buddy,” Sungchan praised him.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi, buddy.”

“Did you get a hold of Dr. Hwang?” You asked.

“Yes, she’s in her office right now and has some spare time.”

“Yay!” Your son cheered, starting to wriggle out of your grip.

The three of you trekked to the third floor to get to Dr. Hwang’s office. Dr. Hwang was an older woman who welcomed you in warmly.

“Daddy says butterflies are bugs,” Woobin said very seriously. “Is that true?”

Dr. Hwang looked at Sungchan very judgmentally, before turning her attention down to your son. “Butterflies are insects, yes.”

“But how? They’re butterflies!”

“They’re just one kind of insect,” she explained patiently. “What’s your favorite fruit?”

“Mm… Grapes!”

“Are grapes fruit?”

“Well, yeah.”

“And fruit is food, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Grapes are a type of fruit, and fruits are a type of food. Does that make sense so far?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s the same thing with butterflies. Butterflies are a type of insect, and insects are a type of animal.”

He seemed to think very hard about this for a moment, then nodded satisfactorily. “How many kinds of butterflies are there?”

“There are about 180,000 different species of butterflies and moths. That we know about.”

His eyes practically bulged out of his head. “Woah…”

“Would you like to see some?”

“Can I?” He then looked back at you and Sungchan. “Please? Can I?”

“Of course, buddy,” Sungchan smiled, then looked up at his colleague. “If it’s alright with you, Dr. Hwang, my wife and I are going to step out for a moment.”

She waved you off. “Of course, go ahead.”

“Thank you,” you nodded to her gratefully. Patting your son’s head, you informed him, “Daddy and I will be right back, buddy.”

As Dr. Hwang directed Woobin’s attention to a book, you and Sungchan stepped out into the hall, shutting the door behind you quietly.

“What happened?” You asked him fervently.

Sungchan pulled you a little further down the hall, keeping his voice low when he finally spoke. “He was doing fine until we got into his classroom. Got his arms around my neck, wouldn’t let go… Kid’s strong for a five-year-old.”

“Two of your students ended up in my office after you cancelled class.”

“Yeah, I stayed for the first thirty minutes, to try to ease him into it, but then when I tried to leave again, the same thing happened except worse… Kept asking for you.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It was too much of a distraction, we had to leave. He didn’t stop crying until I told him we were going to see you.”

You nodded in understanding, not upset with Sungchan in the slightest. If you’d been in his position, you probably would’ve done the same thing, if not, gave in even sooner.

“Do you think…” You bit the inside of your cheek. “Do you think we should take him to see someone? See if it’s a phase or… something more serious? I mean, even if it is a phase, he’s clearly getting really upset about something…”

“Yeah, I think that’d be a good idea,” Sungchan agreed.

Dr. Kwon Hayoung was a younger woman, definitely no older than yourself and Sungchan if you had to guess, her posture relaxed as she sat in her mustard yellow armchair. Her entire office was colorful, filled with various toys, whimsical artworks, and plush, patterned pillows on the couch that you were currently sitting on with your husband. After lots of research, various recommendations from friends and colleagues at work, and an entire two weeks of Woobin being attached at the hip to one of the two of you, you had finally settled on taking him to Dr. Kwon. After an initial interview with all three of you, then just you and Sungchan (a task that was aided by the fact that Sungchan’s father had come along and occupied him in the meantime), she then evaluated your son, which required several breaks for him to see you. But finally, she had finished with him, and he went back to play with his grandpa while Dr. Kwon brought you and Sungchan back once again.

“There is nothing serious for us to be concerned about,” Dr. Kwon declared, her tone calm.

You and Sungchan exchanged an uncertain look. You cleared your throat, “Uhm…”

“I don’t mean to downplay the problems that your family is facing right now,” the child psychologist promised, readjusting her lavender purple frames on the bridge of her nose. “However, Woobin is developing typically for kids his age, which is good news.”

“Then why is he…?” Sungchan trailed off, his question obvious. Why is he doing all of this? So suddenly?

“You have been very open about him being adopted.”

“Yeah, we never wanted to hide it from him,” you said. “He even gets two parties every year, his birthday party, and we celebrate the day his adoption went through.”

“But he knows that he’s our son and we love him,” Sungchan added, shifting forward as his voice carried a slight edge to it.

“Of course, of course he knows that.” Dr. Kwon’s tone hadn’t lost any of the gentle kindness she began the conversation with. “Both you and he told me about another kid, in his class, who was not so understanding.”

“Yeah, it made buddy a little upset, but he seemed fine by the next day.”

“I do think he was fine. Until he had a recent dream, about falling asleep in his bed and waking up in someone else’s home,” she informed you, and you felt a harsh twinge in your chest as you realized that your son hadn’t even told you about that. “He’s not afraid that you two will give him away so much as he’s afraid that somebody will come take him from you.”

“Oh…” You breathed out, feeling yourself grimace as you thought about how scared your son must have felt since then.

Sungchan reached over to hold one of your hands. “What can we do? What are our options?”

“We can work on his anxiety, coping skills, attachment in sessions. Since it’s affected your daily lives as a family so much, I recommend starting at three times a week, and we can adjust from there. I would like both of you to attend as many as possible.”

“Of course,” you nodded quickly, squeezing Sungchan’s hand tight.

That night, after helping Woobin brush his teeth with his toothbrush and toothpaste that had migrated into your bathroom, you took your nighttime medication, then tucked it back away into the childproofed medicine cabinet. Sungchan was doing some late-night grading in your home office, but you had a five-year-old to put to bed on time, so you had started on that without him.

Woobin clambered up into his place in the middle of the mattress first, and you lifted up the comforter and blankets to slip in next to him. With the thoughts of his nightmare still weighing heavily on your heart, you called out to him quietly, “Binnie? Can Mommy cuddle with you?”

“Of course, Mommy!” He chirped, immediately taking it upon himself to scramble over to you under the covers and wrap himself around your middle like a koala.

You laughed, enveloping him in your arms to hold him to you even tighter. Pressing a long kiss to the top of his head, you then tucked him under your chin. Yeah, this was exactly what you needed. You had his next appointments set up with Dr. Kwon, and she hadn’t told you to change anything you were doing yet. So tomorrow you’d continue your new routine of bringing your son to campus with you and passing him between you and Sungchan—usually whoever was in office hours had him, or if you were both in a class, whoever had the smaller class. You had tried dropping him off at your parents’ house once, but as soon as he realized that you were leaving without him, he wouldn’t let go of your leg, his eyes started watering, and you immediately folded. Preschool was a no-go, as he had a soft, indefinite ban for the foreseeable future until he was no longer going to be a disruption. They were continuing to hold his spot at no charge to you, at least. It had been stressful, and there hadn’t been very long stretches of time in the past two weeks where you had been apart from him, but there wasn’t once where you ever felt resentful towards your son himself, you realized. He’s what you did this all for.

“I love you, Binnie,” you murmured, kissing his hair again. “Love you so much.”

“I love you so much too, Mommy,” Woobin mumbled back sleepily, his words punctuated by a yawn.

You smiled fondly, listening as the sounds of his breathing evened out as he drifted off to sleep. Not much later, and your bedroom door slowly creaked open. Sungchan quietly went about his own nighttime routine before finally shutting the bathroom light off and closing the door behind him. You were a little confused when he walked over to your side of the bed, though, thinking your son’s sippy cup that was sitting there might’ve needed a last-minute refill. Then you felt him raise the sheets and start squeezing himself in behind you.

“You’re going to fall off, Channie,” you whispered, trying to bite back the giggles bubbling up in your chest.

“Then make some room, baby,” he responded, his quiet words even more hushed by the fact that he was pressing his face into your shoulder as he readjusted.

You gently scooted further in on the bed, trying to jostle the child attached to you as little as possible, not wanting to wake him so soon after he’d fallen asleep—if he woke up now, he’d definitely be awake for another three hours at least. Sungchan scooched with you, molding himself around you after you’d gotten settled in again, and burying his face in the back of your neck. He slung an arm over your waist, his hand finding one of yours where it was resting on Woobin’s back, slotting his fingers with yours.

After some time, when you were sure your son was deep asleep, Sungchan spoke again, “I had a student ask me what death of the author is.”

You craned your neck to try to look at his face out of the corner of your eye. “In your bio class?”

“Yeah, I thought it was weird too.”

“Are they… in one of my classes? And thought that you would know because we’re married? And knew that we’re married?” Obviously there were pictures of you, Sungchan, and your son in his office, but since classrooms and labs were shared spaces at the university, professors didn’t decorate or keep personal belongings in there. The average Intro to Bio student wouldn’t have any reason to know that you and Sungchan were married just from attending lecture.

“That was my first thought, too. Turns out he had you last semester.”

You scrunched your nose in confusion. “Then why…?”

“Apparently, in your class, he met this cute Lang major, but she didn’t seem too impressed with him. Thinks he’s a dumb jock.” Sungchan’s chest vibrated with his chuckle.

“Because he doesn’t know what death of the author is? Is he failing your bio class, perchance?”

“No.”

“Did she actually tell him she thought he was a dumb jock, or is he just assuming?” You asked pointedly.

“He seemed pretty convinced.” Your husband grinned and nudged you with his shoulder. “Sound familiar?”

“What are you—Oh my god, you think that sounds like us?” You rolled your eyes. “I did not think you were a dumb jock! I just… didn’t think about you really at all.”

“Ouch.” His pout was still very visible in the dim light of your bedroom.

“Not my fault you opted to pine for three years like a loser instead of talking to me.”

“Words hurt, you know.”

You shook your head. “So were you able to tell him what death of the author is?”

“No. But he’s apparently trying to read along from your Brit Lit I syllabus.”

“So that’s why you knew Bisclavret the other day. He won’t get very far on his own, even translated, Old English can be pretty awkward to get through,” you warned.

“Yeah… So do you have any study guides?” He batted his eyelashes at you, and you once again rolled your eyes.

“Seriously? You should tell him to talk to her like a person. He won’t get anywhere if he’s constantly thinking of both of them one-dimensionally. Him as the dumb jock, and her as the smart Lang major,” you scoffed. “Sound familiar?”

“That’s a no on the study guide?”

“The Internet exists. And you didn’t get me by making me swoon over your knowledge of Breton lais.”

“True.” He clicked his tongue in the back of his mouth. “I’ll ask him if she has any chronic illnesses to tend to.”

“You didn’t stay with me during the Halloween party as some elaborate scheme to get me to date you. At that point, you still thought you were friendzoned. If my memory serves me.” You pointed out.

He yawned and nuzzled his cheek against your shoulder. “Perhaps…”

“You stayed with me because you’re a good, sweet guy, always have been,” you continued, taking your hand that he had been holding back to reach behind you and poke his leg. “That’s how you got me.”

“Aw, you still know how to my heart flutter, baby. Even after fifteen years.”

You smiled to yourself as he kissed your shoulder. “Yeah, you’re easy.”

“And still know how to wound me with so few words.”

“I love you, too, Channie,” you chuckled softly, taking his hand again under the covers.

“Only this easy for my girl.” He murmured, dropping another kiss to your shoulder. “Love of my life.” Another kiss, this one on your cheek. “Can’t wait to spend the rest of our lives together.”

“We’re already married,” you said humorously, wiggling your entwined left hands pointedly.

“So? I can only talk about spending the rest of our lives together before we sign the marriage papers? Can’t do it while we’re actually living that life together and raising our son?”

“Well when you put it like that…” You turned your head to catch his lips with yours in a soft, sweet kiss.

Sungchan hummed into the kiss, pecking the corner of your mouth when you pulled away.

“I love you, my Sungchannie,” you professed as you’d done thousands of times before, each time thinking that you could never be more in love with this man than you were in that moment, and yet each time it felt like your love had only grown exponentially since the last time you said it.

“I love you too. My girl,” he replied, resting his forehead against yours. You didn’t need him to speak to know what he was thinking. The two of you were going to get through this. Even though right now, you don’t know exactly how, you would.

➠ series masterlist | blog masterlist

[schizoidcel]

Hii! Saw that you’ve opened requests for project moon. What about Sinclair x reader (original universe or mirror) where reader was sure that Sinclair hates them. But Sinclair was just shy + his menacing gaze wasn’t particularly helping. Kinda hurt - comfort. Btw have a good day!

## CINQ!SINCLAIR x READER ★☆

🤍🖤 ﹒ ENGAGEMENT . .

－ notes ̽ ۪⠀i did cinq sinclair since i think he fit lol (for the other anon who reqeusted (yk who u r) ILL GET TO IT I SWEAR m just struggling abit but with the prompt u gave vut bear with me pls♡)

︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : not proofread, MIGHT be abit the tiniest bit ooc

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : your new director lowkey scares the ever living shit out of you :heart:

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

Oh he's terrifying

You were recently promoted to south section 4, and ofcourse you heard the things you dubbed as 'rumours' about the director of the branch.

Now, not only did you think wrong, but you felt like he had something against you

Yes, you talked to him from time to time, and from the way he spoke with you and with others you gathered that he was a timid and nervous man

But it all just changed when he was lecturing people, moreso if he was in an ACTUAL duel

Seeing him in the 'training hall' trying to teach tricks and whatnot to his underlings, but ultimately he either accidently ends up being too hard on them or

Uh

Actually just that .

Frankly you were abit scared to train under him aswell

Sure, he did seem truly kind hearted ..

So why is it that whenever you felt a stare on you, you felt like you were having a fight to the death with the south section 1 fixers

UEAG anyway

Soon enough, it was your time to train with him! Yay!

He had his eye on you (very obviously) and was excited to have a friendly training session with you<3

But you were (also very obviously) scared and reluctant around him, sighing alot

Which made the maneven more nervous 😭😭

He's used to people being frightened while getting trained by him but he genuinely thought he was nice with you so far and that you two had something going

Did he do something wrong. Why are you scared. He dosen't mean to bite he swears

He tries to distract himself from the fact you might REALLY REALLY not like him by straying off course and teaching you random ass association battle tricks everyone should actually be aware of (even though suprisingly you learnt some new stuff)

He can't properly express his emotions, it's a thing he struggles with

After interacting with him you can pick up that he's just a demure young man, one you'll have to be patient with

You'll have to reassure him that he's fine and he'll go back to normal! (as normal as he can got back to)

────────── ♱ ❜ 🖤 . .

"G-good day, [name]! How are you?" The child asked, looking at them with curiosity. "...Well, you know, same old, same old... Ha. Ha. Haha." Some thoughts suicide got into their head for a moment.

However, the child didn't seem to care. Infact, he was ecstatic at the answer he had been given. "That's good to hear..! Uhm, as you're new, I'll make sure to teach you alot." He said with a smile.

Yet again, he wasn't entirely stupid. He could tell that everyone he duelled against had always been in a state of distress, and this time was no different.

What was different was the fact that the child had a newfound determination of trying his best to make sure the same incident dosen't happen again.

He had been wanting to talk to the newly promoted fixer for awhile now. At times, he would think of trying to figure out what to say that would be a good enough excuse to approach them.

He did not find this excuse, and kept staring at them for a long period of time accidently, which in turn inevitably brought upon a wrong idea in the head of his person of interest.

Sure, he was awkward, but he tried, and he found this a good oppurtunity. The child didn't want to give up.

"Alright, so..." He started to raise his voice just a little bit, not wanting to come off as too uncertain. "First, it's important to know the right way to yield the sword, but I'm aware you know that..." He chuckled abit, trying to lighten up the mood. He was in thought for abit, then began speaking once more.

"'Disengagement' is a commonly used tactic, as it is also very effective if executed correctly. I assume you also know of that?" The child questioned and proceeded to draw his sword.

The other child, dubbed [name], nodded their head. "I do." Although, the voice suggested more of a 'I don't actually know, but please let me be.' tone rather than a 'I know, and you don't have to teach me.' tone.

"Well, I would still like to teach you it in a more proper way. As your new director!" A sigh came out of the newly promoted Fixer's mouth, which made the child awkwardly chuckle. "...Uhm..." He thought he might've done something wrong. Not just in the interaction happening right now, but also the several times he attempted to be friendly with his person of interest, who now looked completely done and unnerved infront of him. Yet he couldn't focus on that right now. "Alright, let me demonstrate --"

The childs underling looked abit more stressed after he uttered those words, but they drew their sword aswell regardless.

The child proceeded to instruct his trainee.

It was obvious that both of them were in completely different physical spaces.

"'Pistol Grip', [name]." "Like this?" "N... No. Wait, let me -" "Ouch." "- Sorry!"

What was also kind of obvious was that they were in completely different mental spaces.

'Oh god. I can't keep going on like this... The awkwardness is killing me. I feel like I'm doing something wrong.' 'I wonder if director Quixote is singing in the Caféteria again...'

However, as both the children were distracted on the training field, an accident was sure to arrive soon.

Unfortunately, the director almost completely pierced through the shoulder of the one he trained. "Shit--" "O-oh dear..! [Name], I'm- I'm so sorry! I was..." The child panicked as he dropped his weapon and walked towards his trainee for today with haste, abit uncharacteristically. Thankfully, nobody really paid attention to nor noticed the both of them, due to the hall being so loud. The injured child groaned abit in pain as they clutched their shoulder, which made the directors heart fill up with guilt.

"A-again, I apologize sincerely, [name]. I'm just... Really distracted, I don't know how to explain it." He did, actually. He just really didn't want to because pf embarassment. "Maybe we should cancel the training session, I'll get you some assistance --"

"O-oh, director, don't worry about it." "..?" "It's alright. I know how you feel, actually. So I can understand. Cancelling the session really isn't necessary, It was probably my fault for treating this whole encounter weirdly in the first place... Maybe you in general, too. So I should apologize... Sorry."

The child looked abit taken aback from that statement, but shook his head and let out a relieved chuckle, "It's alright, please don't worry... I'm, uh, glad we resolved this." He smiled, a smile unusually soft and heart felt, especially coming from this one.

"Then, I hope you can come to me abit more in confidence if you need anything, [name]." The child seemed to have been abit more at ease now, which made him manage to speak quite normally.

He wondered if it would be considered weird to ask them to hang out later right in this moment.

"... I change my mind, can we bandage this?" "Ah, but ofcourse..!"

HEARTS FOR UR REQUEST <3 i had fun writing this hes so pathetic lol. i added a scenario cus i didnt rlly know how to do the hcs (ALSO SORRY IF HES OOC? im not the biggest sinnie fan so i mightve messed up oops

on another note .. i wanted to use the narrator for the id uptie stories cus i feel like it'd be neater that way. so i didnt really describe every single emotional change but im sure yall can like figure out where and what

ૢ་༘࿐ thank you for reading ! Ⳋ᧙

[breakyourrxles]

『atarashī 』 ; 07

❝ injudicious ❞ | mlist  ｡

student!hongjoong x fem!reader, husband!yeosang x fem!reader — drama, dark romance, mystery, heavy sexual content [6k wc] ch cws: smut, a lot of lying, public sex, jealousy, becoming aware of the potential consequences of our actions, bff!seonghwa does not deserve this shit!

A month comes and goes in a flash, with no help from the husband meant to aid in putting the pieces of your marriage back together.

Yeosang's job ramps up again. Normal, small breaks that allow for him to make time to come home even briefly now forgone entirely and made to jet set from old work sites to the new without so much as a breath of air inside of your marital home. It makes you sad, you miss him. Dinner for one is so miserable in an empty home made much too large to accommodate only one.

A problem that's made easy to forget, however, by the smoothing of Hongjoong's soft palms across your skin, lips that insist and devour you each and every time. How simple it is to moan his name and forget the others.

When you're not with Hongjoong, you want to be, but you want to go off of him too. A unique push and pull of complicated feelings; when you're away from him the thoughts creep back in, about how you shouldn't be doing this, about how you have to stop. 

But all it takes to quell that is one perfectly landed touch from the man in question, and then you're unraveling for him all over again, like every time before.

The sex would be one thing, if that was always how it remained. Over time, nights are spent in bed talking about the future, about the past—about a different life and a different world if things were just that. Hongjoong often idly drawing shapes into your bare flesh as you reminisce about your family, when they were alive, when Aurelia was busy and booming and not meant to be your responsibility entirely.

His lips ghost over your shoulder from behind as he listens to you speak about all of the aspirations you used to have. Don't have any longer. Can't have now.

"Why don't you still paint?" he asks one night, lights of his apartment dim and the gentle flicker of the television doing the majority of the work to illuminate the space. "You know all the right people, you could really make something of it. Of yourself."

You shrug slightly. "Gave it up a long time ago."

"For him?"

Turning just a bit, you glance back at Hongjoong from over your shoulder. Watch him press a light kiss to your shoulder again, pleading silently to not have to answer that question out loud.

So, you don't.

"I'm obsessed with you," Hongjoong whispers into you, much later in the evening and firmly settled between your legs. Just where you want him. "Don't think I could ever go off of you."

Not sure I could ever go off of you, either.

"We shouldn't be here."

Your words are hushed, under your breath and only meant for the ears that reside just beside you. A hand slips between your thighs to grab at the skin there—no other point to it besides simply reminding you that he is there.

As if you could forget.

Numerous patrons walk by your booth and you watch each and every one of them carefully, eyes lingering as if anticipating the proverbial hammer to drop with the next one that intends on making their way by. The truth is that nobody is paying attention to you—not especially, at least—and it's only when one of Hongjoong's ill-timed touches jars a sound from you that you may catch the glance of another who does not know either of you, nor has any intention of doing so.

It's something like horny teenagers who can't keep their hands to themselves; no private place to feel the skin of the other beneath their fingers and thus, public places will have to do.

Except you very much have private places to go to, and this idea being distinctly Hongjoong's for one reason or another.

"Relax," he says as you clasp a hand around his wrist and push his hand out from under your skirt. "No one is paying attention to us. No one cares."

"Still." Hongjoong nuzzles his face into your neck immediately thereafter, cuts the words off that had only just been in your throat. The breath of him tickles, and you shrink down with a smile to remove the sensitive skin of your neck from the availability of his mouth. "We're not far from the Akademiya. I have colleagues that could come here."

"Ooh," Hongjoong chides, sarcastic. "What if they see us."

Finally he settles in beside you, hands to himself but still mostly turned towards you. Boxing you in, an arm draped up over the back of the booth that the both of you sit in.

It feels too open, too on display for you, however. You have so much more to lose from being spotted here with him, like this, Hongjoong has nothing. You're not familiar with the reprimanding that a student of the Akademiya faces as a result of fraternizing with one of the staff—much less whatever grouping of people you happen to fall under—but you can't imagine it's anything close to the scrutiny that you threaten to find.

"Why did you want to come out here?"

Hongjoong smiles slightly, tongues over his teeth like he finds the question to be testing him in some way. A fight looming, but not really, not handled any differently than anything else the two of you engage in.

He leans in again, face close to yours and lips just beside your ear. "Can't I want to take you out?"

"Are we dating now?" you ask, equally sarcastic as him before. "I'm married, you know."

"So I've heard." Hongjoong's voice drops to something deeper, more enticing. The fact of the matter doesn't bother him, never has, though it's not something that you appreciate being brought up all that frequently if you're honest. For obvious reasons.

"So, are you going to get up and go home to your husband then? Or are you going to finish your drink and come home with me so I can put my hands on every inch of your body?"

Lips find your neck, and you allow yourself to melt into the feeling for a brief enough moment that you lose sight of your surroundings. Less aware, for a second pretending that what it is that you're doing and who you are doing it with is acceptable, and reveling just a bit in the ability to enjoy it outside of the confines of a closed bedroom door.

You don't wish to be with Hongjoong, nor do you wish to leave your husband. You believe that he in turn has no desire to have you for himself either. It's complicated in many ways, but relatively simple in that: you're not leaving Yeosang, nor does Hongjoong wish for you to.

But you've not yet reached a place where you can quit him, either.

Fingertips on your skin that feel just as hot to the touch as they did the first time, drunk on how dizzying it is to be wanted like this by another person. To not have been grown tired of, to still be new and exciting to someone. 

When Hongjoong's hand comes up to your face—turns your head to face his and with such ease brings the reluctance to engage with him in a public place comes crashing down with the firm press of his lips into yours—you forget everything else around you. The lounge goes quiet, and all of the other people in the room disappear.

Perhaps only to you, however; and your presence to others? Still very much seen.

Rushing down the sidewalk on a windy Saturday afternoon, you turn to glance at your surroundings for a brief moment—the sound of a car’s alarm firing off just within close proximity of you—attempting to gain your bearings once again in this side of the greater city area just outside of the Akademiya lines.

Walls of apartment buildings and other such shopping and eating sectioned off into unspoken districts around these parts; the hipster parts filled with thrift shops and aesthetically run down cafes, the luxury parts often frequented by the students whose parents have paid their whole way, the environmental interest types—none too fond of the other groups and their willingness to partake in leathers and furs.

There are offshoots of each that settle within, and Hongjoong sits somewhere on the axis of hipster-luxury. A man with money, though you're not entirely sure about the how or why of that. Maybe you should ask. You don't know if you're allowed to ask.

Hongjoong spends much of your time together asking about you, finding out about you, enthralled by everything it is that comes together and creates you. Sometimes it even feels as if he knows just a tiny bit more than he lets on, but asks anyway—questions that couldn't possibly come from nowhere, needing some form of place to manifest from. A starting point.

Not that it matters to you, not that any of that matters to you now.

With your bag clutched to your side, you stop in front of the apartment building that you've grown so accustomed to by this point. The shoddy door in the front that's seen its fair share of graffiti art over the years and one of the six window panels at the front broken—you take a step forward to make your entrance.

"Hey!"

But your heart immediately jumps into your throat at the sound. You know the voice, know the word coming from that voice so well that it's etched into your memory for the rest of your life. Absolutely no way you could be mistaken, and so instead you put all of your effort into calming your nerves enough to be able to handle what it is that is soon to come, because there's no getting out of it. This is your reality now.

You turn, smile a big grin and feign shock. A different kind of shock than the one that you're actually experiencing; happiness, surprise, delight. Not horror, terror, displeasure.

Seonghwa is with someone, a friend of his you've met a couple of times out on the town. Mingi. Another tall guy, he seems to like collecting them in his off time. They're both dressed casually so not with any particular sort of business in mind, and instead of just casually passing by, your best friend settles in close—slings an arm over your shoulders and around your neck—pulls you in close like he's displaying friendship, not actually partaking in it.

"Look who we found," he says, something sly about his voice but you brush it off as you projecting your own misdoings and the knowledge of that onto him. Guilty people always think everyone else is up to no good too. "What are you doing on this side of town?"

"I could ask the same of you," you reply, groaning into the grip still. Your eyes calmly fall to the other guy. "Hey Mingi, long time."

"Nice seeing you, as always."

"We were just on our way to grab something to drink," Seonghwa says, holding you firmer in his grasp. "You should come with us since we've already caught you out here."

He finally lets you loose then and you stumble for a second before straightening up and flattening your coat with your palms. You flash him a disgruntled look which he ignores in favor of a happy smile, but awaits your reply to the offer all the same.

"Ah, I can't, I have somewhere I have to be—"

"Somewhere that can't wait twenty minutes while we sit down for a drink?"

It's only now that Seonghwa's pleasant and playful disposition falls away, though you're not entirely sure if anyone else would be able to discern the fact other than you. A man so good at playing the fence when it comes to this sort of delivery, his eyes sit onto you as if expectant, waiting for you to not only make a decision, but the correct decision.

He's not really asking you to come with them, he's informing you that you are, and part of that is because deep down he has a sneaking suspicion that he has caught you in the act of being up to no good.

And so, you have to relent.

"Yeah, it can wait twenty minutes," you finally say, glancing at Mingi again. "But I want you to know it's because I adore your lovely friend here, and it has nothing to do with a desire to spend time around you."

Seonghwa smiles, slow and calculated. "It's noted."

You send the message along to Hongjoong shortly after you are intercepted by the other two men. The cafe that you are taken to is only a stone's throw away from his apartment building anyway, thus, it's not the end of the world that you have to put off the debauchery that is meant to take place up a few flights of stairs. 

A part of you expects some kind of snappy, displeased response from your lover as a result of the mishap, but instead, he says nothing in reply.

Probably busy working, not a big deal. The three of you settle into a small table in the corner by the window and listen carefully to Mingi explain about how he actually really likes this side of town, despite the reputation that it has. Frankly, you can see the appeal, but you've always been something of the art-adjacent kind anyway.

Seonghwa slips away to the counter when your drinks are ready, and the bell to the front door rings only a second later. With your back turned towards the barista and as a result—the action—you aren't able to catch much of the goings on behind you, but what you can see Mingi's eyes lingering on someone in a way that strongly makes you believe it is not Seonghwa.

"God, he is beautiful."

You reel a little bit, because your thoughts immediately go to Seonghwa still. He's the only guy you know that's behind you, so who else could the man be referring to, and your confused and slightly disgusted visage must tell the tale rather vividly, because Mingi nods in an effort to get you to look over your other shoulder. You do, slowly, and you might be able to find the humor in the whole thing if the circumstances were just a little bit different.

"If they got more guys like him living around these parts then I'm signing a new lease today."

Standing slightly hunched over the counter—leather jacket and brown slicked back hair—you watch Hongjoong greet the barista and most probably order something, you wouldn't know, because you feel a little bit too dizzy to be focusing on the details all that much.

Seonghwa sits back at the table then, all three drinks in hand. Hongjoong looks around the place, then glances down towards you for just a second as he brings himself off of the bar and begins to make his way towards the back of the establishment.

"They didn't really have any of those little sweet drinks you like so—"

"I'm gonna run to the restroom," you say, cutting Seonghwa off and almost with a little bit too much urgency to your tone. He stops the sentence, slowly looks to you as you're already pulling yourself up from your seat. "Been out all day, haven't had a chance to go."

Neither he nor Mingi have a chance to respond before you're off and down the very same walkway.

The loud bang of the bathroom stall door hitting the wall is almost so much so that you worry it will raise suspicion outside, but can't be bothered with it enough to halt Hongjoong's mouth on your neck and hands hurriedly digging at the button sitting at the front of your jeans. He presses you against the wall, shuts and locks the door behind the two of you as if it'll make any sort of difference should anyone find their way inside of the main door, and has your pants pulled down around your thighs without giving you even a second of time to protest. As if you would.

Hongjoong turns you around, face towards the cold wall and hands up against it—fingers of one hand prying your disjointed panties away and to the side, the other fisting himself out of his own jeans. It's so quick, so easy, so intoxicating. Like everything else is about being with him.

"We could get caught," you say, a groan taking your voice at the feeling of him sliding into you with a couple of quick, shallow drives. 

When he settles into you fully buried, snaps his hips forward a few more times for good measure, the concern dies out in your throat and between your legs.

"And what if we do?"

Hongjoong asks the question lazily, like he knows that you don't have an answer for it, don't care. That must be true, because the thought of it falls away entirely to instead be fully encompassed by the feeling of him dragging inside of you with quick succession. One hand of his digs into your hips, pulling you back against him and holding your body firm in place to take him, the other sliding up to cover your mouth and the subsequent whimpers and moans that are already fast to fall from it.

"Sorry," you say, settling back into your seat at the table. "Did I miss anything?"

"We were starting to wonder if you fell in," Mingi jokes.

You laugh at the comment, body still trembling lightly from the goings on in the bathroom only moments before. A bit after the fact, you catch Mingi's eyes lingering on someone who makes their way passing along behind you, and you already know precisely who it is.

Seonghwa's eyes are set solely on you, however.

"God," the other says, still watching Hongjoong move behind you. "I might do utterly ridiculous things just to have a shot at that guy."

You know, you don't need to look behind you to figure it out, but you do so anyways to play along—glancing over your shoulder to find Hongjoong perched at the counter again and chewing on a toothpick like he's in some old western film. He must be waiting for a drink or something—you didn't really have a chance to ask.

"Yeah, I suppose I can see the appeal."

Laughable.

"You're both married," Seonghwa reminds. Firmly, too. Mingi shrugs, rolls his eyes like this other guy is just no fun at all.

"If things were different. Isn't your husband gone all of the time? You've never thought about it? Met anyone in passing that had you thinking maybe just once?"

That causes you to glance towards Seonghwa more than the other man, and he is frowning just as expected. This is meant to be a fun, light outing. It might be worth it to take some of the heat off of Mingi and partake in a little joking on the matter yourself. Besides, can Seonghwa even blame you? After everything that you've been through with Yeosang as of lately? Everything that he knows?

So, you take a slow sip of your drink finally, chuckle at the end of it before you go to speak. "I mean...I guess I have. The whole lonely housewife trope comes from somewhere after all, doesn't it?"

Mingi laughs, Seonghwa doesn't.

"Sometimes you think about it like...it's something that I could do just for me, that no one else needs to know about. Like a spin class, or tennis."

"No, having an affair is nothing like taking a spin class, or tennis." Seonghwa's looking fully at you now, and none pleased at all by the words that you are saying.

There's no humor in this to him, and you can't help but wonder why that is. Regardless, his judgment sits heavy in your chest and results in the swallowing down of any further comedy you might have expelled on the matter. Mingi catches the hint as well—eyes meeting your briefly to share a moment of feeling reprimanded before settling once again in silence and forgoing the conversation topic altogether.

"Someone always gets hurt," Seonghwa adds, a few beats of silence after the rest of the conversation has quieted down. "Everyone always thinks they have it under control, that it will come and go and it'll just be some memory that you jot down in your journal a few years down the line like it's a scene in a movie that you always wanted to live out but never could."

Someone always gets hurt.

You hear the door bell ring again, but you can't turn to check if it's Hongjoong making his exit or another random patron entering. The air is so thick with tension now, and with the words sitting so sternly at the front of you mind, you think of the man you are meant to see straight away after this excursion just that much more.

Can I go off of him? Will it ever be that simple?

The way that Hongjoong touches you, tends to you, hears you and makes you feel whole in a way that Yeosang doesn't, can't right now. You think about it with yourself in regards to the sex—what he has to offer you in the physical—but if you allow yourself to be just a little bit more honest with yourself, is that true? Is that the whole story about the affair that you're so willingly carrying out with this student of the Akademiya?

You like Hongjoong because he is addicted to you, obsessed with you in every way that makes you who and what you are. He can never get enough of you, probably couldn't go off of you if he tried.

And maybe you've let your obsession with him go just a bit too far, too. A need to be with him, to feel him, to bask in the way that he desires you so openly and endlessly. A delusional pursuit to think yourself any better off, or with any upper hand in comparison.

Mingi changes the subject, starts talking about a couple of the shops that he wants to stop into while they're on this side of town.

You nod along as if you're there, but really, you're already three floors up and locking the door of apartment 3B.

A little more than an hour after your outing with Seonghwa and Mingi, you find yourself right back in the very place you very much expected yourself to be.

This time doesn't feel as good, however.

Sitting at the edge of Hongjoong's bed, you watch him as he idly begins to disrobe in front of you; jacket first, then the lazy unbuckling of the belt that sits looped around his pants. All the while, his eyes remain on you, but you have a hard time meeting them with your own on account of the prior conversation that still weighs heavily on your mind.

Seonghwa's words sitting razor sharp and ringing in your ears.

There's a part of you that wants nothing more than for there to be no more of this. No more affair, no more Hongjoong in your life in the way that he has maneuvered. To say that it's over, be able to proudly and confidently say the words just as you have so many times before—always dying out with the simplest of touches from him, or the enticing prospect of what else you could be missing should you manage to do so.

God, you need him so badly though. How have you let it come down to this?

The excitement of anticipation paired with the already knowing; whether it's inside of this very apartment and in between these very sheets or across the street in the bathroom of a restaurant while your friends sit and wait none the wiser. Thoughts that make it feel almost impossible to ever put an end to this.

"You know," you finally say, voice quiet and even slightly humored in tone. Little force behind it at all. "We could end this now and nobody would get hurt. Go back to the way things were before we ever started this at all. Pretend this never happened."

Your eyes raise to find his, checking to see his response. An eyebrow raises on his face, small perk of the corner of his lips as he slips his shirt up and over his head and makes his way across the bedroom towards you.

"If we ended this now," he says, falling to the floor between your knees and hands finding the button of your jeans for the second time today. "Then I would get hurt."

Someone always gets hurt.

But the carefree admission is somewhat of a shock to you. Never has there ever been anything that could be taken as a romantic involvement between the two of you. It's always just sex—and sure, there is time spent outside of that—the before and after the fact where no one is in any particular hurry to escape the arms of the other.

Perhaps you have not been entirely honest with yourself in regards to what that entails to you either.

Hongjoong busies himself working your pants down your legs and as he does, you allow for your head to drop back idly to stare at the water-stained ceiling above.

"Is there no way that this comes to an end with no casualties to show for it?"

He chuckles under his breath, coming back up to smooth his palms under your blouse and pull the light fabric of that up and over your head. Stilling just in front of your face after discarding it to the floor, Hongjoong sits only inches away from your mouth—looks down at your lips briefly before finding your eyes again with the same intensity that he always seems to harbor for you.

"Not necessarily. There's a chance that we'll grow tired of each other naturally. The joys of a new experience must wear off eventually, after all. Nothing feels exciting and unexplored forever—" he quiets, kisses you deeply, passionately in the very way that always has you melting into him. Giving into him. "Not even us."

Mouth trailing down against your neck and nipping the skin carefully between his teeth, fingers make their way to nestle between your legs, so perfectly firm in just the way that he knows you like to be touched. Your eyes roll to the back of your head before closing, reveling in it all over again, and he doesn't even need to push you back against the mattress to have you finding yourself there on your own all the same.

Pants discarded at the edge of the bed, Hongjoong climbs up slowly to settle between your legs, hand fitted just where it had been before. Two fingers pressed in that have you groaning against the lips that have already made their way to kiss and bite at yours.

"I want nothing more—" you start, forced to stop by the pointed curl of his fingers inside of you in just the right way. Gasping out and digging fingernails into the bare flesh of his shoulders and back from where you lie beneath him. "Than to get tired of you. To go off of you entirely."

Hongjoong kisses you again, this time more urgency behind it, nearly sucking the air from your lungs and like it may very well be the last time. The thought of even just that awakens an ache in your chest that you've not ever wanted to grant any level of consideration to: that this is more than what it was ever intended to be.

Because once that happens, all bets are off. 

"You're free to go any time," Hongjoong says in a whisper against your mouth, though the appropriately timed press of his hips up against your own and the subsequent glide of himself inside of you once more serves as evidence enough that you've not yet managed to find a place where that's a realistic possibility. "No one is keeping you here against your will. If you don't want to see me anymore, you don't have to."

Smooth, easy drives into you—slower, more time taken in between each one that has your head swimming perhaps even more than any of the other times before. You dig your fingers into his skin like there's a chance if you don't hold onto him tightly, he might not remain there with you at all.

And you simply cannot take the chance of that happening any longer.

Hongjoong's face settles into the crook of your neck, hot breath against the shell of your ear as you curve your back up and chest against his. The friction feels white hot, one of his hands tightly gripped at your hip and the other moved upward to dig into your hair.

It feels different this time, because it feels like he's making love to you instead of fucking you.

In the aftermath of your lovemaking, Hongjoong sits against the headboard of his bed with phone in hand and a handful of sketches strewn out along the sheets. Standing in the hall of his apartment that combines the bedroom and his bathroom, you remain there and watch him in silence as he appears to once again—like so many other times before—be lost in the work that will most likely get him so far. So long as he is able to get that one chance.

He deserves it.

"I heard the class that you did that garment for is doing the first showing next week," you say, smile painted across your lips as you lean against the warped wood. "Are you pleased with the outcome?"

Hongjoong looks over at you, eyes trailing your bare legs that end only at the hem of your barely oversized shirt in a way that implies you may not be walking out of here without going another round in bed with him. Not that you mind. Eventually he stops, however, and looks towards you with full attention on the subject at hand.

"Yeah, I did a fitting with her a couple of days ago and it looked good. Took some pictures and what have you but I'll probably stop by the day of to make sure everything goes according to plan and there aren't any huge malfunctions that will need my tender love and care to deal with."

"Oh," you say aloud, and before you're able to pull it back. You know this feeling well, though not in relation to him, and not having been felt in such a long time either. Jealousy. Nasty, ugly, and with no such place that it belongs here at all. So, you make the conscious decision to try to reel it back. Be mature about this, because what other option do you have? "Good. That's good then."

Ever perceptive, Hongjoong picks up on the tonality of that oh, and much to your displeasure. "What's that? Are you jealous? Weren't you just trying to end things with me only an hour ago and now you're livid at the thought of me putting my hands on another woman?"

His voice is calm, almost playful—as if amused by the fact of the matter at hand. You wish you felt much of the same. Instead, you cross the room and cozy yourself up in bed with him, head and hand against his chest to listen to his heartbeat and feel the warmth of his skin beneath you.

Because none of that matters—this is here, and now. This is what matters.

"It's not like that," you say at first, though perhaps realizing the absurdity of the lie, you pull back on it only slightly. "Well, it's a little bit like that, I guess."

"You're married, you know."

You have no room to be feeling any kind of way about this right now.

"I do know."

Hongjoong changes positions slightly then, curls himself up and in a way that he can gaze down at you as your head slides down to rest in his lap. Fingers toying at your ear, lightly tracing the outer edge in such a way that makes you shiver.

"So then what if I were?" he asks, curious.

"I don't know," is all you can muster up at a moment’s notice, but more than anything else, you want to end the conversation as quickly as possible. You pull up and away from him, clear your throat and look down at the side of the bed for your purse which is seemingly nowhere to be found. "Do we have to talk about that?"

He smiles, softly replies. "No, we don't."

The thought of losing him, seeing him in the arms or hands of another person makes you anxious, sick to your stomach almost. A sort of fight or flight response in your body that kicks up without a moment’s notice. There's little to nothing you can do to avoid such a thing ever happening, and even still, what is your plan? To engage in this affair forever? Unrealistic. To be the one with the upper hand someday who gets to call it off when it finally suits you and you alone? Similarly so.

Palms flattening over your face, you rub harshly and sigh—hopes of expelling all of these thoughts that plague you and the negative feelings that sit festering along with them.

How ill it makes one, the obsessive need to be the favorite.

"I was thinking," you say suddenly, though Hongjoong's expression changes little and remains calm all throughout the turbulence of your emotions thus far. "About the contacts list that I have for you. Give me a couple of days and I can probably have it cleaned up and ready to go out for you. I can even make some calls in your stead to put in a good word ahead of time if that would help."

A small, slow curl of his lips, Hongjoong's head cocks to the side just as calmly before leaning forward and closing the distance between the two of you. One hand cupping at the curve of your jaw, he bothers little with pulling you towards him and instead only leans forward to push you back against the mattress once again—kisses you unrushed and deliberate in his motions, just like all of the other times.

One knee hiked up just enough for him to fit himself between, Hongjoong reaches over to the nightstand just beside you, flicks the switch so that the room dims just a tad bit further, and then all over again and just as you had wanted; all of the attention is on you once more.

"What do you do on the days that we don't meet?"

A fascinating inquiry, Hongjoong drops the whisper of words into your mouth with a gentle simplicity as he once again carves out space for himself inside of your body. This question is easy though, because you think of it with a nightmarish frequency.

Your nails dig into his back once again, feeling the divots made from the previous encounter still holding their mark there. A roll of his hips and you're whimpering under your breath, bitten back slightly, even though you revel in the feeling of having won.

"Hate myself."

a/n: we gotta get seonghwa out of there besties...also, kinda feeling like he knows but doesn't know know 🤨 like he knows something is up but can't put his finger on it. ALSO! her getting jealous about hongjoong with another girl 😭😭🤭🤭🤣🤣🙄 when the obsession is making you ILL AND CWAYZEE.

if you got thoughts hit me up in the ask box let's discuss hehe 💗 hope you enjoyed!

[honeybunniii333]

Was asked for Bedwarry angst by a friend! And I realized I've never written for them, so :P

Sorry it took literally 2 months. My lore has gotten so crazy lately.)

TW: FOR MENTIONED PET DEATH! (It's not in detail by any means. But the story is centered around Barry losing an animal. So if that's sensitive for you, I'd recommend not reading any further.)

"Blue?.." Ed's voice called out from the sliding glass door. It was soft, gentle... like he was afraid Barry would shatter if he spoke any louder. He wasn't sure why his first insinct upon finding Lily had been to call Ed... and not bury her. Maybe because he knew he couldn't do it by himself?... or at all. Ed had buried Mavis, and Emmie and Figaro... and clover, after all. Barry had simply stood there and watched him do it. He didn't even have it in him to bury them. Another way he failed those poor babies.

Ed had found his way to where Barry was hiding. Tucked against a tree staring into the window of the little house he kept the animals in. It was a shed he's fixed up, with a little fenced-in area to play outside in... painted bright colors that right now felt mocking. Ed's face was downcast, eyes somber and eyebrows furrowed with sorrow. He knelt down beside him and reached out to brush hair out of the other boys face. "Hey.. look at me...please?"

It took more effort than it should have to force his eyes up to meet those of his best friend. "There we go." Ed forced a smile, but it was twinged with a sadness they'd both grown pretty used to. That was the downside of this... the loss it came with.

"I'm sorry..." he managed to choke out, leaning forward to rest his head on the taller teens' shoulder. Edward was quick to wrap his arms around him. "And why in the world are ya sorry?" He whispered, rubbing his thumb over the stitching at the hem of his best friends shirt. Always fidgeting with something, it almost made Barry laugh... almost. "For making you do this every time... I know you hate it just as much as I do, and I sti-"

"That's my job, man." He laughed, pushing the shorter boy back a bit so that he could look over his friend, who was now looking very puzzled. Though that was nothing new, Edward Quinton was an enigma, and Barry was positive regardless of the length of their friendship. Edward was never EVER going to stop confusing him. "What do you mean your job?"

"I'm your best friend Barry, I do what you can't do for yourself." And maybe Barry preferred it that way... after all, what was Eddie if not confusing? "You're such a dork.."

"Hey, that says more about you than it does me! You're the one who keeps me around Bluebell." He huffed, shoving the other back with much less force than he normally would and getting quickly to his feet. "Now, where's the shovel at? Let's get this done so we can have a nice memorial and go watch a movie."

"Garage." And off Ed was, grabbing the shovel from the garage and beginning a task he'd grown somewhat used to over the years. Adding another tiny grave to the little cemetery. It wasn't a large cemetery, and Barry prided himself on that. He was able to patch up and nurse most animals back to health. The majority of the pets buried there had simply passed of old age or terminal illness... but a few of them hadn't, and that fact would never bother him. But Ed was there, and Ed always made things a little easier. Picking up the slack and helping with the heaviness of it all. Before he even knew it, they were both standing in front of a tiny little grave. Ed wrapped his arm around him, and they both gave their best wishes to little Lily before once again, making the somber walk back up to the back door and on inside.

Barry could still recall first meeting Ed. It was hard to forget, of course. Considering it had changed his whole life. Barry had always been alone, his parents were always gone, his older brother ignored him the majority of the time, and he wasn't very good at making friends. And he had been content with that, and then he'd been smacked upside the head with a soccer ball, and after that, he'd never been alone again. 2 years old onward, they'd been attached at the hip. And here they were 16 years and counting still spending most weekends like this. Huddled up together on Barry's couch, binging old horror movies with graphics that looked more like a highschoolers experimental art piece than certified animation. And maybe Barry preferred it that way,

[lisbeth-kk]

December moments

Prompts used in this chapter: stuck at home - season's greetings - baby please come home

If Sherlock ever gets jealous? Oh, yes! Normally he stares down or gives a venomous deduction to anyone who dares letting their eyes linger inappropriately on his John, but when John willingly contacts an old friend, Sherlock knows he needs to control his jealousy.

December 16

My fever has vanished when I wake, but I’m terribly thirsty. Even before I’ve considered calling John, he emerges in the doorway to the bedroom with a large glass of cold water. I try to speak, but he urges me to drink first. 

“Thank you, John,” I say when I’ve emptied half the glass. 

My voice is deeper than normal, and still hoarse. He greets me softly and places a palm on my forehead to check my temperature. 

“Feeling better today?” he asks. 

I nod, take his hand, places it on my cheek and lean into his palm. He bends down and kisses the top of my head. He refuses to bestow me with a kiss to my lips when I’m still ill. I huff my complaint and he pets my hair to make up for it. 

***

I’m obviously stuck at home for another day or two, which is fine, because I’m in no state to do much else than use the bathroom, make tea and doze on the sofa anyway. 

John’s writing his annual season’s greetings to major Sholto, and I can only grit my teeth and soldier on. I hate that John still corresponds with his former superior officer, despite it only happens once a year. It’s of course childish of me to be jealous of a relationship that was nowhere near what John and I have, but I can’t help the gnawing feeling in my gut. 

“Right, I’ll just pop out to post this and then I’m off to Barts to help Mike with a medical report he wanted my opinion on. He’s supposed to deliver it tomorrow. You’ll be alright now, I think. The fever is all but gone,” he says and cups my face, scanning my eyes while stroking my cheekbones. 

I close my eyes and revel in the proximity, humming appreciatively when I feel warm lips on my forehead. 

“Try to get some sleep, yeah,” John murmurs. 

The warmth I felt just now is gone within seconds of his departure. I try to sleep, I really do, but images of Sholto and John in their uniforms kissing in the Afghan desert, makes me nauseous. John is right, I do act like a child sometimes. In my defence, my brain seems to be filled with wool at the moment, and I’m unable to think rational about the matter. 

I turn on the telly, but everything reminds me of John, so I turn it off. After I’ve drunk a cup of tea, I try to enter my mind palace, but to no avail. Music, then. Since I’m too weak to play myself, I find a playlist John’s put together. It contains both classical and pop music. The classical pieces are soothing, and I must’ve dozed off, because when I wake it’s considerably darker outside. 

John’s still out and I feel sorry for myself. It doesn’t get any better when one of this Mariah Carey’s Christmas songs plays from my phone on the table. Baby please come home. What a fitting song for my mood. I reach out to skip it, but then she sings: you should be here with me, and I break down, sobbing like a child.

And that’s the state John finds me in mere minutes later. Normally I would’ve been embarrassed, but I’m beyond that and clings to him when he takes me in his arms and rocks me, whispering soothing words into my hair. 

“Shh. I’m back now. I’ll always come back to you, you know that, right? You’re my sweetheart, my good boy. How about some mulled wine to cheer you up? Would you like that?”

I love it when he does this, even if I shouldn’t. It makes me appear like a big child, but I need it. Desperately. John knows this. Knows how I crave being attended to when I’m in this vulnerable state. And there isn’t another person in the world I would want to see me in such a condition, who I can trust like I can trust John. He’s my rock, and knight in shining armour. My savour and the man I want to share the rest of my life with, whether it’ll be long or short. 

He holds me close when we go to bed, kissing and petting my hair until I fall asleep in his arms. 

Read it on AO3

@totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @safedistancefrombeingsmart @helloliriels @gregorovitchworld @sabsi221b @topsyturvy-turtely @peanitbear @raina-at

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me🎀

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a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - mentions of an affair

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 20

In my diary entry dated April 5, I wrote, “The baby’s getting more beautiful as each day goes by. Dr. Turman said she’s healthy and progressing well. Matt went with me to the pediatrician, waiting outside in the car. He also accompanied me to the obstetrician. He’s insisting I keep up with my regular checkups taking care of both of us like a doting father.

“But I’ve been lonely for him since the baby’s birth; he is still withdrawn. It’s been two months and he still hasn’t touched me. I’m getting concerned.”

The following day, I wrote, “I asked Matt if anything was wrong, if he’s lost his desire for me. I saw this made him a little uncomfortable. He told me he wants to make sure my system’s back to normal—that he doesn’t want to hurt me. That made me feel a little better.

“We brought Charlotte to our room, put her in the middle of the bed with us. She’s such a good baby—we can’t believe she’s ours.”

Matt and I started getting back into our regular routine. Since the baby was born, we were spending more time at Graceland, eventually moving all the horses back to the original stables, James selling much of the equipment and, later, the Circle G itself.

Matt accepted fatherhood with a great deal of joy, but the fact that I was a mother had a disquieting effect on him. I didn’t understand at the time, but later on I would learn more about men who are very close to their own mothers. I am no purveyor of Freudian theory. I believe when a man comes into the world, his first unconditional love is his mother. She cuddles him, gives him warmth, the breast for nourishment, and everything he needs to exist. None of those feelings has a sexual connotation. Later, when his own wife becomes a mother, this bank of memories is ripped open and his passion may dissipate.

When Matt’s mother was alive they had been unusually close. Matt even told her about his amatory adventures, and many nights when she was ill, he would sleep in her room with her. All the girls he took out seriously had to fulfill Mary Lou’s requirements of the ideal woman. And as with me, Matt then put the girl on a pedestal, “saving her” until the time was sacred and right. He had his wild times, his flings, but any girl he came home to he had to respect.

Now I was a mother and he was uncertain how to treat me. He had mentioned before we were married that he had never been able to make love to a woman who’d had a child. But throughout my pregnancy—until the last six weeks—we had made love passionately. He’d been very careful each time, afraid that he might hurt the baby or me, but he was always loving and sensitive to my needs. Now months had passed.

On April 20 I wrote in my diary: “I embarrassed myself last night. I wore a black negligee, laid as close to Matt as I could while he read. I guess it was because, I knew what I wanted and was making it obvious. I kissed his hand, then each finger, then his neck and face. But I waited too long. His sleeping pills had taken effect. Another lonely night.”

Finally, months later Matt made love to me. Before we made love, he told me I was a young mother now, that being the mother of his child is very special. But I wrote in my diary, “I am beginning to doubt my own sexuality as a woman. My physical and emotional needs were unfulfilled.”

We returned to Los Angeles, where Matt was filming Live a Little, Love a Little. He started getting into his old habits again. Frustrated, I started searching for dance classes to enroll in. I looked through the local Yellow Pages until one class caught my attention, a school for jazz and ballet not far from home.

The studio was small and unpretentious; the owner, Mark, was an extremely attractive and dynamic man of forty-five. He was an excellent dancer and a fine teacher, and by the time I left that afternoon, I had enrolled for private lessons.

Still too shy to dance in front of a group, I wanted to wait until I was sure I could keep up with the other dancers before taking a class. I began taking private lessons three times a week. Mark’s personal interest and attention were flattering, and I was soon doing lifts and jumps, things I’d never thought I could accomplish.

He said I had the potential to be a good dancer, and he pushed me to the limit. Out of frustration and pain I would want to quit. Demanding that I continue, he told me I was building character and forced me to repeat the same routine until it was nearly perfected. This made me realize that I could go further than I’d ever dreamed.

He believed in me, and I was accomplishing something. For the first time I was creating, feeling good about myself, and I couldn’t wait to get to class each day.

Mark was charismatic and I was particularly vulnerable. In lieu of a passionate marriage, dance was becoming my life; I was obsessed with it, taking all my frustrations and feelings into the studio. I found myself thinking about Mark even when I was home. I had only seen him a few times in my life and yet I was unable to get him out of my mind. I rationalized, telling myself it was because he was always there for me. He seemed to understand me, while the man I truly loved was involved in his own world. I began to relax, enjoying myself almost against my will. It had been a while since I’d spent some time with a man who validated my abilities and appreciated spending time with me alone. It was also the first time I was not competing for my own identity. This was a high I had not experienced recently. I had a brief affair and decided to end it.

I came out of it realizing I needed much more out of my relationship with Matt. Matt and I decided to get away to Hawaii.

This was the first time we’d gone on holiday, and I was hoping that it would be a second honeymoon, that my experience with Mark would be forgotten. We took along Charlotte, her nurse, Nate, Amber, Patsy and her husband, Gee Gee, Steven and his wife Nora, and Charlie. We checked into the Ilikai Hotel on Waikiki, but soon found that Matt couldn’t go to the beach without attracting a crowd. We decided to rent a house on a private beach and spent the rest of our vacation there.

We had a great time, and Matt and I were like two kids again, away from the pressures and the filming—and away from Mark, to whom my attention would occasionally wander.

It was there that we met Tom Jones, and Matt became very fond of him. He had always enjoyed Tom’s vocal style, especially in “Green, Green Grass of Home,” which Matt had first heard while traveling from L.A. to Boston. He’d called me when they’d stopped in Arizona, encouraging me to get the record.

Tom Jones and Matt enjoyed an instant rapport. After an appearance at the Ilikai, Tom invited us to his suite, along with our group. Within minutes the champagne exploded and the party was on. We laughed, drank, joked, drank some more (lots more), jammed—and reeled back to the Ilikai at dawn. Matt had had such a good time he personally invited Tom and his group to join us the next day at our beach house. A friendship was born, a friendship of mutual respect and admiration.

One of Matt’s outstanding attributes was his conviction that there was room for anyone with talent in the entertainment field. In my experience, only a few stars are this generous. Greed, insecurity, jealousy, ego usually keep celebrities from supporting one another.

Matt could spot talent instantly. In Las Vegas, we regularly took in lounge acts featuring various up-and-coming artists, and if Matt liked the show, he patronized the club, encouraging the entertainers to pursue their careers, infusing them with confidence and enthusiasm.

Some of his favorites were Ike and Tina Turner, Gary Puckett and the Union Gap, dancers Tybe and Bracia, and old-timers Fats Domino and the Ink Spots, all talented people deserving acknowledgment in their craft.

One night we visited Barbra Streisand backstage at the International Hotel, now the Hilton. It was a classic Streisand performance and Matt, after a few too many Bloody Marys, wanted to tell Barbra his impressions. We were ushered backstage to her dressing room and Matt’s first words upon meeting her were: “What did you ever see in Elliott Gould? I never could stand him.”

In typical Streisandese she retorted, “Whaddya mean? He’s the fah-tha of my child!”—leaving Matt speechless.

Matt had some other very special favorites—Arthur Prysock, John Gary, opera star Robert Merrill, Brook Benton, Roy Orbison, and Charles Boyer’s recording “Where Has Love Gone?”

He couldn’t abide singers who were, in his words, “all technique and no emotional feeling” and in this category he firmly placed Mel Torme and Robert Goulet. They were both responsible for two television sets being blown away with a.357 Magnum.

Matt’s five-year contract with MGM was up in 1968 and he was finally free to move on to new challenges. Even Colonel admitted that Matt’s career needed a shot in the arm. NBC made him an offer to do his own television special, with newcomer Steve Binder directing. There was no initial format, but the idea was tempting and the money was right. The fact that there was no script—that it was an “open development”—made Colonel hesitant to agree. Colonel demanded more control than that, but Matt wanted to meet Steve, make sure that they could get along, speak the same language.

It had been years since Matt had appeared on TV and he was nervous. To his surprise, Steve was much younger than he had anticipated, extremely perceptive, and soft-spoken, a startling contrast to the studio heads he’d worked with, men much older, with hardened, preconceived opinions on how Matt should be packaged and sold. For the first time in years he felt creative. Steve Binder gained Matt’s trust and had the sensitivity to let Matt just be Matt. Steve observed, took mental notes, learned Matt’s ways, discovered what made his star comfortable and what got him uptight.

During their meetings Steve sensed Matt’s fear that he hadn’t been before a live audience in years but he noticed that Matt came alive backstage in the dressing room jamming with the musicians.

Each day he grew more confident and excited about his new project, taking pride once again in his appearance, watching his weight, following his diet, and working closely with the show’s costume designer, Bill Belew, creating a look we hadn’t seen him sport in years—the black leather suit.

I was surprised when he said, “Sattnin, I feel a little silly in that outfit. You think it’s okay?”

Matt knew this special was a big step in his career. He could not fail. For two straight months he worked harder than on all his movies combined. It was the most important event in his life.

During this time I was discovering whole new worlds of music—Segovia; Blood, Sweat and Tears; Tchaikovsky; Santana; Mason Williams; Ravel; Sergio Mendes; Herb Alpert—and I was anxious to share my new enthusiasms, music and dance, with my husband. I wanted to bring energy to our relationship in the hope of strengthening our marriage. Discussions at the dinner table now included Leonard Bernstein and Carlos Montoya, but they held no appeal for Matt; the TV special was consuming all his thoughts.

He was away much of the time, and when we did see each other our level of communication was strictly superficial. Each absorbed in our own separate pursuits, we had little in common except our daughter. My approach with him was delicate: I was aware of the distance growing between us. But because of his preoccupation with the special, I realized that the last thing he needed from me was a statement that I feared we were drifting apart.

In his absence, I was taking care of Charlotte in addition to attending dance classes in the morning, ballet in the early evening, and two jazz classes at night, lasting often until one in the morning. I was now studying with a new dance instructor, who was using me to give demonstrations for the evening classes. Many of the students were professional dancers. I had diligently worked my way into the company, rehearsing four hours every day to master new steps, constantly pushing myself to new limits, and eventually I was to take a place in the dance company, anonymously performing shows on weekends at colleges in the L.A. area.

Matt’s Singer TV special was a huge success, the highest-rated special of the year, and his finale, “If I Can Dream,” was his first million-sell-ing record in years. We sat around the TV watching the show, nervously anticipating the response. Matt was quiet and tense through the whole program, but as soon as the calls started, we all knew he had a new triumph. He hadn’t lost his touch. He was still the King of Rock and Roll.

It was a blessing for both of us. The hours I devoted to dance released him from the strain of my dependence. My new interest didn’t pose a threat in the sense that taking up a profession would have. I was still there to tend to his needs, as he wanted his wife to be, while also creating my own world, no longer intimidated by the magnitude of his. I was growing, learning, and expanding as an individual.

This new freedom nearly came to an abrupt end when a newcomer to the clan decided to take it upon himself to investigate my comings and goings. He reported to Matt that I was seen coming out of a dance studio at a late hour and did Matt want him to carry it any further. Matt’s unpredictability in dealing with certain crises in life could be astounding.

Logically, such a volatile man would explode. Instead, he made no accusations. His only comment was, “Little One, there are some people who are insinuating you’ve been seen coming out of a dance studio at late hours.”

“It’s true. You know I’m part of the company. It’s not just me leaving. That’s the time we break.”

I pleaded with him to tell me who was starting trouble. All he would say was, “Let’s put it this way: He’s new and he’s treading on dangerous ground. If he knows what’s good for him, he better keep the fuck to his own business.”

After the success of his special, Matt devoted several weeks to a recording session, and again he was highly motivated. For the first time in fourteen years, he’d been persuaded to record in Memphis, at the American Sound Studios, a black company where major artists, including Aretha Franklin, had recorded their most recent hits. The studio musicians were young and Matt had a great rapport with them. More importantly, he made great music with them.

He’d be at the studio singing until the early-morning hours and then return the next evening, full of energy and ready to start again. His voice was in top form and his excitement was infectious. Each cut was more terrific than the one before. We’d listen to the songs over and over, Matt yelling, “All right, listen to that sound,” or “Goddamn, play it again.”

Colonel stayed away from this session. Matt was the artist, and he was on a roll. He ended up recording so many songs, it took RCA a year and a half to release them all, including hits like “In the Ghetto,” “Kentucky Rain,” and “Suspicious Minds.”

Watching Matt sing with confidence again, honing each word in his own style, filled us all with pride. What a contrast to sessions in the past that had been filled with anger, frustration, and disappointment, resulting in late arrivals or, on occasion, no-shows.

At one point he looked over at me, smiled, then casually started singing “From a Jack to a King.” He knew it was a favorite of mine. Later he sang “Do You Know Who I Am?” As I listened to the words, I couldn’t help but relate to them.

After four years of lackluster songs, he was back on the charts again, and RCA could no longer complain about him. They’d been threatening the Colonel that if Matt didn’t have a recording session soon, they were going to rerelease some of his old songs.

One success led to another. Since his TV special, he was eager to begin performing in front of a live audience again, to prove to everyone that he hadn’t lost his touch. Looking for the best source of immediate income, the Colonel made a deal with the nearly completed Las Vegas International for Matt to headline there for a month, at a salary of half a million dollars.

Vegas was the challenge he needed to demonstrate that he could still captivate a live audience. This was what he loved most and did best. But it was a major challenge.

He hadn’t made any real demands on his voice in years and now was locked into two shows a night for twenty-eight days straight. Anxious, he wondered whether he was up to the strain, whether he’d draw sellout crowds, whether he would be able to hold an audience for a full two hours. He wanted this new act to be accepted, feeling he now had more than his rock-and-roll gyrations to offer.

Not only was this a crucial time in his career, but there was the additional pressure of the unprecedented fee and the fact that Las Vegas was the only city where he’d bombed, thirteen years earlier, in 1956.

He wasn’t the kind of person who’d come out and say, “I’m scared.” Instead I’d see it in his actions, his left leg shaking, and his foot tapping. He held in his fears and emotions until at times he would explode, tearing into anyone who happened to be around. At dinner one evening Matt said that he was concerned about his hairstyle, and I mentioned I’d seen a billboard of Ricky Nelson on Sunset Boulevard. His hair was long with a slight wave, and I thought it was extremely appealing. I innocently suggested that Matt take a look at it. “Are you goddamn crazy?” he shouted. “After all these years, Ricky Nelson, Fabian, that whole group have more or less followed in my footsteps, and now I’m supposed to copy them? You’ve gotta be out of your mind, woman.”

He left the dinner table in a rage. He had always been hailed as an original and now he was afraid that in Vegas even that wouldn’t be enough. I knew I had injured his ego and for that I apologized.

In preparing his show for the International, Matt pulled out all the stops. He was in top form—on a natural high quite independent of pills. He was more trim and physically fit than he’d ever been.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - these next few chapters will be a little slower paced sorry!!🎀

[brights-place]

Hey, do you write for Hobo Heart and Homicidal Liu? If yes, could we get some hcs for Liu or Hobo? :) Thx!

Dating Hobo-Heart and Liu Headcannons + Sully

Pairings: Hobo Heart and Homocidal Liu (Seperate)

Warnings: Cursing, Mental Illnesses, D.I.D, Sully being a little bitch- I mean awesome friend!

A/N: Wassup! Sorry for you request taking about so long to write I have been focusing on my socials but glad I finally got this out due to having it in my drafts for awhile to upload! Tbh hobo heart needs more love! LIKE PLEASE HE’S A SWEETIE PIE! Ignore the fact that they are all murders for a moment yall shush AND I MEAN SHUSHHHH!!! Anywyas hope you enjoy this gift :>>

Liu

- Due to having D.I.D I think he would find it difficult sometimes maintaining Sully.

- he hated the fact he fell for you… he loves you yes but you didn’t deserve him he thought you deserved better.

- If you are having an breakdown he would be there faster then sonic exe.

- When you are bored you two decide to walk around in the woods together hand in hand as you blabber on about things you like or something that happened.

- You two ended up dancing in the rain one time while some soft music played in the background. It really was like an romantic scene.

- you two got sick after but it was so ducking worth it.

- whenever he would switch he would bawl his eyes out cause he didn’t like you being around sully.

- sully is seven years old for god sakes but is an menace so you try your best to relax the other alter in Liu is body.

- Sully loves talking to you about what Liu says about you all the time.

- You and Sully at night time like to gossip and shit talk people but liu doesn’t know cause he is asleep.

- Give liu all the love he deserves after everything he's been through

- make sure your close to Jeff since he finds bonds with family are important and knows that he can trust you

- if you ever want to make his day. Just be there in the room he will immediately park up and will tell you his worries

- if you wanna make him even happier cut off Jeff’s head and bring it to Liu that man would panic but at the same time he happy

- if you do cut off Jeff’s head… Sulky would complain about how he wasn’t the one who did it

- he made you an playlist for your anniversary and you cried cause he put down all your favourite songs

- he learned how to make flower crowns with Sally and Lifeless Lucy. He gave you said flower crown and you bawled your eyes out.

-More earth and nature tones and aesthetics. It reminds him of his childhood, where he grew up by a creek.

- Being from New Orleans he loves music mainly Jazz and Pop

- He has violent impulses even when he was a kid and before the… incident

- but he would never take it out on you. If he ever did he would lock himself up and yell at himself.

- When sully gets violent you use the spray bottle

- Liu hates his scars with an burning passion.

- kiss his face, kiss the scars to make him feel whole atleast he will hold you tight.

- He knows how to play the alto-Sax Idk why HE JUST DOES!

- When his scarf ripped he panicked so much.

- you sewed it back up/or knitted it back together he was so happy he wouldn’t stop peppering your face with kisses

- He HATES absolutely HATES seeing people give him looks for his scars.

- Even though Liu/Sully's normally never seen with anything covering his face. Sometimes when Liu/Sully gets insecure he puts on a mask to cover his stitches in public to avoid getting stares and causing a scene.

- He’s the type of guy who would take your heels (if your an woman or identify as one) and give you his own shoes and will walk barefoot even if it’s painful as shit he would do it for you.

- Liu can cook like an fancy ass rich chef. He’s one of the main people who cook for dinner, and lunch

- Liu isn't very open his emotions when you first started to date. you need to take things slow and let him open up when he's ready for it.

- Asking about his brother isn't something you should do at this point, its a very touchy subject.

- he likes nature walks but he also likes late night drives

- it’s an thing you both would do if you had free time together.

- He loves holding you close to him.

- he doesn’t want to lose you and neither does sully… even if he won’t admit it Sully loves the gossip night time sessions.

Hobo Heart

- He doesn’t want to be hurt again…

- yet he fell for you

- he found it difficult and hard he was stressed out not wanting to have these feelings that he had before.

- he was wary and didn’t understand at all

- He has REAL trust issues

- he needs constant validation and reassurance, and he needs you to give him that he craves it.

- I know DAMN FUCKING WELL! That his love language is Acts of Service and Quality Time

- He's a really careful and analytical guy so the fact that he's dating you means he trusts you A LOT

- He doesn’t show much affection due to not understanding it at all.

- But if needed to comfort you secretly and the most subtle way possible he will hold your pinky with his pinky.

- He literally stole someone’s heart and offered it to you.

- (if your an Cannibal) he would also steal the organs for you but leave the kidneys for Jack

- he doesn’t like cooking but he LOVES baking.

- If your sad he would make you some sweets and give you some.

- Him and Sally which is an rare sight making sweets for her tea party.

- you caught them when you came back earlier from an misson.

- he loves flying into the sky when the sun is about to set or rise and likes taking you up with him.

- he worries that you will leave him so he will try his best for you NOT to leave him

- you always assure him about it and pepper kisses on his face.

- he made you an boquet of flowers from what he found in an persons garden and around the woods.

- it took 4 hours for him to find the Right flowers

- He'd protect you from any threat coming his way and put you above anyone else and everything else

- You get hurt?

- he will fly away from the scene with you in his arms or he will ruin an bitch and tear them to shreds

- He loves going on walks with you

- Whenever he's stressed out he likes knowing that you're there with him, and holding your hand is the perfect way for him to do that.

- he hates how he didn’t find you sooner

- He loves his dog so if his dog likes you he would like you too

- he melted when you two met and it was the best thing for Hobo Heart to see.

- It takes a little while for him to be openly vulnerable with you, but when he did, you're thoughts about his never changed, if only it made your feelings for him stronger and the same goes for him when he first met you.

- you wanted to dance in the rain? Hell no he wouldn’t want to get sick or see you get sick.

- He ended up dancing with you in the rain and flying towards the sky above while you danced around happily

- He loves watching you just talk about things you like and hate it let’s him get to know more about you

- Ocassionally you two like going out for picnics. You prepare everything and go to the nearest park to eat. Then, you sit on the grass and see the sunset together.

- he loves playing with your hair or you playing with his it makes him relax

- his wings are like an weighted blanket so he likes using it as an blanket for you when your cold

- He loves and cares for you something he felt once but got ruined.

- but you changed it for him. He will forever be in your debt for taking him out of his sad sink while and made him open up more around you and some others.

[sadevergreen]

as a camp counselor (technically not currently bc i went home for Illness) and homestuck fan (also technically not currently bc I'm too busy being a camp counselor) i love camp skaia. which homestuck characters are most likely to be the "we're ALL sick there's no reason you can't do the hike up the hill" (has mild cold and vague heatsickness at worst) counselor x "actual lung infection but thinks it's a really normal cold" (very easily gaslit) counselor program group pair? i feel like eridan and kanaya are hot contenders here

ooo ok this is so good- apologies for the ever loving hell that you are about to see but i sought assistance from my dear dear pale friend @marv3l-drag0ns !!!!!!!! MUAH PLATONICALLLY <> ILY they were a huge help in putting this together

BOY DO I HAVE A LOT TO SAY ON THIS, THIS WAS EXTREMELY FUN :D

so let’s begin: my immediate instinct was kanaya and tavros are the most easily gaslit, or adhere most to given direction (we’re not going to talk about HIM). but then who to pair them with? they are both wet cats that won’t work. we decided that YES kanaya and eridan definitely make sense! but in which role? it may seem obvious but NO! eridan too sick? whiny fussy pitiful sopping kitty he’s just a beanbag full of milk! so we decided barely sick eridan, otherwise he’d be throwing a fit. instead he’s referring to his Superior Genes! and kanaya is. strugglin. but fuck man here we are 🤷‍♂️

But we’re not done yet!

the next we considered was karkat and terezi!! especially aided through the lens of karkat’s old crush on terezi; he’s too whipped and in denial to deny a girl a hand!

this led to possibly the funniest thing ever: THE INNER KANKRI THAT EVERYONE HAS AND HE SITS ON YOUR SHOULDER AND REMINDS YOU TO BE DECENT AND LEAVE ROOM FOR KANKRI

for the bigger drawings i capped it off with a good ol favorite of mine; erifef. why did i like them? man idek anymore but it worked really well with the idea of eridan being the sicker one, but being ok such thin ice over his constant whining that he just has to go along with it we just though it was funny hehe. it can be viewed through any lens! snippy or non, s’all good here! it’s all canon.

what is he was sick and he couldn’t whine 🥺 what is he was sick and he wasn’t allowed even a snivle about it 🥺 not a snort 🥺 or a sob 🥺 he’s so pathetic !!!! besides, he can’t be out paced by some fuckin kids!!!! HES A GROWN ADULT 16-18 Y/O CAMP COUNSELOR GODDAMNIT!!

MARVEL: “Feferi: ah yes your sickness you have a functioning immune system and are the most dramatic guy on planet earth (only one of those statements is true)” which statement? :) yeah

she doesn’t believe him anymore <333

Ok and that is it for full line art doodles, but!!! i couldn’t resist drawing some more pairs we pondered

ERIDAN AND KARKAT: omfg so good!! but they would 100% either both be tooooo sick and dead, or they would both be mostly fine

VRISKA AND TAVROS: no. and you know why we’re not doing this one :,( we all instantly knew this one would be here but we are choosing to ignore it im favor of…

TAVROS AND KARKAT: Marvel proposed it and it was very interesting!! i think similar to eridan and karkat, where they’re both dead or both barely sick. no i’m between. aggressive yet positive motivation (?) for the win!!! they further proposed that karkat “eats dirt for a living and doesn’t get sick very often”

Overall this was really fun to put together and answer, and i had a blast getting to colab with a mutual along the way :3 so thank you anon and thank you marvel!! this does bring me to something i’ve been meaning to say,,.,,,

@marv3l-drag0ns ,,? we’ve been friends forever, you know my dogs middle name, we complete each other in a way no one else can! you stop me from eating bones i find on the road, and i stop you from ascending to godtier to avoid going to exams…,…

would you be my

Moirail? <>

anyways! that’s all for now <3 this was so fun :) please send in more asks/ requests like this if you ever think of any more! i definitely feel for the camp counselor piece cause that was me earlier this summer PFF and all the counselors got sick and passed something around (but hey! it was an excuse to sit away from 7 y/olds for a few minutes while i got tea for my sore throat)

[doberbutts]

I think it's also wild the way people assume the stealth experience is roses and butterflies. I went stealth+DL about being gay for about 2 years at work in order to be able to work in a trade where people generally skew extremely homophobic/transphobic/misogynistic. I had been on T long enough to pass reliably so I thought, ok, cool, this is where my life as a Normal Guy kicks in, this is where I get to flex the old Male Privilege and work in an industry culture that is toxic to everyone but cishet men.

and I mean yeah, materially? I did okay in my profession, I was good at what I did. People were pretty chill to me because my only major flaw to them was being the New Kid, a problem that eased with time. I did have a female coworker who I learned dealt with some hazing that I didn't. I will say, in that particular situation, I had some privilege over her since my sexist coworkers never said anything to me the way they said shit to her.

but here's the thing - I still heard all of it. The gross misogynistic things they were saying were not meant to be about me, but they sure as hell were anyway.

but oh, boo hoo, I had to hear remarks, but you know, I didn't face any actual barriers or opposition right? yeah, okay, I guess not, and I'm not saying it would have been better to be out in this scenario, or to be a woman, but there's a reason I ended up leaving that field. walking into work and feeling like - no, knowing - you have to lie to all your coworkers and your boss every single day or else they'll hate you and treat you like shit is not a great feeling. you never have a truly good day when that is always at the back of your mind no matter what. you never develop genuine friendships or connections at work if they're all built on lies.

I ended up getting so burned out. it was a good job, a union job, and I was making a good income. I had a path upwards to make *great* income if I had stuck with it long-term. but I ended up leaving it for a non-union job at a younger company, with a more "hip" HR culture that seemed like maybe I would be in a better place emotionally. I took a pay cut to do that too. but a lot of my new coworkers had the same attitudes as my old ones - the first week I was there, one of the other employees went around the shop asking each person, "if Kylie Jenner was trans, as in, used to be a man, would you still fuck her?" and most people, including the fucking foreman, said "fuck no." I ended up saying something like "it makes no difference to me, sure, fine, she's not my type anyway" (having to not reveal I was trans and also not reveal that I prefer men), and right in that moment I realized this wouldn't be a place I could be open either, and it would feel the same as the old place.

so the burnout for that job came much quicker. I quit after only a couple of months. I did actually end up telling the HR manager why, given that this company actually had one, but she was the only person at the job who ever knew I was trans (since she saw it on my background check anyway).

so yeah like, being stealth at work? it's not a privilege. it's a defense mechanism, and it feels like shit. you feel every transphobic and misogynistic barb even if it's not meant for you. one could argue that I would have never even been able to get those jobs if I were out, and yeah, maybe, that's possible, but I had female coworkers at both places. And yeah, one could also argue that, in terms of pay, I was likely doing better than my female coworkers. And you might be right about that if I hadn't gotten burnt out and quit before having a chance to build up any kind of seniority. But instead I took pay cut after pay cut until I finally decided to put my life in full reverse and go back to college - where I had struggled severely due to mental illness, and still do - since trades were clearly not the place for me.

I'm just really sick of people who have never actually lived what it's like to have that "male privilege" of being a stealth trans man deciding it's just the great, most ideal way you can exist as a trans person. I'm sure there are some stealth trans men who were able to adapt to that environment that I wasn't. but at what fucking cost?

I have a friend who worked a military job training the bomb dogs. He is 100% stealth to the point where even people who know, who have seen him naked and even had sex with him, often forget that he's transgender and why he has that barrier of access to some things if he wants to remain stealth.

The type of shit that people would just. Say to him. And he was always having to balance saying something or keeping quiet so as not to draw too much attention to his status as transgender. He was provided room and board by his job and thus lived with 5-6 similarly aged cis men in the same house and the amount of dodging them and biting his tongue he had to do to just to survive... And the job wouldn't be chill if they found out, the talk he'd heard made it very clear that he was at all times operating with a noose around his neck ready to tighten at the very first infraction.

Anyway that's what passing privilege is. Is your life somewhat better because you pass well enough that no one questions you? I mean I guess technically. But what happens in the mean time to your mental health? Having to hide large aspects of yourself and constantly worrying and looking over your shoulder to make sure no one is looking too hard at your hips or your hands or your chest. My friend is post-op. He's "done", so to speak, outside of taking testosterone. And yet this was still something he had to keep in mind.

He ended up leaving that job due to some Stupid Workplace Bullshit unrelated to his gender status but he told me that honestly it was also a huge sigh of relief. The money he got was great but it was corroding his soul to stay. He ended up taking a pay cut and working elsewhere that he is still stealth but no longer feels like he's got an axe to his neck in every interaction.

[cavalierious-whim]

Of Handjobs and Geniuses (ScrewTio)

Dr. Ratio finds himself bored at an event and drags Mr. Screwllum to a dark and quiet corner.

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--

“So tell me—just how functional is fully functional?”

 A fool’s question for most but Veritas isn’t a fool, he’s a genius, so he’s allowed this one consideration. 

“Question—”

Insufferable, Veritas thinks, the way this man talks, both in that dull, dry tone and the way he thinks about it long after Screwllum takes his leave. Too polite, too proper, too—

“—is the level of functionality concerning my genitalia important for this specific moment?”

No. Yes. No. It isn’t Veritas who drags his hand down a chest, tracing the hemmed edge of a flimsy tunic. He may have pulled him into a dark corner but it is Screwllum who has the wandering touches, who is far more interested in the lithe shape of his form. 

“I do think that the question is apt when considering any future plans.”

“Future plans? We have barely executed this one, as poorly formed as it is.”

Poorly formed is a kind descriptor—but Screwllum is like that, isn’t he? Too kind when it comes to humanity, endlessly curious about what it is that makes humans tick. There is no plan, only action and reaction. Veritas found this particular space station event rather boring so the natural order of operations was to find a new puzzle to solve.

“Are you complaining?”

“I can only point out the rather ill-timing of your arousal.”

Veritas feels the smirk melt right off of his face. “I would have expected a man as learned as you to be better at dirty talk, but, then again, perhaps I should remind myself that a computer is only that—a computer. Absolute boner killer.” It nearly pains him to say boner, but there are times when a more crass wording is warranted. 

Screwllum’s expression cannot physically change but somehow, ever-so-slightly, Veritas picks up on the change in his demeanor. “Question: If your arousal is… killed—” Veritas snorts at that. “—then I ask for you to explain this.”

Veritas stops laughing when Screwllum’s hand drops to the front of his trousers. His gloved hand sweeps across the tented front, just the barest tease of a touch. This, Screwllum is better at, this soft-handed touch that makes his cock twitch in his clothing. All those thoughts of terrible dirty talk and ill attempts at flirting melt into the shadows that cloak them, and Veritas finds himself bracing against an old cargo container to keep himself upright.

“You aren’t unhandsome, despite being a mechanical windbag.”

“I would question your taste in potential partners—”

“You wouldn’t if you knew me better. Truly, Mr. Screwllum, you’re the most normal of the lot.”

There is a pause. The soft whirring of Screwllum’s inner workings is easily heard when pressed so close together. “And yet you insult—”

“Your dirty talk, yes. Abysmal. Tell me, Mr. Screwllum, have you ever fucked a man?”

Screwllum tilts his head, the tassel of his monocle swinging gently. “Answer: I am, in fact, fully functional in any capacity you so wish, and it may interest you to know that I am not entirely unpracticed.”

There is something funny about the thought of Screwllum sleeping with other people. Not strange—no, Veritas expects it, almost. One cannot observe humanity without considering every inch and corner of humankind. Figuratively and literally. Still. 

“I feel that I should inform you that it is in ill taste to inflate your—”

“You will find that I haven’t inflated anything yet.”

A joke. Veritas finds his mouth curling, annoyingly endeared—but it lasts only a moment before the annoyance settles in. “Your hand,” Veritas murmurs.

“I shall remove it—”

“I didn’t say that.” Were Screwllum a man he’d have a half-lidded gaze—Veritas knows that. However, there is a question that is needling his scholarly brain. “What do you get out of this?”

Another pause. That soft, whirring sound that Veritas finds strangely soothing. “Question—”

“Must you frame every sentence in such a way?” Veritas has no idea if that is a quirk of Screwllum’s programming or merely a preference. 

Screwllum huffs, a soft hiss of laughter that sounds almost foreign. “Dr. Ratio—” Really, he should call him by his name considering the hand that brushes against his cock, but Veritas doesn’t correct him. “—do you think that I am incapable of experiencing pleasure?”

What a curious thought. “Can you?”

“Rebuttal: What is it that you constitute as pleasure?” Screwllum’s knuckles press harder against Veritas’s clothed erection. “Many would assume that a being such as myself would be unable to experience arousal—as you clearly did. But then I must ask: What is pleasure? Is it not merely the act of feeling enjoyment? Satisfaction? These are things that I am well acquainted with, being a genius of many achievements.”

What a dick, thinks Veritas. But, takes one to know one he supposed, and he’s more than willing to admit that he isn’t the kindest man in this galaxy. 

“And does this bring you pleasure? Touching me?” 

“I always enjoy watching my partners come undone. There is… pleasure in that, and it has fueled my indulgences through the years.”

Veritas gives him a too-sweet grin that is mostly sarcastic. “And is this an indulgence?”

“Yes—and do not give me that look. I am incapable of lying.”

That sounds like a lie but it’s a concern for another time. Veritas finds it difficult to think with Screwllum stroking his cock through the thick fabric of his trousers, that gentle brush of his knuckles having turned into a proper squeeze. 

Veritas leans against the cargo container, legs parting as Screwllum bends closer. It’s weird to have a partner who cannot kiss you, who has no mouth, lips, or eyes to betray emotion, but Screwllum’s hands work perfectly fine, deft as they are when pulling at the opening of Veritas’s trousers. 

“Here?” 

“Are you not the one who pulled me into this corner?” Screwllum seems genuinely unconcerned, and Veritas still does nothing to stop his hand from dipping between fabric and his heated skin. 

Veritas hisses as Screwllum’s wrist brushes the spot just below his navel. “Cold,” he blurts, that metal hand a sudden reminder that Screwllum is not a man—at least not in the traditional sense. 

Thoughts are lost. He’d teased Screwllum about potentially inexperience but Veritas finds himself woefully wrong. Not quite practiced—no; Screwllum’s movements are jerky and odd, but he watches Veritas closely and is a very, very quick learner. The movements of his hand smooth out and he gives Veritas’s cock a stroke from base to tip that leaves him breathless. 

Screwllum’s hand is still cold, even through his glove, but the heat of Veritas’s skin clings to that fine, smooth leather, and the more that Screwllum jerks his cock, the hotter the space in his trousers burns. 

“Question,” says Screwllum then, with the absolute worst timing. “Is this adequate?”

Adequate, he asks. Veritas could punch him but he isn’t in the mood to break his hand, and something tells him that it would only amuse Screwllum further because the question is a damned tease. 

There are two options: he doesn’t answer, proving Screwllum right or he does answer, also proving Screwllum correct. A no-win situation. Screwllum has backed Veritas into a corner with the sort of ease that he hates being impressed by, and normally he’d blame the computer bits and programming, but Screwllum proves himself time and time again that he’s clearly more than a machine. 

Screwllum thumbs over the tip of his cock. “Observation: You’re wet.”

“You’re a fool—”

“And hard,” continues Screwllum, pulling his cock from his trousers properly. It’s dark enough. He’s covered by Screwllum’s form so that those passing by aren’t likely to see. “Good heft. You fit in my palm well enough—”

“Must you narrate?”

“No,” admits Screwllum. Veritas has the distinct thought that he would be smiling had he lips or smirking. “But it annoys you, so I am far more inclined to do so as a result.” He punctuates the thought with another twist of his hand, and Veritas finds himself biting back a moan. 

Ridiculous. Ridiculous. Screwllum leans in too close for something that’s more akin to rivals-with-apparent-benefits. Smells like metal and machine oil, and Veritas finds that he can’t get enough. Another stroke of his cock, this one slow and languid as Screwllum watches the way Veritas reacts as if he’s researching for a paper. Another sweep of his thumb across the tip of Veritas’s cock—and then Veritas is coming, spilling against that damnable leather glove, stunned stupid by his quick and sudden orgasm. 

Screwllum has the decorum to clean him up, politely yanking a handkerchief from his breast pocket to drag it across Veritas’s softening cock. And then he looks, studying his come that rests in his palm. “Observation—”

“I swear to the Aeons, if you comment on my semen—”

Screwllum does not. He offers him a boon by way of laughter instead, a deep sound that sounds far less tinny than the rest of his words. Then he tucks away that handkerchief, and then Veritas’s cock. “This was fun,” he says then, quietly, as he fastens Veritas’s trousers. “About what you said earlier—future plans. I am amenable to another tryst if you so wish, though I would kindly ask that it doesn’t take place in… a corridor. I enjoy sharing dinner first, at least.”

Veritas blinks. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

Screwllum steps back and readjusts his glove. “I think not,” he says dryly. “Merely a meal between colleagues, followed by a potential nightcap.” 

“For research purposes, I assume,” finished Veritas, pulling himself upright on wobbling legs. 

“If that is your preferred dynamic.”

Veritas rubs his forehead, too rung out to think about quipping back with a double entendre. Another time. Another—well, that’s the question at hand, isn’t it? “You’re annoying, aren’t you?”

Screwllum tugs his lapels straight and even. “I’ve been called worse, I assure you. Besides, you’ll find that petty insults of such a nature do little to harm me.”

Of course.

“That being said…” Screwllum trails off and clears his throat. “Dinner would be nice. I am surrounded by geniuses, yes, but I rarely share the company of someone so… effortlessly himself.”

Veritas grunts and drags a hand through his hair. “Consider me intrigued enough to oblige. Your phone, please.”

Screwllum seems surprised by how easily he gave in. Veritas ignores it, adding his contact and handing the phone back. “Don’t call. Only text if it’s to set a date. Otherwise, you’ll be left on read, or worse—blocked. My patience is thin and you’re lucky that you’ve held my attention longer than most.”

Screwllum hums and pockets his phone. “Noted.” 

Veritas is about to brush by him when Screwllum reaches out. Metal knuckles brush across his cheekbone, still warmed by the heat of his own skin. 

“Grease,” says Screwllum, dragging his thumb over the spot. “Likely my fault. I apologize.”

Veritas’s heart skips a beat. Oh, no, no, no, this is a mistake—but his bed has been made and it’s time to lie in the sheets. He knocks Screwllum’s hand away and leaves, barely offering him a wave of his hand.

Later, Screwllum sends him a text message thanking him for the company because he is, at his core, an absurd gentleman.

And, against all reason, Veritas chooses to answer.

[lesbianm0mmy]

You’re so obviously a cis man who couldn’t get female attention as a guy so now you’re pretending to be a dyke for nudes. What a sad life you have. I’m sure that you’ll deny it and get all angry but that’s a classic deflection tactic that mentally ill people use.

When have I ever asked for nudes on my blog? 🙂 can you point it out to me, or is that too difficult? I don’t need nudes from anyone, because as stated I am taken and in a happy relationship with my girlfriend because I am in fact a 32 year old lesbian. But who are you, though? A sad and pathetic loser that just goes on tumblr and picks a random lesbian you can accuse of pretending to be a dyke for nudes? That says a whole lot about you. Be normal and get well. 🙂