#do i win first person to draw this guy...?

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 23/34 - filing cabinet

[Read on AO3]

The water cooler gurgles as he fills a small paper cup and takes a sip. Today had been the day. After weeks of going through personnel files for prospective replacements, they finally met with a few candidates. He meant what he said to Scully; he’s ready to let go of the reins a little. That doesn’t make the actuality of handing over the X-Files any easier.

Force of habit, he thinks, to resist any and all efforts to boot them from the X-Files. He has to keep reminding himself that it was his idea this time, and that they’d still be working on them in a consulting capacity anyway. He isn’t quitting cold turkey. And besides, they’re moving on to bigger and much better things.

Lost in thought, he doesn’t notice at first when a few other guys gather around, each filling their own cups with water.

“So, Garcia,” the first one says, addressing a man Mulder vaguely recalls works in Organized Crime. “I hear the wife’s about to pop. You ready?”

Agent Garcia smiles, nodding his head. “Oh yeah. We’re going out tonight. One last night on the town before the baby gets here, you know?”

“You gotta do it,” another agent says. Agent Mann, or something silly like that, Mulder thinks. “They call it a ‘babymoon,’ you ever heard of that? My wife and I took a trip down to the Isle of Palms for ours before Michael was born. Great beaches. Now we’re lucky if we make it to the coast without one or all of our kids ingesting sand.”

The men share a hearty laugh, and Mulder feels a little out of place.

“Amy would have killed me if I hadn’t taken her out for a nice dinner before our first,” the first agent says. “It was another two years before we were able to go to a nice restaurant alone, so I wouldn’t have blamed her!”

Is this something people do, Mulder wonders? Is Scully expecting it? Maybe he had missed the memo at some point. Is there a soon-to-be-dad handbook somewhere that tells them how to win points with their wives before they become parents? Should he have come up with a plan to do something special for Scully? Their lives are about to irreversibly change, and he hadn’t even considered, really, that very soon, it won’t be just the two of them anymore. There will be a third person, someone entirely dependent on them just to stay alive.

He fills his paper cup again, feeling sweat begin to form under his collar.

Dinner. He can do dinner, that’s a good idea. He should ask her. One last hoorah as the infamous Mulder-Scully duo for old times’ sake. She’d like that.

With a polite nod and a forced smile at his fellow agents around the water cooler, he heads back toward the elevator, and back to the basement.

-.-.-

“Hey, there you are,” Scully says as he shuts the door behind him. She’s elbow deep in one of the filing cabinet drawers, evidently rooting around at the back for a stray piece of paper that has escaped a folder. “Help me figure out which files to make copies of. I know you’re going to want to keep some of them,” she says.

She knows him so well. He’s already started making a mental list of ones he wants to have in his personal collection. The Bellefleur file, for example. And of course, the ones with his name or Scully’s in it, but those are for much less happy, nostalgic reasons.

Slouching his suit coat off his shoulders, he rolls up his sleeves and approaches the drawer, offering his assistance in reaching the wayward scrap of paper. Her little arms are too short, a fact which he intends to tease her about later. His fingers successfully find the edge of the document, and he extracts it with careful precision.

A familiar picture stares back up at him, giving him a hearty chuckle.

“Remember this one?” he asks, turning his sketch of the Jersey Devil back toward her.

She laughs as she takes it from him, inspecting it. “How could I forget?” she says, “I think this image is forever ingrained in my psyche.”

“Hey, don’t make fun of my drawing,” he says. “I want a copy of that file. With my beautiful artwork, please.”

She rolls her eyes, but opens up a folder and slides the paper in its rightful place. He can’t help but notice it was already in the ‘to-be-xeroxed’ pile before he said anything.

The office falls silent as he continues rifling through the cabinets, plucking out a file here and there that he wouldn’t mind keeping. It’s a walk down memory lane, for him. Flukeman, Big Blue, the vampire sheriff in Texas… Who would have thought that seven years later, he’d still have Scully by his side as he prepares to let go of what became his life’s work? Their life’s work. She should have run screaming from here years ago, but she didn’t.

Now look where it’s gotten them.

Glancing up at her from over the top of the overstuffed file drawer and filled with a sudden surge of gratefulness that he doesn’t know what to do with, he blurts, “Let’s go out to dinner tonight.”

She freezes, and he mentally kicks himself for the hasty delivery of his idea. Theoretically, he should have planned a better way to ask her. After a second that feels like an eternity, she turns to him with a skeptical tilt to her brow and a small smile. 

Well, at least he knows he’ll still get to see her make that expression at him even when they’re off the X-Files.

“I mean, we could try that new place in Dupont Circle. The one your mom was telling you about? If you want.”

“What’s the occasion?” she asks, folding her arms expectantly in front of her chest as she leans back in his office chair.

“You know,” he shrugs, “pretty soon it won’t be just us anymore, and I– I like… spending time with you… So I just thought it would be nice to—”

She smiles shyly. “That sounds great, Mulder,” she says, interrupting his fumbling explanation. “Tonight at seven?”

He grins, ducking his head to hide his goofy expression. “Yeah, seven. I’ll make the reservations.”

-.-.-

In hindsight, this is a crazy idea. The restaurant they’re going to is extravagant. Ostentatious. And he knows Scully knows it, too. The margin of error for plausible deniability here is extremely small, and if she doesn’t have some idea of his feelings for her already, he’s going to have a hard time keeping it that way as they sit in a low-lit room munching on those fancy breadsticks and drinking expensive wine.

What had he been thinking? He asked her out without even sparing it a thought, not realizing how it would sound. To be going out on a date with your best friend who is also technically your wife? Langly and Frohike were right. He is an idiot. What is he supposed to do on this ‘date?’ How is he supposed to act? Does she expect anything from him? Is this his last chance to make a move? What does it mean that this is one of the last nights they’ll spend alone together before someone literally hands them a baby and lets them take it home?

The idea of making a move, after all this time spent explicitly trying not to do exactly that, has him in a spiral. He paces around the floor in his bedroom, trying not to think about what dress Scully might be putting on in her room on the other side of the hall or what she might be doing with her hair.

He can’t upset the status quo like this with the baby due any time in the next few weeks, can he? Bad idea. Bad, bad, idea. But at the same time, when else would he get the chance? He’d heard what the other agents had said… it was years in some cases before new parents got the chance to really be alone. What if he had to spend the next several years silently pining for his own wife in the home they share together, watching her be a mother to the baby they adopted? Maybe there’s a reason people don’t get into arrangements like this with their platonic best friend, after all.

How stupid was he to think he could do this without letting his feelings get in the way? Why on earth didn’t he just tell her months ago, before all this started, instead of getting his hopes up?

The answer, of course, is that he wants this. He wants this family more than anything, even if it's never anything more than friendship and cohabitation with Scully. He would have scared her away if he told her the same day she found those adoption brochures on his desk. It would be too much at once. He knows her, she would have been overwhelmed.

But, man… What if?

He checks his reflection in the mirror one more time, smoothing his hair into place. He hopes he didn’t overdo it on the cologne. Should he be wearing a tie? He puts on one that Scully got him several years ago, complete with a tie clip he’d gotten from her mother at Christmas.

He hesitates over the chain he wears under his shirt. What would Scully think if he took it off and wore it on his finger tonight? He finds that he wants to. Just a normal husband and wife grabbing dinner together. Without giving it much thought, he loosens his tie and unbuttons the top button of his shirt to free the necklace from its usual place. He knows that if he gives it much more consideration, he’ll talk himself out of it, so he pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind and slides the band onto his left ring finger.

There. He’s ready.

He takes a deep breath and opens the door to his room, intent on continuing his pacing in the living room if Scully isn’t ready to go yet.

“I’ll be ready in a minute,” he hears her call from the bathroom as his door creaks open. At a quick glance, he can see the back of an elegant dress he’s never seen before, black with a neckline that swoops down low in the back. She stands at the sink, fastening an earring in place, and it feels like junior prom all over again.

“Oh, I’m in deep trouble,” Mulder mutters to himself, rubbing his hands over his face. Forcing himself to turn away, he walks straight to the kitchen and fills up a glass of water, downing it in record time.

Not five minutes later, he hears her emerge, and he prepares himself for the sight of her.

Sure enough, it knocks the breath out of him, a fact which he makes every attempt to hide. He’s pretty sure she catches it, though, because the corner of her mouth quirks up and her eyes drift to the floor, as if she were somehow self-conscious about her appearance.

Impossible.

He’s suddenly very glad he opted for the tie, if this is what she's wearing to dinner. Although, it’s feeling a little tight, at the moment. 

“You, uh—” he starts, at a loss for words. His mouth is bone dry, despite the water he had just chugged a few minutes ago. “You—”

“Thanks,” she says, mercifully sparing him from further embarrassment. She tucks a gently curled tuft of hair behind her ear, drawing his attention to the careful way she’s arranged it. “I figured this might be my last chance to get properly dressed up for a while, so… It’s been… years, I suppose, since I’ve had the occasion to.”

This just confirms it. He’s been an idiot. Years of missed opportunities, chances he’s wasted. He could have been taking this gorgeous, magnificent woman out to fancy dinners all the time, if he’d just been able to pull himself together and see past the end of his own rather distinguished nose. 

If time travel is ever invented, he’s gonna use it to go back in time and kick his own—

“Mulder?” she says, smiling amusedly at him. He gets the sense that that’s not the first time she’s tried to get his attention, and he feels his cheeks warm. “I said, are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he chokes out, finding his voice at last. She reaches down to grab her purse, and he coughs to clear his throat. “Yeah, let’s go.”

She shakes her head at him in mock admonition, but happily accepts his proffered arm as they exit out the front door of the apartment. In the hall, he glances down, taking in the sight of her hands wrapped comfortably around his right bicep.

Her ring. She’s wearing it. He swears his heart might leap out of his chest at the thought. This might just be the thing that does him in. Put it on his death certificate. ‘Cause of death: the woman he loves is wearing his ring.’ What a way to go.

He doesn’t say anything—couldn’t, even if he wanted to—but he can tell that she saw him take notice. How could he not, with the way it sparkles on her finger, like it belongs there? He feels her hold loosen, and it stirs up a mild panic in his chest. She shouldn’t be embarrassed. Please, please don’t be embarrassed.

He lifts his hand to stop her from releasing him, running his thumb over the diamond inset on her finger. It’s okay, he’s saying. Look, I’m wearing mine too.

He sees the moment her eyes fix on his ring, as he rests his left hand over hers on his arm. She avoids his eyes, but he can tell she’s moved. She swallows back her emotion, and her hold on him tightens again, which sends a wave of relief through his body. 

“Come on, we’ll be late for our reservation,” he says, his voice low, just for her ears. 

She nods, and lets him lead the way.

-.-.-

His first mistake was thinking that he could get day-of reservations at one of the trendiest places in all of Washington, D.C. His second mistake was not considering that his straightforward request for a table that evening might somehow be misconstrued to mean that evening a year from now. 

It takes all his self restraint not to raise his voice at the host at the host stand, because really, why would he be asking for something like that? He’d like to give them a little lesson on the use of the English language, but he won’t, only because Scully is there and he doesn’t want to completely ruin the evening.

She’s there watching him as all this takes place, undoubtedly amused as he fights back frustration. After a moment, her hand lands on his arm, her typical method of pulling him back from the brink of a poor decision that she’s perfected over the years, and she shakes her head.

“It’s alright, Mulder,” she says. “We can just go somewhere else.”

Yeah, but where?

“Have a good evening,” the host says dismissively, and his tone is just a little bit too smug for Mulder’s taste. It reminds him of stuffy dinners with his father’s associates or interactions he had with the pompous law students at Oxford. Maybe they don’t want to eat here after all.

Scully feels him tense under her touch, and gently guides him out of the restaurant before he can respond. What would he do without her? He’d probably get beaten up a lot more often, that’s for sure. Or at least kicked out of places, like he would have been tonight.

She leads him outside, and soon enough, they’re standing on the sidewalk by the street, at a loss for what to do next.

“I’m sorry, Scully,” he says, mentally kicking himself for screwing this up so badly. “I just wanted to do something special, and now—”

“Mulder,” she stops him. “Seriously. It’s okay. I’m happy with wherever we decide to go tonight. This is about spending time together, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let's go,” she says, grabbing his hand. “Come on, I have an idea.”

She holds tight to him as she leads them down the sidewalk, passing other couples on the street on this lovely spring evening. He has no idea where she could possibly be taking them, but she’s in a great mood, so he tries not to let the minor setback ruin his night. If she’s happy, then he’s happy.

The sun draws closer to the horizon, casting a golden glow on everything and everyone it touches. It makes her hair shine like fire, and once again he counts his blessings. It feels a little bit like the night of their wedding, and that thought brings a smile to his face.

They walk past several up-scale restaurants, and Scully doesn’t even spare them a glance. Wherever she’s taking them, she must know the way there. After a couple more blocks, she comes to a stop, standing out front of a greasy diner, maybe just a little nicer than the ones they frequent in small-town America. 

“Really?” he asks, looking dubiously up at the neon sign. “You sure you don’t want to go somewhere a little fancier, Scully? You got all dressed up.”

Her answering smile is resplendent in the glowing light.

“I want to eat here, Mulder,” she says, stepping toward the entrance. A bell above the door jingles as she pushes it open. “It seems fitting, doesn’t it?”

It does. A wave of nostalgia hits him like a truck when he realizes why she brought them here. Why a diner, of all places, would be the place she chooses for their ceremonial last meal, just the two of them. He can’t count how many formica tabletops just like this one they’ve shared a meal at, over the years. Hundreds of hamburgers with a side of fries, maybe a milkshake they end up splitting when Scully’s ice water loses its appeal. Ripped vinyl booths that Scully thoroughly wipes down with wet wipes she’d started keeping in her bag for that exact purpose.

“Well, don’t you two look nice?” a waitress in uniform says as she approaches their table. Her hair looks like the 80s have come back with a vengeance, all frizzy and permed, and she chews a wad of bubblegum aggressively, smelling like her last smoke break.

In short, it’s perfect.

“What’ll it be?” she asks.

Mulder orders for the both of them, knowing Scully’s usual order by heart. She smiles the way she always does when he remembers to ask for a lemon for her water, and he makes sure to tell the waitress to bring two straws for the milkshake instead of one.

When he looks across the booth at Scully, again, he imagines a little girl sitting next to her, coloring away on a kids menu with two, cheap, plasticky crayons that break in half if you look at them wrong.

It won’t be long, now. That will be their life. Mulder, party of three. Maybe Scully will start to carry a plastic baggy of the good crayons in her bag, for when they go to places like this. He’s absolutely certain she’ll at least double her use of wet wipes and sanitizer. He’ll become a chicken strip connoisseur, knowing all the best places in the city to get the child-favorite delicacy.

“To us,” Mulder toasts once their drinks arrive, lifting his chocolate milkshake in the air between them. “To… endings and new beginnings.”

“To endings and new beginnings,” Scully repeats, clinking her glass against his.

-.-.-

It’s past dark already, barely a hint of color lingering on the horizon, but that doesn’t stop them from prolonging the evening with a walk to the National Mall. The moon is bright, and the streets are lit up for tourists making the most of the warmer spring weather. It’s a pleasant walk. Scully feels drunk, despite the absence of alcohol with their dinner. She wonders if Mulder feels it too.

He guides her with his hand in its usual place, and she feels what can only be described as complete and utter contentment, as each brush of his fingers propels her gently forward. The street leads them straight to the reflecting pool on the National Mall, a favorite spot of theirs, not that they find the time to visit often enough. They’ve missed the cherry blossom blooms by only a couple weeks, but the sweet smell of them persists, unless it’s just her imagination.

Something about being with Mulder like this dials all her senses up to eleven. She has never experienced life like this before. Are the stars always so bright? Does the cool breeze always feel like silk on her skin?

Maybe it's his cologne that has her feeling tipsy. She selfishly hopes the scent of it will linger on her clothes and in her hair even after this night has come to its end.

The Mall is quiet and mostly empty at this hour. The Washington Monument looms in the distance, lit up brightly and casting its imposing reflection on the still waters of the reflecting pool. A family of ducks disturbs the glassy surface, sending ripples radiating outward as they paddle from one side to the other.

Mulder has this peaceful expression on his face, the corners of his mouth quirked upward ever so slightly. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he had never been here before, taking in all the sights for the first time. He watches the ducks for a moment, expelling a breath of laughter through his nose as a small duckling falls behind, then swims faster to catch up with the rest of the crew.

His hand drops from her back, but before she has a chance to mourn the loss, he entangles his fingers with hers, clasping their hands tightly together. She follows after him in a daze, her lips pulled back in a self-conscious sort of grin. She can’t help it. He makes her feel like a teenager, and… she doesn’t even know what this is, really, but she likes it. 

They circle the reflecting pool for a bit, wandering aimlessly at a lazy pace, reluctant to put an end to their time together. Eventually, they end up sitting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, the gargantuan statue of the nation’s sixteenth president a silent sentinel behind them.

Scully leans her cheek against Mulder’s bicep. Despite her best efforts to keep them open, her eyes fall shut, her body succumbing to the serenity of their surroundings and the comfort of good company. He offers her his coat, draping it over her shoulders to combat the slight chill. It dwarfs her, the extra fabric at the hem pooling on the ground behind her.

“How about we come here on the weekends?” his voice rumbles, the first words spoken since they left the diner almost half an hour ago.

“Mm?” she hums in question.

He jostles her slightly with his arm, and she forces her eyes open again.

“You know, take the stroller for a spin around the pool,” he says, gesturing ahead of them. “Maybe stop into the Air and Space museum if we feel like it…”

She smiles. She can picture it so easily, the two of them experiencing the wonders of this city through the eyes of their child as she grows. Of course Mulder would want to go to the Air and Space Museum. It’s a wonder he hasn’t dragged her there before.

“Every weekend?” she asks doubtfully, her words slurring slightly.

He wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side as he chuckles.

“No, not every weekend,” he says, pressing a kiss to her hairline. “I’m sure some weekends we’ll want to sleep in. Maybe have a late breakfast and watch movies. I can make pancakes. Chocolate chip.”

“Children need to have healthy breakfasts, Mulder,” she says admonishingly. Something tells her it will be a constant battle to keep Mulder from spoiling their daughter with sugar and empty carbs. But if that’s the worst of their disagreements when it comes to co-parenting, she’ll happily accept the challenge.

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Half blueberry, half chocolate chip,” he concedes. She decides to let it slide for now.

Above them, an airplane soars across the sky, lights blinking rhythmically as it passes overhead.

It’s funny. Before Mulder, she never looked twice at things like that. But now, she finds herself checking a second time, her gaze lingering a little longer, just in case it might be something other than an airplane.

What has this man done to her?

Mulder follows the direction of her stare, his chin tilting upward. Against the backdrop of stars, the perfectly normal, human-built aircraft flies out of sight. The hand on Scully’s shoulder drops to the ground, his palms resting against the stone steps as he reclines back a little.

“Thanks for hanging with me all these years, Scully,” he says softly, his eyes never wavering from the heavens. “I really couldn’t have done it without you.”

Her lips pull back in a smile. “We make a pretty good team, huh?” she says over her shoulder.

His lowers his gaze to meet hers. “I like to think so. You think that will translate to raising a kid?”

She has often wondered that exact thing, but for the life of her now, as she looks into his eyes, she can’t think of even one reason why she questioned it.

She leans back onto his shoulder, her eyes falling shut again.

“Only one way to find out,” she answers sleepily.

He sighs happily. “Any day now.”

-.-.-

What a day. What a night.

Mulder can’t sleep, lying stiffly on his back in bed with his hands clasped on top of his torso. All he can think about is how beautiful she looked in the blinding fluorescent light of the diner, with a bit of ketchup smeared on the corner of her mouth from when she stole one of his fries when she thought he wasn’t looking. How she held his hand, content just to walk in silence beside him in the shadow of some of the nation’s most revered monuments.

What a perfect way to put a cap on their time working on the X-Files together. He couldn’t have planned it better himself (clearly). Who needs expensive wine and stale classical music when you have bottomless milkshakes and a jukebox playing the greatest sock-hop hits of the 1950s?

It wasn’t a real date, he has to remind himself, but it sure was close to one. Usually a first date doesn’t end with both parties going home together, that’s one difference. Or, well, going home to the apartment that they both live in together, he should say. But tonight, as they returned home, they got ready for bed side-by-side at the sink, brushing their teeth and washing their faces, and it felt like they’d been doing this for years. There was no awkwardness there, just a wave of peace and stability he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel in his adult life.

If they ever move somewhere else—somewhere closer to Quantico, maybe—he’ll make sure the bathroom is equipped with a his-and-hers vanity. A sink for each of them, and plenty of counter space for all of Scully’s specialty serums and creams. It’ll be nice, he thinks.

When he finally falls asleep, it’s to visions of wraparound porches and matching rocking chairs, and maybe a nice playset in the backyard with a couple of kids running around. Now that’s a dream worth dreaming of.

-.-.-

This is ridiculous. She should just go back to bed, try one more time to actually fall asleep, get a few hours of rest at least. 

But she can’t sleep. Because Mulder had gone and put it in her head that everything is about to change, and it really could happen at any moment. Somehow, when she’s with him, she forgets every apprehension that plagues her, lured into a sense of security and assurance by some mystical power he possesses. Okay, maybe not a mystical power, but it is frightening how easily she casts aside her doubts when he’s within eyesight.

But then it all comes flooding back the moment she’s left to her own thoughts. It’s infuriating. She thought she was ready for it—for this massive life change—but she’s not. It terrifies her.

What if she can’t do it? What if she misses working in the Hoover building with him too much? What if she and Mulder have a disagreement about something trivial and it pulls them apart? What if he meets a nice woman at Quantico and wants out of this arrangement? What if it’s not enough for them to just be friends and raise this baby together? What if her feelings get the best of her, and she scares him away?

Or perhaps worst of all… What if they don’t get to go home with a baby at the end of all this? What if the mother decides to keep it? What then? Would they even have it in their hearts to try again? To wait a little longer, when there are drawers full of onesies and newborn diapers already in their home?

For weeks, the same nightmare has plagued her. Standing in a hospital hallway, their path blocked by people from the adoption agency telling them to turn around. Go home. You do not get a child.

She wakes feeling emptier than ever, and wishes for the millionth time that things could be easier.

There’s so much to think about, and she can’t take it anymore. She’s scared. And there’s only one person she likes to go to when she’s scared, and he’s sleeping peacefully right behind this door.

She sighs, leaning her head up against the door frame in exhaustion. She’ll just poke her head in for a moment. Remind herself that he’s there, and he’s not going anywhere. She repeats the words he’s said to her over and over in her head like a mantra, ways he’s reassured her in the past that he’s in this for the long-haul. But for some reason, they’re hard to recall in these moments of doubt. Maybe she’d misunderstood him. Maybe she’s remembering it wrong, applying more meaning to his words than he’d intended.

Her stomach tosses and turns uncomfortably with nerves. She’ll never be able to sleep like this.

As quietly as possible, she eases the door open, a sliver of light from the hallway piercing its way into his room. He looks warm and soft, the way his face lays slack against the pillow. He’s made himself at home here. His knick knacks line the shelves, unpacked from their boxes after the move and scattered about. As she steps carefully inside, she spots a photo of them that once sat on a shelf in their office. He must have moved it here recently, part of the slow transfer of their lives out of the basement of the Hoover building. She can’t help but notice that it sits beside him on his nightstand, right next to his glasses and whatever book he’s been reading lately.

She lets out a breath, allowing the comfort he unknowingly offers to dull her senses. Just a minute longer, then she’ll go back to her room and give sleeping another shot.

Or she would have, if he hadn’t started to stir, slowly waking from his peaceful slumber. It’s almost like he’d sensed her there, some kind of psychological link that told him when she was near, and in distress. She quickly turns back to the door, hand on the door handle to open it and make her exit before he truly notices her presence, when she hears her name spoken in a confused whisper.

“Scully?”

Her shoulders slump in defeat, and her hand falls away from the doorknob.

“Sorry,” she says, turning to face him sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He props himself up on an elbow, blearily rubbing sleep from his eyes with a fist.

“You okay?” he asks.

Her mouth drops open to reassure him that, yes, she’s fine, but she takes just a second too long to answer, and she knows he sees right through her. It’s not even worth lying to him.

“Come here,” he says, scooting over to make room on the bed beside him. “We can talk, if you want.”

She really shouldn’t, but his offer is tantalizing. She’s too vulnerable to be in this position, right now. Who knows what will slip from her mouth in her exhausted and overwhelmed state? Her feet carry her toward the bed anyway, and she slides into place under the covers, staring blankly up at the ceiling as he settles on his side facing her on his side of the bed.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks knowingly.

She shakes her head, her hair rustling on the pillow.

“Took me a while to get to sleep too,” he admits. “A lot to think about. A lot, a lot.”

At least she’s not alone in this problem, she guesses. She hates feeling like the insecure one in any situation, and that’s how she’s felt more often than not throughout this process so far.

“What’s keeping you up?” he asks, gently urging her to open up.

She tries to shrug, but she knows she’ll have to come up with an answer sooner or later. There’s no reason to hide this from him. Sometimes, he knows her better than she knows herself, and that can be a blessing and a curse.

“I’m going to miss working with you, Mulder,” she says honestly, her lips sealed tight to fight back the slight tremble in them. She can’t stop hearing her own words spoken by the reflecting pool a few years ago. ‘If I quit now, they win.’

She feels a hand land on her upper arm, stroking it comfortingly. Her eyes flutter shut. She can lie to herself all she wants, but this is why she really came in here. There’s a type of comfort only Mulder has ever been able to bestow, and she needs it now more than ever.

“We’ll still be in the same building,” he says appeasingly. “We can get lunch together every day, talk about our classes, complain about the new recruits.”

It’s silly, but his words do help. She imagines sitting across from him in his own private office—probably decorated a lot like their current office is—and munching on a salad while listening to him complain about an essay one of his students turned in. It sounds pleasant. Easy. Maybe he can come help decorate her office too. She’s gotten used to his clutter. She isn’t sure she’d be able to work in the sparsely furnished office space like she’s naturally inclined to.

“And besides– We’ll still see each other here,” he adds. “Every night. And the weekends.”

The thought sends a thrill through her. Sometimes it still feels like a dream, what they’re doing. Giving up the X-Files… that’s a tangible thing. But the baby? She’s still an abstract idea, despite the fact that physical reminders of their plans are scattered throughout her apartment. The picture he’d painted earlier of a relaxing day at home together feels out of reach—like a nice idea that isn’t really attainable. Is she that traumatized from all the disappointment in her life?

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she asks, her mouth downturned in a frown. “I mean– I know you’ve said before that this is what you want, but I—”

“You’re gonna have to learn to trust me sometime, Scully,” Mulder says, a slight sadness in his voice.

She does. She does trust him—maybe even more than she trusts herself. That’s what the problem is.

“I do,” she says. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just…”

“Freaking out?” he finishes, smiling at her in amusement.

“Just a little,” she says, returning his smile.

He breathes in deeply, his face pensive like it always is when he's mulling over a difficult question.

“I think we’re ready,” he says, projecting confidence into his voice. “I think you’re going to be a rockstar mom, and we’ll wonder why we didn’t do this years ago.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

“But what if—”

He shakes his head, putting a stop to her words immediately. “You gotta stop that, Scully,” he says seriously. “This is going to work out.” His fingers find the dainty necklace she wears, his thumb brushing over the cross. “Have faith,” he implores.

She closes her eyes, letting out a breath, and with it, trying to release some of the fear that keeps her up at night. She wants to do what he asks, to let herself go, but it's not as easy as that. Sometimes she can't help but feel like they're trying to cheat destiny, to force things into going their way when they've been repeatedly told “no” at every turn.

His reassurance does help, though. Wasn't that why she'd come here in the first place? 

Mulder settles back, turning his attention back to the ceiling. 

“What did you think of the new agents?” she asks after a moment, changing the subject. It’s hard to believe that it was just this morning that they’d interviewed a few of them, hoping to find some trustworthy hands to leave their work to.

“Reyes seems sharp,” Mulder says. “I think her background in folklore and ritualistic abuse is a good starting point.”

“Mm,” Scully hums her agreement. “And what about Doggett? Too staunch of a skeptic for you?”

Mulder chuckles. “He comes highly recommended by the higher ups, so I don’t know,” he says. “It’s always good to have a variety of opinions around, though, don’t you think?”

She turns her head to the left, her eyes meeting his in the darkened room, lit only by what little moonlight comes through the blinds. 

“I think… we’ll be okay,” she says then, willing the words to be true as she speaks them. Her assertion brings a smile to his face, and he leans back on the pillow, focusing on the patterns on the ceiling like she had been a moment earlier.

“We will,” he agrees. “For once, I think we’ll be better than okay.”

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @msrafterdark @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

[personishfive]

in which fine. ok. sure. i guess.

[skitskatdacat63]

Boy King AU | Vettonso + Martian | 1.3k

There's something about putting the future emperor of the Holy Realm on his knees like this. About how easily he goes, how willingly, how obediently. What would his adoring public think if they could see him now. If they saw their beloved king pressed down like this, in the cramped space between Fernando's legs. When they realized their little boy king took it like he was a little concubine instead. 

Fernando's bitterness is lifted away in moments like these, like taking off a heavy cloak on a winter's day. It was hard to feel humiliated about his own situation when watching Sebastian debase himself like this. 

He always gives himself up so easily. When Fernando threaded his fingers through his thick curls. When he pulled them, and then when he pressed his face down further down into the vee of his legs.  Sebastian rubbed his cheek into the coarse fabric of Fernando's breeches and blinked up at him. Fernando had to smother an embarrassing sound; he was just like a little cat!

Sebastian quirked his lips up into an odd little smile and slightly rose up on his knees, "What's funny?" Fernando swallowed lightly and schooled his face back into being impassive, "Nothing. As you were." Sebastian simply smirked at him and let himself be pushed back down by the fist clenched in his hair. 

Fernando scoffed internally, there was only so much pleasure in putting the other man in his place when he instead acted like this, this degrading action, was his birthright. He took to ruling and indulging in carnal pleasures as if they were of equal gravity. To be privileged to hold such high station and also let himself be taken apart like this…Fernando felt embarrassed for him.

He is dragged away from his musings when Sebastian moved to settle his hands in Fernando's lap, clutching his hips over the fabric and slightly squeezing; Fernando fought against the urge to shiver. Sebastian pushed up the skirt of Fernando's waistcoat and smoothed his hands over the opening flap of his breeches.

His eyes darted up at Fernando again, a daft smile on his face. Fernando scowled at him, "What?" Seb's grin sharpened, "You could stand to be a little more gracious. This is your future emperor, and future husband might I add, kneeling for you on this dirty, depraved, derelict- ah–" Fernando tugged on his hair again and hissed, "Well then, why don't you show me how eager you are to perform your marital duties?" 

Seb licked his lips, completely unconcerned by Fernando's annoyance, and unbuttoned one side of the closure to Fernando's breeches and moved to open the other–

The door to the carriage flew open, arrival announcement dying on a wheezing breath as the servant took in the image the two kings made. One splayed across the seat, exuding power, the other kneeled, debauched, between the former's legs. 

One would be hard pressed to determine which was higher on the totem of power and titles. 

There was something gratifying about this to Fernando, about being caught. He had been humiliated enough throughout the entire courtship, what was one more thing? And, certainly, what was one more thing if he could drag Sebastian down into the dirt with him. 

"Oh Mark, don't act so abashed! It's nothing you haven't seen before, in fact, we have been in this very position not even a fortnight ago!"

Oh. Yes. That. 

It was hard to be completely pleased when he remembered how Sebastian had already spent years prior to their engagement sampling the palace's ample selection of fellow high-born men. And how all those men seemed to be completely and utterly wrapped around his little finger.

Fernando released his hand from Sebastian's hair as if it had burned him. He did not understand why he felt ashamed with Mark looking in on them like this. Fernando was the one marrying Sebastian, not Mark; Mark was just a lowly courtier who had the esteemed duty of spending practically every waking hour with the brat…something he himself was decidedly not looking forward to. 

Sebastian stayed kneeling, staring impassively up at Mark, still fiddling with the clasp on Fernando's breeches. Fernando gritted his teeth and looked up from where he was watching Sebastian's clever little hands; Mark stared back at him placidly. 

Mark's indifference made the entire situation worse. Fernando now felt as if he was not doing anything unique, not doing anything particularly new. How many other men had Mark caught Seb with in this exact position? Fernando felt like he was just another plaything of the boy king, soon to be boy emperor, except his position was forever, permanent. He was the "Kept King", the king who only kept his throne due to the whims of a boy who doesn't even understand what power is.

Mark coughed, "Well," he says, "Your Majesty, I do believe you have a meeting to attend." Seb pouted at him and whined, "We were just getting to the main course," but still braced himself on Fernando's thighs and got up off the carriage floor. 

Seb pranced down the steps Mark had placed next to the carriage, miming tripping sown the stairs, snickering when his action made Mark reflexively reach out to grab him, and then playfully skipped off the final step. 

Fernando couldn't help but stare as Mark made the weirdest grimace in response, and he inexplicably felt all his mortification seep away from him. Huh. Maybe Mark is-

Seb then turned around and frowned at him, seemingly disappointed, but his eyes are deceivingly sharp, "Fernando, I regret to inform you that I have other duties I must attend to, you will simply have to wait." He then grinned up at Mark next to him and giggled as the other man stiffened when Sebastian looped both of his arms through Mark's. 

He leaned all his weight on the other man, Mark not so much as shifting his weight, "Oh Mark, won't you carry me back to the palace? I'm so very tired after all the horse riding," Seb looked up at him imploringly.

Fernando observed as Mark rolled his eyes and shrugged off the man, though notably not pulling his arm from Seb's grasp, and he got the distinct feeling that this exact scene had been played out countless times before. 

Fernando clenched his jaw as he watched Seb turn and saunter off, Mark trotting alongside him like a loyal dog. Fernando was supposed to be the unaffected one in this partnership, the unflustered one, the unconcerned one. And yet here he stood, in broad daylight, in a foreign kingdom, on the steps of a carriage with his breeches half unbuttoned and his cravat in disarray. 

He heard a cough from beside him, jolted and looked to the side. Sebastian's loyal Horse Master stood there, lounging against the side of the carriage. Fernando had forgotten who had even been driving the carriage in the first place. After Seb has let himself be pushed down, his hair still windswept from their ride together, everything else seemed to fade away. His thoughts were reduced only to how he could mess up the younger man's hair further. 

Jenson grinned at him wolfishly, and casually crossed his legs,  "First time?" he inquired. Fernando glared at him. The other man laughed openly at him, "What? He's a busy man with big prospects. You're not his majesty's only conquest, you know. Now your throne on the other hand…"

Fernando seethed, it was one thing to be humiliated by the future emperor, but to be patronized by the king's horse boy? No. It would simply not do. He closed his eyes in annoyance, pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaled, and prepared a speech about how he was not about to be talked down to by a man who didn't even have a throne to speak of! 

But when he opened his eyes again and opened his mouth to begin his tirade, Jenson was already wandering away to tend to the horses. Dios mío, Fernando was not mentally prepared to spend the rest of his life with all of these impertinent morons. 

[bytebun]

hey don’t cry. 10 million blorbos from your shows, okay?

[lawlietscaramels]

I get really chatty at this time for some reason. it's like the very end of the day for me and very few people are active

[sophiamcdougall]

You're a reasonably informed person on the internet. You've experienced things like no longer being able to get files off an old storage device, media you've downloaded suddenly going poof, sites and forums with troves full of people's thoughts and ideas vanishing forever. You've heard of cybercrime. You've read articles about lost media. You have at least a basic understanding that digital data is vulnerable, is what I'm saying. I'm guessing that you're also aware that history is, you know... important? And that it's an ongoing study, requiring ... data about how people live? And that it's not just about stanning celebrities that happen to be dead? Congratulations, you are significantly better-informed than the British government! So they're currently like "Oh hai can we destroy all these historical documents pls? To save money? Because we'll digitise them first so it's fine! That'll be easy, cheap and reliable -- right? These wills from the 1850s will totally be fine for another 170 years as a PNG or whatever, yeah? We didn't need to do an impact assesment about this because it's clearly win-win! We'd keep the physical wills of Famous People™ though because Famous People™ actually matter, unlike you plebs. We don't think there are any equalities implications about this, either! Also the only examples of Famous People™ we can think of are all white and rich, only one is a woman and she got famous because of the guy she married. Kisses!"

Yes, this is the same Government that's like "Oh no removing a statue of slave trader is erasing history :(" You have, however, until 23 February 2024 to politely inquire of them what the fuck they are smoking. And they will have to publish a summary of the responses they receive. And it will look kind of bad if the feedback is well-argued, informative and overwhelmingly negative and they go ahead and do it anyway. I currently edit documents including responses to consultations like (but significantly less insane) than this one. Responses do actually matter. I would particularly encourage British people/people based in the UK to do this, but as far as I can see it doesn't say you have to be either. If you are, say, a historian or an archivist, or someone who specialises in digital data do say so and draw on your expertise in your answers. This isn't a question of filling out a form. You have to manually compose an email answering the 12 questions in the consultation paper at the link above. I'll put my own answers under the fold. Note -- I never know if I'm being too rude in these sorts of things. You probably shouldn't be ruder than I have been.

Please do not copy and paste any of this: that would defeat the purpose. This isn't a petition, they need to see a range of individual responses. But it may give you a jumping-off point.

Question 1: Should the current law providing for the inspection of wills be preserved?

Yes. Our ability to understand our shared past is a fundamental aspect of our heritage. It is not possible for any authority to know in advance what future insights they are supporting or impeding by their treatment of material evidence. Safeguarding the historical record for future generations should be considered an extremely important duty.

Question 2: Are there any reforms you would suggest to the current law enabling wills to be inspected?

No.

Question 3: Are there any reasons why the High Court should store original paper will documents on a permanent basis, as opposed to just retaining a digitised copy of that material?

Yes. I am amazed that the recent cyber attack on the British Library, which has effectively paralysed it completely, not been sufficient to answer this question for you.  I also refer you to the fate of the Domesday Project. Digital storage is useful and can help more people access information; however, it is also inherently fragile. Malice, accident, or eventual inevitable obsolescence not merely might occur, but absolutely should be expected. It is ludicrously naive and reflects a truly unpardonable ignorance to assume that information preserved only in digital form is somehow inviolable and safe, or that a physical document once digitised, never need be digitised again..At absolute minimum, it should be understood as certain that at least some of any digital-only archive will eventually be permanently lost. It is not remotely implausible that all of it would be. Preserving the physical documents provides a crucial failsafe. It also allows any errors in reproduction -- also inevitable-- to be, eventually, seen and corrected. Note that maintaining, upgrading and replacing digital infrastructure is not free, easy or reliable. Over the long term, risks to the data concerned can only accumulate.

"Unlike the methods for preserving analog documents that have been honed over millennia, there is no deep precedence to look to regarding the management of digital records. As such, the processing, long-term storage, and distribution potential of archival digital data are highly unresolved issues. [..] the more digital data is migrated, translated, and re-compressed into new formats, the more room there is for information to be lost, be it at the microbit-level of preservation. Any failure to contend with the instability of digital storage mediums, hardware obsolescence, and software obsolescence thus meets a terminal end—the definitive loss of information. The common belief that digital data is safe so long as it is backed up according to the 3-2-1 rule (3 copies on 2 different formats with 1 copy saved off site) belies the fact that it is fundamentally unclear how long digital information can or will remain intact. What is certain is that its unique vulnerabilities do become more pertinent with age."  -- James Boyda, On Loss in the 21st Century: Digital Decay and the Archive, Introduction.

Question 4: Do you agree that after a certain time original paper documents (from 1858 onwards) may be destroyed (other than for famous individuals)? Are there any alternatives, involving the public or private sector, you can suggest to their being destroyed?

Absolutely not. And I would have hoped we were past the "great man" theory of history. Firstly, you do not know which figures will still be considered "famous" in the future and which currently obscure individuals may deserve and eventually receive greater attention. I note that of the three figures you mention here as notable enough to have their wills preserved, all are white, the majority are male (the one woman having achieved fame through marriage) and all were wealthy at the time of their death. Any such approach will certainly cull evidence of the lives of women, people of colour and the poor from the historical record, and send a clear message about whose lives you consider worth remembering.

Secondly, the famous and successsful are only a small part of our history. Understanding the realities that shaped our past and continue to mould our present requires evidence of the lives of so-called "ordinary people"!

Did you even speak to any historians before coming up with this idea?

Entrusting the documents to the private sector would be similarly disastrous. What happens when a private company goes bust or decides that preserving this material is no longer profitable? What reasonable person, confronted with our crumbling privatised water infrastructure, would willingly consign any part of our heritage to a similar fate?

Question 5: Do you agree that there is equivalence between paper and digital copies of wills so that the ECA 2000 can be used?

No. And it raises serious questions about the skill and knowledge base within HMCTS and the government that the very basic concepts of data loss and the digital dark age appear to be unknown to you. I also refer you to the Domesday Project.

Question 6: Are there any other matters directly related to the retention of digital or paper wills that are not covered by the proposed exercise of the powers in the ECA 2000 that you consider are necessary?

Destroying the physical documents will always be an unforgivable dereliction of legal and moral duty.

Question 7: If the Government pursues preserving permanently only a digital copy of a will document, should it seek to reform the primary legislation by introducing a Bill or do so under the ECA 2000?

Destroying the physical documents will always be an unforgivable dereliction of legal and moral duty.

Question 8: If the Government moves to digital only copies of original will documents, what do you think the retention period for the original paper wills should be? Please give reasons and state what you believe the minimum retention period should be and whether you consider the Government’s suggestion of 25 years to be reasonable.

There is no good version of this plan. The physical documents should be preserved.

Question 9: Do you agree with the principle that wills of famous people should be preserved in the original paper form for historic interest?

This question betrays deep ignorance of what "historic interest" actually is. The study of history is not simply glorified celebrity gossip. If anything, the physical wills of currently famous people could be considered more expendable as it is likely that their contents are so widely diffused as to be relatively "safe", whereas the wills of so-called "ordinary people" will, especially in aggregate, provide insights that have not yet been explored.

Question 10: Do you have any initial suggestions on the criteria which should be adopted for identifying famous/historic figures whose original paper will document should be preserved permanently?

Abandon this entire lamentable plan. As previously discussed, you do not and cannot know who will be considered "famous" in the future, and fame is a profoundly flawed criterion of historical significance.

Question 11: Do you agree that the Probate Registries should only permanently retain wills and codicils from the documents submitted in support of a probate application? Please explain, if setting out the case for retention of any other documents.

No, all the documents should be preserved indefinitely.

Question 12: Do you agree that we have correctly identified the range and extent of the equalities impacts under each of these proposals set out in this consultation? Please give reasons and supply evidence of further equalities impacts as appropriate.

No. You appear to have neglected equalities impacts entirely. As discussed, in your drive to prioritise "famous people", your plan will certainly prioritise the white, wealthy and mostly the male, as your "Charles Dickens, Charles Darwin and Princess Diana" examples amply indicate. This plan will create a two-tier system where evidence of the lives of the privileged is carefully preserved while information regarding people of colour, women, the working class and other disadvantaged groups is disproportionately abandoned to digital decay and eventual loss. Current and future historians from, or specialising in the history of minority groups will be especially impoverished by this.  

[nichuuu]

Scatterbrain

Word count: 18k+

They say it takes a village to raise a child. 

To raise a girl as fine as Jang Wonyoung, you’d probably need 3 whole villages.

Two of those three villages would be used to train the way she walks because it’s perfect: classy, poised, elegant. The other one would have to work on her outfits because god would she need those. Hopefully the village doesn’t operate a Shein style manufacturing line. She’d hate that.

Her face is the definition of “striking the gene pool lottery”, and so is the rest of her body. Lanky arms and legs; toned, slim tummy; big, bright eyes that glimmer under the flashing lights. Personally, you like her “you’re on camera” smile the most. She knows this, and she always makes it a point to shoot it your way as she struts towards you. She stops half way to get a flute of Champagne, make that two actually, then grabs another. Those long legs can cover one hell of a distance, and they bring her right to you in a matter of seconds.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” she hands you the Champagne flute in her left hand, and the rings on it shine in the light, “cause it’s starting to feel like you’re just stalking me now.”

Of course, it’s the snarky remarks that open the conversation. Jang Wonyoung, airheaded as ever m’lady, and you sip on the Bubbly that she’s very nicely delivered to you. Wonyoung is, of course, a little bit of an airhead in your books (only because she believes that you’re always there for her, nothing else), and it’s never not hilarious to watch her draw her lips into a thin line. It’s not the first time she’s hearing this from you; it certainly won’t be the last. You can’t control where you’re posted to, but you know for a fact that you’ll see her again a couple months down the road.

Cause your meetings with Jang Wonyoung are through pure serendipity really, and you certainly will start calling it that after you read that one story. You know: the one where this guy cheats on his idol girlfriend, who he has a tense relationship with, with another idol that he happens to meet just about everywhere. There’s 0 communication between the two of you when these types of events come around, and neither of you know if either of you will be there or not. Actually, it’s just you really; neither of you know if you will be there. 

“Here for Kwon Eunbi again? Or are you finding someone else?” This question of her’s is customary at this point. Never once has it been perfunctory.

“Well, I was actually here to try and catch an interview with Jo Yuri, but I guess you’ll do,” you reply. Wonyoung scoffs—so I’m second place then?—and you have to assuage her oh-so-damaged ego, “you’re making this inference on your own Princess. I never said anything remotely close to that.”

And it’s that smile on her face that makes you want to kiss her really. It’s gorgeous, it’s cute, it’s beautiful. She’s given you that damned smile so many times that you could probably draw it from memory, though you’d definitely butcher it. The dress is certainly doing it justice, and you watch it brush against the skin of her legs as she shifts her weight to the other foot. I’ve never been that good at inferences. You’re far better than me, Prince, and she’s playing with her hair: twirling and untwirling it around her finger. That ribbon atop her head… Her stylist certainly knows their stuff.

“Think I’ll win an award this year?” Her question draws you away from your thorough examination of her. You take a moment to think, and you have to say, it depends, but I think you could definitely get something in some category. She gives you this inscrutable look, and she’s chuckling to herself as she looks at the crowd and sips on her champagne. You can guess what she’s about to say next: quite the crowd today, huh? And you’d reply, “Don’t think that they’re all here for you”, and that would prompt her to shoot back with, “Then who are they here for? You?”. 

But of course, when do things ever go according to plan?

“Have you thought about my offer?” she asks, and you’re caught off guard. 

Cause here’s the history between you two: Middle school best friends, always kind of inseparable. She was the beauty queen, it girl, and she still is; you were the writer, head of the school magazine, and you’re pretty much writing for the rest of your life. Wherever you went with her, rumours followed—Are they dating? I think they’re just friends. Maybe she’s trying to be the front of the magazine?—but you never thought much of it. It was just a simple friendship to you, nothing more. 

Then the kiss she gave you in high school changed it all.

It was a party, hosted by one of your mutual friends. She kissed you, and no, it wasn’t a Spin The Bottle forfeit, nor was it a dare of any sort; it was a sincere, tender kiss in the garden—unprompted, and away from any prying eyes and soft like silk chiffon. You have to admit, the sensation had your brain mired for a minute or so. But when you came back to your senses, you kissed her right back, and things got complicated after that. 

No one knew of it; it was your little secret. Wonyoung became closer than ever, and next thing you know, she declares the two of you “exclusive” but not dating. It’s because her agency has that funky dating ban thing, and Wonyoung was desperate to find a loophole, albeit a little complex. Of course, you’re willing to stay “exclusive” with Wonyoung in secret, but you started to worry that it can’t stay this way for long after the two of you get out of high school. 

But as fate would have it, your career paths meet at the crossroads, and now you see her every other month or so. You still text her when you can, and the “exclusive” relationship has sustained. Now that she’s an adult and she’s bringing in mad bucks for the agency, she’s informed you of some changes in her contact. From there, the offer was birthed, and you have left it unchecked for the past four months or so, “grey ticked” as she liked to call it.

“You haven’t texted in a while, thought you died,” she continues, leaning on her elbows against the table. “Thank god you’re alive, huh?”

You hoped that she’d just forget about it, but she’s more of a mnemonist than you give her credit for. An award show is the last place you expected to be caught off guard by Jang Wonyoung, but she’s definitely a master of surprise. I uh… I haven’t really thought about it, is a lie you tell her and yourself. She smiles enigmatically, downs the rest of her Champagne. 

“Let’s talk about it tonight,” she touches your chest, and it’s soft like silk chiffon, “you know where to find me, Prince.”

She struts off to join the rest of her members, stops halfway to return her Champagne flute, then looks back at you over her shoulder to give you a small wave. You sip on your Champagne as the silk brushes against her skin. 

It’s a heavy breath that leaves your mouth, and it’s the rest of the Champagne that goes in.

*

302.

Gold lettering, black plaque. It’s grand, pretty elegant. Suits her well. 

Then the door opens. 

In her bathrobe, Jang Wonyoung shoots her “you’re on camera” smile. You’re earlier than expected—she lets you in—Matter of fact, I thought you might not show at all.

And it’s a must to quip back, “thought you’d be asleep by now you big baby.”

When the door closes, it’s straight to work, and here’s how that normally goes: kissing, undressing, foreplay, then finally—fucking. Not that it has to follow that order or anything, but it’s the unspoken schedule that Wonyoung’s written up. God forbid anyone goes against what the princess is comfortable with, not that you’d ever try to either way. Your voice is barely a mumble past her lips—aren’t we supposed to talk about something?—and Wonyoung’s quick to dismiss any queries, “later. There’s always time for it later”. 

So it’s the kiss that’s pulling you back into her. Her front teeth capture your bottom lip, pull, drags it back a little like she’s trying to unwrap you like a present. You hold her waist, and with gentle hands, you push her back against the wall. It’s not that you’re trying to get control or anything; you’re just attempting to give her something to work with, a place to rest as she starts to work on the buttons of your shirt. 

“Are you already naked underneath that?” you whisper, though it’s more of a drawl than a whisper. In response, she momentarily stops with your buttons to slide a section of her bathrobe away, giving you a good look at a column of her naked, milky skin. 

In short: Yes, she is very much naked under that robe.

“Don’t get distracted, my prince. Eyes up here.”

“You’re the one that made me look, princess.”

She’s evidently struggling with the last button of your shirt, and you have to let go of her for a moment to help her get it done. Then it’s off with the shirt, and she flings it against the door for convenience sake. Your belt’s next, and that’s taken care of before you can even say, let me undress you Princess. It does make her hesitate at the clasp of your trousers for a bit. Just for a bit.

“I’d like,” her fingers are moving again, and they’re awfully quick at unfastening your pants, “for you to unwrap me on the bed instead.”

How raunchy of her. Makes you want to try her on.

Your pants fall. Your hand slithers into the bathrobe. Her jaw drops. Wonyoung my darling, and your fingers have captured one of those perky breasts, the right one to be exact. How do you ever—it’s light pressure to the nipple for you; it’s mind melting for her—get away with being such a big slut? Look at you, I’m barely even squeezing here. You’d like to save that face she makes in a supercut of her other memorable faces: eyes wide, mouth agape and her chin tucked into her neck. Frame it up, take a step back, admire it. It’s the face of someone who’s pent up, the expression of a needy girl who’s been aching to get some dick. Maybe if you guys had met a little sooner, she wouldn’t be this sensitive. But now? A twist of your forefinger and thumb is all it takes to draw a cry out of her, a little more pressure is enough to rain hellfire upon her. What a crazy-hot mess she is; only god knows how to clean her up and get her sorted out.

Open mouth straight to your ear, Wonyoung lets out a breathy gasp. In your fingers, the stiff peak rolls between the pads—back, forth, back, forth: motions that make her weak in her knees. It’s with great effort that she pulls your face back to hers, captures you in her quivering lips. Elegance has long been thrown out the window by now, and it’s not going to be returning for quite some time, as if you ever need it at a time like this. She’s barely holding herself up at this point. Where did the prim proper Jang Wonyoung go? 

The answer’s in her kiss—gone, dusted, she was here just a minute ago though. She’s grasping at whatever inch of your skin she can find, and her nails are definitely gonna be leaving marks on the sides of your neck. You let out a small, wry laugh as you silently observe her behaviour, watching her implore without speaking, badger without requesting. It’s an art form really, the form of expression for the horny and desperate and bratty. When her hands grip your face and her nails sink into your cheek, you pinch a little harder and relish the pleasant vibrations that are sent into your mouth as she gasps. Her palms press into your jaw, and they’d probably crush it if you press any harder. Her feet patter against the wood as she starts to direct you to the bed. You kick off your shoes together with your pants. 

It’s definitely a sight to take in: Jang Wonyoung in a massive king size bed, a thin bathrobe being the only thing between you and that wonderful body being the bathrobe. Maybe if she wasn’t in this state she’s in, she’d gesture to you with a come hither motion, and invite you to remove the fabric from her body. Instead, she opts for a spine tingling mewl, and that’s your invitation to her body. It’s hardly an insinuation; the fact that she wants to be unwrapped like a present is undeniable, she used the word unwrap herself. The bunny knot holding the two pieces of fabric is symmetrical—has Wonyoung’s fingerprints all over it. If it weren’t for the fact that she’s watching you with a half-open mouth, maybe you’d compliment her on her efforts a little, maybe even call her “princess” a couple more times before you properly ruin her.

(But she’s already ruined, ruined by a mere bit of pressure to the nipple. What else can make her tick now?)

Her body is at your mercy and it, quite literally, jerks as you start to pull at the knot, undoing it centimetre by centimetre, millimetre by millimetre, inch by inch. You want to see how long she can watch for, how long she can witness herself be undressed in a painfully slow fashion. Needy as she is, she’s patient as she watches one end of the rope grow longer. 

Longer. 

“Do you want me to speed this up, baby?” The smirk on your face would earn you a pout from her if her nerves weren’t in a bundle at the given moment.

“W-Whatever you want,” she answers, and her voice is brimming with breathy arousal. How are you getting away with all this? She’d grab your wrist and pull by now if she wasn’t so damn needy right now.

You give a dry laugh. “Then I’ll keep at this then.”

Longer.

“Fuck. Just pull it all the way already.” She looks you right in the eye as she begs you to hurry, and now you can see the need brimming in those large, round eyes, the ones that stare back at you with soft intensity, if that’s even possible. She’s good at mixing emotions into her stare.

“I thought you said—”

“Just fucking do it!”

Slack.

And the knot comes undone, and together with it, the robe falls off to the sides of her body—it’s beautiful. Never have you taken so much pleasure in undressing her, but you sure-as-hell have taken this much time to admire that wonderful, slender frame. From your standing view over her, you get down to her level to get a better look at her. It’s all part of the game of course: the way you look her in the eye, the way you touch her jaw ever so slightly to turn it towards you. The kiss is sickly sweet, and she’s starting to taste more and more like that cherry lipstick you gave her when you saw her some time ago at another event. Into your mouth, she lets out a sonorous moan. Your fingertips brush along her skin, slither down from her collarbone to her cleavage—down to that flushed pink region between her equally flushed thighs. Almost instantly, the tip of your digits are coated in slick fluids, and you raise an eyebrow at the girl on the bed.

“I literally touched you.” It’s amusement permeating your voice more than anything. In the sheets, she squirms in the slightest, eyes locked on your fingers that rest against that dripping heat and breath caught in her throat. You know that if you were to shift your finger in the slightest, you’d trigger a chain reaction that you have no power over. Her legs would clamp, her abdomen would tense, her eyes would roll. In the midst of it all, she’d maybe scream, or maybe she’d moan; either way goes. As far as you’re concerned, she’s needy as fuck at the moment, and she’s not going to let anything stop her from cumming.

“Yea, well… I can be sensitive.” Her defence is hardly a solid one, more of a perfunctory reply. Her head’s far from able to formulate a quip to throw back at you; that ability went out the window together with classy Wonyoung. “Put them in.”

You go against her request, and your fingers start to skirt the edges of that swollen, pink slit of hers. A crime—you’re going against the princess’ wishes, but realistically speaking: she can hardly be called a princess at the moment, so why comply? 

A portion of the bathrobe is still clinging on to her breast. You use your other hand to push it away, and the split second of contact makes her flinch. “Jesus. You’re so fucking turned-on right now,” you can’t help but muse, all while your fingers retrace te outline of her swollen lips. She’s shivering, she isn’t breathing quite right. “Do you want to moan, baby? Do you want to moan like a good little slut for me?”

And she fixes you with a glare. “F-Fuck you… Put them in.”

No “please” this time. Shame. If she were more polite, you would’ve obliged; now you’ll just have some more fun with her. 

Your thumb finds the swollen nub, and a little brush is all you need to get her straining like a psycho in a straitjacket. What will I ever do with you Wonyoung?—and she’s getting wetter by the second—You look so pretty when you’re so needy, you know that?—why would you ever, for a second, think that she’d be as refined as the last time? She doesn’t play with herself when she needs to get off; she waits till she sees you again to get off on your cock, your fingers, your mouth. Sexting was off the table, she wants you to be physically there, driving her insane as she lets herself come undone. 

“You know,” and you’re almost laughing as you watch her face twist even further, “that I could do this forever right? I could just lie here, tease you for as long as I want… Or maybe that’s what you want?

She’s messy, so fucking messy. Juices are starting to soak the bed—you can feel it as your fingertips round the bottom of her slit. Housekeeping would certainly question the spot, and the two of you wouldn’t be there to reply anyway. Her cheeks are flushed, the veins of her throat are popping. It takes a considerable amount of effort to stay this composed, but you know that she’s breaking more and more. With each round your fingers make, cracks start to form along that perfectly sculpted face. The fine lines on her forehead begin to show as her brows start to furrow. Strained sounds are coming from her throat as the urge to moan is slowly winning the battle against her will. She wants control, but she can’t have it when she’s a wet, hot mess next to you. She’s being bratty for the sake of it. Your fingers are your leverage against her. It’s killing her. It’s delighting you.

And just like fine China thrown against concrete, her will shatters. 

“Please! Put them in!”

And your fingers stop just at the top of her pussy. It feels like a long minute, but she isn't about to take another second of this. Her thighs clamp against your arm. Her fingers wrap around your wrist in desperation. She begs again. And again. And again. And again, again, again. The bed starts to creak as you start to move your fingers down her lips, down to the very end of her cunt.

God is she dripping.

“Will you moan for me?” you drawl huskily. A finger, two, three rest themselves against her heat. 

“Yes.” There’s barely any of her original self left in there. “Please just—”

The fingers breach her opening. She screams, a high-pitched, keening cry. The noise makes your cock strain in your boxers, and you have to grit your teeth as her inner walls wrap tightly around your intruding digits. A moment of stillness comes, a moment where she’s just breathing raggedly, struggling to process this pleasure that’s racking her body faster than she can comprehend. She’s a ticking time bomb of nerves; the slightest movement in this state could send her into perdition, and she’ll barrel past that point of no return faster than both of you can imagine. God, she’s sensitive. God, she’s a mess. 

The chuckle that departs from your mouth is one of perverse pleasure. “Baby,” you whisper, right into her ear as she struggles to catch her breath. She squeezes her eyes shut, and you watch with a grin as her chest rises and falls. The grip on your wrist is a vice, knuckle-white and unrelenting. She’s begging you, with her eyes, to start moving, and you have to tell her, “I can’t start till you let go of me, baby.”

And it’s with reluctance that she slips her hand off your wrist, but that hand won’t stay empty for long. You guide it to her own breast, and with a soft whisper, you tell her to squeeze. She’s servile. She complies without protest. Her eyes slowly open themselves, and you relish the way they’re lust-glazed appearance looks under warm light while her breaths level themselves out. For a moment, there’s calm. For a moment, it’s tender.

Then your fingers start to move. All hell breaks loose.

Everything she did to calm herself quickly becomes futile; it becomes undone as her back arches in a way that catches your breath in your throat. Your fingers graze her walls, pressed into each other as they slowly draw in and out of her. And mind you: you’re going slow, slow enough to make her feel every bit of your fingers brush against her insides. But it’s enough to make her curse, enough to get her mewling like a damn kitten while her hips start to rock, rubbing her clit against the base of your palm. There’s no way to describe how needy she looks; her want is beyond words, and you’ve barely even started. Three fingers is the most you’ve ever put inside her. Clearly, it’s working wonders for her.

And now you yourself have to admit: you’ve wanted her for some time now. Since the last time you saw her, you’ve fantasised about that slim tummy twitching, about holding that snatched waist once more, about those long legs wrapped around your neck while your tongue and fingers turn her into a pliant plaything. For weeks, you’ve wanted nothing more than pulling Jang Wonyoung apart, reduce her into a withering mess wherever you guys are and get her screaming till she’s sore. You can’t even begin to describe what you’ve done with her in your dreams, nor can you ever convey how it feels to desire her as much as you have. So, you put all of it into action, sordid sentiments channelled into your fingers that are making those cute features twist and contort in perverse pleasure. She’s rambunctious, and her juices are quite literally soaking your hand, spilling the strongest sillage of lust all over the bed. 

“Why do you always have to be so fucking messy?” You’re really just trying to see how much you can get away with at this point, though the answer seems to be: just about everything. Your fingers start moving faster. You love the way her cheeks are starting to flush even more. “Are you always this wet? Or is it just for me?”

The squelching is lewder than you can ever imagine. The sound of her slick, wet heat being breached by your fingers is enthralling. Add the sounds she’s making into that and you have the ultimate erotica audio that can bless mankind. She’s panting, she’s moaning, she’s whining—she’s doing it all really, and you’re just using your fingers. God knows how she’ll react once you’re inside of her, rock hard meat stretching her out instead of a few fingers fiddling around in warm walls. 

But hey, the sounds she’s making are ever so erotic, and she’s definitely making your blood flow to all the right places. She feels out of place; you can’t put your finger on what’s wrong in this whole thing. It’s probably a small detail, something you’d overlook over the sight of her chest heaving as air shoots out and gets sucked back into her mouth, her whole body straining and convulsing against the bed while you get a thumb on her clit and rub at a languid tempo. Probably something miniscule, not worth mentioning because all your attention is focused on the look on her face (you want to mess up the makeup so badly it’s almost frustrating). And no, you’re not trying to make her cum in five seconds; she’s just really riled up—bundle of nerves and trigger happy. Probably hasn’t been treated this way in a while, probably hasn’t had three fingers twisting around, sliding in and out of that tight wet hole slow enough to make her feel every bit of skin against her walls; fast enough to make her combust if you were to speed up, in, like, forever. 

“I–I…” She’s quite literally mewling, and the sharpness in her voice is so cutting that it makes an incision in a bag inside you that’s keeping all the perverse thoughts at bay. The thoughts are leaking out now, and it’s almost impossible to stuff them back in. You want her against the glass: tits against the window and ass in your hands while you pump and pump and pump into that slick tight hole; you want nothing more but to pick her up and have her lock her legs around you, tight frame flushed against you while you nail her against one of these walls that surround you; you want to unhinge that jaw and watch that pretty mouth—now parted to let the stream of moans flow—take your cock in and out between those kiss-swollen lips and watch the drool leak out the corners of her mouth. Shit. It’s killing you. Jang Wonyoung, dolled up. She’s killing you. 

(No way in hell are thighs meant to be this hot, and lips are not  supposed to look this delicious. Yet Jang Wonyoung somehow goes against every fucking norm, fights it naturally and effortlessly and wins like a seasoned warrior. So just for her case: her thighs can be this hot and flushed, and her lips can look this fucking appetising. You kiss her; it’s sloppy, it’s lewd, it’s hot and everything in between. Mark her neck, mark that row of skin above her right collarbone, mark her everywhere. Cusses are flying—god forbid her agency finds out about the things hse says while she’s getting fingered. She's making a mess out of herself. She’s making a mess out of you.

Fingers, just fingers and she’s already looking like this: hair fanned out, frazzled, looking like she just went through a car wash and yet somehow has her make-up intact. Fuck. You want to watch the mascara run, watch it streak while she tears up as she’s choking down cum and she’s struggling to take in air. Pretty little princess, messy and glacially being turned into some improper slut. It’s hard to not smirk while you ruin her with the same fingers you use to type articles about her—fingers that sing praises and can also make her moan enough to make her throat hoarse.)

The rhythm of your hand makes her body roll. Her toes–painted over, fresh manicure—curl into the sheets. Doe-like eyes stare back at you, plump red lips part to gasp your name, throat muscles strain trying to  curse and moan at the same time. The fingers are gliding in and out and in and out and she’s begging you to not stop (like hell you ever would) in those choke up little sobs while she’s—

Oh fuck baby I can’t I can’t I can’t — Anything. I’ll do anything. Please just let me cum. I’m so fucking close baby. Please just let me fucking cum. I’ll be a good girl. I-I promise I’ll be a good fucking girl for you just… Fuck!

—blue screening on your fingers: lost in the sauce or whatever. Pliant plaything, docile doll. You’re certain she hasn’t gotten off in at least a month if the way she’s taking it is any sort of yardstick. She’s far beyond drenched, far beyond salvation and way off the deep end of the “needy” pool—drowning herself in her own sea of sighs and gasps and moans and loose phonics that slip out of her mouth. Ostinato of your fingers squelching in her cunt; half time rhythm of the creaky bed; melody of the chorus of Jang Wonyoung’s voice—music to your ears.

And there’s lots to unpack from the moment you locate that soft spot at the top of her pussy. There’s a lot of cussing, a lot of jolting, a fair amount of whining and your name is thrown somewhere in that mix. You find her lips, she kisses back, one of her hands grabs your arm, nails dig in and stay there. Flurry of actions, filthy language—fucking hell, someone stop her.

Bottom line: lots of action. You find it congenial to start from the part where it quite literally ends her world. Once your digits curled up into that sensitive patch of flesh, it was all over for her.

You can pinpoint the exact moment where the orgasm rips through her body, the exact moment where her muscles seized so perfectly that her back arches. The pulse around your fingers is strong, walls tight around your digits and your thumb gently rubbing on her clit while the pleasure rolls through her body, molten iron libido converting the feeling between her thighs to electricity that makes her short circuit. The moan is breathy if anyone’s asking, and the look on her face—twisted, perverse satisfaction: superimposing need and want—has a whole foot over the line of pornographic. Wires are fraying in her head, her vocal cords are strained, she’s ruining the sheets with her juices; you’re complicit in every damn part of this, and guilt is the last thing on your mind.

Then her back falls back flat against the mattress, and the sheets ripple as her body makes a dense thump against the bed, punctuating the sigh she releases into the air. Nerves are unbundling themselves. She’s sweaty and panting. Your fingers are beyond soaked.

“Messy,” you muse, slowly drawing your juice slicked fingers out of her cunt. You bring them to her mouth. She languidly tastes herself, sweat-darkened sheets hugging the muscles of her shoulders and lining her ribs. She looks so tiny in the bed if you looked over the fact that her legs were dangling over the edge of the mattress, and that’s easy to do once you lean in for a kiss.

(It’s not hard to slip your tongue into her mouth, and there’s barely any fight left in her as you roll her nipple between your index finger and thumb. The sweat-matted hair sticking to her forehead adds a nice touch to her face.)

“Such a good girl.” Your tone is warm as you praise her, and a hand moves to cup her cheek in an act of tenderness. Her eyelids flutter shut. She puts the weight of her face into your palm. 

“Do I get my reward now?” she whispers, and it’s more of a plea than a question really. You take a moment, not to think, but to drag out the suspense for a little more before you give her an answer. You take guilty pleasure in knowing that you could keep her on tenterhooks for the whole night—the only thing stopping you is the throbbing of your cock in your boxers and the look of sheer need on her face. If you could: you’d drag this out a little longer, maybe tease her a little and call her more names. You still could do that, but you’d much rather fuck her instead. 

“Where do you want it?” your thumbs hook into the waistband of your boxers and hook them down. Your cock springs free from its cottons confines, and Wonyoung’s eyes instantly dart to it. She may be a little obsessed with your cock, but only a little when she’s depraved (which is right now). Before you can even react, she has your shaft in her hand, lanky fingers wrapped around it and pumping it with considerate strokes. 

“I want a big load in my ass.” she requests, far from innocent and banking more towards improper, which seems to be a pretty big theme of hers tonight. “I’ve been wanting to feel daddy’s  hot load leaking out of my ass for a long time…” The strokes delivered to your length grow firmer and firmer by the second. “Please?”

The spikes of pleasure her small hand delivers to your system is really making it hard to say no at the given moment. Of course, she’s well aware of it, and she’s definitely feeling so damn smug right now. And so with a very clouded mind, you nod. She smiles smugly, unaware that you’re about to fuck that smug little smirk rig of her pretty face. Conveniently, she’s already on her back—it’ll make the process so much easier. 

“I take it that the lube is in your bag?” You raise. She grins and nods. 

Sure enough, you find it in the exact same place as it usually is: side pocket, right next to her lipstick. You toss it towards her and move around her, slip her ankles over her shoulders. She lies still, unmoving and obedient as her left calf goes past her head, then her right. You lean forward, and she gasps as she's almost bent her completely in half. She’s flexible; this position won’t bring any harm to her, but it is congenial to ruin her asshole and leave her sore for the next day or so, which is exactly what she wants, but probably not how she imagined herself getting it. She cracks open the lube, and with precision, squirts a generous amount of it on the tight ring of her ass, making eye contact with you all the while as the clear liquid gathers at the puckered ring of muscle. The tube is discarded to a side when she’s done, and she uses her hands to spread her asscheeks for you, inviting you to take your liberties with her hole.

“Come on Daddy,” she urges you. “Come fuck this ass,” she continues, her hands spreading her ass cheeks even wider as you start to line yourself up with the tight ring. “Wreck this fucking hole Daddy, I can fucking take it.”

To hear her say those words was almost enough to have you cum right there and then. You press the tip of your cock at the open, gaping hole of her ass, swirling it around the entrance, collecting more of the copious amounts of lube around it. She was generous with the amount of lube she dispensed; you're about to be generous with the strokes you're gonna make inside that ass.

(She yelps when you slide inside her ass. God does it feel so fucking divine.)

She is so tight and wet and hot that you think you could’ve cum with your first thrust inside her. Her pussy was tight and hot, but her ass was even tighter and even hotter. Even though your cock was slick with lube, it did close to nothing to keep the sheer tightness of her asshole from clenching around you like it was a really small glove. It wasn’t the first time you’ve been inside her ass, but it sure as hell felt like a novelty every single time you entered that tight ring of muscle. Fuck. The heat, the tightness—sublime. You think you could cum in a matter of seconds if you didn’t have self control.

“Go!’ she hisses, through the pain and discomfort. “Fuck me. Fuck my ass!”

You would have been happy to stay there, buried balls deep in Wonyoung’s ass, but her own words goad you into moving—slowly at first, but with a steadily increasing pace, you begin to fuck Wonyoung’s ass with long, slow strokes. She hisses—part glee, part discomfort—as your shaft starts to pump itself in and out of her ass. You draw yourself out till only the base of you tip remains inside of her, and then you thrust back in, hard, hard enough to make her yelp out in pained pleasure while she grits her teeth and watches your rock hard shaft fill her ass. It's a perverse show for her, and it brings you a sort of dark satisfaction in knowing that past all that discomfort she’s feeling, she loves the way your cock stretches her out and fills her defenceless little hole. 

With her ankles over your shoulders, you’re practically spearing yourself vertically into her ass, fucking her deep and making her feel every inch of your throbbing meat inside of that hot, tight hole. Every penetration is punctuated by a deep, guttural groan from Wonyoung, sometimes a curse, or something along the lines of: fuck. So fucking full. You know for a fact that the pained sounds you hear now will turn into airy gaps of pleasure once she gets used to the discomfort, and that she’d probably be a mewling mess by the time you reach the stage where she can take you in and out of her ass with only pleasure in her system and no pain. For now, you’ll settle with the pace you have—slow, long strokes in and out of her ass while she squeezes her eyes to block out all sensations distracting her from enjoying the sensation of her ass being filled with cock. You have to admit that she’s doing a great job at it, and your praise vocalises itself in the rather harsh form of, “what a good little slut.” 

(And here’s something interesting you noted: never once in this whole thing did she ask you to stop, nor did you ever think about stopping to let her adjust. If this was anyone else, you would have given them a moment to breathe upon entering, and you certainly would be checking on their wellbeing throughout it all. 

Thing is—the two of you know her too well to know that you could only dream of stopping once you got started with her, and it could only end in two ways. 1) You cum in her. 2) You cum on her. Edge her and you’ll never get the end of it, you would know. The last time you pulled a stunt on her like that, she left you tied to a chair with a vibrator taped to your cock till you were begging and a cummy mess. It wasn’t pretty. She could dominate if she wanted to, but she preferred to be a manipulative brat instead.)

It’s not long before she’s desensitised to the pain, and your slow pace is not enough, no, not for Wonyoung. Next thing you know it, she hissing for you to go faster, fuck her harder—I told you to fuck my ass Daddy. Don’t hold back on me now—and deeper. She swears, all three languages that she knew strung together shabbily like they were put together on some shitty production line and thrown out at random—and while you made little sense of the sounds coming out of her filthy mouth you knew what they meant.

Harder. Faster. Rougher.

Then you fuck her ass. Hard and fast.

You almost surprised yourself with the liberties you were taking, drilling in and out of her butt with the same speed and depth that you would use with her mouth and pussy.

“Yes!” she shouts—a loud, full shout. “Yes! Fuck me like this! Pound me, fuck me until you cum in my slutty little ass!”

You grunt in reply, because it was all you could do. The faculties of human language have long since abandoned your grasp and ability, and nothing else exists in your mind except the thought of filling her tight, hothole with warm, white semen. Her eyes lock with yours and you only find that they’re full of need, nothing else (not like she’s capable of displaying any other emotion at the moment). The rest of you, every fibre of your being, was focused on pounding Wonyoung’s tight little hole as hard and fast as you possibly could. Her ankles bounce helplessly behind your head, her knees press into her shoulders and her breath is ragged; sweat drips off your forehead and onto her tits, and your hot breath mixes with hers as you struggle to keep yourself propped up with your arms.

In short: the two of you are sweaty and messy (one more so than the other. Take a pick, not sure if there’s a prize for guessing right), victims of lust and slaves to pleasure. You blame Wonyoung just because you can.

For a few delicious moments, there is absolutely nothing in the world aside from the tight hot sheath of flesh around your cock, the warm flesh of her legs against your shoulders and the strands of sweat-slick hair that fly just about everywhere, all topped with the lewd, filthy, obscene words spilling from Wonyoung’s mouth. For a few delicious moments, she feels nothing but the feeling of her tight hole being stretched and used by the cock that turns her face into a wrought outlet of pleasure while she lets filthy words and exclamations spill from her lips. 

Try as you might, you couldn’t have it last forever. Not when you were already so turned on from watching her writhe and twitch under your fingers. Not when the sheer, pure pleasure overwhelming you was more than enough to cause you to cum at any moment.

And when she orgasms for the second time, her ass tightening exponentially around you—there is little you or anyone else could have done to stop the inevitable.

“I’m gonna cum in your ass, Wonyoung,” you hiss through gritted teeth, your lust and pleasure-addled brain on the edge of losing all comprehension.

“Cum with me! Fill me!” 

And so you do it, burying yourself hilt deep inside the quivering woman’s asshole before filling it with the last of your cum, giving her every last drop you had left in your body, leaving rope after rope inside her sore, well-used, cum-filled asshole. You almost black out, and you quite literally have to dig your nails into the sheets while Wonyoung’s own orgasm takes over her body, making her twitch and her ass contract—milking every last bit of cum from your throbbing, twitching length till it was nothing but a dry, hard rod inside of her creamy asshole. 

There’s silence that is punctuated by both of your ragged breaths. She looks at you, you look at her. And the two of you can’t help but chuckle at the mess you’ve made of each other. You want to remember the way her nose wrinkles as she teases you, “you fucking animal”, and you want, so badly, to burn the image of a sweaty, weary Jang Wonyoung, folded in half beneath you like she was a piece of origami paper, panting and gasping as a fresh load of cum spills out of her ass. 

It takes energy, but you bend down and kiss her, letting her sweaty calves slide off your equally sweaty shoulders as you do. She’s satisfied, for now, and she pulls you down next to her on the hotel bed with one hand and gathers the cum leaking out of her ass with the other. 

“Look at this,” she whispers, and your eyes train themselves on the pearlescent, sticky, slimy, fluids that run down from her fingertips slowly. “You made such a big mess inside my ass,” she chides before bringing her fingers to her mouth and sucking your cum right off her fingers like it’s a delicacy. “Now I have to clean all of this up. You’re lucky I like the way your cum tastes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Um… Ew?”

Wonyoung smirks and gently nudges you with her left foot.

“It’s okay,” she tells you, all smug and everything. “I know you love the way I taste too.”

* In the dark, her small hand creeps around your torso and grasps yours. 

“You’re awake, aren’t you?” She’s whispering right into your ear, and it’s a sensation you want to be able to hold on to for the rest of your life. “I know your eyes are open.” The feel of her small fingers rolling the knuckle of your index finger sticks itself in your head like a post-it. “ I can hear and feel you tossing, you know?”

Okay. No dodging. 

The sheets stay still as your shoulders turn. You roll over, face her, and you really just want to capture the way the night lights paint her face: doe-like eyes reflecting glimmering pools of moonlight, warm yellow light painting her cute-yet-so-fucking-gorgeous face in a manner that not even Van Goh could copy, lips parted slightly as if in mid speak. She’s right there—you can kiss her if you really want to.

“Are you still mad at me?” She asks, tender with her tone. “I know that I fucked up, okay?” You can tell that she’s not even trying to look pitiful at the moment, but the way her face is sculpted really makes you want to just hold her to your chest and stroke her hair. Sincere are her words—heart heaved into her mouth. “I don’t blame you if you’re still mad. It’s your right. But… Just hear me out? Please?”

If you were mad, you wouldn’t have let her hold your hand the way she was now. If you were mad, you would’ve pretended to be fast asleep; ignore her pleas and just close your eyes and fall asleep. Alas, you can never stay mad at her for too long.

“I was… Never really angry, Wony.” Your tone is a lot softer than you would ever expect, but you know it’s because you probably needed this talk more than she did. “I... I’m sorry if it came across that way.”

And she studies you for a moment, lets the sound of your breathing fill the space as she furls her upper lip into her front teeth, and it’s a perfect moment for you to try and understand what’s happening in her head. She’s a complex creature really; understanding her is like finding a meaning that everyone can agree on when you look at abstract art.

Down below, you can still hear the cars moving through the street. Billboards and screens are still on, and from the window in your bedroom, multi-coloured lights filter into the room past the blinds like moonlight through bamboo leaves. The sheets you lie in are fresh, and they feel nice and smooth against your skin, and they smell like roses. The mattress creaks a little as Wonyoung shifts her weight, and you have to admit that you’re half-drunk on the scent of her shampoo. 

“You must have been scared,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I got really emotional. I… I shouldn’t have walked out. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know how to reply to that. Not now at least. Maybe it’ll come to you the next morning.

You give her a sweet smile. You hug her to your chest. You want to remember how she feels in your arms.

*

The gentle trickle of water down the arch of her spine is really something—a steady stream flowing down her back, running over the muscles of her shoulders, the curve of her breasts and fraying at her plump ass. You can’t remember the last time you showered with her, but you certainly remember the view being this good. 

In the shower of room 302, Jang Wonyoung lets the warm water hit her skin from the rain shower nozzle. Her hair—wet and freshly shampooed (and conditioned)—sticks to her back. Creamy skin glistens, small beads of water affix themselves to random parts of her body, stay there for one or two seconds, then roll down in streaks, almost as if they too were admiring Wonyoung’s well-sculpted figure.

Slim fingers grasp locks of hair. She lifts and looks over her shoulder, the whisper of a grin on her face as she shoots a beckoning wink. “Are you gonna help me soap my back? Or are you just gonna keep staring at my ass?”

“Don’t you have to, like, turn off the water first?” you ask, and you already know what she’s gonna say, but you just want to hear her say it. For memory sake.

“Mmmm.” Her humming as she ‘ponders’ reverberates in the shower, floating over the sound of water from the shower head falling to the floor like rain. “No… Adds to the atmosphere, don’t you think?” 

Ah. There we go.

“Then could you at least step back?” you request. This shower is comically huge—long length, breadth about the same length as your arm span. In the space, she looks so tiny, but you know for a fact that she could probably walk to the other end of the shower in a stride. You’re not one to disregard the facts, but you do like to live with a bit of imagination.

Wonyoung chuckles, low and sonorous. She pushes her hair over her shoulder, then—painfully slowly—walks back till she’s out of the stream of water. Water wastage is the last thing on her mind. She stops when she feels your hands on her back, and she looks over her shoulder, expectant. You move your hands and the soap lathers as it’s spread. You start from the centre of her back, rubbing gently in the section where the muscles of her shoulders meet and working your way outwards and upward to her shoulders. Then it’s down from there, your palms moving in small circles and covering every inch of skin.

“You’re good at this,” she mutters, watching with intent as your hands start to trail to her lower back. “Maybe you should’ve been a masseuse instead of a writer.”

“Uh… Patronising much?” You chuckle, watching as her back muscles twitch a little when you apply gentle pressure. “The pay’s about the same,” the soap makes patterns across the area above her ass—spirals of foam that stick to her skin like styrofoam flowers. “The hours are probably the same… But I don’t think I can live on rubbing someone’s back really hard. I Think I’ll just save this service for you, but only for when we meet.”

Humored, Wonyoung offers a giggle, high pitched and cutting above the sound of water striking the floor tiles. She shifts her weight to her right foot, making her body slant a little. Her skin is soft under your palms. Your hands are going lower and lower, slowly spiralling towards the curve of her ass that’s literally just a centimetre away.

“You know…If you take up my offer, you can do this for me everyday.”

Your hands slow to a stop. You raise your head a little to find her searching for your gaze over her shoulder. “Oh?”

“Yea.” Her voice is low, like a mother trying to persuade her child to eat their vegetables. “Every night, we can be like this: you soaping my back, us chatting… Doesn’t it sound wonderful?”

Your lip furls behind your front teeth. “Yea… It really does.”

And in her gaze, you sense her sensing your apprehension. “What’s stopping you from taking it up then?”

(For context, here’s the deal proposed by her company: the two of you go public with the relationship, get clout for the company, and Starship will let you lead your lives together—no qualms, no disturbances. She can visit you whenever, live with you, appear outside together with you like it’s a regular Tuesday night; you get to date the girl you fell in love with all those years ago for real. Only issue: once you get the last stroke of your signature out on the contract, you practically agree to blurring the line between your private and public life. Press will be all over you like ants after you step on their nest, you probably won’t get to enjoy a cup of coffee in peace, everyone will suddenly want to curry favours with you… Was it worth the sacrifice?)

You find it hard to meet her eyes, and so your gaze affixes itself on your hands. It’s not like you don’t love her or anything, but your apprehension makes you feel like shit. It shouldn’t be this hard to say yes, yet the idea of selling your life of privacy to live a life with her makes you screech to a halt at the crossroads. Sometimes (in these moments), you wished that you didn’t always make decisions with your head and your heart. 

As the shower continues to run, Wonyoung slowly turns around. One hand finds yours, the other gently takes you by the chin and raises your eyes up to her. She’s tall, and the two of you are staring eye to eye; same height, different trains of thought.

The hand on yours guides you to her breast. Eyes locked with yours, she lays your palm flat against her tit. The skin beneath your fingers is slippery, but it doesn’t remove any of the familiarity from the sensation. Then she squeezes, and the flesh spills out between your fingers like putty. She gasps—airy. 

“Don’t you want me?” She whispers, and it’s raunchy more than anything. It isn’t aggressive, but it’s certainly blurring the line between demanding and caring. “Don’t you want to be able to fuck this pretty little pussy every night?”

She’s really far from home base. “Wony…”

“Don’t you love owning me?” She’s squeezing harder. Her knee twitches. Sopa’s spilling out of your fingers. You’re certain that you’re gonna mark her. She doesn’t care. “Don’t you want me all over you? Every night?”

“It’s not that Wonyoung.”

“Then what’s on your mind?” She’s not prodding for an answer, nor is she trying to demand a reason for your silence. She wants to understand you, to internalise what’s going on inside your head. You have no reason to lie.

“Will it all really be okay?” you ask sincerely. “My family, my life… Will… Will it all really be…”

She understands where you’re coming from (if the relieving of pressure around her own breast is any indication), and she’s starting to tune herself to the frequency of your worries. “If you’re wondering if you’re gonna be harassed—you won’t.”

“Yea but—”

“I promise you: I will do everything I can to make sure that you will be safe. You and your family–if so much as a finger is laid on any of you, I will quit.”

“Wonyo—”

“No one will intrude on you. You won’t have to live with the flashing lights. I give you my word: I will make sure that everyone who wants to invade your privacy will leave you alone. You and your family will all be left alone.”

If it’s possible for sincerity to ring clear, Jang Wonyoung has absolutely made it happen. Sweet like honey; she’s left you feeling like you had a spoonful of it. And just for good measure, she steps closer and repeats once more: “I promise.”

Considering that your hand was at the left side of her chest, this was really a “I swear. Hand to my heart” type of deal (whether it’s intended or not is purely up to your discretion). 

And as you gaze into those eyes, you want to remember the way she gazes at you softly, gently, tenderly. If it weren’t for your hand on her tit, you would’ve considered this one of the more tender moments you’ve shared with her. Not that it’s not or anything… Just that it’s a little hard to call this a loving moment when you can literally feel her nipple poking into the flesh of your palm at all times of the conversation.

“Are you sure you won’t land yourself in trouble?” you ask her, and she’s quick to scoff.

“Of course. I make too much fucking money fo those higher up fuckers to not listen to me,” she reminds you. 

Well… Then that settles about everything then.

“Okay,” you tell her. “Okay… I’ll do it.”

The corners of her lips play up in a smile. She leans in, kisses you—no tongue, closed mouth—and lets the hand keeping yours at her breast fall. Long arms wrap around your waist and she pulls you close, flushing her tight frame against your body. When lips part, she whispers a soft I love you, a sparkle in eyes that lingered for a moment.

But only for a moment.

Then—without you noticing—her hand snakes down and grips your rapidly hardening shaft, and she squeezes. This time, the line between demanding and caring is clear as day, and she’s chosen to play her ball to the court of demanding. With a gleam in her eye, she begins stroking with her closed fist, and she pumps your stiff length at a slow but steady rhythm, adding an occasional twisting motion to her wrist, corkscrewing her fingers around your cock, increasing the pleasurable shocks she was sending through your system with each pump of her hand. It was almost like she wasn’t the sweetest, loving girl in the whole world just two seconds ago.

“Jesus fucking…” You can’t even finish your sentence. Your teeth grit. Your fists clench. It’s hard to breathe. “Maybe… A little bit of a heads up next time?”

She smirks proudly, watching as you tilt your head back and let out a groan. “Where’s the fun in that?” And gently, she pushes against your chest, guides you to the wall. When your back presses against the cool tile, she presses herself against you. She leans in, hot breath on your skin, and then the feeling of her lips against your jaw almost makes you yelp. She kisses a path down your jaw, paves a way towards your neck to get cheeky: sucking, nibbling, licking the skin of your neck while she keeps the movement of her hands slow and considerate. The shower continues to run.

Do you know—she breaks contact with your skin for just a second—how fucking horny—her breath’s tickling your ear, sending shivers down your spine—you make me?—and she squeezes a little harder around your shaft, not enough for it to hurt, but enough to feel you throb in your hand and make you gulp a little. She starts going faster—jerking, fucking pumping your length in her closed fist, and it’s almost impossible to keep your eyes open; your eyelids flutter shut. Your head rests against the wall, a sigh slipping past your lips. It’s filthy really—down from the way she catches you off guard to the way she makes your skin sore after she’s done feasting. Almost every interaction with her in a private space is as X-rated as this; it’s hard not to get into a situation like this around her. You know: a situation where the two of you are naked and getting really touchy and actively trying to get each other as many times as humanly possible. 

“Fuck yes baby…” you rasp, your nails starting to eat into your palms as she the sound of her hand sliding up and down your dick starts to cut above the steady stream of water. With each rise of her hand, the pad of her thumb plays with the head of your member, and when it sinks down, she twists her wrist in a screwing motion. Rinse and repeat; up and down and up and down and fuck. “You’re so fucking good at this.”

She hums in reply, and she has your earlobe between her teeth the next second, nicking you mischievously, sending small pricks of pain shooting through your system as she adjusts her grip on your cock without ever breaking her motion. Next thing you know, your tongue is inside your ear, and she’s leaning in so close that when you open your eyes, you’re practically looking over her shoulder, looking down the curve of her back that glistens with moisture and soap bubbles.

“I love this cock so fucking much,” she whispers, a bit of a hiss in her words as she takes the head of your cock between her forefinger and thumb and pinches lightly. “It stretches me out when I need it.” her fingers start to trail down your slipper shaft, letting the smoothness of her palm rub against your whole length, “fills me when I want it.” She’s milking the precum out of you, making you all leaky and squirmy as she starts pumping faster. “And it’s so fucking big that I can choke on it. You know how much I love being choked.”

She chooses that last bit to make eye contact with you, and she’s practically served you what she wants next on a silver platter. The next move is clear cut and simple; no words need be spoken. You were going to fuck her—and you mean properly fuck her—with a hand wrapped around that small throat. How you were gonna do it was still a mystery, but you figured that it’d slowly come to you, but it will definitely be related to the mirror and the sink outside and the mirror in front of it. At once, you reach over to the handle of the shower, and you turn it down to the handheld showerhead mode. Wonyoung bites her bottom lip, perverse glee painted all over her face as you use it to wash the soap off her back. She’s watching, waiting, probably drenched down there and aching to be stuffed full of cock.

She’s almost shaking with excitement as you finish washing all the soap off her body. You’d hardly consider her clean, but it won’t hurt to hop back into the shower again once you're done with her. The shower door swings open and you’re cupping her pussy, dripping wet while stumbling out with her, lips locked on hers and her hand on your cock as you push her against the sink of her hotel room. From the moment her mouth opens and let the moans pour out while you rub her clit to the moment her hand leaves your cock to cradle your face, she’s practically radiating need from the pores of her skin. You can’t help but playfully remark, “you’re such a fucking loser”, while your thumb thumps against her clit and sends pleasure tearing through her system. Weak in the knees, she holds on to you for support.

And the moans (those fucking hair-raising moans), they tumble out of those plump lips like marbles down a ramp, and they mix with the sound of your lips smacking against her skin as you start to leave a trail of kisses down her neck, doing to her what she did to you in the shower; you give her a taste of her own medicine, and the way she’s titling her head back to let you mark her freely makes it almost seem as if it’s the intended outcome of her actions. It’s like she knew that you would get back at her, and it wouldn’t come as a surprise if you ever find out that she gets off on knowing that she can manipulate you in her own bratty ways—get you wrapped around her finger and have you doing all the things she wants you to do without having to tell you. Not that you have something to gripe about it, but you’re just so amused (and that’s just one word to describe how you feel) by how she goes about her ways.

“Come on,” she manages to whisper, all while you’re busy sucking on the skin just below her collarbone till it’s sore. She has a lot of pride in her voice for someone who’s quite literally quivering. “You know you want to fuck me. Give me a good creampie again.” 

You lift your head for a moment, and you take in the look of almost childlike excitement on her face as your hand finds its way to her throat. It’s perverse excitement, that lewd exhilaration of knowing that she was about to get what she wanted, and albeit a little messed up, it was pretty hot in its own way. When your fingers gently wrap themselves around her throat, you can feel every muscle in her body tense in anticipation, as if she didn’t get enough from the bedroom earlier.

“Up on the counter baby. Let me see how messy you are down there,” you whisper.

She knows what to do, and she has herself propped up on the counter and engaged in open mouth kissing. She doesn’t need you to tell her to spread her legs, and she definitely doesn’t need you to tell her how cute she sounds when your fingers slip inside of her, feeling around the mess you’ve made of her and coating your digits in her fluids. Your index and middle finger are slick with her juices when you retract them from inside her, and you can’t help but chuckle. 

“Messy as ever,” you muse, making a show of sucking her juices clean off your fingers. She’s sweet and borderline tangy—a taste that you’re accustomed to, and you will never get tired of it. She’s biting down on her lower lip, the skin wrinkling under the pressure of her front teeth as she makes a sound that’s close to a purr. 

“You made the mess.” She has her eyes locked on yours as you raise an eyebrow, prompting her to follow up after her first statement. Not that you didn’t know what was coming, but more that you wanted to gently coax it out of her, because it was so fucking hot to hear what she had to say next. “You clean it up.”

And you’re more than happy to oblige. She watches you with intent eyes as you sink down to your knees, waits with bated breath as you lower your face till the glistening, pink folds of her pussy are right in front of your face, flushed thighs around your ears. Her excitement is almost palpable, and you can hear the sharp inhale she takes when your palm finds its place on the inside of her left thigh, pushing gently to give you better access to her heat (you’re really just trying to drag out the tension if you were being completely honest with yourself). You lick your lips, lean forward till your mouth is hovering above her slit. 

“You better moan for me this time,” you tell her, and you’re making sure to make your breath hit her slick as you speak. “You have such a wonderful voice. Put it to use.”

Praise mixed with the slight hint of authority—it’s enough to make her nod furiously and implore you with doe eyes to just get on with it. With a smirk, your lips find the swollen nub at the top of her entrance. You suck on it. Hard. And almost at once, her thighs clamp around your ears and her hand is on your head, like it’s some sort of natural instinct for her when you’re eating her out. Keeping to her word, she cries out—keening, whiny and ever so fucking bratty, and it’s the the holy grail of every wet dream. Nothing in the world could bring you more satisfaction than that shrill, airy cry she lets out when the pleasure ripples through her body, and you’re just getting started. 

Your mouth opens and your tongue flattens itself against her folds, (She tastes so good. You want all of it, all of her) and you drag it up her folds, deliberately, painfully slow as you start to lick up that wet cunt. Her back arches; you can feel her struggling to keep a hold of your head; she throws her head back and lets out a gasp; her thighs clamp down a little harder around your head. The pleasure in her system builds up with the slow movement of your tongue, only rising and rising as you lick from the base of her slit to the mid section to the top. When the tip of your tongue flicks her clit, it's almost like an explosion, enough for her other hand to join its pair atop your head, enough to make her cry out in a perverse plea, “Daddy, please!”

(For the record: she’s wanted this from the moment you guys stepped into the shower. She’s willingly turned herself into some pliant little plaything, and she’s probably getting off so hard to it. Frankly, if she wanted to order you around, you’d be up to it, but this is what she prefers.)

And nothing else needs to be said really. You put your whole mouth on her—relishing the shiver that runs up from her thighs up to her body—and get right into making a wreck of her. You lick, you devour, you ravish her: working your mouth on her pussy, lapping up the juices that spill forth from flushed lips with broad, sharp strokes that make her body grow taut and her legs quiver. You tongue her clit, lick up sweet fluids, make her messy and needy and hot in all the right areas till she’s drilling her nails into the back of your scalp and pushing your face against her sweet slick. In half whispers, she tells you just how good you make her feel—oh Daddy I’m so fucking wet!—and you feel a dark part of yourself be fed by these lecherous words—Oh god oh fuck I’m gonna fucking cum if you keep… Fuck!—that leave her half-parted mouth and linger in the air, reminding you of just how wanton she is and how you’re the only person in the world she ever wants to fuck and be satisfied by. You’re hers; she’s yours—a relationship with Jang Wonyoung that any guy would kill for. 

“Daddy—” she gaps, her voice a whole octave higher than it should be as her nails turn into claws at the back of your head. “Fuck I’m cumming. Daddy I’m cumming!”

The pulsing of her pusy against your tongue grows. You continue licking, lapping. One stroke, two strokes—three. She moans, blue screens. You hazard a look up.

Nothing else matters. Only: the sight of that back arching off the marble counter, her thighs around your head trembling and quaking as her hips roll and her mouth parts in a silent scream. You’re certain that there’s blood being drawn from the back of your head, but you're more certain that she’s got enough heat in her core to melt molten iron but a lack of breath that makes her gasp for air as you lick and lick and lick your way into her. You can feel her orgasm getting closer by the second, it’s in her breathing, and in the way her hips are practically thrusting her into your mouth.

And just like the bathrobe from earlier, she comes undone—falls apart and ceases to keep control of her body. She tenses, her thighs go rigid around your ears. Her breath is caught in her throat, her eyes are closed. You stop your work, admire the way she glows as her body twitches and her face twists. Pleasure rips its way through her muscles, her nerves—splits her very being in half as the orgasm rolls through her system. She’s beautiful, and she’s a messy work of art that you’ve created. 

You rise to your feet as she winds down, and her hands leave your head to rest on the counter while her body struggles to process the aftermath of that orgasm. It’s not the first time she’s cum for the night, and it certainly won’t be the last. Her eyes open, and she instantly locs them on you as you brush back some of the hair that sticks to her sweat slicked face. You take her hand and give a gentle tug, and she slips off the counter obediently. You grip her jaw—tenderly but rough enough for her to like it—and tell her to turn around. Servile, she obeys, and in the reflection of the mirror, she watches as your hand snakes its way to her throat and grips it. You’re not squeezing, not yet. 

“I’m gonna fuck this pretty little pussy now,” you drawl, gripping your shaft in your hand and slapping it against her slit. The contact makes her shudder, but she remains silent as you place a kiss on her cheek. “Your face is gonna be so pretty when I choke you and fill you.”

“Yes Daddy.” Her reply is a whisper, a borderline drawl that’s airy and raunchy and makes your hairs stand on their ends. She’s looking at you through the mirror, plump lips slightly parted and eyes glassy. “Own me. I’m yours, forever.”

And you’re all too happy to hear that from her.

You slip into her, hilt yourself inside her in one swift motion. 

(Tight. Hot. Wet. So tight.)

She lets out a sigh, low and sonorous, harmonising with your own groan as you press her against the edge of the counter and make the fingers around her throat squeeze. The sound that leaves her throat is the sound of her sigh being truncated, and it delights that dark part of you. Being inside Wonyoung was otherworldly, as it always was, but here, in the bathroom of her hotel, on the night where you’ve agreed to seal a deal with her, she felt downright heavenly.  She squeezes her walls around you, her body thankful for the sensation of being filled by cock, if the intense tightness and slick wetness were any indication; she looks over her shoulder and bites her bottom lip. And when she has your gaze, she mouths something. 

Fill me.

The silence is deafening, but it’s all you need to hear. 

When you withdraw your glistening shaft for the first time you relish in the feel of her walls gripping you, not wanting to release you—but just as quickly they welcome you back inside as you penetrate her again. Soon you are pumping in and out of her at a slow, steady pace, her soft gasps turning quickly into long, drawn out moans as she is fucked against the marble. Her hands steady her body against the counter, her back arched in a way that lets you get a wonderful top-down view of her breasts as they roll together with her body. It’s a concerted effort, but she makes it seem effortless. 

“Be honest.” With the hand around her throat, her voice sounds a little hoarse. It’s hot. “Do you think about this, Daddy? About fucking me like a good little slut?”

“Wonyoung,” you reply, speaking through your gritted teeth. “You have no,” and you punctuate the sentence there with a deeper thrust into her tight slick, a thrust strong enough for her to let out a strained gasp. “fucking idea…”

(In the mirror, you watch as she curls her lips into her mouth and tilts her head back into your shoulder, like she’s submitting her whole being to you and letting you take liberties with her body. You take the invitation, and your free hand finds itself on one of her soft mounds and gives it a squeeze—rough but tender enough to elicit a low moan from her throat that makes your hand around it vibrate pleasantly. 

At the given moment, she’s doing all she can to make herself a pretty little fuckdoll for you, doing her best to encourage you to treat her rough, treat her like you own her. She wants nothing more but to feel the rockhard meat penetrating her tight little cunt stretch her out and fill her the way she wants, all while she’s begging and pleading obsequiously while being obsessed with your cock. It’s a lot to take in for her for sure, but she gets off on it, and you get off on it too—the fact that she’s being all needy and pleading just so she can implicitly tell you to fuck her till she’s raw and can’t fucking walk the next morning. The fact that she’s actually in control while being such a bottom. Bratty manipulation.)

“Then fuck me Daddy,” she tells you, almost pleading. “Use this pretty little pussy. I want it. I fucking need it.”

With her invitation to do more with her body, you’re more than ready to do what you’ve intended to do from the very start. You increase your tempo, and before long you are truly fucking her, drilling in and out of the tight hot warmth of her body with quick, deep strokes. With each stroke you don’t pull out more than halfway—you concentrate instead on pumping hard and fast, getting as deep as you could inside her given your standing position. She takes it well, like she was made for this. In her world, this was what fucking looked like, and it was the only definition that she was going to live with and she’d take it to the grave. She indulges in the roughness, the almost animal-like way your cock fills her again and again and again, all while she encourages you with cries and moans and sighs that are music to your ears. 

And a notion hits you: she’s going to make you fuck her till she’s the only thing you can possibly think about. She’s going to draw out every single primal urge within you, make you want her like she’s some form of drug and you’re the abuser, and then she’s going to get exactly what she wants—your cum in her pussy. You can’t let her win like that, you can’t. You can tell that to yourself now, but you’re not sure if you can remember it later, not when she practically reeks of the strongest possible sillage of sex. 

Her pussy throbs around you, pulse strong and just a beat behind your thrusts as you thrust yourself in and out of her slick walls, filling her up and drawing yourself out before filling her up yet again. Pure filth spills from her mouth, expletives, sordid sighs and cries and any sound or word that comes to mind. She's a quivering and squirming mess, and from the mirror you enjoy the way she’s almost writhing in against the counter. Ample breasts bounce with each thrust that shocks her body, and it’s almost hypnotic if it weren’t for the fact that that pretty face was stealing the show. The face that was marvelled, the face that was the source of jealousy, the face that was on the face of so many magazines and posters and adored by millions, if not billions—scrunched up, improper and so fucking lewd that it looked like it belonged in a porno instead of an idols face, and you take pleasure in the fact that your cock is ruining the face of a princess, turning her dissolute and so fucking needy that she was as good as a fan begging her for an autograph. This side of her was reserved for you, and only you—her duality is reserved for your eyes only. 

Her body is slick with sweat, rubbing against your own sweaty torso while her body rolls together with your thrusts. “Fuck—” you’re saying, but it comes out as more of a growl than anything given how hard yur teeth are clenching. Your fingers squeeze tighter around her throat. The slightly reduced airflow at her throat causes her pussy to clench even tighter around you—and the added tightness brings succulent pleasure to your mind that makes you think you’re going insane. You probably are at this rate. “This pussy. It’s so fucking good baby.”

Her reply is a strained gasp, but you get the gist of what she wants to say. She wants, so badly, to tell you how good your cock is making her feel, how well it fucks her, how well it fills her and stretches her and how it’s her favourite thing in the whole world. The squelch of your cock filling her pussy is loud, but not loud enough to drown out the smacking of skin against skin as you press more of your weight against her, pushing her a little more into the corner of the counter and a little more over the line of pathetic. She moans in response to your actions, and it’s telling you: fuck. Harder. It’s better when it hurts. 

And you can feel her juices leaking down the back of her thighs, wetting your crotch and making the smack of skin against skin louder than ever, almost as if it was an announcement: I’m being fucked like a good little slut and I love it. She doesn’t know what she’s doing to you,and for clarity, it’s something along the lines of turning you absolutely feral with her moans and the divine tightness of her pussy that makes you want to cum on the spot. Okay,maybe she is cognizant of how crazy she makes you when you fuck her, but you barely have the capacity to think, let alone rationalise wether thai girl in your arms that your chocking and fucking feel smug in knowing that she’s driving you insane. 

Oh and she loves it when you play with her tits. The way you fondle them is almost aggressive. Scratch that—it’s really fucking aggressive. You’re slapping her tits, leaving red marks all over the milky white skin and pinching and twisting the stiff nubs atop her breasts, all while she mewls and cries out in that strained voice that makes you throb even harder inside of her wet walls and makes you grit your teeth like your a dog waiting to chew on a bone. 

“D-Daddy,” she pushes out, past the fingers that close her airways and past her groans and moans and sighs. “Harder.” And your thrusts are starting to cut her off, but she has more to say. When it comes out, each word that she spits out is punctuated by a thrust of cock into her pussy, and it’s the hottest thing you’ll ever hear. 

Fuck.

You thrust deep inside her. 

Me.

Your cock drives itself deep into her, slicking itself with her juices.

Harder.

And if words could linger in the air, hers certainly would. 

You fuck her hard, and fast, and deep—hammering her into the counter, nailing her defenseless pussy with a pace that you would have thought was rough and callous were it not for the fact you knew this was exactly how she wanted it. All she can do is hang on, grasp onto the counter with a knuckle-white grip with her hands as you take your liberties with her body, fucking her as hard as you can, as deeply as she can take it. The cups on the counter shake, the toothbrush inside one of them shaking under the force. It’s loud,  but you hear none of it. You hear only the sharp sighs of pleasure that leave Wonyoung’s lips, and the wet slap slap slap of your crotch as it hammers her cunt again and again and again, your cock drilling her, pounding her, making her yours if you weren’t already doing that.

It takes a little long, but the haze of lust parts for a moment for you to realise that you're getting closer and closer to getting what she wants out of you. While the thought of burying yourself inside of that quivering, pulsing pussy to let it milk every last drop of cum from you is ever so enticing, that small part of you that wants to own her pushes you to fight against the urges. Not that there’s any harm in giving her what she wants, but it’s just that you don’t want to reward her bratty, manipulative tactics. She knew for a fact that she could tie you up and ride you over and over till you were dry—she’d done it before. But instead, she’s chosen to fulfil her needs in a less direct manner, maybe for fun or maybe just because she felt like it. 

“Yes,” Wonyoung hisses, spit flying into the mirror and her palms slipping on the counter. “Just like this Daddy.” And she’s making sure to make eye contact with you through the mirror, letting her eyes do most of the talking. If anyone’s curious, the look she gives you is saying, I’m your good little slut. Fuck me. Use me. Fill me. Please, and it's nothing short of hot and tethering far over the line of lewd. At this point, neither of you are in a state where you're capable of coherent thought, nor are you capable of thinking about anything else except each other’s bodies and the wet, lewd squelching of cock filling Wonyoung’s pussy. It goes on and on and on, a cycle of your hips hammering the back of her legs and your cock spearing deep into her cunt.  She takes it so well, drinking you in hungrily, coiling around your shaft like a snake as if it was begging for you to stay in her forever. The sight is enough to make your balls tingle and your toes curl, and your hand around Wonyoung's throat tightens to the point where the only thing that can leave her lips is a groan as her airflow is reduced. 

She’s tighter, hotter, wetter. Her pussy fits you like a glove, moulding around your cock as it pumps in and out of her at a pace that you had no idea you were capable of. The hand around her neck is nothing but an outlet of pleasure for you, and she’s loving it. “Such a good girl,” you mutter, watching from the mirror as her mouth slacks and opens while she’s being pumped full of cock. “You were made to take Daddy’s cock, weren’t you?”

Her equivalent of a yes is a sharp, strained groan—an amalgamation of phonics and whatever sounds the lack of air flowing to her throat permits her to make. She’s so fucking messy down there, and your cock is sliding in and out of her with ease, aided by her slick juices that coat your shaft and let it disappear and reappear from between her legs with ease. The motion is almost graceful if it weren’t for the fact that it was a sordid one, and you take a moment to admire the way your shaft glistens in the light of the bathroom while you fuck her the way she wants it: rough, hard and tethering over the edge of callous. If it weren’t for the hand around her throat, she’d be making herself hoarse with all the moaning she’d be doing.

And the hand around her throat is bringing her so much pleasure, if the way her pussy squeezes around you when you choke her is any indication. She wasn’t lying when she said she liked being choked. While she didn’t like gagging on your cock, she sure as hell loved it when your fingers clasped around the muscles and made her gasp. She liked the sensation of being deprived of air, be it when she was riding or when she has her kness buried into her shoulders and was being fucked into the bed like a slut. You were always afraid of hurting her, but when she shots you that look, the one that says, come on, you can do better, you know that she’s getting exactly what she wants, just the way she likes it. It was just a matter of how hard you squeeze around her throat before she either cums or passes out, though the latter has rarely happened before the former.

“Daddy!” she chokes, and you know exactly what she’s about to say next. So you release her throat from her grasp, bunch a lock of her hair in your closed fist and you pull back. Her eyes squeeze themselves shut. Her back arches deliciously, her voice now free to finish shat she’s aching to announce. “I’m fucking…”

You never expect her to finish her sentence. Wonyoung’s eyes open, and a gasp leaves her open lips. Her walls, already vice-like, tighten so hard around you that you think you might come there and then. You feel how close she is. 

“Fucking cum for me, Wonyoung. Cum around my cock like a good little slut.”

Wonyoung does as she is told—and the quivering, trembling orgasm she experiences is almost frightening in the way it overwhelms her body, turning her into a wet, hot mess. Her pussy tightens and pulsates, her fingers claw against the marble counter, and her entire lower body shakes violently, as though she had lost control of her nerves and muscles. For a few beautiful seconds she is utterly overwhelmed by the sensations, until finally she slumps forward in your grasp, breathing heavily. 

It's good. It's so good, but it's not quite enough to get you to your finish. Not yet.

(And if anyone’s asking: it’s not that the sex isn’t good. It’s mind blowing, amazing, and whatever word that can be used to describe “fucking incredible”.  She’s hot, so tight and fucking soaked down there. You’re horny, throbbing and on the verge of filling her full of your seed. But you’ve said it before and you’ll say it again—you’re not rewarding bratty manipulation. As tempting as it would have been to simply pound her from behind until you gave her needy pussy the load of semen she so desperately wanted, you knew that there was something even better that you could do.)

You pull out of Wonyoung, your shaft glistening under the hotel light. Her eyes are wide with shock as you withdraw yourself from her body, pulling her away from the counter—but only enough to have her lean back against you and not stand up completely. Her mouth opens to say something, but she's interrupted when you turn her face to you and kiss her. She moans into your mouth, and you swallow it, your tongue slipping into her mouth and massaging her own, lapping at the roof of her mouth as her tongue swirled around your own. You bite her lower lip, and it's not rough, but enough to get her attention. When her eyes flutter open, you whisper, "I'm not finished."

She nods, and you relish the disappointment in her eyes. You turn her around, push down gently on her shoulders. She goes with the motion, and you're not sure if you can ever get over the image of Wonyoung on her knees with her pretty little face staring at you with anticipation. You think about fucking her face, letting your cock thrust into the back of her throat over and over and over till you finally bury yourself inside and cum down her throat, but that would just be a repeat telecast of every other night with her. Spice things up; give her the liberty of creativity with your cock. 

And of course, Wonyoung perfectly understands what has to be done. You step up to her. She parts her lips and takes your cock right into her mouth. Grasping the base of your cock and pumping it with one hand while she gently cups and squeezes your balls with the other, Wonyoung quickly launches into a hard and fast blowjob, taking the top half of your cock in and out of her wet mouth with a rapid pace while her fingers work your shaft in a corkscrew motion, just like she did in the shower. The suction of her mouth is almost lethal, and the audacity she has to look up at you while she takes your cock in and out of her mouth is so exhilarating that it makes you weak in the knees. Your hand finds a clump of her sweaty hair, and you close your fingers around it, holding them in your fist. No, you weren’t going to push her head down onto your cock; you had to give her the space to work on her craft. 

And of course, she exceeds every expectation out there. Your eyes shut involuntarily, your brain unable to handle any sensations beyond the wet, hot cavern of Wonyoung’s mouth sealed tightly around your shaft with tight, soft lips. With the first entry into her mouth her wet tongue is pressed tightly against the underside of your shaft, lathering it with her spit. With each subsequent entry her tongue becomes more adventurous, beginning with quick swipes left and right on your shaft with each entry and ending each exit with a swirl of the tip around the head of your cock. While she tastes herself on your cock, letting her juices mix with saliva, her hands work in perfect concert with her mouth, one joining her lips at your shaft and pumping up and down, a twisting motion to her wrist while her free hand works gently with your dangling balls, fondling them with considerate fingers. She plays with them softly yet hastily, her fingertips working their magic between the sacs with expert attention.

You are content to stand there with your eyes shut, simply enjoying the feel of your cock pumping in and out of her mouth at a fervent pace, but a small part of you knew that you had to see it happening in order to truly believe it was all real—and so with a not insignificant amount of self-control, you force eyes open to watch the spectacle unfolding between your legs. Black locks bob up and down frantically above your cock, doe-like eyes glazed with pure lust staring right up at you as her cheeks hollow and her jaw unhinges even more to accommodate your length. 

It all becomes too much, and it hits you all at once—having her pump your shaft in the shower, eating her out then fucking her—and you quickly find yourself nearing that inevitable peak.

“Fuck, Wony—” is all you manage to say before your orgasm overtakes your world.

Wonyoung releases your cock from her mouth a split second before you erupt, shooting long, thick strands of hot semen all over her pretty little face. Her face glazes over in pleasure and you are all too happy to watch as strand after strand of cum lands on her cheeks, her pretty little nose, and finally her open mouth and jaw. You watch, through half-lidded eyes drunk with pleasure, as the thick streams of cum flow down her face, dripping onto her upper chest and those perfect breasts of hers. Her face is flushed and her mouth open, as though she herself was on the verge of orgasm (she probably was, and she was going to make it your problem as soon as she got your cum off her face).

You want to remember the way she wipes your cum off her face with the back of her hand, how she licks it all up like a cat licking its own paw before moving to clean the stray strands of cum off the tip and sides of your cock. You want to remember how she rises so gracefully even though she was a sweaty mess, and how she gently takes your hand and guides you back into the shower for another clean up.   

And back under warm water, you want to remember how she kisses you, and how she whispers, “next time, I want that big load in my pussy.”

*

“What?”

And it’s hard to meet Wonyoung’s eyes as you set down the papers from the doctor. You can feel her confusion, her frustration, her rage from across the dining table in your apartment. It isn’t pretty. Nothing about this situation is. 

“It’s a neurological disease,” you tell her, all while you’re looking at the MRI that’s in the middle of the table. You’re really just regurgitating what the doctor told you—it’s the only thing you have the capacity to do right now. “They ran their tests. They told me what I suspected. I’m losing my ability to read and write, to understand language. In 2 years—give or take —I won’t be able to express my thoughts. I’ll be spouting gibberish. What people say, what I see — on pages, street signs, everywhere — they’ll all be unintelligible to me.” She’s silent, and it unnerves you in every way possible. You haven’t even gotten to the worst part of it all. “My mental competence will deteriorate. I’ll have to live off a tube cause I’ll forget how to eat and drink. Dementia will follow shortly.”  

Now would be a great time for her to say something, anything to break this silence. But she is silent, unmoving and reticent in her seat from across you. You have no choice but to gulp and deliver, in your personal opinion, the worst part of it all, “By the time I forget how to breathe I… I would’ve lost all my memories by then.”

She chooses the moment after the last word leaves your mouth to pick up the MRI scan and look at it. 

“So… Everything we’ve built up till now will just… Disappear?” she whispers. She sounds hurt, scared and everything in between. You bite your lower lip. 

“Yes.” There’s no point sugarcoating it, it’s inevitable anyway. Face it now, sulk later… You think that’s the best way to deal with this piece of news. You hope that the matter-of-fact tone of voice that you’ve chosen doesn't betray how frightened you are by the prospect of losing everything you know. “We can’t stop it. It’s in my genes.”

She sets down the scan, and when you look up, you see the tears flowing down her cheeks and it makes you want to cry as well.

She stands up, shoulders her handbag and walks towards the front door. 

“Where are you—” you begin. “I’m going somewhere else to think,” she interjects. 

When she slams the door behind her, you feel like you’ve let her down in so many ways. There’s a burning in your chest that you can’t describe. The first hot tear rolls down your cheek, and you let the rest that well in your eyes flow down without resistance. 

You don’t want to remember what it feels like to be helpless—the emptiness, the rage, the sadness, the confusion is all so overwhelming. But you figure that you’ll have to feel it again at some point down the road. 

Might as well figure out how to cope with it now, when Wonyoung isn't there and you're all alone with your thoughts.

*

When you awaken later that night in your bed in the apartment, it takes you a few moments to determine whether the soft, slim body climbing atop you is real or part of some wonderful dream—but the familiar warmth of your girlfriend, and the soft, pleasant smell of her hair, convinces you that this was all real.

Wonyoung places soft kisses on your neck and jawline, before moving to your mouth and kissing your lips softly. You are still only half awake, but your senses and instincts take over, and you find your mouth welcoming her kiss and returning it with one of your own, your hands moving to either side of her hips and finding, to your surprise, that there was only bare skin there and no clothing.

“Wony…” you begin, as she deepens her kiss, her lips pressing more firmly against yours.

“Shhh,” she answers, “please. I need this. I need you, right now. Please.”

She’s suddenly reappeared after walking out on you, and you have yet to process the slew of emotions that have come your way. Part of you wants to stop her, to talk things out with her so that you could: a) figure out if she was still mad at you and; b) verify that she wasn’t drunk. But the part of you that formed the majority of your conscience knew that she needed comfort as much as you did, and that she needed something to assuage her and make her feel like everything would turn out alright. So you find yourself relaxing underneath her, letting her scent fill your nostrils as her tongue dances with yours.

She straddles you, and your hands begin to run up her naked body, up from her slim thighs to her chest where the ample mounds sat proudly, her nipples erect and stiff. She isn’t wearing any underwear, and your fingers brushing against the slick of her pussy is enough to verify that for you. She’s naked atop of you, kissing you like you just confessed your love to her or like you’re about to go on some mission and never return. It’s not lustful, but it’s full off passion and aims to soothe not stir. 

She breaks the kiss. Her eyes flutter open. In the dark that is pierced by the street lights of the city, you want to remember the way her eyes glimmer and shimmer as she breathes heavily. There’s no alcohol on her breath, and from the way she’s cradling your face, you can infer that she’s not mad at you in the slightest. 

“You okay?” she whispers, and her tone is soft and warm, like that time she spoke in the shower of her hotel about signing that contract with her company so that the two of you could officially start dating. It’s been some time after that, but you still hang on to the way her words made their way to your heart. “I didn’t mean to startle you if I did.”

You respond by nodding, and it’s enough to convey: I’m alright. You brush away the hair that falls in front of her eyes, and you really want to remember how silky smooth her hair feels in your hands. 

“What are you doing?” you ask her, making sure to keep your tone as warm as her own. She blinks, goes silent for a moment, then answers, “I’m making amends.”

She holds your gaze, you hold hers. The staring contest ends when you gently pull her in for another kiss, and you want to remember how she softly moans into your mouth while her thumb, smooth and tender, caresses your cheek.

When the kiss breaks again, her hands snake their way down to your sweats. You assist her in removing your shorts—a very clumsy affair: tangled hands and arms and lots of chuckling. But your cock does finally spring out from your boxers, the ones that have been discarded in the corner of the bed, together with her clothes. When it’s all done, you have the pleasure of witnessing the sight of her slim frame straddling you once more, long legs surrounding you on either side of your thighs while she peppers kisses on your chest. 

“I’m sorry I left you to deal with… Everything. Alone.”  she begins, “I shouldn’t have walked out on you like that… I’m sorry. I hope you aren’t angry”

And from your lying position, you lift a hand to cup her cheek. “We can talk later.”

She gets the message, but bends down and kisses you nonetheless. You’d probably have trouble falling asleep later in the night, and she’d wake up and you’d have this same conversation again. You’d rather have it later than now, not when the wound is still fresh.

Wonyoung lets a soft smile play on her lips. You are slightly aware of her raising her hips, her right hand finding its way between your bodies to grasp your wet, erect shaft, and line it up with her entrance. She breaks the kiss for the third time that night, searches your eyes for approval to continue with this. Was it make up sex? You didn;t know if it was for sure, but it sure as hell felt like it. What you do no for certain is: you’d like to experience this now, and you want to etch this in your memory for as long as you can before it fades with the rest of your mind. 

You give her the slightest of nods, and you feel the head of your cock press against her wet, tight opening. Slowly, carefully, Wonyoung lowers herself down onto your shaft, your cockhead parting her tight lips to impale her pussy. She gasps loudly as she impales herself fully, and she opens her eyes slightly to match your gaze. You brush stray locks of hair away to reveal her face fully, and you bring her mouth back to yours to kiss her deeply. As your tongues duel, she begins to raise her hips, drawing your shaft out of her body before lowering it once more, and soon she has found a soft, slow rhythm as she rides you, grinding her warm, tight body against yours. 

She raises herself upright and lets her hands rest on top of your chest. You’d like to save that face she makes in a supercut of her other memorable faces: eyes closed, lips slightly parted and the wisp of a smile on her lips as she rocks her hips. From where you lie, you watch as Wonyoung takes you in and out of her body with soft grinding motions, riding you slowly, enjoying every entry and exit of your shaft as it fills her over and over in slow, tender strokes that make her shiver. You watch as your shaft appears for a split second or so before driving back into her, each disappearance accompanied by a soft spike of pleasure. As always, she’s letting moans and sighs and gasps tumble freely from half-parted lips as she takes you in and out of her slowly, rocking her hips with innate grace and elegance. All you do is let your hands rest on her thighs, moaning softly to encourage her as she rides you lovingly, tenderly, a far cry from what you’re used to when it comes down to sex with Jang Wonyoung. 

Through the night, your cock glides in and out of that perfect pussy, elicits moans and gasp and sighs and cute little cusses when you hilt yourself deep inside of her and tug a little at her hair. Her hands were always active, sometimes caressing your chest, sometimes on your jaw, sometimes behind your head as she snaked an arm behind your head to keep you locked where you were just so she could sneak in a kiss. You came in her mouth, her ass, her pussy. She came on your fingers, your cock, your mouth. She cussed a lot, almost passed out once or twice. You cussed a lot two, and you caught her when she almost rolled off the bed (the two of you laughed for a minute about that situation before you ended up spooning on the floor, her leg in the air and your cock pumping in and out of her while she had your back to you and your face in her right hand). 

Bottom line: it was wonderful, wonderful make up sex that ended with both of you sweaty and panting and wanting more from each other but you guys just don’t have that energy to keep going. It was a novelty for both of you, and you wanted to remember just how special she could make you feel, even in the impurest of acts. 

*

The flash of the polaroid camera is almost blinding, but you power through and keep your eyes open. Like a child that’s seeing snow for the first time, Jang Wonyoung watches excitedly as the polaroid emerges from the slot in the camera, and she’s all too eager to grab it and lay it face down on the coffee table in your apartment.

“I thought you’re supposed to shake it?” you ask, watch as she fiddles with the camera for a little bit before she snaps a selfie with her newest purchase. She gives you a look that basically translates to, “uh, are you dumb?” and waits for the next polaroid to emerge from the slot before she launches into her lecture. 

“Shaking the polaroid to make it develop faster is a myth,” the way she sounds so official and everything is so cute. You can’t help but smile a little as she sets the other polaroid down. “It shifts the pigments and blurs the photo, but an idiot like you would need a genius like me to tell that to you.”

The remark is clearly meant to be biting, but it’s nothing short of hilarious to you. “When did you become a camera nerd?”

“Ever since I got this,” she lifts the polaroid camera up and hits you with that you’re on camera smile. “Maybe I should do an ad for this brand. Increase their sales, you know?”

She leaves you to think on that and retrieves the first polaroid she took: a picture of you and her on the couch of your apartment. Not the grandest first photo, but hey, a memory is a memory, and you really are just focusing on cherishing those at the moment. As she leaves the couch to clip the polaroid onto the photo rack (a bunch of metal wires on a metal frame with wooden clips to hold photos) she just set up, you grab your journal next to you and flip it to the page you wrote on a few hours before. With your pen (that you now carry around just about everywhere with your journal), you scribble down a new part of today that you want to remember. It was her idea to journal down everything you wanted to remember. 

The entry goes right under the one about Wonyoung’s new camera.

She looks so happy with that new camera. Bet she’s going to go back to the dorm and show it off to all of her members because she’s a fucking child. I hope that…

And you trail off in your writing, What you wanted to say was just on the tip of your tongue just a second ago. Why can’t you remember it? It was literally just in your head a minute ago…

No. 

You shut the journal. It makes a soft yet substantial thud as the leather cover slaps against pages. You place your pen in your pocket, set the journal back down on the couch and stand up to walk towards your girlfriend, who is currently adjusting the angle that the wooden clip holds the polaroid at. She senses you walking up to her, steps aside and makes a space for you to watch her struggle. You would offer help, but you know that it removes half the fun for her when you do something for her. 

She fiddles around a little more, makes a couple of grunting sounds under her breath, curses a little, and next thing you know, she exclaims, “tada!” while pointing at the first occupant of the photo rack. You roll your eyes, throw an arm over her shoulder and look at the slightly blurry photo within the white frame. 

“With the camera,” she tells you, her tone soft and warm like… Like… Fuck. “I hope that we can help our memories live on. Sounds pretty deep huh?”

You can’t help but chuckle in agreement. You take a moment to stare at the two faces that occupy the space in the polaroid, and you hope to God that they will never, ever look foreign to you. It’s a futile prayer, you know, but a glass-half-full mentality is the best chance you have at not spiralling out of control. 

Wonyoung lays her head on your shoulder, silent and all sentimental as she closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath. She lets out a shuddering sigh, and you know that she’s trying not to cry, cause in this situation she’s the one that will end up hurt at the end of it all. You’ll forget the pain of forgetting; she’ll remember the pain of being forgotten. It sucks, but it’s just the way it is. You hug her, hold her close and stroke her hair. You don’t want to forget what she means to you, what you mean to her.

How many more polaroids left till it all ceases to matter?

____________________

Hello! Hope you guys enjoyed this fic. I'm a bit rusty so this one might be a bit funny, but hopefully the style of storytelling I chose didn't fuck you up too bad. Non-linear storytelling will be the death of me. Also: I kinda didn't edit this one too much. My bad hehe.

This was really more of a PSA to cherish the ones you hold close to you, because you never know when they will just disappear. Love the people close to you, cherish them forever.

~Lots of love Nichuuu

[talaok]

Love your writing! Could we please do a cute pregnant reader x Pedro going to and at the SAG awards in honour of our boy winning! 🤍🙏🏼

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x pregnant!reader

a/n: this is how i found out he won btw. I'm so happy for him i cant even, I just love that fucking guy gosh ahhhh (as always this request skipped the line bc it wouldnt make sense in a month)

Gif credits: @tessas-thompson

"thank you" you told him as he emerged from underneath your bump after having slipped your shoes on for you.

Turns out that when you're 7 months and a half pregnant, the most basic tasks like putting on shoes become a two person job.

He only smiled, kissing your belly and then your lips before standing up, offering you a hand to do the same.

"Heels would have looked much better with this dress" you pouted, studying yourself in the mirror, 

You hated ballerinas, but again, you weren't really in the condition to wear anything else.

"You look stunning sugar" he promised, kissing the crown of your head

You couldn't help but snort.

As much as he told you so over and over, together with everyone else in your life... you still struggled to see it, especially now in this uncomfortable dress.

"I look like a stuffed turkey" you sighed "and my boobs are so much bigger than when I first tried this dress, now they look a move away from spilling out"

His eyes twinkled with kindness, with love as he placed his hands on your waist and turned you towards him, away from your reflection.

"You're beautiful sweetheart" he promised, one hand now stroking your cheek as your own hands went to his waist "You're sexy and gorgeous and so fucking hot that if Coco wasn't still here I would demonstrate just how much right here right now" he growled, not giving you time to answer before he kissed you, soft at first, and then once you whimpered, it was like a switch turned and he was fiery and passionate and his left hand trailed to your ass and-

"Pedro!" you scolded him quietly, eyeing Coco on the other side of the room.

"she's seen worse"

She had.

Nonetheless, he took a step back, returning his hand to your waist.

"Thank you" you murmured, looking up into his hazel eyes "and by they way, you look very beautiful too"

You could have sworn you saw red staining his cheeks 

"thank you baby"

You adjusted his shirt, as you got lost in your own mind.

There he was, you beautiful, talented, Emmy, golden globe and SAG award nominated husband, looking every bit as perfect as ever.

And just like that, tears pooled in your eyes

"what's wrong?" he asked, worried

"I just-" you sniffled, trying to fight the tears as your lips trembled "I-I'm so proud of you"

"aw sweetheart" he cooed, half laughing as he wrapped you into his arms.

He'd gotten used to it now, taking care of your over-emotional self was part of his daily routine.

"Y-you just" you cried "you worked so hard a-" another quiet sob "and n- now you're finally getting the recognition you deserve I-"

"I know baby, I know" he cooed, softly kissing the top of your head "thank you" he smiled, his fingers drawing soothing circles on your back "It means a lot to me too,"

"I love you" you murmured, finally raising your head to look at him

"I love you too honey" he kissed you, laughing softly as he pulled back to see tears still running down your cheeks "You're gonna cry the whole night, aren't you?"

"I made the makeup artist use only waterproof products" was your way of saying yes, yes I'm going to, and yes I've already planned ahead

He chuckled, kissing your forehead as his hands trailed to your bump, soft kicks hitting his palms.

"She's excited" he murmured

"She's proud of her daddy too" 

__ __ __

Pedro Pascal.

Pedro Pascal.

Pedro P-

Your husband. they had called your husband.

It was probably comical from the outside, seeing the shock on both your faces as you stared blankly at each other, the way your mouth gaped open, while he slapped a hand onto his, it was like- it was like time had stopped, and the word went completely quiet, until- until-

"oh my god" you breathed, throwing your arms around him and hugging him so tight it probably hurt

He didn't dare speak a word as you leaned away, landing a kiss on his mouth as you gripped his face 

"go" you laughed, grinning like an idiot as tears glimmered into your eyes "go" you urged again, this time, having him comply.

You watched every step, every move, until he was right in front of the microphone, his award in his hands.

"This is umh" he mumbled "This is wrong for a number of reasons-" 

he was in shock, his voice trembling, his eyes watery, but he kept going

"b-but thank you hbo, Bella Ramsey, Craig Mazin, Neil Drukman, Frannie, and -" A shaky sigh fled his mouth, as he chuckled to himself "jeez louise I'm making a fool of myself and my wife is gonna make so much fun of me for it and-"

All the sudden his eyes were on you, 

"my wife" he smiled, his smile brighter than the sun "I wanna thank my beautiful, amazing, intelligent, and perfect wife" he said "I love you y/n, I love you and our daughter more than anything in this world and if I'm here today- If I'm here today is mostly because of you" 

You were shaking from how hard you were crying, from how happy, ecstatic, and euphoric you were for him.

"You've made me the happiest man on this earth, you've made me a dad, you- you're my everything sweetheart" he beamed "so thank you"

He stopped a moment, as if realizing only now this had all really happened

"And now I'm gonna stop talking 'cause I need to get down there to kiss you and try to make you stop crying" he laughed, ending his speech

"thank you, everybody, really, thank you"

__ __ __ 

He did exactly as he said,

he held you tight as he kissed you like the world was gonna end tomorrow, like if he didn't he was gonna die

And when he leaned away- when he leaned away time stopped once again, but as he pressed his forehead to yours, as you lost yourself in each other's eyes, you remembered

"You said it was wrong" you said, both your hands holding his face "but it's not" you shook your head, watching his eyes water "you deserve this baby, you do"

"sweetheart-"

"no" you shut him off, your voice hoarse from the sobs, but it didn't matter, you wanted him to know, you needed him to know "No I need you to understand that you do baby" You smiled "that you worked your ass off and that you deserve every single inch of this award" you took a deep breath, steadying your voice as you looked at him, so many unspoken words traveling between you

"ok?" you asked, finally

"ok" he beamed, kissing you again "God I love you so much"

[8mitsurikanroji8]

𝒦𝓃𝓎 𝒞𝓇𝓊𝓈𝒽 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒸𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓃𝓈

ɪɴꜰᴏ : ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɴʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼

𝘛𝘢𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘳𝘰. 𝘡𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘶. 𝘐𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘶𝘬𝘦. 𝘔𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘰 . 𝘚𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪 . 𝘖𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘪 . 𝘎𝘪𝘺𝘶 . 𝘒𝘺𝘰𝘫𝘶𝘳𝘰 . 𝘔𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘪. 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘣𝘶.

────────────────────────

𝐓𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨 ⋆˙⟡♡

. Not obvious at all ?

. He’s a sweatheart to everyone he meets ahem Tanjiro effect?

. Blushes whenever you get close ><

. Would offer moments with you

. “Y/n want to eat together ?” “Y/n want to train together?” “Y/n want to take a stroll” etc

. You think nothing of it but for him his heart beats fast and is comforted by these actions

. Doesn’t realize he has a crush on you

. Just thinks you have an amazing personality that draws him in

. It’s just that, right ?

. He finally gets the hint when you guys were alone on a stroll catching the sunset. He caught himself staring at you while smiling as you stood and watched the sun fall, painting the sky orange

. His face goes RED when he realizes ><

. He turns away trying to calm himself down

. You notice, concerned, you take your hand and put it on his face thinking he has a fever

. Faces is literally fire

. Other than that you don’t really realize his feelings for you as he seems to be the same. Only asking for more time with you and more blushing but your mind waves it off

. Little do you know he stares at you while your mind is adrift thinking

. His heart beats fast and his eyes soften

. Yep. He likes you.

𝐙𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐮 ⋆˙⟡♡

. Now this one you KNOW [ Sorta ]

. I mean he ask you to marry him only 2 minutes in meeting for the first time

. “YOURE THE PRETTIEST GIRL I HAVE EVER MET. PLEASE MARRY ME!”

. You are dumbfounded with his open admiration

. A little flatter? Yes. Caught off guard ? 100%

. Soon within getting to know him you learn of his lovely dovey personality

. Realizing he is like this with every girl you push aside his comments of marriage and admiration

. I mean he would say that to any one, right ?

. Wrong [ also right tho >< ]

. He would say this to almost every girl he’s met

. But after you ? Oh honey

. You don’t realize how he’s actually fallen for you. Deeply

. Follows you around like a duck

. Someone criticize you [ Even if it’s just critiquing so you know what to work on ]

. That person will not hear the end of it

. “Y/N IS THE BEST PERSON EVER AND IS THE GREATEST DEMON SLAYER SO YOU SHUT UP!”

. Cringey ? Mhm. Cute ? A little.

. If you use sweet words to him [ You mostly say them to everyone tho ] like “honey” “sweetie” “cutie” “sweetheart”

. What color do you want your wedding bouquet?

. He’s planning it all

𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐞 ⋆˙⟡♡

. You don’t know and neither does he ._.

.”FIGHT ME RIGHT NOW. LETS SEE WHO WINS!”

. That’s something you will never hear the end of

. He has no idea about what a crush is nor love

. He just thinks you’re a good fighter and wants to fight you whenever he can

. And you just think he’s being his normal weird self :)

. You don’t mind it [ usually ]

. He likes to eat with you

. If you both are heading to a mission and forget to pack yourself food

. He will eat his infront of you and say

. “HAHA IDIOT”

. You roll your eyes ignoring him

. Suddenly his food is being shoved down your throat no comment added

. You better not ask about it

. Your ears won’t be able to handle anymore of his yelling blabber

. But you take his action to heart and enjoy it

. His face is a bit pink

. BUT only because his boar head is warm, right ?

. Sureeee ._.

𝐌𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐨 ⋆˙⟡♡

. Who are you again ?

. Oh right. The one who gives him the hebegebees

. Jkjkjk

. well

. He’s too lost in the clouds to realize his feelings for you or even realize you’re the only one who’s company doesn’t annoy him or pushes away

. And you don’t realize because his vocabulary is just so grand

. “Mhm” “No” “Yes “I believe so” “What did you say?” “I assume” “Could be” “I have no opinion”

. You tag along him to the point where others know

. “Oh there’s Muichiro. Y/n must be near”

. And vice versa

. He doesn’t realize how close together you guys alway are

. When you’re away on a mission he finds himself with a unfamiliar feelings

. Oh you’re back! Never mind the feeling is gone nothing to worry about !

. You just like his character and enjoy spending time with him

. He won’t realize but he thinks the same

. And more ><

. Both of these are unaware to you and him

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢 ⋆˙⟡♡

. Oh boy

. You may be strong both physically and mentally

. You’re enduring both his need to constantly train and his vicious tongue

. You most likely match his adittuide

. Oh he’s got something to say? So do you

. Everyone believes he HATES you

. I mean he does insult you and always wants to fight

. Poor guy doesn’t know what it is he’s feeling

. He didn’t really see romantic love in his childhood

. So he just stuffs those fast heart beat, pink cheeks and fuzzy feeling deep down and try’s to ignore it

. He doesn’t realize but one of the reason he always want to spear with you is because you guys spend close time together

. Also because he’s Sanemi

. And you being you, you don’t mind and take it as another challenge to conquer

𝐎𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐢 ⋆˙⟡♡

. You talk and he doesn’t

. Perfect match <3

. Here goes another damage one !

. His love language is definitely quality time

. You’re eating ? Under [ or up ] a tree? Simply walking around the garden ?

. Oh look there he is too!

. He definitely catches on to his physical and emotional reactions to you

. And you just thinks you guys are the closets of friends !

. You guys always seem to travel together

. Even in your free time you are found with him strolling around a village together

. Some one insults you?

. You’ll just ignore it and move on

. He doesn’t. Pray for that person.

. Kaburamaru seems to have also found a fondness for you

. He may be jealous of that fact

𝐆𝐢𝐲𝐮 ⋆˙⟡♡

. You don’t know what the others are talking about

. Giyu is lovely to talk to !

. He may be one of your favorite hasira to spend time with ♡

. He’s gentle and kind spoken [ with his little use of words ]

. He pays for your meals no matter how hard you insist and listen to you ramble for hours on end with no sign of annoyence

. Why would the others hate him?

. He’s like this with everyone, right ?

. Oh honey.

. You take these actions as part of his character, while he assume he act this way because of his admiration for you being so nice to him !

. I mean you are one of the few who do talk to him without insult

. It never clicks for him what the feeling really is

. That’s until one day

. [ Shinobu ] “Good evening Tomioka”

. [ Giyu ] “Evening Shinobu”

. [ Shinobu ] “You look as bland and boring as ever. How are you”

. [ Giyu ] *no answer*

. [ Shinobu ] “I must say without your little friend you somehow appear more dull. It is odd to catch a moment with you two apart”

. [ Giyu ] *nothing*

. [ Shinobu ] *Giggles* “It’s almost like you two are in a romantic relationship with how close you are.”

. His heart stops with that comment

. And his brain finally realize the feeling

. I mean he’s never felt this way before ♡

. His eyes trail off and soften, catching Shinobu attention

. [ Shinobu ] *Giggles* “ I was only just kidding. It’s not like someone like Y/n could admire your dull personality”

. Oh. Right.

𝐊𝐲𝐨𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐨 ⋆˙⟡♡

. “YOU ARE ONE SKILLED SLAYER” “I ADMIRE YOUR TECHNIQUES” “GREAT JOB” “YOU HAVE INCREDIBLE SKILLS” “WONDERFUL WORK”

. He praises you non stop

. I mean who wouldn’t with your talent !

. You take his compliments as a part of his cheerful personality and respect it

. And maybe take a bit of flattery with it ><

. He does too

. He just admires you skill is all

…….

. He offers to dine with you or take you out to eat

. “Y/N WOULD YOU LIKE TO SPEND TIME AND DINE WITH ME!?”

. [ You ] “Oh um, sure okay!”

. “SPLENDID, LETS GET ON OUR WAY!”

. He always ask where you are

. Remembers the small things

. You like that color ? Oh look he just bought you a keychain with it. That’s your favorite food? Guess that’s where you guys are eating tonight

. His acts of romantic feelings fly over both of your guys head

. But not to anybody else

. *Kyojuro and you side by side laughing together*

. [ Slayer 1 ] “Are they together?”

. [ Slayer 2 ] “isn’t it obvious ?”

𝐌𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐢 ⋆˙⟡♡

. You guys are actually inspectable

. Always together <3

. She loves your company !

. Mitsuri finds everything about you adorable

. From they way you eat to your fighting techniques

. You make her feel safe ♡

. More touchy with you than others [ expect hugs, face pokes and hand holding when she’s around ]

. She definitely realizes her feelings for you

. She is the love hashira after all

. But she doesn’t act on it afraid you won’t feel the same and forever ruin the relationship you guys already have

. She’s oblivious to the shared love you have for one another

. *Mitsuri thoughts* Oh they just see me as a friend

. Mhm okay ._.

𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐮 ⋆˙⟡♡

. This one is a slow burn

. Every mission with you she seems to oddly enjoy

. Whenever you walk into her estate she feels a warmth

. Her heart flutters whenever you hug her or compliment her

. Your smile makes her smile

. She always watches you [ not in a creepy way >< ]

. She just finds herself drunk on the way your eyes light up

. Once it hits her why she feel this way poor girl try’s to ignore it

. Afraid to allow herself to get too close in this field of work

. But the heart wants what is wants ♡

. You begin to dine after missions together

. Have light conversation when running into each other

. And occasionally meet ups outside of work

. She compliments you often

. Once you start to spend more time together she will accidentally graze her hand over you thigh or your fingers just to see you reaction

. This girl knows what she’s doing

────────────────────────

A/n

ᴀʜʜ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜰɪɴɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ !! ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ꜰʀᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴘɪɴɪᴏɴ. ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ <3 ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ꜰᴏʀɢᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇ 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

────────────────────────────────────────

[iateyourparents]

hello! could you write johnnie guilbert fluff? maybe a scenario where him and fem!reader are spending a day together (filming a video, doing random stuff) just being two people in love and jake and tara tease them and call them a married couple

deaf, mute and blind | j.g.

pairing: johnnie guilbert x fem!reader

summary: you, johnnie and jake are recording a new challenge video.

warnings: use of y/n, bad writing and grammar(i’m sorry but english isn’t my first language)

an: hi, thank you <33 hope you like it!

pictures are from pinterest :)

“Hi guys, it’s me, Tara, and today I’m here with Jake, y/n and Johnnie.” Tara introduced you and you all waved to the camera.

“Hi!” you greeted her viewers.

“Today I’m gonna torture my guests… No, but I wish.” she pouted and you all laughed “Today, my guests will be playing into deaf, mute and blind but…they will have many challenges and quests to do throughout the day. But they main goal is to do shopping and bake me cookies! Any words guys?”

“I hope I get deaf, cause I don’t think I can go much longer with them talking.” you rolled your eyes looking at Jake and your boyfriend.

“Hey!” Johnnie gasped pretending to be offended, placing hand on his chest “That hurt love.”

You only rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile that was forcing its way onto your face.

“Alright, so now they will draw sticks and get to know what senses will be taken from them!” Tara showed her viewers three sticks and then she turned to you “Ladies first.”

You took the one in the middle and immediately looked at written words.

“Yeah! I’m deaf today!” You did a little winning dance. Next one choosing stick was Johnnie and he got mute.

“Oh, so I will be blind.” Jake stated “That’s good actually, at least I don’t have to look at your ugly faces.” he smirked and you laughed.

Tara handed you all your things - blindfold for Jake, duck tape for Johnnie and earphones for you.

“Let me also add, that the person who won’t do the most of their mini challenges, has to take a cold shower on the street!” Tara smiled mischievously.

“Is this enough to charge her with domestic abuse?” Jake asked kind of scared.

When everyone was ready Tara started talking to the camera and you could only guess she was explaining to people what you gonna do and not long later Johnnie took your hand to let you know you were going out. You both helped blindfolded Jake to the car and Tara drove you to the nearest store.

She turned on the camera and pointed it at you and Johnnie. You didn’t see anyone talking so you decided to speak “I think Tara already told you guys but we’re making cookies so now we have to find all of the needed ingredients.” you informed and Tara pointed the camera to Johnnie who was gesturing towards some alley. He took your hand and started dragging you there with Tara going behind you but you suddenly stopped, remembering something.

You quickly turned around and jogged to Jake to walk him to Johnnie and Tara. He said something that made Tara laugh and Johnnie’s arms shudder in a silent laugh.

You really started to regret wanting to be deaf one, because not hearing anything yet seeing it, made you frustrated. Also, not hearing Johnnie made you kinda sad. But atleast you listened to your favorite songs.

You all went to grocery alley where Jake gave you his phone so you and Johnnie could find all ingredients for cookies.

Tara was pointing the camera on you all the time and you decided to speak from time to time in case she and Jake weren’t saying anything.

“So we will be doing chocolate chip cookies. Or rather we will be trying to instruct Jake to do it without hurting himself or poisoning us.” you felt a light push on your shoulder and you laughed seeing how Jake was struggling with trying to not miss your form while hitting.

Johnnie swatted Jake’s hand when he tried to hit your shoulder again and side hugged you while looking for flour.

“Johnnie, we need flour for cakes, this one is for bread.” you told him and he gave you a ‘what the hell’ face and you knew that if he could talk and you hear, he would be asking about the difference.

“Alright, I think we got everything.” you stated when you found everything and you all went to cashier’s stands where everyone was looking at you like at idiots, but that wasn’t anything new with Johnnie and Jake.

Tara quickly paid when it was yours turn and you and Johnnie walked Jake to the car.

When you were at home you quickly started to prepare kitchen for your baking.

Suddenly, you felt someone tugging gently at your arm and you saw Johnnie pointing ahead of you. You saw Tara pointing the camera at you all and you took it as a clue to start talking.

“Alright, so now we will be trying to instruct Jake how to make cookie dough, wish us luck!” you smiled sarcastically.

You somehow were cooperating well, Johnnie was showing you the recipe and you were reading it for Jake who then with your and yours boyfriend help were making most of the work.

When cookies were in the oven you didn’t have anything better to do so you sat on the floor in front of the oven and you were just looking at the cookies.

Some time later Johnnie joined you, sitting next to you and placing his head on your shoulder. You hugged him into your side and he gladly snuggled into you, kissing your shoulder.

You sat there for a few minutes, when Tara came to you with a camera and some bowl and told something to Johnnie and then showed you her phone, where she wrote in the notes that now you will be doing random challenges before you could take the cookies out from the oven. It would decide who is the loser of the video.

You all stood in the living room and Tara came to you with the bowl and you took one piece of paper.

“I’ve got ‘activity without your sense’” you read it for them and viewers out loud and then showed the piece of paper to the camera.

Moment later Tara gave you another paper, which turned out to be an instruction what your activity was.

“So I have to call a random contact and try to have normal conversation with that person. That will be hard.” you sighed “Can Johnnie and Jake help me? Like by gesturing?” You looked at Tara and she only nodded.

You looked at the camera and smiled “I’m actually kinda scared that they will gesturing wrong things and I will make a fool of myself.” you laughed and you could see Tara snorting.

Your challenges were done, it wasn’t that bad or at least you were hoping so.

Then you took the cookies out of the oven and tried them when they weren’t hot. They were really good.

“Teamwork makes a dream work, i guess.” you smiled at the camera.

Then you could finally take off the earphones and you were never as grateful for hearing Jake and Johnnie as now.

“God, it’s so good to hear people again. I missed your voice.” you told Johnnie who smiled widely at you and kissed your cheek.

“I’m glad to see again, but I’m scared of how many bruises I’ve got today.” Jake laughed while still trying to get use to the light in the room.

“Alright guys, they made it.” Tara smiled at the camera “I can’t with how cute y/n and Johnnie were today. Literally goals. You were like and old married couple.” she giggled and you smiled.

“So, who’s the loser?” Jake asked after few minutes.

“You Jake.” You laughed “You didn’t do any of your challenges correctly.”

“That’s true.” Tara smirked “You will do your punishment later.”

You stopped recording for some time so Tara could get all of the needed things for Jake’s punishment, so you and Johnnie went to sit on the couch while hugging.

“I really missed your voice today.” you admitted again quietly.

“And I missed talking to you.” he smiled “And kissing you.” he kissed you.

[euaphoric]

🕸️ KINKTOBER - DAY 2. 🕸️

Differences

[PAIRING] haechan x f!reader

[GENRE] college au, popular jock x loner, pwp [WARNINGS] angst?, smut, lowkey perv!hc, dry humping, premature ejaculation

summary: haechan was everything you’re not: popular, wealthy, multitalented, and otherworldly attractive. you despise people that get everything handed to them, wanting nothing to do with him— until you get paired up as partners for a project together…

wc -> 2.2k

A/N: so uhhh, this was very much not supposed to be this long but sometimes i just keep going and don’t know when to stop tbh .-. alsoo i hit 1k followers today thanks sm it rlly means a lot 🫶🫶

kinktober m.list

“fuckk, it’s pouring!” you shrill from the sudden heavy downpour, hovering your chemistry textbook over your head which barely shields anything. of course you didn’t predict these weather conditions (and didn’t bother to check your weather app beforehand) so you thought not to bring a jacket. it’s not like it was some light drizzle going on either, it was raining buckets outside— and you were so fucked. you pick up your speed, practically sprinting to the bus stop, completely forgetting that haechan was right behind this whole time. it honestly still hasn’t fully clicked in your mind that you were now lab partners and had to work together for the entire remaning semester. you weren’t thrilled about it, frankly, you were hoping anyone but haechan but since you have the worst possible luck known to existence, you got paired with him by a random draw. now you’re stuck with him for the next 3-4 months…

“damn, i think that’s the first time i’ve ever heard you curse,” haechan quickly catches up with you, taken aback by your choice of language, “wait- here, take this.” he pulls his football letterman jacket off his body, slinging it around your shoulders. “uh- no it’s okay, i’ll be fine.. don’t worry!” you shook your head to refuse but haechan just kept insisting, telling you how he was raised to be a ‘gentleman’ and it’d be morally wrong of him not to offer his jacket to a woman when it’s raining. “just take it y/n, it’s not gonna kill ya!” he promises, only satisfied once you finally cave in after numerous attempts going back and forth. you may have let him win this round but you definitely won’t be going easy on him next time, that’s for certain.

yeah haechan may be nice and all but that doesn’t make him a saint or any different than everyone else, he’s just a regular guy to you, nothing more or less. you’ve known him for a grand total of 2.5 days and on the first day of class you just so happened to be assigned as permanent lab partners with him — the most popular guy at uni practically. haechan was the topic of every girl’s discussion, whether it was wondering if he came from a loaded family, is single or has a girlfriend, or how he can afford a $4,500 pair of sneakers, theres always a spotlight drawn to him somehow. frankly you didn’t give a rat’s ass about any of that stuff, you didn’t care much to make a lot of friends nor socialize with everyone. ever since middle school you’ve preferred to be alone, it’s not something you’re embarrassed about, you just value your education more than temporary friendships.

when it was announced that you’d be partners with haechan word spread around quickly, you couldn’t stand attention being cemented on you but haechan simply thrived off that notion. he craved all the gossip about him because he’s an attention whore— at least, that was your impression of him when you first met. you personally have no interest in getting to know him further than finishing this project, he probably has dozens of girls in his phone he can call to hook up with every day if he wanted to. ‘it’s just for one semester y/n you can do this… you’ll be fine.’ you keep telling yourself over and over. after what felt like ages the bus finally came, saving you from standing in silence with him any longer than necessary. soon as the door opens you make a dash for it, scanning your bus pass and looking for a seat within the crowded aisles. there just so happened to be 2 free open seats near the back so you scurry to sit down as haechan follows, taking the seat next to yours.

just as you were about to put in your airpods and shut out the world, haechan turns over to ask something. “so.. why’d you want me to come to your dorm instead of mine?” his face gets unreasonably close to you, completely invading your personal space. “it’s just.. more quiet i guess.” you awkwardly reply, slowly backing away from his overbearing presence. you must admit though, whatever cologne he was wearing smelled really good. “why’re you assuming that my place would be loud? do me and my friends really seem like that much of obnoxious assholes?” he cocks his eyebrow, confused by your lack of enthusiasm. it’s not unusual for haechan to be uninterested in someone but it’s pretty rare for him to find the opposite. the more you push him away the more he wants to know about you, your cold personality fueled a burning desire inside that he hasn’t felt in ages. it’s like having a one-sided crush, he enjoys the chase of going after what’s unattainable, he loves a challenge.

˖⁺‧₊˚ᰔᩚ˚₊‧⁺˖

“have you always been this quiet your whole life?” haechan proceeds to bother you yet again while you’re writing notes for the project down. you thought flat out ignoring him would work in your favor, he’s already asked about five questions already and you’ve yet to answer any of them — he doesn’t give up as easy as you thought however. “no seriously, did i do something? is there a reason why you act so cold towards me?” there he fucking goes again. if he actually paid attention he’d notice that you don’t exclusively treat him any differently than everyone else, you didn’t want a partner for this project and rather work on it alone from the start. he’s so full of himself that he can’t even fathom the idea of someone not wanting to shower every ounce of their undying love and attention for him. “god… do you ever shut up?” you lowly mutter under your breath, getting up from your table to go grab something. thankfully you don’t think he heard you, all you got in return was a simple “huh?” still not acknowledging his other questions, you come back with a pumpkin spice candle, setting it on your window sill to light it. you may or may not have a slight obsession with candles, you’ve hoarded so many to the point you lost count but since it’s fall why not bring out your favorite scent of the season. plus it’ll ventilate the room so you don’t have to be reminded of haechan’s strong cologne, which you actually liked but refuse to give his already inflated ego such a compliment.

after an hour or so of drafting outlines for the project you take a break to get some water, coming back to your motionless partner with a bored look on his face. he made a few contributions but you mostly did the work, which you don’t mind doing anyway since you’re confident in your academic abilities. you’ve been sensing haechan’s eyes on you all night, as you took a sip from the glass you feel the most intense awkwardness, you’re hoping he asks something dumb at this point. “are you a virgin?” he blurts out on a whim. you almost spit out your water, there’s no way in hell he just asked you that. “wait— w-what?” all of a sudden you’re a flustered mess and can’t talk properly, why would he want to know something so personal like that anyway? “ah, so you do talk!” haechan belts out a chuckle, gloating in his small victory, “i just wanted a reaction out of ya and finally got it!” you wanted to wipe that smirk clean off his face, maybe you were right to call him a pretentious asshole the first day you met. “y’know i can report you to the board for asking your lab partner weird sexual questions, right?” you try your best to sound intimidating but it doesn’t seem to faze him one bit, instead he continues leaning in closer. “stop pretending like you don’t secretly like it,” your skin collects goosebumps when his palm lands on your thigh, “‘cause for someone who supposedly doesn’t like me is acting awfully comfy with me right now.” his grin widens as he looks down, you couldn’t believe your eyes when you realize both your legs were intertwined together under the table.

you shriek in a panic, scooting your chair away to the far end of the table, “in your fucking dreams. i actually don’t, perv.” scoffing at his boldness, this is definitely a guy who thinks he can have his way with anyone he wants. even if you did find him attractive that still doesn’t mean you inherently want to sleep him. his face is really pretty though, like way above average, you 100% get why he’s so popular and some part of you wants to find out what all the hype’s about. a little test drive wouldn’t hurt anything, right? “awe, you sound so cute when you swear,” he teases, yet again moving close to you with no regards of personal space, “would sound better if you were moaning it as i fill you up with my cock.” his eyes stare at your lips intensely, wanting more than anything to violently make out with you. that last sentence shouldn’t have made you as wet as it did, but you couldn’t help yourself anymore, you were done trying to fight it. as your lips crash into his, a surge of heat rushes through your body, tilting your head slightly sideways to gain more access. his soft lips felt buttery smooth against yours, melting instantly as he brings his hands to wrap around your waist firmly.

as you run your fingers along the entirety of his length, slowly rubbing his shaft through his jeans. you hear how pretty he sounds when he moans, loving every bit of it in your ear. you keep stroking and feeling haechan’s cock, choosing when to go slow or fast. it made you undoubtedly wet knowing someone like you could turn him on, feeling how stiff his cock got soon as you touched him, pulsating in the palm of your hand. his face scrunches as if he just sucked on a lemon, erratically rutting his hips up as his breathing gets heavier. “ah- shiiit..” he was so far gone, gritting his teeth from the intense pleasure when he suddenly jerks up from out of your grasp. “dammit, dammit, dammit” he whispers under his breath, you strike a confused look when he flinches from you trying to touch him again. it doesn’t make sense how eager he was just a minute ago but is now doing a literal 180. “i already came..” the guilt and embarrassment was apparent in his voice. how could a girl like you even make a guy cum just from simply touching them? he’s definitely had much more experience than you ever will. “i’m not a virgin, are you?” you decide to finally entertain his question, you’ve got nothing left to lose anymore. he definitely wasn’t expecting that answer at all, he was really hoping he could be your first. “yeah, me neither, but you sure do make me feel like one again ..” this is probably the first time something like this has ever even happened to him.

for the past 15 minutes you’ve been grinding up and down against haechan to get his dick hard again, which didn’t take long to do at all. closing your eyes in pleasure as his teeth grazed your skin, biting gently on the sweet spot of your neck. “nnghh~” you mewl, feeling so needy and helpless at the moment, all you could do was continue sensually rolling, massaging, and rubbing your aching core onto his clothed crotch. you really did want more but you couldn’t give it all up too easily, this is all he’s getting from you until you officially say so. “fuck.. feels ssoo gooood..” haechan groans, hips bucking at any slightest movement you make, he needs to fuck your tight cunt so bad. “y-yeah, feels good? wan’ m-more?” you brace your shaky hands on both his shoulders for leverage, feeling the tent in his pants stiffen as you rock your hips in sync with his. the fact you two were acting like some animals in heat, going at it and humping each other fully clothed was surreal to you. it had to be that intoxicating cologne he wore that reeled you in. as you were whimpering and crying out to him, haechan keeps expressing how much he needs you, how badly he wants to be inside. “need this throbbing little cunt to swallow my cock like right now.. i wanna be buried so deep inside.. need to feel your walls clench as you twitch and cum around my shaft, pretty please…” he grunts, already completely whipped and ready to risk it all for you. it didn’t take much for him to cum the second time either, granted he lasted longer than the first time but still wasn’t his best. the way you roll your hips and moan out his name was enough to get the blood rushing through his veins, pushed to his breaking point once again.

you came with him the second time, tangling your fingers in his messy brown hair. a string of curses leave your mouth as you chase your high, still slowly grinding on top of him as you rest your head on his shoulder. “now i understand why you’re so quiet..” he murmurs, veiny hands still finding purchase around your delicate waist. you of course wondered why, which he simply responded with “‘cause your actions do all the talking for you instead.”

[almalvo]

About An Official Spiderverse Artist...

Please do not just scroll past this post; read it.

If you guys follow me on twitter, you probably already know.

But if you dont or still want to read this anyway - here you go:

I aint big, but I got a growing platform that I see as important for me to use as a force for things that matter.

So here I am.

And I got something to say about a certain "artist".

There are so many fucked up people who call themselves artists who are so heavily worshipped by us who both get and or dont get outed in the world for things they do and for their general piss-poor behaviours and persons.

Im here to talk about one in particular (and certainly wont be the last).

There is an artist that basically EVERYONE here has seen art from before, printed in the official Sony artbooks too.

If you have seen this:

Then you have seen this artist before.

His name is Alberto Mielgo. He goes by @/pinkman_himself on twitter.

He is a HUGE part of the art direction and stylisation of the spiderverse movies, if that isnt already obvious. Because he was the former original art director of Into The Spiderverse.

Yes. Former.

Cuz he got "mYsTeRiOuSlY fiReD" from Sony 2 years into pre-production and completely removed from the project.

You may have also seen this character before:

Yes. THAT asian character from Netflix's Love Death + Robots, from the episode "The Witness".

Familiar? Yeah. Because this episode was also made by the same guy, Mielgo.

I aint going to talk about what happens in that episode and hesitate to encourage anyone to watch it - cuz all it basically is is a megalo-misogynistic, assault "glorified for the sake of aRtT", racially fetishised showcase of this crazy makeup/haired bdsm stereotyped asian girl sex worker who essentially gets murdered over and over and over after running for her life completely naked through the city for all of us to see for some fucking reason.

BUt yeah anyways, you can see it in the first pic, but Ill put it here to show more clearly - this here is NOT the character from LDR. But I can understand why you might think so:

Yeah. You read that name in the bottom right corner correctly. This is Peni Parker. His concept art of Peni Parker. A 13 YEAR OLD CHILD. Lookin suspiciously like and dressed as the adult person from LDR with ALSO the crazy hair, make up - WITH AN O-RING CHOKER AND BALL-GAG LIPSTICK (BDSM).

13. year. old. child.

This man only sees east asian women this way.

He likes them crazy, sexy, broken--

and young.

Cuz this man also wrote this on a now-deleted post on his website:

Yeah. He, this whole ass middle-aged white cishet male spaniard thirstin for kids since he was 18 for 12 year old girls.

Cuz 12 year old girls are a fuckin "KNOCK OUT" when they grow up, when they ripen up into adulthood, to this man Alberto Mielgo, aka @/pinkman_himself, this creature.

And if auctioning NFTs isnt bad enough (cuz yes, ofc he does that too - its literally the first option on his website) -

His entire fucking portfolio is of drawing women he had sex with.

His fucking PROFESSIONAL PORTFOLIO is all of painting and drawing women in very compromising, questionable ways of the VERY SAME WOMEN HE HAD SLEPT WITH THROUGH HIS LIFE.

They look as creepy as they are.

But the scariest part?

While I myself had only just found out about this some days ago as of writing this, some of us have known about this man and his antics for years.

And he keeps getting greenlit by the industry, over and over and over; winning awards, getting respected, praised, admired, even by fellow at-home artists like many of you out there if you dont already do so.

And nothing will happen to him cuz he is a white cishet male artist who has money and a following and connections and influence and power.

So yeah.

I just wanted to talk about a certain official Spiderverse artist to just let yall know there are freaks everywhere, and that no matter how small it is, it's people like me and you who need to do what we can to keep up awareness and warn our communities and protect our most vulnerable.

My suggestion is to take heed of what I said, ask questions about everything you will ever see again from anyone around you, no less the industry, THINK for once, and actually give a fuck.

Keep away.

Do not support this man.

But the decision is ultimately yours.

Stay awake, yall.

-------

(His face, publicly available as his imdb profile):

scary.

[sanguineterrain]

for the dc prompts you reblogged:

can i request jason todd x reader "someone likes being pinned down" + A flirting with B while sparring to throw them off their tracks

where reader is also a vigilante??

thank you so much 🩷

very sexy prompts thank u 😌

jason todd x gn!reader. r and robin!jay were friends, r doesn't know jason is alive/red hood but jason knows r is a vigilante. r's alias is 'nocturne' (if that's already in use oh well lmao). fighting/sparring, jason is mega in love with you as usual!!

all fics at @sanguinelibrary

****

"Still blindly following the Bat, huh?"

You land in a crouch on the rooftop, just like how Nightwing taught you. The Red Hood doesn't look at you, digging through two duffel bags. He doesn't even draw his gun, like you've seen him do with virtually every other vigilante in Gotham.

You wait, ready to spring into action. But Hood doesn't stop what he's doing. Slowly, you rise.

"What... do you mean?" you ask.

"I mean, why are you traipsing around Gotham as a bat-adjacent? Who are you s'posed to be anyway? Goth Bat? Alternative Scene Bat?"

"I'm Nocturne," you say, shoulders rising to your ears. Rude. You thought the chunky boots and star over your suit's eye mask were inspired.

Red Hood lifts a hand. "Don't get me wrong, I dig the threads. I'm just surprised B didn't have an aneurysm over the sequins. Then again, Discowing did do it first..."

Your first two meetings with the infamous Red Hood have been similar in that he's never very concerned about you stopping him (ouch), but he also isn't callous or cruel with you like he is with the other vigilantes.

Case in point: the last person who cornered Hood on a roof was Red Robin. Hood shot him in the shoulder before he could land.

In short, he's perplexing as hell.

Batman's forbidden the rest of the team to confront Hood without backup. And you're technically not supposed to be on patrol tonight. But if you can intercept Hood, that'll be a huge win.

Hood keeps on packing the duffels. You hesitate, then step forward.

"Get away from the bags," you say. "I won't ask twice."

Hood looks at you. "Nocturne's a pretty cool name, I'll admit. And I like the boots. But I still think you oughta call it quits."

He zips up the bags, stands, and kicks them to the corner of the roof.

"Because you're just that unstoppable?" you ask, hands curling into fists.

"Yeah. But mostly 'cause I know you're made for so much more than this, sweetheart."

And that is the third and perhaps most bewildering thing about your encounters with Red Hood: you've gotten the creeping feeling that he... likes you.

Which is ridiculous, and if you ever breathed a word of that to anybody, Batman would probably check you into Arkham.

You take another careful step forward. Hood leans against the railing and folds his arms.

"This the part where you apprehend and hogtie me for innocently packing a duffel bag?" he asks.

You glare. "Innocent? I know you're making a weapons delivery because I know you've been waiting for Batman to be off-planet to make it."

"Clever. Told ya you're too good for this," Hood says. "Should be in college with those smarts, not playing maid for Batman."

"Are you lecturing me?"

"I'm advising you as your friendly neighborhood drug lord. Lecturing makes me sound like a guy who's got too much money and too big of a savior complex to understand that the way he fights injustice is fundamentally flawed."

"Sounds personal."

Hood laughs. "Honey, you have no idea."

You strike.

Hood parries your first attack easily, which you expect. The truth is that whoever trained Hood cut no corners and you're still relatively new at vigilantism. It's only by the grace of God that Hood hasn't left you to bleed out on a roof.

You kick his shin, but Hood turns on the instep and blocks. You go for his shoulder, where his armor separates to give him more movement. But Hood's ready for that too, and he catches your arm.

"Gotta keep that right arm up," he says. "Surprised no one's trained that outta you yet."

You elbow Hood in the throat. He coughs and lets go.

"Like that?" you ask, muscles tense with adrenaline.

Hood makes a sound that might be a laugh, still choked from your hit. "Just like that, honeylove. Good job."

"I don't need feedback," you snap, immediately going back in for another hit.

"Sorry. I'll make this quick then. I do have a delivery."

On the next strike, you advance, using a technique Nightwing drilled into your head for bigger opponents. Hood goes down and you land atop him.

"Oh, that's a Nightwing takedown if I've ever seen one," Hood says beneath you.

You're close enough that you can hear his breathing through the decoder. Pride swells in you at taking him down. Not even Batman has managed such a thing.

Hood is warm and big. His shoulder span alone dwarfs you. When you'd seen him from afar, fighting Batman or Nightwing, you'd been terrified.

But now, perhaps stupidly, you feel comfortable. Annoyed, but safe. Something about him reminds you of home. Makes your stomach flip in a good way.

Which is terrifying.

"You're coming with me," you say, reaching for your cuffs.

"If only. Unfortunately, you've forgotten a teensy weensy detail, dearest."

Hood bucks you off, legs first. Your feet fly into the air, which allows him to flip your positions. You wince, preparing for a concussion upon impact as you go down. But Hood cushions your fall and neatly rolls you over. Your back is pressed into the concrete, hands locked over your head. Hood's weight holds down your hips and legs.

He looms over you, easily holding you down. Your face grows hot.

"How did—" You squirm in his grip. "I had you!"

"Weight distribution, sweets. Tell Al—one of the Bats to add weight to your boots. They keep you light on your feet, but you were depending on them too much to hold me down, and we ain't evenly matched there."

You thrash in his grip. "Hood, I swear to fucking—"

"Easy. Don't sweat it, sweetheart. You haven't been doing this for very long. That was a good takedown, regardless. I'm impressed."

"Screw you."

He hums. You can tell he's smiling under the helmet. "Sorry, I forgot. You don't like feedback."

Hood strokes the inside of your wrist. You aren't sure he's aware he's doing it. His grip is firm but light. He's not trying to hurt you. Your pulse is in your throat.

For a moment, you're both still. Hood seems caught in a trance, like even Superman couldn't tear him away from this moment. From you. And it's not that you're afraid, you're just... you're...

"How do you know so much about me?" you blurt, because it's puzzled the whole team. "You been spying on me?"

"'Course not. Unlike your boss, I respect privacy. No, I did research. I recognized you from when you'd hang around that second Robin. Shrimpy little guy. What'd ya even see in him?"

The grief overtakes you before you can control your mouth.

"You don't know anything about me or him," you spit. "Don't fucking talk about him. He had more skill and goodness in his pinkie than you'll have in a lifetime. And you could learn a thing from him about changing a city. He'd tell you that fear alone never works."

Hood is quiet for a long moment. Then he speaks.

"Where's your distress signal?"

"Why would I tell—"

Hood shifts over you, cutting off your reply. He pulls a ziptie around your wrists. They're not even a little tight. You could probably slip out of them if you had five minutes.

"I know you're not s'posed to be out tonight," he whispers in your ear. "'S not your patrol night. Good thing you're my favorite."

You nearly swallow your tongue. "How do you—I don't—"

"Uh-huh. So you be good from now on, yeah? Wouldn't wanna have to keep tying you up like this."

You lift your chin. "We'll switch positions soon enough."

Hood snorts. "Okay, I know you heard how that soun—"

"I heard it," you say grumpily. "Just get on with it. Jerk."

"As you wish. Distress signal?"

"Collar."

Hood presses the button under your collar. Your breath hitches as his gloved fingers graze your neck.

"Oh? Does somebody like getting pinned down?"

"In your dreams."

Hood laughs. He zipties your ankles last, then sits you upright against the railing.

"Not too tight, are they?" he asks. "I know you've got a circulation problem."

You squint. "You seem to know a lot about me. Not fair that I don't know much about you, Hood."

"'S just business, honeylove," he says, scooping up his duffel. "Now I don't wanna see you in a suit anymore, comprende?"

"Or you'll what? Shoot me?"

Hood pauses, eerily still. He turns those glowing white eyes upon you. Your heart picks up.

"No," he says, so serious it startles you. "But someone else might. And I don't want you to face the same fate as your good friend Robin."

He vaults over the railing before you can respond. Your head thunks lightly as you lean back and wonder if you're really just business to the Red Hood.

(pt 2)

[suiana]

✎ yandere! artist headcanons . . .

✎ warnings . . .

― obsessiveness, slight nsfw, etc.

(gn! reader x male yandere! oc)

‎

✎ yandere! artist who is the school's best artist, winning art competitions left and right as if they were nothing to him.

✎ yandere! artist who at first ignores you because you didn't stand out to him.

✎ yandere! artist who suddenly faces a massive art block and cannot find it in himself to draw anything until you carelessly intrude into the art room that the school gifted to him and asked him whether the drawings in the room all belonged to him. he was so shocked that all he could muster was a tiny yes.

✎ yandere! artist who becomes so inspired by you that his art block is no more and he comes up with yet another masterpiece.

✎ yandere! artist who thanks you unwillingly for motivating him while you just laugh and ask him what you even did.

✎ yandere! artist who is offended that you forgot you intruded into his personal art space and starts insulting you with the tiniest hint of a blush on his cheeks. he's just a lil bit of a tsundere, just a lil.

✎ yandere! artist who becomes infatuated with you after you stand up to him and insult him back. he can't believe that there was such a person that would dare to talk back to the school's pride and joy!

✎ yandere! artist who starts to unconsciously draw you every time he picks up his pencil, decorating his notes and homework with beautifully sketched doodles of you and only you, becoming flustered as he realises what he did.

✎ yandere! artist who swallows his pride and gifts you a watercolour painting for valentine's day with a heavy blush on his cheeks, heart rate picking up as his hands graze yours, anxiously awaiting your reaction.

✎ yandere! artist who has his heart shattered into pieces as you address him as just a cool art guy. well, to be fair he didn't really talk to you that much but still! why won't you think of him as much as he thinks of you?!

✎ yandere! artist who starts talking and interacting with you more in an attempt to get you to fall for him, constantly gifting you with doodles of you and him in hopes that you will be more endeared by him.

✎ yandere! artist who becomes more and more infatuated as the two of you grow closer, occasionally taking pictures of you when you sleep in class and storing it in a secret folder dedicated to you. he can't help it, you're just too cute!

✎ yandere! artist who starts to solely paint, draw and even sculpt you, entering these pieces into competitions and obviously winning first place in all of them. sometimes even going as far as drawing you under him in sexual positions, later to be used as material to relieve him. his talent for art is just simply unmatched!

✎ yandere! artist who answers the reporters instantly whenever they ask who or where his main source of inspiration comes from.

✎ yandere! artist who waits for you to confess to him, unable to accept no as an answer. he'll play the waiting game, just don't make him wait too long, he'll get impatient and might do something you won't like.

✎ "my muse, do you like this drawing I made for you?"

[thel0v3hashira143]

❝ 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐄! ❞

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ yuuji megumi gojo nanami n choso ☆ how jjk men act when they have a crush on you!

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ fem!reader, black coded but anyone can read

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ notes: ahhh the comeback post!! let's just say my old works were...less than coherent. but im here and ready to slay the day after 2-ish years!! take these crumbs while i try and find my footing again. stay hot lovies 🎀🎀

yuuji itadori 🌸

my babyyy (sob sob) yuuji would def try to impress you with his athleticism, bc girls like that stuff right? (gojo told him that...save him)

he frequently challenges you to friendly competitions when sparring to showing off his skills.

he def let's you get quite a few hits on him and he may even let you win from time to time (seeing your smile makes getting knocked on his ass worth it)

he might act a bit bashful, but he's straightforward. he knows he has a crush on you so why would he hide it?

expect nice gestures like him wanting to carry things for you, buying you food, watching all your fav movies, ect.

speaking of which, movie hangouts!!!

every friday usually you, megumi, nobara, and yuuji all get together and watch a movie

buuuttt if he's feeling especially brave he'll invite you to his dorm to watch the newest movie in your favorite series! (yes, he keeps track of when they come out)

he loves that it becomes y'alls thing and he loves it even more when you lay your head on his shoulder and doze off &lt;;33

he also gives hella compliments cause something in my gut says his love language is words of affirmation.

anticipate many "isn't [name] just the coolest?" or "you look great today [name]!"

im telling you he could never run out of nice things to say to you, whether it be about your looks or personality

as soon as he realizes he likes you he takes down those pin up girl posters in his dorm

he also obviously thinks you're more beautiful than jennifer lawrence argue wit ur mama

he is also obviously a personality over looks guy so dont act surprised if you see him looking at you with a lovesick grin if he catches you doing something kind for someone

expect him to confess his feelings sooner rather than later

"yeah, why wouldn't i have a crush on [name]? shes beautiful and badass! but don't tell her, okay?"

megumi fushiguro 🌸

megumi, unlike yuuji is quite reserved, even with his friends

honestly gives no indication that he likes you at all 💀💀 he stares at you pretty intensely at first (to admire your beauty) but quickly catches on that you think its weird..

once you two get closer though, megumi would frequently express his crush through small gestures

he strikes me as a reader so i can see him recommending his favorite books to you or even lending you some of his.

you two exchange books often and he highlights quotes that remind him of you

i can also see book shop hangouts where you two sit and read together in some small bookshop he found in the city.

(he's just admiring you read)

he's not a huge compliment/affirmation guy but quality time is a big one for him

whether it be on missions, sparring, or out with the rest of the first year's, he enjoys any time he can have with you.

megumi is also very protective but like...subtly

he secretly watches out for you during missions, making sure you're safe without drawing attention to it

he'll insist you two split up but send one of his divine dogs to accompany you to wherever you go.

even when you're out and about in tokyo he always likes to stay close to you. he follows you around (not in a creepy way more like a lost puppy way)

follows you into stores you like even if he has absolutely no interest.

all in all he's just a shy guy who's whipped for you &lt;3

"i enjoy spending time with you. a lot."

teen!satoru gojo 🌸

gojo...you bastard...(affectionate)

erm ngl i can def see him being a bully to you at first...

not like a bully bully but he def teases you a lot and it gets under your skin sometimes. (you hate him)

but in reality hes jus a spoiled litte rich boy in love.

once he realizes his feelings he still pokes fun at you sometimes, but tones it down hard and turns on his charm.

gojo's approach is confident and playful. he teases you, always with a charming grin, creating a dynamic that keeps things lighthearted and enjoyable.

he'll find excuses to spend time with you, whether it's offering to train together

unlike yuuji he doesn't care if he likes you this son of a gun will NOT let you win istg

it's like he's trying to rile you up, saying ridiculously cheesy one liners as he dodges all your attacks.

"thats the best you got? oh [name], we'll never get to be together if i keep beating you!"

one thing he does enjoy doing with you however, are snack runs.

gojo is a big back in disguise with too much money to spend so you already knows most of that goes towards food.

he has a huge sweet tooth so i can see you guys browsing multiple sweets shops in the city. if he sees you even look at something for too long he'll buy 10 of them.

every trip you guys both leave with full bellies and full hearts &lt;3

gojo wants to be around you, and he makes sure it's fun for you both

his confession is likely to be straightforward. ccompanied by his trademark smile and his sparkling blue eyes peeking from his shades.

"you know, i've been thinking... i'm kind of into you. what do you say we make things a bit more interesting?"

teen!kento nanami 🌸

my emo boy ❤️‍🩹

nanami, with his composed demeanor, expresses his feelings (though you were unsure if he even had any) through thoughtful actions.

he remembers every. single. detail. of anything you say to him.

your favorite attist dropped an album today? he already bought you the cd/vinyl. you never got a chance to go to the store to get your favorite snack? he went 2 days ago.

he revels in the fact that he knows so much about yousnd the surprised look on your face gets him every time.

(haibara claims he's seen nanami smile at you multiple times but he vehemently denies it.)

despite his serious appearance, he'll occasionally crack dry jokes when it's just the two of you

look at that man and tell me he doesn't have a dry sense of humor 😭😭

you help him to relax and he feels he can truly be himself around you. when you two are alone its like hes showing a different side to his personality.

like megumi, i can see quality time being a big thing for him since attending jujutsu high leaves him quite busy

hes also not a huge talker so whenever you two do spend time together its probably somewhere intimate like your dorm or the library.

no words, just vibes. which he appreciates since he's around a bunch of yipper yappers all day.

nanami's confession is understated but sincere.

"i appreciate the time we spend together. it's made me realize there's something more i feel..."

choso kamo 🌸

my babyyyy no. 2 (i need him biblically)

let's get one thing straight tho. choso is a curse. in my opinion curses have no idea of love in a healthy, positive way so let's just say bb is confused.

he obviously knows what love is. he loves his brothers but he doesnt wanna kiss them...and cuddle them...

he goes to yuuji for advice (was it a bad idea? perhaps.)

"bro you totally have a crush on [name]!"

"a crush?"

after some further investigation hes pretty much got the gist of it.

one thing he becomes quite fond of doing is giving you small gifts from his missions.

these aren't typic gifts persay, like food, clothing or jewelry but more like knickknacks such as shells or rocks.

these tokens become a way for him to express what words might fail to convey.

i headcannon choso likes nature documentaries and after seeing that penguins mate for life by gifting a rock to their mate he's hooked.

idk but i also feel like he's very touchy.

he always has an eye on you in public and ik he does the thing where he guides u with his hand on the small of your back or he locks pinkies with you UGHHHH

with him being protective, he also subtly keeps an eye on you during missions.

he's not one to voice his concern directly but prefers to ensure your safety from the danger.

choso's confession might catch you off guard, but it's filled with honesty and sincerity.

"i've found myself caring about you more than I expected. it's strange..."

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ omg i actually really like this...(watch me hate it in a week) but reqs are open!! i have 1 or 2 more pieces planned to get me in the swing of things but take this before then. love y'all!!

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐲 ♡

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚!

𝙘𝙤𝙥𝙮𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙡0𝙫3𝙝𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙧𝙖143 2024

[strawb3rry-acid]

More König Headcanons

Just some more König headcanons I wanted to throw out there while I finish working on an analysis of his personality. It's taking longer than I first expected lol.

More of these are fairly random, but there's some involving relationships, his personality, and other things. Just random, and fairly soft stuff ♡

꙳︼❍︼꙳

❍ Admittedly, I don't think this man is the type too be considered "attractive" by the majority of people(I know there's some debate on whether or not the glitch showing his face is truly his face or not. Personally, I'm on the fence here, so I wanna add my little twist to it since it's mentioned that it's rumored what's under his mask is even scarier than his intimidating presence.)

❍ The type too hide things up high if someone pisses him off just out of petty spite. He'll gladly watch them struggle till they will, probably, have too ask him for help. It gives him that "ha, I win" rush. Spiteful, cheeky bastard.

❍ I've mentioned this before, but I think he's got a soft spot for women. Having been in the military, and having rescued victims of human trafficking (it was mentioned in his bio at one point, but I think it's been removed for some reason) he's seen the violence, and bigotry women face, and can be pretty protective. He may have severe social anxiety, but he won't hesitate too step in if he senses some jackass is harassing a woman.

❍ Speaking of which, I do think he's the type too step in, and shut shit down if someone's being mistreated, and has issues speaking up for themselves. It's in his own quiet, subtle way of course(Death glares, firm grabs if needed, etc), but he'll still likely step in if he feels it's necessary. (It just makes sense to me considering his past with bullying, him specializing in hostage rescue, as we'll as some of his voice lines expressing deep loyalty, and his likely enjoyment of being helpful. I don't think he takes too kindly to disrespect. Specifically if it's someone who's innocent, and who's been respectful/kind too him. If it's someone he enjoys being around, then he'll definitely step in).

❍ Neither a dog, nor a cat person. I think he's fairly indifferent too both, but if he had too chose, he'd chose dog's. He likes cats as he relates too their typically solitary behavior, but enjoys the fact that dog's tend too be very affectionate, and loving animals.

❍ I feel like he's a very competitive person. He enjoys a good challenge as it gives him a chance too show off his skills, specifically in combat. I wouldn't recommend trying to compete with him though. He can become pretty ruthless depending on the situation, especially if he feels he's losing, and will seek to out do them. Trust me, with his determination, the other person will lose.

❍ He's used to his height by now, and is very cautious of it, but he'll still bump his head, and knock things over sometimes(I know a man how's 7ft, and he's always doing that lol.)

❍ On another note, I think he has mixed feeling's about his height. On one hand, he loves the fear it brings to enemies out on the field. On the other hand, he despises the attention it draws too him off of the field. He's a very private man who likes to slip by unnoticed, and his height makes it difficult for him too do so. The fact that he intimidates innocent people tends to make him feel pretty disheartened as well.

❍ In a partner, I don't think he cares about looks. The fact that their accepting of him, and love him is all he needs, and wants. He'd love a plus sized partner, a muscular partner, a thin partner, a tall partner, a short partner, and everything in between. As long as their healthy, and happy he doesn't give a rat's ass.

❍ He definitely has plenty of stretch marks. He's a tall guy after all, and he probably grew tall very quickly.

❍ I don't think he's the most touchy person in the world, but he doesn't mind it either. While he doesn't like being touched by strangers in the slightest, he has no issues with loved ones touching him. It's just probably something he won't really initiate himself very often unless it's more subtle touches(think pats on the back, or gently squeezing shoulders). Instead of touch, he more so just let's people he cares for linger in his space, and will keep them closer too him.

❍ I've mentioned this before as well, but I think he's a gamer, especially when it comes to games involving some form of combat. Video game wise, I think he'd enjoy what most consider too be "dad" games. Video games, and board games would be one of his favorite ways too bond with loved one's. He can get really riled up to an amusing degree.

❍ Cannot tolerate spicy foods to save his life, but will eat them too seem tough.

❍ Very bad when it comes to expressing affection through words, and touches. He tries, but he's just so damn awkward, and is worried about doing/saying something that'll make them uncomfortable. Much more prefers too show affection through act's of service.

❍ However, he does have his moments of being very physically, and verbally affection. This will likely happen when he's comfortable being around the person, he's been away from them for a long time, and/or has seen some really horrible things that remind him of the fact he could lose them at any moment. If it's the case that he's seen something horrendous, then he's lingering around them all the time, and it can be hard to pry him off of them.

❍ Always checking in with people he's close to. He has a very deep understanding of what it's like to be alone, and never wants them too feel that way.