#and there's always a lopsided smiley face

[mrcspectr]

omg.... ur tags on the handwriting post domestic mk is something that can be so personal

Oh shit I should've tagged that as soft mk hours, shouldn't I.

[vanderilnde]

a toxic ghoap wip i had in my drafts from months ago but will no longer be continuing. i just wanna dump it here lol

cw for misogyny, smut, (internalized) homophobia, hedonism, sacrilege, prostitution mention, ghost is an ass

pls heed all tags, this was a vent fic, and also bare in mind im never gonna finish this lmao

-

Johnny's world is asymmetrical.

His world. His beginning and his end. Humvees and Dauphin 2 helis and deployments around the globe. Undercover operations, saving women and children, the comforting carbon steel of a rifle in his hands. 

It’s an unspoken stigma, but it’s there. Materialising as insults while his lads take the piss out of each other, and in the form of dishonourable discharges. 

The stigma has always been there. It has no start and no finish, so Johnny can’t remember where it came from, but he knows it was there since primary, where boys would kick girls at the bends of their knees and yank on their pigtails, squatting to the floor to get a look-see up their chequered skirts and cackle, all while Johnny stood off to the side, overtly uncomfortable. 

Mum’s complained. Teacher’s were involved. Dad’s simply said, “Boys will be boys,” and the situation was brushed under the carpet.

The stigma tailed Johnny into secondary school. His older cousin lent him a suit for formal, which prompted Johnny awkwardly standing on his doorstep with his date—a pretty lass named Rory—as his mam snapped a spate of photos. 

Johnny’s disposition was a grave juxtaposition to Rory’s. She was all grins and giggles, cantered into Johnny’s arm, while he was inelastically poised with tight lips. 

His mam wouldn’t stop pinching his supple cheeks, trying to shepherd a smile out of him. She gave up, throwing her hands in the air and wheedling them off the porch, tacking on an ornate, “Have fun, kiddos!” as they pooled into Johnny’s scrap metal car. 

Johnny felt as if he was lacking something. As if his wings had been clipped by the world a little too soon. It’s always been like that. A piece of him plucked from his wracking ribs and stolen, ever since he was a little boy. So in a lapse of judgement, in order to prove himself, to shatter the bubbling stigma, Johnny sought out the most masculine thing to offset his failure: follow in the steps of his cousin, and enlist. 

It was a rashly undertaken decision, but a decision he stuck with, because, for the first time in forever, Johnny’s old man clasped his shoulder in pride. 

But stigma was an incessant little thing. Because even in military school, it followed him closely. As Johnny’s school brothers had Playboy rafts and pin-up girls folded into their pillow cases, he would blunder upon being asked, “Who’d ye shag?” by his mate. 

In boot camp, he was a lowly private, whose hands would jade and cramp from cleaning rifles. They gave him blisters. And so his bunkmate—a nice lad from Glasgow with a crooked nose—would tend to his fingers during their lunch routine. Hidden somewhere in the corner, making jokes about their Drill Instructor. Callum, was his name. He’d swathe Johnny’s hands in gauze and garnish it with a lopsided smiley face. It always sucked, fell apart half way, but he did it anyway. 

That’s when Johnny started blistering his hands on purpose. 

Wedging his thumb in the dip of a garand and not pulling it out until it was swollen. Then he’d snivel, seeking Callum out in their barracks. There was a pull in Johnny’s stomach, half of an ebb that finished Callum’s flow. It would give him rashly undertaken ideas—such as fixing his hand in the lid of an armoury shell—for Callum to fix up. Johnny would find him among their other friends, beseeching with his cobalt eyes, holding out a hand.

In enlistment, his confusion ripened into a gravely miscalculated realisation. That it wasn't an affinity for men Johnny wanted to be—to attract ladies with his chest candy and the brandished title of military man—no, it reared its ugly head when Johnny finally became his own private. Grinning, at the time, clean-shaven and giddy as his mother snapped a spate of photos of him saluting in his new uniform, plaintively whining when she reached out to adjust his garrison cap because “It’s lopsided, pumpkin!” To which Johnny, under the searing gaze of his fellow privates, would clip, “‘Cos it’s meant to be like tha’, ma!”

Johnny didn’t know when it started. He just remembered realising how good Callum looked one day at the range—sweat sluicing down his pale neck, disappearing behind his lapels, ass filling out the space of his pants as he would squat to the ground and aim for the faraway target. Before he knew it, Johnny was seizing lights out. Using the time to sneak off to the bathrooms and cramp a fist around his leaking cock, beating his dick to the thought of him. Him, him, him. 

Johnny’s sordid thoughts didn’t emulate what his granny had planned for him—to pass down her old wedding stack once he “Found the right lass,” to bring home to her; it wasn’t what the Orthodox spiels of sermons and hymns and praise on Sunday’s drilled into him; it wasn’t what his uncle was anticipating—“Got a girlfrien’ yet, Johnny-boy? Ah, why’re ye frowning! Soon enough, ye will.”

His fantasies rivalled those of his squadmates. Because on his first tour, a summer ten years ago in the chilly expanse of Northern Ireland was a woman that approached them. Denim skirt and a mulberry red halter top. Kitten heels, sunglasses. Shiny lipgloss. She tried to ply them by batting her eyes, offering her services. She was smart. Military men always paid. It’s the desperation that got to them most of the time, a tinge of worry, and a hint of entitlement. They took the bait. Rode her back to camp and took their turns with her.

When it was Johnny’s turn, he listlessly declined and hung his head. He said he had a lass waiting for him back home—Rory—that’s the first name that popped in his head. His secondary school girlfriend in which he sobbed on when he tried kissing her. Johnny said he had a bird, just like all his other lads, with pictures of their wives and girlfriends pinned to the massive cork board in the middle of their camp. But they had no problem indulging themselves. 

They were shoving him around, calling him all sorts of names, bullying him into following them. And that’s when Johnny caved. A cacophony of hollers flared out around him as he ducked into the tent where the woman lay, thin bed sheets hiked up to her collarbones, her previous lipgloss smeared over her chin.

Johnny said, “Hi, how are you?” Because that’s what his mother taught him. She softly giggled. 

Not at him, but with his overdue respect.

Johnny shucked off his uniform with trembling hands, mounting her with his dick flaccid and stomach flipping. He remembers ruminating, “Why don’t you like it? You should like it. Love it,” but his heart leapt to his throat and his navel twisted, heart seized as the head of his cock kept slipping around her messy opening, poking her thigh. His throat constricted, dry, then slackened. A muffled sob wracked through him. Barely concealed by the threshold of his thin lips. He pushed his tongue into the roof of his mouth and buried his face in the crook of her neck, collapsing into her bare chest, furiously wiping his tears into the inflatable mattress.

Then, the body beneath him quivered. Johnny hoisted himself up, a spiel of apologies curling off of his tongue, when he realised she was crying too. The same type as him—wrung out, jaded, tired. She blindly reached out for him and pulled him close. Not reaching for his dick nor biting sensual whispers into his ear. They held each other for a little while, coalescing as their cries muffled into each other’s skin. Then, she pushed him off. Slid off the mattress and snaked her into her clothes. 

They both left the tent shaking. She was still sniffling. His lads cheered as she walked away and clapped him on the back. 

That’s when Johnny realised there wasn't a place for him in his world. Johnny shrunk himself, half the light he used to be, pushing himself into a little box as his world around him clipped off his wings. 

Now, Johnny’s world consists of something a little different. 

Something sinewy and rough around the edges. Gruff, but tactical. Calm, akin to the placid sea, but could flip a switch and emulate its choppy waters if he wanted to, too. Big, striking, with eyes that could kill a sailor. A deep timbre mandated by Manchester. Wide-set shoulders but a willowy waist, hips that sway as he walks. A macabre mask and skeletal gloves—ones that have Johnny wrapped tightly around his fingers.

Johnny grew into himself between serving in the parachute regiment to selection for the SAS. He got rougher. Learned how to hide himself better. Perfectly fit himself within the Task Force, around men who would become his best friends and brothers. He’s otherwise your normal guy. Goes to the bar with the team when they’re able. Shooting darts with Gaz (“You’ve got a Marksman badge but can’t score more than two points? C’mon, mate…”); pool with Price; and drinks with Ghost.

Beer always sloshes over the lip of Ghost’s glass when they clink their drinks. It crashes up and over the Brit’s fingers, dripping down his hands, between his thick fingers. Johnny always resists the urge to lean in close and lick the wash of alcohol glistening Ghost’s knuckles. 

But they’re just friends. Apparently. Because friends don’t fuck.

It started way down in Chicago’s heart, after another op. Gaz—ever the exploiter of his puppy eyes—managed to ply Price into stopping at a bar instead of heading straight back to base for paperwork. So they stopped at a little hole-in-the-wall, still rife with adrenaline, spreading out and all doing their own thing.

Johnny and Ghost were sat around a rickety table with wobbly legs. A spread of peanut shells around them and sticky rings of alcohol from their glasses glossing the surface. Ghost raised an arm to wipe his eyes, knocking over Johnny’s beer in the process. An expletive crossed the Brit’s tongue and he apologised, grasping a fistful of napkins and scrubbing it over Johnny’s soaked shirt. 

It ebbed and flowed in long, rough strokes. Ghost’s hand gliding over Johnny’s legs, Ghost’s middle finger and thumb snapped around Johnny’s thigh, his grasp cutting into the sinews. 

It wasn’t that different from suturing a teammate up after a mission. But with the unsaid admiration Johnny had for him, tempered by the hint of alcohol on the roof of his mouth and the hazel canopy of Ghost’s lashes, over his focused eyes, arousal quickly seized Johnny.

Ghost’s hand brushed over a tent on Johnny’s jeans. One that hadn’t been there before. He cut his next stroke from the root, pausing, and blinked up at his friend. 

The Scotsman felt a wound up spring in his stomach. He turned away, smacking Ghost’s hand, and ran a hand through his black tuft of hair, slapping both sides of his shaved heads. He felt his lungs betray him—squeezing like dried fruit and refusing to expand—to yield to his sudden heavy breathing and quick succession of heartbeats.

Johnny shook his head. Sputtering. “Lad, y’know, sometimes we can’t control ‘em–” 

The words died on his tongue when Ghost flattened hand against the bend of his knee. He was testing the waters. 

Johnny looked back, gulping, and took the bait. He inched his knee closer, until it met with Ghost’s thick leg. It’s something he’s done so many times. When he was starved for friction but couldn’t make it overtly obvious—grazing Ghost’s hand passing him a flare; knocking his foot under the table during debrief (“Sorry, lad,”); applying extra gauze to a slice in his torso just to feel Ghost’s chest throb below his fingers a little more.

But this is different. Something Johnny’s chased for so long. A tangible ghost on his tongue for a flavour he’s longed for with just fantasies while he fucked his fist late into the night. 

Ghost tightened his hold on Johnny’s thigh. “Sons of bitches, ain’t they?” 

His voice was taut. As was the muscle between Johnny’s shoulders.

They exchanged a glance. Soundless, but not wordless. Then Ghost slunk his hand down and wrapped it around Johnny’s swelling cock. 

The feeling of it—a sensation so foreign, so yearned for—penetrated Johnny’s core. It made him yelp and jerk his knee into the table, sending more beer spilling over the rim of his glass and onto his pants. 

Ghost hummed, shook his head. “C’mon, Johnny, let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” And he inclined his head towards the bathroom in the back. 

Johnny blindly nodded, yielding to Ghost’s hold as he hoisted him from his seat. Ghost directed them through the sea of gyrating bodies and towards the toilets. They bursted inside, and the Brit pulled Johnny into the last stall. A seedy little thing, with graffiti and the ash of cigarette butts welded into its walls. 

The succeeding acts were a blip in the streamline of Johnny’s memory. He remembers Ghost shucking his pants down, then settling himself behind him. He remembers Ghost’s gloveless hand reaching around and working over his drooling cock. He remembers a voice in his ear, “What the fuck are we doing,” and a bulbous cockhead poking his ass. He remembers the shrill rattle of the stall hinges as he withered against it, trembling under Ghost’s deft hands, the finger that swept over the slit of his cock and slipped down to fondle his balls. 

Before white-hot pleasure seared his vision, Johnny remembers emptying his come into the crotch of his denims, shaking, as it dampened his pants and as Ghost commanded him to pull it back up. 

They left the bar alongside each other, meeting everyone else on the pavement. Johnny’s lips were popped open and swollen. Peeling, from how his teeth had sunk into them. His eyes were glossy and his hair was tousled in the middle of his head. He had a wet patch on his jeans.

“Oh, you are pissed, mate,” Gaz exclaimed, “I– that’s pee?”

“Spilled some water,” Ghost lied to the other teammates, “had to sort him out.”

They made it back to base within hours, signing off to their quarters. 

The next day, Johnny didn’t see him at all. 

The day after that, too; Ghost didn’t even spare him a glance.

He tried reassuring himself. Ghost hadn’t talked about men before—not in this calibre—so Johnny told himself it’s because he was digesting what rashly happened in Chicago. 

That was, until, he was paged one night. A command from Ghost to meet him in his quarters. The message was succinct: one sentence, leaving no lines to be read between. Johnny walked ambled to his room with his heart in his stomach and his blood rushing to his ears. Nudging the door open, Ghost was on the edge of his bed, legs parted, smarting denim-washed jeans and a black pullover. A simple, soft gauze balaclava. 

His eyes slid upwards first. Then the rest of his head. Ghost pinned Johnny under his smouldering gaze, then beckoned him forward with the tilt of his head. No words were swapped. Ghost simply tugged Johnny forward, between his thick thighs, and bullied the Scotsman to his knees with a hand splayed over his half-shaved head. 

Johnny’s eyes widened. He popped his lips open to speak—lips Ghost whispers his thumb over to seal shut, uprooting his words from its step. Ghost shook his head, undid his belt with a single hand, and shucked down his jeans. He palmed himself for a while, watching Johnny’s eyes sheen over, before pushing his boxer-briefs scarcely over his meaty thighs, pinching the head of his cock. 

Ghost didn’t even bother pulling his balls out. Just his dick—long, thick, a comely vein running beneath it—better than anything Johnny’s ever wanted. Better than the images he’s fucked his fist to, memories of Ghost, freshly out of the shower after sparring, his thin towel outlining the barest hint of his dick. 

Johnny reaches out, but Ghost swipes it back. He tuts and softly smacks his cock against Johnny’s ruddy cheek, watching as a string of his precum connects to Johnny’s face. 

“How bad do ya wan’ it, Johnny?” Ghost had prompted, swiping his cockhead over the Scotsmans lips, then pulling it back whenever his jaw readily slacked. 

“Real… real bad, Lt.” He breathed. 

Ghost tapped his cheek again. “Open.”

And so Johnny did. Like it was second nature, like he’s been wanting for so long. Waiting for so fucking long. 

Johnny’s lips popped open and closed around Ghost’s wet tip. He swirled his tongue around it, clumsy in his movements, teeth grazing Ghost’s skin.

He winced. “Easy…”

Johnny blinked in a rapid succession, nodding, sucking him in a little deeper, mindful of hollowing out his cheeks and relaxing his jaw. Ghost’s eye twitched, hands digging into his tuft, hanging his head back, softly bucking his hips up into Johnny’s mouth. 

“Atta boy, Johnny, fuck– where the fuck’d you learn this, eh?”

Johnny replied with a gargled purl of precum and saliva coalescing in his mouth, gagging over the wide girth splitting his jaw open. Ghost laughed, his gloved hand settling on the scruff of Johnny’s neck, pulling him a little closer; sinking his cock a little deeper, rutting his pelvis into his squadmate's pliable mouth.

Ghost cums. Johnny laps it all up. And in an undertaken lapse of judgement, rises to his feet, puckering his frosted lips, ready to hike Ghost’s balaclava above his nose and share his taste with him. But Ghost set a hand to Johnny’s face, shaking his head. He tucked his softening cock back into his pants.

That was the first instance Johnny disregarded. One he ignored in favour of indulging himself in something he yearned after for years. He didn’t realise his grave digging began there—when he witlessly nodded in response. 

And from there, it became a cycle. It was always on Ghost’s call. Never Johnny’s. When Ghost wanted his dick sucked; when Ghost wanted a wet and tight hole wrapped around his cock. Johnny knew better. He knew he was being shepherded into something bad, but he couldn’t help himself.

Trembling under Ghost, his whole world encompassed by the Brit’s towering stature, was all that mattered to him. Getting spread over a cock he’s wanted for so long, a long ways from the taboo fantasies that’s collected cobwebs in his thoughts for so long.

Johnny was less of a teammate, more of an outlet for Ghost to exhaust his frustrations into. Even then, it was a pill Ghost had trouble swallowing. As if he’ll acknowledge it, and a relationship will materialise. So he stays still—fucks Johnny like a dirty little secret then turns the other way. 

Johnny tries talking to him. Tries telling him he struggled with the same thing. That he isn’t alone and that he belongs here. That there’s no shame in it. 

Simon collapses Johnny’s pleads with a final, resolute bark. “I ain’t gay, mate. You’re a friend helping a friend.”

-

basically it ends with Simon shepherding Johnny into some hedonistic, one-sided relationship. Johnny just accepts it bc if Simon wont love him, he’ll do it by proxy, because hes all fucked out and desperate for him🖤🖤

[iznsfw]

was wondering if you ever thought about writing a taeyeon smut with breeding/squirting kink

Setup

Part Three of Dulce Periculum | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Girls Generation's Kim Taeyeon x Male Reader Smut

5,273 words

Categories | exactly what's in the ask: breeding and squirting, fingering, cunnilingus, light bondage, overstimulation, uniform sex, subbymommy!Taeyeon

Of course I thought about it! I would have written a hundred more fics for Taeng like I did with Eunbi if I weren't a lazy fuck LMAO This chapter is already barely edited!

Anyway, here's best girl. Please enjoy and await the next chapter ;)

"That was… something."

Eunbi's on your lap again, as she always is. It would be no surprise if it's become what she uses for everything now: a school chair, a backseat, everything. Her glasses are tilted to the side and her skirt is a bit too undone for suspicion to not be cast, for questions to not be said: “Why do you look tired?”; “Do you need a ride home?”; “Were you fucking Ms. Kim?”

Already she's forgotten about her earlier volleyball game loss, which is a good thing, you guess, since a disappointed frown no longer dimples her cute face. You'd rather have this Eunbi: a smiley one, clinging to you as if the two of you were magnetic forces that can't be separated without a fight, with her hair down and her body resting on yours. 

Comfort. That's the word.

You've no idea how you look like, but from the way she's attending to you—brushing your messy hair with her fingers and easing the bruises on your neck with soft massages—you'd say you look pretty fucked up, in a word-for-word kind of way, And the blame is on Kim Taeyeon, certified freak in the sheets and a pretty awesome teacher besides all that.

("In the classroom" would be a more fitting phrase. She completely dominated you and your girlfriend as if she owned you, and it's safe to say that after that, she does. It's something you're more than happy to give in to.)

"Are you okay? You'll have to use makeup for this, oppa," coos Eunbi as she worriedly massages a hickey. 

"My parents won't give a fuck, Eun. They'd be glad to know I'm getting laid."

She pushes her bottom lip out understandingly and nods. 

"What about you?"

"Uhh," she thinks for a moment, "my parents wouldn't see—"

"No." Reword that: "What I meant is: are you okay?" 

She beams. Pretty girl, pretty girl, pretty girl—that charming little smile dances in your mind like an act at a circus. "I'm alive, aren't I?" 

"No, I mean, are you okay with the whole insult thing?" You push her lopsided glasses back on her nose. She kisses you appreciatively. "She called you… what? 'Naughty little girl'?"

"You can say I am," singsongs Eunbi as she toys with your uniform tie. Her smile is wider, a little more mischievous. God, what has Taeyeon done to her? "Right, oppa?"

"Whatever."

"What? You don't like it?" She's pouting, knowing how much that little downward quirk of her lips affects your heart. She curls her arms around your neck and drags her face closer to yours. The old Eunbi would have known better than to put on PDA in school, considering it goes against several student regulations, but she's starting to become a little more coy than usual. Her flushed cheeks tell you that she likes doing that for you, too.

"No, I do," you clarify, your hands sliding down to her tiny waist. "But I just want to, like, know if you're fine with everything. I mean, she likes to talk down on you, maybe even hurt your feelings while doing it. You sure it doesn't raise a red flag?"

"Oh, 'red flag'! Oppa keeps up with the lingo!"

Roll your eyes. Here we fucking go. "You know that I'm barely older than you, right?”

Eunbi giggles. She curls her little arms around you and pulls you close.

Taper your gaze south and you can see there are bruises on her shoulders, and a couple more on her thighs and legs that her skirt fails to hide. Hearing that cute laugh from her causes you to wonder if you're the problem. What did you do to Eunbi? What have you turned her into? A year or two back, she was just a cute little honor student with time in her packed schedule to allow for tutoring you. Now, she's constantly on your lap, as if it's her favorite seat, with the sweet smile on her face proving to be deceptive whenever she guides your hand up her skirt. 

Do you like it? Fuck yeah. Do you feel just a little bit guilty for corrupting her? That's also a yes.

"I'm fine with it," says Eunbi softly. "More than okay."

Her eyes are serious, but hold a gentleness in them that makes you want to pull her down and kiss her, and not even sexually. It brings you at least some comfort to know that whatever you made her into, she actively participates and allows. It would be a whole different thing if it weren't that way.

"You sure?" 

"Yes, my cute little oppa. Stop worrying about me." Eunbi kisses your nose again. "Let's go home?"

You look around. The covered court is empty, except for the remaining volleyball nets and confetti. The high school buildings are also silent. Taeyeon's car is gone from the driveway. Nobody is here but the two of you. 

Has looking at your empty school always been this nostalgic? You used to view education as nothing but a filler and obstacle in your schedule, but being with Eunbi makes you look forward to the future. Having your arm around her as you walk to your locker and sitting with her during lunch has significantly brightened your day. Even your grades started to improve—maybe love is the answer all along?

As corny as it sounds, it might be.

Your satisfied grin is genuine. Picking up the small girl bridal-style, you take the long day head in full stride. "Let's go home, pretty girl."

-

“Why are you home so late?”

Eunbi’s mother squints suspiciously as the two of you enter her house. You’ve come over to visit your girlfriend’s family more times than you can count, but after being royally fucked over by Kim Taeyeon, you can barely look her in the eyes. 

“Sorry, mommy– mom,” fumbles Eunbi. Her ears are red; the word sounds strange now after she’s used it on a woman twice her age, most especially if said woman’s her teacher.  She shrugs off your arm and steps out of her school shoes. “We stopped by the gym.”

“Yeah,” is all you can say to support the statement, considering you didn’t know until Eunbi mentioned it that there’s a gym nearby. It’s time to bulk and lift, you guess.

You and Eunbi stand guiltily at the doorway of the Kwon household, heads hung like faultful puppies. How to deal with Mrs. Kwon after you fucked her daughter and a nymphomaniac professor wasn’t exactly written down in the boyfriend manual. That’s why your mouth has nothing to say, and your hands go nowhere but your pockets. It’s an awkward situation you wouldn’t wish on even the most horrible school rival. 

“You had sex, didn’t you?” 

The bold, no-bullshit question makes Eunbi’s ears burn. Flustered, she shakes her head more times than someone who isn’t guilty should. “No!” she denies, as if offended by the thought of it. “Mom, why would you say that?” 

“Oh, come on,” Mrs. Kwon says, placing her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. Her smile is hilariously condescending. “I know you get stressed when I make you attend all those extracurriculars. My little girl needs some relief, too, just like her dad—”

Your eyes widen.

“Ew!” Eunbi rushes into your arms and places her hands on her ears. “Mom, stop, what the fuck!”

“No swearing!” scolds her mother as she skips over to the kitchen to make dinner, her day slightly better now that she’s fulfilled her duty as a parent to humiliate Eunbi. “Make sure to be on the pill, my silver rain! Mommy loves you so much!”

Eunbi’s hiding her face in her palms, pressing them hard on her cheeks that it’s started to mold to their shape. You, on the other hand, are cackling, You’re having the time of your fucking life, slapping your knees like an entry to Heaven depends on it. You can’t believe the strict Mrs. Kwon would be so straightforward about that. It’s certainly a break of character, and an embarrassing but welcome one.

Your girlfriend glares at you. “It’s not funny!” she whines, punching you in the shoulder. “Oppa, how can you even laugh about that?”

“I’m sorry, Eunbi—” Interrupted by your own laughs, you apologize profusely. Still, your eyes make half-moon crescents and your stomach starts to hurt from giggling. “I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s just—”

“Oppa!” 

"What did she say, baby? Mommy loves you so much—"

“You’re so mean to me!”

“No, wait, wait, wait, you’re not going anywhere.” Sweep her into your arms again when the upset Eunbi turns around to leave. She mewls in protest, but you kiss her over and over, arms ribboned tight around her body. Your laughing lips start to feel numb with how much they’ve touched her pale, milky skin. “I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry, okay?”

“You’re not!”

Look down at Eunbi’s angry face and kiss her on the nose. That should work usually, but it seems like she’s really upset this time. “Oh, come on, baby,” you say. “I said I was sorry. What can I do to make you smile?”

Eunbi looks away like an upset bunny. It’s hard to keep a serious face when she’s too adorable even in times where she’s annoyed. 

“Tell me,” you urge. “I promise I’ll do it.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Bring my uniform to school,” says Eunbi, still refusing to look you in the eye. As she speaks, she unbuttons her blouse and slips out of her skirt, leaving her in nothing but a camisole and volleyball shorts. “We’re training again tomorrow and I don’t want to carry it in my bag. And quit staring at my chest, perv!”

“Sorry.” Close your eyes for a few seconds, then open them, as if doing so would chasten them. The next second, Eunbi’s uniform is in your arms. “Where do I put it?”

“Give them to Professor Kim.”

“Oh no, don’t tell me you’re”—minimize your voice so Mrs. Kwon wouldn’t hear, just in case she'd been eavesdropping the whole time—”fucking her without me.”

“Oppa,” Eunbi interrupts. Her expression is suddenly serious. “Just do it, please?”

-

Oh, yeah, as weird as her request is, you don’t say no. If she's merely having your professor do her laundry or arranging a time for some one-on-one tutoring sessions, you take the clothes and take the trip. When Eunbi's upset, you transform into an overly nurturing father. 

You almost told the school guard you’re there for boyfriend duties. He’s a friendly guy and would have understood if you actually said it, but you’re so irritated by having to drive all the way back to school that you don’t find it in you to crack jokes.  

You meet Taeyeon in the faculty room. “Good afternoon, Professor,” you say, unsure if you should go on with the mommy thing.

Taeyeon is now dressed in a blouse layered with a brown fur sweater. Her beam is so different from the predatory smirk that was on her face earlier. “Good afternoon, pretty boy.” She looks down at Eunbi’s uniform. “What’s this?”

“Um.” You scratch the back of your neck, still flustered by Taeyeon’s coy remark. “Eunbi asked me to give it to you.”

“Ah, thank you. Would you check on me in three minutes, please?”

Another strange request from another beautiful woman. Trying not to look confused, you nod. “Uh, sure, Professor.”

Taeyeon kisses you on the cheek then brings the uniform with her to the bathroom.

You’re becoming more and more suspicious by the second. Everything falls into place a little too perfectly. Wasn’t Taeyeon’s car away from the driveway? If so, why is she here? Why did Eunbi ask you to bring her uniform, and what is your professor doing with them in the bathroom? You’re so close to figuring it out, but anytime you join the puzzle pieces together, they don’t make the right picture.

Three minutes pass anyway, and maybe it’s a wrong decision to knock on the faculty bathroom door, but you do, and—

"You're back, baby boy."

The door opens, as if it were an ominous curtain to one of the drama club's plays.

And the main character herself is in full costume: your teacher pushes her little weight onto the sink with one, practiced hand, dressed head to toe in the school uniform. It's not just any skirt and blouse she's donning—you come to realize that it’s the uniform you gave to her, that it actually belongs to Eunbi. With how slim she is, the uniform fits Taeyeon like a glove.

Her hair is perfectly messed up into brown falls of pillow-soft beauty. Her gaze falls nothing short of sultry, and so do the rest of her actions. Even the way she sets her hand on her hip is graceful. Each thing she does is designed to seduce you, and you'd be a filthy liar if you said it wasn't working.

Her name is all you can say. What else can you utter when she's completely stolen your breath? Locked it into her heart so that it could inhale nothing more than her desire and lust?

"I told you we weren't done yet, didn't I?" Taeyeon says. "And I always keep my word, especially for sweet baby boys like you."

"Mommy…" The title falls from your mouth seamlessly, as if it were a natural thing to say.

"You know," she goes on, suspense in each step as she approaches you, "I wasn't really satisfied with how you bred me. I wanted to really feel what your little girlfriend gets every night from you."

"Did you plan this?" 

"You got me." Taeyeon pulls you close. She's smaller than you, but her dominance overpowers that. "Ms. Kwon wants me to feel good. She only wants the best cum for her mommy, and she chose you."

Ah, everything makes sense now. You should have known something was up when Eunbi smiled a little more cheekily, or when she remained on her phone during the ride home. How could you have let it happen right under your nose?

"So, won't you give mommy more, baby? Please?"

You think about it. You've got one of the hottest women you know standing in front of you with the sexiest uniform on. Is this really a chance you'd let slip?

No, but—

"Hands?"

Taeyeon nods immediately. It's as if she knows what you're about to do, so why is she surprised while you tug the uniform tie from her neck in one, swift pull?

Take her thin wrists after she turns around and bind them together with said tie. Taeyeon moans in excitement, even more so when you sweep her off her feet and place her onto the sink counter. The setting is less sexy than you want it to be, but you settle for it. What matters is what you do.

Part her legs and lift the lapels of the offending skirt out of the way. No panties; your teacher is truly the boldest. 

Taeyeon's pussy is as ethereal as ever. Her thighs are slick from the wetness it exudes, and from that alone you can just tell that she's been fantasizing about having you fuck her for a while. When you glide your finger across the drenched slit, she whines loudly. Her back knocks at the bathroom mirror.

"Baby, please," she whispers. The plea written in her face is genuine. She tries, to the best of her bound ability, to squirm her hips in your direction. It's an unsuccessful attempt, needless to say. "I need you."

"What do you need, Taeyeon?" Yes, you're shedding the mommy formalities now, even going as far to call her by her first name. Calling her by her sexual title is absurd when you've got her fully under your control. 

"Need your tongue." 

She lifts her head high like she's reaching heaven due to your teasing kisses on her inner thighs. They draw the path to her soaked cunt, which clenches around thin air as it waits for you to put it out of its misery.

"A little more specific, please?"

"Need your mouth," whimpers Taeyeon. You're crossing uncharted waters now as you kiss around her folds. Her ecstasy is so close, yet so far. "Need your mouth on me. Need you to make me feel good, baby, please."

The watery look in her eyes convinces you to stop the foreplay. You hold Taeyeon's thighs and spread them apart, squeezing them as you go, then go for the kill.

"Ohhh!" With the tie around her wrists, Taeyeon can't hold onto anything but her own fingers to deal with your tongue. You make sure to drum it on her clit as you pump in a finger into her drenched hole. "Baby, oh my god, baby, that feels so good!"

Taeyeon's taste is one you'd remember forever. The tangy sweetness is addicting, and if you could keep your mouth on her pretty pussy forever, you would. For this reason, you serve rough, languid flicks with your tongue on her nub, and strengthen the force of your fingerfucking. With the combined pleasure, Taeyeon squeezes down so tightly that, if her wetness were nonexistent, it would be hard to move. It's lucky that each thrust draws out plenty of delicious nectar.

Taeyeon's thighs quiver as they try to keep themselves open. Her loud sighs fill your ears, and they turn into whiny cries when you brush your fingertips against a certain spot on her walls. Her lips are pursed, her stomach is tight, and her jaw is slack. She learned self-control as a teacher, especially when dealing with rowdy classes, but experience can't stop her incessant mewls.

"Baby, baby, baby," whimpers Taeyeon. "Please. Oh, oh my god, please, I need you."

"That's right, Taeyeon," you say. You lift your head to smirk at her, adding another finger. "You look so pretty when you're being a good girl."

Taeyeon gasps for composure as the praise leaves her more drenched. Your fingers aren't helping at all—they know each curve and spot that makes her writhe. When you've cornered her weaknesses and targeted them, her formal acts as a teacher go straight out of the window. In this school bathroom, she's no longer a teacher, she's not the one in control. Here, she's your good girl, and you'll lord it over her as much as you please.

Your digits curl. Taeyeon's back curves as her screams bounce off the tiled walls. You place a spare hand over her mouth. Her breaths hit your palm with the pleasant company of her broken moans. 

"Keep quiet," you say, boring her down with your glare. Her eyes return a frenzied, lustful look. "There could still be people outside, you know. Wouldn't want them knowing how weak you can get for one of the delinquents, no?"

Taeyeon's folds swallow your fingers as they move, and when you finally get knuckle-deep inside her, they hold onto them and refuse to let it go. Therefore, you're forced to thrust bluntly, keeping the length of them inside her and reaching places that her slim ones can only dream of reaching.

She shakes her head. Her long toned legs start to kick wildly. You've seen that before, and you know what it means: she's about to cum. Hard.

She's chanting your name for the hundredth time. Lips pursed, eyes shut, she cries for more. You're a known rebel at school, but you choose this order as one you'd follow. 

You place your mouth on her pussy again. As you stimulate the sensitive skin with daring licks and thrusts of your tongue, Taeyeon kicks and moans. She'd do so many things to you if her hands weren't tied: grab your head and pull it deeper between her legs, squeeze her own tits under her blouse, probably even try to wrestle for the upper hand. But she's left as another pretty girl who's yours to use, and for this time, you choose to assault her pink, soaked cunt with your mouth.

The hand that was on her mouth earlier is now firmly rubbing eights on her clit. Taeyeon's screams aren't muffled anymore, and as much as they're loud and deafening, you enjoy it. Who wouldn't when this woman, this forbidden bombshell of a woman, is looking down at you with breaths that quake like her thighs, and says, in a strangled whisper: "I'm going to… fuck, I'm gonna—"

You capture her clit in your lips and slide a third finger inside her.

Taeyeon screams. 

Echoing wails of curses and blasphemy leave her open mouth. In everything you do, you do hard and fast. Taeyeon is struggling on the sink, trying to fight her way out of the tight school tie so that she can ride your tongue faster. The only thing she can do is close her thighs to keep you there.

"Baby, oh my god, oh!" Your teacher jerks her spasming core at your tongue, urging it inside her. Her pretty face is beet red. "Mommy's cumming, I can't– I can’t, please, I'm gonna squirt all over your face!"

A spurt of girl cum hits your chin. You slack your jaw to receive more of it in your mouth. You don't stop your frantic licking at her pearl which gets more of the unholy fluid spraying. 

She tastes even better when she cums.

"Yes, that’s a good girl," you say. Replace your tongue with your fingertip to be able to drink from her. As her cum messily hoses in the air, you become a thirsted traveler hooking onto the last resort. You eat of her, you drink of her, you fuck her. "Cum for me. Make a mess like the slut you are. Be a good girl."

Tears run down Taeyeon's face. "Yes, please—hnnn, it's too much!"

Her bundle of nerves suffers rapid swiping that draws fire hydrant-like sprays from her. Her whole body is slithering and twitching erratically, yet you keep rubbing her. And you’re not stopping until her shaking legs are too weak to lift themselves and protest, or her throat becomes sore from screaming. 

You keep that promise. “No, Taeyeon,” you murmur. Rubbing at her core, you smile down at her. “It’s not too much when you’re with me. I know you have more cum in that pretty cunt of yours, and I’m taking it all.”

It’s fascinating how she’s the one on the bottom now. This writhing, whimpering mess of a girl can’t be the same teacher who rules the classroom with an iron fist. But she is, and her change of personas doesn’t fail to amaze you as she cums and squirts even more. The tiles of the bathroom floor now bear a puddle on its surface, and the mirror reflects something other than Taeyeon’s back and your cruel grin.

Taeyeon’s breaths are accented by the lifts and rests of her tight midriff, seen under the uniform. “Please, baby,” she tells you. Her hips fly off the sink and land back on it as it tries to find a way in avoiding and giving in to your hand at the same time. “Baby, baby– baby, mommy can’t anymore.”

"Yes, you can. Keep cumming for me."

"I-I-I…. ahhh!"

Indeed, she cums more. What you thought would soon end with soft drops becomes a blast again. It's wearing Taeyeon out—her arms and legs are sedentary, and groans pronounce through her broken voice. You kiss her neck and collarbone while your finger does away with her pussy, pushing its limits and boundaries.

"God, you're such a good girl." You kiss the insides of her thighs. "That's it, you can do it. Just a bit more for me."

Her center flexes and squeezes to reach the peak of her orgasm. Taeyeon's sighs are loud and stammered, and you gently silence them with a kiss on her mouth. Her moans are sweet and tired, so you slow the rubbing up to the moment Taeyeon's legs stop quaking.

The aftershock halts. Taeyeon's head relies on the bathroom mirror for support. 

"Mmm, oh fuck, baby boy, that felt so good."

"There's more where that came from, mommy."

"Oh, so now you're calling me that."

"Of course, unless…" You pause your careful touches on her legs. "You want me to stop?"

"No, please, don't stop!" Taeyeon shakes her head. 

"Why not, mommy?"

"B-because…" she says, before making eye contact with you. Doing so causes her to stop.

Drum your fingers on her hip. "Yes?"

"'Cause I need you to use me, baby boy. I need you to make me cum again and fill my slutty mommy pussy with your load. Need you, need you to breed me, baby boy. That's all I want."

The most inarticulate sentences from Taeyeon make the most sense to you. When she's trying to fight her way out of the makeshift binds and whimpering even without contact with her skin, what else can be deduced? She's a needy woman, and you're the perfect guy to help her out.

What wouldn't you do to fill that pretty cunt? Her pleas are enough for you; you lift her off the sink and bend her over it instead. Can't resist being rough when she's biting her lip like that. Spank her.

"Gonna breed you, Taeyeon," you rasp. You squeeze her ass that peeks from the folds of her pleated skirt. "Gonna fill you up, and you're gonna take it all, won't you?"

Taeyeon nods, her breath long gone. "Yes, yes, please. Give it to me."

It only takes a few unzips and unbuckles for you to completely fill your teacher. Her whole body tenses up beautifully, and the mirror bounces back to you the image of her orgasmic face: eyelids shut, mouth contrastingly open. 

"Fuck."  Taeyeon bites her lip. "Just like that, b-baby, just keep going."

It's easy to propel yourself inside her when your hands are on her wrists bound behind her bent back. Her trapped fingers crawl and grasp on yours to deal with your anything-but-gentle violations of her pussy. 

You propel pleasured expressions of bliss on her face that you can see on the mirror. You can barely see her irises while you fuck her. Must mean you're doing a good job rearranging her guts. You can feel her stomach when you thrust into her. 

After feeling her nub for a while, you press on the bulge your shaft creates on her belly. "I'm gonna ruin you, Kim Taeyeon," you tell her, to which she whimpers softly in response. "I'm gonna put a fucking baby in your womb. Fill up this pretty pussy with my load. Do you want that?"

"Yes, yes, yesss," she drawls out. "Fucking breed me. Put that big cock to use, baby. I want it all."

"Oh, of course you do." Speed up, spreading her splayed pussy lips to force it into swallowing your whole shaft. Your cockhead knocks against her cervix, and it turns you on more than it should. "Asking your student for a uniform so you can look like a slutty little schoolgirl for me. If you want to be one, then I'm gonna treat you like one."

Spank her. Each blow from your hand on her clapping cheeks causes her cunt to hold your cock tighter. Her hole clenches and twitches as you abuse her ass, squeezing and slapping the soft flesh to hear her desperate, weak cries. This is the most disrespect you've given to a teacher, even if you're already a trouble child. Can't say you aren't enjoying each second that passes.

"Oh my god, yes!" Taeyeon squeals. In a sudden burst of energy, she fucks herself back on your cock, wanting you and everything but for your rod to stop impaling her. "Fuck me, baby, hurt me! Give me your cum!"

"Fucking cumslut. You'll get all of it."

Your fist ribbons around her hair and pulls back harshly. You kiss her neck and nibble on her earlobe. Your hot breath makes her legs tremble and her hands weaken in the restriction of the tie. She's submitting to you completely, allowing you to do as you please to her. What else can she do anyway, when she asked for it: for you to cum in her, to use her, to treat her like a toy? 

Nothing. All she can do is receive your paced thrusts and spanks, be a good girl and bend her body over the sink for your cock to ruin. Never did she think she'd like to be used as much as she likes to use. 

Once you've deemed her ass red enough, you switch your attention to her breasts. They're the perfect size to squeeze, and you do plenty of that once you realize her breasts are just as sensitive as Eunbi's. You pinch the nipples harshly, pulling on them to make her cry and rub them for her to squirm her legs together more. In everything you do, her pussy clamps tighter, and she's pushed closer and closer to an orgasm.

"P-please," she whispers weakly. "More, please, I'm so close."

"Promise me you'll take all of my cum." Pressure her into saying so through rubbing her clit. Her ass reverses into your crotch and her desirable body starts to spasm. "Promise me, baby."

"I'll take all of your cum!" Taeyeon sobs. Her voice is so loud that you're sure it passes through the bathroom door. "My tight little pussy will get all of your hot thick cum, I'll let you breed me! Just please make me cum!"

You bear her head down with one hand into the sink counter and fuck her like you mean it. All gentleness is lost now. You ravage her cunt as if you need to do so to live. Spread her velvety walls with your pumps. Let them remember the shape of your cock so that the next time you fuck her it contracts perfectly to your size. Make her sensitivity reach an all-time high. 

"Big, so big, so hard inside me—fffuck me!" 

Taeyeon leaves a big mess for the janitor to clean up. Her orgasm is wet and violent. It forces her to squirt on the tiled floor and your clothes, forces her to squeeze down so tightly on your rod that it suffocates and explodes inside her. Your groans are humiliatingly loud, but it drowns out in Taeyeon's chants of bliss.

"Oh, shit, baby!" she says. "Give me your cum, breed me, make me a mommy!" 

Her moans are high-pitched unlike her serious tone when she teaches. When she instructs the classroom, it's strict, cutting through the air like a knife. Now, she's whining helplessly when she instructs you to breed her, bearing your drills as you fill her insides with your cum.

You don't pull out. It would be disobeying her commands. So, even when she's turned into your submissive babygirl with the help of your harsh pumps, she's still your teacher. You'll always follow her way.

"Yes… fuck me… breed me… use me…" is the last thing Taeyeon murmurs before she loses her strength and collapses on the sink.

-

You guide Taeyeon to her car and drive her home. She's sleeping beside you on the front passenger seat. Pray nobody sees you as you drive through the exit of your school. 

But before all that, you went through Taeyeon's phone, and you saw her messages. To your surprise, there's a conversation log in which she texts your girlfriend Eunbi.

It reads:

Professor Taeng: You brought your uniform here, sweetheart?

Kwon Eunbi ♥︎: he brought it himself

have fun w him, Mommy :3

Professor Taeng: I will ;). 

[savventeen]

thinking about a jihoon whose biggest love languages are quality time and acts of service.

a jihoon that's never been one for physical comfort and never really knows what to say or when to say it and who's always had trouble knowing what kind of material things other people might like.

he's always felt like the kind of person who loves quietly, sometimes so quietly he isn't sure anyone can hear it.

but oh, oh, do you hear it.

you hear it when you find an extra bento box in the fridge that just has a sticky note with a lopsided smiley face drawn on it. you hear it when he silently joins you on the opposite side of the couch and watches the rest of the shark documentary with you at 2 in the morning. you hear it when you complain about being too tired to do the dishes that night and you wake up to an empty sink and wiped-down countertops and a well-swept floor. you hear it when you say you're going out for coffee and his quiet "i'll go with you" is drowned out by the noise of you tripping over the shoes you left in the doorway. you hear it when your hands can't stop shaking and he quietly places his cordless headphones over your ears before sitting down at the keyboard and playing song after song after song until your chest no longer feels like it's filled with empty, infinite, crushing void.

he thinks his love is quiet, but to you, to you, his love is so fucking loud it's like he's screaming it from the rooftops — an endless sonata that you'll always be able to hear.

[usereddie]

Please with a cherry on top 🍒💕 tell us all about your little aus you have for bucktommy.

Especially the season 1 divergence 💛

surely i will!!!! this got very long btw so i'm putting it under a read more but the aus i mentioned in the tags of this post are

model au

college au

neighbor au

canon divergence s1 meeting

okay here you go:

model au: this is the one that sparked that entire post bc i saw those two photos and went "wait....." anyway. buck and tommy meet on a shoot and buck is immediately reduced to a giggly, blushing mess. he's new to the modelling industry but so ridiculously pretty he's already getting booked left and right. tommy's been in the game for a while, and he's so comfortable in his skin in front of the camera that it has buck watching him in awe. a bts video of a shoot they did together blows up on twitter, people talking about their chemistry, how hot they are together, and it gets people talking. buck is terribly, terribly embarrassed, worried tommy's gonna realize buck's got a huge crush on him, but then tommy doesn't mind at all, and is actually really, really on board with buck's feelings if the hickeys the makeup department have to cover the next time he's in front of a camera are anything to go by

(also, buck discovering he loves being behind the camera and getting every candid of his boyfriend possible. the professional, smoldering, glamour shots are nice, yeah, but the one of tommy smiling when he realizes buck's been taking pictures of him? those are his favorites.)

college au: listen, i know hs/college au's aren't for everyone but i love them. the frat parties, the "we kissed the day before christmas break and now i don't know how you feel because we're not talking and i can't just show up at your dorm" angst, their friends pestering them about the obvious feelings they have for each other. come on!!! buck and tommy are both freshman though tommy's a bit older because he took some time between high school and college to get a job so he could pay for his school. buck thinks tommy doesn't like him very much but tommy's kind of in love with the guy, but the way he shows his affection and his teasing attempts at flirting are clearly not getting the message across. so he kisses him in the front lawn of a frat house during a party because obviously they're in frats and buck doesn't get it, thinks tommy's doing it because he found out buck likes him and is making fun of him, and tommy doesn't even let him finish angrily confessing his feelings before he's tackling him onto the lawn and kissing him stupid.

neighbor au: they both work odd hours. tommy's still a firefighter but buck's a nurse and they've seen each other a few times on the job, enough that buck's coworkers always let him know when the hot firefighter came by, but they have no idea they're neighbors because their hours just never. line. up. until one day buck's sick to the point not even he can justify going to work and tommy's got his day off and they run into each other in the hallway of their apartment complex when buck goes out to get his door dash. he is immediately horrendously embarrassed because ohmygod the hot firefighter knows what i look like in spongebob pajama pants. tommy doesn't mind though, clearly, because a few hours later he's knocking on buck's door and handing over a tupperware of homemade cookies. tommy doesn't stick around very long because buck is clearly super tired, but when buck opens the lid there's a note with tommy's number and a 'next time we have off on the same day, you wanna grab coffee?' the smiley face is lopsided and uneven but it makes the biggest grin appear on buck's face

(also, they have dogs in the selfies i used in that post and i like to think their dogs are also dating thanks)

canon divergence: oh man i LOVE canon divergence in general, but s1 bucktommy would go so hard. like au where tommy doesn't leave the 118 so he's there for buck's probie year? incredible. tommy, for starters, wouldn't be able to stand buck 1.0 and buck, like the oblivious bisexual he is, wouldn't understand why he cares so much. slowly, buck starts trying to get his attention. talking to him, getting to know him. tommy's still in the closet and trying to keep from losing his mind because the pretty playboy who sleeps around is suddenly no longer hooking up with women in favor of trying to get to know him. tommy knows he should tell buck to stop because there's no way this won't end with his heart broken (who hasn't fallen for a straight person and cried to sad ballads about it? queer culture), but buck is actually sweet and he's not funny because his jokes are terrible but he makes him laugh and tommy's determined to introduce him to all the best, classic romcoms (the man's favorite movie is love, actually, c'mon). the more time they spend together the less buck goes out, and after a long shift, sitting on the floor of tommy's living room eating pizza, when tommy starts leaning in, buck doesn't think twice before closing the distance. tommy pulls back, asks if he's sure, if this is okay, and buck, who hasn't had sex since he realized he wanted tommy in a big, bad, really really gay way, kisses him breathless.

tommy doesn't want to pressure buck, doesn't want to move too fast because he really, really likes him. buck is annoyingly charmed by it because he's never had a meaningful relationship and as weird as it is to want that with a guy he really does want it with tommy (but he also obviously takes it as a challenge to see how far he can push his boyfriend's buttons before he bends him over the back of the couch).

okay yeah these are my bucktommy au ideas i love them very bad thanks mwah!!!

[the-kr8tor]

haii !! for your fluffy friday:

hobie brown x reader and reader got one of those american girl doll baby dolls (i forgot what theyre called) so hobie and reader can take care of it like its a real baby 🤗

Hi, angel! Thank you for your request, hope you like it ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x Fem! Reader

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Reader is pregnant, Fluff.

It's Fluffy Friday!

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You and Hobie wave goodbye to Mayday, she pouts in her dad's arms, not ready to go home yet. Baby blues tearing up, her lip wobbles. Peter tries to console his daughter. The portal swirls in your living room, bathing it in a yellow glow. You cringe at how your stuff will fall harshly on the floors once it closes.

"You'll see them again, don't you miss mama?" He bounces her in his arms. Mayday only frowns more at her father's question, emotions running high.

"Mm-hmm, I'm sure your mommy misses you a lot, Mayday" you coo at the toddler, cradling your baby bump. You're about to burst any day now.

Hobie hands Peter Mayday's baby bag, "yeah, we'll just be here waiting for you" he ducks down to meet Mayday's teary eyes, shaking her tiny hands, trying to bring comfort. You grin at the interaction, hormones making you tear up.

"Thanks guys, I really need to get her home before she throws a tantrum. See ya!" Peter makes Mayday wave her hand by using his own. "Say bye bye, Mayday! Hit me up if you need any help, okay?" she finally wails as her dad steps inside the portal. Her cries get cut off by the portal closing.

"Oof glad I'm not Peter right now" you huff, turning around to look for Hobie, "Hobie?"

He crouches down to pick up a baby doll left on the floor. Shaking it in his grip, "D'you think she was crying because of this?"

"I don't think so, she barely played with it" you shrug, wobbling to him, taking the doll in his hands. Still accustomed to taking care of an actual baby, you cradle the toy like it's alive. "We can give it back to Pete next time they visit"

Hobie cracks an endearing smile, he's seen you hold Mayday before with the same enthusiasm but something about you carrying a smaller baby albeit a toy one unlocks something in his mind. He's absolutely excited to have the little one in your arms.

"You look really fit right now" Hobie eyes you up and down, whistling. You make pregnancy look good.

You roll your eyes, "what?" Not believing the words he uttered "my shirt is covered in baby food," you sniff at your collar. "Yep, mango baby food. And I haven't washed my hair in days"

Hobie leads you in his arms by your elbow, holding you close, the baby doll right in the middle of your cuddling, stomach making it hard to embrace him properly.

You suddenly realize what he really meant, knowing him well. Basically reading his mind when he lays his head on your shoulder, tired from chasing around Mayday all over the flat; hand rubbing soft circles over your tummy. The other kneads at the small of your back, massaging the aching muscle.

He's been so supportive the entire pregnancy, even with all your weird cravings and hormone induced mood swings, Hobie was always there to help ease the burden off of you. You've seen him get more and more excited everyday, bouncing all over the flat to get it ready for the baby.

"Yeah? I look good?" Bouncing the toy in your arms, you smirk at Hobie.

"Mm-hmm," Hobie peppers your face with sticky kisses leaving you all giggly and smiley. "So" kiss "bloody" kiss "good"

"Okay" laughing in between "calm down this is the reason why I'm pregnant" instead of pulling away, you encourage him by leaving your own kisses on his cheeks.

After a moment of you attacking his face with your lips, you finally pull away, scrunching your nose endearingly at Hobie with a lopsided grin. His hand never leaves your bump.

"Maybe we should keep this for a few days, might be good for practice" He holds the doll by its foot jokingly. You know he's prepared enough to know how to hold a baby properly.

You chuckle, "not a good start, babe" taking the doll with care, cradling its head, you indulge him.

"I haven't got that swaddling thing down"

"Come on then, let's practice" leading him to the bedroom by his hand with a tired but happy smile.

Reblog banner by @/cafekitsune

[sam-loves-seb]

look. I know there are probably a million and a half takes on this, but I had this thought, and it wouldn’t leave my brain, so now you have to deal with it too.

ian is not the sun.

ian is the moon, and mickey is the sun.

mickey is the sun, at least in ian’s eyes he is, because ian’s whole world starts ends and revolves around his husband. the pull mickey has on him feels like a gravitational orbit, stronger than any crush or infatuation ever has been, and no matter how much distance (physical and metaphorical) ian puts between them, he always—always—comes back to mickey. and mickey, well he burns hotter and brighter than just about anyone else they know, all barely checked temper and hot seething rage, and hell hath no fury like a mickey scorned because he will burn you faster than any fire ever could. and god, his eyes—do not get ian started on mickey’s eyes—they’re as blue as a cloudless sky on a summer’s day, all warm and wide and vast as the horizon, and ian could stare at them for hours the way he’d stare up at the sky in the backyard as a kid. and yeah, maybe sometimes you can’t look directly at mickey, like maybe you’ll get hurt if you stare for too long, but ian’s best friends are a pair of sunglasses and a bottle of spf, so he’s not exactly new to the sun game, and if he’s the only one who knows how to handle it—that’s more than fine with the both of them

and ian—ian is the moon the way mickey needs air to breathe, because yeah, maybe he’s all smiley and lukewarm to everyone he fucking meets, but that’s not ian, not the real ian, that’s just good fucking manners or whatever shit ian says, but mickey doesn’t care about that. mickey cares about the ian that’s only for him, the one that is there for him through everything, even the bad shit, like the little sliver of moonlight slipping through the curtains on a really dark night, the little bit of comfort that’s enough to get him through the dark times and keep going until morning, like the guiding light on the sidewalks when he wanders home from work or the alibi or whatever late at night when the streets are empty and he’s alone. because mickey’s never really alone, not now that’s for sure, but not even then, when there were miles (metaphorical and literal) between them, because mickey would look up at the moon through the bars on the rec room window or the patio from his apartment in mexico and he’d think of ian, and his stupid fucking lopsided curved grin creeping up on his face like a crescent moon in its own right, and it’d be enough to get him til morning. even now, when he can’t sleep and he’s restless, he still looks for the moon, only now he doesn’t look out the window—why would he when he has the real thing on the other side of his mattress—he throws an arm and a leg over his husband like he’d lasso the moon if he could, and he pulls ian closer.

ian goes through phases, up down then up again, and they’re manageable, almost predictable if you study it close enough, like the phases of the moon or the flow of the tide, in and out, waxing and waning, and mickey loves all versions of ian, the full bright smiles and the dark barely there days, and every variation in between. because ian is still ian, no matter what stage he’s currently in, the same way the moon is still that bright glowing rock in the sky night after night, and mickey is happy to get pushed and pulled like waves on the shore under ian’s influence.

mickey studies the galaxies printed on ian’s body, across his chest and stomach, his shoulders and his arms, even the little ones dotting the backs of ian’s hands, and mickey finds peace in the stardust that paints ian’s skin, in the constellations he maps out on ian’s face with his lips, and even tho the freckles there are more faded then when they were kids, mickey still knows where every single one of them is. he brushes his fingers over the new one above his eyebrow, the one ian got after spending a little too much time with his tomato plant the other day, and mickey feels like an astronomer discovering a new star that he just never would’ve been able to see five, ten years ago on his own personal night sky, but he’s here to see it now so he kisses his latest discovery and falls asleep dreaming of a name for his newest constellation

[wexhappyxfew]

— Florence ‘Flo’ Godfrey —

"Nah, nah, nah, I swear to you back in '36 a buddy of mine was trying to convince the hell outta me that he could fly planes," Benny said, with a chuckle, before leaning forward and watching her eyes with that tender gaze, "and you know what I told him? I told him right to his face that's what I'd be doing! Hell, I told him if there was a war on, I'd be right there signing up for that very thing. And well....here I am."

"Here you are." Flo said with a soft smile his way. Benny grinned at her and then shifted closer to her side before glancing up at the darkening sky and smiling.

"You always go up there and it's the things you don't expect." he said, his smile dropping, "You see the sky from here, think it's just like it is down here. Nah, it's...." Benny trailed off and glanced towards her.

"It's different." Flo felt the silence close in around them and then turned to watch his eyes.

He was quiet.

Benny DeMarco was never really quiet, just at peace.

But tonight, he was quiet.

They'd spent some time together - away from flying planes, patching up planes....planes in general. If anything, it was finding a comfort in one another that they couldn't find with anyone else. And they always found a way to confide in things they couldn't quite understand.

Usually she was adorning her clothes, still mildly disgusting from her time working on the planes - a grease spot there, the dried paint around the edges of her sleeves, her hair looking more like a rat's nest.

And he was there, pulled out of his pilot's gear and instead with his slacks, top and a nice jacket, usually with the lopsided peak cap.

Sometimes it was the two of them, after he'd finished a mission, looking far more exhausted than she could account for, dried blood on his face, hair all over in directions she couldn't count and shaky hands, Meatball curled up at their feet nestled close to each other.

That usually included Flo looking as always - gangly, but smiley and quite herself.

(more to come for this excerpt!)

[agentfaust]

More ilsa x ethan being domestic softies

date night — soft ilsaethan headcanons pt. 3

(because ethan is a sappy romantic at heart and will never, ever turn down a chance to take ilsa on a dinner date <3)

whenever they decide to go out, ethan always takes her to her favorite place, the italian restaurant downtown. she always tries to get him to go somewhere else because she’s afraid he’ll get bored of it, but he never will. seeing the joy on ilsa’s face after devouring a giant bowl of her favorite pasta in three minutes will always make it worth it.

sometimes after a stressful day, they do date night at home: ethan makes them something and they have a candlelight dinner. he always tucks a rose behind ilsa’s ear when he serves their food. she laughs it off as cheesy, but she secretly loves it because all the attention and quality time make her feel valued and loved. 

when ethan breaks both his arms on a mission, it basically gives ilsa an excuse to coddle him all day long. he can’t exactly cook for their date night, so he sits on the counter and tries to teach her how to make lasagna. it comes out slightly burnt but ilsa doesn’t really mind — as long as ethan likes it, she’s happy.

on the days ethan has to leave for a mission alone, they do ‘date mornings’ instead. ilsa gets up early and makes him slightly misshapen pancakes. ethan often gets stressed before missions, so she uses fruit to draw a lopsided smiley face on the pancakes, because she knows it makes him smile. she brings them to him with some flowers, and they usually have enough time for some cuddles and a long conversation before he has to leave. 

thank you for all the love on the previous entries. as always, if you have any ideas, feel free to submit :)

[moonchildstyles]

Please older h laying down on his bed with one knee propped up and pretty girl straddling his other thigh and they are just chilling :( <3 she’s telling him about her day and how one of her professors liked her individual assignment and ofc h is very proud of her his hand cradling her cheek “good job smart girl” :((( pulling her closer by her cheek giving her lips a kiss :((((( “thank youu” <3 <3 <3 and him prodding up the leg she’s on so she slides closer :( and it’s just so soft just her on his leg playing with his stubble :( her also asking about his day :((( “had fun?” He’s laughing at her “so much fun” rolling his eyes she’s kissing his cheeks his hands around her waist :( “isn’t it fun bossing people around?” fingers still scratching at his stubble his eyes closing humming at how good it feels :( “it’d be way more fun if they listened” kissing her palms “like me…?” Softly whispering :( his eyes open up immediately a smile plastered on his face dimples deeeep “mhmm exactly like you” biting her lower lip “exactly?” he nods propping her up to pull her away from his thigh so she’s laying in between his legs “such a shame not everyone is as perfect as you are” she kisses himmm :((( her telling him he’s being too sweet and he’s teasing her “want me to be mean?” She’s shaking her head :( kissing all over his face being all no no 🧸

BESTIE BEAR:(((((((((( the idea of them just cuddling and talking about their days and everything:(((( calling her his smart girl with a little kiss to her nose or a brush of her cheek while she gets all flustered for him:( but mg him getting all relaxed w his eyes closed as shes holding his face and brushing his stubble and hes holding her loosely around her waist and him shifting his LEG:(((((( asking him if he had fun at work im literally going to drop dead I love it sm:( and hes soooooo mush just smiling and giving her a a sarcastic "yeah sooooo fun baby" and "isn't it fun being the boss though?? getting to tell everyone what to do?" and hes so....jst so......complaining about ppl not listening oh I need him BAD and she knows what shes doing w the "like me?" while hes kissing her palms and brushing his nose over her fingers like im so fucking sick rn and he blinks his eyes open looking at her all mushy and "exactly like you. you always listen to me so well thats why youre my smart girl" and shes soooo smiley leaning closer to him and "exactly" and hes humming holding her to sit between his legs and "exactly like you. its a shame not everyone is like my girl hm" and the idea of him her being all 'Youre too nice to me!!!" and him getting that lopsided smile giving her a small kiss before pulling away in a tease and "you want me to be mean then?" LGHSUIFHSOUFHS LIEK GHSIFHOS OH??????? BESTIE BEAR YOU KNEW WHAT YOU WERE DOING !!!!!!!!! and shes all flustered and shaking her head bc Nono she loves when hes so soft and nice w her:(

[rageagainstmymachine]

Just showing up to tell you how fantastic of a writer you are! I appreciate how you write Edward’s character to be both accurate to the game while exploring his much softer side. They always make me smile after a whirlwind of a day! I can’t wait for what you plan to write next💖😊

Also, because I’ve seen some confessions, I’m adding my own without shame uncensored: I adore him very much and I appreciate his submissive side too. Just picture how precious and smiley he’d be with you peppering his face with kisses and singing his praises

😭😭😭 now IM giggling while kicking my feet. This means the world to me. Seriously I’ve read this over and over trying to find the words to express how thankful I am! You’re way too kind ❤️

Edward is a complex character who deserves to have a soft and submissive side! With the shit he’s gone through lord knows he needs some unabashed love. Let the man have his guard down once in a while! (Also he definitely gives you a lopsided grin when you attack him with kisses)

[deartouya]

matchup #5 for @reddriot

დ. KATSUKI BAKUGOU; slow burn. katsuki falls in love one way and one way only--slowly and little against his will. not to say he'd never thought about love, because he has. but he's focused and refuses to let anything get in his way. but it happens anyway. you're always there; you cook for him when he's too tired after patrol and insist he goes out on his off days--even if it's only a walk in the park or to stop by a small cafe. it's a sinking feeling, but one he welcomes disturbingly quickly: he loves you.

დ. KENTO NANAMI; coffee shop au. love is one of the last things on nanami's mind. but it sneaks up on him, falling for you. he sees you every morning--way too early in the morning--when he gets his coffee and pastries. he thinks you're kind, alarmingly so and without any responsibility to be. he knows he's fallen when you pay for his coffee one day, a lopsided smiley face accompanied by your number.

დ. KOTAROU BOKUTO; love at first sight. bokuto is the definition of easy to love and easy to fall in love. and it's even easier for him to fall in love with you. he feels so warm in your presence and he loves hearing you talk about the things your passionate about. his adoration of you is painfully obvious, no matter how secretive he thinks he is, and he's awestruck the moment you remember his usual coffee order or his favorite flower.

[daintyduck99]

100 compliments prompts: "You have really cute freckles." for the Reggie ship of your choice, because we all die for his freckles.

Julie takes a deep breath and squeezes her stuffed rabbit for good luck. 

She can do this. She has to do this. 

He’s gonna say yes, Flopsy, she thinks as she buries her face in his fur, hoping that it’s true.

If he doesn’t, Carrie might make good on her word. She always wants what Julie wants, and sometimes she just takes, and she really could steal his first kiss. Julie has to talk to him before Show and Tell because that’s as long as Carrie had said she’d wait. 

She’s been twisted up about it all week, like her tummy’s tied in a knot. It tightens at the idea of Carrie swooping in, though, and it feels like she might actually throw up, which is the worst, most embarrassing thing that could happen at school. Especially today! So she has to do it. 

The bell hasn’t rung to call them inside, yet. There’s still time. Flynn gives her a thumbs up, and Carrie raises her eyebrows in that well, get on with it, fraidy-cat way of hers. Julie swallows. 

She clutches Flopsy a little tighter, tosses her braid over her shoulder, and marches over to the tree that Reggie and his friends are chasing each other around. They freeze when they see her, except Luke’s going too fast to stop. He tumbles into Reggie, knocking them both to the ground. 

Giggles erupt from behind her as they scramble to their feet, and she frowns, as do Alex and Bobby. She hadn’t wanted Flynn and Carrie to follow her! Luke gives Julie a wide grin, though, slinging his arm around Reggie’s shoulders, and Reggie gawks at her with round eyes and red cheeks. There’s a leaf in his hair, and her irritation melts away as she lets out a giggle, too.

She can’t help it, okay? He’s super cute. 

Her gaze wanders over to the base of the tree, where the boys have piled their backpacks. Whatever they brought is probably in there. Reggie makes a small sound, though, and her eyes fly back to him. He bites his lip and twists his fingers together. 

“Hi. Did you wanna play with us?” 

Bobby protests, but Julie shakes her head before he can say too much. Reggie’s face falls. 

“Oh—” 

“You have really cute freckles!” 

Everyone’s looking at her now. She squeaks and buries her face in Flopsy’s fur as her ears go hot. That’s not at all what she meant to say. He’d just looked so sad that it made her chest hurt and she wanted it to stop. It’s not right for someone as—as sunny as him to be so sad. Reggie should never be sad. He always shines whenever he’s all smiley. 

“Ooooooh,” Luke drawls, “careful, Reg, I told ya. Now you’re gonna get cooties!”

Flynn grumbles. “Cooties aren’t real, dummy. I don’t even know why girls chase boys like you.”

Julie hesitantly peeks through Flopsy’s ears as Luke and Flynn draw the others into their fight. Reggie’s still staring at her, but he doesn’t look sad, anymore. He looks bright. She creeps closer, hardly daring to look, hugging Flopsy to her chest. Reggie's eyes are so green. They sparkle.

“Do you really—think they’re cute?”

“Yeah,” she admits, slowly emerging from Flopsy, “I think you’re really cute, and funny, and bubbly, and I do wanna kiss you. I don’t know about the cooties thing, but I had to ask before some other girl tried to do it, only I haven’t asked and I’m doing it all backwards—”

“Why didn’t you just do it and run away?” He tilts his head. “Isn’t that what always happens? I never thought it would happen to me but it’s happened to Luke, and Tyler and—I dunno, that’s just always how I see it happen. I’m glad you didn’t run, though.” 

She tries a wobbly smile. “Mami says you should always ask. She doesn’t let anyone hug or kiss me or anything unless I wanna. So—can I kiss you? Do you wanna try?” 

“Yeah.” He gives her a lopsided grin that makes her heart race like a rabbit. “I wanna.”

Maybe she already has cooties from this, and that’s what people mean when they call it that. Either way, she wants to know, and she squeezes Flopsy for courage as she leans in, close enough to count all of his freckles. 

While it’s Flopsy that she brought for class, she swears it’s his smile that she’s showing for the rest of the day, so big and bright that it hurts her cheeks. 

[jimmypesto]

zekina + 26

zeke/tina, things you said in writing (set during their freshman year of high school)

Tina was having a terrible day. She fought with her sister at breakfast, she found out she failed a math test she’d studied really hard for, and her underarms had been sweating since first period.

All of that was fine. Manageable. Tina could have forgiven the universe for all of that, if Jimmy Jr. had noticed her hair.

Tina got a new curling iron for her birthday—probably the cheapest one on the market, yes, but that didn’t bother her. She loved it. She treasured it. She fixated on learning how to curl her hair, pouring over tutorials and practicing in the mirror. That morning, she had gotten up early and painstakingly curled every hair on head.

She felt pretty, and her mom gushed over her, but what she really wanted was for Jimmy Jr. notice. She fantasized about him calling her pretty, or beautiful, or enchanting. When she saw him in the hallway at school, she made eye contact and smiled expectantly.

He didn’t say anything. Of course he didn’t. He just stared at her blankly, like she wasn’t even there, and then he looked away. That’s what he always did. Tina felt like an idiot. Stupid, and embarrassed, and exhausted. She hated high school, and she just wanted to go home.

When she arrived in her afternoon science, class she flopped down in her chair in a huff. She no longer cared if the harsh movement ruffled her curls.

After she’d been sitting down for a few moments feeling sorry for herself, she saw a small piece of paper land on her desk. Surprised, she turned her head to look at the person who had left her the note.

Zeke was in the seat next to her, his head cocked goofily to one side and a toothy grin lighting up his face. Tina couldn’t bring herself to smile back, instead furrowing her eyebrows apprehensively before reaching for the folded scrap of notebook paper on her desk.

She opened it slowly, a little hesitant, knowing she wouldn’t be able to take it if the note was critical or mocking. Her self esteem had already been through the ringer today. When at last Tina had unfolded the note and saw its message staring back at her, she felt a sea of warmth beginning to creep into her cheeks.

Your hair looks pretty like that :)

Tina jerked her head to look over at Zeke, half bracing herself for laughter, but he just kept smiling at her. Then, as though to punctuate his message, he gave her a thumbs up.

Tina smiled down at her note, sheepish and thrilled. Someone did like her hair. A boy, nonetheless. Zeke’s handwriting was thick, like he had dug the pencil in with all of his strength. The smiley face next to his words was lopsided, and Tina suddenly felt herself forgetting why she had been upset all day.

She opened her science notebook and tore off a corner of a page, scribbling down her own note for Zeke. Before she could stop herself, she drew a heart at the end. She even colored it in.

Thank you. Her note read. I like your shirt. That’s a good color on you <3

She leaned over in her chair, placing the note on Zeke’s desk where he could see it.

[nirvanamerchstore]

When it comes to iconic bands, few are as recognizable as Nirvana. Along with their music, Nirvana's merchandise has become a cultural phenomenon. The band's t-shirts, sweatshirts, posters, and other items have become a staple in the wardrobes of many music lovers, regardless of whether they were around during the band's heyday or discovered later on. However, Nirvana's merchandise was not always as ubiquitous as it is today. In this blog post, we'll take a look at the evolution of Nirvana merchandise, from a local band to an iconic brand. In the early days of Nirvana, their merchandise was mostly limited to t-shirts sold at shows and through fanzines. The designs were simple, featuring the band's name and sometimes a graphic. These early designs were often hand-drawn or created using basic printing methods, resulting in a DIY aesthetic. As Nirvana's popularity grew, so did its merchandise offerings. The band's iconic smiley face logo, created by Kurt Cobain, began to appear on t-shirts, posters, and other items. The logo, with its crossed-out eyes and lopsided grin, became an emblem of the grunge era and an instantly recognizable symbol of Nirvana. After the release of their breakthrough album "Nevermind," Nirvana's merchandise began to take on a more polished and commercial look. The band's record label, Geffen Records, began to oversee the production and distribution of their merchandise, resulting in higher-quality products and a wider range of designs. [caption id="attachment_1737" align="aligncenter" width="630"]

[cheadle-yorkshire]

[fanfiction] Concordance, ch 3

Title: Concordance Pairing: Kururi x Piyon Word Count: 1784 Summary: He’s always thought that the beginning of any endeavor sets the tone for its success, and Professor Kururi has a good feeling about this year’s group of graduate students. A/N: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Takes place ~4 years pre-Dark Continent Arc. I hope you enjoy!

Krakatoa

Three papers on the differences between the various settlements in the Northern Ceram basin and a presentation on both the history of some of the ancient peoples in the area and the various ways their language had changed over time—rapidly, with the invention of a new kind of sailing technique and a new form of ink made from a strange type of rock that washed up on the shore after a volcanic explosion in one of the neighboring island chains—Piyon feels both an increased grasp on the different ways an ancient history can teach the present population and a frustration that she cannot delve even deeper into the world that she studies so intensely day after day.

Top marks on all assignments, and a cheerful note of encouragement written on the top of her midterm in glyphs and dashes next to a smiley face wearing lopsided glasses. She has had no trouble keeping her place at the top of the class, and has even to a degree found the work easy, all until this last, troublesome assignment cataloguing the exact meaning of a series of runes first found scrawled on the wall of a cave formation, and then copied onto planks they'd used as shields and artifacts like elaborate ritualistic bowls and carved into sections of bone. She glances at the books stacked high next to both elbows at her chair in the reading room in this section of the library. If there were people seated on either side of her, she would not have been able to see them, for how thick the reference books and geological compilations are pertaining to this small area of the world. Despite her best attempts, it has been impossible to arrange any kind of study group with her fellow classmates. There are so few of them, it seems it would be easy, but between their class schedules, work commitments, and general unwillingness to socialize, she finds herself alone yet again.

Piyon purses her lips. Sorting through the books has been a struggle of several weeks; there is so little available on the few islands of their study to fill even a single book, so she must wade through the oceans of material that lump the entire archipelago into one overestimated, tumescent conglomerate. There will be a mention of the way one particular society used a certain kind of weapon to hunt in a separate book cataloguing ancient weapons, or one of their artifacts will show up in a separate catalogue of goods from a tribe on the far-off mainland, and Piyon will have to track its movement and try to place it in the context of their history from the designs on one blurry photograph. Nothing is digitized and there are no plans to do so, and her irritation doubles, then triples as she grinds her teeth.

She stabs the page with her thumb. She hadn't even thought so highly of this one geographical area, or its people when she first started studying ancient linguistics. It is the inaccessibility of it now that drives her to learn even more. She even wants to go as far as to see it with her own eyes.

The writing on the pages blurs for a moment from lack of sleep, and she consults one of the books again. Professor Kururi himself has written several meandering articles about the subject, and his general conclusion had been that no one knows the exact meaning of the mysterious symbol, although he had been able to trace elements of its appearance to at least pin down a narrow range of creation. And each of his students had been given the same assignment, to offer their own interpretation on its meaning.

Piyon stares at one of the geological guides. The symbol was first drawn at the same time as the volcanic eruption, that had been corroborated by the ink. But what if the ink was not the method of its delivery but the very reason for its existence?

It had changed the very landscape of the region in all ways. By all accounts, clouds of ash had spread across the sea, drifting out beyond the great ocean and choking life in its immediate vicinity. Both people and animals had fled the area, and the Nankul people had welcomed most of them. It had led to a cultural and artistic renaissance of sorts. If it was not a proper name—and this was the hypothesis of one of her classmates, she remembers sullenly, the name of a king or prophet or great leader—Piyon finds herself suddenly believing the sign to be something less celebratory and something more sinister.

The blurry picture isn't even centered properly, and she traces the approximate shape as best she can into her notebook. There are interlocking rings, and spikes shooting out like spokes on a wheel, and the ink is that same black as the sooty rock.

She's seen something like it before, but it takes a moment to place it in her mind. It reminds her of a modern biohazard sign.

Perhaps something deadly had come out of the water when the volcano erupted—either from the volcano itself, or the ocean, washed ashore by the changing tides and the onrush of lava and noxious sediment. Perhaps the tribe had tried to warn others about it, or contain it in some way—either something biological, or physical, or—or—

She scratches at the sides of her head, burying her fingers in her hair. She doesn't know enough about fields of study outside this one to make more than the simplest of conjectures, but now at least a subject for her paper stands out like the scribbles from her pencil in the lined pages of her notebook.

And that's what the symbol was. A warning.

Piyon reaches into one of the oversized pockets of her jacket and draws out her phone, firing off a series of texts into the group chat for her class. Group study? I'm at the library right now.

Next time, texts Sasha, almost immediately, and Piyon is impressed by how quickly she responds for how much she hates the early mornings.

Five minutes later the quiet one, Bruce, responds with a single shrug emoji. He'd liked to joke that communicating with emojis over words was more similar to how things were done back in the times they were studying, and she'd liked to joke that this was why none of them really liked him very much.

Next time! After class? I'll bring snacks? A few more messages follow, and Piyon's heart warms at how, for the first time, they're coming together as a group, like their own little community.

A few days later she has three-quarters of a paper written and her mind is buzzing with even more possibilities. "Pass me the juice," she says, waving an arm towards one of their classmates rifling through a plastic bag. "No, the carbonated one."

"I think it's a pictogram," Sasha is saying, gesturing wildly with a lemon pastry. "If the volcano changed the nature of the landscape, it makes sense they'd try to record how it looked, especially if that area was venerated..."

"Or it could be the name of some great king! A warrior or something!"

"What did Kururi say in his article? They only formatted the kind of glyphs found in the oldest caves like instructions, or lists. The ones found beside the symbol."

Piyon screws up her face to remember. "No, he said they were written in the same ink, so they were most likely written congruently. It was the ones on the other walls that were written way earlier."

"I think he said both," Sasha says.

"Kururi says a lot of things."

"I think there's no wrong answer," one of the other girls, at the end of the table, pipes up. "Since you can't really confirm what actually happened. It's really all about how we argue our points."

A pause. Piyon chews. "Can't argue with that."

They work in relative silence for the next few minutes, the conversation punctuated by anecdotes and meanderings.

"I'm just glad this course isn't as tough as Ancient Azian History, I almost had to re-take that one—"

"The internship at the museum in Swaldani I applied for loved that I've got experience with this sort of stuff. If I get the gig I'll be translating things for their exhibits—"

"I'll just be glad if I never have to see another pottery fragment again—"

"I want to see it," Piyon says, suddenly. The more she talks, the more the notion seizes her. "With my own eyes. This land, these sites."

The table falls quiet before one of the others stifles a laugh. "It's all the way on the other side of the world."

"So?"

"Have you ever even left the country before?"

Piyon chews on the inside of her cheeks, her face red. Her fingers itch, and she picks up her phone in one hand and her pencil in the other. All of that information, at the tips of her fingers, and it's still not enough. "Not yet. But I feel like there's something there I want to know."

"Good luck with that. The whole area is an international mess," Bruce says. "I'm not sure there's a way to do it legally. Especially for a student."

Piyon falls silent, and a moment later the conversation resumes, about university sports and an upcoming holiday break. She still feels unsatisfied, but cannot place the source of her feelings. She presents her paper to the class to Professor Kururi's raving support, and makes plans to return the books she'd checked out and book travel for the fall holiday. She even orders a new jacket from an app on her phone, striped with cropped sleeves, for the newly-arriving colder weather.

The thought that she could be on a beach, using the languages she's studied, instead of sitting in the basement of a library reading textbooks aspiring to be as old as the subjects they're based on, is appealing beyond measure. She wants to ask Kururi if he's ever been, if he wants to go, if he's content with the theory or wants to put his knowledge into practice.

She glances at the syllabus, tucked away inside a folder and marked with a bright purple pen where she'd translated the original Nankul-ese. Professor Kururi's office hours are translated beneath the assignment deadlines; she'd never once bothered to go visit him. With a wince, she's really not sure any of the others have, either.

He has one more appointment before the break. She doesn't think she'll have much to compete with for his time.

--

Notes:

1) My original plan for this was to make it a series of small one-shots, each referencing a different aspect of Piyon's linguistics graduate school experience, from classroom to language labs, study groups, and office hours. There will be four chapters total, and I'm working on building a greater narrative and incorporating some minor mystery elements into the story as it progresses, especially relating to the Dark Continent. There's a lot we still don't know about it, so I'm having fun thinking about how Kururi in particular could have been drawn into Beyond's team and have a more personal stake in the expedition.

2) Ceram is a reference to the Ceram Sea, one of several small seas between the scattered islands of Indonesia (wiki). The sea is very rocky and tectonically active. Krakatoa refers to the 1883 Krakatoa volcanic eruption in Indonesia; ash fell on Singapore over 500 miles away and on ships as far as 3,775 miles away (x); the sound from the third and largest explosion was heard in Perth, Australia at 1930 miles and as far away as the island of Rodrigues at 3,000 miles (wiki). The tsunamis created from the eruption were also quite devastating, and temperatures globally fell by several degrees. I wonder if events like this if replicated in the Hunter World could affect somewhere as far away as the Dark Continent; I am also curious about characters like Piyon and Kururi and others who study "ancient" history...just what does "ancient" mean to those in the Hunter World? Is it ~500 years ago? A thousand? Or more? I've taken a mash-up approach in looking at how historical elements (many inspired from our own global history) could combine to create the ideal conditions for perhaps one of humanity's first interactions with the Dark Continent.

3) Here, have another one of Kururi's cute faces:

4) Thank you for reading! I would appreciate and value your comments.