#Dental Care in Memorial

[gb-dentistry]

GB Dentistry - Dental Health Care Treatment

[sabertoothwalrus]

I'm going to think out loud about the dungeon meshi ages for a sec

I'm going to preface this by saying that this is based on my existing knowledge, and fact checking is difficult because there is A LOT of contentious research out there.

First of all, I think a lot of people come at this from a modern lens, forgetting the context that this is fantasy medieval era. this is fiction. on top of that, this is specifically Ryoko Kui's understanding of medieval era aging. plus fantasy. So before anyone comes at me with a bunch of 'ermmmm actualy's just consider that I don't really care and also it might not matter in this context lol

as far as the "age of maturity" assigned for each race, something I don't see many people talk about is that "teenagers" are a fairly recent concept. For a long time, you were either considered A Kid or Not A Kid. but this doesn't necessarily mean kids were more/less developed then, just our cultural expectations for certain age groups have changed.

Laios says the age of maturity for tallmen is 16. I don't think that means 16 year olds in the dungeon meshi universe are necessarily "more mature" than modern 16 year olds, but moreso that they have more responsibilities. However, things like medicine, smoking, drinking, sun exposure, physical activity, etc all affect age, so it's possible that developmentally they're closer to modern 18 year olds? Izutsumi is 17 (less than two weeks from turning 18, actually), and very much acts like a modern 17 year old.

The age of maturity for half-foots is 14. Chilchuck was 13 when he got married and had his first two children. Even though, at age 29, he's the equivalent of a modern 50 year old, I don't think he was That much more developed at 13 than a tallman. I think if half-foot 14 is equal to tallman 16, then Chilchuck was Pretty Damn Young for a parent LMAO. Even if you're generous and say tallman 16 is a modern 18, he still would've been younger than that.

The long-lived races are interesting. Marcille is obviously a unique case, and not a lot of this applies to her. We do know what Senshi was like as a minor (miner, lol), and he seemed like a modern 15ish, considering he was 36 and dwarf maturity is 40. I think it'd be really interesting to delve into how a culture functions with people being developmentally adolescent for soooooo long. Imagine middle school lasting 20 years. that would fucking suck. I suppose it makes sense why long-lived races are so patronizing.

Moving onto lifespans, I want to emphasize that they're average lifespans. Even in the manga, they say some half-foots live to 100, it's just rare. So it's less that a tallman 60 year old is "older" than a modern 60 year old, it's that it's easier to keep people alive for longer nowadays. Modern medicine is a BIG contributor. Dental health as well, considering how much your health is affected by your diet (and how much the action of chewing alone aids in digestion). Curious to know what the FUCK elven dentistry is like.

It also makes me wonder if half-foots would have a longer average lifespan if they weren't like, used for bait and treated so poorly, but half-foot 29 does seem to be middle-aged for half-foots. so who knows!

In that vein, I don't know if I can see Mithrun quite making it to 400 😬 like, his experience as a dungeon lord took a lot out of him quite literally, and he's doing exceptionally well despite it! I imagine he'd eventually start to develop a lot of heart problems if he doesn't have them already. Perhaps early-onset dementia. His memory seems still quite intact (he corrects Kabru on his story's accuracy) and he doesn't act like, lobotomized. He doesn't seem forgetful or confused, and he has a sense of humor/sarcasm still. It's mostly his task initiation that's been affected.

I almost want to say that mana affinity could affect long-lived races' lifespans, except dwarves have very poor tolerance for mana, so it's probably not that.

okay anyway I didn't really have a point to this post so I'm just gonna end my rambling here

[adeleidetheexplorer]

ᰋ  ׅ࣪   ꒰  pac reading detailed ♡︎ the realistic energy of your future spouse, who are they for real?  ꒱ 

01. 02. 03.

keep in mind that the physical appearance is collective one and it may indicates that not all the parts is totally alike of them which is based on the reading. it may tell you as well that there are some of parts of them from the description that is closely similar for your future spouse's physical attributes for example, the nose, eyes, moles, skin color, height or freckles.

01

1.) physical appearance

you get the impression that this person is a hem and haw. a pair of brown eyes that resemble almonds, eagerly watch over the wilderness they've long guarded. their coffee-colored, fine and a short-straight hair that's styled in a way that makes you think from the eras 1900, combed perfectly at the back which is revealing their sad and bony face. a body that's in between of curved, lean and mascular types despite having that type of body they will tower the rest of people around them. a skin complexion which is in the light tones. they have long fingers and a big full mouth while most of their clothes are professional.

some freckles spread mesmerizingly around their nose and cheekbones, leaving charming memories of their happy childhood. this is them, your future spouse - a true romantic (dreamer) among the rest. perhaps of maybe having an unhappy moments and hurtful past or maybe it's just a sense of security towards others, there's something misleading about them from people, perhaps it's their sense of humor or perhaps it's simply their kindness. but nonetheless, people ask them favors and tend to wish to get to know them better, while trying to avoid and secretly training to become more like them.

2.) positives

protective, tough, knows how to stand on their own ground, charismatic, great decision maker, optimistic, the best planner, have a great childhood memories, not easily to get fooled, sociable, suave, a trustworthy, loves unique people, liberal, knows how to appreciate the richness whether it's big or small, broad-minded, friendly, looking for true love and soulmates, good communicator and consistent.

3.) negatives

feels detached easily when they don't get the attention they want, inner sadness(/sadistic), felt inexperience, likes to stick around probably 24/7 (super clingy), immature, over critical, fanatical, doesn't take care their health most of the time, restricting themselves to achieve more, prefer to live in a rose-colored glasses but may lack of action to do it, careless and maybe someone who is lack of discipline.

4. love/dating history

considering this individual values sincere love. most of the time, they flirt as well as having flings but usually thinking they'd like to get settled down with someone who is right for them. they usually refer and more preoccupied with their own self-improvement and less about their own romantic life right now. they possess the ability of realistic love and person and if they stumble upon the right one, they think their prayer have been answered. they are willing to sacrifice everything for the person of their dreams, their devotion, their exceptionally high lifestyle, along with everything they were entitled to, nevertheless the chronology of every single one of the aforementioned actions are somewhat a sign that you ought to shower your love on them.

5.) career and money

they akin to having to work solo almost all their times, and therefore can be recognized pros. someone who makes greater than the bare minimum amount of salary. they were able to function in any of the areas that follow: animal care, the dental profession, guiding people, medical professionals, or in general, someone who looks after the mental well-being of others, which might involve a psychologist, psychiatrist, or simply any mental healthcare worker, writing and reading, and defending people from harm. they prefer to develop their own money by means of their own hard work and hands.

6.) home life, family and friends

they feel playful around it. from their household life to their companions. they genuinely closed with a manly vitality here, your future companion highlights a gigantic respect for this person maybe they can be a parent of them. and besides i picking up here that they customarily feel an entire person with all of these people, they genuinely appreciate being included by these individuals. they maybe born in a family which is able as of presently fulfill a money related security. their household life and people who included them in their presence are outstandingly optimistic, they can genuinely depend with these people when it comes looking at their personal issues and circumstances since these individuals are unfaltering and reasonable. the only issue is that this person really don't slant toward sharing it with others since they don't want to be called as "weak". so they as frequently as conceivable allowed themselves to discussion various negatives alone. they can be an only child person or maybe they belong to a family where children are opposite-s x like they conceivably feminine or masculine among their kinfolk. it can be that this person has one companion or they are regularly meet or surrounded by unused people that they may not considered buddies at all.

a channeled song dedicated to you from them based on your future energy "foolish heart" by steve perry.

02

🐰ada says: "I picked up 2 different energies from this pile, one is masculine and the other one is feminine."

1.) physical appearance

1.1 if they were masculine

standing 5'9 tall, this red-brown skinned person has a moody feel about them, their short, brown hair, currently dip-dyed half way with shades of blue or orange, is neatly braided. they have a short goatee/mustache that is a shade browner than their hair. they might even have a messy beard. they have slender hands, spindly legs, straight hips, and average-sized feet, they have multiple tattoos on their lower legs, neck, right foot, hands, stomach or upper back. they have big, hazel eyes, a flat-wide nose and smooth cheeks, if they were someone who wears make up, they wear an obvious foundation, light eyeliner, subtle blush and light eyeshadow, they look eternal. they often wear masculine clothes that are mostly light-coloured, they are usually seen wearing a certain style of kerchief.

1.2 if they were feminine

they have a wide shoulders, this brown skinned person has a very worldly feel about them, and they have a distinctive mark on their right leg which causes offense if they are asked about it. their perm, black hair is very short. they have mysterious, large, light brown eyes, a long face and very thin lips, large hands, small feet and muscular legs. they have a uniquely styled and they are usually seen wearing a traditional jacket.

2.) positives

casual to every people they encounter, generous, charming. free-spirit, sociable, honest, trustworthy, very private person, believe that everyone is not perfect and usually make mistakes, loves to bring joy, knows how to take care of themselves, doesn't use much of social media, they know how to protect their inner peace, independent, know how to debate, luck is on their side always, smart, learn from their mistakes to re-learn and someone who is educated.

3.) negatives

hot-headed sometimes, not really committed about someone and something, way to blunt, cold, obsessive/possessive, hold grudges, maybe someone who has an addction, may like to control other people, may like to party a lot, kinda feel lonely sometimes, sexu I?(maybe this one is neutral), may act most of the time being unconcern, heartbreaker, can be bitter about their past, way to logic, they have dark side that won't tell to other people or might be with neither you and most of the time they follow their head rather than their heart.

4.) love/dating history

your future life partner may had one partner some time recently, your future companion is somebody who may be from a long-term commitment or somebody who is separate from their partner before assembly you. they possibly have a child with this individual or arranging to have one with them. there's a genuine strife that has been happen with this individual which can lead their relationship to ended up a toxic way. this individual is giving me, a really overwhelming vitality, exceptionally dull. it also looks like adore is so favorable for them, they get what they needed for a accomplice. but within the conclusion, indeed in spite of the fact that this two individuals chosen to part up, they will attempt to mend each other's to begin with some time recently completely clearing out and moving absent from one and another, individuals may percieve their relationship as culminate and full of cherish but the truth is- it's not, their sentiments for each other's aren't the same as some time recently, the start is as of now gone after this two break, they gonna attempt to work for themselves and attempt to go alone as person to begin with some time recently letting. themselves to go for the another relationship.

5.) career and money

self-made. they are somebody who utilized to have different occupations to bolster themselves fiscally. they are skilled and somebody who is able to rapidly get a handle on modern concepts, they can offer sand in desert, that's how great your future life partner or future spouse are, they can be somebody in the field of I.T analyst, medical treatment and field, bodyguard, actor, art trading areas, artist, musician, singer, commerce examiner, judge, business analysis and somebody who works in promoting and craftsmanship exchanging ranges. anything or what kind of work they closes with, it bringing them up into the highlight or spotlight, victory and triumph is made out from their claim hardwork, individuals at their work calling them frequently for help or simply adore how they work, they will be reliable at their work and they aren't narrow minded when it comes to cash or maybe on the off chance that they think there's surfeit almost it, they ordinarily giving or giving it to others. they aren't that much centering on their accounts and money but they know they come to this solidness they accomplishing for themselves for financial, they aren't centering much on their cashes since they appreciate living the minute, after all, this individual accept "money can't purchase happiness",

6.) home life, family and friends

i think this individual doesn't have kin at all and possibly they were only child but they do have numerous companions and connection. they ordinarily amicable individual and likes to form association with individuals. they appreciate their social life and they kinda ruined as well from their guardians when they were a kid but i think it's gone when they gotten to be grown-up. they guardians adore them exceptionally much and they appreciate that kind of cherish they've encountering from their domestic and social life, they think they are the foremost fortunate individual. well, little things makes them upbeat presently not at all like some time recently. they may live in a house which is outlined and great for atleast 3-4 family individuals, with two rooms. this house can be colored in white, gold and green.

a channeled song dedicated to you from them based on your future energy "your still the one" by shaina twain.

03

1.) physical appearance

a fine, lived-in face is revealed by a tight pulled ponytail. they have light tones greasy hair. this native, you gonna felt at home with for so long are guarded by bloodshot light earthy colored eyes that are securely anchored in their sockets, an enormous ears, extremely flimsy lips and a straight nose. their eyes and hair are beautifully complemented by a glisten visual, leaving a pleasant memory of their fortunate appearance. despite of their fragile frame, they perceived themselves as everyone else. they exudes an unrestrained aura despite of being medium-tall and svelte. their special striking element is their white, shimmering teeth. they (maybe) have moles completely covering their left thigh, right hand, chest, stomach and right lower arm (anywhere in these areas). they frequently wears opulent, spectacular garments that are generally pastel-hued, golden or dark colors. they typically seen wearing an unmistakable and undeniable shroud.

2.) positives

intuitive, romantic, mysterious, sympathetic, a true leader, tidy, responsible, quite and carefully listening to what the other person sharing to them, goal-oriented, influence others in a good way, sociable, easy to get liked by many, faithful, committed, have a strong inner strength and they usually attract many admirers.

3.) negatives

blunt, argumentative whether they're wrong or right, trouble maker, self doubt, anxious, rude and bossy.

4.) love/dating history

they as often as possible discover themselves in this viewpoint while in case they gonna proceed finding adore or proceed working on their possess objectives like goals. i can say this individual is single since birth and do not really have a dating history but they drop in cherish once however they knew this love is one sided which other individual doesn't cherish them back as the way they do. i also think usually a crush that turned into love, i do have this feeling that they confessed to this individual and this person turned them down since they preferred somebody else. right presently, they attempting their best to discover and adjust between these two angles of their life (love and career) whereas attempting to figuring out what truly their reason on the earth, you might meet them through your social associations.

5.) career and money

this individual is exceptionally decided to attain their objectives to gotten to be what they needed to be, they need to win and succeed in life. truly, they will accomplish much advance in their career life and will have flexibility from obligation and will be able to achieve security and steadiness. i am moreover figuring out that after marriage, the money will bloom and will accomplish more. fair an counsel for you to not spend as well much of all their cash since they worked difficult for it and it is no joke the work they put in for this security to realize. they may be from a family that incorporates a huge trade running or fair basically a family part of a proficient (a big family business). anticipate that individual to be proficient, they may be somebody who works as a chef, specialist, ceo, attorney, property speculator, genuine domain proprietor and fire fighter or firewoman.

6.) home life, family and friends

i knew it. they are from a family that appears proficient, they are ordinarily private and share as it were a number of viewpoints of their life with others. their family claims tons of properties but as i'm getting here, they may be living within the farmland. they live in a reviving house with their family, i too think that they met companions since of schools and with their family associations. they might do sports at school and it's so well known. i too think that their family itself is well-known in their community, as i talk here, perhaps their guardians have a part of associations and engagement with other greater individuals. they sentiments appears distant absent from their family, they might see these individuals scarcely or most exceedingly bad few times in a month. when we talk about their guardians, they are strict, rules and routines individuals.

a channeled song dedicated to you from them based on your future energy "all i ever need" by austin mahone.

© thecelestialperiwinkle

[boolger]

A lapdog at a farm - chapter 2

<-former chapter ~ AO3 link I will block any ageless blogs. Call of duty. Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. wc: 6181.

Farmer!John Price x Hybrid!Reader, hybrid! Kyle Gaz Garrick x hybrid! Johnny Soap MacTavish x hybrid! Simon Ghost, John Price x Nikolai.

tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy

Author's note: reminder that reader is kinda a bitch at some points, thinking mean, unjustified things about our 141 once in a while. Unreliable narrators, my sinner. Apologies for any grammatical errors , the bad russian and such. So uh, this got waaay longer than intended so here you go. It will be a couple of days before the next chapter, so enjoy this snack for u all, my sinners.

chapter 2: Delivery from the Hybrid's Den!

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“I have a friend coming over for a while,” John softly said next morning, hand resting on your head, fingers stroking your long ears now and again,, “to help us with getting the boys settled.”

You were on the floor, half way beneath the kitchen table, snuggled up against Price’s leg, feeling much more needy, knowing the ‘boys’ as your owner called them, would be delivered later today or tomorrow. They needed to be chipped and Price had asked for a full health check from his vet, as well as vaccinations and dental care. John was a caring owner; the mere fact that he did this from the get go was proof of that. He had done the same when getting you, made sure that any recent wounds or scarring were taken care of - getting your teeth fixed and your nails checked.

You didn’t have much of your fangs left when he got you; your earlier owners had taken those, the memories still haunting you once in a while. They had done it without anesthesia, not even by professionals. Same with your claws, that wasn’t beneath your nails anymore, thanks to former owners as well. Price had gotten the wounds cleaned and fixed up; they had almost grown closed by now. For most of the time that you lived with John, he had made sure your nails were always done nicely, however you wanted them.

John was a good master. You loved him, more than you knew you should, desperate for his attention, acknowledgment and praise. You didn’t want to share him, not with these hounds he had decided to get…

… not with this apparent friend.

You didn’t answer with anything but a displeased sound, tightening your grip on Price’s pants; when he offered you another piece of sausage you were quick to eat it, licking at his fingers while he chuckled. For a moment your tail wagged, eating the food and pressing against his hand.

He couldn’t be serious - abruptly changing so many things? and you were just supposed to accept it? Finally, you replied.

“Do I know your friend?” You didn’t bother to seem excited in any way, your skepticism seeping into your voice like poison. Price took another sip of his tea, not commenting on it.

“You’ve met him before but it’s been years. First year I had you, I reckon. Remember Nikolai?” 

Nikolai. Nikolai. Different faces flashed for your eyes, trying to pinpoint who you had met that bore that name. 

“No,” you finally admitted.

“Can’t blame you, lass. You were a little mess when you met him.”

You let out a huff at his words, embarrassment making your toes curl. It was true, your mind was muddled when it came to the first half year or so together with Price. You had been wary of every single person, desperately acting out and having to wear a muzzle, slowly getting used to the gentleness and rules of John. How he was fair and didn’t change his rules, didn’t punish you without reason.

You heard the front door open, ears peeking up a little, a small bark leaving you on instinct.

“‘Morning,” Laswell called out, making you settle again with a huff. While Laswell was strict and sometimes a meanie, she wasn’t a threat. Only to you and John’s private time.

“Good morning,” John called out, “I’ve made coffee.”

“Ugh if I wasn’t a lesbian I would marry you,” Kate groaned happily, by now so comfortable with John that she simply moved to take a cup in the cupboard, helping herself to the coffee and some food. They had known each other when younger, that was all you knew. Their stories always changed when you asked.

“Morning puppy,” she greeted, leaning over to give you a small pat that you leaned into, tail wagging once more, “are you going to misbehave again today?”

“Hopefully not,” John hummed, picking up his tea cup once more, “Nikolai is arriving in a couple of hours.”

“Ah, your old crush,” Laswell mused happily as she sat down across the table, once again making you wonder how long they had known each other, “going to pull yourself together this time?”

Wait. Crush… crush? Your head whipped up to look at your owner and oh fucking hell, John fucking Price was blushing. You huffed, clearly not pleased at all with this new knowledge.

Wonderful, wasn’t that just fucking wonderful? Now he was going to abandon you fully, to run around being a lovesick puppy and playing with the new hybrids.

“Don’t tease me,” John answered, clearly embarrassed, a rare sight indeed, “that’s none of your business.”

Kate just laughed. You let out a grumble, trying to snuggle even closer to Price, practically clinging to his leg by now. Price returned his hand to your head, petting you once more, looking down at you. You returned his gaze, doing your best puppy eyes, letting out a little whine. He smiled at you, his other hand scratching you beneath your chin.

“It’s been years,” he mused and you were pretty sure that he wasn’t even talking to you, “he had to return to Russia. His mother passed away.”

Russia? A memory appeared in your mind. A small party. Champagne, treats. Praise from Price’s friends and colleagues, attention and love that you had basked in. Other hybrids that sent you longing and lustful looks. A tall, broad man with a loud laugh and a strong accent. Wearing a gold chain. Long hair, rough hands when he scratched you. He would almost make your owner shy with his teasing but he would shower you in love.

“Did I meet him at a party once?” You asked, “big guy, strong accent ? Wearing a gold chain?”

John laughed, “yes, that would indeed be Nikolai.”

Huh. It was not much you could remember about him. You remembered liking him, but despite that, you weren’t really interested in him getting here.

“He is going to help with Soap, Ghost and Gaz,” John then said, almost as if to convince himself that was why he was here. You rolled your eyes at their names. Not that you had any say, you were usually just called different pet names, but you no longer bore the name your mother had once given you. It wasn’t unusual for pets to get their names changed with every new owner. Your legal hybrid name, with John, was Daisy, even though the man rarely ever called you that. He called you so many other names, Princess, Darling, Sweetheart, Birdie and so on. But apparently he had decided not to change these working dogs’ names.

“Sure,” Kate answered with amusement in her voice, taking another sip of the coffee before adding, “whatever you say.”

Price didn’t answer with anything but an annoyed grumble.

“Those are stupid names,” you muttered. A sharp tug on your ear made you yelp, one of your hands grabbing onto his wrist to get him to let go of your furry ear. 

“Be nice, Princess. You’re going to behave, am I understood?” You didn’t meet his eyes, a little whine merely escaped from you.

“She just needs to be shown her place,” Laswell carefully said, John not letting go of your ear, much to your dismay, but he didn’t tug on it - just kept it there as a warning, “maybe they’re better at that.”

“Hopefully they’ll be better at it than me,” he muttered and you whined - the grip didn’t loosen and he didn’t look down at you.

“Nikolai is going to help with that too?” 

“He had ideas, at least.”

Fucking wonderful.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Nikolai was the first of the four men that you already hated, to arrive. 

You stayed inside the house, watching John appear from one of the stables, almost lighting up at the sight of the man who exited the car.

He still looked like the old memory you had of him; big, long black hair and a grin on his face. He was taller than John but not by much, Almost seeming completely opposite to your owner. While John wore working clothes, a grey T-shirt beneath his blue flannel, dirt on his pants, Nikolai was wearing a pair of blue jeans, white T-shirt and leather jacket.

Even inside the house, you could hear the booming man that was Nikolai - he greeted your owner with a loud “John!”, before hugging him, even spinning him around. You couldn’t help but stare; John was far from small but the other man had swung him around like he had been a teenage girl. 

John was blushing like one too. The sight made you curious - just like you wondered how he and Kate met, you wondered how this Nikolai met your owner.

You couldn’t help but wag your tail at how happy they looked. Despite how you hated the idea of the man staying here, even just for a little while, you liked seeing John happy like this.

Then two pairs of eyes suddenly looked directly into the window, both staring at you. It made your ears tip back a little. Your tail kept wagging, eating up the attention. 

When they moved, you moved too - rushing towards the entrance, stopping in the doorframe to the living room. 

“My my, if it isn’t the famous puppy,” Nikolai mused, his Russian accent strong, eyes almost twinkling as he looked you up and down, “up to trouble, da?”

You huffed, crossing your arms, though you felt your tail betray you by wagging a little, “I’m never up to trouble.”

Both of the men laughed, making you growl a little. 

“Unruly - just like last time I met you!” Nikolai mused, looking over at John by his side, “you gave up on training?”

John shook his head, “don’t even get me started, mate.”

“You told enough over phone,” Nikolai answered, waving his hand at John while pushing his shoes off with his feet.

Ah. So he had talked about you with Nikolai already? The fact made you scrunch your nose a little. Maybe Nikolai was just as stupid as John when it came to realizing why you were upset.

Nikolai stepped into your personal sphere with no warning, almost backing you up against the door frame, making you panic and growl a little. Tail no longer wagging - you could see John tense up in the corner of your eye, but you were too distracted by the stranger.

“Nik—“

A part of you expected him to hit you - you had met plenty of strangers with your former owners, who didn’t even let you sniff their hand or anything. Some hurting you and —

He offered his hand. It didn’t hit you, but raised to your nose instead. You squinted at him, before taking a couple of sniffs, still not quite sure what to make of him.

“Don’t like you,” you growled in warning, showing your teeth a little, not even attempting to be polite. 

“You don’t like farm life yet, puppy?” He asked, tipping his head to the side, voice demeaning, stupid smile still on his face. You wanted to slap it off his face. “Stupid little puppy.”

Instead you chomped down on his hand, Price instantly scolding out your name, moving to drag you away. But Nikolai didn’t even flinch - didn't move besides laughing again. 

It made both you and John confused.

“If you want to hurt me, you would have to bite harder, Princess,” Nikolai crooned, “now let go.”

You wanted to piss in his shoes and rip his socks to pieces. Maybe scratch up that leather jacket of his. Yet you found yourself letting go of him, your teeth barely even having made a dent in his skin.

“Get your ass into your room,” John hissed, a redness in his skin that you weren’t sure came from embarrassment or anger from your action.

“No harm done, John,” Nikolai laughed; he scratched you behind your right ear, just a tad to the left and it was like your brain melted for a couple of seconds, your body reacted on its own, tail wagging and right leg moving as well, “she just attempt to be dangerous no?”

John let out a small sound that you weren’t sure  what to make of before he grabbed you by the collar and dragged you away from Nikolai, “and that’s the kind of behaviour I don’t want.”

“He was being mean,” you whined in self defense, unable to not follow the hand dragging you into the living room, “he almost dared me to!”

Perhaps an overstatement, but you already knew what was going to happen the moment that Price pushed you over the armrest of the couch, “I bit him to defend myself!”

“You will not, and I repeat myself, not bite my guests,” he pulled up your skirt and down your panties with such a quick movement that you didn’t get to point out that you didn’t care, one hand grabbing your tail; his other hand collided with your ass cheeks, once, twice and then a third time, before he snapped out, “got it?”

A defiant bark left you, because while you knew it was bad behavior, you also wanted to prove that you weren’t afraid of this Nikolai. You twisted a little, knowing your ass and pussy was basically on display for both men. 

The grip on your tail tightened making you cringe with pain, jaw tensing.

“Apologise.”

You shook your head in defiance, ears hitting your face. Price leant over you a little, hissing out, “I would advise you to apologize, princess. Now.”

A part of you knew he was upset because he liked Nikolai. If he actually had feelings for him, as Kate had pointed out and several things pointed towards, you knew he wouldn’t like being embarrassed too much. Your ass still stung a little.

You were the actual victim here, weren’t you? It wasn’t your fault he decided to change everything you loved and then accept that he had his lost love over, who immediately tried to push your buttons.

“‘m sorry,” you mumbled after two seconds.

“Louder.” John demanded, straightening up, so that you were no longer hidden.

"I'm sorry."

There was silence for a moment - then the sound of a lighter and as you dared to glance over at the bigger man, who was leaning against the door frame, you saw him staring right back at you, a lit cigarette now between his lips.

“Is okay, Lapochka.” He said, stupid smile still on his face.

With that John finally let go off your tail, pulling up your underwear and your skirt down, ignoring your whine. He didn’t even touch your pussy! Didn’t even give you some love!

You pouted as you looked over at them, sliding down from the armrest of the couch, hands going beneath your skirt to rest against your warm skin on your cheeks.

“Sorry Nik,” John once again apologized - as if it was him who John had just spanked! The audacity! You let out a little displeased bark.

“She usually doesn’t bite people,” he continued as he ushered Nikolai as if you weren’t right there, needing love and attention.

“Is okay,” Nikolai answered with a shrug, casting one last glance over at you, smirking for just a second, “some of it was my fault - wanted to see what she would do.”

Asshole.

“Room, princess - now.”

“But he literally ju—“

“I said now.”

“You’re being so fucking mea—“

“Crate then.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” You might have slammed the door to your room, growling as you plopped down on your big fuzzy dog bed. 

It was about 30 minutes later than you dared to wander from the room to the kitchen again, standing in the doorway, watching the two men talk. Eyes moved to watch you again, as you whined and got on your knees. crawling to the two men, shamefully settling between Price’s legs on your knees - tail carefully wagging, sending your owner a pitiful glance.

“‘m sorry,” you whimpered, knowing John was easy to sweeten up, “‘m sorry, sir.”

A hand moved down to scratch you, though it wasn’t John’s-  you carefully licked his hand, a pleased rumble leaving the guest.

“Smart one,” he muttered, giving your cheek a little pinch, “knows how to be sweet, da?”

“Always,” John answered, looking down at you with his usual loving eyes, “soft lass is hard  to stay mad at.”

“Perhaps you need some more company,” Nikolai pointed out, “I worked with military pets before, they’re much different than you, milaya.”

“We don’t need them,” you whined, having no idea what Nikolai had just called you, “John will forget about me, will be too busy, he –”

John’s foot ever so gently pushed against your stomach, “don’t start that again.”

“Just insecure,” Nikolai suggested, making you huff.

“Am not,” you argued, but you still nuzzled closer to John, starting to move your hands to his inner thighs, moving to look up the best you could, looking from under the edge of the table, sweetening your voice a little, “It’s just a mistake, that’s all.”

“Spoiled, that’s what you are, darling,” John pointed out, but he still reached out to gently pat your head, “however, the boys will be here in a couple of hours and there is nothing you can do about it.”

You whined pitifully at his words, upset that your clear dissatisfaction with them joining the farm wasn’t clear. It was like John didn’t want to realize at all that he didn’t need to stay out on this farm. He needed to go back to the city, to the fancy penthouse apartment, to the parties that lasted out to the late hours of the night, where you could gossip with all the other hybrids.

“Milaya,” Nikolai repeated again, rustling with something in his jacket that hung over the back of the chair he was currently sitting on, pulling a little package from it. You watched curiously, though trying to seem disinterested. That was until he opened it and the most wonderful, mouthwatering scent you had smelled in a while appeared and you instantly moved from between John’s legs to Nikolai’s, making your owner chuckle.

The piece of jerky looking meat that Nikolai held in between his thumb and pointer finger, looked simple but oh the smell of it made it known that it was good.

“You behave and let us look through papers now, da?” 

“Yes,” you said, unable to look away or stop your tail from wagging, “I’ll behave.” 

The moment Nikolai offered you the piece, you were on it, barely missing his fingers with your teeth as you stole it from his grip. Nikolai was chuckling, putting the bag back into his jacket, while you chewed, a pleased moan leaving you as you settled beneath the table. 

Hopefully these mutts would prove themselves too difficult - so that John would send them away again. You would happily wave goodbye to them. 

With the sweet aftertaste of the meat in your mouth and their soft voices discussing fences, you closed your eyes.

You weren’t going to help with the pack settling in - that was for sure.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

You barely got used to your owner’s crush, before there were once again new things happening. Kate appeared, greeting Nikolai like an old friend as well. You hadn’t figured out much about the man, other than he had worked with a lot of hybrids throughout the years. And with helicopters. However that all fit together, you didn’t know… didn’t really care.

The big truck that arrived a couple of hours later, stood out against the farm houses; a colorful logo was painted on the otherwise steel gray vehicle.

THE HYBRID’S DEN! helping owners find their perfect hybrid pet since 1960!

You remembered seeing their logos everywhere when you were sold to the auction, years ago. The auction houses and facilities had often felt like an intermission from your former life to your new; never knowing what was going to happen, treated with the minimal care, but kept healthy enough for the auctions. 

The staff wore the colorful logo on their black uniforms, exciting the truck a few moments later. You almost wanted to tell them to ‘get the fuck back into that truck and drive off’ again, but you figured it wouldn’t result in them actually doing so.

You kept your distance, standing on the steps of the front door - strategically keeping Nikolai between you and the closed metal crates that were inside the truck. There were nothing more than a few air holes in the boxes, from where some different sounds appeared. Barks and a growl or two, though they all sounded a little slurred. Nikolai moved, giving you a better look at them, as he joined John who was nodding along to some of the information, while looking through and signing some papers. Though you were mostly distracted by the crates, you could hear some of their conversation, catching words like sedated, muzzles, stressed. Your own trip hadn’t been nice either but a part of you wanted to point out to your owner that this only proved your point of this being a bad idea.

Some of the auction workers helped move the crates to one of the bigger empty sheds that Price had apparently been renovating without your knowledge. So apparently not so empty any longer. Not that it had been hard to do that, you ignored most of the different renovating and building jobs that both John and the helpers did.

Still… he could have told you. God, did your master tell you nothing anymore? It didn’t really help your mood, your growing annoyance clearly amusing for Nikolai if his smiles back at you were anything to go by.

Despite your repeated frustration with this entire situation and these new hybrids’ mere existence, you followed along inside the shed. It was nice… Isolated, with a tiny bathroom, an area padded with mattresses, which was clearly for them to sleep together, pillows, blankets… you wanted that too. Sure, you had loads, but this only made you want more, want more from Price, so that he could prove he still loved you. 

There was a radiator, several windows, lamps and electricity outlets. You scrunch your nose with displeasure. They didn’t deserve that. At least they weren’t inside the main house. 

There was a little notch in the other corner opposite the bed area, almost like a tiny expansion, another door next to it; it was almost like a small horse stall - a deep layer of hay covered the floor. You didn’t even step into the place, but you knew the hay would itch.

You wanted it. Not the itching of the hay, but the entire place, simply for the sake of having it, so that they couldn’t. Speaking of them, you watched from the main entrance as the metal boxes were opened.

The Belgian malinois and German Shepherd mix was the first one to stumble out of the box; he fell two steps later, directly into the hay, a deep sigh leaving him, eyes darting around. You could barely see him from the amount of people inside the stall. 

“It’s alright, Gaz,” Price comforted, while you stayed in the door, keeping his distance to the hybrid, “You’re okay, boy.”

Gaz didn’t answer, just panted a little, ears tipped backwards - his eyes looked a little blown from what you could see.

“When will the sedatives wear off?” Laswell asked one of the workers, but you didn’t look at them, eyes instead at the other hybrid. 

When you had arrived, you had been scared and angry, drugged as well. But you had been alone. While you grew up with your parents, in a nice enough place, you hadn’t seen them for years - and while you had befriended a lot of other hybrids throughout the years, you had never been a part of a “pack”. You were alone — but this Gaz wasn’t and a part of you envied him, even for that.

“In an hour or two,” the worker replied, pulling you from your deeper thoughts, “they weren’t too happy to settle down before we left. It was necessary.”

A small bark left the man in the hay. It was answered by the two other hybrids, who still hadn’t come out of their respective boxes. Nikolai gently tapped on the top of one of the boxes with a knuckle.

“Come join your friend,” the Russian suggested, voice not as loud as earlier.

A moment later the border collie mix, Soap, crawled out of his box, eyes instantly on Gaz, letting himself lay halfway on top of the other. A little growl leaving him, muffled from behind the mask. Not even a second later, Ghost got out of the last crate. The Great Pyrenees almost got on his legs, growling despite the muzzle and swaying from the drugs.

You watched the staff pull back the metal boxes, letting the hybrids get some space. Ghost didn’t stay on his legs for too long, eventually sitting down next to his pack mates, the lower half of his face hidden from view as he looked around the shed.

His gaze stopped at you; you were unable to sense the reaction from seeing you again, if there even was any.

“We’ll let you have some minutes, okay? Then we’ll take the muzzles off.” John gently offered, pulling the giant from the moment, so that he looked away, giving Price a small nod. Your owner was at the edge of the hay filled area but he didn’t step into it.

You stepped back, letting the staff members from the auction pull away the boxes, Laswell and another farm worker helping them. Nikolai looked from the pack, then over his shoulder at you, barely even trying to hide a smile.

Then he winked. You sent him an unimpressed look back, tipping your chin up a little, looking away from the three hybrids in the hay, pretending you weren’t curious about them.

Some more rustling in the hay and then a half croaked, “mah held hurts,” left Soap, voice a little slurred - you couldn’t help but look over at him. His accent was weird. His ears were tipped down, some hay already stuck in his hair. With the pathetic look on his face you didn’t understand how he was supposed to be a big bad soldier.

You weren’t being petty at all.

“It’s the sedatives,” John calmly answered the hybrid, who let out a big breath from behind the muzzle.

“If I take the muzzle off, will you behave?”

“We have water for you,” Nikolai added, keeping his distance - you kept him in between you and the dogs, not risking anything. You trusted the men to be able to defend themselves. But with no claws or fangs, you weren’t a fighter - more a runner. Even if you didn’t like running.

The two muzzled ones, Soap and Ghost, sent each other a look - but it was Gaz, half hidden beneath Soap, who let out a tired “please.”

Ghost gave a small nod then. John stepped into the hay, unhurried as to not spook them, and it was Ghost who tipped his head down first to let Price open the lock with a small key. The moment he was free, he smacked his cracked and dry looking lips. 

Clearly, the man had never heard of chapstick.

Though, much more apparent, where the colony of scars on his lower half of the face. Trailing from around the lips, one over the nose as well - cheeks and chin. As he smacked his lips, you saw he had lost a fang in the bottom of his mouth. It wasn’t just sanded down like yours, the tooth was fully missing.

Price repeated the action with Soap, the hybrid instantly opening his mouth wide with a yawn, his jaw even making a popping wound.

Nikolai appeared with three bottles of water from a little cooler in the shed - you didn’t have your own cooler, which meant you would be demanding one… not that you needed it but still — giving the hybrids each one, that was always immediately opened. Gaz pushed Soap away and sat up too, while John backed away.

“My name is John Price -we met shortly at the auction. I’m the owner of the farm and you will all answer to me. Got it?”

“Yes sir.” For a moment you were impressed with the three hybrids’ synchronized answers. Only a short moment however. They were probably just beasts trained to answer like that. Yeah, yeah, you could do that too, if you wanted. But you didn’t.

“This is Nikolai, my friend, he will stay with me for a while, helping you all to settle in properly. You will follow his orders too - as well as a mean looking woman, Kate Laswell, who will appear at some point.” Humour tipped into the last part making Soap snort and Gaz give out a half-slurred giggle, while Ghost just let out a grunt.

“And this,” Price suddenly turned over to you, looking a little amused from the distance you kept between all of them, “is my pet, Daisy.” 

“Well hellooo, bonnie lass,” Soap said, his tail immediately wagging, grinning at you, as he slurred, “aren’t ye a sight for sore eyes.”

Nikolai and John dared to laugh at his words, his rather pathetic attempt at being charming, while you growled, watching Soap get an elbow in the side from Gaz, while Simon just stared, almost differently than the scot, like a hungry beast. If you were fully inside the shed, you might be able to smell if they were turned on. Disgusting. 

“Come’ere, sweetheart,” John crooned, clearly pleased with the reactions from the men, while you scrunch your nose, tipping your chin up a little - giving it a shake to reject the command.

“Do not be like that, milaya,” Nikolai suggested, “thought you were going to behave, no?”

You just growled a little again, unable to help your tail go between your legs a little; you didn’t really want to be spanked again, but you didn’t really want to become acquainted with these hybrids either.

“My princess isn’t too pleased with you lot being here,” John calmly explained without taking his eyes off you - they were still all staring at you - as John raised a hand, making a ‘come-hither’ motion that had you swallowing some spit, “but she isn’t going to chase away any wolves, are ye, pet?”

You huffed, crossing your arms before stepping inside the shed. The scent in there was nice and clean, even with the vague scent of the newcomers, and you walked to John, stopping halfway hidden by him.

However, as John’s arm snaked around your soft waist in a strong grip, you whimpered as you were pulled forward a little, unable to hide behind him. Both Gaz and Soap were wagging their tails at you, while you tried ignoring the scent of the room the best you can.

“I’m expecting you all to get along - and not hurt each other too badly, understood?”

While the others answered in agreement you just hid your face in his shoulder, twisting a little in his grip.

“No playin’ too rough,” Nikolai added, “Puppy isn’t used to other hybrids.”

“I am!” you snapped, “Just not…”

The shed was quiet for a moment as you mulled over your next words. What to call them. Military dogs. Strays. Mutts, un –

“Not what?” Nikolai almost seemed entertained by your declaration and you looked away, before finally mumbling.

“... working dogs.”

Simon huffed. You shot him a sharp look that he didn’t really seem to be affected by, in any way.

“I’m sure you all will get along,” John just mused, before looking down at his watch, “A certain princess has become too bored now we’re no longer in the city -” he ignored your mutter of ‘have not’, “- and I can’t entertain her all the time. Mentally or sexually.” 

You whined with embarrassment, a little angry growl seeping into it, but Price didn’t really react, barely moved as you twisted in his grip, ignoring the grin of the several males in the house. 

“ - Now, I will leave you three to get acclimated a little. But, there are a couple of rules that I expect you all to follow, if not there will be punishments.”

Synchronized nods. You still twisted, digging your fingers into his arm to no avail - then a hand snagged onto your collar from behind, choking you shortly as you were pulled back, Nikolai pressing against your back. Now free, Price pointed to a little map over the area, that you hadn’t noticed on the wall.

“Your jobs will essentially be to help keep the place safe. We have had problems with wolves and foxes, and so has the neighbors, since there lives a bunch in the area. You three will help keeping them away and Soap will help around my sheeps and goats in particular, given you’re a herding dog–”

Soap nodded, tail wagging, all three dogs staring at the map intensely.

“- I will find other things for the two of you to help with as well, but your main focus will be on keeping the animals - and the rest of us - safe. One of the neighbors got some horses stolen not too long ago. I would like to avoid that as well.”

You didn’t even know that. What you did know, however, was the heat of Nikolai’s body behind you, keeping you close and tethered so that you couldn’t run off.

“Most of the wildlife will go away if intimidated, but at times you might need to attack them. I am not going to give you any firearms yet though,” John looked over at them, his voice  firmer than you usually heard it, “That will come along the way, if needed. We can discuss other weapons later on.”

The mere idea of John giving them any kinds of weapon made you want to throw up - or throw a fit. Had he gone fuckin’ mad?? giving them guns? They were going to shoot everyone, going to kill John and you. You really didn’t want to die.

“My farm includes these - and these fields. You will not and I repeat not, leave my land without a valid reason. There will be punishments if you do - you will all be given collars like another certain puppy–” all eyes watched you for a moment and though, you wanted to hide  your face in your hands, you didn’t, merely crossed your arms, ignoring the low laughter from Nikolai behind you, “that are fitted with trackers, so I will know if you do.”

Great. So hoping for them to run off wasn’t a possibility for now.

“Biting or attacking my staff in any way will result in severe punishments. You will lose privileges if you don’t do as told, without a valid reason. Is that understood?”

“Yessir.” 

“Good boys. Now, these upcoming days you will most likely be following me or Laswell around, while we get you in on all these. All dinners will be eaten in the main house and you will be given keys once I get them made one of these upcoming days. I will give you a couple of hours now –” Price looked down at his wrist watch, “Then call you in, an hour or two before dinner, so that you all can shower. Any injuries, allergies or anything that the Hybrids’ Den didn’t write down, that I need to know?”

They all shook their heads, behaving like synchronized swimmers in your opinion. 

“Good. You’re all free to relax here or explore the farm if you wish so, when the drugs wear off.” 

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

As you entered the farm house, you shrugged off your jacket and abandoned your shoes in the entrance, not caring to clean up after you, ignoring John’s irked huff.

“Insane!” you declared, walking further into the house, “You’ve gone insane! You’re all going to forget about me and those horny knotted mutts will be all up in my business!”

You flopped down on the couch, face first, continuing your ranting into the fabric.

“I might as well barricade myself inside my room - Because I dont have a tiny house!! but guns! SURE ! give them guns!” Your voice was muffled, but you were, perhaps a tad dramatically, loud in your ranting. You could just make out whispering between the two men but you didn’t care… not until you were forced to, quite literally.

“Little puppy,” Nikolai’s accent was heavy - his body even heavier as he settled on the back of your thighs, a fist coming to rest next to your head, that kept his full body weight from you, “Throwing a fit again, da?” 

You could feel the slight bulge against your fat ass, making you swallow - and tail wag, hitting Nikolai against the thighs, making the man chuckle. John as well, who settled down with a cigar in one of the arm chairs opposite the couch. You didn’t even need to look to know that he watched as Nikolai tugged at your skirt.

[eoieopda]

If you’re interested in writing it, I would love to read a part two of “the one with Chan and the promotion”! It’s so sweet and cute and I go back to it when I feel sad or sick and just want someone to take care of me lol.

aw, i’m so glad you liked it! here’s part two ✨

the one with chan and the promotion pt. ii

you needed a ride home after getting your wisdom teeth removed. chan just so happened to be free.

pairing: bang chan x gn!reader type: drabble (fluff, hurt/comfort), ongoing au: fuck buddies to ? rating: 18+ — minors do not have my consent to interact with me or my work. wc: 1.3k cw: reader’s pov this time!; no smut but it’s referenced due to the nature of their relationship; reader had outpatient dental surgery (not depicted); reference to blood/swelling, no gendered language used. a/n: this is a continuation of this drabble, which @moni-logues requested last year. in order for things to make sense, please read pt. i first! as of 8/5/24, part iii has been posted, per request. navigation. skz permanent taglist. multi permanent taglist. request rules.

Upon waking up, the first thing you do is take inventory.

The list of things you don’t have is the longer of the two: four of the teeth you initially left home with, a blanket on top of you, your bearings, or any substantial memory of the how and when you got back to your apartment.

What you do have is a pair of slippers on your feet where your shoes used to be and a hand in yours, warming your palm. Bleary-eyed, you stare down at the five fingers interlocked with yours while your brain scrambles to load. It doesn’t. You swear you hear the Windows XP error noise sounding off in the back of it when your eyes flick up and find Chan’s closed, fluttering ever so slightly as he sleeps.

You don’t mean to voice your surprise out loud, especially not above a whisper, but it slips past lips still buzzing as sensation returns. “Christ!”

Chan doesn’t startle, which doesn’t necessarily surprise you. His roommate, who you’ve heard tell of but never met, is apparently prone to sudden shouting, apropos of nothing. He does stir, though, just slightly. 

“No,” he mumbles without opening his eyes. Though he doesn’t witness the quizzical look you give him, he must suspect your confusion, nonetheless. Stifling a satisfied, albeit sleepy chuckle, he jokes, “My English name is pronounced Chris.”

It’s then that his eyes crack open, taking you in immediately and softly, pupils dilating. He’s never looked at you like that before. You don’t know what to do with it. 

Flustered, you divert your gaze to your hands the way you always do, only to find that one of his is still holding one of yours. You don’t know what to do with that, either. To cover the fact that you don’t know what to say, you clear your throat, hoping the words will materialize after a bit of stalling. They don’t.

Chan, noticing your preoccupation, interjects and sits upright next to you on top of your still-tucked-in comforter. “Oh.”

He retracts his hand. A sheepish smile spreads in tandem with a flush of red across his cheeks and neck, so heated with embarrassment you can almost feel it from several centimeters away. 

“Had a hell of a time getting you through the door and getting your shoes untied,” he starts, laughing awkwardly.

Oh, indeed.

You’d asked Chan to drive you; called him specifically for that singular task because your other, closer friends — the ones who haven’t seen you naked — don’t. On top of their collective lack of licensure, you know them all too well to trust any one of them with wrangling a highly medicated person on public transit. You’d be a liability in and of yourself; your chaperone couldn’t be a disaster, too.

Going into this, you’d believed that Chan had his shit together well enough to get you from Point A to Point B in one piece. You were right. He did, and even though he could have, he didn’t stop there. Not only did Chan get you inside, but he also swapped your shoes for slippers to avoid dragging dirt into your apartment.

He rubs the back of his neck, continuing, “You — uh — well, you wouldn’t let go after I corralled you in here.” The hand fussing with the hair at his nape gestures vaguely around your bedroom, which he’s seeing in sunlight for the first time ever, not unlike the way he’s witnessing you.

Once again, you search for words and come up with none. 

There was no expectation of gratitude motivating his powerfully quiet act of kindness. Clearly, he didn’t expect to still be here while you napped off the lingering fog from the anesthesia. But he is here.

“I must have quite the grip when I’m high,” you manage to offer. 

A way to ask without truly asking: Why are you still here?

Chan snorts, then he shakes his head while he answers, “Nah, you moved like you were made of jelly. I just didn’t want you to cry again.”

Somewhere, a record scratches. Your eyes go wide, expression otherwise withheld to keep your shock and mortification to yourself. 

Again?

Vulnerability isn’t a thing you do. It took all you had to ask for his help in the first place. You’d rather drop dead on the ground than cry in front of anyone, let alone the person you keep at arm’s length and still sleep with on a recurring basis. Absolutely not. There’s no fucking way. 

“What?” You croak. Almost as embarrassing as the crying, your dried-out throat and the hoarseness of your voice leave your face burning. You clear your throat again. It doesn’t make a difference. “Why did I cry? Pain?”

Fuck, you hope so. You pray for some yet unknown, minor surgical complication that would justify this uncharacteristic crack in your armor. For some excuse you can lean on.

“Worms,” Chan chirps with a shrug, as if that explanation truly explains anything.

You balk. “I would never cry over seeing a worm. It didn’t even rain this week; there wouldn’t be any on the sidewalk.”

He clamps his lips together for a moment, like he’s steeling himself, trying not to laugh in your face. You appreciate the gesture, kind of. Rather, you would — if he had a better poker face. The one looking back at you instead looks fully endeared, which makes you more embarrassed than his laughter ever could.

“I ran into the pharmacy to grab your pain meds, and when I came back to the car, you were sobbing. I was freaking out, thinking you were hurt or something, but no.” His grin comes at full force. “You were scared that worms may not have best friends.”

Oh, my god.

“Oh, my god,” you groan, this time out-loud. Instinctively, you drop your burning cheeks into your hands, hissing in pain the second they settle. You jerk backwards, yelping, “Oh, my god.”

Proving his attentiveness in real time, Chan shifts closer quickly, like a starting gun has been fired. His hands encircle your wrist gently, prompting you to look at him. Once he has your attention, his eyes scan your face in search of visible injury. A triage of sorts. Worry evident, he checks in: “You good?”

Yes, and no.

Yes, your gums are especially sore now that you’ve put excess pressure on them; but no, there isn’t a mouthful of blood hiding behind your tightly pursed lips.

Yes, you feel safe and cared for with him here; but no, you’re not fucking used to it, and it’s making your blurry brain spin. 

How are you supposed to answer that question? You don’t even know which one he’s really asking. Before you say a word, you take inventory again.

What you have is Chan in your bedroom while the sun is still up, fully clothed and above the sheets. He’s here because when he tried to leave, he gave into your small act of subconscious resistance, too afraid of upsetting you. He stayed. He’d witnessed you cry about worms, and he stayed — perfectly still at your side long enough to fall asleep.

What you have is medication to deal with the pain you just exacerbated because Chan went out of his way to pick it up from the pharmacy.

What you have is heart palpitations, a different type of nerves blooming when you realize that dispelling his worry now will result in him taking his reactive touch away.

What you don’t have is the strength of will to lie to someone who looks at you the way Chan currently is, like he may not be able to breathe correctly unless and until he knows you’re okay.

“Yeah,” you eventually sigh. “I am. I’m good.”

In fact, you’re even better when he and his hands choose — once again — to stay.

pt. iii

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

skz permanent taglist: @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @sourkimchi @stayceebs97

multi permanent taglist: @jihopesjoint @bahng-chrizz, @notevenheretbh1

[violetsandfluff]

Broken Ring

“They won’t have to cut it off, right?” you whimpered, feeling your lower lip tremble as you gazed forlornly at the glistening gem on your ring finger. Your doctor assured you that swelling in hands and feet was common during pregnancy, but it still shocked you when you couldn’t wiggle your ring past your knuckle.

You called Harry in a panic, explaining tearfully that the ring was stuck on your finger.

“I’ll be home in thirty,” he consoled you. “Put some ice on it ‘til I get back, okay? Don’t worry about it, lovie. It will all work out.”

You followed his instructions, icing your inflamed finger diligently until he got home. Paying such close attention to your ring brought you back to the day Harry had proposed to you.

The sunlight streaming through the trees overhead and the sound of the water lapping at the shore was permanently etched in your mind. Harry had been so young, only twenty years old at the time of his proposal. Now he was almost thirty, and proud to be expecting his first child.

“I didn’t expect you to be home so soon,” you sniffled as he walked into the kitchen, scooping you out of your chair and into his lap.

“Neither did the cops,” he joked. “Let’s see your little finger. Did the ice help?”

You removed the wad of ice and soaked washcloths from your hand only to find your finger more swollen and purple than you had left it.

“Ouch,” Harry said softly, tracing his finger over the bruised skin. “It’s hot to the touch, dove. Is it painful to touch?”

You shook your head slowly, a wave of tears threatening to spill out of your eyes and onto your cheeks.

“Try to twist it off,” he suggested. “Slowly, gently, like a Chinese finger trap.”

You tried to twist the ring off fruitlessly, every ounce of hope in your body dwindling. Harry’s face twisted in dismay as it became obvious that the ring wasn’t budging.

He tried oiling the skin, icing it more, and even wrapping it with dental floss, but nothing could help the ring over your swollen knuckle.

You had never dreamed that the ring you grew to love and treasure so much would meet its end at the mercy of a jewelry saw at urgent care. It was of utmost importance to you because of all of the memories it held. Now it was just a severed stone and band in the bottom of a clear Ziplock bag that you gripped as if your life depended on it.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Harry murmured into your hair as you clutched the accessory to your chest and leaned into him for solace. “I’ll buy you another ring, whichever one you want.”

“But…” you stuttered, “it’s not the same.”

“You can keep this forever,” Harry said. “We can get the diamond changed into a necklace or even put on a different band.”

“It feels like a broken promise,” you argued. “I’m never without my wedding ring.”

“All you need is right here,” Harry finalized, tapping your chest ever so slightly. “You’ve got every part of me right there, forever and always.”

Taglist: @madybeth21 @fishingirl12 @sortingharryshairclip @groovychaosavenue @mrspeacem1nusone @tenaciousperfectionunknown @cayleyhannha-blog @whitemancumslut @xxrosebunny @hsdaydreaminghaze

[thecelestialperiwinkle]

ᰋ  ׅ࣪   ꒰  pac reading detailed ♡︎ the realistic energy of your future spouse, who are they for real?  ꒱ 

01. 02. 03.

♡tarot commission♡

keep in mind that the physical appearance is collective one and it may indicates that not all the parts is totally alike of them which is based on the reading. it may tell you as well that there are some of parts of them from the description that is closely similar for your future spouse's physical attributes for example, the nose, eyes, moles, skin color, height or freckles.

01

1.) physical appearance

you get the impression that this person is a hem and haw. a pair of brown eyes that resemble almonds, eagerly watch over the wilderness they've long guarded. their coffee-colored, fine and a short-straight hair that's styled in a way that makes you think from the eras 1900, combed perfectly at the back which is revealing their sad and bony face. a body that's in between of curved, lean and mascular types despite having that type of body they will tower the rest of people around them. a skin complexion which is in the light tones. they have long fingers and a big full mouth while most of their clothes are professional.

some freckles spread mesmerizingly around their nose and cheekbones, leaving charming memories of their happy childhood. this is them, your future spouse - a true romantic (dreamer) among the rest. perhaps of maybe having an unhappy moments and hurtful past or maybe it's just a sense of security towards others. there's something misleading about them from people, perhaps it's their sense of humor or perhaps it's simply their kindness. but nonetheless, people ask them favors and tend to wish to get to know them better, while trying to avoid and secretly training to become more like them.

2.) positives

protective, tough, knows how to stand on their own ground, charismatic, great decision maker, optimistic, the best planner, have a great childhood memories, not easily to get fooled, sociable, suave, a trustworthy, loves unique people, liberal, knows how to appreciate the richness whether it's big or small, broad-minded, friendly, looking for true love and soulmates, good communicator and consistent.

3.) negatives

feels detached easily when they don't get the attention they want, inner sadness(/sadistic), felt inexperience, likes to stick around probably 24/7 (super clingy), immature, over critical, fanatical, doesn't take care their health most of the time, restricting themselves to achieve more, prefer to live in a rose-colored glasses but may lack of action to do it, careless and maybe someone who is lack of discipline.

4. love/dating history

considering this individual values sincere love. most of the time, they flirt as well as having flings but usually thinking they'd like to get settled down with someone who is right for them. they usually refer and more preoccupied with their own self-improvement and less about their own romantic life right now. they possess the ability of realistic love and person and if they stumble upon the right one, they think their prayer have been answered. they are willing to sacrifice everything for the person of their dreams, their devotion, their exceptionally high lifestyle, along with everything they were entitled to. nevertheless the chronology of every single one of the aforementioned actions are somewhat a sign that you ought to shower your love on them.

5.) career and money

they akin to having to work solo almost all their times, and therefore can be recognized pros. someone who makes greater than the bare minimum amount of salary. they were able to function in any of the areas that follow: animal care, the dental profession, guiding people, medical professionals, or in general, someone who looks after the mental well-being of others, which might involve a psychologist, psychiatrist, or simply any mental healthcare worker, writing and reading, and defending people from harm. they prefer to develop their own money by means of their own hard work and hands.

6.) home life, family and friends

they feel playful around it. from their household life to their companions. they genuinely closed with a manly vitality here, your future companion highlights a gigantic respect for this person maybe they can be a parent of them. and besides i picking up here that they customarily feel an entire person with all of these people, they genuinely appreciate being included by these individuals. they maybe born in a family which is able as of presently fulfill a money related security. their household life and people who included them in their presence are outstandingly optimistic, they can genuinely depend with these people when it comes looking at their personal issues and circumstances since these individuals are unfaltering and reasonable. the only issue is that this person really don't slant toward sharing it with others since they don't want to be called as ''weak''. so they as frequently as conceivable allowed themselves to discussion various negatives alone. they can be an only child person or maybe they belong to a family where children are opposite-s💗x like they conceivably feminine or masculine among their kinfolk. it can be that this person has one companion or they are regularly meet or surrounded by unused people that they may not considered buddies at all. 

a channeled song dedicated to you from them based on your future energy ‘‘foolish heart’’ by steve perry.

02

🐰ada says: ‘‘i picked up 2 different energies from this pile, one is masculine and the other one is feminine.’’

1.) physical appearance

1.1 if they were masculine

standing 5'9 tall, this red-brown skinned person has a moody feel about them. their short, brown hair, currently dip-dyed half way with shades of blue or orange, is neatly braided. they have a short goatee/mustache that is a shade browner than their hair. they might even have a messy beard.

they have slender hands, spindly legs, straight hips, and average-sized feet. they have multiple tattoos on their lower legs, neck, right foot, hands, stomach or upper back.

they have big, hazel eyes, a flat-wide nose and smooth cheeks. if they were someone who wears make up, they wear an obvious foundation, light eyeliner, subtle blush and light eyeshadow. they look eternal. they often wear masculine clothes that are mostly light-coloured. they are usually seen wearing a certain style of kerchief.

1.2 if they were feminine

they have a wide shoulders, this brown skinned person has a very worldly feel about them, and they have a distinctive mark on their right leg which causes offense if they are asked about it. their perm, black hair is very short.

they have mysterious, large, light brown eyes, a long face and very thin lips, large hands, small feet and muscular legs. they have a uniquely styled and they are usually seen wearing a traditional jacket.

2.) positives

casual to every people they encounter, generous, charming, free-spirit, sociable, honest, trustworthy, very private person, believe that everyone is not perfect and usually make mistakes, loves to bring joy, knows how to take care of themselves, doesn't use much of social media, they know how to protect their inner peace, independent, know how to debate, luck is on their side always, smart, learn from their mistakes to re-learn and someone who is educated.

3.) negatives

hot-headed sometimes, not really committed about someone and something, way to blunt, cold, obsessive/possessive, hold grudges, maybe someone who has an addction, may like to control other people, may like to party a lot, kinda feel lonely sometimes, sexu💗l?(maybe this one is neutral), may act most of the time being unconcern, heartbreaker, can be bitter about their past, way to logic, they have dark side that won't tell to other people or might be with neither you and most of the time they follow their head rather than their heart.

4.) love/dating history

your future life partner may had one partner some time recently. your future companion is somebody who may be from a long-term commitment or somebody who is separate from their partner before assembly you. they possibly have a child with this individual or arranging to have one with them. there's a genuine strife that has been happen with this individual which can lead their relationship to ended up a toxic way. this individual is giving me, a really overwhelming vitality, exceptionally dull. it also looks like adore is so favorable for them, they get what they needed for a accomplice. but within the conclusion, indeed in spite of the fact that this two individuals chosen to part up, they will attempt to mend each other's to begin with some time recently completely clearing out and moving absent from one and another. individuals may percieve their relationship as culminate and full of cherish but the truth is– it's not, their sentiments for each other's aren't the same as some time recently, the start is as of now gone after this two break, they gonna attempt to work for themselves and attempt to go alone as person to begin with some time recently letting themselves to go for the another relationship.

5.) career and money

self-made. they are somebody who utilized to have different occupations to bolster themselves fiscally. they are skilled and somebody who is able to rapidly get a handle on modern concepts. they can offer sand in desert, that's how great your future life partner or future spouse are. they can be somebody in the field of I.T analyst, medical treatment and field, bodyguard, actor, art trading areas, artist, musician, singer, commerce examiner, judge, business analysis and somebody who works in promoting and craftsmanship exchanging ranges. anything or what kind of work they closes with, it bringing them up into the highlight or spotlight, victory and triumph is made out from their claim hardwork. individuals at their work calling them frequently for help or simply adore how they work. they will be reliable at their work and they aren't narrow minded when it comes to cash or maybe on the off chance that they think there's surfeit almost it, they ordinarily giving or giving it to others. they aren't that much centering on their accounts and money but they know they come to this solidness they accomplishing for themselves for financial. they aren't centering much on their cashes since they appreciate living the minute, after all, this individual accept ‘‘money can't purchase happiness’’.

6.) home life, family and friends

i think this individual doesn't have kin at all and possibly they were only child but they do have numerous companions and connection. they ordinarily amicable individual and likes to form association with individuals. they appreciate their social life and they kinda ruined as well from their guardians when they were a kid but i think it's gone when they gotten to be grown-up. they guardians adore them exceptionally much and they appreciate that kind of cherish they've encountering from their domestic and social life, they think they are the foremost fortunate individual. well, little things makes them upbeat presently not at all like some time recently. they may live in a house which is outlined and great for atleast 3-4 family individuals, with two rooms. this house can be colored in white, gold and green.

a channeled song dedicated to you from them based on your future energy ‘‘your still the one’’ by shaina twain.

03

1.) physical appearance

a fine, lived-in face is revealed by a tight pulled ponytail. they have light tones greasy hair. this native, you gonna felt at home with for so long are guarded by bloodshot light earthy colored eyes that are securely anchored in their sockets, an enormous ears, extremely flimsy lips and a straight nose. their eyes and hair are beautifully complemented by a glisten visual, leaving a pleasant memory of their fortunate appearance. despite of their fragile frame, they perceived themselves as everyone else. they exudes an unrestrained aura despite of being medium-tall and svelte. their special striking element is their white, shimmering teeth. they (maybe) have moles completely covering their left thigh, right hand, chest, stomach and right lower arm (anywhere in these areas). they frequently wears opulent, spectacular garments that are generally pastel-hued, golden or dark colors. they typically seen wearing an unmistakable and undeniable shroud.

2.) positives

intuitive, romantic, mysterious, sympathetic, a true leader, tidy, responsible, quite and carefully listening to what the other person sharing to them, goal-oriented, influence others in a good way, sociable, easy to get liked by many, faithful, committed, have a strong inner strength and they usually attract many admirers.

3.) negatives

blunt, argumentative whether they're wrong or right, trouble maker, self doubt, anxious, rude and bossy.

4.) love/dating history

they as often as possible discover themselves in this viewpoint while in case they gonna proceed finding adore or proceed working on their possess objectives like goals. i can say this individual is single since birth and do not really have a dating history but they drop in cherish once however they knew this love is one sided which other individual doesn't cherish them back as the way they do. i also think usually a crush that turned into love, i do have this feeling that they confessed to this individual and this person turned them down since they preferred somebody else. right presently, they attempting their best to discover and adjust between these two angles of their life(love and career) whereas attempting to figuring out what truly their reason on the earth. you might meet them through your social associations.

5.) career and money

this individual is exceptionally decided to attain their objectives to gotten to be what they needed to be, they need to win and succeed in life. truly, they will accomplish much advance in their career life and will have flexibility from obligation and will be able to achieve security and steadiness. i am moreover figuring out that after marriage, the money will bloom and will accomplish more. fair an counsel for you to not spend as well much of all their cash since they worked difficult for it and it is no joke the work they put in for this security to realize. they may be from a family that incorporates a huge trade running or fair basically a family part of a proficient (a big family business). anticipate that individual to be proficient, they may be somebody who works as a chef, specialist, ceo, attorney, property speculator, genuine domain proprietor and fire fighter or firewoman.

6.) home life, family and friends

i knew it. they are from a family that appears proficient, they are ordinarily private and share as it were a number of viewpoints of their life with others. their family claims tons of properties but as i'm getting here, they may be living within the farmland. they live in a reviving house with their family, i too think that they met companions since of schools and with their family associations. they might do sports at school and it's so well known. i too think that their family itself is well-known in their community, as i talk here, perhaps their guardians have a part of associations and engagement with other greater individuals. they sentiments appears distant absent from their family, they might see these individuals scarcely or most exceedingly bad few times in a month. when we talk about their guardians, they are strict, rules and routines individuals.

a channeled song dedicated to you from them based on your future energy ‘‘all i ever need’’ by austin mahone.

© thecelestialperiwinkle

[missmeinyourbones]

GUARD DOWN

cw: atsumu gets his wisdom teeth out and is annoying, brief mentions of pain medication, surgery, mouth wounds, etc

Atsumu is far heavier than he looks, which—given the fact that he’s built to be a 6 foot olympic athlete—is already decently heavy. 

After anxiously entertaining yourself in the waiting room for an entire forty-two dreadful minutes, one of the assistants had alerted you that your boyfriend had finally come to and that his wisdom teeth removal went as smoothly as it possibly could’ve gone.

The news has your body swelling with relief, though you can’t help but bite your tongue at the irony of it all. Nothing about Atsumu is smooth—from his boisterous tongue to his calloused palms, your boyfriend is not typically seamless. 

From the second was escorted out of the dental chair and reunited with you, he was all exhausted cries and senseless babbles.

The nurses were kind enough to help you wheel his loopy self out to the parking lot, after debriefing you on his healing process and the steps needed to care for his tender wounds.

Reaching the side of your passenger door, you assured them you were capable of putting him in the car yourself, not wanting to inconvenience them with his dazed antics any longer. Good at their job, they kept reassuring you that it was their pleasure, that it’s normal for people to be a bit out of it after their wisdom teeth removal, but Atsumu’s whiny behavior was—for lack of a better word—embarrassing. 

With his dead weight slumped on your side and fifteen minutes of complaining down the drain, you somehow managed to wrangle him into the passenger seat of your car. 

You secure his seatbelt, before racing to the driver’s side and locking the doors, unsure if he’d try to escape within the few seconds you weren’t by his side. 

Which is where he sits now, slumped against the glass of the window with a mouth full of pink gauze. He watches the outlet malls and fast food restaurants you pass on your drive home with intense concentration. You barely hear him through his stuffed mouth, his words are sluggish and mumbled. 

“M’hungry,” he carries the last syllable with a whine, “can we get McDonald’s?”

Giving a tight-lipped smile, you softly deny his request, “No.”

He groans like a child being denied a sweet—and for a second, you think he can read your mind as he’s perking up with the sudden inquiry of, “Wait, can we make those cookies later?”

Again, you have to play bad cop and turn down his giddy offer. 

“We can’t, no.”

“Lame,” he groans before prodding at the pillowy cotton with his finger. Before you can swat his hand away from the gauze, he continues his accidental interrogation. “I feel drunk, can we get drunk tonight?”

“No—”

“Oh my godddddd,” the complaint growls from the back of his throat, but it’s hard to find it intimidating when it’s muffled and dazed. 

He shakes his head with a stubborn attitude, “Do you know any words other than no?”

Your eyes shift momentarily from the red light before you and to the pouting man beside you. 

“Atsumu,” you warningly scold.

“See, there you go,” he points a finger. “That’s a good word to know, Atsumu,” his name dances foreign on his tongue, as if it isn't his own. As if he doesn’t hear you say it a thousand different ways every single day. When he’s annoying and sweet and raunchy and tired and everything in between. 

Though irritating as ever, his mumblings remind you that he’s still a bit loopy. You take a deep breath, “You can’t drink alcohol, or eat anything solid right now,” you softly remind him. 

His face scrunches in genuine confusion, “Why?”

You gesture to his already swelling cheeks, “Because your mouth needs to heal.”

“My mouth?”

“Yeah,” your voice is delicate, grounding, as you try your best to jog his memory, “you got your wisdom teeth out, remember?”

Atsumu’s face instantly drops from confusion to disappointment at your words. A pout pulls at his lips—as much as it can with his numbed tongue and sore jaw. 

“Fuck,” he slouches further into the window. 

You bite back a grin, “What’s wrong?”

His voice resembles a kicked puppy as he sulks in his own misery. A muffled confession comes out tiny from his chapped lips, “All my wisdom’s gone.”

The streetlight turns green once more and your attention is redirected to the road. You’re about five minutes away from home, maybe eight with the given traffic. Though the ride is minute, there’s no way of knowing how many more waves of emotions Atsumu is willing to sail through.

“Well lucky for you, I have plenty to spare,” you attempt to cheer him up. “And you’ll be back to eating regular stuff in no time, just gotta be patient these next few days.”

“Well, what can I eat?” he slurs his syllables. 

“I picked up some soft foods from the store. Pudding, applesauce, mashed potatoes—”

“Ice cream?” he interrupts you, head snapping from the window to your side profile with bright, expecting eyes. 

You bite your lip to hide your grin. “Maybe,” you tease, “if you’re nice to me.”

Another groan falls from his lips before his head presses against the cool window for the umpteenth time. 

He groans, “M’always nice to ya.”

He’s silent the rest of the way home, saying nothing when you stop at a few more red lights and pass his favorite lake—the one he jogs around on weekend mornings. 

You almost think he’s fallen asleep, that is until you’re parked in your driveway and opening his door. 

His doe-eyes stare back at you, not tired in the slightest but still foggy with an uncertain aloofness. Through tiny encouraged whispers of arms up and excuse me’s, you work your way around his torso and to his buckle. 

He watches you intently through heavy lids as you unlock his seatbelt. He looks like something sits heavy on his tongue, but you know he’s still half exhausted and half high on pain medication, so you decide to let him initiate any small talk, if he pleases.

It slightly surprises you when his hand lands on your shoulder. Looking up from where his thigh keeps his seatbelt strapped in place, you find his eyes suddenly misty.

“Hey,” he softly demands your attention. “Do y’like me?” 

His voice is small, uncharacteristically tiny as his lip wobbles with emotion. 

Your body moves before your mind can catch up. You cradle his jaw in your hands tenderly, careful not to put too much pressure on the still sensitive area before cooing into his worry. 

“Yes, baby. I love you,” you sweetly press a kiss to his nose, then forehead, not wanting to hurt his swollen mouth.  

Atsumu’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head, “Love?!” he squawks, “Holy shit.”

Your eyebrows raise as you shoot him an amused grin, “Why? Does that surprise you?”

His lips are still slightly pouted as he nods his head. “A little, yeah,” he trails off in embarrassment. 

“Why?” you encourage. 

He’s quieter now, fiddling with his hands like a small child, “M’annoying sometimes.”

Your heart is filled with an odd combination of heartbreak and admiration all at once. Your lover, still as sensitive as ever, never fails to express his true emotions. He’s always been great at communicating his feelings to you—though it’s rare for said feelings to be one’s of insecurity. He still trusts you with this side of him, even when confused out of his mind.

You find yourself getting teary-eyed as well as you tease him through a sniffle.

 “Sometimes,” you nod in agreement. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you,” you remind him, “and I’m sorry if I don’t tell you that enough, baby.”

Atsumu’s skin instantly brightens with a blush while he tilts his head in pride as if he wasn't just sulking in your hold.

“No, ya do,” he dismisses your tender words with a sleepy grin, “I jus’ like hearing it extra.”

With your hand for support, he slowly swings his body around the passenger seat so his legs dangle out of the car door, shoes scraping against your gravel driveway. 

Before you can begin to stand him up, he’s circling back to a prior thought. 

“So can we get McDonald’s, now?”

[coralinnii]

✧ Who’s your vibe: Heartslabyul edition ✧

How to play: out of the 20 traits I think of about the TWST guys, bold or highlight the traits you associate or vibe with. No competition, no challenge, just fun.

Heartslabyul Savanaclaw Octavinelle Scarabia Pomefiore Ignihyde Diasomnia

Riddle

8/20

collared outfits \ academically driven \ watching documentaries for fun \ pocket watches \ feeding stray animals \ rose-infused smells \ actions speak louder than words \ crossword puzzles \ reread books \ is always perfectly on time \ anxious cook \ socially awkward \ tea over coffee \ sweet tooth \ valedictorian \ photographic memory \ perfectionist \ horseback rides \ manners maketh man \ ironed shirts \

Trey

9/20

freshly baked bread \ mint scents \ big sibling energy \ hats \ friend who plans everything \ safety first \ casual clothes \ supreme baker \ loves kids \ writes neatly \ loves to spoil others \ secretly mischievous \ doesn’t want to stand out \ green clovers \ beware the nice ones \ dental care is best care \ loyal to the end \ hidden muscles \ easily embarrassed \ simple and chill \ cool tone colours

Cater

5/20

social media presence \ keeps a lot of secrets \ social expert \ spicy food lover \ exhausted little sibling \ cute little fangs \ flirty \ skateboards \ guitars \ so many selfies \ band tees or hoodies \ trendy accessories \ fortune telling \ cute cafes \ pompadour \ winky face \ go with the flow \ cute nicknames \ peace signs pose \ rock n’ roll vibes \

Ace

6/20

jerk with soft spot \ shortcuts are best cuts \ angry worry wart \ brutally honest \ cheeky hearts \ prostratinator \ tsundere \ magic tricks \ sore loser \ playfully insults friends \ talks to friends during class \ messy hair \ accidentally very dramatic \ secretly sappy \ stepping around the rules \ idolizes big siblings \ visits friends without warning \ trouble magnet \ cocky smirk \ brings playing cards everywhere \

Deuce

6/20

book dumb \ changing for the better \ grease monkey \ bad rep \ momma’s kid \ ride-or-die \ super gullible \ fights back \ two-toned varsity jackets \ bikes are cool \ single parent child \ delinquent days \ works on honor code \ musclehead \ good with chores \ can’t go wrong with adding eggs \ won’t know till you try \ one-track mind \ do shit, get hit \ hardworking \

[flashfuture]

The flashes have:

• weird found family that is a mix of a found family and blood family and most of them actually truly get along and care about each other even if some of them are little sassy.

• have powers where the upper echelon of their brood, with the most power are verging on multiverse and time gods and the ones just starting out still range on the side of most destructive meta humans on earth, if they are still human at all.

• their most interesting villains are crime syndicate with a amazing dental and medical plan who usually have something approaching morals.

I think they make other heroes only a little jelly beans cause they have all these boons and they are still interesting as characters to watch.

like it's actually so crazy if you think about it. in 1938 the DC universe time began. but the way time works in DC it's easier to think of time as the addition of every second. it's static not accumulative. 1 second 1 second 1 second 1 second and on to eternity. A life is made up of seconds coming together 1 2 3 4 5 6. But this didn't happen not for 18 years. Until 1956 when Barry Allen was struck by lightning in both canon and out of universe. Things started moving Forward

(The Flash: Rebirth)

And he made the speed force. He keeps the present in the present and the rest of time away by generating the kinetic force that makes the lightning that gives the Flashes their speed.

Barry canonically moves Time forward by existing but he can also force it. He did so twice once fighting reverse flash/zoom and once fighting the turtle. When fighting Turtle, Barry connected himself to every living being except Turtle and pulled them all into the future by a few seconds to thwart his Turtley plans.

And Wally well I have a theory that Wally stores the memories the moments added together that make a life. In 1986 Barry reset the universe and everyone's minds got Fucked. Before Final Crisis when they bring back Wally from the speedforce it causes Bruce and Hal to remember Barry and incorrectly assume he's the one coming back. In 2011 when Flashpoint happened Barry did it Without Wally. Wally who was in the speedforce and got stuck again and once again everyone's backstories reset and their memories were fucked. In 2016 when Wally breaks out he returns memories to people. With Infinite Frontier this is the first universe reset where Wally's speed force is actively contributing to what happens and not only do people retain their current memories they start getting All their old memories back.

Reverse Flash represented paradoxes in time. But in the most recent run Barry phases through him giving him some speed force. And Eobard gets reset to how he should have been. Becoming connected to Barry fixes his Present. That kinetic wall between the present and time.

Bart I have no idea what they're doing with him they should be remembering that he's the best Fighter of the flashes. That he's vicious and blitzes enemies like Godspeed. Also how Bart is the most scatter brained and seemingly can not slow down unlike his grandpa and cousin. Yet he also is the only one of the entire family to be able to retain what he's learned forever. And has I think the greatest feats of cosmic awareness basically teaching himself about the meta of the DC universes reboots. Bart I think should represent the inevitability of the future coming. No matter how many changes you think you can make a future will always be there. Something to be said for him being a character created during Zero Hour year too I'm sure of it.

[gb-dentistry]

Professional Dental Clinic Services

[lemonmoicho]

Head cannons of Diavolo that no one cares about 🫶

Origin: Diavolo and his mother are indigenous Sardinia. They come from a small reserved village near alghero l'alguer, They mainly speak Campidanese Sardú and even though the island of Sardinia was conquered by the Italians, small villages like theirs are still heavily traditional. When Diavolo speaks Italian, his Sardinia accent is apparent, which contributes to his adherence to speaking on the phone with any subordinate. Diavolo would have a super strong Catalana dialect for the reason that his mother’s family were there when the Spanish eradicated the natives in alghero and his family were one of the few who were able to stay on the island as there is a small native Sardinia population. Diavolo knows how to speak the native language of Sardinia, Sardinian (or Sard). He is also fluent in Latin, as he grew up in the Catholic Church and studied the Bible under his adoptive father. The priest had him very close to Sardinian traditions in general, and he practiced them growing up. As he got older, he strayed away from his father's teaching and very rarely connects to his heritage due to his paranoia and general disdain for his upbringing.

Backstory: Diavolo/Solido was born on June 6th, 1967 (06/06/67) Even though it’s unlikely, because there are no distinctions whether his mother was actually pregnant for two years, the priest and village believed that he was born by the devil because of his abnormal birth story. When the priest took in Solido he assumed he was born by the devil and relentlessly abused him. This is supported by the fact he has DID which only forms from intensive physical and emotional at the ages of 6-9 as a defense mechanism. Diavolo was originally a personality to protect Solido from the abuse of his village and his adoptive father. The priest and the villagers heavily resented and disliked him due to his birth, which led to his many mental illnesses and physical issues. The name Diavolo was given to Solido, in which his second personality reclaimed after burning down the church and primarily taking control of the body. Diavolo is considered the protector (which is a term for certain alters in DID systems) for ‘Doppio’ or Solido and takes over or gives him advice when he’s in violent or serious situations to help him and is also why Doppio doesn’t remember anything of his past, because Diavolo holds the memories of their childhood. Diavolo’s childhood was extremely difficult, as he was often neglected and physically abused by the priest. He would undergo gruesome exorcisms and other forms of punishments, as his father resented him for being the ‘devil's son’. However, despite the abuse, Solido was a very kind, albeit aloof, boy who attempted to be obedient to his father. During his teen years, he developed early onset schizophrenia while Diavolo simultaneously made himself present, which caused Solido to be more rebellious and making his home life worse. As he reached the age of 17-19, Diavolo helped influence the plan to kidnap his biological mother and burn the village down in order to escape and start his life anonymously.

Appearance:

5’10 and has a darker complexion.

- His teeth are sharp and mildly crooked, as a child he had no access to any dental attention.

- As he got older, he became paler since he early goes outside and prefers his home to be dark as he's paranoid of open windows.

-His facial structure has strong Neolithic features and an aquiline nose.

-He also has freckles across his face and shoulders, which he desperately covers up with makeup in order to uphold his particular aesthetic. He does a similar sharpening with his jaw to hide any soft features.

-He doesn’t grow much body hair, and if he does, it’s faint.

-He shows very little signs of aging and has the complexion of someone in his early twenties.

-He has terrible posture and often is hunched forward. Whether that is sitting, standing, or walking. His joints audibly crack often. The reasoning for this is his grueling work schedule that has him hunched over his desk for most hours of the day and the abuse he endured growing up which decently distorted the bone structure of his spine.

-He’s only 140 pounds because of his very slim figure. He’s slightly malnourished, but still has decent muscle mass and has a generally lean build.

Habits and details:

-Diavolo often becomes extremely caught up in what he’s doing or what’s nagging him that he’ll forget to eat, keep track of time or sleep.

-He has scopophobia (the fear of being stared at).

-His diet is at least 65% dry/snack food since he has little to no time to prepare himself a meal and will not allow anyone to prepare food for him.

-He has some knowledge on how to play the violin and piano.

- He enjoys opera performances; especially dramatic ones that tell a tale (i.e. opera buffa).

-He enjoys watching dramatic Italian soap operas when he finds the time, but he will never watch any horror related media, as it only worsens his paranoia.

-He has a weakness in literature and any understanding of biology but is naturally gifted in mathematics.

-He has a fondness for cats, but the feeling is not mutual.

-He gets easily irritated when he feels too hot.

-His hair is surprisingly soft, he also likes to use it as a curtain to hide behind when doing desk work or reading.

-He loves the sound of ocean waves and on occasion will make his current hideout near the ocean so he can sit near a window and relax. Diavolo would love to find an untouched beach so he can simply walk next to the ocean and enjoy the breeze without the fear of being discovered, ruining the moment.

-He has limited hobbies, since he can’t really indulge in activities that leave traces of his existence.

-His main hobby is reading, with a particular fondness towards classical pieces and poetry (that is where he gets his very unusually formal vocabulary). Diavolo finds something comforting within books being passed from hand-to-hand with no mention of the previous owner's name.

-Another hobby of his is playing instruments, but he rarely finds the time.

-His hands are very fidgety, more so when stressed, so he has a habit of rubbing circles into his scalp or scratching at his skin.

-Even though Diavolo doesn’t have a sweet tooth, he’s particularly fond of ciambelle


Flaws:

-His desire not to be seen stems from more than just wanting to remain anonymous. The feeling of eyes on him makes his skin crawl; it kicks his senses of anxiety and paranoia into overdrive and makes him feel restless or nauseous. There are days Diavolo is completely incapable of leaving the safety of his isolated room.

-He has paranoid schizophrenia, which makes daily life harder and increases his paranoia.

-Due to his many delusional complexes, when he loses control he goes into deep depressive episodes. If something doesn’t go as expected, he'll go through irrational fits and is unable to control his anger.

-His emotional regulation is very fragile and could be compared to a child.

-Since he’s constantly on edge, he’s prone to snapping ‘suddenly’ or becoming aggressive over the smallest things. The outbursts are short and, unless he’s able to ‘overcome’ the issue then and there, will nag at him for hours to come.

-Once he’s angry, he finds it hard to relax again.

-He cannot cook anything past a basic, barely-passes-as-decent meal. He doesn’t need to prepare food himself when he can afford to buy luxury; though trying to do so whilst being a hermit obsessed with maintaining anonymity is difficult. He doesn’t enjoy it, but during times when he cannot leave where he’s currently hiding, he resorts to ready-made meals.

[jeanstapleton]

am I really going to share gale x halsin bulletpoints yes I am

both incredibly well-read obviously; brains are practically encyclopedias & they have very good memory. despite that they still enjoy teaching each other about their respective practices of magic

halsin disputes the notion that druids are all about returning to the dirt & not taking care of themselves bc its "more natural" esp since druids are master medicine makers. halsin smells like apples & sandalwood & grass; gale smells like fruity wine & vanilla & cinnamon

halsin & gale both make their own hygiene products: shampoo/conditioner, moisturizers/body oils, dental care, hair care, etc. they smell so good & are so effective that it becomes their de facto job to make hygiene products for the party at camp

both are chubby & super hairy. no argument; t4t.

they start doing each other's hair early into their friendship

both really good cooks but with completely different flavor palettes

gale has not slept with anyone since mystra & halsin is a verse but isn't really "allowed" per se to bottom very often since a lot of ppl want him to top them

halsin gets flustered over gale's beard, thinks its super hot, wishes he could grow one; goes without saying that gale is nuts about the top of his head only coming up to halsin's chest; he loves being carried

man who uses 700 words & syllables to say something that could be said in a few x man who uses 700 words & syllables to say something that could be said in a few

they grow their hair out really long post-canon; gale travels with halsin across faerun & helps him rebuild the fallen communities

after denouncing mystra, gale is robbed of all his power, essentially reducing him from a nuke to a little teacandle. but since gale was a sorcerer all along, he uses the little bit of power he has left to start all over again & study druidic magic with halsin

they become a well known professorial duo across faerun; everyone from every age group tries to get into one of their seminars when theyre in town

every party member has a crystal ball courtesy of gale so they can all keep in touch with each other anytime they want

[penny-anna]

Omg it was biotene (had completely forgotten the brand name) never heard anything about it interacting badly with toothpaste but they also have a gel formula that you kind of ….. paint on your gums if memory serves right. I think they have other forms as well but i only tried the gel and rinse.

the issue w mouth wash is that if you use it right after brushing your teeth (which is when most people use it) then it'll wash away the fluoride from your toothpaste. i have to use prescription extra high fluoride toothpaste bcos of my dental issues so would have to be careful with it!! & the whole thing just kinda stresses me out

i've tried the gel but found that the effects for me basically last until i next drink water and wash it all away :(

[whimsimille]

PSYCHOCHROMIA

Seo Moonjo (Patient) x Reader! (Doctor)

Chapter 2: Slaughter house

Tick tack

Tick tack

30 minutes now and you're going crazy. You look at Moonjo through your mascara-coated eyelashes, the clumps of black giving your gaze an almost predatory edge. He only smirks, a Cheshire curl of lips that deflates another question once again. It's grating. It's perverse. But you still take a sip of the cold coffee.

Your fingers moved almost subconsciously to cross over each other on top of the table—a nervous habit you had since childhood when Mom wasn't looking. She would have shot you a disapproving look if she were still alive, reminding you of Dad and how he used to beat you for being so much like him. But she wasn't here now; she couldn’t make you feel like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. She couldn't see you crossing your fingers in this room, hoping against hope that Moonjo would open up and reveal something about his past or his crimes.

"Can you tell me about your... work? How do you reconcile your actions with your own moral compass, Mr. Seo?"

Moonjo's smile widened, revealing perfect, gleaming teeth that seemed almost too pristine, too sharp. He reached for the crayon you usually leave out for Mina, a patient with regression disorder. The bright red crayon looked almost comically out of place in his large, bruised hand. Without breaking eye contact, he began to sketch on the paper in front of him, making slow and chirurgical strokes that gradually took form.

"You see, Dr. Song, extracting a tooth is an art form. It's delicate, precise. You must be gentle but also firm. One wrong move and you could shatter the tooth, ruin the whole endeavor. It's very similar to... my other work."

He paused, glancing down at his doodle. Hollow eyes, razor-thin smile lines carved out of the paper.

"I had an unfortunate upbringing. My father was a strict man—a pastor who preached about sin and damnation every Sunday. I suppose it rubbed off on me." Moonjo pulls at one of his bottom lips with his teeth, revealing the sharp edge of his incisor. There's something feral about him now, almost primal. It's as if he's been waiting for this moment—not only to share his story but also to relish in it. "I remember one Sunday, after a particularly fiery sermon about the wages of sin, he took me to the basement. There was a row of dental tools laid out on a white cloth—forceps, scalers, probes. He said they were instruments of God's will, tools to cleanse the soul. That day, I learned how to extract a tooth. He made me practice on myself first, pulling out a molar with trembling hands. The pain was excruciating, but the lesson was clear: salvation through suffering.”

Your pen hovered over the page, barely able to keep up with the torrent of his revelations. "I’m sorry for you—" 

“Don’t,” he shook his head slowly, almost pityingly. “People think of God as a comforting figure. Like a teddy bear a child clings to at night, or a security blanket. It's nice to think there's someone up there who's always watching, always caring. The promise of paradise, of eternal life—it’s a comforting thought, isn't it?"

You shifted in your seat again, uncrossing your legs and recrossing them the other way around, trying to find some sort of comfort in the movement. "But not everyone sees it that way. Some people find comfort in the rituals and the community. It's not just about fear or comfort; it's about belonging."

Seo paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he were trying to recall a distant memory. "For some people, yes. But I understood that it was always in the blood, in the agape mouths and in the crushed windpipes. It was in the steel of the dental tools, the ones I used to clean my victims' teeth before... well, you know."

It was like listening to a twisted version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; the transformation from healer to killer so seamless it was almost poetic. It was like being in a surreal version of a dentist's office—one where the patients were more likely to bite you than spit out what was stuck in their teeth.

“I might not understand everything, Mr. Seo. But I do know that everyone has their reasons and their justifications. Even if those reasons are twisted and dark, yes. I know.”

The man looks up from his drawing and raises an eyebrow at you—a challenge in his eyes. You force yourself to maintain eye contact, holding his gaze even if it feels like he's seeing straight into your soul.

"If the idea of eternal punishment is the only thing keeping you good, are you really a good person? Is it the fear of hell that makes you help an old lady cross the street, or is it genuine kindness? Maybe it was other things that caused me to lose my belief. Maybe my faith was only conditional to begin with. Perhaps it was rooted in the childlike wonder I felt when I first read the Bible, like believing in Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny."

Moonjo stretches his arm out, displaying the paper with the half-finished drawing—a crude sketch of a man in a robe, arms spread wide and eyes closed—and an almost serene smile on his face. Above his head, a halo glows bright and golden. "Sometimes when we prayed at church or at home, I would close my eyes and try to summon that feeling of awe, of connection to something greater. But it always felt hollow, like I was reciting lines from a play I no longer believed in."

You took a deep breath before speaking again, not wanting to break the eerie silence that had fallen between you two. "I understand, Mr. Seo… But what do you want me to do with this? This man in your sketch, is he supposed to represent your father, or perhaps a version of yourself?"

You held up the drawing, trying not to let your shaking hands give away your fear. There was no answer from Moonjo; he simply sat there, staring at you with those empty eyes that seemed to hold an endless well of madness. Sweat began to bead on your forehead as the temperature in the room dropped precipitously. It felt as if the air itself were becoming chilled by his presence, as if he were sucking out all warmth and light like some kind of parasite.

"Mr. Seo?" You tried again, louder this time. "Are you alright?"

He didn't respond, but instead reached over to a small pot on the table and picked up a stick of sugar-free gum from it. Popping it into his mouth with a loud crack, he began chewing vigorously on it as he stared at you intently, studying your every move as if trying to decide whether or not you were worth keeping around any longer.

“This is how they saw him. Pure and holy, a beacon of light." His voice drawls with disgust, lips pulling back to show his teeth chewing the gum. "But I saw something else. I saw an old man who'd lost control of his son, who beat him when he misbehaved and demanded silent obedience. I saw the hypocrisy in their pews every Sunday. They sang hymns of love while their husbands beat their wives at home." He pauses, nodding slowly as if in agreement with himself. "So I started cleansing them—cleansing them with my own hands and tools. It was liberating."

As he speaks, he absently fiddles with the red crayon, twirling it between his fingers before dipping it into the black inkpot on the table. A smear of blood-red color mixes with the black ink, forming an ominous stain on the wet surface. The sound of scratching fills the air as he writes his next words: 'Sometimes I imagine they scream so loud for me'. 

In general, when you start working with a patient, there is no urgency, no predetermined therapeutic timeline to meet specific goals. Usually, it begins with many months of conversation. In an ideal world, Moonjo would talk about himself, his life, and his childhood. You would listen, gradually building a picture until it was complete enough to venture into precise and useful interpretations. But in this case, nothing real would be said. Nothing non manipulative would be heard. The information you needed would have to be obtained from non-verbal cues, from whatever information you could extract from other sources, like the confidential notes from the police files or the whispered rumors among the nurses.

In other words, you had to set a plan in motion to help Moonjo without knowing exactly how to execute it. 

A fly buzzes aimlessly around your head before landing on Moonjo's sleeve; he casually reaches out and crushes it between his fingers, never breaking eye contact with you. The crunch of the exoskeleton is barely audible, but you can see the minute satisfaction in his eyes as he slowly pulls at the insect, dismembering it piece by piece. His jaw tightens, and you can't help but notice the pure, unadulterated grayness in his gaze—no spark, no humanity. Were the men and women he killed made out of a pair of fully developed wings on the thorax and a knobby, vestigial second pair of wings too? Had they too committed the crime of being small enough to fit between his fingers?

"You know, Mr. Seo, everyone has a different perspective on faith and morality. It's not always about fear of punishment or the promise of reward. Sometimes, it's about the simple act of doing what's right because it feels right. It's about the connections we forge and the empathy we extend to others." You spoke with more confidence than you felt. And you thought your voice sounded inordinately high and squeaky, though you could barely hear it, blood pumping so hard in your ears.  "When I help someone, whether it's through my work here or in my personal life, it's not because I'm afraid of some divine retribution. It's because I believe in the inherent value of each human life. I believe in the power of compassion and understanding to bring about change, no matter how small."

Moonjo's smile widened as he dropped the insect, now crushed like an ant beneath a boot heel. Its wings had been smudged into grayish-black smears and you tried not to fidget at the thought that you were now the insect he wanted to dissect, to see if your blood was just as shiny and if your teeth would be as easy to pull out, but the rustle of your skirt against the vinyl chair caused you to twitch involuntarily. 

"Do you really believe in what you're saying?" he asked, wiggling his fingers as if casting a spell, emphasizing their length and dexterity. "Or is your faith rotting in your drawer alongside your paints and canvases?"

Breath catches in your throat like an invisible noose tightening around your neck and your hand moves instinctively towards your necklace at the base of your throat—a simple silver chain holding an old Saint Christopher medal your first patient had given you when you first started working here.

You had never mentioned your passion for painting to anyone. How could he possibly know? 

Quickly, you find your hand reaching for the recorder, your fingers fumbling a little, but you manage to hit 'pause' just before the next words. You can't believe what you're hearing. Your stomach churns and you feel your face go pale, yet you know that there are only ten more minutes left and you're pulling the plug on this interview. You'll have to pick it up with another patient later or simply write it up yourself based on his words, but the last thing you will do is be here when night falls. 

"How do you know about that?"

He pointed toward your nails. "It's all in the details, Dr. Song. The way you hold your pen, the slight smudges on your skin... It's clear that you paint. And it's also clear that you're trying to reconcile two parts of yourself—the healer and the artist."

You glanced down at your hands, now trembling slightly. The faint traces of ultramarine blue under your thumbnail, the barely noticeable streak of burnt sienna on your wrist—marks of your late-night sessions that never seemed to completely wash away, no matter how hard you scrubbed with the lavender-scented soap from the local market.

Still, who would look at tiny bits of color strokes that couldn’t be cleaned with a sponge and make poetry out of them?

You gulp down the rest of your cold coffee, feeling its harshness sit heavy in your stomach like a rock. Moonjo watches intently as you set the mug down gently on the table that separates you from him—its metallic clank echoing off the walls like a warning bell in an empty church steeple.

"What makes you think my faith is rotting?" 

"Because, jagiya, people like us... we wear masks. We hide behind our roles and our titles. But deep down, we are all searching for something. And sometimes, the very things we believe in, the things we cling to, can decay and fester within us."

"And what about you, Mr. Seo? What are you searching for? What lies beneath your mask?"

Moonjo shrugs nonchalantly, his chained hands moving up to his leather restraints as if he could snap them off at any moment if he wanted to. "Perhaps I'm searching for someone who can understand the darkness within me. Someone who can see beyond the monster and find the humanity buried deep.”

Tick tack.

Suddenly, another fly buzzes around the room. It lands on the battered oak table, right next to the crushed remains of the last one Moonjo had dismembered. Its tiny legs twitch as it surveys the scene, perhaps sensing the latent malice in the room. It cautiously inches towards your coffee mug. You shiver involuntarily as its spindly legs dance closer to the rim of the mug, delicately navigating the remnants of your lipstick stain. 

Still, you just roll a piece of paper—the appointment schedule for the day, printed on flimsy office stock—and swat it away. The fly buzzes off, leaving a faint smear on the page, the scent of ink and paper mingling with the stale smell of old coffee.

It's an innocent gesture, a reflex born out of years of dealing with minor nuisances. But the act makes Moonjo stifle a laugh, a sound that is both mocking and curious. He tilts his head as if you were an interesting specimen under his scrutinizing gaze, his eyes narrowing like a cat watching a cornered mouse.

“…Or maybe I'm just looking for my next challenge." His tone was perfectly neutral, without judgment. 

Even so, you felt a swell in your chest—a familiar toxic squeeze—like your lungs were eroding under the sheer weight of your work. You exhaled, fighting to remain calm. Seo Moonjo stayed under control only so long as you were calm. 

"And do you think you'll find what you're looking for here, in this room with me?"

Moonjo's eyes bore into yours. "Maybe. Or maybe you'll find something about yourself that you never wanted to confront."

After a failed snack at the cafeteria—where the only offerings were a sad-looking sandwich with wilted lettuce and a cup of what could only be described as dishwater masquerading as coffee—you wandered through the dimly lit corridors of Gonjiam, still stained with the rusty marks of dried blood from the day a patient named Ji-Hoon had torn out his IV and sprinted through the halls, desperate for an escape. The metallic tang of old blood seemed to cling to the air, mingling with the antiseptic scent that never quite masked the underlying odor of despair. You needed to sneak out for a cigarette to escape the suffocating weight of your thoughts after the unnerving session with Seo Moonjo. His doodle, now folded and tucked away in your pocket, felt like a lead weight pressing against your leg.

Just as you were about to give up after minutes of wandering around and heading back to your office, Son Yoo Jeong appeared near the fire escape, her ever-present clipboard clutched to her chest and a slight sheen of sweat on her forehead, suggesting she'd been rushing around the ward. Still, she was pretty with her new short bob cut, the kind of haircut that looked effortlessly chic but probably required meticulous maintenance.  

“Are you lost, Y/N?" Jeong tilted her head slightly, her brown eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress.

You hesitated, the urge to confess weighing heavily on your chest. “No, not lost. Just... needing a break, noona.” 

The woman raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Oh, there’s no need to lie, honey! It happens even with senior nurses! It took me months to find my way around here. It feels like a maze with no exit. Sometimes I still get lost, and I've been here for ten years." She laughed, a light, tinkling sound that contrasted sharply with the heavy atmosphere.

Before you could protest, she gently took you by the arm, her fingers surprisingly strong for someone so petite. She led you through a series of twists and turns, past the nurses' station, where a couple of RNs were chatting over their cups. You barely had time to register the framed prints of Van Gogh's "Starry Night" and Monet's "Water Lilies" hanging on the walls before she was guiding you upstairs, where nurses and aides moved in and out, their scrubs a blur of blues and greens, punctuated by the occasional flash of a brightly colored lanyard or a pin celebrating a recent vaccination. 

"I'll put the water on to boil," Jeong said as soon as you two entered the place, her voice cutting through the noise. "What a miserable weather, huh? It would be better if it started raining to end this... Rainis a very strong symbol in the imagination, don't you think? It cleans everything. Have you noticed how patients like to talk about storms? Try to observe. It's interesting."

To your surprise, she reached into her oversized tote bag—a well-worn, brown leather piece that looked like it had seen better days—and pulled out a huge piece of cake wrapped in cling film, placing it in your hand. "Here. Walnut cake. I made it last night. For you. Don't think I didn't notice your pretty face getting smaller every day. I know you're not eating."

"Wow, thanks. I..."

"I know it's not conventional, but I always get better results with difficult patients when I offer a slice of cake during the session," she said with a wink.

You laughed, the tension in your shoulders easing just a bit. "I bet you do. Am I a difficult patient?

Jeong giggled with a deep, hearty sound. "No, although I also think it works well with difficult team members... which you are not, by the way. A little sugar helps a lot to improve the mood. I used to make cakes for the cafeteria, but Sangwoo made such a fuss about all that nonsense about health and safety with food brought from outside... It was like I was smuggling files to see through the bars. But I still make my cakes on the sly sometimes. My rebellion against the dictatorial state. Eat a piece.

It wasn't a suggestion but an order. You took a bite. It was delicious. The cake had a perfect consistency, full of walnut pieces, and just the right amount of sweetness. You were chewing, so you tried to cover your mouth while speaking. "I have no doubt that this will put your patients in a good mood."

Jeong clapped her hands, seeming pleased. You realized why you liked her: she radiated a kind of maternal calm. She reminded you of your former therapist, Go Eun. It was hard to imagine her angry or upset. She also had that pink shade on her, mostly on the tip of her nose. You suspected it was partly from the cold; the hospital's thermostat perpetually set a few degrees too low, partly from her habit of pinching her cheeks whenever she felt flustered—a nervous tick she picked up from her grandmother, who always said a little color in the cheeks made one look healthier and mostly because she was just pure goodness and kindness.

You glanced around the room while she made the tea. The nurse's station is always the center of a psychiatric unit, the heart of the place: staff coming and going, and it's from there that the ward is managed day-to-day, or at least where practical decisions are made. "Aquarium" was the nickname the nurses themselves gave the station because the walls were made of reinforced glass, meaning the staff could keep an eye on the patients in the recreation room, at least in theory. In practice, the patients roamed outside constantly, looking in at us, making us the ones under constant observation. Since the space was small, there weren't enough chairs, and the existing ones were usually occupied by nurses working on the computers. So, you generally stood in the middle of the room or leaned awkwardly against a desk, making the place feel crowded no matter how many people were inside.

"Here you go, my dear." Jeong handed you a cup of chamomile tea, the steam curling up in delicate tendrils. 

"Thank you. That's exactly what I needed after Jungwoo dropped a big case on my lap out of nowhere. He didn't even give me a heads-up; he just waltzed into the garden and dumped a stack of files on my hands. I swear, he enjoys watching me scramble."

Jeong sighed like a teenage girl from one of those American movies, twirling a lock of her new short bob cut around her finger. "Oh, that cutie. Have you seen him this afternoon? I wanted to show him my new hair. I thought he might appreciate the change. You know, he has a good eye for detail.”

You took a sip of the tea, savoring the gentle floral notes. "He clocked out around three. Said he had scheduled a meeting with his previous seniors and his girl. Probably talking about his residency program and catching up on old times. He looked pretty excited about it.”

“Wished I was her,” Jeong sighed wistfully, leaning against the counter. “It must be nice to have a boyfriend so cute like that. Plus, he's a nurse. It makes his appeal get a boost. I mean, who wouldn’t want someone who can take care of them and look like he walked out of a K-drama?”

“Please, stop,” you groaned, feeling the faint blush creeping up your cheeks. It was bad enough that Jungwoo was the topic of many daydreams among the staff; hearing it out loud made it all the more embarrassing.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I forgot I'm talking with Mrs. Cold here,” Jeong teased, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.

“Mrs. Cold, huh?”

“Well, you know how it is. You've got that icy exterior, but we all know you're just a big softie underneath. Like a lollipop with a hard shell and a gooey center. Besides, it’s kind of endearing.” 

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face. “Yeah, sure. Just call me the Ice Queen of Gonjiam.”

“Hey, it’s better than some of the other nicknames flying around,” Jeong winked, glancing around as if to make sure no one else was listening. “Remember when Nurse Kim accidentally dyed her hair green and everyone called her ‘The Hulk’ for months? At least your nickname has a certain... elegance to it.”

“You're impossible, Noona.”

Just then, the door to the nurse's station creaked open, and Go Sangman entered, his presence immediately commanding the room. The man was painfully thin, almost skeletal, his frame accentuated by the oversized white coat he wore. His thick glasses magnified his eyes to an almost comical degree, and his hair clung to his scalp in a desperate attempt to cover the bald spots. A dark blue one.

As always, though, he exuded a strong smell of mint gum that he was always chewing. 

It was one of the few things you shared in common while you worked at a downtown asylum, and you recalled that he smoked a lot. However, he had given up smoking, got married, and had a young child since then. You pondered Sangman's potential as a father. Thought he was not a very caring guy, and yet here he was—the new employee of the month, with his picture emblazoned on the bulletin board outside the "aquarium," surrounded by an outrageous gold border.

He gave you a cold smile. "Funny running into you again, Y/N."

"Small world."

"The world of mental health certainly is," he said, as if to imply that he could also be found in other, broader worlds. You tried to imagine what those might be like, but all you could visualize was him hunched over a dimly lit desk, engrossed in the latest volume of "Attack on Titan" or scrolling through a forum dedicated to anime theories.

"How's Ji-Young and little Soo-Min?" You asked, trying to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Ji-Young has become quite the entrepreneur," he finally said, his voice tinged with a hint of pride. "Her brownies are practically flying off the shelves. And Soo-Min... She's already the teacher's pet. Loves her new ‘Frozen’ backpack and can’t stop talking about Mrs. Kim, her homeroom teacher. Time flies, doesn't it?"

You nodded."It sure does."

Sangman stared at you for a few seconds. You had forgotten his habit of pausing, sometimes for a long time, forcing the other person to wait while he considered his response. It annoyed you now, just as it did back then.

"I’ve joined the team at a rather inopportune moment," he said finally. "The sword of Damocles is hanging over the Gonjiam."

"You think the situation is that bad?"

"It's only a matter of time. Sooner or later, the government will close our doors," he replied, his eyes narrowing as he leaned against the doorframe. "The question is, what are you doing here?"

"What do you mean?" Jeong asked, pausing mid-bite of her walnut cake, the crumbs scattering onto her clipboard. A child’s laughter at a funeral.

"Well, when the ship starts sinking, the rats run away. They don't climb aboard."

You were perplexed by Sangman's direct aggression. You decided not to take the bait. "It's possible. But I'm not a rat. And in that case, you are the one who should leave since you’re new here."

Before he could respond, a violent bang on the reinforced glass interrupted the conversation. Hanna was on the other side of the window, pounding on it with such ferocity that the glass vibrated. Her face was pressed against the glass, nose squished flat, features distorted to the point of resembling something out of a Francis Bacon painting. 

"I'm not taking this shit anymore. I hate these fucking pills, man..."

Sangman opened a small hatch in the glass, the kind you see in old bank teller windows, and spoke through it. "Now is not the time to discuss this, girl."

Hanna's eyes were wild; her pupils dilated. "Discuss? What's there to discuss? You people don't listen. You just shove pills down our throats and expect us to be grateful."

"I'm not talking about this now. Make an appointment to talk in a private setting. Please, step back.”

But Hanna was having none of it. "You mean the isolation room, right? Where you can pump me full of more drugs?" Her words were laced with bitterness, and you couldn't blame her. The isolation room—Room 317, a windowless cube—was a last resort, a place none of the patients wanted to end up. The walls were padded, and the only window was a small, barred one high up on the wall, allowing in just a sliver of daylight. Designed to break the spirit.

“Go. Away.”

Hanna furrowed her brow and thought for a while. After that, she turned and went away with a heavy step, leaving behind a small condensation circle where her nose had touched the glass. Her slow shuffling step, with one foot dragging slightly behind the other due to an old injury sustained during one of her episodes, was audible.

Jeong sighed while pouting, "Poor Hanna."

Sangman grumbled, " There’s nothing poor about her. Difficult. That 's all she is."

"Do you even know why she is here?" You took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the chamomile tea in your hand, before eyeing his red face, the veins in his neck bulging slightly as if he were restraining himself from snapping back.

"Double homicide," Go replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "She killed her mother and sister. Smothered them while they slept."

You shook your head slowly, the corners of your mouth curling into a grim smile. "No. Wrong. She actually killed her abusive father. The one you’re talking about is Gunwoo-shi. Before calling me or other people rats, you should recognize you’re one yourself.”

Sangman’s eyes widened momentarily, a flicker of uncertainty breaking through his usual facade. His fingers twitched, as if reaching for the pack of cigarettes he no longer carried. "I don't recall—"

“Of course, you don't," you interrupted. "You’ve always been quick to judge, slow to understand. Hanna was admitted last spring. Maybe you’re too busy with your ‘research’ on the effects of antipsychotic medications on her to notice the details. She killed her father in self-defense. He broke her soul before she broke his neck.”

“Ouch!” Jeong giggled. “You deserved that, oppa!”

“That’s not funny,” Sangman retorted, rubbing his arm where Jeong had playfully swatted him. His glasses slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose, and he pushed them back up.

Ignoring them, you watched what was happening on the other side of the glass. 

Hanna had joined the other patients. She was much larger than the others. One of the patients, a man named Minho with a penchant for collecting bottle caps, handed her a crumpled five-thousand won note, which she pocketed with a practiced nonchalance. Minho's eyes darted around nervously, his fingers twitching as if he were itching to add another cap to his collection. 

Just as you were about to resume your conversation with Jeong about the teenager’s relationship, you noticed a stillness settle over the room. Across from you, Jeong looks like she might be sick; her face is ashen and she keeps licking her lips, a nervous habit you remember from when she first started working here. Go Sangman stays rigid near the doorway, his arms crossed tightly across his chest and his mouth slightly agape as if unable to find words for once.

It was as if someone had pressed a mute button, silencing the usual ambient noise of whispers, shuffling feet, and the hum of fluorescent lights. Every head, every pair of eyes turned slowly to the left, towards the maximum security room.

You followed their gaze and felt a chill run down your spine. The double doors of the high-security wing creaked open, and there he was—Seo Moonjo. Flanked by five guards, he walked with an unsettling calmness, his eyes scanning the room like a predator surveying his territory. The guards looked tense, their grips tight on the batons at their sides, ready for any sudden movement. They had seen this before—patients attempting to attack their infamous new roommate in order to earn his favor and join his ranks.

As they led him towards the solitary dining area, the patients parted like the Red Sea, creating a wide berth for Moonjo and his entourage. Some of the more unstable patients reached out as he passed, their fingers barely grazing his skin. Their eyes were wide, filled with a mix of awe and fear, as if they were in the presence of some unholy deity.

"Moonjo-ssi," Yoo Gi-hyeok said, his voice trembling. He stretched out his hand, trying to touch Moonjo's face as if seeking a blessing. "Save us..."

The dentist’s lips curled into a smile, but it held no warmth. His eyes were dark, devoid of any human emotion. He allowed the patient to touch his cheek for the briefest moment before the guards shoved the man back, causing him to stumble and fall. 

Gi-hyeok didn't seem to mind; he lay on the floor, gazing up at Moonjo with a look of reverence. His eyes were glazed over, his mouth slightly agape as if still tasting something—perhaps what little piece of human connection he got from touching the infamous killer or perhaps simply relishing in fear itself. Whatever it was, it made them all feel alive in some twisted way.

A savior? Or a butcher? Did the others sense the predator within him, the one that saw them not as individuals but as prey? As potential meals, are their flesh and bones nothing more than sustenance for his insatiable hunger? Did they sense, in some deep part of their psyche, that he would devour them, body and soul?

And what did Moonjo see when he looked at them? Did he see the delicate curve of their necks, the pulse of their blood just beneath the skin? Did he imagine the taste of their fear, the texture of their flesh as his teeth tore through it? Was every touch, every glance, a prelude to a feast, a silent promise of their inevitable consumption?

You couldn't tear your eyes away from the scene. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion—horrifying yet impossible to look away from. Moonjo continued his march towards the solitary dining area, his presence casting a long shadow over the room.

Jeong took a quick sip of her tea but spilled some down her chin when her hand shook; she quickly wiped it away with a trembling hand. 

She glanced at you with wide eyes before looking back at Moonjo's retreating form. ” It's his first day here and they act like this when he's around. They treat him as if he's some kind of messiah."

With that, Moonjo and his guards disappeared behind the heavy metal door of the solitary dining area, the clang of the door echoing ominously through the now silent room.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Kwang, Min-Jun's father, short leashes his dogs again. They were valuable, and he had no intention of losing them to a shot female doe howling and gibbering just down yonder. His son reloaded their guns and snapped them closed. That howling had chilled you and made the sweat under your arms run down your back feel like ice water. When situations become uncomfortable like this, people look for someone to guide them and in such cases, Kwang Jun steps up. He wasn’t feeling much of a hero right then—quite the contrary—but he did it nonetheless, leading the way toward an outcrop of alders jutting ambitiously from the woody fringe on your right side while you followed nervously at a short distance behind him, trying hard not to stumble over roots or fall behind too far.

Only once did he halt his stride—long enough to crush his spent cigarette underfoot—and then push ahead into the vast open area beyond trees filled with dense underbrush.

To the left, the riverbank sloped gently. Thunderstruck, you halted, wishing you could erase the sight that greeted you, a sight that would haunt your dreams—it was the sort of raw, sun-scorched nightmare that lurked beyond the ordinary—church suppers, walks along the vibrant Han River, honest labor in the factories, stolen kisses under the cherry blossoms. As you'd often told Ae-ra after her nightly story, there's a grimacing skull lurking behind every man's smile. That day, you saw it—you saw the grinning skull.

Sprawled on the riverbank was the most beautiful doe, a bullet lodged in her back. Flies had already begun to gather, buzzing around her wounds and settling in the congealing blood. Her head turned towards the gray sky, as if admiring the sparrows launching from the Lotte World Tower before retiring to the bushes. And then you notice it—a slight bulge in her abdomen. She was pregnant.

So often you read in the local paper that “the killer showed no remorse,” but that wasn’t the case here. Min Jun was torn open by what he had done, you saw it in the trembling of his lips, the quivering of his right point finger on the trigger, the way his eyes widened and darted around, almost as if seeking an escape from the reality he had created. . . But he would live. The doe would not. She had been torn open in a more fundamental way, a way that the blood seeping into the earth couldn't even begin to convey.

You have never been as quiet as you were at that moment, holding that live track. Your whole body just stopped working. Your legs felt like water, jelly, completely unreliable. Your mouth opened. You didn't open it; it opened by itself, a gaping maw trying to silently scream. You couldn't move, but you could hear, see and sense everything inside you and for miles around. It was like you were hyper aware of every rustling leaf, every distant bird call, every breath you took. You thought of church mornings at the confessional with that smelly priest, and you thought that Min Jun and you would soon be joining him in seeking absolution.

You think it was fear. You're always fearful. For what you've done, for what you haven't, for things that haven't even happened yet. The fear is a constant deadweight. A backpack full of wet cement is strapped to your shoulders, dragging you down. You were fearful of not spending enough time outside, of playing with your dolls—a Barbie with a missing shoe and tangled blonde hair that you found in the trash and the plush rabbit Dad won you at the county fair before getting drunk and hitting Mom in front of the Mayor. Fear accompanying your neighbors on their hunt. 

You were fearful of not trying hard enough to be better.

"Come on, girl. Get closer. Don’t think too much about it. Her head will have a special place in our family’s house," Kwang chuckled as he finished lighting his tobacco stick, the one he always kept tucked behind his ear, before ruffling your hair and pushing you to stand in front of the bloodied carcass. "She turned out to be on our way; she turned out to be prey, kid.”

You think about the way he said it. Turned out. Not grew up to be a prey. She turned out to be prey. Like she was always supposed to be this way, and it was just hiding inside of her. And this was all inevitable. And her instincts of submission were hiding right underneath the surface when she birthed her fawn in the spring, teaching it to navigate the forest, to find the sweetest grass by the riverbank, to leap over the streams that crisscrossed the woods. Like a volcano that's seen as a mountain, the ones people live right on top of. 

It doesn't look deadly until it is.

Your bones shift away from one another like nervous tectonic plates as you crack your head down to finally look at the animal’s eyes. Toes become bloated like little water balloons as you kneel in the grass, the damp earth soaking through your worn-out Converse sneakers. Your eyes crystallize and for a second, everything feels okay as you wrap the frayed, weathered cord around the doe’s neck, the rough fibers scratching against your palms.

Then you explode.

No.

You don't explode.

You slowly morph as you finish the third loop. The wick effect. Your own fat keeps you inflamed. Looking into the water of the river, you see yourself changing. Your reflection warps; your features distort and elongate. Your hair falls out in clumps, drifting away like dandelion seeds in the wind. Your eyes, once black and sharp, soften and take on the glassy, lifeless stare of the doe. You watch as your skin stretches and sags, transforming into a hide, your freckles merging into the spots of a fawn. Your mouth opens in a silent scream, but no sound comes out—only the soft, pitiful bleat of a wounded animal.

Just before you fully morph into the doe, before your mind succumbs to the instinctual fear and resignation of a hunted creature, you wake up.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You reach for the hairbrush and start smoothing down your wild hair. It always stuck up all over the place in the morning, especially after a nightmare that involved placing the corpse of a doe in the back of a truck. 

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. Still the same, old you: short, black hair that reached down to the chin, black eyes, and splatters of freckles over the ridge of your nose and the rest of your body. Your nightgown had slipped down during the night, revealing a pale shoulder. You stopped brushing out your hair and tugged it back up.

Your eyes caught the glint of the diamond ring on your finger, a small but noticeable sparkle even in the dim morning light. You looked outside. The sky was gray today, with a blanket of clouds promising a downpour. The kind of weather that made you want to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over your head, and forget the world existed.

It's funny, isn’t it? 

Sighing, you reached for the pack of cigarettes and the lighter at the far end of the vanity, only to find nothing. Jesus. Min Jun and his fucking ramblings about lung cancer and how, as a doctor, you should stop going to the hospital smelling like nicotine or weed. The endless lectures about the carcinogens, the secondhand smoke, the image you presented to your patients—it was all part of his new routine.

“Looking for this?” 

You cracked your head to the side, turning to see the man himself standing there in the doorway, wiggling your cigarettes and the lighter. He was already dressed in a new, crisp suit with trousers tailored to his frame, as well as a tie that matched his jacket and polished leather shoes from Ferragamo. God, he had been insufferable since he discovered aesthetics on his social media feed, always posting pictures of himself in meticulously coordinated outfits, each post tagged with #OOTD and #Style Goals.

But, yeah, today, his clothes matched the color you always associated with him.

Yellow.

Min Jun’s yellow wasn’t the vibrant hue of sunflowers or gold. It was the jaundiced yellow of sickness, the kind that creeps into your skin and festers. It was the color of deceit, of broken promises whispered in the dark. Every time he flashed that politician's yellow smile, the one inherited from his dad, it made you nauseous. Old man Kwang, who had escalated a non-violent protest into bloodshed. It was Min Jun, though, who took Ae-ra with him that day. He paraded your girl around like some political prop to gain momentum for his father’s campaign.

You could never forgive him—not after what happened to her.

Because, in the end, it was their ambition that had taken your daughter away. A lamb led to slaughter.

Colorful flyers and bold banners invaded the city streets while chants and marches echoed in every corner—all for endorsing Kwang’s political charade. Slogans rang through speakers: "For a Brighter Tomorrow," "Unity and Progress," "Kwang Jun for the People." And Min Jun, playacting as the perfect son, had pulled Ae-ra into that cyclone of chaos. Your sweet little girl was swallowed by a turbulent crowd, lost within its confusion—her wide eyes were framed on the hospital TV screen as she clutched her new Hello Kitty backpack from Lotte Mart nervously—a maze of pink braids bouncing behind her with every step she took.

Everything around you in the psychiatric ward was fast and stressful that day, but you were stuck in tar while everyone else was on land. Sinking slowly while other people were using their legs to run in circles to help the Gonjiam Hospital with all the hurt people. Your legs didn’t work for days. Neither has your brain.

And now? Now you haven't cried since three weeks ago on the third anniversary of her death; your eyes feel dry and cold. You've tried, but there's just nothing. Even when you sit away from Min Jun and ignore his extended hand, watching things that aren't lungs move his chest up and down, praying to feel something for him, there's just silence in response. 

You did love Min Jun once. At times when he was cornered, you would dive into the deep end, plunge so suddenly it would cause waves to ripple out, drawing the public’s attention away from him. You would swim to abandoned shores where you would carry buckets, helping him scoop up the murky water of regrets as he cried out till the ocean itself seemed to tremble and the sky collapsed into the horizon. 

But what has he done for you? All these years of sacrifice have caused this world to erode everything that was once pure and you can no longer breathe with a rib missing. There was all of this water settling deep within the walls of your lungs, drowning you slowly. 

So, after her death, he grabbed another bucket and took you to the abandoned shores, where you used to scoop up his regrets to free him from all his mistakes. And you didn’t even cry out till the ocean itself seemed to tremble and the sky collapsed because, after all these years of carrying his mistakes, how could you believe that you had become one?

“Do you mind knocking before entering my bedroom?”

“Oh, come on! Don’t be so grumpy at this hour!” Min Ju retorted, his voice carrying an almost cheerful lilt that grated on your nerves. 

Sleeping in his office wasn’t doing the best things for his princess back; of course, you saw it as he walked in a hunched way. His loafers made no sound on the thick, cream-colored carpet, but the rustle of his suit filled the silence. He placed the lighter and the pack on your side on the vanity, making sure not to knock over the scattered makeup compacts and the crystal perfume bottle.

From the corner of your eyes, you noticed how he kicked the clothes you left on the floor after getting home exhausted from another grueling 12-hour shift. You noticed how he scoffed as he saw the patches on your faded covers, once a deep navy but now a murky gray from too many washes and your sweat.

“Did you wet the bed?” His laugh was a little louder this time, but still hollow. That was his old joke. It was stupid. 

Long ago, you pretended to laugh, pretended to play along, as if to apologize in front of former friends. In front of your own eyes, for admitting such a yoke. Nothing, however, was funny to you anymore.

“No, I had another nightmare.”

The cigarette finally lit, and you took a slow drag, feeling the familiar burn of nicotine as it filled your lungs. You discarded the lighter in the jewelry holder plate, where it landed with a small clank, nudging a pair of earrings slightly askew.

He scrunched his nose the exact same way Ae-ra used to before deciding to grab all the covers, making a bundle in his arms. “Nightmares again, huh? You know, Y/N, maybe if you didn’t bring your work home with you, you’d sleep better. All that stress isn't good for you. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, letting out a plume of smoke, coughing. “I’ll get right on that.”

He received the phrase with displeasure, as always, when your "animal intensity shocked him." He fixed his eyes on you, and progressively his features transformed. You almost blushed. The constant preoccupation with reaching his thoughts had not granted you the power to penetrate the most important ones, but it had honed your intuition regarding the smaller ones. You knew that for him to pity you, you had to be ridiculous. Neither hunger nor someone's misery moved him more than the lack of aesthetics. Loose hair, damp with sweat, fell over your flushed face, and the pain, to which your long-calm features had not yet adapted, must have twisted your mouth, lending them some grotesque note. At the most grave moment of your life, you were ridiculous, his pitiful gaze told you.

Finally, after seconds that felt like centuries, his eyes briefly flitted to the divorce papers on your nightstand but he ignored them. Instead, he focused on the small details of the room—the way your books were scattered everywhere, mostly medical journals and a few dog-eared novels, a framed photo of you and Ae-ra by the Han River, and, in the darkest corner of your room, your unfinished canvas.

“You know,” Min Jun began, walking towards your creation as if he were a little boy eager to discover his mom’s secrets. “I remember when you used to teach Ae-ra how to paint every night. So sweet….”

People said that a lot. Even your own mind did, sometimes. Be sweet like before; be better for the people around you. They knew there was a gaping hole inside of you, and they poked and prodded in there, looking for bits of Ae-Ra floating around in the void. As if somehow you could reach inside yourself and pull parts of her out—parts that you lacked. But she wasn't there. She was nowhere. When a part of you disappears, you change, and sometimes it's impossible to go back to who you used to be. That's what people didn't understand. That’s what this cosplay of SpongeBob didn’t understand.

You coughed again, then took one last inhale and stubbed the end of it on the vanity’s smooth and sanded surface, ash and embers falling to the carpet like crumbs off a pastry. “Yeah, well, those days are gone.”

Min Jun touched the dried paint, lingering over the signature line that remained blank. “You know, maybe if you spent half as much time on this marriage as you do at Westlake, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

You bristled at his words, but he continued, undeterred. “You’re always so busy, Y/N. Always with your patients, your research. Think about Ae-ra. She wouldn’t want this. She wouldn’t want her parents to fall apart like this.” He leaned closer, his cologne—something expensive and heavy—filling your senses and making you want to recoil.

“Don’t you dare bring her into this,” you snapped, your voice breaking. “You think you can manipulate me with memories of her? You think that’s going to work?”

His eyes softened. “I’m not trying to manipulate you. I just want us to be a family again. I miss her too, you know. Every single day.” He reached out to touch your hand, but you pulled away, the gesture feeling like a trap.

You pushed past him to the dresser made of dark, deep oak with elegant twisted legs and gilded golden trims. You picked out your attire for the day, folding it into a bundle: a red silk blouse, black high-waisted trousers with a tailored fit, a leather belt that cinched snugly over your waist, and your usual black heeled boots, still at the foot of the bed. There was still some mud caked on the bottoms, no matter how much you had scrubbed them the night before from running after a patient. You’d have to ask Jungwoo for his shoe shining spray.

With your clothes in hand, you made your way to the bathroom. Min Jun followed you like a shadow, still grumbling something about you and your work, but you tuned him out, focusing instead on the sound of your bare feet padding against the cold, hardwood floor. Still, after twenty seconds, you had enough.

You stopped at the bathroom door and turned to face him. “Why aren’t you at work already? Taking care of Daddy’s laundry?”

His jaw clenched, the muscles in his face tightening in a way that reminded you of the time he had to tell his father that he didn’t want to go into politics. “I was actually trying to be good for you. I know your car is still at the workshop and your driver is on vacation.”

You turned on the faucet, letting the warm water fill the tub. “I’ll take a cab,” you muttered, the words rolling off your tongue with a deliberate calmness, pronounced in a way that revolutionized and exposed what was most hidden within you.

While waiting for the water, you grabbed a towel from the shelves in the back as well as a bar of soap.

Min Jun’s eyes narrowed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, sure. Just like you always do. Ignore the problem, run away.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you laid out the towel on the heated rack. “You’re so dramatic, Min Jun. It’s almost entertaining.”

“What’s so funny?”

You turned off the faucet and threw your head back, your hair falling behind your back like a cascade of dark silk, the ends brushing against the lace trim of your nightgown. You laughed then, a sound that felt foreign, almost unnatural, before walking towards him, cornering him against the sink. He almost dropped the bundle of sheets in his hands, his eyes going wide with a mix of surprise and something else—fear, maybe?

For the first time in a long while, you saw the old Min Jun, the rebellious teenager who once stole his father’s suits to impress you, the same boy who would sneak flowers into your school locker when no one was watching. He used to bring you daisies, your favorite, wrapped in newspaper because he couldn’t afford anything else. Now, he stood before you, a stranger in an expensive suit, holding onto wet sheets and a past that no longer existed.

After feeling helpless, unsure of what to do with yourself, not wanting to continue the same past of calm and death, and unable to dominate a different future due to the habit of comfort, you now realized how free Min was and how unhappy he had been. His past—obscure, riddled with frustrated dreams—had left him unable to settle into the conformist, half-happy world of mediocrity.

You leaned in, your breath warm against his cheek, and whispered, "Min Jun." 

The sound of his name seemed to snap him out of his daze, and he blinked rapidly, trying to regain his composure.

He tried to take a step back, but the sink behind him left no room for escape. You reached out, your fingers brushing against his, and he flinched, almost losing his grip on the sheets.

“You think I don’t know you, huh?”

“W-what?”

He raised his eyes, meeting your anguished face, and narrowed them, analyzing and understanding you. There was a long minute of silence. You waited silently. You knew this moment was the first truly alive between you, the first that connected you directly. That moment suddenly separated you from all your past, and in a singular premonition, you foresaw that it would stand out as a red dot over the entire course of your life.

“Are you fucking out of your-” he began, but you cut him off, your words spilling out in a rapid-fire burst.

“Elections are coming up, aren’t they, honey? Elections are coming up, and your damn wife isn’t going to any of those shitty interviews or rallies anymore. Your wife doesn’t appear on the cameras, and it is making the public’s attention go to us instead of your father, and that is driving him mad. And now? Now I’m taking over Seo Moonjo’s case! What a perfect way to steal his lollipop, huh? So I’m guessing you’re being all sweet like that because something’s going to happen this weekend, isn’t it? A meeting or a family dinner? Or do you want to take me to bed, soften me up like a piece of meat and tell you all of the things that serial killer told me?”

Min Jun’s face flushed a deep red, his hands trembling slightly. “Are you really trying to use your psychiatric skills on me?”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Oh, darling, I don’t need to use any skills on you. You’re an open book and I know you're scared, aren’t you?” You whispered, your lips barely an inch from his ear. 

“Scared that I’ll mess up your perfect little plans? Scared that I’ll drag your name through the mud along with mine.”

[fleckcmscott]

Take a Step

Summary: Arthur and Y/N put away the mundane to create a memorable Valentine's Day.

Words: 4,785

Warnings: Smut, Swearing

A/N: A Valentine's story? In September? It's either really late or really early. ⏰ @jokerownsmysoul made this request over three years ago, the longest it has taken me to fulfill one. 🤯 That puts it in the really, really late category. 😂 Thank you so much for your patience! I hope you all like it!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Mint and sulfur straggled through the sterile air, an unpleasant mixture that tautened his thighs to tight ropes. Breath rushed through flared nostrils, like a bear wanting to be left the hell alone so he could go hibernate. Skip the dreary dread of winter right to spring. He pressed the crown of his head to the wall behind him.

How had she talked him into this. How had he let her talk him into this?

Arthur and the dental profession had never been friends. The last seven years had gone by without just fine, thank you very much. Gotham Dental School's discounted amalgam fillings remained intact. The hole left by his missing pre-molar was convenient, really. A good place to stick a straw.

This would be more of the same old, same old advice, all of which he'd ignore. Start flossing. Use alcohol free mouthwash for dry mouth. Chew sugar free gum after smoking - or better yet, quit that entirely. Now go pay the receptionist and pick a prize out of the treasure chest.

He supposed he should be happy to have a wife who took care of his appointments, who pushed him to take care of himself. Mostly he was. But Y/N had shoved him into this office with an appointment card and a kiss on the cheek. "Dr. Miles does good work," she'd said. "He'll keep that sunny smile sexy."

Compliments were a surefire way to talk him into this.

The memory was enough of a trapdoor to step through, a cubbyhole of comfort that slowed his pulse. In an attempt to ignore the whirr of the drill in the next room, he studied the blotted watercolor of a beach on the opposite wall. The pile of yellowed "What Does God Require of You?" tracts by the overgrown philodendron on the bookcase. Anything but the giant tooth model showing the stages of periodontal disease.

He rubbed the top of his legs to loosen them, crossed them at the knee. His foot bumped the round ottoman that doubled as a newspaper holder. A headline below the fold caught his eye: "Valentine's spending set to shatter records."

A sunny, sexy smile spread across his face.

As a child, the day had meant a break from schoolwork for cupcakes with pink frosting and valentines slipped into a decorated shoebox on each student's desk. Sure, he'd only received a handful. But that'd been enough. A nice change from the usual teasing. When puberty had possessed him, hair and sweat glands sprouting in new places, Valentine's Day had been his personal pining hell. Dates didn't happen. He'd misread basic politeness as flirting. No one invited him anywhere.

Adulthood had been more of the same.

Television was a reminder of what he couldn't have. Advertisements for housewares, for cars, for grape juice all featured couples. They all had an us. One had a pair playing tennis, scoring 40-Love and discussing Speed Stick for Him and Her. A man ran a palm along a woman's leg in another, a commercial for No Nonsense pantyhose.

When would he get to fondle a woman's leg, he'd wondered? When would he get to score Love?

Way back when, Arthur had imagined an imperfect but wonderful evening. An amalgamation of simple yearnings and being green. A homecooked meal with his beloved, a slow dance in the kitchen. The softness of her, the kindness of her. Beauty buttressed by kisses and the kind of infatuation found in storybooks. A break from the bitterness that lurked a heartbeat away.

Now that he had his special person to cook and dance with, it was a holiday to relish. On which to buy a gift for his one and only. To show her off and show off how much he loved her.

There were a million ways to say I love you. Perhaps he'd get her one of those cards edged in lace or a sateen box of gourmet chocolates. Not the Brach's brand from the drug store - those were dry and sour - but from Cane's Chocolatiers, filled with mousse.

He could write a bit for her, perform a private set over coffee and cake. They could stroll along the docklands and listen to the ocean. Watch the moon shine on the incoming tide and their wedding rings. He'd take her hand, lead her out onto the pier, where they'd dance, and her dress would billow in waves. Where he'd twirl her until fell into his arms. Where he'd slip eager fingertips through the slit at her-

"Mr. Fleck," called the dental hygienist from the doorway. Toothbrushes dotted her purple scrubs. "We're ready for your x-rays."

Blinking, he rose and straightened his cardigan. Once the hygienist rounded the corner, he snatched the paper, folded it into thirds, and stuck it in his jacket pocket.

~~~~~

Meanwhile, Y/N waited at Gotham Savings Bank, paycheck and checkbook in hand. With the line a twelve-person-deep swarm, it was doubtful her errands would fit into her lunch hour. She adjusted her purse. Bounced between toes and heels. She'd have to steal bits of an Italian Style Swanson over her typewriter.

As she advanced through waves of mumbling and murmurs, a buoyant post came into view. Pink as an orchid, covered in enough silver glitter to give the janitor a headache, it advertised the Valentine's Club, a special savings account just for the holiday. Perfect for a cruise on the Finger River, starting with a candlelight dinner and ending with an engagement ring. A flash of a smile ruffled the corner of her mouth.

Though a decade had passed since she'd last celebrated, the day was nothing new. In elementary school, the teachers had passed out candy and cards. "I think you're sharp," they'd said, or "You pass the test!" Beyond the chance to eat sweets and the peril of cooties, none of the six-year-olds had really understood what it'd meant.

Despite being serious and stuffy, not one for grand romantic gestures, her ex-husband Jeff had been good at Valentine's Day. He'd eschewed Boonville's diner, pharmacy soda fountain, and immortal dive bar Fogey's in favor of a reservation out of town. Pulled her chair out for her, placed a respectable kiss on the cheek. At the end of the night, he'd given her carnations in the privacy of their living room, even when they'd been too distant to share the depths of their hearts.

One year, he'd whisked her away for an overnight at the Windsor Hotel, a three-story joint on the outskirts of St. Louis that featured coin-operated vibrating beds and a heated pool. They'd been stuck in a single directly under the hotel bar, a place filled with lonely hearts on the hunt for Cupid. Every laugh and every sob had penetrated the popcorn ceiling. Each footstep a bass drum threatening to crash through.

They'd tried to distract themselves with a quickie, but the bed's whirring motor had added to the racket rather than drowned it out. A bath in the jacuzzi was the next attempt to salvage the evening. But when she'd turned on the jets, the pipes squeaked and squealed as if mice ran through them, sprinting towards an entire wheel of cheese. She and Jeff had barely gotten dressed before racing home.

Last year, Valentine's wasn't a priority. She and Arthur were so busy with his move, it hadn't been a blip on her radar. He hadn't exactly been comfortable living together. Not yet. Akin to an anxious guest, he'd hesitated to touch anything. To affect the space that was now his. And he hadn't had access to all of his medications, refusing to elaborate on the cost besides a discouraged, dismissive "expensive."

Arthur's face had been a mask of embarrassment when he'd apologized over evening dishes. "For once in my life, I have someone who needs me. And I- I didn't do anything."

"Did you sample my Steve Wonder record?" she'd asked. An inner joy had sprung at the progress that represented.

Arthur had dried his three-tone brown mug, set it next to hers on a one shoulder shrug. "Yeah."

"We took a big step in our relationship." She'd scrubbed the frying pan with firm, circular motions. "We stepped towards each other. What could be more of a celebration than that?"

"Okay, but-"

She'd pressed a sudsy hand to his sternum. "I know you love me. I love you, too." She sought to brighten him, to lighten him, and settled on another track he might have heard. "Either way, Arthur, signed, sealed, delivered, I'm yours."

The sigh of his entire frame as he'd dropped the dish towel and gathered her to his chest had made her love him all the more.

A middle-aged man in a threadbare beret shuffled forward, making Y/N next in line. The teal and peach lovebirds riding his shoulders pooped streaks of white and brown down the back of his suede jacket. She stayed in her spot and stayed silent. Nothing in this city surprised her anymore. At least he sounded polite.

She eyed the poster anew. This being the first Valentine's Day since marrying Arthur gave it an air of distinction, of specialness she was happy to embrace. Especially for him, her romantic at heart. Maybe they could go ice skating in the park, or take a carriage ride through Gotham, replete with flannel blankets and hot chocolate.

She smiled at the way he conjured such images, how he'd taught her to enjoy the special gestures she hadn't thought necessary.

"Next, please!" From the teller on the right.

Y/N scanned the floor for white and brown splats. At the window, she straightened and said, "Hi, I'd like to deposit this into my checking account." She pushed her paycheck under the glass. But her current preoccupation with Arthur stalled her hand. "Actually, I have to correct the cash back form. I'll need an extra fifty."

~~~~~

A blizzard had rolled in Saturday, bringing Gotham to a standstill under twenty-six inches of snow. Most trains were back on schedule by Sunday evening, but on Monday all city parks remained closed. Waltzes on the pier and carriage rides would have to wait.

What they settled on was closer to Arthur's humble fantasies of yore. He was fine with that - it'd be easier to make reality match the movie in his mind. Gifts after breakfast that her office's delayed opening had turned into brunch and catching Singing in the Rain at the Monarch that night. A flick that guaranteed they'd wear themselves out laughing (or fooling around in the back row if the mood struck).

And an afternoon delivery, a cliché and a classic he prayed would work despite the frost.

Their home was tranquil, serene, the only sounds their hushed voices and gentle conversation. Court for the next three days was sure to be cancelled, so Y/N planned to review older cases, ensure their documents were in order. Arthur would head to the children's clinic with heart-shaped lollipops tomorrow. He'd salted the building's entranceway while she'd showered. ("I got out your boots," he told her. "It's slippery out there." "You take such good care of me," she said.)

The familiarity of their everyday discussions was a comfort, as cozy as a well-tended hearth. Yet, lovely though it was, he wanted less everyday, more play. Less work and chores, more Us.

He eyed the fruit plate. Fresh pears were new to him, and a lifelong dislike of canned made him skeptical. He went for the cantaloupe. "What was the first thing you noticed about me? When we met?"

Y/N munched at her cinnamon oatmeal. "Your hair."

"My hair?" People tended to comment on his laugh or skinniness, if they noticed him at all.

"There's a confidence to keeping it long. And it was obvious you used conditioner. That told me the rest of you was well kept, too." She wet her lips between each spoonful. "How about you? What did you notice about me?"

"That you blushed." He took a cautious nibble and frowned, a taste he could only describe as sweet garbage swamping his mouth. He laid the slice politely in his bowl. Cleared his throat, chugged the rest of his coffee. "Other woman don't do that around me."

"Well, they must be blind, Mr. Fleck, because you're gorgeous. That's the second thing I noticed."

Ducking his chin, he thumbed the handle of his mug. Fitting that she'd see beauty in him he hadn't realized existed.

A sudden anticipation seized him, the urge to shove his gift at her mid-bite. He excused himself, hurried to his desk. Retrieved the key from under the desk lamp. Pulled open the bottom drawer.

The bundle covered in red tissue paper dared him to do it.

He held it with both hands. Reverently, as if it could singe. He wasn't certain what had loaned him the panache to buy this. Maybe being a husband had made him a new and improved Arthur. This felt more daring than marrying her. Than sleeping with her. Solicitation shielded in scarlet.

She was scooping the last morsel of oatmeal in her mouth when he set it beside the fruit plate. Perched on the chair diagonal from her, he rubbed sweaty palms under the table.

Frantic tearing at the paper, her smile rounding to a pleased O. "Oh, Arthur…" She hooked her fingers through the babydoll's straps. A laugh bubbled up, fresh color flooding her cheeks. "I have to admit I'm surprised you got me something like this. But I'm happy you did. Come here." She leaned forward and grabbed his chin.

Deep satisfaction eased his nerves, while her firm, wet kiss sparked others anew. He held her forearm. Parted her lips with his own.

Quick as a flash, she broke away. "I'm gonna try it on," she said, and sprinted in the direction of the bedroom.

His gaze followed her until she was out of sight. A pleasing lightness coursed through him. Lifted him from his chair. Drove him to move, turn on one foot from the table to the sink to rinse their bowls.

Less than a minute later, she'd returned. "What do you think?"

He glanced towards the kitchen entrance, over his shoulder. Registered what he'd seen and glanced again. A knot rose in throat, that glance becoming a full-on stare.

Powder blue chiffon draped over her form, the hem floating below her hips in a soft sway. Dainty white flowers trimmed the v-neck, starting at her breasts, climbing along the halter straps that disappeared beneath her tresses and were tied in a bow at the nape of her neck. Brown aerolas were brazen pendants beneath the lingerie. The strip of mesh that ran under her bust drew his stare downward, to the outline of her comma shaped navel.

"You…" He gulped. Below was a silhouette of dusky hair, a demure triangle at the apex of her thighs. The nightie was more diaphanous than the sales catalog had led him to believe. He lowered the bowl like a man hypnotized. It met the bottom of the sink with a soft clink. "You're beautiful."

A giggle as she covered her face. "You make me feel beautiful."

She went to him, the air around her electrified, sparking with each footfall. She pulled a red envelope from behind her. "Happy Valentine's Day."

With the care of a curator of rare antiquities, he slid his fingertip under the flap. The lilac greeting card had a tic-tac-toe game in which the Xs had lost, and the Os were a horizontal line of three hearts. "You won my heart," it said. Y/N had added a short note in her rounded script: "(You made it a very easy game.)" He traced the letters, his chest swelling with pride. Inside, he found a perforated certificate, akin to an old movie ticket, where a couple tangoed across a black background and gold cursive declared, "Good for three lessons at Arthur Murray Dance Studios."

His fantasy of them on the pier flashed behind his eyes. Had she misread is mind? "But I don't need lessons."

"No," she said, and closed the gap between them. "But I do."

Tender adoration flooded his frame, a gooeyness starting in his scalp and ending in his toes. She was timid about dancing, insecure in the way he was about too many things. And here she stood, willing to take part in one of his passions. To be the center of attention. To get out there in front of everyone to learn to dance. With him. Simply because she loved him.

With a woman like her in his life, it was easy to be a new and improved Arthur.

Relaxing into a grin, he grabbed her hand and snatched her about the waist. She yelped, her palm flying to his bicep. A step forward with his left foot, a slide to the right with his right. He led her through the passthrough galley in a sort of jogging quickstep. His uneven shoulders shimmed, a happy tune behind his teeth.

"What are you humming?" Y/N asked.

"'You Were Meant for Me.'" A number from the flick they'd catch tonight. He lifted their arms above their heads, tried to ease her into a natural spin turn.

Her toes collided with his, her weight off balance as she floundered. She laughed a nervous laugh. "Even though I don't have your grace?"

"But you're the prettiest," he said, and bent to kiss her. His fingers splayed on the elegant curve of her back. "The sweetest." Her form pressed closer, soft curves on hard angles.

He traced a path down her arm, gaze falling to the slopes of her breasts. Fabric obscured the faint stretchmarks, her puffy aerolas now tight dots. Their steps slowed, their dance burgeoning to a dire need for friction. He guided her jaw upwards, his voice velvet edged. "The sexiest."

Her eyes softened, gleaming garnets worthy of song and Solomon. "I love you."

"Shameless," he rasped, thin lips claiming hers.

Her arms flew about his middle, mouths meeting and parting with languorous urgency. Stirring below his waistband swelled to an assertive ache in his abdomen. Heavy and full, he strained against the seam of his pajamas.

She writhed against it, ground her hips into his. Wanton fingers cupped him through the thin cotton. Squeezing, scorching, a fervent up and down. Clasping her upper arms, he walked her backwards, erection bobbing with each step.

When he lifted her onto the counter, lusty laughter filled her throat. Sultry, silky, a sound he longed to wrap himself in. To draw from her tongue. Her knees fell open at his hips. She scooted forward, away from the microwave and upper cabinets. Her breasts jostled with each movement. He cupped one, jiggled it until she snorted and dug her toes into his leg.

Gauzy fabric caught on her nipples. He drew one downward with his thumb, watched it spring back. Gently, he rolled it between his fingers. Pinched and groaned as it grew harder. On a choked cry, she arched into his touch. Reached to tug at the strap by her neck.

He caught her wrist. "Leave it on." Touching her directly was intoxicating, a liquor he preferred to wine. But something about her nightie separating them gave the encounter an illicit air, like he was privy to a secret. A green light of want that flashed only for him.

She leaned back a bit, just enough to loosen the tie of his pajama bottoms. Slide them past his pelvis. The thin cotton pooled at his skinny ankles. She whispered caresses along his ribs, teased the hollows of his hips. The hem of her nightie crept to her waist. He was fully aware of his cock brushing her inner thigh.

She grasped his shaft, ran the tip in a line along her slit. Smeared his arousal from her clit to her plump lips. Pleasure spiked through him. A flinch and a gasp as he sprang to his toes.

Her bedroom eyes met his. "Make love to me."

He breathed a shivering breath. This was more than he'd imagined, yet exactly what he'd yearned for.

He slid into her deliciously. She was fiery, like a furnace, heat radiating from each cell. From this angle, he could see every detail of her sex. The pretty pink, the glistening want of him, her creases and fleshy folds. It was incredible, exciting, and with a hungry grunt he filled her anew.

Peeking out from its hood, her bundle of nerves begged for his touch. He dragged the pad of his thumb across it. Did so once more. Nails biting his shoulders, she jolted, cried out. Another sweep and a canyon formed between her brows. She tossed back her head without a care-

Bang!

A yelp cut off her mewling. Arthur halted mid-thrust, hands hovering by her ears. "Are you okay?"

Laughter cracked out of her. She grabbed the crown of her head. "The cabinet is more dangerous than it looks."

He chuckled along with her and pecked her hair. Scooped her up by the waist and spun them around. The pajamas at his ankles forced his walk to a scuffing. He set her on the dinette table, on the side free from coffee mugs and sickly sweet melon.

Laying down, she stretched her arms out behind her, grasped the edge of the table. Diaphanous blue rode further upward. Gravity flattened her stomach. Her legs dangled over the side.

He rocked into her again, and she smiled his favorite kind of smile. Wide and open, built from love and delight. One hand ran from her shoulder, over her breast, to her hip. Then lower and lower still. Her fingertips quivered at her clit, short strokes that made her thighs twitch. "Just like that," she said, ending on a whine.

He plunged faster, her quickening fingers a guide. Strained to bring her to completion. She bucked lightly, a subtle circling that struck a vibrant chord within him. He bent forward, pressed a palm to her sternum. Urged her to take all that she needed. All that she wanted. All of him.

Ruddy patches bloomed across her chest, crept up her neck, tinged the shells of her ears. A heady moan slipped from her. The rise and fall of her ribs went herky-jerky, her head craned back. Her walls spasmed, clutching and groping him in a rhythm that doubled him over. Warm and nimble, the kind of dance she excelled at. The dance for which she'd taught him all the steps.

"You're so good at this," she purred once her shakes had abated.

A smug smile spreading wide. "Am I?" He flexed the muscles of his pubis, watched her eyes widen with delight.

Her hand went from her center to trail tickling fingers up his spine. "You fuck me like you mean it."

Bottomless contentment unfurled in him, enveloped the peaks and valleys of his soul. "I do mean it," he said, and rotated his pelvis into hers.

Arching to meet him, she tugged at his tousled curls. "Like I was meant for you."

Delving deeper and deeper with each push. "You were."

Managing to be tender and firm at the same time, he cupped her face with both hands. Today was a day for romance, and he wanted to kiss her when he came. The touch of her lips was a thousand-volt shock. His tempo quickened, breath emerging in short, desperate pants. A sudden burst within him, his whole being flooded with besotted bliss. His hips stuttered, every pulse a pierce of pleasure. Eyes screwing shut, he whimpered into her mouth.

Peaceful, warm, and tired, he slumped on top of her. Basked in her smooth skin. Her fingers in his hair, his arm pillowing her head, the sweaty press of their stomachs. He could've stayed in that naked reality forever, signed a lease and moved right in.

But Y/N kissed his shoulder and said, "I should get ready before Phil has to ask why I'm late to work." Her free hand felt around for the fruit plate.

Arthur groaned and propped himself on an elbow. Fumbled with a flower on her neckline. "Well, what would you have said?"

She took a bite of pear, munched thoughtfully before replying. "That my husband had me in flagrante delicto." She pressed the rest of the pear to his mouth. He closed his lips around her fingertips, took the juicy morsel with tongue and teeth. "That you caught me in the act," she said, brows arching twice. His belly tightened on a breathy laugh.

Combing through her bedhead, she scooted to stand. Pulled the nightie down to her hips. Arthur bunched up his pajamas and briefs, held them in front of his thighs. Just as she was about to exit the kitchen, she stopped and turned back. "You make me so happy, Arthur. There's no one else I'd rather have been meant for." A peck to his cheek and she left.

Say something, he thought. Say anything! But his mouth was a stubborn seam, and it was only after the bathroom door had shut that he could even move. That he could even breathe. He fell back against the counter, grasped the edge for purchase. Dropped his clothing and rubbed his hand over his heart.

This damned life had brought so much pain, but then it'd brought her. It was almost enough to forgive and forget all those wasted Valentines.

The rush of the faucet brought him back to the present. He marched to the phone and dialed. Even if he couldn't find the words, this was something he could do.

"Hi, this is Arthur. Arthur Fleck. Is it too late to change the delivery for Y/N Fleck? At Dube and Ellis?" The phone cord curled around fidgeting knuckles. "Okay, good. Can I make it two dozen?"

~~~~~

"Could you fax that attention Y/N Fleck, please?" Y/N said into the phone. She hadn't gotten a chance to shower after this morning's impromptu rendezvous, but she'd run a washcloth over the vital parts and didn't seem to smell of sex. A pity, really. She wouldn't have minded a hint of her husband's piney scent as a private perfume. She'd nuzzle him tonight at the movies to make up for it.

Y/N, you're at work. Stop it.

She crossed her legs and ran a finger along her collar. "No, not Flick. Fleck. F-L-E-C-K."

Terry swaggered through the firm's door and in her direction, carrying a looming bouquet of roses and baby's breath in a fluted vase. Had he forgotten today? Was he on his way over to celebrate a last-minute victory?

"Yes." Again into the receiver. "Thanks a lot. You, too." Once she'd hung up, she relaxed into her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "You made it just under the wire," she told Terry. "I'm surprised there were any flowers left in the city. Your wife'll love them."

"Are you kidding? And risk my hide like that?" He stopped in front of her desk. "I made a reservation months ago. These are for you."

She squinted in confusion. "What?"

"At least, that's what I assume." He made an exaggerated show of reading the floral card. "'To my saucy and sweet Y/N.'"

"Oh my god." She shot upright, her head a fireball.

He surveyed the office. "I don't see any other Y/Ns around here."

"Give me that." She snatched the card from him.

A goofy snicker left Terry, a barrel of ha-has. "Now I know your secret." He squeezed the vase between her typewriter and coffee mug. "Remember that during fundraising season."

When he took off towards his desk, she called after him. "Bribery is illegal." He waved her off with a So Sue Me gesture.

Spicy floral caught her nose, not on par with Arthur's scent but lovely all the same. She traced a bloom, cupped one in her palm. After ensuring the coast was clear, she pulled the card away from her chest. She read the courier font, her smile soaring to an all-out beam:

To my saucy and sweet Y/N, Everyone should know we make a great pear. Your valentine, Arthur.

She made a soft sound, ran her thumb over his name. The salutation was corny and charming and embodied everything she'd come to appreciate about him. To love about him. A declaration as proud and plain as their wedding bands, the last name on her name plate, the photo on her desk.

One more example wouldn't hurt.

Careful not to a disturb a petal, Y/N stuck the card back in its holder. Stood and slid the vase to the outer corner of her L-shaped desk, a vibrant and happy display.

~~~~~

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