#I wanted to go to sleep four hours ago I’m dumb

[patheticbatman]

I haven't seen any posts about this yet but l've seen some fan art that makes me feel this needs to be said:

Don't forget Leah Sava Jeffries has darker skin when making Annabeth Chase fan art!

She is much closer to Lupita Nyong'o than Zoe Kravitz when it comes to shading, reflection, and complementary color usage :).

Lighting for dark skin is different on light skin. Light skin gets changed by lighting, and dark skin reflects the lighting. Below is a lovely shot of Nyong'o's character from Wakanda Forever in mourning. The filmmakers emphasize the umber qualities of her skin in contrast to the funereal white and (arguably harsh) light across her shoulder below.

Try to pick spots that aren't directly in or near the light, and try mixing 3 or more! You can put it into a color mixer online, or even color pick, lower the opacity, and lay the shades over each other until you find one that fits. And of course, the more 'realistic' you want to go with shading and lighting, the more shades you're going to want to be able to explore vivaciously :D.

Let's take a look at the same 3 beautiful actresses I mentioned at the beginning, with a bad color picked area and a better-ish color picked area. (Please keep in mind, these are not perfect comparisons, as I was not able to find pictures of all 3 actresses under the same kind of lighting.)

Kravitz's has a clear difference between the two, but they aren't too far apart, in comparison to Nyong’o’s and Jeffries’s. Note the dullness in the poorly picked shades as opposed to the better ones. Also keep in mind that while Kravitz has a rosy undertone (at least in that picture - it’s from The Batman, which has stylized coloring) Nyong’o has a slight cool undertone (I can’t pin down quite what, but the picture is definitely not stylized like Kravitz’s).

Jeffries runs more ochre or russet, but neither of those are pink. They are more red than terracotta or umber, but to call Jeffries’s face rosy would be wrong. Err more towards the golden when drawing her.

^^saved an image from a writing tutorial long ago, but can’t seem to find it. If someone recognizes it, I’ll link it. EDIT: it’s from this post. Thanks @autumnrowancollector ! <3

And also, the darker skin gets, the less likely warm undertones are going to appear. Don't be afraid to use blue or purple or even green on occasion!

Additionally, cool lighting on dark skin is always a win imo.

(I was going to use that picture of Jeffries as Annabeth by the lightning bolt, but then I realized the lighting on her face doesn’t quite match up with where it should hit from that angle, and I realized they kind of just turned everything bluer, so screenshot time!)

(Also if you want another really great live action example, check out anything Aldis Hodge is in, like Leverage and Black Adam)(and of course there’s Spiderverse <3 but I want to post pictures of Hodge)

Now, to here’s a list of more experienced people’s advice:

Black facial features & hair

Shading digitally for a (somewhat) monotone Black character

Stylistic choices and places to start looking for inspiration (besides a search engine).

Coloring Black people’s lips

A better coloration tutorial

Also a nice tutorial for Indigenous skin tones, just in case yall want to draw Piper or use this information for other dark skinned characters :).

EDIT: Some actresses who are closer in skintone to use for Annabeth, provided by the lovely @blackfemmecharacterdependency ! If you can’t find a reference for Jeffries in a specific lighting, maybe check out these ladies’ pictures! It’s a reblog, so scroll down.

TLDR: Don’t make Annabeth pink and pale, make her dark and golden.

#Annabeth chase #Percy Jackson #percabeth #leah sava jeffries #pjo #leah jeffries #art tutorial #percy jackon and the olympians #I love superheroes and so of course all of the actors I thought of were from superhero movies lmao #also for the record my advice is mostly from reading others’ tutorials and observation #and I don’t really use it a lot because I stick to lineart a lot lol #like down to mentioning Hodge (love himmmm) as a reference for good lighting on dark skin #there’s another post floating around here that specifically mentions him and Leverage for that #I’m tagging this as an art tutorial but really i want it to be more of a master post #master post so yall can see the tutorials I usually use #but then I ended up writing about Jeffries specifically because I’m dumb #I wanted to go to sleep four hours ago I’m dumb #I really want to draw her and ginger Percy but #irl it’s starting to get busy at school again :/

[its-time-to-write]

i hold it like a grudge - ch. 3

I don’t know why I’m awake and still editing 😭 I have to go to work tomorrow morning. It’s not even the weekend yet and I’m acting like it is but it’s ok, right? Right.

table of contents watch me fall

Five hours later, Keeley is scrolling through pictures of you and Jamie on your phone. 

“Oh my god, you’re both so tiny!” she crows. She can hold her alcohol much better than you would have expected, but by this point, she’s definitely far gone.

You can’t bring yourself to have more than two drinks. Everything leaves behind an acrid taste, so you switched to water a while ago. That means you’re completely fucking sober as Keeley swipes through your entire friendship with Jamie.

“Wow, you two were like, attached at the hip,” she comments. “Is this your mums?”

It’s a picture of two women about the same age, looking at the camera with strained smiles. You remember that day. Your mum had slipped you and Jamie money to get ice cream with the condition that you’d eat it at the shop and not bring it home. She’d looked right into your eyes as she said it, conveying a message beyond her words. You were maybe ten years old and not sure exactly what she meant, but you nodded seriously and ran to drag Jamie down the street.

You and Jamie had come back, hours later with ice cream drips on your shirts, none the wiser to what had transpired in your absence.

“I remember that picture,” you say aloud. “Jamie’s dad took it, the piece of shit. He dropped ‘round and was a happy drunk until he wasn’t. Mum threatened to call the police, but Georgie still came away with a black eye. They thought me and Jaim didn’t know, but,” you shrug. “You know how it is when you’re ten. You know fucking everything.”

Keeley nods, and you take it as an invitation to keep talking. “We used to share a brain, basically. Hardly ever seen without each other. You know we didn’t even date till I was in secondary? Mum was so surprised we weren’t already sneaking around behind her back. Guess she and Georgie used to talk about it a lot. Jamie was home four hours after she died. Not even sure how, really, he was out of town. I asked him about it once and he wouldn’t tell me, the little shit. That night… I couldn’t sleep. It was awful. I sneaked out of my room and down the hall to her bed, because it still smelled like her, you know? I had this dream that she was still there with me and when I woke up it felt like I had lost her all over again. I had to remember that she wasn’t just downstairs making breakfast.”

You pause. It’s all coming out so matter-of-factly, like it happened to someone else.

“Anyway, I just laid there and cried. The first tear had barely fallen when Jamie just came in and got in bed next to me. I think he had just woken up, but he… he held me so fucking tight and whispered, ‘I felt you crying. I can be here as long as you want,’ and then we just stayed there. We were there for fucking…hours. He just let me cry and didn’t say anything, just kissed the tears off my face and handed me tissues. The next couple days he moved all my things from the house to a room at Georgie’s. She had this like, office thing upstairs that was basically a closet, but it was the same layout for mine and theirs so it was familiar if that makes sense? Like they were mirrored, so her room was the same as mum’s and Jamie’s was the same as mine, then a third little bedroom that had room for a bed and that’s pretty much it. Jamie offered his room, but I didn’t want it. It felt wrong, somehow. And I couldn’t bring myself to get out of bed to do any of it but he did everything. I think Georgie probably helped, but when it was all done, he brought me over and he’d decorated it just how I would’ve. Except he made a copy of his Roy Kent poster and stuck it on my wall, right next to one of his dumb headshots he liked so much. He slept in that little bed with me every night until he went back. We were nineteen at the time, right before he got signed for City. We loved that team. Used to watch it every time it was on the telly, and he always told me he’d play for them some day and take me to every match, even the away games.”

You trail off. You’ve run out of steam, back in the present reality. This is the first time you’ve allowed yourself to look back fondly, to wonder how Georgie and Simon are.

Meanwhile, Keeley’s staring at you, openmouthed.

“Shit, babe,” she says.

“Shit,” you agree.

“How the fuck did he know you were crying?”

You wiggle your head back and forth. “Like I said, he said he felt it. I mean… sounds strange, but we used to be able to feel when things were wrong with each other. Even if we were in different places. We used to text and be like, ‘oi, you good?’ and every time, the answer was no. It’s like a nauseous feeling, you know?”

“No,” Keeley shakes her head. “I don’t fucking know.”

“Right,” you say, “I’m done being sober. Give me the fucking bottle.”

Keeley cheers and passes it your way. You take a swig and make a face. It still tastes like shit, but it’s better than trying to figure out the implications of Keeley’s five little words.

No. I don’t fucking know.

—

The next week, you’re slipping charms on a necklace for someone name Ashley, part of a set for a wedding party. You’ve had a steady stream of customers this weekend, many tourists from out of town passing through on their way to the heart of London. You check instagram in between sales and see that your location is getting tagged in stories and public posts, and you smile. 

The day passes by smoothly and by the time you lock up, it’s drizzling ever so slightly. You grin and step out the door, turning the lock then back around to head up the street. You run smack into someone and say, “Shit, sorry,” before realizing it’s fucking Jamie. You scoff and go to step around him but he puts himself in your path.

“I’m going back to Manchester,” he tells you without preamble.

“Gaffer sent me back. Thought you might want to know.”

“Okay,” you reply lightly, as if to a stranger, then duck past him again. You hurry away and risk a glance back. He’s still standing in the rain by your store, watching you walk away.

table of contents

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

[channieandhisgoonsquad]

Oh. Your tire is fucked.

Word Count: 2.3K

You were such a good person. That’s what you kept telling yourself at four in the fucking morning as you threw on your sweatpants to go with your big ass sleep shirt.

You owed Han a favor after he bought your meal a couple weeks ago when you forgot your wallet. You felt so dumb but swore you would pay him back.

That was before you realized this is what he was going to ask of you, to drive him to the airport in the middle of the night. He wanted to go visit some people in Malaysia during his time off and this was the only way her could get himself to the airport discreetly.

You told him to make sure he had a few hours of leeway in case things went wrong. He tried to fight you, but you knew you would have to go in with him to make sure he remained anonymous. But you also just wanted to give him time to relax before hand; knowing how stressed he can get.

He dragged himself and his suitcase out of the apartment looking as if he was barely awake. Despite that, your friend looked like he meant business. His fitted sweater and fancy jeans didn’t help him remain low key, but Han’s fashion isn’t really described with that term.

His hair was immaculate, and as he slid into the passenger seat you greeted him with a sleepy hi while he just grunted.

The airport you were headed to was half an hour away, so you just sat there with the music on low as Han seemed to have snoozed back into sleep. It was okay though, because you loved driving.

Twenty minutes in, your car had a light turn on and prompted you that your tired was low on air. You pulled off the side of the road into an empty lot to investigate.

Oh. Your tire is fucked.

Flat as fuck.

Han was looking out the window at you while you ran your hands across your face. You groaned as you went back to the other side.

“I’ve got a flat, dude. You might want to call a cab from the company. I know you wanted to remain low key, but it’s gonna be a while.”

He looked over like you were crazy. “I am not leaving you here in the middle of the country alone! Weirdos could be anywhere.”

“Well, I’m already in the car with you…”

He rolled his eyes at your sarcasm, “you know what I mean, y/n. It’s still dark out. I’m not leaving you alone.”

“But your flight.”

“You’re more important.”

You stopped to look at your phone for your insurance app. The options for a tow would take a couple of hours at the least for the hour it is. “Han, I’ve got to wait her for two hours. You need to call someone at least.”

He contemplated your statement. He really didn’t want you left alone; he would feel so guilty. But, he literally hasn’t been back to Malaysia since he became an idol. The inner turmoil was killing his half-awake brain. But his heart told him what to do.

“No I’m stay with you.”

“Han you’re going to miss your flight if you don’t-“

“ I know that, y/n! But if I leave, I can’t make sure that you’re safe. And you are more important to me than catch a flight. So much more important.” You looked away from the app to look at your friend. His eyes were glassier than before, and you realized he had tears gathering at the rim.

You reached your right hand over to grasp his own and get him to look over at you. “Okay, Han. I’d love the company. Why are you so upset, though?”

“Because.” He took in a huge gulp of air and breathed out slowly to give himself a second to compose himself. You were so concerned and he felt guilty for allow your face to look so sullen. He wanted that glimmer of happiness back more than anything.

He looked at his feet to try and avoid the puppy dog sadness. Before he could second guess, the words were out. “Because I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

The surprise was evident as your eyes widened. But, just as quickly, they softened and a small smile crept onto your face. “Hannie. My squirrelly man.”

He looked back to see the gorgeous flip of your emotions and just waited for you to say something else.

“Well, if you would’ve started with that I would’ve understood a lot quicker.” He chuckled nervously at your silly response.

“Yeah, sorry. I just wasn’t sure how you would respond and I got in my head too much and now I’m just rambling at you and-“

“Hey, hey, hey! I love you, too, Han Jisung.”

“You do!?”

“Why else would I wake up in the dead of night to take someone to the airport? I wanted to be the last person to say goodbye before you left me.” You sweetly reached for his chin and made his heart flutter.

“I wasn’t leaving you. I was coming back.”

“Every time you leave to travel is too long for me.” You held onto his chin as you leaned over the console of your warm car to kiss the silly man.

His face was cold compared to the warmth of the tears that had slipped from him. The contrast was surprising, but you could tell he was happy as he reciprocated the way you moved your lips against his.

This was a sensation you never expected to feel. This crush that had lingered in your brain for the last two years of befriending the nervous man had been eating away at your senses. But you persisted. Confiding in one of your mutuals, Felix. He had told you many times to tell him, but you stayed silent and ignored him enough for him to drop it.

You pulled back to wipe the salty sadness from his beautiful face and laughed when he still looked surprisedly at you. This man was going to be the death of you but, it was a willing demise.

He pulled you by your neck back into him as he aggressively took your face back into his; you were both wide awake now. The two of you were trying to connect your bodies, but the center console was still in the way.

Suddenly, the two of you were climbing over the offending object to get into the back seat of your crossover. Over his shoulder you could see that the windows were already fogging over from the excessive breathing. You crashed onto his lap, making sure to straddle him and get him between, around, under, and against you.

His existence consumed your soul; finally feeling at peace with those lingering and haunting emotions. You felt yourself falling deeper into his own both emotionally and physically.

Han made sure to deepen the kiss as he grabbed onto your lower back to pull you closer to him. In response to the intensity, the warmth you had been feeling in your heart spread down to your pussy and you were grinding against his jeans, looking for any sense of connection.

When he processed what you were up to he disconnected you two only at your mouths to speak. You stared into his pretty eyes with such intensity that he smirked nervously, "Y/n, we don't need to keep going. This isn't how I was planning to tell you how I felt! I want to take you on a date. I had a plan..."

There wasn't even an inch of space between your lips as they ghosted over each other while he spoke, and it was driving you crazy. Along with his overthinking that you had gotten used to. "Ji, life hardly ever goes as planned. We have over an hour before someone shows up. I want you to fuck me."

He swallowed harshly as you continued to feel his breath fan over your own, "Can I make love to you for the first time?"

"You're so cute!" You squeal at your man that was melting your heart and making you wetter than you've ever been, "Please do, love."

He pecked your lips before he grabbed your waist and pull you off to his side, even though you detested the removal of your crotch on his confined hard on. He reached up front to pull your seat forward and proceeded to remove his pants to relieve some pressure. You immediately moaned at the tent and instinctively reached for it before he stopped you. "My lady, you're first. I've wanted to do this for as long as I can remember."

You nodded understandingly and he sat himself on the floor in front of you and pulled your sweats off you completely; taking your underwear with and leaving you exposed to the colder air. You huffed a heavy sigh as he took your knees over his shoulders and wasted no time at eating you out.

You groaned as he suctioned his lips to your clit and applied a blissful amount of pleasure. Your body became a liquid as you slumped further into him and pressed your cunt into his face.

He snickered as he watched your immediate response. After edging you some he released your bud to plunge his tongue into your vagina and slurped all of the fluids, "God, if this is how you react just to my mouth, I can't imagine how you'll take my fingers or my cock.". You felt yourself clench over his needy tongue as he nudged his nose into your clit. You couldn't stop staring at the love of your life as he continued bringing you more pleasure than you'd felt with anyone else.

He pulled back to watch you writhe in obvious superb ecstasy. You began whimpering at the lack of pressure, "Can't use your words already, babe? That won't look very good when the tow truck shows up." Before you could even form a quippy response, he plunged two fingers into your hold, causing a yelp to escape.

Happy with your state, he returned his tongue to your swollen clit as your orgasm began building. You looked away at something to grab for stability as you felt like you were going to float away if he continued.

He reached out for one hand and clasped them together to keep you grounded through your emotions. The other found purchase on his hair as you gripped onto both for dear life.

Your whining got higher pitched and you tried to say his name to let him know you were almost over the peak. But all he could hear was "H-H-haaaa" as you tried screaming his name through your orgasm. He kept fingering you through your flustered state to the point of overstimulation and you started shaking over his digits.

Once he was satisfied with your actions, he swapped the hole his fingers had been in for his mouth and groaned, "Get on my lap, sweetie."

He sat down in the opposite end of the back seat and took his boxer briefs off to free his monster erection from its confines. You crawled on all four to him and took a quick slurp of his precum before straddling him. He sighed at the sight and grabbed both of your ass cheeks with full force as you help yourself over him.

Han held himself up and guided you slowly onto him, but you took him fully without a second thought. He hissed at the sudden tightness and warmth of your walls. While you stayed there for a second, ho grabbed your face and pulled him in for a passionate kiss, "I've always known you would feel perfect around me. But I didn't know exactly what that felt like until now. You are perfection. I love you so much, y/n"

"I love you, Hannie." You continued to passionately make out and express your love through actions when you were ready to start riding him. You kept a slow face, trying to take in the feeling of him rubbing all of you. The shape was exquisite and you were sure you had died and gone to heaven. How could he be this perfect??

You pulled his shirt up while you continued consuming and gnawing at his lips and felt his firm chest in your small hands. You reached for his nipples and tweaked both at once. He whined into your mouth and started grinding up into you.

His hands had wandered, too. One playing with your braless breast, which he felt was on purpose for him, and the other finding your sore button to help you through another orgasm.

You two kept this up for who knows how long, but you couldn't care becasue this was the only place you wanted to be. The sun had started rising and painted you both in a beautiful array of oranges and pinks as you both reached your climax. "In me... please." you whined, and he started thrusting into you at an inhuman speed and released his seed where you had asked for it.

As you both sat there panting, you realized the warmth from the sheen of sweat coating both of your forms and cracked the windows.

You two softly exchanged more kisses while you came down. Han couldn't believe how fucking lucky he was, but his brain and his words had to ruin the beautiful moment, "If this is how you take me to the airport, I'm never riding with the staff ever again."

You rolled your eyes and let out a heaving chuckle at the love of your life and simple stated, "Love you, too, Han."

@lyramundana @sweetracha @2chopsticks2eyes @moonlightndaydreams

#stray kids #skz #han jisung #i love him #loml #hannie #stray kids smut #han jisung smut #han jisung imagines #han x reader #han smut #stray kids jisung #jyp stray kids #stray kids han jisung #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagine #thats my husband #love of my liiiiiiiiife

[rhoorl]

Working Title | Chapter 11

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Belle

Rating: Mature, 18+

Word Count: 6.9k

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Chapter 11 on AO3

Chapter Summary: Photo shoot time for our boy. Also the return of our favorite agent Liz.

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, which is obvious at this point. Some light smut. More intimacy issues because Ryan is a dick. Also, Aubrey is still on her bullshit.

As a reminder, I don't have a beta, so any mistakes are on me.

Fuck where did he go?

You looked over to the alarm clock and saw it was 3:30 a.m., earlier than you wanted to get up, but too late to try and go back to sleep. You glanced over to the bathroom to see if Dieter had gone there, but the door was open and the lights were off. 

Panic set in as you wondered where he may have gone. Did he regret the moments you had both shared mere hours ago? Was he trying to figure out a way to get you to leave? Your mind starts to go through all of the worst possibilities like a Rolodex.

Pulling your head up from out of your hands, you look to the door and see it was left slightly open. A dim light was coming from what you assumed was the living room and you hear Dieter softly chuckling. 

Is he laughing about me to someone? Ugh, I knew taking my shirt off was the wrong idea. That was so dumb of me to do that … and with the lights on at that.

You bring your knees to your chest and your arms around your legs as you sit frozen in the bed. The spiral was starting, and you were trying to do everything you could to settle yourself down and not jump to conclusions.

Breathe .. two … three … out … two … three … four … five.

You try focusing on the sounds coming from the living room, to see if you could make out what he was saying or doing. He was talking in a hushed tone to someone who was either on speakerphone or on a video call. You hear him hanging up on the call and ponder your next move. You just want to leave and run away.

Stop it. He’s not like Ryan, this isn’t fair to him. 

You get up to go grab your phone from the dresser. Unfortunately, you misjudged where it was since it was still rather dark in his room and ended up dropping it onto the hardwood floor of the bedroom.

“Shit,” you whispered. 

But the sound was loud enough that you knew Dieter heard it. 

Welp, there's no denying that I’m awake now.

Your body takes over as you walk to the living room, unsure about what you were going to encounter or what you were going to say.

Dieter sat at the dining room table, his iPad in front of him on its stand. He was just in a pair of shorts, his hair going every which way and his glasses perched atop his nose as he rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb.

He turned his gaze to see you, sensing your presence. His immediate confusion was washed away by a huge grin at the sight of you.

“Hey baby,  you’re up early?”

“Uh…yea, I. Uh, well…I woke up and I didn’t know where you were,” you nervously fiddle with the hem of your shirt, avoiding his gaze as you lean against the wall.

“Oh sorry, I got up a while ago and wanted to call my nephew Max – it’s his birthday today and I knew we were going to be busy so I figured it was a good chance to call him since they’re a few hours ahead. “Wait, what?”

“I…called my nephew?” he gestured to his iPad confused by your reaction.

“I just didn’t know where you went…” you trail off realizing how ridiculous you had been for the last five minutes, jumping to conclusions and assumptions. You clear your throat, “how old is your nephew?”

“Oh he’s 16, he’s the baby of the family. My niece is 18, going to graduate high school this year, how the fuck did that happen?” he chuckled. “I was actually talking to him about you, I wanted to get his opinion on an idea…” he looks up to see you shaking your head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

He quickly gets up from his chair, closing the distance between you both in a few steps. He cups your face with both hands, searching your eyes to try and understand what is going on.

"Are you ok?"

"Sorry, I…when you weren't there I kind of panicked," you couldn't meet his eyes, embarrassed at how quickly your mind went to the worst possibilities.

Dieter takes a deep breath and runs his hands down your arms before bringing you in for a hug. Your hands go instinctively to rest on his back as you rub small circles with your thumbs.

"Ugh shit I'm sorry. I know how that feels. I slept really well actually, I don't ever go for more than an hour without waking up and rolling back over so for me to have gotten several uninterrupted hours…I felt really good and you looked so beautiful and peaceful and I didn't want to wake you."

You have to admit that as adorable as Dieter normally was, he was even more so when he started to nervously ramble.

"Hey," you pull back and grab his face to center his gaze, running your thumbs down his stubble. "Thank you for letting me sleep.”.

He gave a small smile. "So where did you think I went?"

"Oh, I…I don't know…I thought you left or something…"

"You…thought I left my…own room? And left you here?" He smirks.

You roll your eyes, "I know it sounds silly…I'm sorry…"

"Hey, no it's ok. Like I said, I've been there, but you'll never have to worry ok? I'll always be here."

"Ok," you smile as he leans in for a kiss. 

After a few chaste kisses, Dieter deepens it, pushing you back into the wall of the hallway. His hands find their way underneath your shirt, gripping your waist. Your hands move up to his hair, dragging your fingernails lightly along his scalp which makes him moan into your kiss.

He pushes back to look at you, not loosening his grip on your waist as you twirl a few of his curls between your fingers. "So, it seems we have some time before you need to get ready.".

"It seems we do," you return the cheeky smirk he had on his face.

"I have an idea on how we could, um, pass the time."

"Oh yeah? I'm all ears."

"Mmm…I'd rather show you than tell you."

His tone makes you bite your bottom lip as your pulse quickens. Whenever his demeanor changed like this you got butterflies in your stomach.

“Why don’t you head back to my room, I’m just gonna grab my phone ok? In case Lizzie calls or something, I don't want to miss it.” He gives you another kiss before he lets go.

“Mmm, ok sounds good.” You turn around to head to his room. Dieter lightly smacks your ass causing you to giggle.

You pad back down the hallway to his room, hearing him rush over to the dining room table to grab his phone. He was back to you in an instant, grabbing you from behind. The surprise causes you to yelp and then giggle as he kisses your neck. You can feel him getting hard as he reaches around your waist to bring you in closer. You manage to turn around in his arms to look at him, his eyes dark.

“Hi,” you smile.

“Hi,” he smiles back as he kisses you, moving you back to the bed. “Lay down.”

You wiggle your way back up the bed, sitting up on your elbows to watch him. Dieter stood at the front of the bed his eyes taking in every inch of you. Normally this type of scrutiny would make you nervous, but the way he was looking at you felt different, like he was trying to commit you to memory. He walks over to the glass doors, pulling back the curtain on one side. It was still dark, but the bright moon brought it some light – it seemed like a good compromise for you both.

He comes to the side of the bed to lay down next to you so you can resume your makeout session from the hallway. It doesn’t take long for him to work his way to hover on top of you, his hands resting on either side of your head to help prop himself up. 

“Can you take your shirt off for me beautiful?” He whispers in your ear as he kisses down one side of your neck.

You nod and move to grab the bottom of your shirt. Deiter pulls back slightly, raking his eyes over each inch of your skin as you expose it to him. Once you finally get the shirt up and over your head, he takes a deep breath before descending to your collarbone, trailing kisses down again. You slept without your bra on and Dieter didn’t waste any time showing his appreciation for that surprise.

He has a smug smile on his face as he hovers over one of your nipples, looking back up at you as you bite your lip in anticipation. His eyebrow twitches as he returns his gaze down to your body, trailing kisses in the valley between your breasts as he works his way down your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your pants. 

You push yourself up onto your forearms to get a better look, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he keeps working down. He presses his mouth to your leggings and you can feel his hot breath as he moves over your mound to your inner thighs before he stops and sits back on his heels. His eyes find yours, checking in to see if you are uncomfortable. You give a little nod and the corners of his mouth turn up. He moves his hands to your waistband, hooking his thumbs underneath and pulling down your pants. You lift up a bit to help him take it off. His eyes immediately lock onto the hot pink lace you had on underneath.

“That’s…a great color on you,” he smirks. “You had this on the whole time, huh?”

You blush, bringing your hand over your eyes as you giggle. 

“Don’t hide baby. I like it…I’d love them even more if they were on the floor though,” he moves back up your body to kiss you again. 

You buck your hips up to meet his with just your thin lace and his shorts separating the two of you. He smiles into your kiss as he trails one hand down your side, your arms hooking onto the back of his neck to deepen the kiss. 

“Belle,” he pants in between kisses, “baby can I taste you?”

The thought of him in between your legs makes you involuntarily whimper, which he takes as his cue to descend back down your body.

You are torn because, on the one hand, this was probably one of the most sensual moments you had ever experienced and you wanted to see where it was going to go. But, you also were starting to get in your head about this, memories of past encounters flooding your mind. 

As you were processing all of this, you hadn’t noticed Dieter stop to check in with you again before he went to remove your panties. 

“Hey, we don’t have to do this, it’s ok,” he rubbed your thigh.

“I…uh…”

“Has anyone…have you done this before?”

“Uh, ye-yea, I have. Not that many times though. But you seriously don’t have to, I uh, I haven’t showered or like shaved or waxed or anything so it’s kind of a mess down there so I get it if you don't want to. Plus it like never works so-"

“Belle,” he cuts you off, coming back to lay sideways next to you on the bed, one arm propped up so he could rest his head in his hand. His other hand caresses up and down your stomach which makes goosebumps appear on your forearms. “Baby, is this about that asshole again?” You nod and he sighs, raking his hand through his hair. “I hate what he’s done to you baby.”

“He…uh, he never really liked doing that,” your eyes flit down your body. “Said it wasn't really his thing, so he’d find all sorts of excuses to not do it. I guess eventually I stopped trying since I knew it wouldn’t matter.”

“Well for the record,” he returns his light touch up and down your stomach, “I don’t give a shit about any of that…I want you…whenever and however, I just want you,” he bends down to kiss you.

“I want you to…you know,” you glace down your body again, “but, maybe another time?”

“Absolutely, I want you to want it as much as I do,” he kisses you. “Just know that I want it, I want you, very much.”

It was your turn now to initiate, lifting yourself up to kiss him. You want him to feel how much you appreciate his patience and care with you. He’s never pushed you beyond where you were comfortable and you just wish you could get yourself over the hump to fully trusting him and letting him have every part of you.

Dieter’s phone buzzes to life on the nightstand, causing you both to snap out of another frenzied kiss. 

“Shit, it’s Lizzie, I have to get this. Come back over here when you’re ready, ok? Use your key,” he kisses you as he answers his phone. “Hey, Lizzie.”

You get up from the bed and collect your clothes. Dieter grabs your pants and hands them to you as he listens intently to the call. You can tell he is not happy, but he still manages to give you a smile as you take your pants from him and slip them back on.

“That’s not what we agreed to, I thought you were going to work it out,” he starts pacing the room.

You don’t bother with the formalities of putting your bra back on since you are just heading next door, so you put your shirt back on, grab your phone and the rest of your things, and head out. Dieter is right on your heels, walking you out as he sighs in reaction to whatever Lizzie is telling him.

As you open the door, you feel his hand come to your arm, causing you to turn around and look at him.

“Hey, Liz, hold on a sec,” he pulls the phone away and gives you a searing kiss. “See you soon baby,” he whispers.

As soon as the door closes, Dieter moves to the living room ready to really lay in on Lizzie. 

“What the fuck Lizzie, I thought she wasn’t supposed to be on the crew today.” He hisses.

“I know, I know. I tried Dee, I really did. Problem is she’s been working with the photographer on the looks and locations, he didn’t feel comfortable with someone else coming in, especially since Meredith isn’t going to be there.”

Dieter lets out a long exhale, shaking his head, “Fuck. This isn’t going to be good. I wanted Belle to have a great day, show off what she can do, but now fucking Aubrey is going to ruin it.”

“Can you stop? Look, Belle is a big girl and from what Rhys has told me, she can handle herself when it comes to work.”

“We’ll see…”

You quietly pad around your room, hoping you aren’t loud enough to wake Indy. She has another big day and you want to make sure she gets as much sleep as she can. Once your kit was packed, including some of the extra products Meredith gave you to use on Dieter, you had to figure out what to wear. You decide on a T-shirt dress with some sneakers, with a button-up shirt tied around your waist. After some light makeup, you throw your hair in a ponytail, grab your sunglasses, and head back to Dieter’s room.

You knock on the door and he answers quickly, looking a bit stressed but still so handsome in his plain black T-shirt and light gray shorts.

“Hey are you ok?” you step into his room. He gives you a quick kiss before he goes to gather his things to leave.

“Uh, I’m ok. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something before we leave though…Liz told me that Aubrey is on the crew for today. I’m really sorry, baby, I didn’t want her there. I told Liz to handle it, but Aubrey’s apparently been heavily involved in the planning and the photographer didn’t want to-”

“Dieter,” you cut him off, putting a hand to his chest, trying to not get distracted by how firm it feels, thoughts of earlier creeping into your head. “It’s ok. I can’t stand her, but I can also be professional.”

“You’re amazing,” he cups your face and kisses you. “But if she does anything anything to make you feel uncomfortable or off your game, you tell me ok? I don’t want her to ruin this for you.”

Seeing a bit of his protective side come out is endearing. You aren’t thrilled about the notion of spending a day with Aubrey of all people, but she isn’t the first difficult coworker you’ve had and she won’t be the last.

“Baby, I can handle myself,” you get up on your tiptoes to kiss him.

His smirk turns into a full-blown ear-to-ear smile as you realize what you said. This was the first time you had called him anything other than Dieter. It just kind of slipped out.

“Oh I know you can,” his smirk returns as you both make your way to the elevator. “I’m looking forward to seeing you in work mode, you were so fucking sexy yesterday when you were working, you know that?” he wraps his arms around your waist, kissing your neck and making you giggle. 

You both take advantage of the elevator ride to make out a bit more since this is likely the last bit of alone time you’ll have for a long while. Once the elevator reaches the first floor, you pull away from each other. As you get out you smooth your dress and hair. There’s no doubt your lips are a bit swollen, especially since he nipped at your bottom lip, but you don’t care. Dieter takes your kit from you and motions for you to walk out of the elevator. You notice he holds the kit awkwardly in front of him and you have to stifle a giggle when you realize he was using it to hide how excited the elevator ride had made him.

“Dee!” You turn and see a woman who could only be Liz, approach you both. “Oh you must be Belle, it’s so nice to meet you. Rhys has nothing but glowing things to say about you,” she says as she reaches in for a hug.

“Oh well, Rhys is a pretty awesome guy too. He’s done a lot for me and Indy over the years,” you smile at her, excited to finally meet the person who has been Dieter’s constant throughout all of the turbulence.

“Love that guy, he should be coming down in a few days – hopefully with some good news for Indy,” she winks. “Anyway, I hope this one hasn’t been in too bad of a mood this morning,” she motions over to Dieter who was still awkwardly trying to position your bag in front of him.

“Oh no, he’s …. Honestly Liz, it’s fine. I can handle it.”

“See, I told you!”

You and Liz were laughing when out of the corner of your eye you see Aubrey and Danny approaching carrying a bunch of garment bags and a couple of rolling suitcases.

“Ah, well looks like the gang’s all here, let’s roll out!” Liz claps her hands as she walks toward the valet, her fingers frantically typing on her phone. 

“Mornin’ Dee, hey Belle,” Danny smiles at you.

“Hey Danny, need help with anything?” You feel a bit useless since Dieter is carrying your things.

“He’s fine,” Aubrey responds curtly.. 

“Well, good morning to you too,” Dieter rolls his eyes as he lets Aubrey and Danny walk in front of you two. He gives you a wink and the butterflies start to swell in your stomach. His small, simple gestures always make you feel so giddy.

You are curious how the seating in the van is going to go. Liz sits in the first row and asks Dieter to sit across from her so they can prep for his interview. You sit in the row behind her and Danny slides into the row across from you, with Aubrey following to sit behind Danny.

“So…Belle. Wanna talk about the looks?” Aubrey finally says something to you once the van makes its way out of the resort to head to the first location.

“Uh, sure. Do you have a mood board or something?”

“Of course I do,” she rolls her eyes as she reaches into her bag to pull out an iPad, handing it over to you to look at.

You are annoyed that her mood boards were actually good, picturing how hot Dieter was going to look in the clothes. She shuffles through the looks as you get to the subject of styling. You both bickered a bit about the direction to take for his hair. You, selfishly, want to showcase his curls more in the first look before transitioning to a more spiky and messy style for his last look.

“I just think we should do a more smooth style, kind of like this,” she pulls up a photo on her phone that you know well. It was from an awards show where he looked so handsome and dapper. 

Did he look good? Absolutely. But this hairstyle was going to clash with the more casual clothes she picked out for him so it wouldn’t look cohesive. 

“How about we go for a more relaxed but polished look like this.” Now it was your turn to pull out some reference photos. She didn't need to know these photos were actually part of your private collection. 

“Hmm…ok, we can see.” She seems a bit annoyed that not only did you have a good idea, but you were willing to compromise and not let her steamroll you into doing exactly what she wanted. 

Throughout this whole interaction, you could feel Dieter’s eyes on you. You hope that he was proud of you for holding your ground.

Things were a bit hectic once you got to the first location. You are quickly ushered into a small trailer with Dieter. Aubrey and Danny go to another trailer to set up a clothing rack with the clothes and lay out shoes and other accessories. 

As Dieter sits down in the chair, he smirks at you in the mirror as you unpack your kit and lay everything out. You catch his eye a few times, blushing at his intense gaze. At one point, you feel his hands creep up around your hips, dipping down to your ass, before moving dangerously close to the bottom of your dress.

You clear your throat, “Um, excuse me, sir, what do you think you’re doing?”

Now it was Dieter’s turn to blush as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You just look so good. Baby, you were amazing in the van. I didn’t give a shit how you wanted to do my hair, as long as you put Aubrey in her place.”. 

“Oh, you don’t give a shit, huh? Hmm, I was thinking maybe you grow your hair out a bit more and we do a bowl cut,” you giggle as he pulls you closer. “You’re going to make us late if you keep this up. C’mere.” 

You start off his skin prep with some sunscreen and do a light pass of makeup just to even things out. As you are finishing up and about to move to his hair, there is a knock at the trailer door. 

“Hey there!” A man you can only assume is the photographer walks in. “Dee, good to see you, man,” he gives Dieter a handshake before turning his attention to you. “Hi, I’m Rob, nice to meet you.” He gives you a quick up and down. “You’re beautiful.”

“Oh, ah, thanks. Hi, I’m Belle,” you stick your hand out to shake his. After he shakes your hand, he pauses and raises it to give you a kiss on the back of your hand. 

You’re a little uncomfortable at not only the attention, but at the way Dieter straightens up at Rob's move.

"Oh shoot, I need to go ask Aubrey something about the first look I uh…I'll be back ok?"

"Yea sure, I'll be here," Dieter says with a tight smile.

This guy better watch himself.

Dieter knew Rob was a talented photographer, but he wasn't so keen about some of his on-set behavior. When Dieter was younger the two of them ran wild with drugs and sex with whoever else on set wanted to party.

It took everything in Dieter to not get up and punch Rob in his smug face when he reached up to kiss the back of Belle's hand. He had become so attuned to her body language that he knew she was uncomfortable. He was ready to intervene should she need help, wanting to protect her from Rob's advances since he unfortunately knew all of the man's moves.

He gripped the arm of the makeup chair as he watched Rob check Belle out as she left the trailer. Once she closed the door, Rob turned around.

"You fuckin her?"

"Uh, no."

"Figured, she's not really your type. She probably gives a great blow job though, those kinds of girls are usually good at th-"

"Don’t fuckin talk about her like that man!"

Rob threw his arms up in surrender, "Jeez sorry, didn't realize you were so touchy."

"What do you want?"

"I wanted to see my dear old friend…we getting into anything later? Aubrey mentioned a few people were hanging out after the shoot. She seems like she could be fun for us."

"No. I'm busy," Dieter folded his arms in front of his chest, wanting this conversation over before Belle walked back in.

"Oh that's right, I forgot your "clean" now," Rob made exaggerated air quotes. "C'mon man, we both know you're gonna fall back into it like you always do."

Dieter stood up, getting nose to nose with the man who was just slightly taller than him.

"We’re done here, unless you have something of substance to ask me?"

"Jeez, you're wound tight. I'll have to tell Aubrey to work on that for you," he winked as the trailer door opened again.

In reality you didn’t go anywhere, you just needed a moment to breathe outside. But when you heard shuffling inside, you decided to go back to make sure Dieter was okay.

As you walk in you hear the tail end of Rob's comment, something about Aubrey working on something. You shake your head as your eyes meet Dieter's. 

You clear your throat, "excuse me, can I finish up here? I'd hate to get us behind schedule."

Rob turns around and rolls his eyes at you, "Sure thing sweetheart, see you all out there."

Your eyes follow Rob as he walks out the door, turning around to see Dieter in front of you. He doesn't say anything, instead stepping up to you for a kiss. Like most kisses with the two of you, it quickly turned more passionate as he brings one hand to the back of your head and the other around your waist.

"Baby, you're going to make us get behind schedule," you smile into the kiss.

"Worth it. Fuck Rob."

You pull back, giving him one final chaste kiss on the lips. "C'mon sit back down."

"Okaaay, whatever you say," he smirks as he gives your ponytail a playful tug.

For his first look, which was a bit on the casual side, you opt to go simple with the products. You work some thickening mousse into your hands and start to sculpt the curls how you wanted them before adding more definition with a combination of two of the products Meredith gave you. 

You were concetrating so hard that you didn't notice how Dieter's eyes trailed your every move. You also didn't notice the permanent smile on his face as he watched you meticulously craft his hair.

"Ok, I think we're almost done, just a little hairspray, close your eyes," you shield his eyes with your hand as you finish off his style with some hairspray. "Ok, what do you think?" You move around to the side of the chair, looking at his reaction in the mirror.

He leans forward, examining the sides as you hand him a mirror so he could see the back as you twirl the chair around. "Baby, it looks so good. Do you like it?" His flirty tone returns as he wiggles his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I think you look…good." 

"Just good?" He pouts.

You laugh and roll your eyes bringing your hands to rest on his broad shoulders, "no silly, you look handsome, you always do."

"Always, huh?" He rests his hands on your hips, looking up at you as you blush. "That's good to know."

"I have to get you over to Aubrey," you giggle as he stands up and kisses your neck. "S-stop," you giggle even more.

"Ok, sorry.”

"Listen, she's going to put you in a sweatshirt so please be careful putting it on, I don't want to flatten your curls."

"Yes ma'am, I'll try my best." He gives you another quick kiss before he walks out of the trailer, leaving you to clean up and pack your on-set kit.

The first location is breathtaking. On one side there is a beautiful, pristine private beach with white sand and the clearest water. On the other side, you are in awe at the expansive vistas with mountains dotted with trees and plant life. You feel like you were on the set of Jurassic Park.

And as breathtaking as the views were, the subject of the photoshoot also took your breath away. His first look was so simple and casual, a pair of gray board shorts with a blue and white tie-dyed sweatshirt. Dieter just exuded this sexy confidence. 

Aubrey pulled the hood of the sweatshirt over his head, but you were barely annoyed at the fact that she covered up most of your work. There were still a few curls that peaked out from under the hood and it was adorable.

You stand off to the side and sneak in a couple of photos using your phone. Rob asks Dieter to stand in place as he moves around to try and find a different angle. Suddenly you are positioned right behind Rob and in Dieter's line of vision. He had the art of the smolder down and suddenly it feels like it’s directed at you. So much so that you look behind you briefly to see if anyone else is standing there, which makes Dieter slightly smirk. As your eyes connect again, you feel the wet spot starting to form in your underwear.

It felt like you were in your own little bubble, just the two of you. You didn't notice Liz admiring this interaction. She can sense there is something special between the two of you simply based on how the tone of his voice slightly changes whenever he speaks about you. Even on phone calls she could tell he was smiling. So seeing the two of you together confirmed to her how much of a positive influence you were having. 

"Ok, I think we're good with this one. Onto the next look Aubrey," Rob says as he reviews the shots on his camera.

"Alright Dee, let's go," she ushers him back to the trailer as you stand by waiting.

"He's doing good huh?" You turn to see Liz behind you.

"Oh hi! Y-yea I think so, he's such a pro," you smile.

"Oh with this? Oh yes, it's old hat for him, he's done so many over the years. No, I mean like on set...with you…he's doing ok?"

You understand what she was implying as she looks at you like a mother asking how their child was doing at school. It’s sweet to see how much she cares about Dieter. He cares so much about her and just wants her to be proud of him.

"Oh yeah! He's great. So professional and amazing on set. He knows everyone's names and he's been helping Indy when she has questions or gets nervous."

"Good, good." She smiles. It seemed like there was more she wanted to say but she refrained.

"I should probably head over to see what touchups I can do."

"Oh yeah, please, don't let me hold you up!"

You stand outside of the wardrobe trailer making small talk with Danny. Aubrey finishes up a conversation with Rob and barges into the trailer without knocking. Through the doorway, you see Dieter had changed into his next pair of shorts, but he didn't have his shirt on yet. Aubrey went to close the door behind her, but you hear Dieter tell her that he didn't need help getting dressed.

“You can wait outside just like everyone else.”

She huffs as she retreats back outside, opting to stand on the other side of Danny rather than by you.

Your phone buzzes and you smile when you see Indy’s name on your screen.

INDY: How's it going? Get in a fight with dumbass Aubrey yet?

BELLE: Going well and no I'm behaving 😉

You sent her one of the photos you snuck during the first look.

INDY: Holy shit, he looks hot!

INDY: his hair looks good, just wish you could see more of it

BELLE: I knoooow 🙄 that was a dumbass Aubrey move

"Hey Belle, could you come in here?" Dieter opens the trailer door, still not wearing a shirt.

You blush as Danny smirks and starts to walk away. You caught Aubrey rolling her eyes.

"What do you need?" You ask as he closes the door behind you.

"Well…" he has a devious look on his face. "What I really want to say is you, but I know we'd get behind schedule and frankly I'm trying to get done so we can go back to the room," he winks. 

This man wasn't touching you and frankly wasn't even standing that close to you, but your legs felt wobbly and that wet patch from earlier was starting to grow. 

"I was going to ask you which shirt. Aubrey gave me two options and I wanted to see which one you liked."

He had on red swim trunks which ended a few inches above his knee. In one hand he had a white short-sleeved button-up with a pattern you couldn't make out. The other option was a white silky long-sleeved shirt which looked a bit like pajamas. 

You look around at the accessories Aubrey had laid out, glancing back to the two shirt options before making your decision. 

"Hmm, I think you go with this one," you point at the short-sleeved shirt. As he starts to put it on you grab a necklace from the counter. It was a pretty long chain with a silver square pendant. "Maybe you wear this and leave the top couple of buttons unbuttoned."

He smirks at you, seeing your mouth salivate at the sight of his bare chest. "Good choice."

"Oh and maybe these," you tuck a pair of sunglasses into the pocket of his shirt.

"Thank you for the help," he winks.

You start to fiddle with his hair, messing it up a bit while still keeping his curls defined.

"I think you look great," you step back and give him a once over. "Ready?"

"Let's go."

For the second look, Rob made Dieter walk along the beach, kicking up the water and encouraging him to be playful. His youthful energy was very much on display. 

The shoot is going according to schedule, but there are still a couple of more looks to get through. For his next one, he looks so cozy in a pair of yellow nylon shorts paired with a simple black T-shirt. The main attraction of this look was a floor-length white overcoat with orange and green stripes. For his final look, he wore a pair of white shorts with a few pleats down the front. He wore a white undershirt with a blue plaid long-sleeved button-down which was topped with a blue jacket. You reluctantly had to give it to Aubrey, all of the looks were amazing and were perfectly fitted to Dieter's body. 

He was due to do the interview over lunch as the crew packed everything up to head back to the resort. From your understanding, it was a two-part interview with the first part today and the second tomorrow from set. Before he heads off to meet the woman, he stops you.

"Psst, c'mere." He motions over to you. 

"What?"

"I wanna take a photo of you, of us," he blushes.

"Oh okay!"

He looks around at the beach and positions you both so it is in the background. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and rests his head on top of yours as his long arm extends forward to take a selfie. 

"What do you think?" He shows you the photo.

"Aww cute, I love it."

"Sweet, well I'll text it to you. I'm gonna go do this interview over lunch. Make sure you eat something too ok?"

"I will, I promise."

"Dieter! So good to see you again!" 

"Great to see you too Maria," he gives her a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek.

Maria Ramos has been an entertainment reporter for the last 15 years and has followed Dieter's career closely, nabbing his first interview post-Oscar win. While her coverage was mostly fair about him over the years, she wasn't shy about pressing him about the tough topics. That's part of the reason why Liz always flanked him on these interviews. She wanted to protect him and intervene should anything unsavory come up.

"Liz! So good to see you, you look great!"

"So do you, thanks for meeting us out here!"

The interview went well, as they talked about the show and how Dieter felt being the elder statesman of the cast. Liz was a little skeptical at how good it had been going.

"Ok, well I think we're about ready to wrap here and head back. Anything else for Dee?" She asks the woman. 

"Actually yes. Are you dating someone on the crew? You were spotted with a woman and it looks like she's here today. Any truth to the rumor?"

"I…uh," Dieter looks at Liz.

"Maria," she smiles. "I thought we agreed that we were going to steer clear of personal questions since the purpose of this interview is to highlight the show, the production, and the island, not to fuel the internet gossip machine."

"Right, of course. I just figured your fans," she looked directly at Dieter, "would be curious how you were doing. You look great by the way," she winked at him.

"Well thanks, Maria. That's nice of you to say. All I'll say to you is that I feel the happiest I've felt in a long time." He went to stand up and leave before stopping. "Feel free to interpret that however you'd like."

Dieter went back to the resort wearing the sweatshirt from the first look, Aubrey managed to get him a few pieces to keep. 

Everyone settled back into their seats from the drive earlier. Since everything was done, the drive back was quieter. You stare out the window, the gentle rocking of the van making your eyes feel heavy. Your early wake-up was catching up with you as you closed your eyes.

She looks so peaceful and beautiful when she's sleeping.

Dieter’s eyes fell onto Belle watching her as she was fast asleep, head slumped onto the window. He didn't realize the smile he had on his face, but Liz did.

"Hey," she whispers over to him, breaking his trance. "Things are going well, huh?" She motions behind her to where Belle is sleeping.

Dieter nods. "I really like her Lizzie. She's…she's special."

"I know, Dee. I can tell. You seem so happy, look," she pulls out her phone to show him a candid shot she took earlier that day. In the shot, Belle was touching up Dieter's hair, the pair laughing. "She looks at you like you hung the moon in the sky, Dee."

Dieter smiles seeing Belle so happy, but then a flicker of sadness hits his eyes as he rubs the back of his neck. "I don't deserve her Lizzie…all the shit I've done, I'm really trying hard to not fuck it up."

"Can you see yourself with her years from now?"

"I don't want to think about a life without her," he bits his bottom lip, looking back to Belle. "She's everything I've ever wanted."

"Don't overanalyze it, sweetheart, let it happen."

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

A/N: If you want to know where my wardrobe inspiration came from for the photo shoot, then I suggest you google “Pedro Pascal GQ Beach” and enjoy the first link. 

Thank you for reading. I appreciate all of the kind comments, reblogs, and likes … it makes my day!

Tag list: @musings-of-a-rose / @legendary-pink-dot / @bitchwitch1981 / @mysterious-moonstruck-musings / @gracie7209 / @amneris21 / @pastelnap / @maryfanson / @sunnywithachanceofjavi / @sin-djarin / @winchestergypsy90 / @for-a-longlongtime /@harriedandharrassed / @titlee78 / @midnightraain / @poodlebae / @partyofone3413

#dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfic #working title fic #dieter bravo fic

[kyber-crystal]

rendezvous at midnight || jake “hangman” seresin

summary: you’ve always been good at handling any obstacle thrown your way. but when the clock starts ticking and you find yourself next to hangman, things change. could the new year bring with it a newfound love? maybe...

words: ~1.8k

warnings: mentions of alcohol, minor rivals-to-lovers trope but that’s it. this is mostly pretty fluffy!

a/n: so i had to repost this bc it flopped so hard...idk what’s happening to my fics lmao. i deeply apologize, this was really rushed and poorly written

It was only a matter of seconds before you choked to death.

You weren’t actually dying, but that was what it felt like. After growing accustomed to being in uniform most of the time, the switch to fine silk felt strange. Goosebumps rose up on your skin as you sat down at the bar and adjusted the strap of your form-fitting dress. 

As pretty and pearlescent as it was, it did little to keep you warm amidst the crowded area. 

You had practiced walking in heels in the morning until your ankles turned bright red. If you could ensure that you wouldn’t fall in front of everyone, you’d take all necessary steps to get there.

“How’s my favorite girl doing?” Penny offered you a warm smile and a sparkling glass of liquor. “Are you holding up okay?”

“Tired,” you explained. “I didn’t sleep last night.”

“Too busy thinking about him?”

“Come on, it’s not like that,” you groaned as you finished off your drink. “You know it’s not like that.”

“I know it is like that,” she quipped. 

“We compete. We don’t fall in love,” you said. “That’s what we do. We’re not going any farther than snarky insults.”

“Go find him. There’s half an hour ‘til the clock strikes 12,” It almost sounded like she was hinting at something. “Then you start fresh. Begin again. No rivalry. And if you’re lucky, you can steal a kiss or two.”

“Penny!” 

“What? I’m only giving you suggestions. Now shoo. I’m not letting you get drunk again and force poor Bob and Mav to drag you home.”

“Fine,” you exhaled as you set your glass down and got up. “I’ll catch you later…unless you’re too busy with one certain captain…”

Penny rolled her eyes and waved you off, trying not to smile. 

You found him standing alone in the corner, nursing a glass of tequila and looking quite content. Seeing his slim, toned figure under the dim bar lights tugged at your heartstrings. The man truly was a sight for sore eyes, save the rivalry…and ego…and overcompetitive nature.

“Tired already?” you asked. Hangman looked up, and the corners of his mouth turned up a bit. “It’s a lot, isn’t it.”

“Sure is,” he chuckled. “You look…incredible, darling.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, suddenly feeling nervous in front of him. “You do, too.”

“Hard to believe it’s almost January. It feels like we got here yesterday.”

“I don’t believe in time. This isn’t real,” you shook your head and laughed. “Things go by way too fast for me to process anything. I’m in denial of the fact that none of us knew each other five years ago.”

“Coyote and Payback weren’t best friends. Let that sink in,” Hangman added on. “Neither were Bob and Phoenix.”

“There’s no way…”

“Part of me misses how we used to be, though. Before the academy.”

“Jake, we fought all the time through college,” you reminded him. “Why would you want to go back to it?”

“Well…the year’s almost over. Might as well turn over a new leaf,” he held a hand out to you. “What do you say?”

“Okay.” You smiled, and shook his hand. “I like the sound of that.”

“It’s like they’re sucked into their own bubble. Lost in their own little world,” Payback observed the two of you laughing together. “Y’know, the tiny city in the Lorax? Like that, but make it naval aviators. It’s cute.”

“It would be cuter if they would just kiss already,” Fanboy groaned. “How long has it been? Four years?”

“‘Cause Seresin’s dumb ass thinks that insulting Y/N all the time is the ultimate way to win her over. None of his thousand attempts have come across to her clear enough yet,” Coyote backed up. “But we gotta give ‘em time. That’s all we can do right now.”

“I guess so…”

“Jake. If you keep chugging your tequila like that, you’ll regret it,” you warned. “Starting the new year with a hangover isn’t the way to go.”

“You said my first name.”

“Did you even hear what I said after that?”

“You’ve never said my first name before,” Hangman observed. “But now you did. It’s nice. I like the change.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to get annoyed, not when he was looking at you the way he currently was. Eyes once filled with hardness and frustration now softened at the sight of you.

“Hold still.” Your brows furrowed in concentration as you reached up to fix his tie. “Your tie’s all crooked.”

Your fingers accidentally brushed against his skin, and electricity shot through your body. You stood there, frozen for a moment, before bringing them down—and his eyes stayed on you the whole time.

“There,” you stated, dusting your hands off. It was a miracle that you could utter even a word without your voice trembling. “Good as new.”

“Thanks.”

The awkward silence that fell over you afterward was rather heavy. You didn’t know how long it lasted for, standing there, avoiding intense eye contact while trying not to melt into the floor.

A series of loud voices snapped you out of your awkward moment. Everyone had gathered around the bar, watching the TV and counting out loud. Thirty seconds left…so you let Hangman take your hand and lead you closer to the scene. 

You didn’t say anything, even when he kept his grip on your hand and looked up at the screen. You found that you liked the company and didn’t want him to let go of you.

15, 14, 13, 12

11, 10, 9, 8

Hangman turned towards you once again. “Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to kiss you.”

“Okay.” The word was out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. 

7, 6

5, 4

His hand slid up to your cheek. The air in the room grew impossibly thicker, and you face felt hotter.

3, 2, 1...and like a flash of lightning, his lips are on yours and you melt into his touch. You can feel the heat radiating from his skin and you hold onto his shoulders to keep your balance. Both of you are most likely a bit tipsy but that does little to slow down the butterflies in your stomach. He’s everywhere and you’re on fire and you should stop yourselves at this point but you don’t. You can’t, because you don’t want to. How could you have imagined that his lips would feel so perfect; so delicately warm and soft against yours; that with one small gesture, he could break down the walls you tried so hard to build up around your heart. He was here, but he was everywhere, too. 

When you finally break apart, you’re dazed and confused. You’re too out of it to notice Bob and Coyote exchanging wads of cash, or that it’s already several minutes past twelve. Your head is spinning, and your knees feel weak. 

It’s a miracle that you make it home that night without passing out.

It was only a kiss, you tell yourself. That’s all it was supposed to be. But it still manages to creep its way into your dreams, into your sleep, and sinks into your skin—you can’t escape it. What had only lasted for a few minutes was taking up your entire day and sucking all the energy from your body. You wanted to crawl into a deep hole and stay there forever—at least in the darkness, nobody could visualize your embarrassment. And your reddening face. And the way you clung to him like there was no tomorrow.

“The queen has finally emerged from her beauty sleep.” Maverick looked amused as you lifted your head off your desk and blinked. “Welcome back.”

“Sorry, Mav,” you mumbled as you rubbed your eyes. 

He gave you a look that seemed to say he understood what was going on. “It’s okay. Now back to what I was saying…”

It was like you were dragging your feet through rivers of mud. You could still feel him. His lips ghosting over yours, hands leaving the imprint of his tantalizing touch on your waist. You couldn’t get the feeling out of your head…but how could you? This was Hangman, and Hangman was a difficult person to forget—he was everything and you hated to love it.

After the day’s lesson finished, you were out of there and in the dining hall as fast as possible. 

“You look like you saw your morals fly right out the window,” Fanboy noted as he set his tray down and sat next to you. 

“Because they did,” you muttered. “New year, new me? More like new year, and old habits die hard.”

“I wouldn’t call your feelings for Seresin an old habit. They’ve always been there. It came to you naturally.”

“Shut up before I throw this juicebox at you.”

“You should do something, you know. You kissed.”

“And we had both been drinking before. He only initiated it because of the liquor confidence boost.”

“So? That doesn’t change how he was looking at you before. He was standing over there waiting for you to come to him,” Fanboy argued. “Give the man a chance. You ran away too fast last night.”

“Fine. But you owe me dinner tomorrow.”

“Deal.”

Can we talk?

You typed out a quick Meet by the docks before grabbing your purse and heading out the door. He was already there when you arrived.

“Hey…” you began.

“Hey.”

You stood there in silence as he started to speak. “So, about last night. I wasn’t drunk, at least, not enough to forget what I said or did. I hope you weren’t? I wouldn’t want to take advantage of you.”

“I wasn’t.” 

“Okay, good.”

“Yeah.”

“Great.”

Right then, you became all too aware of the way he was gazing at you—alcohol or not, the look in Hangman’s eyes was the exact same as the one last night…and you felt your pulse start racing. Had he always stared at you that way but you were too oblivious to notice? 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” your voice came out so quiet that he almost missed what you said. 

“Sweetheart, I don’t know how else to look at you.”

You felt your cheeks grow hot. It was only a kiss. Nothing more. 

“You didn’t do it out of pity, right?”

“I couldn’t do that to you or myself. I didn’t do it on accident, Y/N. It wasn’t a mistake.”

“Oh.”

You took three steps toward him, enough to be mere inches away from his face. His arms wrapped around you on instinct and you let him pull you close. Then when he tilted his head down to kiss you again, you let him, and the butterflies remained. 

He was here, and he was everywhere, too.

tags, including those who may be interested: @queenbbarnes​ @walkonthewiidside​ @sarcastic-sourwolf​ @totomoshi​ @sebastianstangirl01​ @altheadarling​ @hay-9105​ @purelyfiction​ @93joons​ @yeehawnana​ @lunamoonbby​ @hazelgirl355​ @multifandom-fangirl4​ @paintballkid711​ @lyn-lc​ @azari-anna​ @thelifeofthelifeofme​ @spawn0fsatan​ @milestomaverick​ @newlibrary​ @ellabellabus07​ @criminalyetminimal​ @whatlovegattado​ @lets-be-gay-for-the-angel​ @hufflepuffprincesse​ @ice-mans-world​ @burnedbrisket​ @fangirlinc​ @marveljunkie45​ @knowledgefulbutterfly​ @levis-butterfingers​ @organabanks​ @coastingline​ @skylynch03​ @chaoticassidy​ @hbstre​ @mercury-mae​ @light-the-moon​ @winteryoungie​ @aie1840​ @thisismypointofview​ @minivture​ @teacactusworld​ @icemansgirl1999​​ @cherry-waved​ @vane28282​ @worldsoldestpizzaslice

#top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun fic #top gun fanfic #jake seresin #hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman seresin x reader #glen powell #top gun maverick fic #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic

[luvvewan]

Soon Enough

Written for the QuiObi Writing Discord’s “Reclaim the Tag” challenge. I had two prompts from dear @sanerontheinside : “illegal” and “sensitive”. (A03 story link here)

The sun sets early on Calypsa and the chill seeps in even earlier. The open-top repulsorcraft is well-used, creaking and grinding; Qui-Gon remembers this particular model being old decades ago. The benches on both sides are packed with passengers. His Padawan is pressed up against him, due to the limited space but also the cold.

They both wear their cloaks closed over their tunics and their hoods pulled around their faces.

The ride will take hours more, well into the night. Qui-Gon has spent most of the time with his eyes closed in a light meditation. He can sense Obi-Wan’s restlessness, however.

He leans over slightly. “Doing alright?”

Obi-Wan snorts. The hulking Cloddogran sitting on the other side of him is continuously jabbing his ribs with two of its four elbows. It would be amusing if Obi-Wan were not recovering from a local flu, and still nauseated. “Fine, Master.”

Qui-Gon nods, looking out at the plains. Time passes as the darkness deepens, and he can no longer see the expanse of swaying grasses around them. At some point Obi-Wan sags against him, asleep. The repulsorcraft lacks headrests, so Qui-Gon lightly places his head atop Obi-Wan’s and closes his eyes. He sends soothing energy to his apprentice and then stays there, drifting in the Force, brushing against Obi-Wan’s presence now and again to be sure of his recovering health. His Padawan’s exhaustion is catching. Qui-Gon barely feels himself slipping into sleep when a voice growls nearby.

“Hey.”

Instantly he is alert, lifting his head. Most of the other passengers are slumbering or staring into the night, except for the humanoid male sitting across from him.

“Hey!” The man repeats, louder. He’s wearing layers of dusty clothes with a faded jacket that looks to belong to the planet’s military. His arms are crossed over his chest. He is perhaps a few years older than Qui-Gon, judging by the white patches in his beard and the deep creases under his eyes.

“What is it?” Qui-Gon asks quietly, sensitive to the sleeping life forms and his own Padawan resting against him.

“Where’d you take him from?” The man jerks his head, motioning. “The kid?”

Qui-Gon realizes this stranger means Obi-Wan. He clears his throat. “I haven’t taken him from anywhere.”

The man laughs. “Sure you haven’t. Y’know where I come from, your kind’s illegal.”

“And what kind would that be?”

“You must think I’m as dumb as a womprat. The kid’s got one of those long Jedi braid things.”

Qui-Gon studies the irate man calmly. “He’s not a kid, he is my apprentice. And Jedi are not illegal on Calypsa, nor on any system in the Republic.”

“Well,” the man sneers, “you Jedi should be illegal. Stealing kids and thinking you’re above everyone.”

This isn’t the first time Qui-Gon has had this conversation. Obi-Wan shifts against him and coughs. “The Jedi are above no one. We serve the people of the Republic.

The man gives a sour chuckle. “Alright. Talking to one of you’s like talking to a wall.” He shakes his head and looks away from Qui-Gon, jaw tensed.

Qui-Gon exhales and glances down at Obi-Wan, who is thankfully still asleep. His Padawan doesn’t handle such accusations well. It brings out the argumentative side of him. So really, Qui-Gon is protecting the stranger from Obi-Wan.

He settles against the hard bench, preparing to rest again.

“You take babies and you brainwash ‘em. My mother…she never wanted to let him go but these high and mighty men, in robes just like yours, talked at her until she didn’t know her own name, I swear. The next time we saw him, he had that long braid and was laid out on a damned pyre.”

The words jab into Qui-Gon’s gut. He had thought they were speaking in general terms, not from any personal experience. He finds himself searching his memory for a slain humanoid Padawan from his own generation. Sadly, there are several that come to mind. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says.

“I bet,” the man glares at Qui-Gon. The wind whips long strands of hair into his ruddy face. “Soon enough, it’ll be your turn, eh, Jedi?” He looks at Obi-Wan, then back to Qui-Gon, pale eyes glinting with bitterness. “Then maybe you’ll understand.”

The engine whirs loudly. Qui-Gon hopes that between the mechanical noises and the wind, Obi-Wan has not heard. He knows there is no use in reasoning with this wounded man. Too much bias interferes—on both sides, he can admit.

The man mutters under his breath and pulls his jacket tighter across his chest.

Qui-Gon notices a few other riders have tilted their heads to watch the tense exchange. He tucks his hands into his sleeves and exhales, ignoring them. He probably could have handled the situation better, but it was the man’s sadness, rather than his anger, that took Qui-Gon by surprise. He wondered if he had known the slain brother, if he had stood around the same pyre with the man now sitting across from him.

He rarely thinks of Obi-Wan’s birth family, or his own. It isn’t until this moment that he envisions grieving parents, mourning the loss of a child they never knew.

A strong breeze steals his breath and stings his eyes. He rubs them with two fingers.

He feels Obi-Wan stir against him. “Master?” He asks, voice muddled from sleep. “What is it?”

Qui-Gon frees his arm and brings it around Obi-Wan’s shoulders, to ward off the night’s chill. “Nothing, Padawan. Go back to sleep.”

Qui-Gon frees his arm and brings it around Obi-Wan’s shoulders, to ward off the night’s chill. “Nothing, Padawan. Go back to sleep.”

#star wars #obi-wan kenobi #qui-gon jinn #obi-wan #quiobi #reclaim the tag

[enough-spider-noir-stuff]

fuck it. incorrect quotes be upon ye

i've done that before and now i've made more. all from that one incorrect quote generator, you know the one

Jean, holding an antique bottle: Is this whiskey or perfume? Peter: *grabs and chugs the entire bottle* Peter: Peter: It's perfume.

Jean: I love murder mysteries! Spider, trying to impress him: I've been a suspect in four murder cases.

Peter: If I die, you can have what little I own. Jean: Wait. What do you mean "if" you die? Peter: My unending existence is fuelled by pure spite, that of which the painful experiences of life have rendered me full. Jean: Jean: *Sighs* Let me call your therapist again.

Peter, to Jean: How do you tell someone politely you want to hit them with a brick?

Jean, watching over a sleeping Peter: You’re so cute. Peter, sleepily: I could beat your ass. Jean, gently: I know.

Peter: What are you drinking? Jean: Vodka. Peter: Straight? Jean: No, gay. Why?

Jean: When I first met you, I thought you were weird and annoying. Peter: And? Jean: And you are.

Peter, T-posing in the doorway: Greetings, Jean. Jean, not looking up from their coffee: Good morning, problem child.

Jean: Parker, is that legal? Peter: When there's no cops around, anything's legal!

Jean: Parker. I--

Jean: GET BACK HERE YOU DUMB FUCK! Peter: LET ME RUN FROM THE CONSEQUENCES OF MY ACTIONS!

Peter: What if I lied this whole time and I'm actually 18? Jean: Peter, stop trying to get drugs. Peter: Don't suppress my interests.

Jean: What can therapy do for me that screaming in my car for 30 minutes can’t?

*At the police station* Jean: Hi, I’m here for Peter. Police officer: Who’s Peter? Jean: Ah, you must be new.

Jean: Are you ever going to listen to me? Peter: Yes. Absolutely. Jean: When? Peter: When you're right.

Peter: The risk I took was calculated but, man, am I bad at math.

Peter: Fight me! Jean, standing behind him and holding a gun: *mouths* Do not.

Peter: Can you keep a secret? Jean: Do you know anything about my life? Peter: No, I don't. Good point.

Peter, handing a balloon to Jean: I have no soul. Have a good day! Jean, walking off: I don't have one either.

Peter: You’re drunk. Jean: Correction: drinking. Present tense. Grammar, Parker.

Peter: Am I going too far? Jean: No, no, no. You went too far about 7 hours ago. Now you’re going to prison.

Peter: *coughs blood* Jean: Don't die, Parker! Peter: Don't tell me what to do!

Jean: I’m genuinely surprised you haven’t gotten arrested, let alone gotten a felony yet. Peter: Nat 20 Charisma. Jean: That is NOT how that works-

Jean: Did you just refer to a knife as a “people-opener”? Spider: Spider: …Should I not have?

Young Jean, lying on the floor, depressed: I'll never be a cop. I'm gonna have to be a robber.

Jean: What the hell is wrong with you? Peter: I have this weird self-esteem issue where I hate myself but still think I’m better than everyone else.

Jean: Let’s not Parker this into a worse situation than it already is. Peter: Did you just use my name as a verb?

Jean: *cocks gun* Go to Bed. This is no longer a request, This is now a Threat.

Peter: I scare people a lot because I walk very softly and they don't hear me enter rooms. So when they turn around, I'm just kind of there and their fear fuels me.

Peter, writing in their diary with a glitter gel pen: I'm losing my sense of humanity. Nothing matters. God is dead. There's blood on my hands.

Jean: I’m gonna kill you. Peter: Get in line!

#peter benjamin parker #jean dewolfe #spider-man noir #incorrect quotes #i am SO normal about them (<- lying) #i love making these. its perfect for procrastinating the actual writing

[barbiewritesstuff]

The Playboy And The Coffees

-- I know I need to upload part 3 of the Hotch series but I’m still writing it so here’s something else :) Playboy Hotch lives in my mind rent free.

Before I start… do y’all know how long I had to search to find Hotch’s handwriting??? Outrageous. Also yes, I know graphology is heavily critiques, but this is fanfic, let me pretend. 

Thank you to @lgg5989 :) and @ravensmadreads :) for beta reading and inspo!!!!

TW. Mentions of sex, violence and concussions and that’s it I think, Ope, no, also TW. for super out of character Hotch :) –

You don’t know much about your neighbour. You know his last name, because it’s on the post box. You know he has a monthly subscription to psychology today, and you know he sees his sons on weekends. And you know that because A. Hotchner, as his letterbox says, has a revolving door of women on all other days of the week.

And it’s starting to piss you off.

No, scratch that. You have just gone through a week and a half of gruelling shifts at the hospital. You have been scratched, bitten, attacked with a bedpan and called every bad name under the sun, and now the fucker next door, whom you share a bedroom wall with, is having sex loud enough that you could probably recognise the woman by voice alone. 

You are beyond furious. 

Furious enough, in fact, to march down to his flat and hit and kick his door until he opens it. He stands there shirtless, having hastily put on his underwear and with an angry frown on his face that disappears as soon as he sees you. You know you look like you’ve been through hell, and in your mind, you might as well have. Your hair is dishevelled, your scrubs are torn and one of your sleeves is hanging off limply, three large scratches red and swollen showing in the bit of uncovered skin. You look like you’ve walked away from a bear attack and you can see the thought cross his mind.

He opens his mouth to say something but you launch into a tirade before he can. You whisper-shout it, because you’re a decent person and you don’t want to wake anyone up, “It’s three am. I have come back from a twenty-four hour shift thinking I’d be able to have a good night of sleep, only to find out my dick of a neighbour is having a woman over -- and I’m not even going to call it having sex with her, because with the noise she’s making, I don’t know if she’s having fun -- do you realise I can hear everything? Every stupid thing you say? How you’re going to ruin her? How you’re going to make sure she can never walk again? How you love how dumb she gets for your dick? Buddy, no dick has that power, she’s just stupid. Which is why she’s sleeping with you. Either you keep quiet or I swear I am calling the police to report a fucking murder. And you best hope it’s not yours.”

Feeling slightly better, as though unleashing on your shitty neighbour has relieved you from the pressures of the day, you turn on your heels and walk to your own door, slamming the door as quietly as possible. Seconds later, you hear his door click shut and then their activities resume, punctuated every so often by him shushing her and telling her to be quiet. You draw yourself a bath, bubbles and all, and begin a cycle on the washing machine, ready to unwind before bed. It works a little too well and you wake up an hour later, shrivelled like a prune, with just enough energy to make it onto your bed before you crash again.

At seven, there’s a knock on your door and you go to open it, feeling frustrated. A. Hotchner stands in front of you, a little boy holding his right hand, his left one occupied by a coffee. 

“To apologise,” he says, extending the coffee towards you.

“Can I pet your cat?” the little boy says, “I know you have one. He’s black and white and he meows funny.”

You smile at the boy, “I do have a cat, but maybe you can pet him another day. I came home from work not that long ago and I’m very tired,” you explain to the child, before turning to your neighbour, “Usually when someone comes home at three in the morning, they don’t take well to being woken up at seven” you say, you grab the coffee and turn away, closing the door as quickly as you could, hoping that the wind slapped him in the face, something you really wish you could have done yourself. 

Inside, you take one curious sip of the coffee and immediately annoy yourself further. It’s good coffee. Probably from that upscale place in town that charges nearly ten dollars a small cup because their organic coffee is ground on site, which, you want to tell your sister whenever she gushes about their seven dollar espressos, you’re pretty sure all coffee places do. 

A. Hotchner also somehow managed to get the order just right, and even though it doesn’t take a genius to figure out you like caramel lattes since your recycling box is made up largely of your starbucks cups, you wonder how he managed to get that right and still forget that there were only four hours between three am and seven am. 

Luckily, you manage to sleep through the rest of the morning and wake up in better spirits than before. You have the rest of the very good coffee, which still manages to taste okay after being microwaved, forgotten and then microwaved again and set about studying for your postgrad exam. You resurface again just in time for dinner, like a bear coming out of hibernation, your mind so used to focussing that it’s hard doing normal things. 

The next day, the first Sunday you spend at home in about four weeks, is spent pretty much the same way, save for a good night of quiet sleep and no morning time interruption. Then, much to your dismay, Monday arrives and with it, a day shift.

The day is quiet and goes by fast. You haven’t been hurt, so this is one of the best days you’ve had in the past month and you’re in a very good mood, so good, in fact that when A. Hotchner, whose first name you still don’t know, starts his weeknight ritual of keeping you awake with his revolving door of women, you’re only a little annoyed. 

Then, at ten, right when you are about to go to bed, your phone rings with a work emergency. The girl he has over next door is screaming so hard that your colleague on the other side of the line asks if you’re okay, and then, embarrassingly, if you are safe and you have to explain that yes, you’re fine. You just live in a cheap apartment where the walls are made of cardboard, which sends you back into a near homicidal rage. You agree to come in, but only for a couple of hours, until the nurse that was supposed to come in can be located. Once you get there, a couple of hours turns into eight, and by the time you’re out you have an hour before your shift starts. You have to go home to feed your cat but petty as you are, and wanting to make someone pay, you buy a cup of cheap mcdonalds coffee and stick a post-it to it, depositing it at your neighbours door.

Vinnie, your cat, is happy to see you. Or as happy as a cat can be, meaning that he follows you around but acts offended whenever you try to pet him. Eventually, you abandon the search for affection and drop some kibble into his bowl before promptly leaving again. The cup is still on his doormat, so you turn the cup so the message (“She was faking it”) will immediately be visible when he opens the door and knock loudly. You disappear down the stairs before he can catch you, trying to psych yourself up for what you feel will be yet another shitty shift. 

By the time you come home again, the cup is gone, and a new one awaits on your doormat. A message is written on the cardboard band around it but you don’t read it until you’re inside. You open the door to Vinnie, your only friend by now, meowing at you like he’s asking where you’ve been.

“To work,” you reply, “Someone needs to pay for the rent. And the high end kitty kibble you demand, you freeloader.”

He meows at you again. It’s short and deep, and makes him sound like a 1940s mafia man, which is why you’ve called him Vinnie and why he gets dressed in a little suit and tie with a fake cigar for every Halloween since the day you adopted him. Or he adopted you, because you were only at the shelter to accompany your sister, and Vinnie, the spry young kitten, climbed your leg like a tree and took shelter in your coat refusing to be removed. He screamed so loud and for so long that his vocal cords were damaged. 

You think it’s sweet that he wanted to be taken home so badly, but you can’t help but wonder if he’s not regretting it now. Your apartment is shit, you get paid peanuts and you’re barely ever home. Maybe he’s lonely. Adopting another cat isn’t really viable, because you can’t afford the vet bills, or the insurance. Maybe getting A. Hotchner’s (okay, you really need to ask his name) kid to come by isn’t such a bad idea.

Speaking of, you remember your coffee. It’s from the nice place again and you savour it, not willing to stop for a second to read the message, so you twist the band off and read it like that. 

“You’re just jealous.” 

You smirk. As much as he annoys you, you’re happy he’s humouring you. And the fact that he keeps getting you good coffee when you got him a terrible mcdonald’s one isn’t entirely lost on you. Either he’s got money to spare -- he probably hasn’t. He lives in the same, shitty apartment building you do -- or he wants you to have the good coffee. 

You need to study, and try to push the thoughts of A (seriously, you need to ask. There aren’t that many possibilities… Alexander? Anthony? Andrew? Adrian? Aaron? Austin? Adam? You’re not sure, but the rest of the names google suggested when you typed in ‘boy names starting in A’ seems too modern. He really doesn’t look like an Ace… Or does he? No, definitely not. With his brown eyes, black hair and handsome face, he looks more like an Andrew or an Alexander. Andrew Hotchner sounds good too…) out of your mind, but it fails spectacularly. 

That little voice in your head, the one you don’t want to listen to because it likes to remind you of attractive boys and of the fact that you could be married by now, pipes up and reminds you that in your search for the correct A name, you described him as handsome. It also tells you that you’ve been staring at the cardboard band for nearly an hour now, with your search engine open to a tab on graphology -- and you learn that he’s a relatively calm but anchored person with good perception and memory skills (medium pressure on the pen), but also a fast and energetic writer, who is usually assertive and confident (right slant), and is overall a fairly extroverted and outgoing person (large size of the handwriting), who, at the time of writing the message anyway, is in a happy or pleasant mood (upwards tilt) -- you’re also unable to take in anything that’s written in your syllabus because you’re too busy pushing the voice down in your head to a place where you can’t hear it, all the while the rational part of the brain is telling you that maybe it has a point, you do have a crush.

You’ve met him twice, and considered strangling him both times. Is it sad to have a crush?

You don’t hear him come home that night and you sleep like a brick. Then, it’s the same for the night after that, and the night after that. You’re starting to worry, so like any normal person who’s trying to distract herself from a crush, you request an extra shift. It’s not pleasant but it works, and when you come home, A’s shower is going and you feel suspiciously relieved.

You don’t retaliate with the coffee, not wanting to stoke the fires of your crush but he doesn’t let them die. You nearly knock the coffee over as you step out to go to work. 

“Still alive?” the message says (the tilt is down now, which means he’s sad and you wish you’d never even learnt about graphology) and your heart soars. Before you take a sip, you notice something else in smaller print, “Usual place is closed, new place didn’t have caramel. You’re a girl under the age of thirty, I assumed you’d like pumpkin spice lattes.” 

The audacity of this man. You stand in front of your door in shock for a second and a half longer than Vinnie is willing to put up with so he kicks the door closed, kool-aid man style and brings you back to the real world. There’s nothing truly offensive about the message, you’re just annoyed with him as a base emotion and even more so because he’s 100% correct, you love pumpkin spice lattes. They’re actually your favourite and the only reason you don’t have them as often as caramel lattes is because coffee shops are always out. 

You stop by starbucks on your way home to get A the best coffee you can afford, and write him another post-it, “Missed my performance ratings?” you write and in small print, “The cat is called Vinnie, your kid can come by on Saturday. Also What’s your name?”

You drop it off that evening and wait for him to come home. He doesn’t. You sit on your sofa until past midnight, watching tv. They’ve interrupted the broadcast of the game show you were watching to air a press conference, headed by an FBI agent. She’s good, clear, concise and she stresses the importance of staying safe, especially for hospital personnel. If any of them experiences an attack from one of their patients, they need to report it at the number flashing on the screen. 

The group chat you set up with a few of your colleagues is going nuts, crying from laughter emojis are being sent by the dozen and you have to admit it’s amusing. They’re all counting down the injuries they’ve had on the job in the past month, and you have plenty to add. Someone offers to compile them a spreadsheet. 

You fall asleep on the sofa and wake up sore in the morning. He’s still not back by then.

----

“I assume you saw the broadcast?” another nurse asks as you sit down to have your lunch. You nod at her, “Do they think we meander through fields of roses or something?”

“I don’t think it’s a well known part of the job,” you reply between mouthfuls of instant noodles, “People think it’s easy to be a nurse, that doctors do the brunt of the work.”

“I beg to differ,” she says, unpacking her own lunchbox and diving into a muffin like a starved man on a buffet, “I had to stop Dr. Atkinson --”

“Girls, we have a code violet in the ER, all hands on deck,” Dave, the only male nurse you know by name, tells you when he pops his head through the door. 

You groan. Code violet means someone is fighting back, which likely means you’ll be sore in the morning. You’ve been attacked before, and it’s never been that bad, but when you get there, you see why the other nurses are having problems. 

It’s a young man, probably about your age with a backpack and an absolutely deranged look on his face. A bunch of staff are already littering the floor when you get there. He’s throwing punches and anything he can get his hands on at anyone who moves. Dave gets a stack of magazines in the eye and your colleague with the muffin gets slapped across the face so hard that she looks dazed for a moment. You’re the unlucky one though, because the man takes off his backpack and swings it at your head, you collide with it and it feels a little like someone’s thrown you at a wall. 

You collapse and lose consciousness almost immediately. When you come to, with Dave calling your name and holding an ice pack to your head, things have gone quiet again. The fighter has been carted off by police, and the only people left on the scenes are the patients you need to care for and half a dozen FBI agents wearing kevlar, supervising the situation. 

Dave helps you up to a nearby chair, where he instructs you to keep your head between your knees while he goes looking for a bucket. You look green, he says, and yeah, you feel it too. It feels like your entire brain’s been rearranged or scrambled in the worst way possible. Seconds later, someone silently takes the seat next to you and bumps your elbow.

“Apparently coffees aren’t good for concussions,” the person says, you look up, recognising the voice as soon as it leaves A. Hotchner’s mouth. He hands you the cup of tepid water and you take a sip, taking in his appearance. He’s wearing kevlar too, and underneath that a magically uncreased shirt, tie and slacks. All that paired with his gorgeous face, and you’re sure you’re never going to get rid of that crush. 

One of his kevlar wearing friends comes to fetch him.  A stands up, shooting you a wink and a grin as he leaves. Out of habit, you look at the cup for his handwriting. 

“Apparently, it’s not good to be alone when you have a concussion… Dinner at mine?” 

#fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #hotch x y/n #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch imagine

[idiotlovesongs]

The Letters pt. 4

Dear Will,

It sucks going from Lenora to Hawkins. I get that I probably didn’t get the full Lenora experience since I visited for only a week, but it was fun being there with you and El. I missed you guys. I miss you guys. I’m stuck in stupid fucking Hawkins where the people are dicks, and there’s nothing to do anymore, and I’m so tired all the time.

Maybe it’s my fault that I’m tired. It is currently 2:00 A.M., and I have to get up in four hours. You noticed it while I was there, but I haven’t been able to fall asleep lately. Lately can be used if I mean two months ago, right? Either way, I just can’t seem to do it. Sometimes I can take a nap when Holly doesn’t bother me. Do you think we were annoying to Nancy and Jonathan when we were her age? Holly really is working my last nerve. She sees that I’m pissed already and chooses that exact moment to poke the bear. Then she gets all weepy when I snap. If I cried every time Nance told me to leave her alone when I was Holly’s age, I would have never stopped.

Anyways, yeah, you saw that I wasn’t sleeping. I still don’t know how you heard me leave your room. I thought I was being quiet. It was nice walking around with you, even if your mom yelled at us for going out past 1:00 A.M. You always know what to say when I’m being dumb.

My mom keeps trying to talk to me about my sleeping problems, but it’s weird having heart-to-hearts with her. It’s usually the two of us at the dining table, sitting across from one another. She tries to reach her for my hand, and I put it under the table because it feels so fucking patronizing to have her stroke my hand and ask me what’s wrong. What the fuck does she think is wrong? I’m just tired. I try to tell her that and she keeps digging. She has one set of claws in my shoulder so I don’t run away and another down my throat hoping I vomit up whatever answer she’s expecting. 

She always brings you up, you know. She thinks I’m still messed up about you leaving. Fucking hell, you cry in your mom’s arms once about something, and she won’t let it go. I think that’s part of the reason she was so eager to let me go to Lenora. 

I told my dad that I think I want to move to California after I finish high school, and he just shut me down completely. Way to go supporting your kid. 10/10 parenting right there. He thinks I’ll be living in his basement for all my life. They both do. They say that’s where I spend all my time anyways. Maybe if there was some shit to do in this town, I’d fucking go out more. Maybe if they were actually nice to be around, I would leave more often. They complain about never seeing me, but when they do, they’re always on my dick about something.

If I moved to Cali for college, would you want to be roommates? I know it’s a ways away, but it would suck to have rando when I could be with you. It’ll be like when you used to stay over and we’d sleep in the basement, except we’d have real beds. I guess part of the appeal was sleeping on the floor though. It sucks we grew out of our sleeping bags. We should buy an adult size and pretend we’re in my basement again one day. Or you could visit and we could actually stay there.

I wish you were coming here for Christmas. Both of you. Have you opened your present yet or are you waiting? We should open our presents on the phone with each other so I at least get to hear your reaction. You don’t mind surprises so I doubt you’re thinking about it too hard.

I should probably try to sleep now. It’s been, like, an hour since I’ve started writing.

From, Mike

pt. 1, pt. 2 pt. 3, pt. 5

#byler #byler fanfic #byler fic #mike wheeler #will byers #mike x will #will x mike #mike wheeler centric #brief mentions of joyce el karen holly ted nancy and jonathan #the letters

[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane’s Pets Chapter 2: Friends

TWs in the tags

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Dollie and Kit stay with you all night. At first you think it’s to comfort you, and maybe that’s part of it, but you figure out the real reason when you step out to go to the bathroom and they both follow you, waiting at the door. They’re making sure you don’t try to leave.

The betrayal burns you deeply, but you try not to let it bother you. They must’ve been tortured too.

...Have they been tortured while you were here, without you knowing?

You push away the thought. No matter what, they’re preventing your escape. You know they’re nice people, and you’re sure that in their minds, they’re protecting you. Still, it stings to realize they are not your allies. They are loyal to Jane first and foremost.

You ask them when you're done using the bathroom. “Are you only here with me to make sure I don’t leave?”

Kit doesn’t make eye contact. “We also want to comfort you. We remember our first times. But yes. We’re not going to let you leave, don’t be stupid. She broke our legs our first times, so we couldn't run, but she didn’t for you. She must have some sort of game or test planned, and those always hurt with her, so we’re here to do what broken bones would usually do. Hopefully less painfully, though. She didn’t give Dollie permission to sleep tonight, anyway.”

This explanation fills you with dread and confusion, but you can’t find the willpower to ask more questions just to be given more terrifying answers. You get into bed, pull your covers over your head, and hope that everything will somehow be okay again in the morning.

It's not okay in the morning. When you wake up, Dollie is gone and Kit is asleep beside you. Dollie must be making breakfast, she does that every morning. If you’re quiet, maybe you can slip out without anyone noticing.

You get out of bed, quietly quietly quietly. You can’t wake up Kit. You slowly open the door, and you're almost squeezed out when it creaks loudly. Fuck! You flinch and turn around to look at Kit. Please still be asleep, please still be asleep- Their eyes are open.

You decide to make a run for it, but Kit has you caught in a matter of seconds. How the fuck are they so fast? They grab you from behind, pinning your arms against your sides. You cry out and kick against their shins, but they don’t even flinch. You continue to struggle for a bit before giving up, resolving to try again later.

“Sorry, I’m sorry. Please let go, I won’t try to run, I’m sorry, I’ll be good. I know I’m being dumb, I’m sorry.”

Kit releases their hold on your arms, but grabs your right wrist firmly.

“You… you don’t have to beg like that. I’m not like her. I don’t need you to be sorry or regret it, I just need you to be safe.”

You nod. Kit doesn’t let go of your wrist.

“We’re going to go have breakfast now.” They hesitate, but don’t say anything else before pulling you along to the dining room.

Jane’s there. Of course Jane’s there, she’s there every morning and the four of you eat breakfast together. Did you think you'd never have to see her again?

You start fighting Kit again, desperate to get away. You are not going to sit and eat breakfast across the table from someone who tortured you less than 12 hours ago.

Kit is a lot stronger than their physique suggests, and you can’t move them an inch. You’ve always been physically weak, anyway. No, if you’re going to get away, it will not be through brute force. You have to be smart.

“I need to go to the bathroom.” You tell them. They nod and don’t release your wrist as they guide you to the bathroom. Only when you’re halfway inside do they let go and stand guard outside the door, giving you a bit of privacy. You close the door softly. What are you going to do? You can’t stay bunkered down in the bathroom forever, you’re going to have to see her again-

You splash some water on your face and try to get your breathing under control. No one’s ever been hurt during breakfast in the time you’ve been here, but was that just to keep you in the dark? You should’ve asked Kit what to expect.

Actually, you can still do that. Maybe…

You open the door, intending to ask Kit if you can talk in the bathroom. But it’s not Kit waiting outside the door anymore.

You yelp and scramble back, curling up in the farthest corner from the door. “Please don’t hurt me, I’ll be good, I’m sorry, I’ll do whatever you want, please-”

Her giggles cut off your rambling. “You’re adorable! Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. I just wanted to talk.” She’s standing over you, and the shadow of someone who looks like a twelve-year-old should not be this terrifying. You curl into yourself tighter.

“You’re okay. I just had to discipline you, but that doesn’t mean everything has changed. We’re still friends, right? Say we’re still friends.”

“We’re still friends.” The words rush out of you quickly, and she smiles.

“Good! See, there’s no need to be so scared. Has Kitty been telling you scary things? It’s not so bad here, so long as you’re good. You’re going to be good, right?”

You nod frantically. You can't get your breathing under control.

“Leave him alone.” Kit is back at the door and looking scared but determined. You feel cold terror running through you. You haven’t been told, but you know Kit has just done something against the rules.

“Ha! You’re funny, Kitty. Tell me what to do again, see what happens.”

Kit glares, but doesn’t say anything else.

She smirks. “That’s what I thought. Can you take some deep breaths for me, Bunny?”

You try. You try so hard but you’re so, so scared, and worrying that she’ll punish you if you don’t calm down doesn’t help. She laughs.

“That’s alright. You’re not in trouble. I’m going to help you calm down, okay? Just hold still.”

You stare at the ceiling and focus on holding as still as possible. She rolls up the sleeve on your left arm and you gasp when you feel a pinch, but you don’t move, and then it’s over.

“There’s a good pet. You’ll feel calmer soon.” She ruffles your hair, and you recoil so hard your head slams against the wall. Jane laughs.

“Come on, let’s go eat breakfast.” She pulls you off the floor and you’re so lightheaded you end up having to lean on her. Is this the drugs, or a consequence of hyperventilating? A small whimpering noise comes from your throat, and you feel your face grow warm with embarrassment.

“You’re okay. Come on.” She takes you to the table and sits you down. The room is spinning, but you feel your heartbeat start to slow. You focus on eating, avoiding looking at anyone else at the table.

By the time you’re done, you can definitely feel the drugs. Why were you so panicked earlier? You feel so incredibly relaxed that you can’t even imagine being scared, even if you were being tortured. God, you’re so tired. You lean back against your chair, closing your eyes.

“I told you the medicine would help. Feeling better?” It takes a while to process her words, and even longer to realize she’s right next to you. You flinch.

“Oh, that’s some very slow reaction time. Might’ve given you a bit too much. Can you open your eyes for me?” You do. She looks at your eyes and feels your pulse in your neck. “Just a bit more relaxed than I expected, though. You’ll be fine.” She runs her fingers through your hair and you lean into the touch without thinking. Everything is blurry.

She guides you to the couch and turns on a movie, laying you against her side. “You can close your eyes again, Bunny.”

The movie plays in the background and fingers run through your hair and you feel nice.

This isn’t right. There was something else you were supposed to be doing, right? Something was wrong, you shouldn’t be lying against her like this, this isn’t right. You try to express this, but the words aren’t right and your voice is so slurred even you can’t tell what you’re saying. Jane laughs.

“Don’t strain yourself. You’re fine. I gave you some medicine to relax because you were afraid after I disciplined you the first time. Just relax."

And something is wrong with what she just said, you know something is wrong, but it’s so much easier to relax than to follow the thought. So you relax.

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else!

#whump #whumper #whumpee #multiple whumpees #caretaker #2nd person pov #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #whump writing #whumpblr #pet whump #nonhuman whumper #drugging tw #noncon drugging tw #jane’s pets

[alakeeffectgirl]

one of those meme things whoo, thanks @trillgutterbug for the tag

name: lake

star sign: gemini

height: ugh only 5 foot, thanks genetics, but at least I gained a half an inch after getting my spine fixed

time: 2:31pm

birthday: June 19th

favorite bands/artists: uh, too many to name? Wilco is probably my top “take with to a desert island” band, followed by The Tragically Hip, but I have and will listen to everything short of things that are best described as screaming noise. 

last movie: I did indeed go to Top Gun: Maverick again yesterday... before that probably the terrible 2015 Fantastic Four, and The Gray Man (which was fun enough, I thought)

last show: Currently giving The Sandman a shot, prior to that the latest non-rewatch was the two episodes of Barry S3 I watched with my dad (I got him into it so we’re watching S3 together)

when did i create this blog: uhh... January 2009, when I set it up to use as a place to put writing exercises and notes for the novel I was writing at the time (I did finish it but it’s terrible, lol)

what i post: an assortment of various fandom things, sometimes pictures of my cats

last thing i googled: box office stats for tgm

other blogs: @yogurtreviews99 my dumb sideblog for the stuff I don’t want to force you guys to look at, and when I cared about golf I used to post at @angleofapproach but haven’t used it in years

do i get asks?: not often! which is fine by me

following: 186, probably less than half of which post regularly

average hours of sleep: I WISH I could get 7-8 consecutive hours but generally I wake up with my nighttime tizanidine wears off so it’s more like 4 hours, then 2 or 3 hours - yuck

instruments: I played the violin growing up and miss it, but it’s less fun just playing by yourself, and there’s not many options to play for fun with a group as an adult... I was terrible at the piano and quit that to focus on violin... a few years ago I bought a mandolin and taught myself to pick out a few things but I can’t get the hang of strumming

what i’m wearing: a t-shirt with an island print and shorts with a cherry print - so, pajamas (it’s Saturday and I’m not going anywhere)

dream job: stay at home

dream trip: I don’t sleep well anywhere that’s not my own house sooo I don’t actually like to go places

nationality: American 

favorite songs: too many to name - a few: Wilco’s “Shot in the Arm”, Uncle Tupelo’s “New Madrid”, the Hip’s “Nautical Disaster” and “Ahead by a Century”, Loose Fur’s “Not For the Season”, Jenny Lewis’ cover of “Handle with Care”, Empires’ “Stay Lonely” (it’s my song), DNCE’s “Cake by the Ocean” (how can you not?)

last book i’ve read: Caroline Johnson’s Jet Girl, Sarah Perry’s The Essex Serpent

top 3 fictional universes i’d like to live in: hmmm... yeah I have no answer for this one. too many universes we only get to see what the extraordinary people/people that have interesting things happen to them are doing, and not what life is like for the normal/boring semi-disabled people. 

#about me

[goddamngreta]

Hometown Blues - Chapter Two

Summary: When a family tragedy comes knocking, Lily and her three brothers pile into their childhood home for the summer. Now as summer is ending, only Jake and Lily will stay behind to pick up the pieces at home.

Word Count: 1,364

Warnings: Complex Family Dynamic, Mentions of Death / Dying, Angst

A/N: Okay, sorry this chapter took awhile. I am working on setting up a taglist sign up but for now just message me if you'd like to be on it :)

She felt dumb doing it, crying. She knew it had been coming all summer, but she still felt incredibly stupid while it was happening. She also knew it was only a matter of time before her paper thin walls alerted her brothers to what was happening. 

Since she had gotten the infamous call she had felt like balling but the tears had never come. Jake had been the one to call her, so she immediately knew something was wrong. Jake never called. Texted, sure. Called, never. 

Lily had been sitting in the library hours deep into studying for the bar exam when her phone rang. She ignored it, whatever someone needed could wait she thought. She had to pass the bar. When her phone didn’t stop vibrating in her bag she phished it out, silently standing to take the call outside the library. When she saw Jake’s contact photo plastered across her screen it took everything within her not to answer the call on the silent floor of the library. 

“I’ll call you back in a sec… leaving the library” She texted back, fumbling her way past a cohort of students. 

“K”

The last time Jake had called her had been in high school when he wrecked the car that the four of them had shared. He was going to be late picking her up from dance practice, he said. The car was also missing a mirror he’d informed her. The phone call lasted under a minute. Maybe he’d crashed his car out in Denver, though Lily wasn’t sure why he wouldn’t just call Josh. 

That was the thing about Jake and Josh for the most part they were completely insular. It had never really bugged Lily; she understood that they had a special bond, a way of coexisting that she couldn’t understand, but it made times like this awkward. Lily knew nothing good would come of this conversation. 

Josh always made Jake deliver the bad news to Sam and Lily. That’s how it had always been. 

Stepping outside into the sun Lily took a breath. Maybe he was just checking in. After all Lily had spent the night prior venting to Sam about how horrible bar studying was going, maybe word had gotten back to him. Checking in was a brotherly thing to do. 

Finding a bench Lily sat down and redialed. Might as well get whatever this is over with. 

“Um hey…. Sorry I was in the library.” She said when Jake picked up on the first ring.

“Yeah that’s what you said.” He sounded stiff Lily thought, but then again they hadn’t talked in a while. Maybe she was just over analyzing the situation in her head. She hadn’t been sleeping well lately. 

“Yeah…” Lily didn’t know what to say as she dug for her sunglasses in her backpack. 

“Have you talked to mom yet?”

“Yet?” Lily asked. She had talked to her mom a few days ago but it was too late by the time she had finished ranting to Sam last night to give her mom a call. 

“Yeah. Did she call?” Jake responded still sounding rigid, like he was reading from cue cards. 

“No. Why? What’s up?” Lily had been dreading this. Whatever this was she wanted Jake to spit it out. 

“Is it too late for you to defer the bar exam?” He questioned. 

“Um… I mean I don’t know. That’s not my plan. Did Sam text you? I was being dramatic when I Facetimed him last night. I don’t want to push this off any longer. That would just stress me out even more, which I don’t think is even possible right now.” 

“I think you need to defer.” Lily could tell he was biting his tongue, holding something back. 

“I told you I’m fine! Sam was being dramatic I’m sure. I swear he’s more stressed for me, which I totally appreciate but like I’m fine I just needed to vent.” Lily rushed out. She really needed to get back inside to study and not have a weird conversation with her older brother. 

“Listen, you need to defer the bar and come home. I don’t know what you and Sam talked about last night or whatever I haven’t called him yet. I haven’t even called Josh yet. Shit, Lil” 

Lily blinked, sucking in a breath. 

“What do you need to call them about and why would I need to come home?” She didn’t want the answer. 

The line went silent, only Jake’s breath satisfying her concerns that he hadn’t hung up. 

“Dad called.” He finally started, his words slow and pinched, “Mom wasn’t feeling so good so they went to the doctor. They had to run some tests because they couldn’t figure out why she was in pain.” 

In that moment Lily knew. It didn’t matter what Jake would tell her next, her life would be forever changed. 

“This morning the scans came back. It’s …. um …. well dad didn’t want me to tell you because you're studying but I figured no way Sam would keep the secret from you. I haven’t told him yet but I just know he’ll ask if you know … plus no way you’d forgive us” He blubbered. 

“It’s uh… It’s cancer. Terminal.” 

Lily sucked in a breath. The trees in front of her started to spin. She said nothing. 

“I don’t really know much else besides the fact that I think we need to go home. Uh…. I think Josh and I will drive back, I haven’t talked to Josh yet. He’s at work and I wanted to sort this out first. We can stop and pick you up on the way. Sam’s going to have to fly. Um …. is his semester done? It’s done, yeah? I…. I’ll call him or you can I mean whatever I just think um yeah I think Josh will agree we’ll leave tomorrow we can get you by Wednesday……”

Lily was half listening. She didn’t know what to say or how to process it. She needed to pack, that’s all she could think about. She hadn’t done laundry in a week, she’d been so busy studying for the bar and now that was over done and gone. She would file the paperwork to formally defer her application that night. 

A harsh knock on her childhood bedroom door jolted her back to reality. Sam stood hands in pockets staring at his feet. 

Sam, the person she had to tell over the phone that he needed to get on a plane and soon. He had been understandably confused, wanting to know exactly what Jake had said.

“I don’t know, Sam. I really don’t know.” Was all she had to offer him. 

And now he stood on her doorway months later, a thing he had done hundreds of times in their youth. Big brown doe eyes staring back at her. 

“I don’t think I’m cooler than you.” He said, eyes darting back to his feet. 

“God Sam yes you do but it doesn’t even matter.” Lily said rolling her watery eyes as he shifted his weight from side to side, something he did when he was uncomfortable. Lily didn’t care, he had come into her room. If he didn’t want to talk he need to come over. 

“You have always thought you were cooler than everyone, that’s fine.” She continued. 

Sam looked wounded but Lily didn’t care she was so stupidly mad. Life wasn’t fair and she was so stinking mad about it. Sam would head back to New York in a few short day to finish the last year of his grad program and Lily would be left here with their dying mother. Where was the justice in that? 

She had made Sam upset she could tell. She could almost always tell what he was feeling. She just let him stare at her from her doorway as she started to sob again. As her shoulders began to shake she let her head fall into her hands, not caring to finish out the conversation. 

She could hear Sam shuffle over to her bed before easing down next to her. The pair didn’t exchange another word. 

#greta van fic #greta van fleet #jake kiska fic #jake kiszka #sam kiszka #angst #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #josh kiszka #josh gvf #jake gvf #danny gvf #sam gvf #gvf

[motownfiction]

toys in the attic

For the first month after moving into Lucy’s house, Will can’t sleep.

It’s nothing against Lucy. Granted, she’s not the easiest bedfellow, what with her morning, noon, and night sickness and tendency to roll around like the mattress is still just her own, but he loves her enough to love her tumultuous sleeping patterns, too. He just can’t stop thinking about the way things used to be.

Two months ago, he still lived in his parents’ house next door. He still ate dinner every night with his five sisters who teased him for being helplessly in love with Lucy Callaghan. He slept in the basement and listened to The Wall on the stereo in the middle of the night with no interruptions. Two months ago, he was stealing away the hours with the girl he knew he’d love forever, kissing her in the back row of the movie theater, the front seat of his car, the parking lot of the little market when she came to meet him at the end of an early evening shift. Two months ago, he was a sixteen-year-old boy, and he felt like one, too.

One month ago, he became a fiancé and a father-to-be.

And now, he sits at the edge of the stairs in the Callaghans’ basement (his basement now), thinking about who in the hell he’s supposed to be.

On nights like these, he goes back to the day before Valentine’s Day, about eight months ago, less than four weeks before Lucy kissed him at the Welcome, Spring! dance. It was the day of his last detention (and his last fist fight). He’d roughed up a few guys in the school parking lot after they made fun of Lucy (and roughed them up a little harder when they taunted him for fighting for somebody who wasn’t even his girlfriend). It landed them all in detention, where the other guys talked about Will like he wasn’t even there. It’s been almost a year since that afternoon, but Will can’t stop thinking about the things they said.

Man, O’Connor is such a dork.

Fightin’ for a fat chick.

(She’s not that fat.)

(Whatever, man.)

You know, I’m shocked O’Connor can land a punch. He’s got skinny fuckin’ arms.

That’s gotta be what happens when you grow up with a bunch of sisters and a wimp for a dad. You know my dad says Pat O’Connor never made varsity football when he went here?

I heard O’Connor learned how to punch to fit in with his sisters. They’re all tougher than he is. Probably would’ve killed him by now if he hadn’t picked up something along the way.

Ah, hey, remember when O’Connor got caught smoking in the bathroom?

Oh, man, that was great!

He got caught ‘cause he was coughing and coughing and coughing.

I remember! Can’t even hold his smoke. And he wants us to think he’s a tough guy.

I’d be more afraid of his big sister.

Will can still hear the way they all laughed … the way they wanted him to hear everything they were saying about him. When he can’t sleep, sometimes he wonders if he even deserves to. Sometimes, he wonders if there’s any point to this … to being him.

He buries his head in his hands and tries to think about something else. But he can’t. All he can do is rattle off the litany of his own sins.

Weak.

Desperate.

Dork.

Fake.

Dumb.

Weak.

Each word turns into its own mantra until finally, Will is crying in the stairwell. Lucy can’t hear him over the box fan blaring beside their bed. It’s the middle of October, but pregnancy has already made her all sorts of feverish. He doesn’t want to wake her after she’s finally fallen asleep. He muffles his tears into the collar of his big gray t-shirt. He doesn’t tell himself to stop crying, either. He just lets it all go, like those assholes in the parking lot would have expected him to.

Maybe he really is weak. Maybe he really did only learn how to throw a punch to impress Sarah, the world’s toughest big sister. Maybe he gets into fights to prove he’s worth something. Maybe he really isn’t much of anyone.

He just hopes Lucy doesn’t find out.

#drabble #writeblr #ch: will o'connor #year: 1983 #body image #this doesn't have much to do with anything #just wanted to write about him

[keisurou]

eyes on me.

mdni. written for @bakugosbratx​ on behalf of @httptamaki​‘s love letters collab <3 i’m so sorry for the lateness, and thank you for waiting bella! you guys can all check out the rest of the works here! 

warnings: yandere!megumi, pinning, mean megumi, dry humping, implied friends to lovers, nipple play, i honestly don’t really know anymore, all characters are aged up as always, idk it feels kinda rushed, unedited.

Megumi is so sick of you right now. 

You’re pouting, with your little sighs and mournful groans as you lean against his sofa, your blue sleep shorts riding dangerously high as you drape your leg over his thigh. You’re pouting as you play with your food, picking at the pink icing of the cake slice before making a face at it, mumbling how it resembles Itadori’s hair; which is baffling since you’re the one who picked it out from the cake shop. 

You’re pouting over a boy on Valentine’s day. 

“But you don’t understand, Megumi” you let out a childish whine, your arms flailing in the air. “Do you even know how long I waited? How utterly humiliated I was?” 

He sips at the can of coke and eyes the clock; he was waiting a long time too. Longer than he should have because he knows for a fact that both Itadori and Kugisaki were finished with their work an hour ago. “I understand.” 

It’s a flurry of limbs and within a second, you’re on all fours, leaning in impossibly close as you inch your face closer to his. “Gumi, do you have any nice friends?” 

“Itadori and Kugisaki are nice.” 

“I can’t go on a date with them.” your lips form into a soft pout and Megumi forces himself to relax. “Maybe I should just give up on dating altogether,”

You’re alone at Megumi’s place after dark and you’re pouting about not finding a decent date. He drains the rest of his drink and watches the way the aluminium can scrunches beneath his fingers. You haven’t mentioned the letter yet, and it pisses him off all the more. “You didn’t get any confessions at work today?”

“Not at work, but there was a letter in my mailbox actually.”

“And..?”

“And what?” You give a little shrug of your shoulders. “They didn’t even leave a name. If they’re not serious about me, what am I supposed to do?”

He casts you a sidelong glance. You’re already staring at him openly and it takes him a second too long to school his face back to nonchalance. “What are you looking at?”

“You’re really pretty, you know that?” He bristles at the comment. Of course you had said it harmlessly, just in passing but it frustrates him all the more. It makes him hate himself and he’s positively spiteful because he knows that’s probably the reason why you never even considered him to be a potential date in the first place. “Pretty and nice; can’t believe you’re still single.”

You couldn't believe he was still single? You couldn’t believe that after countless years of following you around on your impulsive shopping trips or tagging along ‘as a friend’ whenever you wanted to go out to the movies maybe he wasn’t just being nice? You really couldn’t believe that maybe he actually had a reason?

“God, you’re so stupid,” Megumi can’t help the way his lips curl into a snarl as he looks at you, can’t help but ignore the way you splutter indignantly, a protest on the tip of your tongue about how you’re not stupid or dumb as he says. “Do you even look properly or are you only capable of finding assholes who don’t know how to treat you right?”

“Megumi what—“ You furrow your eyebrows, shifting back on the sofa at his sudden change in demeanour. “What are you saying?“

“You don’t know?” he scoffs. His words are harsh and bitter. It’s hard to calm down right now, it’s hard to forget your blatant disregard for his feelings when you probably haven’t even given him a second thought. It’s hard to not grab you by your wrist to pull you forward until you’re sitting on his lap, your body flush against his. It’s even harder for him to not rock up against the softness of your body, to not feel the soft warmth of the juncture of your thighs against his cock through the flimsy layers. “Shit—you feel good,”

“M–Megumi, I don’t—I don’t—” your pupils are blown wide, hands grabbing at his shoulder, creeping slowly to travel to the skin of his shoulder blades. “We’re friends, Megs. Friends don’t do this, friends don’t—”

“Yeah?” His hand trails over the swell of your ass, squeezing and palming at the flesh before he gives a mean roll of his hips. He lets out a breathy chuckle at the way your body jerks suddenly, a squeal catching in the back of your throat “Guess we’re not friends anymore.”

It’s fascinating the way your lip trembles; the way tears pool at the corner of your eyes and that amidst all this, your hips slowly rock back and forth over his hardness. His lip twitches, canines flashing as he leans forward to catch your lower lips in between his own, nibbling on the softness before biting down to hear you squeal once more.

“Megumi...” his name is a sigh on your lips, breath fanning across his cheekbones as you lean forward until he can feel the outline of your breasts. Your tongue darts out, swiping across your bottom lip before you suck it into your mouth and he can’t help but force your mouth open, pushing two fingers inside. Your tongue is warm. It’s warm and wet and slippery when it flicks against his fingers. He presses against your wet muscle a fraction more firmly and you let out a moan in protest.

“Still think I look pretty?” He’s being mean, he knows that but it’s hard to stop when you look so pretty crying up at him, tears clinging to your lashes as saliva coats his fingers. His voice is a murmur against your jaw. “You should take a good look at yourself,”

His hand is hot even through the layers of clothing you have on. It makes everything more sensitive, and you can’t help but arch into his touch as a hand comes up to cup at your tits, squeezing them roughly until he can feel the nipples through the shirt. The top is very well-loved, the material threadbare and soft. It makes him want to see how sheer it can get if he stretches it enough, and within seconds he’s bunching the fabric at the small of your back to watch the way the shirt moulds against your tits, nipples peaked and aching for attention. His mouth is relentless, sucking against the buds through the cloth until it’s wet and practically see-through. It makes you shiver, hands sliding up from his shoulders to his head, pulling at his hair. It makes him moan into your tits, and he bites down against it as his hips buck up to grind against yours.

“Always so fucking needy, aren’t you?” his fingers brush against the hem of your shorts and it makes your heart stutter, makes you wetter with your slick saturating through the material of your shorts as your hips rotate in a full circle over his erection. It’s easy enough for him to slip his hand in and come into contact with your naked cunt, fingers skirting over your pussy lips to graze slightly over your clit. It’s barely there but it makes you clench all the same, a low whine slipping out as you tilt your hips to try and chase his fingers. “Always looking for attention, but never in the right place.”

Your head spins. It’s hard to concentrate on anything properly when he whispers in your ear like that, teeth grazing the sensitive shell of your ear before laving it with kisses. How long as he thought about this? How long as he thought about you like this? The thought makes you a little breathless, a little giddy and you can’t help but feel a little annoyed at yourself. After all, who knows how much time you had wasted already? It prompts you to grab ahold of his shirt, slipping your own palms underneath to feel the wide expanse of hard muscle and hot skin. His stomach flexes underneath your fingers as you trace over the ridges of his abdomen and you can’t help but mewl, shifting your hips even closer to his as you feel his hand pinch at your inner thigh.

“You want something? Gonna beg for it, huh?” his fingers slide along your folds, slick with your arousal. A finger nudges along your clit for a second before it’s gone. If Megumi was a lesser man, he would have laughed at the way you sob into his shoulder, your hips shallowly rocking over his cock, mumbling ‘please megumi, it’s not enough’.

And he knows it. It’s definitely not enough for him, and it probably never will be because even though you want him now, even though you’re desperately grinding against him for his fingers and his cock, he won’t forgive you for overlooking him all these years. Not just yet, at least. 

“‘Gumi—‘Gumi please—I can’t—”

“That’s enough,” he exhales loudly with a pained groan. Megumi’s grip on your hips is hard, fingers digging into the flesh as he drags you off him. You watch, transfixed as he shucks his pants, and his boxers come into view. It doesn’t stay for long, and within seconds, he’s pushed them down to lay helplessly at his ankles, cock erect and flushed at the tip, leaking pre-cum. Saliva floods your mouth and you squeeze your thighs together as his hand flies to his thick length, thumbing at the tip before stoking down slowly, almost teasingly. You’re tempted to follow his hand with your tongue, to press a kiss to the weeping slit so you can hear him give a strained cry of your name.

“‘Gumi?” your drop to your knees, and inch closer until you can hear the the obscene squelch as he fucks his fist lazily, letting it slap against the hard planes of his abdomen every now and then. The action makes your mouth water, makes you a little restless as you try and shuffle closer to admire the vein that runs along the underside of his cock. “Do you need help?”

His eyes are hooded as he takes you in. A hand reaches out to caress your cheek before his fingers grip at your harshly jaw and forces you to come closer. “Do a good job, yeah? Maybe then I’ll let you cum.”

#love letters collab #megumi smut #megumi fushiguro smut #jjk smut #megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi smut #fushiguro x reader

[missmentelle]

I’m going to tell you a secret that I wish someone had told me a long, long time ago: If you’ve been in nothing but toxic and unhealthy relationships for most of your life, your first healthy relationship is probably going to feel boring. 

I spent the majority of my teenage years and early 20s in a series of unhealthy relationships. My relationships were all unhealthy in very different ways, but there was one thing they had in common: they were unpredictable, and in a perverse way, that made them addicting. There’s something weirdly thrilling about a relationship that is off-the-charts intense all of the time, even if it’s often a bad intense. My stomach used to drop like I’d just gone down the first hill of a roller coaster every time I opened the door to the apartment I used to share with my ex, because I never knew what I was going to find inside. Maybe he’d be on the couch, writing a song about me with that big smile on his face. Maybe he’d be half-coherent and the entire apartment would be trashed, with all the shades drawn. Maybe he’d be gone altogether with absolutely no explanation, and no way of getting in touch with him. There’s a sick thrill to waking up every morning and not knowing if your day is going to end with an impromptu romantic 2 am adventure that involves kissing under the stars, or if you’re going to go to bed in tears because you just got screamed at in a dumb fight over paper towels. Maybe it’s both. 

Often, it was both.

And after a while, when someone makes your heart pound every time you see them, your brain stops trying to learn the difference between attraction and fear. 

Then in my final year of my master’s degree, I swiped right on the right person and got into the first healthy relationship I had ever been in. My new relationship was everything I could have dared to hope for, back in the days when I was begging my ex to tell me where he was because he hadn’t been home in four days, or getting woken up at four a.m. because he’d found a man’s name when he went through my phone while I was sleeping and didn’t believe it was my brother. My new partner is, at a very fundamental level, an incredibly gentle and thoughtful person. Regular “good morning” and “good night” texts became a regular staple of my day, instead of passive-aggressive jabs and so-called “silent treatments”. Encouragement was given freely, without any accusations that I was seeking attention or trying to out-do him. Birthdays and important dates were remembered without any reminders. Hugs were given out in generous quantities, small issues were laughed off instead of fought over, and male friends were encouraged instead of demonized. At long last, I had the relationship I had always wanted. 

And to my absolute horror, I realized I was bored.

Without even realizing it, I had trained myself to think of relationships as battles, and being in a healthy relationship for the first time felt like I had suited myself up for an epic war, only to end up in an old ladies’ pottery class. The lack of unhealthy behaviours started making me antsy. Why wasn’t he going through my phone and looking through my social media? Did he just not care? Did it just not matter to him that other guys might be speaking to me? Why was I feeling so calm all the time? Where was the adrenaline rush? Why weren’t we clashing more? Did it mean that we just weren’t invested enough to even bother to fight with each other? We were - and are - deeply compatible people who have a lot of fun with each other, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the relationship just wasn’t intense enough. I absolutely knew that my past relationships were deeply unhealthy, but it’s hard to un-learn the idea that relationships should be high-stakes and constantly exhausting if both people truly care about each other. 

It took a lot of time, but I gradually come to realize something: I’d never actually known love in any of my previous relationships. What I had known was obsession. My exes had put me up on pedestals, and ripped me down as soon as I failed to live up to impossible expectations. Over and over again. Everything was big and over-the-top: life was a series of grand gestures, big fights and enormous apologies. I had one ex comb through years and years of my social media photos, commenting on every single one, while another ex would make the hour-long drive to my house in the middle of the night several times per week, whenever he felt like seeing me, letting himself in through my bedroom window. When you’re young and don’t know any better, that level of obsession is flattering. It’s what we’ve been taught is romantic. But it’s not - it’s not a good basis for a strong and healthy relationship. And in the end, none of it was really about me. My exes were caught up in ideas about the relationships they’d fantasized about having, and the way they wanted people to perceive them, and I was more or less just there to play a part. And it always came crashing down. 

Real love, on the other hand, is not about the grand gesture. It’s not about non-stop “dialed-up-to-11″ intensity. It’s about being there, day by day. My boyfriend has never gone through my social media for six straight hours or broken into my house because he couldn’t wait a moment longer to see me, and he’s never screamed at me for having male names in my contacts list or for not texting back fast enough because he’s just so afraid to lose me. Instead, he is patient. He is kind. He listens to what I have to say and he doesn’t get upset about the small things and he always remembers to make  my coffee exactly how I like it. I know that he will be there for me when I need him - whether I need to vent about a bad day at work or build a bookcase or double-check that I added enough salt to the soup - and I do the same for him. It’s a kinder, gentler kind of relationship, and now that I’m used to it, it’s anything but boring. 

Don’t get me wrong - sometimes a relationship can be healthy and not be right for you. If you don’t have anything in common and you don’t enjoy doing things together, that’s probably not the relationship for you. It’s important to have fun with your partner and enjoy their company. But it’s also important not to mistake obsession for romance, or mistake a lack of intensity for disinterest. 

#askmissmentelle #missmentelle #relationship tips #relationship #relationships #dating tips #dating #love #healthy relationships #relationship advice #dating advice

[1kook]

new parent syndrome

— kim namjoon x (f) reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s your turn to mope. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s the hardest thing about parenting. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A second later, “lemme join.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, and apparently, now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But also, now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hyejoo’s return is the highlight of the year. 

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

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

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

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

“What’s up?” you ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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