#but i wanted to wait... wait until i got older for a MULTITUDE of reasons

[dollwritesarchive]

𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 & 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 — 𝐡𝐚𝐥 𝐣𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐧

𝗰���𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!lantern!reader, rough sex, dubcon in the beginning, suggested age gap ( undefined but hal is significantly older ), sir kink, improper use of constructs, pet names ( little girl, baby girl, sweetheart ), hal is a condescending asshole, very light impact play ( face slapping ), brief knife kink mention, size kink, slight pain kink, all characters featured are 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ requested by my bestiest maguroni. do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

this should’ve been a dream come true.

your very first, official mission with Honor Guard, legend, and your personal role model— Hal fucking Jordan. after all, he was the reason you worked so hard to become a lantern yourself, and protect your very own sector of the universe. he was a living, breathing interuniversal hero, and that was unheard of for a human. you wanted to be just like him.

out of all the cadets freshly trained, you were hand picked to tag along. to follow his every order, and to learn from the best.

and you’d fucked it up in a major way.

you were only trying to help, and thought that you made the right call by abandoning your post to chase the culprit— until you realized it was a fluke. and the prisoner had slipped by your perimeter as easy as could be while you were chasing your wild goose.

needless to say, your Honor Guard supervisor had been pissed, and tore into you right there, civilians watching and all. he’d gripped your face when you’d attempted to stare at your feet and wrenched it back up towards him, hollowing your cheeks with how much pressure he’d applied as he leaned close to hiss in your face. “Don’t ever disobey my orders again, rookie. I say jump, you jump. I say sit pretty, you sit pretty. You got me?”

your eyes were wide— he didn’t yell like Kilowog who’d trained you, but growled, threatened with dilated pupils and furrowed brows. “Yes sir.” it was all you could muster: a pathetic and humiliated whisper. you could feel everyone staring, and you wanted desperately to disappear.

“Get in the cruiser.” he’d murmured, clenching his teeth. you glanced to the vessel waiting. it was sleek and only required one to man it. it had been designed specifically for this mission, for you and Hal and the prisoner. you nod, obedient, and expecting some form of punishment awaiting your arrival back on Oa. however, Hal adds, gruffly, as he gives you a subtle shove when he releases your face. “Your ass is mine.”

“What did I say, huh?” Hal barks, the emerald specters flowing from the ring on his finger, branching off into a multitude of massive hands, all grabbing at you, pinning you to the control panel of the oh-so-shiny, brand new intergalactic cruiser. “I told you that your punishment for insubordination would be severe, didn’t I?”

“Y—yes sir.” it was hard to think about anything other than how he’d managed to wrap you up in constructs, glowing green fists that cinch your wrists together above your head, coils of them that spread your legs, the glowing blade that’d sliced your suit to shreds, exposing most of your body to him. you couldn’t even concentrate to fight back, and knew better than to try, anyways. your head lolls back, eyes tracing along your bound wrists, nervously gripping at them.

“Look here, little girl.” Hal demands, and your attention snaps back to your superior before you. he’d finished his cock from his suit, and now pumped it to life, and you stare with widened, awe-filled eyes as it swells. he was big and strong, the tip swelling right beneath his thumb as he teases his own slit with a grunt of pleasure, one hand gripping himself at the base as he takes one step closer to you, and then another, until he stands in the gap provided by your split thighs.

there’s a faint bubbling in your belly, an urge nestling deep inside you, just as you take in the full visage of Hal; the thickness, the bulging vein that spiderwebs the underside of his shaft, and the broad head that you could imagine would force a cry from your lips if he speared into you. you can’t help how wet it made you. “S—sir…”

Hal tilts his head, jutting his hips to drape his length over your belly, to emphasize just how much bigger he was than you— how deep he would go. it made your head swim. by the looks of it, he would never fit. “Oh yeah, I’m definitely going to ruin your pretty, little pussy.” he smirks, as if replying to the disbelief in your mind and written all over your face.

“I’ll never disobey your orders again, sir.” you breathed out, chest heaving with anxiety ( or, was it anticipation ? ). “I’m sorry…”

but Hal quirked a brow, running one hand up the length of your body, he made sure to give your tender breast a hard squeeze before caressing your cheek, taunting you by running the pad of his thumb over your trembling bottom lip. “Oh, it’s much too late for that, little girl,” he croons, pushing his thumb between the threshold of your lips. he hooks it against the corner of your mouth to keep it anchored there. “You’re gonna take your punishment like a good girl, and then you’re going to know exactly what happens to insubordinate whores.”

the hand holding himself on your belly has, instead, directed his herculean cock to your exposed, slick sex. but, he didn't plunge right in. Hal takes his time, using the bulbous, pink tip to spread your netherlips, running it up and down, gathering your essence over it. “You’re fucking dripping.” he hums, but it’s guttural as he tries to muffle his primal snorting. you can still see it, though, in the way his massive chest rises and falls. “I think you like my punishments.” his eyes, which had been admiring just how he can split you open, and how each time he’s blessed with a flash of your hole clenching on air, just begging to be stretched. “Want me to stuff you?”

you wished you could hide your face, because your body was already agreeing— back arching whenever the head of his cock bumped your sensitive clit, squirming and soaking him with slick, you didn’t need it to be anymore obvious, but your face would give you away yet again. big eyes, lips trembling and forced open by his thumb, you slur against it, looking down at where your bodies were meant to join. “It… it’s too big… that won’t fit inside me.” you say, incredulous.

but you can tell Hal wants to chuckle, and maybe if he wasn’t so angry, he would’ve. the corner of his lip twitched, threatening to etch into a wickedly dashing smirk, but he stops it. he simply says two words.

”Let’s see.”

and forced his way inside.

you cry out with your head thrown back, for once straining against the constructs that held you down. your body wasn’t meant to stretch as much as it had to accommodate his size. your walls spasm around the girthy intruder, clamping down, and Hal releases a bestial groan. “Fuck,” he mutters, and pushes his thumb against the flesh of your cheek, “you’re right, I am too big for you, aren’t I?” you can’t even think straight enough to nod, but it didn’t matter. it didn’t stop Hal from falling into a hard, deep rhythm. with each, powerful snap of his hips against yours, he fills you to his hilt. “Doesn’t matter to me, sweetheart, I’ll stretch your little pussy out until I fit right. I don’t care if I gotta pound it out over and over again. You’re mine, anyways, until we reach Oa.” oh fuck, you’d forgotten exactly how long the trip back to HQ was. it felt like weeks, but it was hard to tell for sure. no day or night, just the inside of the ship.

a knot forms in the pit of your gut; would he really keep you twisted up and spread open like this, right here on the control panel? would you be so easily accessible that all he would have to do is reach over and he could fondle you? the whole trip back?

with the power behind his thrusts, and the way the head rammed deep, it was clear that you weren’t meant to be the one enjoying this. he’d gone beyond any of your sweet spots, and instead jabbed relentlessly at the edge of your cervix. he was fucking you the way that he wanted, even if he thought you wouldn’t like it. it even hurt, each time, taking so much more than you were designed for, but you couldn’t help but moan out loud. it still felt good, no matter how much you knew it wasn’t supposed to. his girth plowed through your canal, and you squeal for him to please be gentle, but you don’t mean it. not really. it feels too good to look up at this titan of a man, and watch him decimate you. watch him use you.

it made you so fucking wet that, when he dives in this time, you squelch in response, and Hal moans louder, grabbing a fistful of your hair with one hand, whilst the other grabs your face and forces your chin into your chest. you sounded sloppy, and he liked it. “Come on, baby girl, go ahead and watch me destroy that pussy. ‘S what you deserve, after all. A good, hard fucking to remind you who the fuck’s in charge here.” you mewl pathetically, staring down the length of your belly. your emerald suit was merely a chunk of threads against your ribs, your breasts spilling out the gash at the neckline and the entire crotch ripped out. you could see his shape and size, the imprint of it, bulging against your stomach with every thrust, and your hands ball into tight fists. but you stare, and whine, and come undone without so much as a warning from your body. it was almost as if you were so overloaded with sensation that you just snapped. your orgasm wasn’t big the first time, but you were now twice as sensitive. each thrust feels like it has double the power and malicious intent behind it, now. Hal seems to like it, too, because he smooths his palm over your heated cheek before planting a rough smack against it. “Takin’ orders just fine now, aren’t you, little girl?” the slap temporarily stuns you, or maybe it’s the orgasm that was wracking you, but Hal brings you back with another thwack against your cheek. “All I had to do was shove my dick in you and you’re ready to comply now? You wanna be your Honor Guard’s good, little fucksleeve?”

it stings, a lot. and your eyes widen again, flickering up to watch his face— offended, but incredibly turned on. he hit you. twice.

“The answer is ‘yes sir’.” he threatens between hot puffs of strangled air, his rhythm never even faltering. but he was glaring at you, palm rubbing the pain of the slaps into your cheek, as if reminding you that he can do it again if he wanted to.

“Yes s—sir!” you squeak.

another slap.

you whimper and flinch, and try to turn away from it, but his grip on your hair is too tight to escape. you had to take it, whether you liked it or not.

the worst part was: you fucking loved it. it twisted your guts into knots when he hit you, coupled with how ferociously he was rutting into your body, you were only moments from cumming. again.

“And you’re gonna do whatever the fuck I say from now on?”

“Y—yes sir!”

“Damn right,” Hal grinds his teeth, yanking on your hair harder, but his other hand travels down to knead your breast and pinch at your nipple. he can feel when you unravel for a second time, this time your climax has you spasming and babbling, fingernails digging into your own palm.

“C—cumming,” you whimper, helplessly thrashing, “I’m cumming aga— again!” it was a cry for mercy, mostly. in shock that your body could even function after the first one, but this one was strong and, seemed to be, never ending. wave after wave of torturous pleasure washes over you, and Hal refuses to ease up. he’d so much rather force you to ride it out, and before you knew it, your legs were trembling. your eyes could hardly stay open, and you couldn’t think. “P—please, sir,” you were gasping, punctuating each, violent thrust with a syllable, “p—please c—cum, I— I need… r— rest…”

you knew he must want to. he was throbbing inside you, moaning, breathing ragged, and his jaw was sewn tight. but he only scoffs. “You’re done when I say you’re done. This is your punishment, remember?” he spat, and the constructs melted away, freeing your arms and legs. the only problem was that you were now too spent to move, so you could do little but lie there and tremble. squinting, you peer up in time to see his power morph into a chain-like ring that clamps around his engorged base before a heavy, green lock snaps into place, swinging back and forth as he ruts. he snorts at the sensation of the ring tightening around his cock, squeezing. it would keep him from cumming, you realized, until he felt like you’d earned the break you so desperately wanted. you whine again, and he plows into you harder to accentuate his next statement, “It’s gonna be a long ride home, little girl.”

[drowninginblox]

Bite

Cole Cassidy x Hanzo Shimada

Those mfs are dragging me back by the fucking ankles y’all-

TW: childhood being contextualized w/ age,nudity(ew), and a passing mention of general addiction (not even tbh)

Have fun ^^

——- —- ——- —-

——- —- ——- —-

“Genji.. how dose that one song go?” Cass asked over the breeze. Spring at the safe house was just like he remembered it to be. Peaceful, idealistic even. But the anxiety always lingered whenever he came here. There’s always someone looking for them. Yesterday it was Gabriel. Today it was Reaper. But that’s neither here nor there. Nothing the pack of “terrorists” could do now. All they can do is lay low until the monkey checked in.

But… fuck. He knew heading so close to Deadlock territory was risky. Especially after his last encounter with Ashe. And with the knowledge of Bob getting upgraded. Fuck- he should’ve- “What? What song?” Cass blinked for a moment before sighing. He’s thinking about this too much. All they can do now is just.. wait for this to blow over till they can come back better. Or, as much as he hated the thought, find an opening to retreat.“Ykno- the one Hanzo sings while he works ‘n cooks…” The group of six were taking this snag pretty well- all things considered. Pharah and Mercy were organizing everything they had on hand while keeping in touch with the coverage of Overwatch’s current stunt on Route 66. Bridgette meanwhile was keeping herself sharp. Painfully so in all honesty…

Same with Hanzo, but he’s learned to give himself breaks since reuniting with Genji and, albeit painfully, accepts himself. “Through the small things, I reclaim myself.” Cole noted Hanzo’s rationalization in one of the many outings to the on hand range. It’s became their thing in the recent months, since Hanzo’s started opening up. Although imperfect and a little too idealistic for Hanzo, Genji claims that in the worst moments while he was discovering himself- a montra similar to that got him through the worst of times.

And lookin at Hanzo, it was so far so good. He was taking it to heart from the looks of it. Small acts of kindness from making food for the team to cleaning up to just.. listening to others rather than forcing them or himself away. Openness was a good look on him. That’s probably why Cole wanted to learn, what he assumed, was Hanzo’s favorite song. “Ooohhh you mean Bite, right? By Troy Sivon?”

Cole sighs but nods. “If that’s it, how dose it go?” The younger Shamada turned to look at the westerner. For once in a long time he shown his face. The multitude of scars were faint but barely visible unless you were actively looking. But other than that, he looked like an slightly above average man. Good looking for sure, eyes half lidded with the serenity of the current situation, lips perched as he pondered what the Cowboy’s angle was this time. Usually Jesse only talked to Hanzo whenever he needed to or was bored. He’s tried lots of things to entertain himself that just so happened to have Hanzo in the vicinity. But, for some reason, this felt different.

Genji cracked a sly smile, swallowing whatever doubts he had and breathed some new life in a song older than him. “Kiss me on the mouth and set me free… sing me like a choir..” in the gaps between the lyrics the memory of a melody comes back in patter patters against old, wood floors. Slow and graceful motions hidden behind shoji screens, hidden only by night. However, the dancers are caught in flickering candles while the creaking of floorboards reveals their audience: one gathered by the wonderment only children could have at a song that wasn’t sewn in tradition or played through instruments deemed worthy of being interested in. No. This was a time before the importance or legacy. One of innocence. Love even.

“I could be the subject of your dreams, your sickening desires…”

A time where a husband and wife could relish in their love, confident in the fact that their family is safe from whatever the outside world has to offer. At least- that was what Genji viewed the moment as. He didn’t notice the lady was a good decade younger than his father or that only one of her hands was on his father’s shoulder.

“Don’t you wanna see a man upclose.. a pheonix in the fire.”

Genji didn’t know the true intentions of the song until much later. Little before he realized just how sick and twisted his family was, and just what he and Hanzo were to do with it when they were to come of age. Processing that was hard for a teenager. The party’s and addiction was just a way to cope with that pressure. That’s the answer Genji hopes was true for him after all these years.“So… kiss me out the mouth and set me free…”

“But please.. don’t bite.” Cole finished, making Genji look away from the safe house and back to his friend. “Genji, you okay?” For a moment Genji looked around, as if trying to remember where he was before clicking everything back together. His checks were wet. There was a lump in his throat. And he wasn’t alone. “Jesse, don’t sing that song to Hanzo okay?” Cassidy looked over the cyborg as he wiped his eyes of whatever tears remained. “Honestly, he probably doesn’t realize he’s singing it.” Cole kept his eyes on Genji for a few moments before settling “Its Cole now, remember? Or Cass. Jesse is only for the field.” He says, clasping his hand on Genji’s shoulder. “Right. Sorry Cole.”

“Don’t worry about it par’ner.” Genji chuckled as the draw grew too thick. Cole knew that about him too well. Thick accents were fucking hilarious to him. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, shrugging off Cole’s hand with a smile. “You know me too well Cole.” Jesse chuckled. “Damn right I do. You’re my best friend Genj.” Genji glances with a small smile. “Really? If I’m your best friend then why haven’t you told me you had a crush on my brother?”

[cryptidofthekeys]

.

[the-bau-quinjet]

Always

Summary: You overhear Steve talking to Bucky about going back to be with Peggy. Rather than confronting the situation, you write him a letter.

Warnings: I cried just thinking about writing this, so much angst, some swearing

Word Count: 3305

a/n: here it is folks: the sad fic I mentioned a few posts ago. Inspired by a multitude of songs from the album Ashlyn by Ashe. I high key recommend listening to that album while you read or just in general. I'm pretending like nobody died in Endgame because that shit is sad and I know this is sad aside from that, but I still have a heart ya know?

Per usual, any song lyrics (or song lyrics that I changed a bit) are in bold! I think used lyrics from Me Without You, Save Myself, I'm Fine, Love is Not Enough, and Always.

Masterlist

"You'd really want to go back?" You overheard Bucky right before you walked into Steve's room.

"I don't know." He let out a deep sigh. "I mean, I do know, but what do you think?" Steve's answer left you wondering what they were discussing.

"All for Peggy?" Your heart stopped waiting for Steve to reply.

Another sigh escaped his lips. You could easily picture him running his hands down his face, a signal he was deep in thought. "I mean, I never got a chance to see what would happen with her. Don't you think she deserves this much?"

You felt frozen. You couldn't hear the rest of Steve's answer or Bucky's reply over the sound of blood rushing through your ears.

It was all too much to handle. Rather than confront the grab bag of emotions swimming inside of you, you turned around and went back to your room in a zombie like haze.

"Friday, don't let anyone in my room."

You know the AI replied, but you were still too caught up in thought to understand it. Your mind was full of questions you knew you couldn't figure out the answers to alone.

Why would Steve want to go back for Peggy when he had you? Why would he even consider it if he loved you like he said he does? Is he still in love with Peggy? Has he been in love with her the whole time? Why would he choose her when he's spent so much more time with you?

"Y/N?" The sound of Steve's voice outside your door startled you. "Y/N, honey, are you in there?"

You could hear the doorknob rattling in his attempt to open it, but Friday was doing as you asked.

"I thought you were going to meet me downstairs?"

His words only broke your heart more, a small sniffle escaping despite your efforts to remain quiet.

"Are you not feeling well? What's wrong?"

His questions were left unanswered, much like the questions swimming around your head.

Steve kept talking to you through the door for a while, but you never replied. You weren't ready to face him, not until you knew you wouldn't say something you'd later regret.

-

The next few days carried on much the same. You refused to leave your room, relying on various snacks and protein bars you had for food. Every few hours, you would try to write down what you were feeling, but it didn't help calm you down the same way it typically did.

Everyone tried talking to you, but nothing worked. Steve spent hours outside your door every day in an effort to get you to talk to him, but you just couldn't figure out your emotions. It was all still too much to handle.

Late one night, Steve said something that forced you into action.

"Y/N, I don't know what happened, but if I did something I'm truly sorry. I'm returning the stones tomorrow. We've never not said goodbye before a mission... I just hope this one is the same."

You listened as he quietly walked back down the hallway, steps slowly receding until you were left in the same absolute silence you've spent the last few days.

You knew you had to talk to him, but hearing him say to your face that he's staying with Peggy would kill you.

You couldn't survive a permanent goodbye, not in your current state of mind.

After a few minutes of silent contemplation, you decided to write Steve a letter. Maybe you'd give it to him or maybe it would just help you organize your thoughts. Either way, it would be helpful to write to someone for a change.

Hi Steve,

I, well, I guess I'll start with this. You deserve an apology. I'm truly sorry for ignoring you for the past few days. I just... I heard what you said to Bucky and I didn't know how to deal with it.

You know I've never been the best at controlling my emotions, so I just holed myself up in here. I avoided you so I could figure out my own feelings first.

I know I should talk to you. You deserve that too, but I don't think I could survive the heartbreak. I guess I'll try to explain everything I've been thinking and feeling since that night.

Honestly, I'm not sure where to start. It feels kind of stupid to say, but I obviously experienced a range of emotions when I first heard you and Bucky talking about going back.

You know I've always found solace in writing, so that's what I'm doing. I needed a way to clear my thoughts, and it turned into this concoction of thoughts and some poems - you know how I feel about poems. (Look at that! A sarcastic comment! I didn't think I was capable of humor anymore.)

This might not surprise you, but the first emotion I clung to was anger. I'm not angry anymore, well at least not as angry. Anyway, I wrote this next part when I was absolutely pissed at you.

-

What the fuck?

You want to go back in time and stay there?

You want to leave me behind?

Steve, what the fuck is wrong with you?

I could keep you here. If I really wanted to, I could figure out a way to do it. I could cut the brakes just to keep you from leaving. I'll do it too. My hands on the wheel would drive us into a wall.

You must think I'm being petty. Hiding in my room like a child to avoid you. All the while, here I am writing all the things I could do to keep you. Well, news flash: I don't need you. You made me think the only world I could exist in, was one you lived in, almost had me fooled.

Here's something you probably never considered, because I sure as shit never thought I'd even need to. I can be me without you. I don't have to rely on you for my own happiness. I thought you loved me, but if you want to go back and be with Peggy, do it. Go find yourself, let me down.

It's easy to sit here now and look back on how everything we had would always be second string to your relationship with her. God damn hindsight's 2020.

I want you to know, you did this to me. You broke my heart. When I heard you say you wanted a chance to be with Peggy, it's like my whole world crumbled down around me.

Everything I thought I knew was ripped out from under me. You poured rain all over my sunny. Yeah, someday, this could all be funny, but right now it's absolute shit.

And maybe everything will work out the way it's meant to be, but honestly I couldn't give less of a shit about that right now.

If I had the chance, I would take it back. Everything. Meeting you. Becoming friends. Dating you. Falling in love. I'd be jumping off your sinking ship, instead of going down with it.

It'd be so much easier that way. If I never fucking knew you.

One day I'll be good. I'll be over all of this bullshit. Right now I'm just mad. And you know what, it's justifiable. I think I'm allowed to be mad at you.

I'm over being so mature. If only I was never yours. Maybe I'll go back in time and undo it all. Then at least I could save myself from you.

-

Like I said, I wrote that in the heat of the moment. Once my brain caught up to my ears, all I saw was red. Anger didn't last as long as you might think though.

All that was how I felt in the moment, but I want you to know it's not true. I don't really believe any of it. I was hurt and angry and avoiding the pain I knew was just around the corner.

I've always told you anger would be my downfall because I just can't control what I say.

Let me be completely clear, I would never want to undo meeting you. You've been the best part of my life for years. I need you to know that I don't regret any of it and I never will.

Anyway, the anger shifted to tears pretty quickly. It wasn't hard to feel the pain that comes with someone you love leaving you. I can't honestly picture a world where I don't love you.

This is the first poem I wrote. With tear blurring my vision, I put pen to paper and this is what came out.

Complicated. Understated. On the way to, Devastated. I'm just holding on for dear life.

Short and sweet, right? Well, not so much sweet, but you get the point. I feel broken. Here's another bit of poetry for ya.

Right now I'm sorry, Burns through me darling, But I can't help hope In thirty years it won't.

Maybe I just need time. That's what everyone always says. "Time can heal all wounds."

It's hard to even think about moving on though when everything reminds me of you. I've got emotional souvenirs from fleeting moments we spent together. If this is the end, I'll always know you were my golden years. I know in the future I could close my eyes and go back there.

Maybe that's the hardest part. Knowing I'll always have these memories.

All I've been thinking about for the past three days is if this will ever feel better. And maybe it will, when time has passed.

Maybe when I'm older, I'll run out of stories about you. Maybe when I'm older, I'll know what it's like not to love you, Anymore.

Despite my best efforts, it's still only a maybe. Maybe when I'm older I'll be able to stop thinking about you every second of the day. Maybe when I'm older I won't feel like crying everytime I see your face.

But maybe not. Maybe I'll always feel this way.

Maybe when I'm six feet, underneath the concrete, I'll know what it's like not to want you, anymore.

I'm not saying all this to make you feel guilty. You don't need to tell me you're sorry. I know you are. I know you would never hurt me like this without a reason.

I should just talk to you, but I don't think I can. Not yet. We don't need to talk til we're ready. Both of us.

I guess I do have one question. Do you really love me?

I don't think I want to know the answer right now. Because even if you do... it takes a lot more than a rose, more than a kiss, more than a heart to truly love someone and spend forever with them.

It takes a lot more than a ring, more than a vow, more than a promise to build and maintain a relationship.

Love is not enough. I know that now. Even if you love me to the best of your abilities, you could still love Peggy more. Love may not be enough for us, but at least we got that much.

If you leave, I'll live the rest of my life grateful that at least I got your touch for as long as I did.

I used to think we could take our sweet time, that everything would be just fine. But now I know maybe not.

I cried for days. Like I said, I'm not writing this to make you feel guilty though. I just want to be completely honest. I cried a lot, probably more than I ever have before.

I kept replaying memories of time I spent with you. Not even dates, just the small moments that made me know I love you.

Like that day I woke up too early, almost put salt in my coffee. Oh I thank God that you stopped me before that.

I've never been a morning person, but ever since I met you you've always been there to keep my head on straight.

I think the thing I love most about you is how you can read me better than anyone I've ever known. I can hide from everyone else and they won't bat an eye. They never can tell when I'm falling apart on the inside.

No matter how hard I try to hide it though, you don't believe me when I say I'm alright. You can always, always tell.

It's like you've got a sixth sense that tells you I need you when I try to say I'm fine.

Before I met you, I would get so lonely everyday. Now I'm only lonely until you ask if I'm okay and then I remember that I have people who are there for me. I have you.

All this to say, I love you, Steve. I love you more than I've ever loved another human being.

Forever yours,

Y/N

-

It took you nearly all night to write a coherent letter and come up with a plan to talk to Steve. A quick glance at the clock let you know Steve would be up any minute, so you had to act fast.

You opened your door for the first time in days, running in a full sprint to the stairs and down the hall to Steve's door.

With one final burst of courage, you shoved the letter under the door and ran away before anyone could find you out of your room.

-

"Y/N?" A familiar knock on your door woke you from a restless sleep. "I read your letter, Y/N please let me explain."

It felt like time slowed down as you stared at the door.

"Y/N, I have to bring the stones back, but I really want to talk to you first."

"Come in." You steadied yourself with a deep breath, but one look at Steve ruined your flimsy resolve.

"Y/N... I tried to wait for you to come to me, but..."

He stopped talking when you shook your head, a painful sob forming in your chest.

"I've been thinking a lot." You started slowly, voice scratchy from days of not being used except to cry. "What if staying with me isn't the best thing to keep you happy?"

"Y/N, I-"

"Please let me finish." You waited for him to acknowledge your words before you spoke again.

"If letting you go is the best way to show that I love you, I will." Tears poured down your cheeks, breaths coming to you shakily.

"Captain Rogers, your presence is requested in the backyard." Friday's voice echoed through the room.

Steve looked more torn than you've ever seen him.

"Let's go." You nodded toward the door. "I've got more to say, but you've got somewhere to be."

Slowly, the two of you walked down the hall and entered the elevator.

"I don't know if you'll ever come back-"

"Y/N, really just let me-"

"Steve, please." You begged him to let you get it all out. "I won't ask 'cause that's selfish."

"It's not." He cut in again.

"It is. You deserve to be as happy as possible." With a slow, shaky breath you continued your speech. "I've come to terms I might never feel whole again."

The elevator doors slid open. You followed Steve to the yard where they set up the time machine.

"I'll be broken when you're gone, but I won't hold you back if it's wrong."

"Steve, there you are! Let's go-"

"In a minute, Sam." Steve's eyes never left you, remaining soft and caring. "We can go back inside if you want." He ran his thumbs over your cheeks, ridding them of tears only to be instantly replaced. You've always hated crying in front of people.

"I don't care what people say." You shook your head, ignoring the potential pitying looks you could receive for crying in front of others. Another deep breath, and you continued. "You know I won't force you to stay."

It was your turn to wipe tears from Steve's face.

"If you leave, I'll be okay. Just promise that you won't forget me babe."

"I could never-" He cut in again only to stop when you gave him a pleading look.

"I understand if leaving is what you have to do. I don't want you to go, but I'll be okay, eventually." You let out a watery chuckle, wiping your eyes again.

"Y/N, I never meant for-"

"Steve, you ready?" Sam interrupted again.

"It's fine. You can go." You did your best to hold back any lingering tears. You had to physically turn Steve around yourself and push him towards the machine.

"Y/N, please, I can't-"

"Steve, they're waiting for you. It's okay, I promise." He finally started to walk away only to pause when you called out one more thing. "Oh, Steve?"

"Yeah?" He wore a solemn smile.

"I'll love you always."

You watched as he listened to Banner's instructions and bid farewell to Sam and Bucky. The bitter part of you wondered if Sam knew.

A strangled sob left your mouth as soon as Steve disappeared. All three men standing around the machine looked your way, Sam and Bucky running toward you to help.

"He should be back any second. It's fine!" Sam desperately tried to console you, but you knew it wouldn't work.

"Y/N. Y/N! Listen to me. Did Steve talk to you?" Bucky asked, ignoring Sam's bewildered expression.

You nodded pitifully.

"Did he explain-" You cut him off.

"He- he didn't ha-have time.: You stuttered as you tried desperately to gulp in air through the tears. "I did most of the talking. I needed him to know it was okay."

"To know what was okay?" Sam asked, still clearly confused.

The thought of explaining it only broke you down more. You would have fallen to the ground if not for Bucky catching you. Your body leaned into his.

"Doll..." Bucky shook his head. "You should have let him explain."

You choked on another sob just thinking about it.

"Shh, it's okay. You'll be okay." Bucky whispered in your ear, ignoring Sam's confused glares.

"Y/N..." The sound of Steve's voice echoed in your ears causing another painful sob to jolt through your body.

"Baby, please look at me."

You genuinely thought you were hallucinating when you opened your eyes to see Steve towering over you.

"Steve?" Your voice was barely a whisper.

"It's me, I'm here." He gently took you from Bucky's arms, cradling you close to him but leaning his head far enough away for you to look into your eyes.

"You came back..." Your tears slowed, gently falling down your cheeks as you stared at him wide-eyed.

"I was never planning to leave." He spoke while gently stroking your hair.

"B-but, you were talking to Bucky about going back?" Your tears gave way to confusion as you glanced between him and Bucky.

"Just to say goodbye." He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, breathing in your scent. "I just thought she deserved a real goodbye."

New tears pooled in your eyes as you took in his words. "So, you never wanted to leave me?"

"I could never, and would never, leave you. I love you so much. I just wish I knew why you were holed up in your room sooner." He smiled at you, the same adoring smile he gave you the first time you met.

"I love you too. Always." You leaned into his embrace, relishing in the touch you thought you'd lost forever. He whispered his reply, clinging to you just as much as you were to him.

"Always."

a/n: today I discovered I am truly incapable of writing a sad ending. I just like the idea of escaping to a reality where Steve would never abandon me.

Permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner

@jesuswasnotawhiteman

@strawberryspence

@sebastnstn

[chudleycanonficfest]

Hide and Seek

Day 6, Story #1 is by @adenei

Title: Hide and Seek

Author: adenei

Pairing: Teddy Lupin/Victoire Weasley

Prompt: Babysitting

Rating: PG

TW: Mild Language

**********

“Don’t let them stay up too late,” Ginny reminds him as she opens the front door.

“And send us a Patronus if anything goes wrong. We’ll be here in an instant,” Hermione adds fretfully.

“Oi, ‘Mione, really? They’re not babies anymore!”

“Let’s go, or we’re going to miss our Portkey.”

Teddy laughs at the interaction. Of all the adults, it’s Harry who’s pressing them about tardiness. The foursome are headed on a weekend getaway, staying at the Delacours’ beachside cottage for three nights. James was shipped off to George and Angelina’s, while Rose opted to go to Percy and Audrey’s, so Teddy’s charges only include Albus, Hugo, and Lily.

“Everything’s going to be fine. I’ve got this! And if I don’t, I can think of at least five other Weasleys to call. Maybe even a Malfoy if I’m desperate.”

“That’s not funny, Lupin,” Ron warns as Ginny swats him upside the head.

“But if Scorpius does ask for Albus to go over for an afternoon, it’s fine!”

“Noted. Go enjoy your weekend!” 

Teddy half shoves them out the door this time as he shuts and locks it behind them. The kids are out back playing in the garden, so Teddy goes out to join them. He’s chuffed that Harry and Ginny trust him enough to watch Al and Lily for the weekend. Plus, Ron and Hermione added Hugo to the mix. Normally, they’d be shipped off to the Burrow to stay with Molly and Arthur, but since it’s only a long weekend, and the kids are ten and twelve now, Teddy Lupin, a recent Hogwarts graduate, has been bestowed the responsibility. 

He’s always been the mature older ‘sibling’—well, he counts himself as a sibling or cousin to all the Weasleys, but he’s not blood-related. Harry and Ginny half raised him, though, so he’s just as much a part of the family as any of the kids. Heck, maybe someday he’d officially be part of the family. 

No, it’s too early to be having those thoughts.

But there’s one person who makes him happier than anything to know he’s not related to the Weasleys by blood. Victoire, his best friend and girlfriend. As Teddy sits back and gets comfortable on a patio chair, he lets his mind wander to spring afternoons spent by the lake as he observes the kids playing on the muggle swingset Harry insisted on putting together years ago.

“Who knew a giant Muggle toy would get so much use?”

Teddy jumps at the sound of a voice he’s not expecting.

“Vic! What are you doing here? I mean, not that I’m complaining, but…”

She laughs as Teddy backtracks. The sound is music to his ears, soft and lyrical, and something he’ll never tire of. Making her laugh is something he’s striven to do ever since they were young. When she fell off her toy broom, he made his hair change colors at a rapid pace in an attempt to make her giggle, and then there was the time she broke up with her first boyfriend during her fourth year, when he’d used the Jelly Legs Jinx on the bloke’s legs while he walked over a patch of ice. Victoire’s laugh has always been the fuel that set his heart on fire.

“Well, you said you had to babysit this weekend, and I thought I might come over and help entertain my cousins,” she explains as she pulls up a chair next to him.

“Yeah, but the adults have only just left! You don’t think I can keep the kids alive on my own for more than an hour?”

“Of course, I do!” She slides her hand in his while waiting for a beat, “especially since James isn’t here.”

“Oh, I see how it is! James isn’t that bad.”

“No, he’s not. He just likes mischief. It’s a common Weasley trait.”

“And a Potter one, too, if I’m not mistaken. Harry and Ginny never stood a chance, especially after naming him after Harry’s dad and godfather.”

“True. When I have kids, they won’t be named after anyone. They deserve to have their own unique names.”

Teddy offers a sad smile at Victoire’s words. He’s named after his dad and granddad and doesn’t mind all that much, but he sees where Victoire is coming from, what with being named after a bloody war for Merlin’s sake.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have insisted on entering this world on the second of May, then. I mean, come on, Vic, of all the days!”

“Oh, sod off, Lupin,” she feigns seriousness while her eyes shine with mirth.

“I do agree with you, though. There’s enough people in this family who’re named after somebody else. I don’t mind it, but I do like the concept of original names. Though, I do think we’re a ways off from baby name talk, don’t you?”

He can’t help but lighten the mood. Teddy’s sure she means nothing by the comment and is just thinking out loud, but something still possesses him to weave it into their future. Perhaps it’s to gauge her thoughts in a casual manner?

“Probably, but it’s fun to talk about, isn’t it? I mean, it’s not like we’re actually picking names or anything.”

“Or determining how many kids we’re going to have…”

“Which would absolutely be—”

“Two!” they both say at the same time.

It’s really more of an inside joke, with Teddy witnessing firsthand the chaos that is the Potter household with three kids, and Victoire being the oldest of three. And yet, there’s some truth laced into their lighthearted conversation.

“See?” Victoire says as she leans in close, “This is why we’re good together.”

She plants a kiss on his cheek at the exact wrong moment because that’s when Hugo shouts,

“Victoire! Look, guys! Vic’s here!”

“Oops,” she whispers bashfully in his ears.

So far, they’ve managed to keep their relationship a secret from the family, but it looks like that’s about to end sooner rather than later. Of course, Harry and Ginny know, and Vic told Bill and Fleur when she came home at the end of term, but the cousins were still blissfully unaware… until now.

The three kids run over to Vic and Teddy, and Lily eyes them with curiosity. “Teddy, why did Vic just kiss you on the cheek?”

There are a multitude of different answers Teddy could choose from. ‘No reason’, ‘don’t worry about it’, ‘it’s nothing’, but instead he opts for, “Why do you think, Lils?”

Her eyes grow wider than her small face allows, and a wide O forms on her lips. “Are you two… together?” she whispers.

Teddy and Vic share a look. They both know the secret’s out now.

“Yeah, Lils, we are,” Teddy admits as he holds up the hand that’s still intertwined with Vic’s.

If there weren’t wards in place, Teddy’s sure that Lily’s shriek of delight could have been heard for miles. Albus and Hugo, on the other hand, seemed disinterested in the whole ordeal.

“Can we play hide and seek or something?” Albus asked once Lily was done reacting to the news.

Point in case.

“Wait, who else knows?” Hugo interrupts Albus’s question and bringing the focus back on Teddy and Vic.

“Of all the cousins? Only you three,” Vic answers.

“Only us?” Lily gasps.

“Not even James?” Albus eyes Teddy curiously.

“Not even James,” Teddy confirms. “Tell you what, we can go play hide and seek now, but what about an even better game?”

All three look on expectantly, waiting for Teddy’s proposition.

“What if we play, ‘let’s see how long it takes James to figure out Vic and I are dating’? We can all place bets, and I’ll take whoever guesses the closest date out for ice cream.”

Vic flashes him a knowing smile as the kids contemplate his offer.

“I’m in,” Lily says without thinking it through.

“Me too,” Hugo agrees.

“But that means we’ll have to keep it a secret,” Albus realizes.

He’s much more intuitive at eleven than Teddy ever dreamed of being.

“Yeah. Everyone else has to find out on their own, which means you can’t tell anyone.”

Lily and Hugo both nod in agreement, and after a bit more pondering, Albus agrees.

“Okay, but can we pick dates later? I want to play!”

Ted and Vic both laugh as Teddy offers to count to twenty. He closes his eyes and makes a big show of counting while Vic remains at his side.

“Nice one.”

“Thanks,” he responds in between shouting numbers. “I figure James is thick enough that we’ll get at least a couple more weeks out of him. He is Harry’s son, after all...”

Not only did they get a couple of weeks out of the deal, but the rest of the summer. It wasn’t until September first when James caught them snogging behind a pillar on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and ran to announce it to the world that the couple knew the jig was up. 

“Looks like I owe Al a trip to Fortescue’s next time I see him.”

[kaeyas-beloved]

I Knew You Could Do It

Midoriya Izuku x Sister!Reader (Platonic/She/Her) || BnHA

Summary: Izuku shows his sister how much he’s grown in the years she was absent

Warning(s): None 

Note: This is a request I got from AO3 for a part two to this one-shot I did awhile back. 

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

(Y/N) Midoriya, back from the dead it seems. 

Her reappearance was nothing short of a miracle. Aizawa, knowing it was only appropriate, allowed Izuku to go along with his sister and share the groundbreaking news with their mother. The tired teacher did have to make them both promise to be back for the final class of the day though: hero training.

After patching up the elder Midoriya’s wounds, the duo hit the streets of Musutafu, heading to the apartment of Inko Midoriya. Taking this time to catch up a little on the years that were stripped away from them, Izuku began right after she was deemed deceased. He recalled the suffocating feelings of hopelessness both him and their mother felt, how neither would dare go into her room and how it seemed impossible to move forward.

(Y/N), who remained silent throughout the retelling of the past, couldn't bear the thought of her family in such a heartbreaking state. The mere mention of their despair shattered her own heart and she momentarily fell into a dark and depressing mindset: if only she had been stronger back then, maybe then she would have made it home safe and sound... She’s the reason they were--

"But, now that you're back I think things will get better for all of us. We can try and go back to how we used to be!" Izuku smiled, his optimism a truly admirable trait. All (Y/N) could do was nod and pray that that was what was going to happen - that things will go back to some sense of normal one day.

After all, years lost don't heal instantly just because she’s returned.

It wasn't long before a familiar apartment door came into view. Though, with its impending approach, so did a wave of nervousness which bubbled up within the Pro Hero. What would her mother's reaction be? How much has she changed? How mad will she be? Would she actually believe that her daughter is alive or will she turn her away and deny it?

These thoughts swirled within her head and coming home started to appear more and more like a mistake. 

“It’ll be alright (Y/N)-chan, there's no need to be afraid. Mom will love to see you again, I just know it,” Izuku grinned, nudging his sister. She wasn’t fully convinced, but it was now or never she guessed. So, urged on by the teens encouragement she straightened up, swallowed the lump and fears she had before knocking on the cold, steel grey door. What felt like ages passed by until the creak of the door filled the silent afternoon air. The world slowed almost agonizingly as the second most important person in her life that she's missed oh so dearly started to come into view.

"Yes? Who is it?" A sweet, feminine voice called out, sounding no different to (Y/N) than it did years ago; that thought alone brought an ounce of comfort with it. 

Eyes hot and brimming with unshed tears, the mere sound of her mother’s voice was a lot to take in that first anticipated; what nearly broke the dam was coming face to face with the woman herself - no doubt at any moment she’ll start bawling. It didn't matter how much her mother changed, it never really did, the effect was always going to be the same.

"Mom...?" she struggled to voice out, any and every sound she made broken and with a sob on the tip of her tongue, "I-I'm home..." 

Recognition sparked in Ink’s green shaded eyes. (Y/N) could've said nothing at all or a simple few words, this as well didn’t matter, either way Inko would've instantly recognized who was at her door. A mother can always make out the voice and visage of her child no matter the differences there may be.

Tears began to stream down the woman's face, overcome with a multitude of different emotions as she barreled into her long lost daughter. And with the feeling of being able to hug her mother again, (Y/N) too let the tears flow, composure be damned. This was more important. Nothing, absolutely nothing can compare to the feeling of being reunited with one another.

---

Afternoon passed by far too fast for the Midoriya family. Inko, hesitant to let her children go after just getting one back, had to gain reassurance from them both (something she definitely needed): they’re only going to the school, and classes end in just a little over two hours - they'd both be back in no time. 

Hero training began soon after the pair returned and instructions were given to the class of aspiring heroes, all of which were spread out across Gym Gamma. The exercise for today? Save the civilians and capture the villains. An easy mission for most Pro Heroes who've been out in the field for some time, but definitely challenging to newbies in quite a few ways. 

When the bell went off many rushed forward to the front entrance to their respective buildings, some being flashier and more noticeable than others *cough Bakugou cough*. (E/c) eyes stayed on one person and one person only, hellbent on watching her brother. She both wants and needs to know how much he's grown since he was a kid.

Izuku on the other hand was shaking unnoticeably for once; nothing more than a tremor of his hands. He's nervous, obviously, but also ecstatic; the one who kept telling him that he could become a hero even without possessing a quirk, the one who decided to train him and give him a chance - she's here, not too far away from the training grounds. It’s a dream come true. 

He’s got to show his favourite hero (other than All Might) that he's grown from the quirkless little boy she knew once upon a time. That all that she gave him didn't go to waste. He has to put his all into this one, more so than ever before - his hero is watching.   

"Alright here's the plan-," the coms had a moment of static but (Y/N) could tell that her brother was continuing on with giving orders and guidance to his teammates. From her spot in the observation room she recognized a look in his eye - the analytic look he had when he jotted down notes about other Pro Heroes, their quirks, movements, attack patterns. He was evaluating the situation, choosing the best course of action. 

'That's right Izu, know your surroundings. Where is everything, what can you do with what and who you have...'

In the closing minutes of training, Izuku delivered a Full Cowl kick and right then, as he was able to maintain control of his attack, execute it beautifully while still showing off all his progress, it finally hit (Y/N).

All these years, even without her around to give pointers or encourage him, Izuku continued on his own to strive towards his dreams, never fully losing hope. And he’s living those dreams, actually living them: he’s made it to UA, he’s training to be a hero, he even developed a quirk for crying out loud!

As school ended, students changing back into their uniforms and leaving for the day, (Y/N) waited just outside the gates. Izuku called out to her as soon as she came into view, the returned hero perking up. She waited until the greenette stopped right in front of her before pulling the boy into a tight embrace. 

“You were pretty cool today Izuku,” she told him, tone soft like he was back to being four again.

“R-really!?” he pulled back from the hug, tears resting at the edge of his eyes. That’s all he’s ever wanted to hear from the person he’s looked up to since he was a kid. (Y/N) nodded, smiling softly as she patted him on the shoulder, eyes softening and almost reminiscent. He truly has grown... 

“Yeah… see, you can become a hero. I always knew you could do it…” 

The dam of tears bursted for the young hero, his arms wrapping his older sister up in a hug once more, fingers clutching the fabric of her top. She made no move to pry him off, letting him get it all out as the sun set behind the two, casting their shadows on the pavement.

The future was looking pretty bright for them.

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

[Masterlist]

[BnHA Masterlist]

[imatechbummerliketomholland]

sorry seems to be the hardest word - h.o

Word count: 3171

Warning: angst, swear

Pairing : harrison osterfield

Request: no.

N/A: It took me so long to write this. I remember i asked @soft-haz to write something with the "sorry seems to be the hardest word" vibe, it was so good! But i wanted to write something by myself too. Remember, english is not my first language, so be kind if you spot mistakes, i really try my best. Italics parts are flashbacks

Thanks to @petersasteria because she correct a big part of this fic! Love you. Don't hesitate to tell me what you think of the fic! Love you all! xx

ღღღ

part 2 (harry hollad x reader) - part 3 (harry holland x reader)

The few rays of sunshine in London today and England's victory over the Croats had improved your mood. Tom and Harry were home as soon as the game was over, they found you sitting on the couch with a glass of wine. You hadn't wanted to join them at the bar for obvious reasons: to keep your privacy as much as possible. Living with four boys was not easy, but living with four boys, one of whom was a world-famous actor and another in the midst of the media boom, was even more so. Of course, fans knew that Tom, Harrison, Harry, and Tuwaine had a female roommate. But you've always managed to never appear with your face uncovered in any media activity of your four-favorite divs.

The bottle was already nearly empty and you were already on your drunken streak, not wanting to stop when two of your drinking buddies had just entered. What a good opportunity to continue the evening.

"Will you join me, boys?"

“Mmm yeah, sure, love.” Harry said.

But a problem presented itself to you: the boys drank beer, you drank wine. You had two options now: either open a new bottle of wine for yourself or continue the evening with beer. Your eyes turned to your glass, spilling the rest of the bottle into your jug before swallowing it dry. Harry had a stunned expression on his face as Tom smirked.

"I see hanging out with us leaves its mark."

"You wish, Holland. I knew how to do it before I even knew you existed."

"You've known me since I was 19."

"And you think I waited for you to learn how to drink?"

"Fair enough."

You met the boys in a pub. You’ll never tell Nikki that, when you met them, her precious twins drank too many beers even if they weren’t old enough to drink (technically, they weren’t criminals, drinking beer at 16 is legal and come on, it’s England!)

❀❀❀

So, you met the boys in a pub. It was one of the nights when your friends and you wanted to drink until you're blackout drunk. You were in that pub/club, looking up after one of your friends. She had detected some pretty boys in the back and left you there, alone. You moved around the room without paying attention: glass in hand, your phone you stared at in the other. You suddenly felt an arm blocking your chest with force. The surprise had made you drop your glass.

“What the heck?!?”

“You will not pass, miss.”

“Oh yeah? Why? Is the pope there?” You said sarcastically

The man who stood in your way raised an eyebrow and you looked at him, waiting for a response.

“You are very funny. It’s a VIP space.”

“Once again, why is that?”

“None of your business.”

“Actually, I don't care if Sir Elton John is in that bar or if it's even the Queen of England. I'm just looking for my friend: tall, blonde, balloon-sized fucking boobs, red dress."

“Not seen."

You sighed. The situation annoyed you to the highest point. You had lost your friend and that big asshole had broken your glass. The man in front of you seemed to be marble. Short answer, arms crossed, and an imposing posture. All you wanted tonight was just to have fun. You didn't care that God-knows-who, any famous or rich enough to book a VIP space, was in that bar.

"Would the asshole that hired you tonight, at least be kind enough to buy me the glass you broke with your bullshit?"

From his side, Harry had noticed the altercation. He then walked towards you, he laughed when he heard you insult his brother through the bouncer's fault. And as the Colossus' bodyguard was about to tell you that you could always dream of getting that free drink, Harry spoke up.

“The asshole, maybe not directly. But the asshole's brother. Certainly. It will be on his check anyway.”

“For God's sake, what are you waiting for then?”

And just like that, you met the boys. Harry paid you for the glass that the other jerk broke, invited you to this precious VIP space and you could talk and dance the night away. You had exchanged your social media and over time, your phone numbers. And as fast as you couldn't imagine, you had found yourself stuck in an apartment with four adorable idiots as roommates.

❀❀❀

"Hey, y/n, where are the others?" Harry asked.

You grumbled and grabbed the beer the curly had just opened. He protested as you took a sip. Tom gave you a curious look and you frowned behind your bottle.

"y/n?”

"I don't know where T is, but Harrison's gone on a date with Gracie."

The two brothers exchanged a look heard in the face of the bitterness they had perceived in your voice. It was no longer much of a secret that you had feelings for Harrison. You had feelings for Tom's best friend for almost as long as you'd met him. Harry had noticed it first, because you were much closer to him than to Tom. The actor had understood at the start of an evening, at the beginning of the relationship between Harrison and his girlfriend.

However, you didn't hate Gracie. She was beautiful, kind, and very funny. She really brought out the best in Harrison, she made him happy and you could see that because of the distinct smile on his face. You didn't hate her; she just wasn't you and you just weren't her. And that was the whole problem. Jealousy consumed you and you hated yourself for it.

“Are you alright, darling?” Tom asked you since silence filled the room after your last sentence.

"I'll be fine after one more drink" you simply answered.

You took a sip of the beer you stole from Harry. Drowning in alcohol was certainly not the solution. But you just wanted to forget the blond a bit for tonight. Tom's worried look made you roll your eyes.

"Oh come on, Tom. Don't give me those eyes. I will be fine ..."

“Yeah, sure.” he said with a doubt.

"Can we just watch a silly movie or play a silly game to make my night better?"

Harry seemed to hear you as he shrugged and took a sip of his drink. He knew you by heart. At this point, he really considered you his best friend. So he knew you needed something to clear your mind. Something where your mind should be quick to think about.

“One,” he said nonchalantly.

"Two" you responded with a huge smile on your face.

"You are both stupid." the Holland elder complained about the game you had just started.

"You say that because you're a lousy actor who can't remember his lines. Play Holland!"

"Three". He capitulated.

And you continued like this until 21. Then, there followed a multitude of rule additions each time you reach the number 21. The 7 turned into "I'm a poor liar", the 18 into "I'd rather kiss a guinea pig" ... And every time one of you made a mistake, he drank. After an hour, the game looked like a strange conversation from the outside.

"Squirrels are scary, man." Harry said, mimicking his older brother.

"Black Widow is the best president of the United States" Tom said

"But she’s a bad lay." you responded, with a fake sigh of disappointment

"I'd rather kiss a guinea pig"

"Because you have no taste"

"Twenty"

It was at this precise moment, in the middle of the conversation, that Harrison decided to enter the living room. His blissful smile gave way to an air of amazement and disbelief at the talk between his three roommates. It was Tom who first noticed his best friend. He nodded to greet him. Harrison wore a simple black t-shirt with chinos. You took a look at your roommate and your cheeks flushed a little more than they already were.

"Hello mate! How was your date?" asked Tom with a big smile on his face

"Awesome. Can't believe it will be a year in 3 freaking days." Harrison said.

You could see his large smile, and blissful air. He was sweating happiness and although you were happy for him, it tore your heart. You purse your lips to avoid comment. Harry spoke up.

"We're playing 21. Do you want to land with us?"

"In fact, you can take my place." You got up from the couch and walked over to the kitchen to drop off your beer drain. Harrison frowned as Tom exchanged a new look with his brother.

"y/n, you can stay, It's an unlimited players game." Harry almost begged.

"No, I'm tired. I'm going to take a shower and then go to bed."

“y/n” Harrison tried to call you to hold you back a little longer.

But you were already gone. You've never climbed the stairs so fast to run away from your roommate/best friend. Harrison looked at Tom and Harry, worried about your behavior. The curly one just shrugged his shoulders as his brother shook his head, silent. They weren't intending to get involved in this. You were the only master of your feelings and the time you'll decide to confess them to Harrison. That is why they preferred to be quiet.

☙♡❧

You spent the whole next week to avoid Harrison as much as possible. Established more distance with him was your solution to protect yourself from your feelings especially after his one-year anniversary date with Gracie and his absolute cute instagram post. It broke you down. Your heart was in peace but you couldn't blame him or his girlfriend. You were in love with the wrong guy, that's all.

But you couldn't hide from him forever. After all, you both lived in the same house, you had the same friends. So, it was hard to pretend he didn't exist.

Today was not your lucky day. You bumped into him in the kitchen. That was his opportunity to hold you down. He grabbed you by the shoulders, preventing you from burying yourself. Now he would finally find out what was wrong with you. Because Harrison wasn't a fool. He had noticed that you acted with him differently. Your behavior remained unchanged towards the other boys in the house.

“y/n. Don’t avoid me; please, please y/n, look at me”

You have plunged your eyes into its bewitching blue irises. Big mistake. You were drowning now in the turmoil of your feelings for the blonde. He had always had that effect on you, always. Tears started to bead at the corners of your eyes, you were biting your lip to hold back the torrent of tears that was already beginning to flow. Harrison's throat tightened at the sight of you like that and his hold on your shoulders slowly loosened.

“I hate seeing you like this. Please talk to me” he almost begged you

“Harrison…” your voice struggle as soon you pronounced his name.

“Please darling…tell me what’s goin’ on”

As a perfect angel, Tom was the one who saved you by interrupting this quick talk. You wiped away your tears with the end of your sleeve and run away to your room. Harrison sighed in despair. He didn't understand why you were running away from him like the plague.

“Dude, do you know why she's like that. What did I do? » He finally asked to Tom.

"I can't tell you Haz. She's the only one having the right to tell you about this"

"Bullshit. Fuck you all." Harrison said, frustrated.

Then he just quit, leaving the kitchen.

☙♡❧

Sunday came and Tom asked you all to spend the night with him before his LA trip the next evening. It was a normal night with friends. And despite your pent-up feelings and wanting to avoid Harrison at all costs, you didn't want to miss Tom, he was your friend.

There was only the usual gang: Harry, Tuwaine, Tom (obviously) and you. But the tension was felt within the group. The lingering unspoken words about your feelings for Harrison were beginning to weigh on all of your friendship. It was so bad that it hurts to stay in the same room as Harrison. All you could see was his constant happiness, this wonderful man he had always been but in a more radiant version of himself. And you weren't the cause of that. You hated it, you hated being selfish that much. You were ready to sacrifice your friendship with the young Netflix actor for two reasons: you wanted to protect yourself ... and you weren't ready to be that obstacle in the midst of Harrison and Grace's happiness.

You were in the kitchen with Harry, pretending to help him with drinks and snacks. The curly boy could see you dragging your feet, repeating like a mantra this phrase "come on, you can do it ... do it for Tom, it's his night. Don’t be selfish, you can make it." And you really wanted it ... have a good time with your friends.

Sometimes Harry felt guilty for introducing Gracie to Harrison. They worked together as set PA in 2018 and became close friends but not as close as you were with him. You considered him like your best friend. It made sense for him to feel a bit responsible for your broken heart. But you never said a word about it.

“I’m sorry, y/n” confessed Harry.

“For what?” you simply responded.

"For having hampered your happiness. I was stupid to introduce Grace to Harrison and ignore your feelings. I wanted to help my friend. "

"Bullshit Harry. Never apologize for that. You've been a great friend to Harrison."

"But not for you."

"Who cares?" you asked, trying to minimize your feelings

"Me ... you are one of my best friend y/n"

"Just like Harrison is your best friend. Don't apologize for making him happy. Fuck, I'm the one who should apologize." You said, with a tone of anger and despair in your voice

And that's how you crack, breaking in all your sensitivity. You couldn't hold back your tears from falling as you blasted everything that was on your heart. You don't even realize that Harrison is a few feet behind your back. The weight of your feelings, your anxieties explode in the kitchen as when a cup is dropped on the immaculate tiled floor.

“What I got to do to make him love me? What I got to do to make him care? Not as the sweet friend Harry. I’m deeply in love with him and it’s gonna drive me insane! What I got to do to make him want me? Huh Harry, can you tell me? All those question in my head…and no answer to that. And you know what? It's sad, sad situation…more than that it’s a shitty situation, because I'm getting away from him and it makes us sick. Because I'm unable to tell him why.”

“You just told me.” Harrison finally said.

You jumped for a second before you froze. Harry is caught off guard and rushes into the living room stammering an apology. You are trapped. You are trapped and you can hear the footsteps of your roommate coming closer to you, so close, that now you can feel his breath on the back of your neck. Gently, he places his hands on your arms and exerts pressure for you to face him.

"You love me"

"It depends ..." you replied with difficulty

"On what?"

"On what you heard before."

"Enough that you can't contradict me."

Her thin smile doesn't help you relax. Instead, you look down, admiring your two pairs of feet. You felt like being stripped naked and you didn't like that feeling. If you could have kept this secret in your grave. But now he knew and you felt even heavier than the Titanic.

"So ... is that it? Nothing more to tell me?"

"What do you want me to add to what you've already heard?"

"Sorry?" he tried.

"For what?"

"For what? y/n are you kidding me? Sorry for being distant with me, maybe? Sorry for hiding all these things from you? Sorry for not trusting our friendship to come to me and speak?" he exploded…

"What would that have been for, Harrison? You don't love me back…" you screamed back.

"I ... I’m ..."

"See, sorry seems to be the hardest word."

After that last ironic reply, silence fell in the kitchen. So was that it? Was that how your friendship was to end? The great giants of the universe had reserved this dramatic scene for you to break years of bonding. You didn't know how to get out of this situation. You didn't even know if there was a few more things to save. You were broken and had just spoiled the happiness of one of your best friends.

Harrison was silent. He seemed to be probing your body, your attitude, analyzing any gesture that might give him the opportunity to take a step towards you. But the solution was there, finding everything ... It was enough, for both of you, to swallow your pride.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" you echo your previous conversation

"Sorry for not feeling the same as you. For not being who you want me to be to you."

"You know ... I don't hate her."

"What?" he asked, confused.

"Gracie. I don't hate her. She makes you really happy. I just hate the jealousy I feel towards her… I hate that I am not her. But I don’t hate her, she's a really good girl."

A small smile dawned on Harrison's lips, the blonde toyed nervously with his fingers and the ring he always wore as an accessory.

"Yeah ... yeah she's great."

"I'm really sorry ... about everything."

"It's ok. We don't control how we feel. I..I can understand"

"Yeah..."

"y/n?" he tried; a little bit shy about what he’s gonna ask.

"Mhmm?"

"Do you think we can be friends again?"

You bow your head, taking a minute to think. Was everything really broken? Were you going to be able to rebuild a solid friendship after this conversation? Were you going to be able to squeeze out your feelings? You sighed before plunging into those beautiful blue eyes that you loved so much.

"Maybe. I hope so with all my heart."

"I hope so too. And I hope you find someone like I found Grace."

"You can always dream. You dripping with love, it's impossible to find someone like you two."

"Don't despair. He might be closer than you think."

He winked at you and you looked at him confused. But after a few seconds, a smile appeared at the corner of your lips. No, you had no hope of him talking about him. But you were happy, because that little sentence opened the door for you to a bond that you were trying to find.

[meltwonu]

| 🍒 CH-CH-CHERRY BOMB! 🍒 |     [CHAPTER 15]

pairing; dom!seungcheol x camgirl!reader

this chapter’s notes; camshow, softdom!seungcheol, blowjob, cum swallowing, restraints/blindfold, daddy!kink, dirty talk, v little hair pulling, orgasm control, squirting, sex toys 😗💕 hope y’all are having a good weekend! As you can see, with this chapter comes the decided amount of chapters 😭 which means! cherry bomb ends on jan. 1st! 😭😭😭 I’m sad about it but!! excited to start the new year with some new projects too!! and I promise it won't be the last of this au either (I'll upload and talk abt a new schedule when it gets closer to time)💕💕 Thank you, as always, for your support with Cherry Bomb and I’m glad some of us have had pavlovian responses when we hear the term now LOOOL😩💕 Enjoy ch15 and have a great weekend! see u tomorrow for the last intro post! 💕🍒 

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - x - x - x - x - x 

Seungcheol takes it as a blessing that he doesn’t work on the weekends.

You do your camshow on Friday and upload prerecorded content on Saturday which leaves two whole days of relaxation that the two of you enjoy.

But Monday comes quicker than you anticipate and Seungcheol drops you off to work before he heads back to the roller rink; ignoring the multitudes of texts it seems Jeongguk is sending.

I’ll be at work in 30 minutes, he thinks.

“I’ll be back to pick you up after work, baby!”

You nod back, blowing Seungcheol a kiss through the window before you turn to leave.

Seungcheol’s phone rings 3 more times, brows furrowed.

‘It can wait.’

“Hyung, we’re in trouble… Maybe?”

Jeongguk’s big puppy eyes stare back at the older male and he can already feel the blood draining from his face at the potential reasons that the younger male would even say that. “Um… is---is this pertaining to why you tried calling like 14 times?” Jeongguk nods, tugging on Seungcheol’s shirt and pulling him in closer.

“Before you say anything… Namjoon-hyung didn’t find out, did he?”

“Find out about what?”

“That I… cam… I don’t want to get fired because I--”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes, “Listen, I’m gonna be real, I don’t think he cares. The problem is… remember that dude that came in? A couple weeks ago. Lookin’ for a job.”

Seungcheol nods slowly; trying to remember the male’s name. “Seok--something, right?” Jeongguk nods.

“Apparently, he came back, and at the right time too. Namjoon hired his ass on the spot and he starts tomorrow. I heard from Seokjin.” Confusion crosses Seungcheol’s features as he stares and waits for Jeongguk to continue. “... And? How is that trouble for us?”

Jeongguk lets out an over dramatic sigh, hands on Seungcheol’s shoulders. “Nevermind, I forgot you’re making bank on those videos. I was gonna say, we might get a pay cut! Or maybe Joon-hyung’s trying to replace us but I guess that’s not a ‘you’ problem.”

Seungcheol laughs under his breath, shaking his head before patting Jeongguk’s hands.

“You’ll be okay. I don’t think anyone is coming for your concession stand job.”

The next day when Seungcheol makes it to work, he can’t help but have a weird feeling in his gut.

Much like the time when he first met Jun, there’s an indescribable feeling bubbling up in his body that he can’t seem to shake off once he arrives at the roller rink and the sight of Jeongguk with the new employee doesn’t help to settle the feeling at all.

Just before he can make his escape, the younger male waves him over; a cheery smile plastered on his face when Seungcheol starts walking over.

“Hyung! It’s the new employee!”

So much for panicking about being replaced, Jeongguk.

Seungcheol smiles at the other male, introducing himself swiftly before extending a hand to shake. “Ah! I remember you! I’m Seokmin! I’m the same age as Jeongguk!” Seungcheol’s lips part as he nods in understanding; that had been why Jeongguk seemed so okay with it all of a sudden.

Seokmin’s eyes form crescents when he smiles and Seungcheol takes a second to do a once over of the other male; noting the pins tacked to his denim jacket. His eyes hone in on a specific one, narrowing once he realized what it was.

It’d been a while ago now, but when you’d hit 5k subscribers to your camming channel, you had made only three of the same pin, which you had raffled and only gave to three winners.

By nature, Seungcheol was one of them, and the other two were ‘xcaliburDK’ and ‘gentleman_josh95’. Seungcheol could deduce from usernames alone that this wasn’t ‘Josh’ so it only left one option left; albeit Seokmin didn’t add up to the username either.

“Hyung? Hyung, are you okay? You’re spacing out.” Jeongguk waves a hand in the elder’s face as Seungcheol shakes himself from his thoughts.

He’d just have to figure it out later.

Although, he can already feel the groan spilling from his lips.

Why was everyone popping up now?

When he picks you up from work, later that afternoon, he can already tell something is off about you too.

You slink into the passenger’s seat of his car, quiet and a little jittery. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He comments, watching as you fumble with the seatbelt.

“Yeah it’s just… Can we talk about it when we get home? I think I’m still recovering from the weird experience I had earlier.”

Nodding, Seungcheol reaches over, placing his palm in yours in a means of comforting you; even just a little.

“Guess we both have had weird days, huh?”

You can’t thank Seungcheol enough for how patient he is.

He doesn’t say a word in the car and lets you have your quiet, cool down time before you get home.

But when the lock slides into place and you finally plop down onto the bed, you know it’s finally time to have the talk that you knew was brewing.

“I met another one of my regulars at the diner today.” You mumble; beating Seungcheol to the punch of him asking.

“Weird, I think I ran into one of your regulars at the roller rink today too. He works there now, by the way.”

The two of you share an awkward laugh as Seungcheol lays down next to you; neither of you bothering to change out of your outside clothes as you bask in the oddly similar occurrences. “Wouldn’t happen to be ‘universe_WZ’ would it? He came by the diner earlier, ‘just passing through town’ he said. It was so weird though, y’know? Him and Jun kinda got along ‘cause apparently they’re born in the same year.” You smile at the memory, despite how odd it was at first. “He was quiet and Jun is very much not. I think he bailed earlier than he wanted ‘cause his ear was getting talked off. But he asked me for an autograph on the way out and some old lady stared at me. It was just… a little weird.”

Seungcheol laughs; somewhat glad that your experience hadn’t been as bad as he was expecting.

“How ‘bout you, ‘Cheol? What was that about him working with you?”

The male groans, sliding a hand down his features. “It was… somethin’ else.” You turn on your side to face him, raising a brow.

“Couldn’t be that bad, could it?”

Seungcheol laughs, but only in the way he knows that the next words out of his mouth will sound ridiculous, even to you.

“I’m not going to say who it is because I don’t want you to be extra weirded out. He’s an okay guy, very diligent about his work. But let’s just say I caught a glimpse of his wallpaper, which was you by the way. And when I asked him, ‘hey, is that your girlfriend?’, the fucker lied and said yes!”

It takes a second before you’re letting out a boisterous laugh; tears springing to your eyes at the hilarious encounter Seungcheol had experienced.

“You’re not mad!?” He comments, eyes wide as saucers as he watches you curl up in laughter. “I thought you’d be mad!” You wipe a tear from your eye, catching your breath before you turn back to Seungcheol who watches you in confusion.

“No way, that’s fuckin’ hilarious! And let’s be real, probably not the first time someone’s lied about me being their girlfriend, right? But I--he doesn’t know, does he? That you’re… y’know, ‘dom.cheol’?” Seungcheol blushes, cheeks blooming a pale pink when he thinks about it.

Would his voice be enough to give it away?

“I don’t… know? He didn’t say anything but neither did I, honestly. It was just… weird. And now I work with him so that’ll be fun. Can’t wait for him to tell me how cute his girlfriend is.” He grumbles.

“Awww, is widdol Swungcheol jealous?” You blink cutely back at him; a teasing smirk on your lips when you see him narrowing his eyes back at you.

“Watch it, brat. You know I can punish you at any time, right?”

“Try me, then~”

Seungcheol mentally logs into his brain and waits until your Wednesday show before he makes a move.

He brings his favorite silk ties from his closet and places them on the bed while you get changed; a sly smirk on his face.

“‘Okay, ‘Cheol I’m--whoa.” You bite your lip when you step out and see the array of ties and the vibrator already sitting on the bed. “Um… I take it that these are part of the show tonight?” You end with a shy giggle; body already warm at the way Seungcheol looks at you.

“Mmhmm. For the ‘lil jealous comment you made. What was it that you said? ‘Try me, then’?” He grins in a way that you know you’re screwed and you saunter up to him in hopes of maybe pacifying him a little.

“Too late to say that I take it back?”

“Waaaay too late, baby. Now, let’s get started.”

chwenon has donated $50

sleepy_wonu has donated $100

artist8hao has donated $75

artist8hao: she’s so pretty with her hands tied behind her back like that

angelhan: shibari next time???

universe_WZ: she’d be so pretty all tied up

universe_WZ: rly nice seeing u btw ;)

therealchan99: where tf are all of u seeing her!?!?? I need to go out more im lackin bro

alphagyu97: its the way u walk into every set up for me

Seungcheol chuckles under his breath, reading the comments with his hand tangled in your hair and your arms tied behind your back as you work your mouth up and down on his cock.

Before the show had even started, he had quickly rearranged the setup so that the camera was angled down towards the space in front of the bed instead of where it usually faced which was on top of the bed. You were a little confused at first when he had nodded and told you to start your camshow from the rug placed underneath you but it soon made sense when he had tied your arms behind your back and made you suck him off with your knees digging into the rug and a silk tie tied into a bow around your eyes to prevent you from seeing.

“Shibari, huh? Ooh, wouldn’t it be a treat for your viewers if you did a show where you were all tied up? I’d have to start it for you, or maybe they’d like to watch the process and see how quickly I can get you to fall apart.” Seungcheol pauses; hips canting up slightly into your mouth as you swallow and gag around him. “We can make it an extra long camshow… Maybe a pay-per-view situation. They can watch you squirm and cum all night long while I keep a vibrator pressed against your clit until your cute body is trembling.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head even if Seungcheol can’t see it and you moan around his cock when you feel him throbbing in your mouth.

The sound of donations and comments is all you can go off of with your back towards the camera and your vision taken away; noting that the viewers must’ve liked the idea.

j__min has donated $150

j__min: popping in to say if u need help buying ropes, i know a guy ;)

alphagyu97: wait is this rly happening

alphagyu97: i’ll clear my schedule gentleman_josh95: yea same

xcaliburDK: i just started a new job i cant have any sick days plz… at least reupload it for me 😭😭

Seungcheol smirks when he reads that particular comment; fingertips massaging your skull when he hears you whining. “I know, baby. You wanna be fucked, huh? It isn’t nice being teased, right? So now you know how I feel~” In a blink of an eye, ‘xcaliburDK’s comment is buried and Seungcheol is thankful that you didn’t see it. He’d just have to keep it a secret for now while he played along and listened to what else Seokmin had to say about his so-called ‘girlfriend’.

You rub your thighs together; already feeling the slickness on them from how wet you already were and how long you’d been teasing and sucking his cock.

“Fuck, I could cum down your pretty ‘lil throat and then make you work for my cock. Drag your punishment out even longer than your viewers would see.” You moan around his cock in response and Seungcheol can only take it as a whiny ‘no’ before he’s pulling you off of him by the hair; soft sputters and coughs spilling from your wet lips as you catch your breath.

“But I think you’ve earned your orgasm, hmm? What do you say, princess?”

Your throat feels hoarse and your body feel obscenely hot at the way Seungcheol doesn’t seem to want to take off your restraints just yet. “Y-yes, daddy I--I want to c-cum… pl--please.”

tangerine_kwan: ahhh shes so cute

tangerine_kwan: petition for baby pink ties next time i think they suit her

sleepy_wonu: if that shibari show is happening, yes

“We’ll talk about it later, although I don’t think she’ll be opposed to it~” You furrow your brows; wondering what Seungcheok was referring to. 

You’d ask later.

“D-daddy…?”

Seungcheol tugs you slightly by your hair, urging you up as you slowly stand on shaky legs. You let him take the reins as he unties your arms and repositions you until you’re bent over the edge of the bed; left leg folded atop the bedsheets while your right leg keeps you upright. He keeps your blindfold on but lets you keep your arms loose; which you find out fairly quickly, is for good reason.

The buzzing of the vibrator makes you bite your bottom lip and soon enough, Seungcheol places the toy in your clammy hand.

“You’re gonna slide your hand under your body and keep that vibrator pressed against your clit while I fuck you. And you’re not allowed to cum unless I say so. Am I understood, baby?” You feel Seungcheol teasing you as he slides his cock through your soaking folds before circling the tip around your entrance.

“I expect a response when I ask you a question, sweetheart.”

“Y--yes, daddy, I--ah!”

Seungcheol grins as he slides his cock into your tight cunt; watching as you slowly sandwich your arm between your body and the bed sheets to place the vibrator against your clit. You cry out, a mess of sharp whines and jumbled words spilling off your lips with the combination of Seungcheol’s thrusts and the vibrations on your clit.

“Ngh, d--daddy! Fuck me m-more!”

Your other hand digs into the sheets, fingers tight around the fabric as Seungcheol fucks you from behind. He knows your body like the back of his hand and he quickly already has you on the verge of an orgasm despite only having started fucking you, moments prior.

“Don’t cum, princess~” Teasingly, he alternates from quick snaps of his hips that have his cock slamming into your g-spot to slow thrusts that have you remembering every groove and vein of his cock when he pulls out. And when he fucks you like this, it’s easy to forget the camera was even on and that people were watching; if not for the constant pinging of comments and donations that mix in with your moans, Seungcheol’s harsh breaths and the sound of the vibrator against your clit.

hoshi_tiger_xx: hmm but shes obv being punished and we all kno good girls dont get creampies

therealchan99: ur right,,, where should he cum then?

kitty_junjun: my votes on her tits

kitty_junjun has donated $75

sleepy_wonu: maybe all over her back and then post the pics in the private room

xcaliburDK: or raffle them!! I want them

chwenon: ooo cum in her mouth but dont let her swallow

chwenon: then u can raffle those pics or sth

Neither you nor Seungcheol are even paying attention to the comments that fly past on the screen and the only thing Seungcheol even turns slightly for, is to check to make sure he’s still properly out of frame.

He can already feel you tightening up around him and with the vibrator on your clit, he knows for a fact you won’t last much longer before you’re cumming.

“Hmm, princess, I can feel you getting so tight around me. Bet you wanna cum already, huh?”

“D-daddy, I dunno, ah, how--how much longer I can h-hold off…” You mumble; already feeling the tension in your body ready to snap at any second.

“Be a good girl. I said you earned your orgasm but you need to be patient.” You nod to the best of your ability; head feeling heavy and fuzzy as you try to stave off your orgasm for a little longer. “Y--yes, daddy…” He slows down his thrusts in order to help you a little and the soft praises that fall from his lips have the warmth blooming in your chest.

But it doesn’t last long because despite Seungcheol’s valiant efforts, you’re already too close to cumming to stop yourself when you feel the pressure building up too fast.

“Oh, d-daddy, I---I can’t, I---I can’t, I have, ah, to---to c-cum! Fuh--fuck, ‘m s--sorry!”

Seungcheol can’t even manage a word in before he feels his cock being forced out of your pussy and the wetness that squirts all over his cock and lower half. Loud cries and whines are all you can manage in the thrums of pleasure and the grip you have on the vibrator only tightens as you grind against the toy to ride out your high.

Seungcheol takes the time to wrap a hand around his cock as he strokes himself; body turned halfway towards the laptop to see what everyone was saying.

hoshi_tiger_xx: uh ohhh pretty baby came without permission

hoshi_tiger_xx has donated $50

hoshi_tiger_xx: donation for squirting tho

alphagyu97: ugh look at her cute lil hole begging to be filled up

angelhan: bet she’s feeling empty rn huh

Your soft mewls have Seungcheol turning back to face you; eyes trained on your twitching body when the pleasure starts to ebb away and the overstimulation from the vibrator starts to bite. “Daddy… the---the, mmh, toy…”

“You can turn it off, sweetheart.” His tone is clipped and you already know you’re in for it once you manage to find the switch on the silicone toy. You turn it off and slide your hand from underneath you; palms flat against the sheets as you sniffle.

“I--I’m really s-sorry, I--I couldn’t--”

“I want you on your knees again, princess.”

Nodding shakily, you ease your bent leg down as you maneuver yourself onto your knees; hands already searching for Seungcheol before you hear his small ‘ah, ah, ah’s.  “Hands behind your back and tongue out, baby.” You follow his orders as you clasp your hands behind your back and diligently open your mouth and stick your tongue out as far as you can.

He brings his cock towards your face, tapping his cock head against your tongue before he starts to jerk himself off over your mouth and face. “I gotta hand it to you, princess. At least you apologized.” Seungcheol laughs under his breath, “But next time though? I won’t even let you have my cock.”

You whimper in return, brows furrowed under the silk tie.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum all over this pretty face.” His grip on his cock tightens and he thrusts into his palm quicker as he chases his high. “Don’t worry. I’ll take pretty pictures of your cum stained face.”

Seungcheol groans as he feels the coil in his body snapping and not a second later do you feel warm rivulets of cum hitting your cheeks and your tongue. Some of it manages to catch on the silk tie as you moan. The donations and comments pour in like water as Seungcheol continues to cover your face in cum and for the umpteeth time, you’re reassured that this was a path that worked out for you.

It was so silly that you’d thought of quitting camming earlier. 

Although, you never brought it up to Seungcheol.

In actuality, there were quite a few things that you’d never brought up to Seungcheol.

“Fuck…” He mutters from above you and it’s enough to bring you out of your thoughts as you hold still. Seungcheol takes the hint, using a sticky cum covered hand to reach for his phone to snap pictures of you; he’d just clean it up later.

“Say cheese~” He laughs, taking a couple photos before tossing his phone onto the bed as you draw your tongue back into your mouth and swallow down the warm salty substance that managed to hit your tongue.

Seungcheol helps you up from the floor, pouting when he sees how red your knees have gotten. “Hmm, think I need to take care of my princess after this.” He helps take your blindfold off and you’re quick to blink the fogginess away as  you try to focus on Seungcheol’s face before peering over to the laptop’s screen.

Your cheeks burn hot at the cum that still stains your cheeks when you see  yourself but the comments that flood in calling you pretty make you giggle.

“Ooookay. I think daddy is gonna get all cleaned up and I’ll wrap up here?” You check in with Seungcheol, who shoots you a nod and a small thumbs up before slinking completely out of the camera’s view.

“Okay guys, now what were you all talking about while I was on my knees?”

You get out of the shower feeling refreshed; tossing on a loose shirt before skipping out of the bathroom.

Seungcheol is cozied up on the sofa, waiting on the food that the two of you had ordered right after you ended your show. “‘Cheollie~” He turns to you as you plop down next to him and he’s quick to wrap an arm around your shoulders as he tugs you into his side.

“Feeling better?”

“Mmhmm~ A ‘lil sleepy but I can go for that food and then sleep.”

The two of you share a laugh, eyes focused on the movie that plays on the TV. “Say…” You start, “Someone asked a good question in the comments after you stepped out.” You gulp; palms a little clammy.

You just had to know.

“Yeah? Was it about the shibari camshow again?”

“No, actually…” You take a deep breath, telling yourself it’d be okay regardless of what he said.

“Seungcheol, am I your girlfriend?”

[straykats]

i think you knew i was coming HSJHS also it’s getting kinda late for us so you can respond to this in the morning 🤣

numbers 1, 9, 18, 66, 92, 99, 102, 121, 135 for the book recs ask game please!!

toff!! toffee!!! that gif is an accurate presentation of what i experienced last night when i was juuuust about to go to sleep and then got ur ask AHAHHA anyways, sorry for such a late response!! had to do some stuff this morn <//3

[ send me book rec asks! ]

1. a book that is close to your heart

the perks of being a wallflower by stephen chbosky &lt;3

9. your favourite book of 2020

of 2020?? defs chain of gold by cassandra clare. why, you ask? idk im just a bitch for the shadowhunter books 💀💀 nah jokes there are defs reasons, but me already being in love w the shadowhunter universe definitely plays a major part. ummm fav book of 2022 ?? on earth, maybe. it's not a '22 book but i didnt read it until this year i think. tbh i'm not sure when i read it AHHA (i just know i havent read much this year sigh)

18. your least favourite book ever

i... don't know. if i dont like a book i dont tend to finish it? but i easily get invested in and love the media i consume so there's none i would consider my 'least favourite'.. even the ones we read in school, i found something to love about them. but, uh. city of bones is always very difficult to reread. can't ever really do it. i tend to just skip it HAHAHA

66. a book that fucked you up

on earth, but not in a bad way. and the perks of being a wallflower as well, but in a different way as well. i fell like if i read a little life it'll probably be here HAHAHA. OH WAIT OH WAIT release by patrick ness. i??? i dont remember why i bought it but i know that i got to some scenes that i was not expecting and it made me really??? confused and uncofmortable at the time, but i don't remember why.

92. a book about a redeemable villain

i.. am going to tentatively say dark rise by c.s.pacat. the more i think about it the more i think it counts, but i dont wanna spoil anything so... anyways 10/10 rec this book/series.

99. a book with a strong female protagonist

the last hours trilogy, my beloved, by cassandra clare. cordelia carstairs <3 <3 <3 BUT UH too many shadowhunter books so uh instead. throne of glass series by sarah j. maas! not only the main protag, but also lysandra ! defs grew on me.

102. your favourite dark academia read

UHHHHHHHH off the top of my head u cant think of anything that actually fits the da genre/aes, but i have the atlas six on my to be potentially read list?? wait. idk if the his dark materials trilogy by philp pullman counts as DA but if it does... yes.

121. a book that makes you nostalgic

pjo/hoo by rick riordan, guardians of ga'hoole by kathryn lasky, his dark materials by philip pullman. nostalgic bc i read them all in primary/middle school ig lol . ih and ofc, harry potter.

135. recommend any book you like

urusla k. le guin's the left hand of darkness!! it's scifi (and fantasy?? idk) and there's a lot of world building and new terms that can be really confusing (but there are a multitude of lists online w the different terms and definiitions) but the concept and the ideas/social commentary is >>> it was one of my favourite texts to study in school, and now that i'm older and have studied it, i really want to reread it again! (it was a yr12 lit text so.. i'm not really that much older but still AHAH)

[yellowmagicalgirl]

Cultures, Covens, and Coaching

Zoe steps in to help teach Claire.

I wasn't planning on doing anything for today's prompt until I realized that I could use it to infodump on my hedge wizard headcanons, and then somehow Claire angst snuck into the ending. I refuse to watch RotT, so if this has spoilers then it's entirely unintentional.

Takes place post-Wizards.

AO3

FFN

It was a quiet day at Zimue Records, aside from the multitude of fans whirring and failing to keep away the August heat. Zoe hated this part of living in Southern California – everything was so warm and humid in the late summer, and it wouldn’t get better until mid-to-late October. She wondered if receiving the insurance payout from the damage to the wall shared with the now-burnt down GDT Arcane Bookstore would mean the owner would finally install an air conditioning unit here.

Zoe felt a chill run through her as she sensed an ancient, eldritch magic. Lovely. First Hex Tech, then her best friend, and now those so-called demigods were going to wreck the record store. Zoe wouldn’t have it, not if she could help it. Behind the counter Zoe began to collect her magic. That was another thing she hated about the humidity – static electricity wouldn’t build up as easily, so she’d have to rely more on her own reservoir than the charged air.

The door pushed open, and the source of the ancient, eldritch magic stepped into the store. Or, more specifically, a teenage girl walked in, looking around. Zoe released her hold on her magic, wondering how an untrained wizard could have such a powerful signal.

“Zoe, right?” the girl asked. “Douxie told me to come find you, for help with training and stuff?”

Ah, right. That did sound familiar. All in one night (and longer because of time travel), Douxie had become a so-called master, taken in his own apprentice, and then passed off said apprentice to Zoe in a series of apologetic texts. Zoe had asked him what in the seven realms he had been thinking, and he’d then revealed that he’d left the state and was currently on the run with a demigoddess. Oh, and that he had also died, and really planned on doing as much tutoring as he could remotely but please?

“Yeah, he told me about you.” He’d also told Zoe his apprentice’s name, which Zoe was currently blanking on. Blaire, or something like that?

“I’m not exactly sure how well it’d work, though, since Merlin implied that you were a different type of wizard, so wouldn’t your magic work really differently than mine and Douxie’s?”

Zoe took a deep breath. According to Douxie, this girl hadn’t even known that she was a wizard until very recently. She wasn’t trying to reignite centuries-long cultural disputes.

“Do you think Douxie and I are two different species, or something?” The girl, whose name Zoe really needed to learn, looked very confused. “Because that’s the only way you can get magic working that differently. Likewise, it’s not like you could go to a troll for training and expect everything to work out the same way for spells.”

“Then, what’s the difference?”

“It’s entirely cultural. Douxie was raised through the apprentice system, in which a master takes in a single wizard and trains that singular wizard exclusively until they reach an arbitrary level that makes them a master. I’m from a coven, so I’m used to training multiple kids.”

“Wait, that’s the only difference? Then, aside from the fact that his ego was the size of a Heartstone, why was Merlin so annoyed by you being a hedge wizard?”

“Elitism.” And because Merlin must’ve had a second staff shoved up his arse. Of course, Zoe wouldn’t say that out loud until Douxie had had at least a month to grieve. She’d let that delicate matter rest for now. “And I’ll admit, the apprentice system has produced a higher ratio of super-powerful wizards, even ones who manage to achieve immortality, than the coven system.” There was a reason why they focused so much on staves, even though a staff was incredibly dangerous to use for someone who hadn’t been trained properly. A wizard could get too cocky, and they’d completely destroy their resevior as the staff siphoned out far more magic than the wizard had available to them.

“But,” Zoe continued, “that’s more because there have always been less apprentices being trained than those being trained by covens, and apprentices got more time devoted to them. But, I think Douxie is the last survivor of the traditional apprentice system.”

“Do you actually deal with hedges?”

Zoe blinked. This girl had seen Hex Tech; surely she had noticed all the technology and none of the greenery. “The word hedge wizard entirely applies to how covens were traditionally always been more rural, even back during the Roman Empire. It’s kind of like how on a farm, you have more kids to help out, and in a city you really focus on only a few kids because it’s another mouth to feed. And no, I’m only a couple years older than Douxie, so I wasn’t around during the Roman Empire.”

The girl nodded. “Okay. How do you want to start.”

“See that box of records over there?” Zoe said, pointing. “Levitate them.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “I can’t levitate things.”

Oh, seriously? This was the apprentice Douxie had picked out? Creepy magic, asked the wrong ignorant questions, and a quitter?

“Why?”

The girl hung her head slightly. “I get panic attacks whenever I try to levitate something.”

Oh. Well, the good thing was that Blaire-or-whatever-her-name-was wouldn’t take after her master and levitate records just to annoy Zoe. But, what had happened to this kid? Zoe knew she was involved with the troll stuff from earlier in the summer given her armor (and really, why was a kid wearing armor), but what had caused her so much trauma over levitation.

“Okay, then. No levitation, at least not until you start seeing a therapist or something. My shift here ends at 4:30, why don’t you meet me then to show me what you can do?”

[leahseclipse]

Distant memories

Masterlist

✧

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer is older and slowly notices that he's developing memory loss. One day as you come home, you find him frantically sketching his best attempt at his favorite memories with you.

Category: Angst / fluff

Warning: some angst, memory loss,,

Word count: 2.6k

Requested by @imagining-in-the-margins

A/N: I'm uh- wow, I'm writing a fic for one of my favorite authors, so I was all stressed and happy when I wrote it- but, I also thank her because it allowed me to write about a different subject that I wouldn't have thought of before now. (Don't forget to check her work btw!)

It's been a while since everything began fading away. He doesn't seem to remember, he tends to forget facts, what he wanted to do, where his favourite book is among all of the fifty others on the shelf.

And even though he didn't say a single word about it, you knew something was wrong.

He never forgot anything.

He'd even remember the emplacement of the scissors that was on the shelf of the bathroom behind the three boxes of medication and under the creams, and he hadn't remembered, you would have kept looking for another hour.

His memory never failed him. He remembers every single detail, from the blue pencil in the back of his desk that's under the pile of books, to the shirt that's in the closet behind a multitude of jackets, he would even remember the exact hour of each one of our dates, while you barely remembered the date.

Something was wrong, and he wouldn't tell anything.

Most of the time, you both were busy with work, which left little time to have conversations.

He wouldn't even talk about it when he had free time at work, he'd either leave you on read, or try to talk about a completely different subject.

You had asked about it to his colleagues, but you'd receive the same words you thought about.

'He doesn't want to talk about it.'

'He hasn't said anything.'

'I think something is up, but I don't know much.'

He would never say anything. No matter how hard you, or his coworkers tried.

Spencer was not acting like his usual self, you've known him long enough to know it. It wasn't really obvious the first day, and if it was, you hadn't really thought much, it would happen sometimes when he would really get tired, he would just forget some little things, and it would usually get better after a good night of sleep; but it didn't get better.

Emily had said to me that he forgot the password of his computer. He never did. He could even type it while talking with someone, thinking of another subject, he would type it in two seconds, but he didn't. He had stared at the screen for a minute before slowly typing it with hesitation.

He brushed it off when Emily had noticed it.

He didn't want to talk.

He never did.

You could see that it bothered him. He wouldn't appreciate it when he couldn't find what he was looking for.

But you didn't know anything, you didn't have anything to prove he was having trouble remembering. You could see it, but couldn't confirm it, he wouldn't say it to you.

He always talked to you about his problems, even if he usually was the type of person to keep everything inside; but, he had mentioned that as he trusted you, and appreciated talking with you, he'd always talk about what was on his mind, because he knew you'd always listen, and that you understood him.

And these last days, it was the opposite; he would get upset when you'd try to talk to him, get stressed about the tiniest thing, he was struggling, but kept closing the box with a key you couldn't reach.

The key always worked, but it just broke. From the moment he had stopped opening himself to you, it was like he had changed the lock. You couldn't understand him like before.

No one could understand him.

Every time you'd try to talk;

'It's nothing.'

'I don't want to talk about it.'

'I'm busy y/n.'

'I had a tough week.'

He'd stop the conversation.

There was nothing you could do at this point. You could only wait.

Wait in silence, until he decides to talk.

If he ever decides to.

------

This week wasn't a busy one this time. Various members of the team had sent messages to you throughout the week; either pictures of them in front of the tv, at parties, outside, they all enjoyed it as much as possible.

It wasn't exactly the case for you. You always had something to do, and your superiors never liked when the work was given late.

You couldn't go home early tonight, so you had texted Spencer so he wouldn't worry.

'I can't go home at 8 today, I have too much work, might go home at 9 or 10. Love you.'

After it, you didn't know if he had answered or no; you had turned off your phone before being seen by your superior and went back to work.

You couldn't stop worrying about him the whole time. You knew deep inside him that he wanted to talk about it, he wanted you to know, but he never would.

Two minutes felt like four, you couldn't stop looking at the clock, couldn't stop wondering when the work would stop.

You had to go home, talk to him. It had to stop, he was being too hard on him, all of this was being too stressful, he'd keep everything inside, you had to get him to talk.

You couldn't stand seeing him like that anymore.

The worry on his face when he couldn't remember where he had placed his book, the stress he felt when he didn't know what he had done earlier, you could see everything. It had lasted long enough for you to notice something was up.

You weren't being your usual self as well, you'd never rush at work, would always take time to talk to everyone, wouldn't arrive late to work, try to leave early, even if it probably was nothing compared to what had changed with him.

You already were ready to go from the minute you had typed the final letter and submitted your work; turning off the computer before rushing out of the building.

The reason why you were in a hurry was mainly because you wanted to see Spencer, but also because you couldn't wait to go home. It had been a long week with all that had happened with Spencer and the amount of work, so going home was relieving.

You couldn't stop but feel stressed the minute you stepped out of the car, heading the direction of the entering of the building.

You would wonder if you would finally manage to talk with him without him stopping the conversation or avoiding the subject as soon as you'd mention something having to do with what he was experiencing.

The sound of the elevator grabbed you out of your thoughts before you stepped out, standing in front of the door while reaching out for your keys in your bag.

You took the keys in your right hand, turning it two times, the click of the door shortly being heard.

You had taken off the keys out of the lock, tossing them on the shelf next to the door.

"Hey Spence, I'm home!" You said, heading towards the living room, assuming he'd be here, when you had seen him, sitting down on the floor in front of the low table, he looked like he had been crying. He was frantically sketching something on the piece of paper laid down in front of him.

"Babe, what are you doing?" You interrupted, as he looked at you with red puffy eyes, a stray tear coming out of his left eye.

"I can't remember. I can't."

"What can't you remember?" You asked, settling your bag onto the floor.

"Everything…I think. I can't seem to remember one of our dates. I've been trying for days. I can't remember it fully. I always think that I'm about to remember, but it's fading away."

You felt helpless at this moment. You didn't know what to do.

You were completely lost.

At this moment it felt like you couldn't do anything but watch him gradually lose his memories in front of you,

One by one.

You quietly walked in the room, walking to the table as you glanced at the paper.

"I...um, do you want me to help?" You asked again, watching him giving a small, but enough understandable nod. "Do you remember a little something from what you're thinking about?"

"...I think it was on a day off."

"Oh, right. That day. It was in January of last year, around the beginning of the month, I think. It was at the park right down the street. One of the rare days where we both had a day off. We didn't want to go too far, so we just went there. And it was enough. We spent hours talking, then stopped, we just stayed by each other for an hour. And it didn't matter to me, because I was with you." You told, wiping a tear from his cheek, as he took your hand before you had the time to take it off his face.

"Wasn't it...raining?"

"Yeah, just a bit at the beginning. It got worse at the end, we had to run back to the apartment with only your jacket on top of our heads to have a sort of umbrella. And even though I just wanted to change my clothes and jump on the couch, you had taken me on your shoulder and rushed me to the bathroom to take a warm bath so we both wouldn't get a cold. You were so worried the next day, even though I had insisted that I was fine."

"I always got worried for you. Even when you were perfectly fine. I'd worry every time you didn't answer one of my texts."

"Yeah, you'd always call all panicked." You chuckled, furrowing your brows in worry when he turned his face away. "Look at me Spence. Tell me what's wrong, you know you can tell me anything, hm?"

"I'm just so...sorry. I should have talked to you; but a part of me was terribly afraid. I couldn't seem to accept what was happening, I thought it would just go away. But I kept forgetting our most important moments piece by piece, every day, and I knew it wasn't going away, it's invading every memory like a computer virus. It's deleting everything on its way. Every memory we've spent building, it's going away. What am I supposed to do y/n…?"

"You were scared, and that is completely normal. I definitely would have reacted this way too. But, I told you , it's going to be okay. I'm here."

"But y/n, that's not fair. How am I supposed to comfort you by telling you stories, throwing random facts whenever you'd ask to, remember a memory when you'd mention it, I'm gonna keep forgetting it, and that's not fair to you. I can't accept the fact that I'm making you endure that, I-"

"Spencer Reid. You're not making me endure anything. I don't have an eidetic memory, but I still can remember some. I still can remember them for you. I can tell everything I know to you. When you'll forget one, I'll keep remembering it to you, as many times as you'd like me to. And that will be okay. Everything will be okay. Because we're in this, together. I won't leave, I'll be here with you." You said, smiling at him. "Do you have something else on your mind?" You asked, when you had noticed he seemed pensive.

"When you came to the bureau...for the first time, do you remember it?"

"Yeah. Um, back there, you had longer hair, they stopped at your shoulders, and I kinda miss them. It was in the afternoon, and even though I was supposed to come the next day like you had told me, I didn't really have a choice, because you had forgotten something at home; And as it was my first time at the office, no one knew why I was here. My name wasn't anywhere on the list, you had forgot to put my name on it. I had to discuss for a good one hour before you came here."

"...I think you had a blue top on."

"Yeah, a dark blue. The one I wore when I had met you just a few months ago."

"I'm sure you were beautiful. You still are."

"That's the first thing you told me, and the first thing you tell me everyday."

"That's because I want you to know it. You're the most beautiful girl I have laid my eyes on."

"And you're the most handsome man I have ever seen." You smiled, as you rubbed his cheek with your hand to comfort him, encouraging him to talk.

"...can you promise me something?"

"Yeah, what is it?"

"Despite all what's going on right now, will you still love me?"

"Always. You don't need to worry at all. I will always love you. Nothing's gonna change that."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing." You had assured, while you came forward, bringing your lips to his to kiss him gently before stepping back to look at his tear stained face. "Everything's going to be okay, don't cry."

"Okay, I'll try not to."

"Good, because you know I don't like to see you sad, it breaks my heart every time. So, we're not going to be sad, we're going to be happy, spend time together, make new memories, and take days off because who cares. You're more important than my work, you're more important than anything to me, because you're my everything."

"You're way more than my everything to me. You're even more important than my own life. I will never stop protecting you, loving you, no matter what." He said, as he brought his hand to my face. "We said that we weren't going to be sad, and you look like you're about to cry."

"No I'm not."

"You are." He argued, whilst a smile had drawn itself on his face. "You can't lie to me, you've never been good at lying."

"Okay, I was about to cry."

"And we said that we weren't going to, you remember?"

"I remember. Not like you."

"Hey! That wasn't nice." He pouted, pretending to be mad at you.

"That was fun!"

"Oh, you wanna play?" He challenged you, suddenly wrapping his arms around you, pausing for a split second before he began tickling you.

"Spencer! Stop, no— I'm going to kill you!" You didn't manage to place your sentence correctly, it was impossible at this point, you were laughing so hard. "Okay— okay! I surrender!"

"Oh, you do now? Finally. You're being a loyal wife for once." He joked, knowing that it would make you react.

"Loyal wife? Shut up genius!"

"You know that it's bad to be disrespectful to your husband. You really should be ashamed." He lectured, dramatically putting his hand on his chest. 

"I'm gonna show you what's bad." You answered, taking a pillow from the couch before throwing at him.

"You're— you know you're not gonna win this pillow fight."

"Then try to defeat me."

"Oh, I will." He specified, walking towards you before he took another pillow, initiating the fight.

The rest of the night had gone by simply with pillow fights, kisses and hugs.

Only joy.

No tears.

You had made each other swear to not cry, and you were the one that insisted the most.

From now on, you'll make sure that he won't be sad again, you will stay by his side, remember him one of your dates, or two, or all of them. You'll do everything to make him happy, because god knows how much you like to see his smile.

And seeing him smile is what you want to see the most.

There will eventually be bad days, but you'll be here. You'll always be.

No matter what.

[vibratingbones]

I am at your side

Words: 4k

Tags: Angst(?), argument, fluff

FemaleReader x Galadriel 

As her maid, it is your duty to report informations to Lady Galadriel, even if they might break her...

First Age

It was such a beautiful morning. Autumn offered its shimmering colors, red and golden leaves contrasted with the whiteness of the early frost on the grass.

You were standing at a window on the Menegroth’s Palace, taking some moments to appreciate the beautiful landscape of Beleriand before going back to your work.

You were Lady Galadriel's maid, the one who organised everything around her so she wouldn’t be interrupted in her duties by something trivial. You were at her service to anticipate every need she might have and to provide a solution to any problem she might encounter in her everyday life.

Needless to say you were constantly by her side and a great trust had built between the two of you over time, so much that you were introduced to the other members of the court as not a mere servant, but her lady companion. You take great pride in this and in your abilities in your work.

Your gaze was fixed at the sunrise, progressively illuminating all the realm of their Royal Highnesses Thingol and Melian.

With your eyes closed and your arms opened, you take a deep breath of the early fresh air and let the mist caress the skin on your face as it fades away before the sun.

You were glad to be able to move here with your Lady. Due to your trade you didn't really have the occasion to travel around the world. You were delighted to hear Lady Galadriel required your presence during her residency in Menegroth, and you were determined to make this stay the most refined experience for the both of you. After all, not everyone got the chance to learn from Queen Melian in her own city.

It had been almost a year since you both moved to Menegroth, and though at first, Lady Galadriel dedicated all her soul to her duty, you could say that her beautiful enthusiasm had slightly... faded. 

She still assumed her charges with great rigor, but you could see that her heart was not there anymore.

It wasn’t your place nor your right to ask her about it ; if she wanted you to know she would have already told you. You knew the best way to help her out was to do your job properly and you were determined to do it impeccably.

Luck was on your side as the royal couple had to gone to inspect the Girdle of Melian, the work schedule of your Lady is reduced. She could take a day off to enjoy all Doriath had to offer and relieve some stress.

When you opened your eyes again, Arien’s ship illuminated the realm before you and her light slowly reached the Palace. It was now time to get to your work. As you walked away from the stone arches to the stairs, you started thinking about the morning of Lady Galadriel. A hot cup of tea in a cold and relaxing bath would be perfect to start her day.

You walked down the stairs and corridors, your feet following the rhythm of an old melody the King Finrod once taught you. 

He was always nice to you when you were young, and even as a king he seemed so approachable and open minded. But still, he was an odd character. He always seemed pleased, whenever the circumstances were and you find his...interest for mankind misplaced. You didn't hate humans, far from that, but the less they interfered with the Elves, the better the both species lived. Everything was fine in the royal family before Princess Lúthien met that man... Berin? Beran? It didn’t matter. King Finrod also seemed to have him in sympathy and it worried your Lady, but there was nothing to do about it. You just hoped her older brother was alright, with his oath to accomplish.

You finally reached the kitchens. Everyone has already started their work and you had to prepare the light meal while trying to avoid all the agitation. You almost got hit by a plate on your head, but a quite fair waiter flew to your rescue and you avoided a catastrophe... But not a sideslip on the floor... With some condiments... With the waiter.

“Dear Lord! I am sorry Miss, this platter is truly heavy and I couldn’t concentrate on obstacles on my way, I should have paid more at—”

You stopped him with a gesture of the hand. Obviously he was new on the job. It was pointless to start a scene in front of his colleagues. Even if his clumsiness had just ruined your dress. 

“It's alright, boy. Just remember to watch where you’re going and always distribute the weight correctly,” you said, rearranging what was left of the items on the silver surface to illustrate your words. He watched how your experienced hands moved to learn from them. 

“Here! Just like that,” you added with a comforting smile. He smiled back at you with embarrassment and gratitude before his boss called him back to hearth with vehemence and he flew away to his task. You watched with amusement until his superior glared at you, clearly inviting you to get back on track.

While you were gathering some fresh fruits in a cup, you couldn’t help but to observe her methods to lead the brigade of servers, and Valar... You thought you were hard with your subordinates, but you have room for improvement! Maybe you should borrow some of her methods... No, your subordinates would hate you for sure.

The poor boy, thanks to this little misadventure, had caught her attention and she was ready to scold him at every minute mistakes he could make, barking at him in front of all their teammates, who had the decency to mind their own business. You guessed that perfection and adamancy are prices to pay to be able to serve the greatest people in the world. It reminded you of your own debut as a maid—how many times had you had to keep your jaws crushed closed in front of your superiors? Too many for your taste, to be honest, but you were the boss now, thanks to the discipline and the abnegation they taught you. It was hard, but it was worth enduring. 

Before you left, you glanced back at the servant and the barking butler. She was still harsh but demonstrated more efficient ways to navigate through a crowd with weight. You smiled to yourself. He would be alright. He just needed time to gain some experience. And you, you missed time to change your clothes. Bad luck ; it would have to wait. You had already run out of time, and picked up the pace. 

On your way, an ellon between some columns caught your eye. The Lord Celeborn. You had already noticed Lady Galadriel’s interest in him, and his in her. Or rather, you had "unintentionally" overheard a conversation where he admitted it to one of his friends. And you were maybe, or maybe not, the reason behind some of their encounters in some strangely convenient, quiet, intimate places. 

He surely didn't suspect a thing from you ; you know how to make yourself transparent next to your Lady. But you were almost certain that she knew. 

She just let you plot. Surely it amused her : she once told you that your sneaky side reminds her of her cousins, some redheaded twins. She went quiet when you implied you didn't have the pleasure to know them. You didn't try to know more. 

You would have loved to learn one or two other things about Celeborn, but you were already late and in a messy state. How unlike you! 

While you traveled through an unreasonably huge room near the entrance, you heard the sound of a massive wood door slamming against a wall and a bunch of rushed footsteps. You overheard some hushed and stressed voices among the clatters of armor. Had something happened to their Highnesses? If so, your duty would be to inform your Lady, so she can advise for the future.

As you got closer to the entrance, some other attendants and companions of the nobility were already gathered with some guards, undeniably those who have just returned. The moment you reached out to them, the leader of the patrollers was silencing the little crowd, a broad smile on his face. 

"Peace! Peace, please. The divine providence has given us back our Princess!" 

Murmurs and prayers of relief browsed the assembly. At last, the Princess was finally home. You also felt relieved. The eight of months of worries and sorrow will finally be removed from the shoulders of their Royals Highness! 

The captain hushed the group again, with a more concerned expression. 

"You! Go find the healers and conduct them to the Heir and her human consort. They have been injured during their journey. You! Take a horse and gallop to the King and Queen, hurry!" 

The Princess was injured? Assuredly it's not a pleasant thing, but she was alive and with her loved one. The House of Thingol was now safe… So why did you feel a pressure in your throat? When you looked at the captain, you felt a deep unease, as if he would add something terrible. You waited, holding your breath. 

He seemed to seek someone in the crowd with a concerned gaze.

“Is someone here under the order of the Lady Galadriel?” he asked.

Valar… Here we go. You cleared your throat and responded with a confident voice.

“I am!”

He spotted you in the multitude and started approaching you while the others followed his orders. You straightened your back, to give an assurance. He guided you away from the other and you asked under your breath.

“What’s the matter?”

He looked at you dead in the eye and replied.

“Miss, it is about her brother. Something happened to King Finrod…”

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

You felt sick, your feet guided you through some corridors to Lady Galadriel's apartments but your vision was blurred. You couldn't stop thinking, so much information swirled in every direction in your head… 

The Princess, the silmaril, the tea, your dress, your Lady, the oath... King Finrod… You felt the nausea rising in your throat. 

How?

Why?

Your head spun so much you had to take support on the wall, the heart right behind your lips. How were you going to announce this to Lady Galadriel ? Her dear brother. They didn't deserve this fate. 

The rest of the court has been warned the Princess was back, but the truth about King Finrod was confidential, at least for now. You distinguished yourself from the opulent cheerfulness and felicity with your pale face. All the songs of gladness couldn't reach your heart, closed by the truth.

Now, stay focused! You had to inform your Lady. What kind of aid faints while giving news to their master, as bad and terrible as the news could be?

As you get back some senses, a light tune reached your ears. The crowd in the Palace was singing in joy and among every melody in existence, they have chosen the one Finrod taught you. What were the odds…

You finally reached Lady Galadriel’s door, heavy hearted. As your hand was about to knock, all the past few weeks with her instantly flashed in your mind. Her odd affliction who grew up so suddenly, tainted her fëa. And now this…

You took several seconds and a deep breath before knocking. You waited again for several seconds before hearing a response.

“Come in.”

Her voice was firm as always, but a little muffled. You swallowed and entered the room with the most neutral face you could feign. You definitely couldn’t step in with a huge smile like nothing happened, but you couldn’t alarm her either.

You found her in a chair by her balcony. You were glad it was oriented to the waterfalls of the mountains and not to the inner garden were everyone was singing, at least you had some privacy.

“Good morning, milady. How is the view today?” you asked, walking to a table to serve the tea.

Okay, you surely had more inspired lines before. 

“It’s nothing new,” she replied.

She, also, had better comebacks. 

You observed her while you brought a cup. Seated on a low chair, she silently observed the horizon. Her complexion reflected her exhaustion, with darker tones under the eyes and waxen cheeks. She hugged herself, and you mentally traced the circuit of veins under the skin of her arms that were now visible.

The blond of her hair was now dull, you remembered from the last time you groomed her mane: the comb emerged with many wires of fallen hair, which is highly unusual for elves. You tried to inform her casually, and she then refused to be curled by someone else than herself since.

Your throat twisted more at the sight of the elleth who once was an unwavering lady. 

Even thought she was able to disguise her state under a mask of dignity and fool everyone else, inside her room, in the intimacy of her private cocoon, you could only watch the diminishment of her health. Day by day you saw her fading with a constricting feeling of helplessness. 

“Are you well?” 

Her question brought you back to reality, you realised you were standing next to her, silently staring at her while she waited for her cup. Now that her face was turned to you, you could see the fatigue in her eyes… 

"I'm sorry, my Lady. I'm fine… " you answered, "... While you savour your tea, I will prepare you a bath for you to relax."

You desperately needed time to clear your mind and prepare yourself. This was also her last peaceful morning before long, she deserved some time for herself before you broke her heart definitively…

"Wait."

You stopped dead on your tracks. 

"My Lady?"

"Stay with me, I would enjoy some company this morning."

Without a word you filled an empty teacup and took a chair beside her. 

"Thank you. My tea always tastes better when I drink it with a friend," she added with a sweet but low voice. 

You gently clattered your cups and admired the colours of the waterfalls under the morning sun. You just took a cup for the act, to please her, but felt like you could never take a sip of it. While you both remained silent, you could sometimes hear the sound of footsteps rushing towards the hall with some giggles. You played nervously with your goblet, knowing that you couldn't keep the truth from her eternally, that you should tell her now before she hears it from someone else in a far less convenient situation… 

But you couldn’t…

You were out of words.

Everytime you tried to tell her, your words got stuck in your throat or disappeared the moment they reached your mouth.

How could you possibly tell her that her beloved brother, the most gentle soul you had come across in your millennium life, was dead? His body was buried so far away, she wouldn't be able to mourn him at his sepulchre… 

You looked at her, to engrave her vision in your memory. She looked so frail at this moment, would the news finish her off? Would she lose her will and seek to join him?

And you? Would you be able to endure it? To lose her?

After the death of the brother, could you handle the loss of your Lady?

Your...

oh...

so dear...

Lady

Your sunshine.

A gentle touch on your cheek wakes you up from your trance. 

Your gaze was still fixed on Lady Galadriel, as she brushed off a single tear rolling out of your eye.

“Talk to me, my dear. What happened? You are usually so jovial, but your fëa is submerged by shadows today.”

You couldn't help but to rest your head in the warmth of her palm. 

You were deplorable, she was the one who lost her brother and she was the one comforting you. You clenched your jaws and removed all your tears with the back of your hand.

“My lady, I am sorry to present myself to you in such an inappropriate state.” 

You take a deep breath as you rose up from your seat to gather yourself.

“My Lady, I do have something to tell you!” 

Your own words seemed to strangle yourself, but you were able to keep an assured voice.

“This morning, her Highness Princess Lúthien came back with her human consort to the court, safe and sound."

You were about to continue when you saw her cower. Somehow, this information seemed to trouble her immensely. 

You watched her shudder, unsure how to continue this conversation now. 

And then… 

It just clicked in your mind. 

Your eyes widened, dead silent before your sudden realisation.

"You knew..."

———————

She looked up at you, with a silent pleading in her eyes. 

You didn't want to believe it, but it would explain everything. 

"You knew… He would never return, and you just let him go."

"I did not just let him go!" she replied with a voice filled with anger. 

She let a frustrated sigh escape but remained calm. 

"I did know what was going to happen. I foresaw it the day he described to me his first encounter with mankind."

You just sat in silence on your chair again. You didn't want to interrupt her. 

"I warned him his passion towards mortals will harm him, but he just stayed still with the most elated smile I have ever seen…"

She looked right in front of her, reviving the instant, as if King Finrod was really there with you. 

"He just said: Let it be, sister, for if it is my destiny to die at the side of men, I will take it as an honor.He was so confident, so determined. I knew I wouldn't be able to make him reconsider… I'm sure you know it is impossible to say no to him when he makes up his mind...”

Oh yes, you knew.

 “It happened such a long time ago… I even convinced myself my vision was nothing more than a projection of my fears and not a fragment of the future. I even.... managed to forget about it. Until he announced to me about his oath.”

Her voice cracked while speaking of  this... accursed oath. You started to sense the ire slowly rising in your veins. Why did she had to suffer all of this ? 

"Everything came back in my mind with such force. I tried to convince him one last time, but… I knew I wouldn’t succeed. For his destiny was already decided… his death was for a greater good that I can't see yet."

She stopped, out of breath, as if speaking required too much energy. 

You both jumped out of your skins when some younglings started to bange at all the doors of the corridors while gigglings and yelling about the return of the Princess. It looks like celebrations revealed the most silly side of the younger generation. 

Lady Galadriel stood up to regain a certain composure, her gaze at the horizon. 

A strange silence between you hung up in the air after the laughs of the younglings, deafening and stifling but it was still more comfortable than the reality of your situation. You had the childish thought that if you didn’t speak about it then it wouldn’t be real anymore, that you could open the door of her apartment and King Finrod would have been behind it the whole time, just wanting to surprise his cherished little sister.

Alas, reality has rarely resorted to such niceties. Happy endings are for old melodies.

Surely this is why we sing them…

"It pains me greatly… Never again I will wake up to his harp morning practice. He loved so much to see his city awakening under his notes. Never again he will come to me to aid him with his accounting." She chuckled a little. "He hated it!" 

"I know! I spent several sleepless nights helping you because he couldn't help falling asleep while working on it," You added while joining her side on the balcony. "I am sure we both know the economic state of his kingdom better than himself!" 

You both laughed at those memories.

It felt right, it felt… liberating. 

But she quickly became silent again.

"When we were children, he promised me he would guide me to the altar the day of my wedding if our parents couldn't… He already had his costume ready, way before I found my soulmate."

Indeed, it sounded just like him. 

"Now I would have to descend the aisle alone. It is the only promise he won't be able to accomplish."

Tears fell down silently from her exhausted face.

You were sympathetic to her but you couldn’t fully understand the depth of her pain and distress for none of your loved ones had died. You could only imagine what she was going through and offer her warmth and little comfort.

"It pains me so much it is killing me. I can feel it, deep in my flesh. It started..."

“... when your brother died,” you guessed.

“Yes. The very moment he passed away, his voice reached me. I heard his wail in my sleep and his last scream keeped me awake for the rest of the night until you came in the morning.”

You remembered. You found her sitting on her bed oddly straight and tense. Her gaze was fixed in front of her, but seemed lost to the void. Her ailment started to appear the day after. You scolded yourself for not investigating more and accepted her excuse of a "bad night," even if she wasn't properly lying.

To be awakened by a loved one's final call must be the most dreadful experience. 

"I still hear him, you know? Everytime I close my eyes, his pleading haunts me. Every night, his cries reach me." Her voice began to be more erratic and she began trembling again. "I see him in every shadow, I catch his silhouette in the corner of my eyes but he is never here when I turn my head." 

She was fully crying now. You had never seen her like that, in such distress. 

So you overstepped your position and took her in your arms. You held her in a tight embrace to support her, for she could not fall apart. 

"Please my Lady, calm down."

She did not respond at first, but you finally felt her arms around you, pulling you even closer as if you were her last grasp on reality at this instant. 

"I see him everywhere. I know he is not here, but I can not let him go…"

You stayed silent again, while wanting to say something. Anything. But words are vain in those moments. Only time is able to cure such wounds… If they could heal at all. So you just held her tighter and let her head rested on your shoulder while feeling her tears soaked through your dress. She buried her face in your neck. 

You weren’t sure how much time passed that way and you just started to cradle her gently. You were certain it was inappropriate but you feel like if you didn’t have to follow the protocol and the etiquette for once, it would be now!

You listened to her, made her sure you were attentive to her pain and offered the warmth of a presence.

However, you were not prepared for what she was saying next. 

"I am sorry…" 

Her voice was so low and hoarse, you were not sure of what you had just heard. 

"For what, my Lady?" 

"For my lack of bravery… I have to be strong for my people, particularly now, with the chaos that is to come. But… I feel so helpless! I can't clearly see the threat which rises upon us, I have not been able to prevent the death of my brothers… …”

You moved away from her, incredulous, and locked your eyes to hers.

“You are brave! Braver than most of us, many could not do your duty as well as you did under mourning. Don’t lose faith in yourself. We are all with you… I am with you.”

You took a step back and knelt before her. She watched you quietly in confusion.

“I wish to reassert my loyalty and take an oath of allegiance to my Lady.”

Head bowed and right hand closed over your heart, you started to declaim your vows with an assured voice. 

“Here, I swear on my head I shall faithfully perform my duties to the best of my abilities. I shall never embarrass or bring shame over the House of my Lady and her Blood...”

You raised your head to see her face with a sight full of determination.

“But above all, I swear to follow you everywhere, in Light as in Darkness, in Arda as in oblivion, in honour as in infamy. To be faithful to your Person and your Name, and to never leave your sight at any given time during our earthly lives and beyond death.”

Galadriel listened to you respectfully, her tears drying while she regained her composure. 

She silently gave you her hand, which you kissed and brought to your forehead almost religiously. 

“Rise up.”

You obeyed, now determined to protect and serve your Lady at all cost and your instinct told you that it will happen sooner than you could imagine. 

She observed you quietly as she was taking the measure of your words. She placed a chaste kiss on your lips to seal your vows. 

You secretly wished the kiss was more lingering, but you kept it for yourself.

“Thank you,” she responded. 

Her breath was still short, but her voice had regained her assertiveness. 

You both turned back to the waterfalls, the songs slowly reached your ears again now that the emotion started to come down. 

In fact, everything seemed more clear now. You felt lighter, as if a blindfold had been removed from your eyes as the fog dissipated under the rays of a morning sun. 

You had now faith in the future.

At the side of your Lady, together, you felt confident you could face anything destiny had prepared for you.

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

Specials thanks to @arofili​ for their help during the entire process ! ❤️

This is my first fic, constructive criticism will be much appreciated :)

[hongism]

feels like floating (when i’m with you) - j.yh x k.hj

↣ pairing: k. hongjoong x j. yunho ↣ genre: angst/fluff/sfw, single dad!yunho, teacher!hongjoong ↣ wc: 27.2k ↣ ao3 version here (contains smut) ↣ summary: liking yunho is akin to the smell of rain after a bad thunderstorm, the first star that appears in the night sky, and the last drop of sunset before the night descends. hongjoong isn’t sure if it’s his favorite thing or the one he fears the most.

​​​

Kim Hongjoong starts his days alone. Gets out of bed, does his morning routine, then goes to the elementary school ten minutes from his apartment all on his own. He runs through the monotonous and unending routine of teaching classes and watching the children on his own, sometimes stopped by another teacher in the hallway for a small chat but they never last long. Afternoons see Hongjoong watching the kids leave the school and staying in the classroom for an extra two or so hours for the one student who doesn’t get picked up until far later than usual. Then he heads home alone and concludes his day in the all too small apartment that is perfect for someone like him. “Someone like him” being a person who doesn’t need a lot to live happily or a lot to take care of himself. He has friends and family, people around him that he talks to on a daily basis, but there’s always something lacking and a certain feeling that nags at his heart when he sees parents with their children or couples in the street or his two best friends fawning over each other because they couldn’t be more in love.

And so, Kim Hongjoong starts his days alone and ends them lonely.

“Akemi darling, did your father say when he’s coming to pick you up?” Hongjoong squats down to be eye level with the little girl, bringing a hand to brush over her jet black hair and comb through the slight frizz in it. She shifts to grin at him, crooked little teeth gleaming like pearls in the yellow sunlight.

“Daddy said he’d be late again today!” She speaks with such enthusiasm and brightness, as though without a care in the world, and Hongjoong half-wishes he could hold the same optimism that all his students have. Akemi always has had this attitude about her — a never-ending joy to her disposition that Hongjoong can’t place. One would think that the little girl would at least be bothered by the fact that her dad can’t seem to pick her up on time no matter what. However, she just skips around the classroom once all the other first graders have left and waits patiently as Hongjoong conducts his afterschool work. Then roughly around five o’clock – a little over two hours after school finishes for the day – a tall, young man who can’t possibly be much older than Hongjoong (if older at all) rushes through the hallways and raps at Hongjoong’s classroom door to pick her up.

Jeong Yunho. A strangely Korean name for someone whose daughter bears a Japanese one, but Hongjoong assumes that’s on account of Akemi’s mother and the fact that they live in Kyoto. Speaking of the girl’s mother, Hongjoong has never seen the woman before. She has never come to pick Akemi up from school, never come to school functions, parent-teacher meetings (not that Hongjoong has ever had to have one with Akemi’s parents since she’s his best student), and he has never heard any mention of her in the slightest. He has Yunho’s contact information and nothing else, so — and it’s not any of Hongjoong’s business honestly, just a thought that nags at the edges of his mind — he can only assume that Yunho is a single father.

That thought is the only reason why Hongjoong even considers staying so late after hours to look after the girl. That along with the fact that every single time Jeong Yunho comes bursting into his classroom, the man looks like he has run three marathons in a row and has no time to remember to put his ass on in the morning. (He never forgets to though. Hongjoong has checked. On occasion. Discreetly, of course, he can’t very well ogle his student’s father in plain daylight.)

But in any case, the man seems to have a hard enough life, so Hongjoong doesn’t mind looking after Akemi. It’s not like he has anything else to do with his life outside of the elementary school; all he does is go home, do some planning for future classes, maybe watch some television or read a book, then go to sleep. On weekends, Hongjoong might get daring enough to go to the bar with his friends Wooyoung and San, but recently that has been nigh impossible since he can’t bear to see them fawn over each other for more than ten minutes. He only has himself to blame for that at the end of the day. He was the one who introduced the pair and set them up on a date together, so yes, mistakes were made, Hongjoong admits it, and he regrets it only half-heartedly because they are genuinely happy together.

Back to the matter at hand though, Hongjoong just genuinely enjoys his job as a teacher and taking care of his students no matter what. Even if it means losing a bit of time in his all too small and dingy apartment once school is over.

“Same time as usual?” Hongjoong inquires, tilting his head a bit to the left. A soft smile creeps onto his lips, an attempt to comfort the girl even tho it’s unneeded since she still bears the same smile as always.

“Maybe!” Akemi pulls her head up and draws the colored pencil in her hand, scanning her little drawing with critical eyes. “Do you think Daddy will like it, Mr. Hong?”

Hongjoong releases a loud laugh at the girl’s nickname for him, and Akemi grins back as bright as ever. She adopted the nickname at some point during the first term, maybe back in May once it started becoming a daily thing for him to look after her every day once school concluded. She didn’t miss a beat during summer break either, coming back in September to continue with the same schedule and nickname.

“I’m sure he will love it, little butterfly.” If possible, the girl positively glows at the nickname, one that Hongjoong gave her quite some time ago on a whim.

“I think we’re running out of room on the fridge. But Daddy loves hanging my pictures up.” Akemi hums to herself and lifts the colored pencil once more to continue her work. “Mr. Hong, when can we do lessons again?”

“Hm? We have lessons every weekday.”

“No! Piano lessons! We haven’t had lessons in a long time!” Akemi protests, slamming her little hand flat against the desk with a small huff. She whips around to face Hongjoong, and in that moment Hongjoong is taken aback by how brightly her eyes shine at the thought of the small lessons.

In another life, perhaps Hongjoong would have been a professional pianist since that is what he studied and labored after in university, but those dreams eventually fell flat and he traded them for the thought of being a teacher instead. Being able to teach Akemi… it lets him get to have one last glimpse into those dreams and think about what it could have been like to fulfill them, to see himself in her and watch the way her eyes light up when she plays a certain passage correctly. Hongjoong has never dreamt of having children himself – being a teacher is more than enough exposure to kids as it is – but he thinks that having a kid like Akemi would make the experience quite a bit better.

“Maybe tomorrow? Your dad will be by soon to pick you up so I don’t think we have enough time today.” Hongjoong offers through a small smile, and Akemi just bobs her head in agreement. She brings her blue colored pencil back down to her little drawing and continues to color without a care in the world.

And sure enough, it’s only seven minutes later that a hand comes down on the door to the classroom, rapping at the wood frantically until Hongjoong moves to open it.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Kim. I had a meeting run late, then got caught in some traffic because there was an accident on the highway. I tried to get over here as fast as possible, but I know I’m still pretty late. I’m sorry for keeping you late. Again. As usual,” Yunho rambles as he comes face to face with Hongjoong. The rant is a typical one, one that both isn’t necessary and is entirely understandable so Hongjoong doesn’t feel a need to hear it. Still, he responds with a wide smile and flashes his teeth.

“It’s perfectly alright, Mr. Jeong. Akemi is a delight to be around as always. We worked on some drawings today! I believe she has one for the fridge at home.” Hongjoong steps aside to let the man step into the classroom, willing himself not to look at the way his white button-up clings to his body and strains around his broad shoulders. Yunho leans over the desk Akemi sits at. A grin pulls at his lips in an instant, a quick change to his demeanor as he sees his daughter that causes his cheeks to glow with joy. There’s something so raw and beautiful about the love in his eyes, a kind of love that transcends the need for words, and Hongjoong can see it often in the parents of his students. Fascinating. He doesn’t know how else to describe the emotion but in his twenty-six years of life, he has seen a multitude of different loves. This one is the most fascinating to him since he doesn’t have a child of his own to experience it with.

“Daddy, daddy! I drew a butterfly today! A pretty blue one! We can put it at the tippy top of the fridge like it’s flying, right?”

“Of course, Mimi.”

Mimi. Huh. Hongjoong definitely does not think about what it would be like to call the little girl by that name. That would be something too grossly domestic and beyond the line of things that are okay for him to say as a teacher. Because that’s all he is. A teacher. Yunho’s daughter’s teacher. Yeah. He’s doing great, by the way, just peachy.

“Why’d you draw a butterfly, little one? Hm?” Yunho runs his all too long fingers through the little girl’s hair as she shows off the drawing to her father, smiles nearly identical in the way they scrunch their cheeks and noses.

“Mr. Hong calls me little butterfly! So I wanted to draw one!”

“That’s…” Yunho shifts to look at the much shorter man, and Hongjoong just about throws up on the spot. The man sinks his front teeth into his lip, biting back a smile that has Hongjoong’s insides turning to mush.

Fuck, he has a really nice smile.

Like a terribly nice one that is exactly the kind Hongjoong would fall for in seconds back in high school or college. He blanches. All the color leaves his cheeks and blood rushes down to his toes. It’s not weird to give students nicknames, right? Why does it feel like Hongjoong is overstepping his boundaries? It feels like he’s done something wrong and–

“Her mother used to call her that.”

Oh dear god. Hongjoong has truly fucked up beyond belief. This is the end of him. He had no way of knowing – how the hell would he have figured that out? – but he still feels like he has walked to the end of a plank and leaped into shark-infested waters without anything to protect him from their sharp teeth. Maybe being eaten alive would be better than this awkwardness though. Maybe Hongjoong needs to see someone for thinking such a thing.

Yunho seems to catch what he has just said a moment later and shakes his head fervently, brown bangs fanning over his forehead with the movements.

“Ah, sorry, why – why did I say that?” Yunho huffs out a shaky and nervous laugh that somehow still sounds pretty to Hongjoong’s ears even though it shouldn’t. “Um, thank you again for… yeah, uh, for watching her as usual. Um, I tried to call the school and let you know that I would be late again but I forgot the whole ‘no calls after school hours’ part!”

“I can just give you my cellphone number?” The words are out of Hongjoong’s mouth before he can stop them, and damn, he really needs to learn how to hold his tongue around this man. His jaw stays hanging open well after he finishes speaking, but he’s still reeling from the shock of hearing himself say such a thing. Yunho blinks back at him with wide, doe-like eyes. Somewhere in the back of Hongjoong’s mind, he distinctly thinks pretty, but that thought is rudely shoved aside as he tries to recover the situation. “Like, I mean, so you can – to tell me if you’re going to be late. On a school day. So I know if I need to watch her.”

Good riddance, Kim Hongjoong. Like you don’t watch her every day regardless.

“Um, yeah, only if you’re sure? I wouldn’t wanna intrude into your personal life or anything. That would be inappropriate of me…” Yunho trails off to look at some random piece of furniture in the corner of the room.

“I’m sure! That would – that would probably be best honestly. I mean, the receptionist leaves so soon after the school closes that you wouldn’t ever be able to reach me if you’re running late. You wouldn’t be intruding. Not like I have much of a personal life outside of teaching anyway, uh, why am I telling you that? That’s not important, um, phone number! Let me write it down for you!”

Hongjoong turns on his heel to go find whatever he can to scribble his number on before he chickens out too much, head reeling and spinning. He knocks into one of the desks along the way and almost trips over the chair, which causes Yunho to lunge forward in a rush to catch him, but Hongjoong flings a hand up to ward him off.

“I’m fine! Ha, should watch my step! Might knock into a table or something, right?” Hongjoong tries to flash a toothy smile, eyes turning into soft crescents just before he knocks into yet another desk.

“Mr. Hong! You’re so clumsy today,” Akemi giggles. Hongjoong’s embarrassment surges as Yunho looks over him with nothing but sheer concern, and the temptation of crawling into a hole for the rest of his life sneaks up. He can almost hear San chastising him for thinking such a thing though, a small nagging voice in the back of his mind saying ‘no, Joong, you can’t just become a hobbit even if you are the size of one’. Rude as hell, first of all, because hobbits don’t really live in holes, and Hongjoong is not the size of one but that’s beside the point.

Hongjoong finally reaches his own desk in one piece and tugs out a plain sticky note to write his number down as hastily as possible. Akemi continues speaking to her dad, telling him some story about what she did on the playground during recess today and how another student’s mother came to pick him up early. Hongjoong really tries not to listen in (because again not his business!) but there does lie a distinct sense of longing in Akemi’s tone, even if she’s too young to truly understand what that longing is. Whether it’s a desire for her father to come sooner when he picks her up or an inherent desire to have another parental figure in her life, it’s present and there and hurts Hongjoong’s heart a bit more than it should.

He pushes that to the side in favor of carrying the sticky note, which now holds his cell number of all things on it, to Yunho.

“You can just, uh, call or text whenever. On weekdays of course.”

“Yeah, on weekdays, schooldays, yeah.” Yunho bobs his head while speaking, hastily agreeing with Hongjoong before taking the sticky note from his hands. Their hands may or may not make contact when he does so – one of Yunho’s long and spindly fingers running over Hongjoong’s knuckles – and Hongjoong full-on panics at the small contact, yanking his hand away in a rush with an embarrassing blush creeping up his neck. At this point, Wooyoung would probably point and laugh at him then call him a whole gay disaster and a half.

“Well, I hope you have a good evening!” Hongjoong blurts to break the tense silence.

“Thank you, yeah, thank you. Um, you too! And thank you again for always staying late for her. I know you aren’t paid for that and it’s probably a burden.”

“It’s – look, it’s no issue at all, I promise. I wouldn’t be a teacher if I didn’t enjoy spending time with kids, and Akemi is a delight to be around as always. She’s so well behaved and wonderful. Reminds me of myself when I was her age!” Hongjoong reaches up to rub at the back of his neck, laughing off Yunho’s concern as best he can.

“Are you saying you’re well-behaved, Mr. Kim?” Yunho chuckles a bit under his breath. There’s no alternative meaning to his words. There is not. Hongjoong cannot read into that. He refuses to think too deeply about it. So why does his brain go straight to the bedroom? For fuck’s sake, Hongjoong needs a drink, and preferably the strongest one imaginable.

“I used to be, at least.” Hongjoong really needs to stop putting his foot in his mouth like this. Yunho most definitely picks up on the possible innuendos in the topic at hand because his eyes grow a bit wide with each passing second, then he chokes on a cough, dipping his chin to his chest in a hurry to hide his embarrassment. “Uh, in any case, don’t feel bad about being a bit late to pick her up. I get the sense that you have a very busy life on top of being a father. I don’t want you to feel rushed if you have more to deal with.”

“I mean, that’s life, isn’t it?” Yunho reaches down to comb his fingers through Akemi’s hair again, a soft and fond smile painting his lips as he looks at the little girl. “Alright, Mimi, let’s get home. I still have to cook dinner and get you in bed on time.”

Hongjoong would be lying if he said that he isn’t bothered by those words. Because they nearly confirm that Yunho is taking care of Akemi on his own and without help. He’s the one to bring her to school, pick her up, take her home, cook dinner, tuck her in, and work late hours. Hongjoong doesn’t understand how he can do all that on his own. He can hardly take care of himself and remember to put food in his body; he can’t imagine having to be fully responsible for another human being the way Yunho has to. If he were more bold and perhaps less of a disaster himself, he might offer to do more to help the man. It isn’t his place to offer, however, and he is still making presumptions with all this.

“Can we invite Mr. Hong to dinner, Daddy? As a thank-you gift like you mentioned?” Akemi whips to face her father, bright eyes stretched impossibly wide.

Cue the alarm bells and sirens of panic. Hongjoong is just about losing his mind, in case you couldn’t tell, and he should not be so thrown into disarray the way he is. Maybe it has just been that long since he had even an ounce of mediocre human contact with anyone outside his immediate friend group that the idea of spending time with a new person sends him into an alternate dimension of extroversion.

“A-Ah, I couldn’t intrude in such a way.” Hongjoong shakes his head even though no one is looking directly at him.

“I’m, uh, I’m sure Mr. Kim has other plans for dinner. We shouldn’t spring plans on him like this, darling. Maybe—” Yunho shifts to look at Hongjoong with an imperceptible gleam to his eyes that will have him thinking for weeks about what it could mean “—maybe some other time.”

“Maybe some other time.”

“Like you mentioned.”

Hongjoong really doesn’t have a crush on the man or anything like that; Yunho is merely a rather attractive man and happens to be his ideal type. But the prospect that the comment has does make his stomach do a little flip and turn every which way, and that is dangerously close to developing feelings for the man. So, he does what any logical anxiety-ridden human being would do.

“I’m free on Friday. If, well, if that might work for you.”

Yunho’s thin lips fall agape, tongue poking forward to swipe over the front of his teeth.

“That… actually, yeah, that would work. Are you sure though? I don’t want you to feel obligated or anything. I could always get you a gift card if you’d rather.”

“No, no, I’d love to come for dinner. If you’ll have me that is.” Hongjoong, you dipshit, he literally offered.

“Of course we will. I would really love to thank you for all you do for Akemi and me. I just… don’t how else to do it.” Yunho motions towards the little girl, who now hums happily to herself and collects her belongings into her school bag. “She’s been wanting to invite you for quite some time but I was, uh, nervous about asking you to do more than you already do.”

“I can’t think of anything better than a nice dinner.” Hongjoong offers up a small shrug if only to quell the churning of nerves in his gut that only heightens when one side of Yunho’s lips quirks up into a smile.

“Well then, I’d better hope my cooking can live up to those expectations.”

I’m sure it can. Hongjoong has to bite the tip of his tongue to keep the words from slipping out but he manages to return Yunho’s grin with one of his own.

“You can let me know a good time that works for you whenever we’re closer to Friday. I’m sure my schedule will be clear.”

And maybe when Hongjoong breathes the words out in a tone that is a bit airy and light, Yunho’s wide eyes blink back at him with as much gratitude as those dark orbs can hold. There’s such a gentle warmth to them that Hongjoong truly feels like he is the one doing something nice for the man rather than the other way around.

…

“So let me get this straight, even though this is far from the straight category,” Wooyoung starts, palms facing Hongjoong’s exasperated expression as he mulls over his next words. San sits at his side with an equally perceptive stare, but Hongjoong doesn’t bother to look at the latter man. “You want your student’s father’s dick up your ass?”

“Wooyoung, no!” Hongjoong protests in an instant, already midway to dropping his head on the granite countertop. How he could afford an apartment with such granite is mind-boggling, but he’s never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, as the saying goes.

“Then you want your dick up his ass? Look, hyung, it’s either one or the other. You can’t have both at once, maybe you can alternate days or something but—”

“I wonder if you could though,” San chirps. He shifts to look at his lover who sends a confused glance in his direction with little other acknowledgment. Hongjoong already knows where this conversation is headed without needing San to continue it at all, but the man must not pick up on Hongjoong’s mental screams for him to stop. “I suppose the actual asshole and dick are too far apart for that to be probable… unless you’ve got a toy. Then you can simultaneously ride a toy and fuck someone and have the best of both worlds.”

“Why are we having this conversation? We do not need to be having this conversation! At all!”

“Dipshit, just have a threesome at that point,” Wooyoung remarks before shifting to smack San’s arm hard with the back of his hand.

“Is that your way of saying you wanna invite Seonghwa over?”

“No, you idiot, Seonghwa is engaged.” Wooyoung rolls his eyes as though San has just said the unspeakable, then returns to staring Hongjoong down with sharp eyes. He pauses a moment there, seeming to remember something, and chimes up once more, “Besides, I dipped my toes in those waters, and Seonghwa is far too gentle and vanilla for my liking. I’m sure Yeosang absolutely adores that himself, but I need to be demolished in the bedroom.”

“Gross, just – too much information, Wooyoung!” Hongjoong groans. The man in question just lifts his hands to his head as though to defend himself.

“Okay, first of all, I will personally body you just for saying that in front of Hongjoong. Secondly, when the fuck did you sleep with Seonghwa?”

“Like… um, a couple months before he and Yeosang got together? I don’t really remember it all too well because – well, it was boring, okay? Don’t tell him I said that, he’ll rip me a new one.”

“I would pay to see Seonghwa fight you honestly.” San glances over Wooyoung’s smaller frame, eyes narrowed in a way that shows he’s mentally measuring Wooyoung up with Seonghwa, who is far taller than him to begin with so that’s just a disaster waiting to happen.

“I know you would, which is why I’m not giving you head for the next three days just for that.”

“God, you two are so gross.”

“Three days? Come on, isn’t that a bit harsh?”

“Hello, um, can we talk about my gay panicking instead?” Hongjoong pleads, motioning towards himself with flopping hands, and Wooyoung only snorts in response at first. San huffs out a sigh but relents in the discussion. He leans towards Wooyoung, chin coming to a rest atop the man’s shoulder, and despite all Wooyoung’s insistence that he was annoyed, he just leans into the touch. A hand reaches up to comb through San’s black hair.

You see, Hongjoong might be fascinated by the love a parent harbors for their child, but there is something else that sends him reeling far more often. The most daunting and terrifying kind of love is the romantic one that he runs from so often. Maybe that is why he can’t bear to be around Wooyoung and San as much as he used to because they display it with such ease and carelessness, like love doesn’t hurt or burn or ache the way Hongjoong knows it does. He has had many a relationship in all his time on Earth, and unfortunately, they have all ended in a crashing burn of flames and chaos – quite literally for his last relationship – so forgive him if he is a bit bitter and scalded by those failures.

It isn’t that he is not happy on his own. He has a nice apartment meant for one and that’s lovely, along with the betta fish Seonghwa and Yeosang bought for him as a moving-in gift named Karl, who is cherished company even if he just swims around his tank without doing much of anything. The point being that Hongjoong has never actively sought out a relationship or a special someone because he has never thought that he actually needed it.

Why seek something that could hurt you when you’re perfectly fine on your own?

“Listen, this is all beside the point,” he starts, waving a dismissive hand through the air in an effort to shut the other two men up. “We’re here to talk about how I accidentally agreed to go to his house for dinner knowing damn well that I don’t know how to socialize with a stray cat in the street let alone a very cute man who happens to be my type.”

“So you have a date.”

“It’s not a date, Woo! It is a somewhat casual thank you dinner that is… quite casual.”

“Date or not, you better not wear that fucking sweater vest that you insist looks good,” San remarks. His lips curl into a scowl, and he shakes his head ever so slightly at the mere thought of said article of clothing.

“Hey! It does look good!”

“It makes you look like you’re going through a midlife crisis!”

“Well, maybe I am!”

“You damn well must be if you’re behaving like this but still insisting that you aren’t even a little bit attracted to this man and don’t see potential in him!”

San’s words shut Hongjoong right up in an instant. Of course, the man isn’t wrong about the statement. Maybe that is what Hongjoong has been adamantly avoiding since Monday, and these past four days have just been a blur of anxiety surrounding the potential of falling for Yunho. Wooyoung must read the distress on his features.

“You can always back out and say that you need to raincheck. You shouldn’t cause yourself any extra worry over something like this.” Wooyoung draws his brows together to add to the concern already on his features.

“Kind of shitty of me to cancel an hour before the dinner,” Hongjoong grumbles, bringing his arms up to cross over his chest in a defensive manner that Wooyoung picks up on instantly.

“Joong…” There is far too much sympathy in his stare; maybe if Hongjoong were feeling particularly self-loathing, he would go so far as to say it looks like pity. He knows deep down that it isn’t pity. Wooyoung has been with him for every breakup in the past eleven years, they have been best friends for longer than that, and perhaps at one odd point during their teenage years, they had an escapade of their own that caused issues in some of Hongjoong’s relationships before. Yet even though Wooyoung knows him better than anyone on the face of the planet, it is always San who picks him apart like he’s a book. Hongjoong feels his prying and perceptive gaze on the side of his face before he says a word, and he makes the impulse decision to spew nonsense just to save himself from San’s impending lecture.

“I’m not interested! I’m not, and I don’t want to be. I will do this one dinner so he can feel fucking better about himself, then I will put all thoughts of him behind me.”

San draws his lips into a tight purse.

“Look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t see any hint of potential in him.”

Hongjoong jerks to look the taller man in the eye, gaze wavering a bit as he tries to come up with a reasonable and believable response. That is answer enough for San, and he shakes his head with a frown painting his features now.

“Don’t throw away something good just because you’re scared, Hongjoong.”

“I’m not scared.”

Lie. They all know it too.

“Then promise to see this dinner through without trying to sabotage yourself.”

“Fine,” Hongjoong relents. That must be enough for San because he flips his frown into a soft-sided grin and nods in his direction. As though on cue, his phone dings with a notification atop the counter, and Hongjoong glances down at the device at the same time that the other two men do.

“Prince Charming awaits!” Wooyoung chirps through a toothy grin. Hongjoong has half a mind to lean across the counter and smack him upside the head, but instead, he snatches up his phone to read the message that just came through. It is, as expected, an address complete with an all too cute smiley face emoji at the end that makes Hongjoong want to scowl just because of how damn adorable it is. He hastily types out a ‘thanks, I’ll be there soon’ response and hits send before Wooyoung can tell him to play up the flirting and hit on him. “Okay but seriously don’t put on that sweater vest!”

“Jeez, I won’t!” Hongjoong waves the man off as he retreats to his tiny bedroom only to have Wooyoung trail after him with shuffling feet.

“Do you still have that leather jacket I got you last year?”

“I’m not wearing a leather jacket to a dinner with my student and her father.”

“Can you at least wear something a little less… teacher-y?” Wooyoung runs a hand through his hair, a sigh escaping him as he glances over Hongjoong’s closet in dismay.

“What are you trying to say?”

“You dress like an old man. I want you to at least look cute.” Wooyoung hums a little to himself while drumming his fingers over his chin. “White button-down with that brown cardigan you have and some cuffed jeans. And the black oxfords that you redesigned. So you can show off how cute and artsy you are! Oh, do you still have those wireframe glasses you used to wear so much? Let’s get those too.”

“Isn’t this too much effort? What if he’s just – I don’t know, wearing sweatpants?”

“You really think he’s gonna be wearing sweatpants?”

“I, well, maybe not—” Wooyoung interrupts him with a harsh slap to the back of his arm, knuckles hitting his skin so hard that it burns a bit.

“Good, now go get changed. No complaining or I’ll bite your armpits.”

“That’s an oddly specific threat…”

“I said no complaining!”

Hongjoong grumbles a little under his breath as Wooyoung tosses the closes he picked out at his chest, then he slips into the bathroom to quickly slip into them. He shouldn’t even be putting this much effort into the outfit or reading too much into this dinner because it’s nothing more than a simple thank-you dinner. He keeps reminding himself of that fact over and over. It isn’t an invitation to be friends or to have some semblance of a casual relationship, even if Hongjoong would kinda like to be at least friends with Yunho. He’ll probably get there, talk with Yunho about Akemi’s schoolwork, then leave.

Wooyoung springs on him the second he steps out of the bathroom in the new outfit, hands pushing the wireframe glasses he mentioned earlier onto the bridge of Hongjoong’s nose and setting them straight. The man’s lips twitch into a smile as he leans back to admire his work.

“Perfect. He won’t be able to take his eyes off you.” Wooyoung presses the pad of his index finger against the tip of Hongjoong’s nose, leaving him with that before stepping away and motioning towards the door. “Now go have fun, and try not to overthink this whole thing too much.”

“You do realize who you’re talking to, right?”

“Oh hush, you twat. If nothing else, just take it as an opportunity to do something nice for yourself. I know clubbing with Sannie and me isn’t always your favorite, so here’s a chance for you to do something else. And! Since I know you and I know you would do something stupid, if he invites you to stay for drinks after his daughter goes to bed, you fucking say yes, okay?”

“He most definitely won’t do that but whatever.”

…

As it turns out, that is exactly what Yunho does. He corners Hongjoong while the shorter man stands at the sink, washing the plates used for dinner by hand because he demanded that Yunho let him do something in return for the incredible meal Yunho prepared for his visit. Perhaps Hongjoong just takes so little care of himself that any homecooked meal is a good one though; he is far too used to eating instant ramen on the couch after work and calling it a healthy diet by eating a handful of blueberries afterward. He couldn’t put a name to the dish Yunho made even though Yunho mentioned it when he walked in the door. His mind was too addled with anxiety because there the impossibly tall man stood with a crisp white button-up and really nice black trousers that definitely show off how good his ass is (not that Hongjoong could look for long because Akemi came rushing to the door as well).

All throughout dinner, Yunho kept him occupied with questions and menial chatter, things about the school and what the curriculum for the year is. It added up in Hongjoong’s mind; he had already figured that Yunho would wanna talk a lot about Akemi and school rather than anything personal. The scene was oddly intimate despite the less than personal questions. Just the three of them – Hongjoong, Yunho, and Akemi – seated around a small wooden table in a pretty standard suburban home. That was the moment Hongjoong got the nonverbal confirmation that Yunho is indeed a single father, then the verbal confirmation came when Hongjoong slipped his shoes off by the door upon Yunho’s prompting.

“It’s just the two of us, so I apologize if the house is a bit of a mess. I only have time to clean after work.”

Hongjoong insisted that it was fine and that he could not even see a single speck of dust in the house, which Yunho had laughed too loudly at and the sound rumbled in Hongjoong’s gut for too long.

Yunho is smart, Hongjoong will give him that. He makes sure to snag Hongjoong when he has no escape, hands coming to rest on the edge of the counter as he looks to the shorter man with wide and hopeful eyes. Hongjoong nearly drops the plate in his hand because of the way Yunho’s eyes seem to twinkle under the yellow lights of the kitchen.

“Um, you don’t have to say yes, but I got a bottle of red wine for tonight if you’d like to stay and have a drink? I’m about to put Akemi to bed. I normally, uh, drink alone on Friday nights.”

Well god fucking dammit Jeong Yunho, why did you have to say it like that? The man could probably weave the saddest sob story in existence with just those gleaming eyes, and Hongjoong would bend over backward for him because he can’t help himself. And Wooyoung’s words are ringing so loudly in his head that he can hardly think straight. He’s willing himself to say no despite what his friend said and the look in Yunho’s eyes, yet the words that actually come out of his mouth are —

“Yeah, I’d love to!”

Maybe the smile that decorates Yunho’s lips afterward makes it worth it.

“Cool, yeah, I’ll be quick I promise. She normally doesn’t take long to get tucked in.”

“That’s fine. Take your time!”

Yunho leaves with a nod, and it gives Hongjoong a moment to breathe easy while he’s gone. He takes his precious time in cleaning the remainder of the dishes just so that he can stay busy and not have to stand around waiting. In all honesty, this is a disaster waiting to happen. Wooyoung made sure to drive him over both because he wanted to see Hongjoong off and insisted that Hongjoong would get wasted while at Yunho’s so he had to be the responsible one. (As though Wooyoung has ever been responsible a day in his life; Hongjoong is always the designated driver on club nights because the man throws alcohol back like it’s his job). His alcohol tolerance could prove to be an issue though, so it’s probably for the best that Wooyoung drove him. Even a single glass of wine could make him tipsy, and he is a nervous drinker on top of that.

It’s fine, it’s fine. It will be fine. Just one glass of wine then you can tell him that your friend is waiting outside. Is it lame to have your twenty-five-year-old friend pick you up when you’re twenty-six? Why does this feel like high school?

Hongjoong doesn’t realize he’s standing at the sink and scrubbing a wet rag over the same plate over and over again until Yunho comes up on his right.

“You good?”

“Fuck – I mean shit, damn, um, fudge! Fudge. Yeah, fudge.”

Yup, there’s a great example for your kid, Yunho! Hongjoong mentally uppercuts himself in the nose as he sets the last plate on the drying rack and fumbles to put everything back in its proper place. Yunho huffs out a loud laugh, chin tipping back to expose the long column of his throat, and Hongjoong most definitely spends far too long staring at the way his tendons twitch.

“Well, that explains why Akemi always tells me to say fudge when I cuss in front of her.” He shakes his head, still laughing a bit under his breath. He slips away from Hongjoong’s side, and the shorter man uses it as an opportunity to catch his own breath and calm his racing heart. “You big on wine, Mr. Kim?”

Mr. Kim. The name sounds a bit odd and foreign on Yunho’s tongue in such a setting, and Hongjoong has to tell himself that that discomfort is the reason why he says what he does next.

“You can call me H-Hongjoong if you’d rather.” He can’t keep from stuttering in his sudden state of nervousness, and Yunho twists to look back at him from the other side of the kitchen.

“With the stammer and everything?” Yunho jokes through a hum. Hongjoong whips around to face him, a bit of disbelief coating his expression, and the other man just lifts two empty wine glasses and motions back towards the dining table. “You can call me Y-Yunho then. For solidarity.”

Hongjoong would really love to punch him in that pretty mouth of his because curse him for being the entire package. Was being tall and attractive not enough? God had to make him cute and adorable, along with having a beautiful natural flush to his cheeks that comes out when he smiles or laughs? And he has a nice ass and a good sense of humor? Hongjoong is absolutely screwed and not in the way he wants to be. He is gonna leave this dinner tonight fully whipped for this man. The brief and fleeting thought to call Wooyoung for backup and get the hell out of here earlier than intended crosses his mind, but that is swept away when Yunho straddles a chair and spreads his legs far wider than is even remotely necessary. Hongjoong’s body just moves on its own at that point, and he finds the seat on Yunho’s left.

It feels like there is lead rushing through his veins rather than blood. Almost a heady sensation like Hongjoong is already drunk despite not having had a drop of alcohol yet. Yunho rectifies that quickly though, pouring a glass of the dark red liquid and passing it over to Hongjoong with long fingers splayed over the bottom of the glass. He doesn’t drink from it right away as much as he wants to. It would be bad etiquette to start drinking before him surely, and the stretch grin Yunho wears when he notices the gesture almost hurts Hongjoong’s heart.

“So, Hongjoong, I don’t believe I know how old you are.” His name sounds really wonderful coming from Yunho’s lips, but that is a dangerous thought. And Yunho looks dastardly good taking a languid sip from his wine glass. Focus, Hongjoong, focus.

“I’m, uh, turning twenty-seven in early November.”

“Oh?” Yunho sounds genuinely surprised by that, head tilting to the side to accentuate his shock. “I would never have guessed. You hardly look twenty-three.”

“I get that a lot. Youthful genes blessed me.”

“Apparently so. I swear I’ve got to look older than you and I’m twenty-six.”

Ah. Younger than expected. Hongjoong honestly assumed the man was older than him simply because he has Akemi, and while the girl is only six, he figured Yunho would at least be upper twenties. He hopes that the shock doesn’t read too well on his features but he has no such luck.

“Shocking, I know. Had Akemi early while we were still in college. Lots of… it was both good and bad, but it turned out to be more than worth it in the end because she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Yunho stares at the table while he speaks, but Hongjoong can see emotion shining clearly in his dark eyes regardless.

It’s that same raw and open one he saw before, the purest form of love he can think of, and he has to gulp down some wine to keep from getting overwhelmed by the mere sight of it. Despite having technically known Yunho for five (nearly six) months now, Hongjoong still can’t find it in him to think it’s appropriate to breach the subject of Akemi’s mother. This is still their first personal one on one conversation, the first time they’ve exchanged names, and Hongjoong can’t very well ask something so personal this soon.

“I’ve been a bit curious, so I hope you don’t mind me asking,” Yunho starts, looking to Hongjoong with a bit more fervor in his movements. “What made you think to call Akemi butterfly? I don’t think I’ve ever come across another person who calls her that.”

“Her mother used to call her that.”

Hongjoong should have prepared himself for the question because that statement Yunho had made earlier in the week opened a door that would come back to bite him later. This must be later.

“Um, I hope this doesn’t… sound odd or anything, but the first day she came to class, she had a clip in her hair. One with—”

“A blue butterfly on it,” Yunho finishes for him.

“Y-Yeah. It stood out to me since I’ve always liked butterflies myself.” Hongjoong thinks back to the pair of shoes he left by the door with small blue butterflies painted along the sides. “You probably didn’t see them when I came in, but my shoes – uh, they have butterflies on them too.” He motions past Yunho’s shoulder and towards the door, but Yunho only stares directly at him and nowhere else.

“I noticed that! It look hand-drawn too, or maybe painted?”

“Painted, yes. I reform clothes I own sometimes and shoes as well if I come up with a cool enough idea. Just a side hobby, I guess, like piano.” Hongjoong sips at his wine to busy himself and not focus on the way Yunho gazes at him intently. He isn’t used to this: talking about himself, his interests, things he does in his spare time. Wooyoung and San know him well enough to have witnessed his growth into those hobbies, and he doesn’t really have discussions like this with his fellow teachers. Maybe he mentioned it once or twice in passing to Seonghwa, but he and the man likely changed the topic quickly. It’s a little bit embarrassing for him as a twenty-seven-year-old to talk about what he enjoys doing like he’s back in high school or college. Something about the way Yunho offers an encouraging nod shoots that insecurity out the window.

“You know, Akemi talks about you a lot when I pick her up.” He drags a finger over the rim of his wine glass, eyes trained on the liquid inside. “She loves talking about you more than what she learned or her friends in the class. This is probably weird but I think I’ve learned a lot about you through her. The piano lessons and drawings, how you’ll sometimes draw pictures for her or show her your reformed clothes and shoes. I’m seriously grateful that you’re her teacher and that she has you in her life.” The words are spoken with too much emotion for Hongjoong’s liking, and his gut melds into a deep pit of growing agony.

“You don’t have to…” Hongjoong can’t even finish the thought. You don’t have to thank me, he wants to say. Yunho shakes his head.

“As much as I do to support us as a family and provide for her, it still falls short more often than not. Maybe this is too open of me, but I work a typical nine-to-five job as a business firm. Most if not all of my friends live out of town or work in similar fields and have lives like mine. When I have to go out of town for business trips, I have to leave Akemi with a friend in the next city over. I don’t – I don’t get to be the dad that she deserves to have. I can’t teach her new things, play with her in the park, and sometimes I can hardly… hardly spend time with her in general because of all that. The fact that you are so ready and willing to sacrifice your time for someone who isn’t even your kid or responsibility is quite telling of how good you are as a person. I am glad that she can have you as some sort of father figure in her life.”

“I can – I can hardly take any credit,” Hongjoong whispers, not daring to raise his tone any higher than that.

“You don’t need to,” Yunho replies in a tone just as quiet. “This dinner… I know very well that there is nothing I can do to repay you for what you are doing for Akemi. My heart will never be satisfied no matter what because you – you are doing something that even her mother refused to do, and that is simply to not leave her alone. I guess that’s my way of saying that I admire you quite a bit, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong’s heart is in absolute shambles. Yunho is being too open, too raw, too giving in his emotions. It’s like Hongjoong can see straight through his chest and into his heart, pull the organ out and listen to every pang and stitched scar over it with ease. He is merely being genuine with Hongjoong, yet that one thing is more than all of Hongjoong’s exes combined could not do. He wills his mouth to work properly, jaw stuttering and wavering without purpose for too long before he can speak again.

“If y-you ever need someone to look after Akemi while you’re out of town, I would be happy to do so. My apartment – where I live, I mean – it’s not too big, but I would gladly sleep on the couch so she can sleep in the bed, and I live alone so it’s not like there would be anyone else with us and—”

“You’d truly do that?” The shock in Yunho’s voice almost hurts to hear, like he can’t believe anyone would do such a thing for him. In the back of his head, Hongjoong internally questions those friends that Yunho mentioned and how reliable they truly are. It catches him off-guard though. He isn’t making the offer because he wants Yunho to like him or trust him or anything unsavory. He would make the same offer to any parent who needed help; Hongjoong truly values his job but he cherishes each student of his even more than that. Seeing people struggle on their own is never pleasant – a thing he recognizes in others but refuses to recognize in himself – so if he can make Yunho’s day to day life even the tiniest bit easier, then he would jump at the opportunity.

“Of course.”

“Are you truly real?”

Hongjoong needs at least another glass of wine in him before Yunho starts having an existential crisis, but this sort of disbelief seems a bit different, something that stagnates the air between them and lets them hover in each other’s breaths like it’s the only thing that matters.

“I would hope people value you enough to give you the bare minimum of what you deserve, Yunho.” Hongjoong doesn’t realize that it’s the first time he’s used the other man’s name until he folds his lips into a soft grin.

“You forgot the stutter.”

Hongjoong dares to smile back, nose scrunching up and cheeks rounding under the wire frames of his glasses.

“My apologies, Y-Yunho.”

Yunho doesn’t respond this time, but there doesn’t seem to be a need to. The air returns to its pleasant trill, alight and humming with the beads of anticipation, and Hongjoong settles into the cloud with a newfound sense of ease and comfort in front of Yunho. There remains a stark sense of fear in his bones, one that does not care for the thoughts of where this might lead, what feelings will bud in his chest as a result, or how hard Hongjoong will recklessly fall because that’s how it always is.

“I don’t know if — this may be too bold but, uh, would you like to come for dinner again?”

This is a slippery slope and Hongjoong is already in the midst of falling.

…

It’s October now, nearing November in less than two weeks which will mean another bland birthday for Hongjoong to pass through with little interest and lots of enthusiasm from both Wooyoung and San. In the past six (yes, six) weeks since his first dinner with Yunho and Akemi, Hongjoong has been over to visit at least eight times. Once a week was the agreement he and Yunho came to after the second visit, the kind smile splayed over Yunho’s lips too much for Hongjoong to say no to, but the spare two visits came as a result of a spur of the moment decision on weekdays where Akemi begged for more time with Hongjoong and Yunho demanded to treat him to dinner as thanks. It is pleasant. Too pleasant. Hongjoong already knows that he has tumbled into a dangerous territory that consists of feelings of euphoria and happiness, butterflies churning in his stomach every time Yunho’s tinkling laugh graces his ears, and no matter how much he tries to push it out of his mind, he can’t.

Hongjoong likes the man. It would be much easier if he knew that Yunho did not like men at all, but alas he learned of that a while ago, maybe on his sixth visit to the Jeong household. What had they even been talking about again? Oh, right it was about being a disappointment to their families.

“You don’t talk much of your own family, Hongjoong. Is that a… sensitive topic?”

“Oh, uh, no. It’s not that I have a bad relationship with them or anything like that. There is a bit of tension? I guess you could call it that. I stopped going home to visit them because the plane tickets were getting to be too much and every time I walked in the door, I would just get an earful about how I never bring a wife home.”

“Not into marriage?”

“Not into women.”

Yunho had choked midway through a sip of wine, and Hongjoong thought the man was going to keel over on the floor with the way he was coughing, cheeks blazing red in embarrassment. Once he had finally recovered enough to speak again, Hongjoong’s heart plummeted, but only because he knew there was no way for him to back out of the crush that had formed.

“Well, we have disappointed parents in common then. Mine couldn’t believe I had a kid before marriage, then just about had a heart attack when Akemi’s mother walked out. Made things even worse when I brought my first boyfriend home for the holidays when Akemi was three. They were at least glad when the next girlfriend came around, but I can’t seem to make a relationship stick enough to live up to their standards. They at least love to dote on Akemi and look after her when they can, so I guess I can’t complain all too much.”

Hongjoong hadn’t let the conversation go any further than that, swiftly changing the subject because he was terrified of letting it continue and exposing the ugly and gross bits about his own past to Yunho. He isn’t ready for that. It would be too intimate and vulnerable. That’s what he has to tell himself at least.

Now Hongjoong finds himself yet again in Yunho’s house, but this time the situation is far different. First of all, it’s a Sunday night and not a weekday. Secondly, Yunho is not home. Hongjoong did not break-in, as suspicious as it sounds. The previous Tuesday evening found Hongjoong over for dinner and Yunho mentioned that he had to leave in the morning for a business trip so they wouldn’t be able to do their typical Friday dinner.

“Do you need me to watch Akemi?”

Hongjoong hadn’t even hesitated to ask the question.

“I was hoping to ask if that would be too much actually. I… I would really appreciate it. I’m not used to midweek trips, but I don’t want her to miss school because of this.”

“I’d be happy to look after her while you’re gone, Yunho. I can bring her to school with me in the mornings.”

“Would you please? I can – I can pay you for it or something. I wouldn’t want you to do it for free or–”

“I want to do it for free. Please, Yunho, it’s a – it’s what friends would do, right?”

Friends. Yeah, Hongjoong had breached the invisible line and defined their relationship then and there. Before then, they hadn’t spoken of it or said anything definitive about what they are. Hongjoong couldn’t very well say yeah it’s because I have a crush on you actually so don’t worry about it.

But in any case, that led to Yunho dropping Akemi off for school on Wednesday morning with a little travel bag of clothes and belongings so that she could have her things while she stayed at Hongjoong’s. Hongjoong brought her home in the evening right after school, which was quite the fever dream because he hadn’t gone home on time like that in months.

It was a steady process they formed: go to school a bit early for Hongjoong to prepare his things for the day, leave right after school ended, spend time doing fun things a kid would normally do after school, eat dinner, and go to sleep in Hongjoong’s all too large bed while the man slept on the couch.

On Friday after school, Hongjoong dared to take Akemi to the park to go cloud watching, then they went and bought matching pairs of shoes to bring home and reform together. Hongjoong had drawn small butterflies across the side of Akemi’s white sneakers and told himself that he wouldn’t get too attached to the little girl. That would make the end of the school year far too hard to handle because he wouldn’t get to move up with her to second grade.

For Saturday, he took Akemi to an ice skating rink and held her hand tight against his as they slid over the ice together. An elderly couple watching their grandchildren from the side of the rink asked if Hongjoong wanted pictures with his daughter. Akemi begged for him to say yes with such big and bright eyes that he couldn’t even bother correcting the couple. His cheeks still hurt from laughing and smiling so much even though several hours have passed since then. Hongjoong brought Akemi home to her house rather than his afterward since Yunho said he would be coming home in the evening, and they agreed to meet up after so Hongjoong could return the spare house key.

That is why Hongjoong finds himself seated on the leather couch in Yunho’s living room, thumbing through the channels mindlessly to keep himself busy as he waits for Yunho to get back. Akemi has already been put to bed since she was tired after ice skating, and Hongjoong managed to make a pot of mac and cheese without burning the kitchen down, which is good by his standards. It’s well past eight o’clock, and Yunho said he would be home by six so Hongjoong is maybe sorta kinda starting to get extremely worried about the man’s whereabouts. In fact, he’s about to try to call the man to see if everything is okay when the door handle jiggles. Hongjoong jerks to shut the television off, eyes wide with a nagging panic that someone is trying to break in, but the door swings open to reveal Yunho at long last.

Saying he looks exhausted would be a gross understatement. He looks worse than ever, tired and overwhelmed in every way, but as his gaze falls to where Hongjoong sits on the couch, a shaky sigh slips from his lips, almost as though he is relieved to see the other man sitting there. It tugs at his heartstrings, makes his stomach drop a bit too much, and Hongjoong inhales sharply to bury the feeling.

“I already put Akemi to bed,” Hongjoong whispers, scared to speak any louder than that. Yunho offers a nod but nothing else in response as he shuts the door behind him and drops his travel bag to the floor. He doesn’t even smile, which is something Hongjoong has never seen from the man. He seems to always be wearing a smile no matter what, and Hongjoong can’t describe the odd, misplaced pain in his chest that comes with seeing the blank slate that is Yunho’s expression. “How was your trip?” Careful, calculated, wary. He isn’t sure what is overstepping, but this is the best he can do right now.

“It was… it was fine until the end. I’m sorry I’m late. Stopped at the store to get some groceries and uh—” Yunho stops himself there, hand coming up to run through his dark hair. Hongjoong feels compelled to get up. His legs work before his brain does, and all of a sudden, he is on both feet and moving closer to Yunho for some godforsaken reason. He doesn’t even know what he intends to do until his hand reaches up to grasp at Yunho’s shoulder, shaking the man from his thoughts and offering the faintest bit of comfort.

“I’m here.” Yeah, you’re right in front of him, idiot, I think he knows you’re here.

“I ran into Akemi’s mother.”

Oh.

“She was with the – the guy she cheated on me with.”

Oh. Hongjoong didn’t know that was what had happened between the two of them. He didn’t think to ask, and it wasn’t his business too either, but it makes his heart go out even more to the man because damn. How shitty of a person do you have to be to cheat on your partner after having a damn kid with them?

Hongjoong doesn’t know what the right thing to do is. He racks his brain and tries to find some hint as to what the best idea is, but all he can come up with are memories of how Wooyoung would envelop him in a tight hug after a rough night of memories full of exes and pain. So that’s what Hongjoong does. He leans into Yunho’s space, slots himself in that tiny crack in Yunho’s heart, and wedges himself there. Arms reach higher to fold around the back of the man’s neck until Yunho is forced to bend down a bit and accommodate Hongjoong’s much shorter form, but the taller man hugs him right back in an instant. His breath is hot on Hongjoong’s neck as he releases a shaky exhale, burying his nose deep into the shorter’s neck. It’s all he can do right now, yet it still doesn’t feel like enough.

“She had the audacity to ask about Akemi.” Yunho’s tone is nothing more than a whisper now, like he couldn’t speak louder if he tried, and Hongjoong has a sneaking suspicion that it’s to keep from crying. “Asked if I’d given up on her yet and when I s-said no, she… she said Akemi would be better off if I did give her up.” Yunho tightens his grip on Hongjoong’s waist, arms enveloping him so deeply that Hongjoong can feel his palms squeezing all the way around his sides. If not for what Yunho said, Hongjoong’s mind might drift into unsavory territory. “Am I a bad father, Hongjoong?”

That question hurts so badly to hear. It’s like a knife in his chest that sinks deeper and deeper with each passing second. He doesn’t need time to come up with an answer though; the words are already waiting on the tip of his tongue before Yunho even finished the question.

“No. You’re the best father in the world, Yunho. You do so much for Akemi. You work long hours to provide for her, bring her to school and take her home for education, give her toys and let her do things she enjoys. You take care of her, love her, cherish her the way a father should. You don’t let her want for anything. You give her your absolute best, and that makes you a good father.”

“Yet I can’t give her a mother. I can only give her me.” Hongjoong can’t take the tone of his voice. He pulls back a bit, hands still wrapped tight around Yunho’s neck, and he tugs Yunho until they can look each other in the eye.

“There is no rulebook for parenting, no matter what the internet says or what other parents might say. No commandment says that a child must have two parents to grow up well and have a good life. And it isn’t your fault that Akemi’s mother made those decisions or walked out on both of you. You were the one who stayed, who continues to stay and fight for her still. I wish you could see through my eyes and know that you are doing well.”

“I-I don’t know what to say, Hongjoong.” Yunho’s dark brown eyes swim with unspoken emotions and gratitude, along with some other quivering feeling that swirl amongst them, but Hongjoong can’t place what it is or whether he wants to figure it out.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Hongjoong lets a smile tug at his lips. It’s an invitation for Yunho to do the same, and this time he does, gracing Hongjoong’s eyes with the sight of that precious smile. It sends his stomach spiraling as always, and he has to internally fight the blush that threatens to creep up his neck.

“I need a drink. Or thirty.”

“You can put yourself to bed with one,” Hongjoong huffs. The minimal space between their chests is suddenly making itself known, and he vaguely registers how neither of them have pulled completely away or moved back yet. Yunho’s fingers twitch at his hips.

“Can I convince you to stay for one?”

How can Hongjoong say no to that?

His response to the question is to detach himself from Yunho’s body and move back towards the couch, sending a quick look over his shoulder to see if the man will pick up on what he’s insinuating. Yunho blinks at him in confusion for a few moments. Realization only hits when Hongjoong plops down on the cushions, and he jumps into action, rushing to retrieve some glasses and the wine bottle from the fridge. The look of pure relief on Yunho’s features when he comes to join Hongjoong makes the decision to stay more than worth it.

Over the past few weeks, Hongjoong has come to realize that these moments – the ones where they drink and talk over menial things – are the only ones Yunho has to himself. It’s the only time he gets to do something for himself that isn’t work or taking care of Akemi. Hongjoong briefly wonders when the last time the man went out on his own for fun was but ultimately decides that he doesn’t want to depress himself with the thought.

“Did Akemi behave okay while I was gone?” Yunho inquires, glancing at Hongjoong out the corner of his eye as he pours the drinks.

“Like a dream really. I have no complaints.” Yunho’s cheeks bunch up a bit, and he passes Hongjoong a glass that is far too full of wine but Hongjoong drinks it regardless.

“The pictures you sent were nice to see. I was missing her when you sent them so… perfectly timed.”

Pictures? Hongjoong doesn’t recall sending pictures. Oh wait, yes he does. He sent some as soon as they got home from the ice skating rink, some that the old couple took as well as pictures of Akemi at the park and the shoes they painted together. He tried to push that out of his mind because it felt too domestic for his liking, but it also felt wrong to keep those pictures from Yunho.

“Ha, yeah, the couple who took the pictures at the rink thought I was her dad.” Fuck. Shit. Kim Hongjoong, why the hell would you say that? You aren’t even drunk yet. Hongjoong drinks at his wine with more intensity now, nervously trying to drown his panic in the red liquor in the hopes that it will help somehow. Thank goodness Yunho just smiles wider with nothing but a joyful mirth to his gaze.

“You would be a fantastic father.”

“There’s a difference between being a good teacher and a good parent,” Hongjoong mumbles into his glass.

“I know.” Yunho’s gentle gaze is turning him to jello, or maybe even better, a melted pile of ice cream on the floor. Hongjoong is internally begging for him to change the subject and move onto something else so that Yunho won’t keep staring at him in such a way. He has no such luck. “Do you wanna be a dad one day?”

“I, uh, I’m not sure. Sometimes I feel like being a teacher is more than enough but it would be nice to get to do things like go to the park or paint or something like that with a kid of my own. I barely have my life together as it is, I can’t possibly imagine trying to raise a kid on my own. T-That’s kinda why I admire your efforts so much. But I gotta… gotta find someone who will put up with me long term.”

“You don’t have anyone?” Now that question shocks Hongjoong. He has always pinned himself as the type who is very obviously single and alone, but Yunho sounds like he truly believed the opposite.

“You thought I did?”

“I just – well, I – someone like you, I just figured that you’d be taken.”

Someone like you.

Taken.

Oh dear, Hongjoong needs more wine. He lunges forward without thinking after downing the rest of his glass, refilling it to the same height that it was when Yunho initially filled it. There is no negative connotation to Yunho’s statement, and that is what scares Hongjoong more than anything else. His brain’s first reaction is to think of all the ways he could ruin this here and now, how best to run away, how to set his relationship with Yunho aflame before there is even an opportunity for it to go anywhere, and he hates himself for that but it is to protect himself from the pain.

He knows how this ends, and he would rather destroy it himself than wait for Yunho to leave him.

“Nope, not taken! Can’t keep a relationship to save my life actually.” Hongjoong silently begs that Yunho will understand that he means that he is the problem, not all the exes in his past relationships.

“Any terrible exes I need to know about?”

Why would you need to know about them? Hongjoong wants to ask but he bites his tongue and tries not to think too hard about it.

“Uh, just that all my relationships have ended in flames. Quite literally for the last one.”

“Oh? That sounds like an interesting story.” Yunho hums a little to himself, eyes darting from the ceiling back down to Hongjoong’s face.

“It’s really not… just one bad relationship after the other honestly.”

“I can relate to that quite well, I think.” A deep sigh falls from the man’s lips. He swirls his drink around and watches the liquid toss and turn in the glass for a few moments before Hongjoong finds it in him to say something.

“You’ll find someone who will do right by you.”

“Perhaps, perhaps. Maybe I’m just moaning because it’s been over a year since my last relationship. Haven’t really found the time to go out and meet new people this year.”

“Better than me,” Hongjoong mumbles against the rim of his glass before taking a long drag of the liquor. Curse him for being such a damn lightweight because he can already feel a bit of a tipsy haze slipping over his mind and clouding his thoughts. “It’s been two years since I had a stable relationship.”

“How many unstable ones did you have in-between?”

“Why do you ask?” Hongjoong can’t keep the question off his lips.

“Curiosity?”

Hongjoong waits until he has swallowed another half of his glass before mustering up the courage to answer Yunho’s question, but that proves to be a mistake because the quick intake of alcohol makes his head swim.

“Three or four undefined sexual relationships maybe? All left when I got too attached or because they found me boring outside the bedroom.” He could have done with better phrasing than that. The way he said it makes him sound like an absolute sex demon, which Hongjoong doesn’t think is appropriate to talk about or mention to Yunho, but again his reason is quickly leaving him thanks to the wine.

“They have bad taste then. You are by far one of the most interesting people I’ve met, and I mean that in the best way possible.” Yunho gnaws on his lower lip after speaking, and the corner of his mouth twitches up into a strained smile. Hongjoong mimics the smile with equal awkwardness. The action draws a throaty laugh from Yunho, a sound that reverberates in his chest and sends Hongjoong’s heart into a mad state of gay panic. “Hongjoong, are you already tipsy?”

“Hm?” In Hongjoong’s defense, the most he’s had while at Yunho’s place is one glass of wine and nothing more because he usually is careful enough to watch his alcohol intake. Maybe it’s the mixture of his poor panic-riddled heart and the drinks? Is that possible? He doesn’t even know.

“God, you’re so — you’re already tipsy, aren’t you?”

“I’m not tipsy!” He refutes in haste, but there is already a heat rising up his neck and cheeks that betrays his state of slight inebriation.

“Oh, you’re not?” Yunho tilts his head to the side, exposing the long column of his neck to the yellow light above them. Hongjoong spends too much time eyeing that exposed bit of skin. “You seem a little tipsy to me. You look a little flushed.”

“That’s not tipsiness.” Hongjoong presses his lips to the side of his glass as though it will hide his blushing cheeks. Yunho’s next laugh is an endearing one, and Hongjoong drinks it up like it’s his wine.

“Low alcohol tolerance?”

“I’m short. And petite. And small. Not a lot of space to put alcohol in my body. Besides you’re so—” Hongjoong gestures wildly with his free hand to Yunho’s form before him “—big and broad and wide so you can fit a lot more liquor in there.”

“I do have rather high alcohol tolerance, I’ll give you that. Because I’m… big?” Yunho lets his words trail off as a smirk overtakes his lips. Hongjoong’s cheeks could not get any redder than they are in this moment. The other man must find this absolutely hilarious because he releases a laugh that is far too loud and will most definitely wake Akemi up, and he realizes this a moment too late, hand flying up to cover his mouth. Hongjoong breaks into a fit of laughter with him, falling into Yunho’s space without thinking. He’s caught by gentle hands, and one of those hands moves to catch his teetering wine glass before it can tip over onto the couch. They laugh like that, together, full of each other, pushing themselves closer and closer into one another until every sense is so full of Yunho that Hongjoong thinks he could get drunk off that.

“Daddy?”

Hongjoong moves back so quickly that his vision blurs into a hazy mess. Yunho is still chuckling under his breath even as he turns to look over the back of the couch.

“Mimi baby, why are you up? Hm? Was Daddy being too loud?” Yunho places his glass on the coffee table and pushes himself to his feet, hastily rounding the couch so that he can meet Akemi by the stairs. Hongjoong feels useless as can be, but he just continues to sit where he is and watch the scene unfold before him. Yunho squats down to be eye level with the little girl and brings his hands up to comb through a few stray tangles in her hair.

“I heard you laughing with Mr. Hong!”

Yunho’s chin dips to his chest as he laughs again. He pinches the tip of Akemi’s nose between his index finger and thumb, reveling in the way the girl squeals in delight.

“Yes, well, Mr. Hong and I were laughing about a joke Daddy made.” Yunho glances over to where Hongjoong is sitting. The mirth in his eyes makes Hongjoong take another long sip of wine, but it’s not enough to drown the butterflies flying through his gut. “You should get back to bed, angel. We can’t have you going to bed too late or you’ll be sleepy in the morning!”

“Can you tuck me in, Daddy? Pretty please?”

“Of course, Mimi, I missed tucking you in at night the mostest of all while I was gone.”

“Mr. Hong tucked me in every night! And he would show me the pretty butterflies he painted and would read me a poem to help me fall asleep.” Ah, Akemi, why would you mention that? Hongjoong hides his face behind the safety of his glass and tries not to see whether Yunho turns to look at him or not.

“Hm, yes, Mr. Hong is quite the angel, isn’t he? We gotta go to bed though! Come on, up, up! If you don’t hurry your little booty up the stairs, Daddy is gonna catch the little butterfly and gobble her right up!” Yunho leans in to pinch her sides, but Akemi squeals and darts out of the way, her short and stubby legs flying up the stairs and out of his reach. Yunho moves with her, and Hongjoong can’t keep himself from laughing as he watches the scene unfold before him because it’s just so damn cute and domestic. He couldn’t be more whipped if he tried.

Against better judgment, Hongjoong decides to pour himself one more glass of wine and tells himself that it’s because the cheap store-bought wine is good enough to indulge in more (but he knows it’s to chase the feelings away instead).

“Okay, one little butterfly safely put back to bed without any issue.” Hongjoong doesn’t even hear the man come down the stairs, too busy reclining against the couch cushion and mulling over his drink like the lonely gay he is, and Yunho’s sudden presence behind him startles him more than he’d like to admit. The man stands right behind the back of the couch leaned over it so he can speak into Hongjoong’s ear with too much teasing joy to his tone. Hongjoong just about melts on the spot because holy hell the feeling of Yunho’s warm breath cascading over his ear and down the side of his neck makes him feel even hotter under the collar. He tries not to think about how if he turned his head just a little bit to the left, their lips would touch, and he truly tries not to cave in to that desire and do so. Yunho lingers there, pressed into Hongjoong’s space without moving.

“So.” He isn’t sure what possesses him to say that or where the thought is going. Yunho dips his head as he laughs, and Hongjoong swears up and down that the man accidentally brushes his lips over the bare skin of Hongjoong’s neck. He pulls away too quickly for Hongjoong to process it any further though, sliding back around to the front of the couch to sit down beside him again.

“So, two glasses is all it takes to get you drunk?”

“Tipsy.”

“You admitting it?”

“Fucking smooth, Jeong Yunho.” Oops, did Hongjoong say that out loud? He could have swore he said it to himself only, but the way Yunho is smiling at him tells him otherwise.

“I can be much smoother than that.” Now, Yunho isn’t drunk in the slightest. He doesn’t seem tipsy or affected by the alcohol at all, and he claimed to have a high alcohol tolerance so Hongjoong knows that he isn’t saying things in a drunken haze. So why does it sound like he is flirting?

That’s just how he normally is. It doesn’t mean anything. He talks like that all the time.

“Doesn’t sound convincing, but okay.” Hongjoong gives a small shrug of his shoulders before mentally punching himself in the nose. Tipsy Hongjoong is a menace who should not be allowed to speak for more than two seconds.

“Oh? Should I be convincing then?” Yunho twists to look at him. Hongjoong’s heart stops dead in his chest. One large hand stretches out to take his wine glass from his hands and sets it on the coffee table beside the bottle. He is leaning back into Hongjoong’s space again, this time pushing so close that Yunho’s hip brushes against his knee. Hongjoong could fall forward and —

“I wasn’t done with that,” he protests instead, watching the glass rather than Yunho.

“I think you’ve had enough,” Yunho murmurs back. His tone is much gentler and less teasing this time, and Hongjoong might even go so far as to say that Yunho seems to genuinely care. “I shouldn’t have let you have any if I had remembered that you would have to drive back. I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine!”

“Yeah?”

“Tired. Really tired. Like this couch is way too comfortable and I will fall asleep if you don’t stop me,” Hongjoong babbles. He’s all but forgotten about the flush on his cheeks and how foolish he must look right now. For some reason, the only thing his brain can manage is the thought of placing his hand on Yunho’s knee and leaning against his shoulder. The man shifts before he can do that though, pulling a leg up to mimic Hongjoong’s position. Oh. Now Hongjoong really could fall against his chest and just take a nice nap there—

“Maybe you should stay the night.”

“Yunho.” Why is he saying the man’s name?

“Hongjoong,” Yunho responds with a slight smile. Gonna kiss that stupid pretty mouth one day, Hongjoong thinks to himself, eyes narrowed on the man’s lips. “Can you please stay the night? I don’t think you should be driving in this state.”

Hongjoong tells himself that he needs to say no because staying in dangerous and will only make his feelings worse. Instead, he drops a hand to Yunho’s knee and smiles so wide that it hurts his cheeks.

“Okay.”

Yunho exhales a sigh of relief. His hand falls atop Hongjoong’s, the weight so heavy and warm over him that it makes him see stars. Hongjoong twists so that he can slip his fingers over Yunho’s.

“I-I can let you sleep in my bed. I know you’ve been sleeping on a couch for the past week. I’ll take the couch instead.”

“No, no! Noooo, Yunho, you don’t have to!” Hongjoong protests quickly. He flops back on the couch, forgoing the fact that he still has a grip on Yunho’s hand, and the man moves with him, his other hand flying up to steady himself on the pillow that Hongjoong lands on.

Their noses bump against each other.

Yunho doesn’t move away.

“Hi friend,” Hongjoong whispers to quell his rapidly beating heart. Friend. Friend? Hongjoong, are you serious? The man hovering above him can only laugh.

“Hi Hongjoong.” Is Yunho looking at his lips or is Hongjoong seeing things? The man seems to shake himself out of whatever is plaguing him and pulls back to a sitting position. “Are you okay to walk or should I carry you up the stairs?”

“I’m fine!” Hongjoong insists, slipping off the couch cushions and standing upright. He moves far too soon because blood rushes to his head and makes his vision go spotty in the edges. His legs turn to jello in the blink of an eye, but there goes Yunho again, hands finding Hongjoong’s hips and keeping him upright without hesitation. Hongjoong has to keep telling himself that this is what friends would do, Yunho is just doing this as a friend, he is only helping Hongjoong out because they’re friends.

“Next time, I’m watching how much you drink like a hawk.”

“Next time, I’m making sure you get drunk,” Hongjoong grumbles as Yunho loops an arm around his waist and slings one of the shorter man’s arms over his broad shoulders. The heat of his body is too comfortable. Hongjoong debates falling asleep standing up like this but Yunho squeezes his side a little tighter to keep him awake.

“Good luck with that. I’m a tough nut to crack.” A laugh slips from Hongjoong’s lips, and he turns to push up closer to Yunho, caressing his ear with the barest touch of his mouth, and he can feel the way the man quivers under the touch.

“Nut,” he whispers, stifling a giggle.

“How immature, Mr. Kim.” Yunho clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth but still manages to smile as he walks Hongjoong to the edge of the stairs. Hongjoong has to bite down hard on his tongue to keep from saying something much worse. He would preferably like to kiss Yunho on the same spot of his ear, work a path of wet kisses down to his neck and kiss him there as well, but he convinces himself not to.

Yunho drags his slow ass up the stairs with quite a bit of difficulty since Hongjoong’s drunkenness is apparently bad enough for him to struggle with even moving his legs properly. Yunho doesn’t seem to mind, nor does he complain about it either because he lugs Hongjoong until they reach the top of the stairs, pausing to pass him a smile that makes Hongjoong giggle like a schoolgirl in an embarrassing way.

“Mr. Jeong, you’re so cute,” he whispers as he lets his cheek rest against the man’s arm.

“From where I’m standing, you’re much cuter, Hongjoong.”

“Oh?” The sigh slips out without him intending for it to, but he doesn’t bother to correct himself.

“Do you need me to repeat myself?”

“Will you?” Whatever possesses Hongjoong to say that is unbeknownst to him because he had no clue where they come from or why they fall from his lips.

Yunho pauses, looks to the ceiling, then offers a small shrug of his shoulders. His voice is still hushed, no doubt because Akemi is sleeping behind one of these doors.

“Only if you want me to.”

What? Hongjoong catches that much through his dizzied state. Yunho hoists him forward, pushing his way in through one of the doorframes at the top of the stairs. It’s a bedroom, Hongjoong can see that much out the corner of his eye and in the fuzziness of his vision. Yunho pulls him forward a bit more, hands still secured around his waist, and Hongjoong feels like he’s positively floating under the touch.

“Please?” He typically isn’t one to beg or be desperate, but just this once, Hongjoong finds himself wanting to hear the words again.

“I find you quite cute, Hongjoong.” Has Yunho always been this close to him? Hongjoong’s head is no longer pressed to his arm, and Yunho has turned his chin so that he can properly look Hongjoong in the eye.

“I like that.”

“What do you like?” Yunho unravels his arm from Hongjoong’s shoulders, shifting the man so that he can set him down on the edge of the bed. Hongjoong lets him, eyes wide and glassy as he looks up at Yunho.

You.

“You calling me cute,” Hongjoong slurs. A lopsided smile takes over his lips. “Friends can call each other cute, right?”

“…Sure.” If Yunho hesitates in his answer, Hongjoong doesn’t have enough brainpower to process it.

“Cute,” Hongjoong coos moreso to himself than to the man beside him. “You’re so cute, Yunho.”

He can’t help himself any longer. He grabs for Yunho and plants a hand on either side of his face, pulling his head towards his own. He tugs with a bit too much force though because Yunho’s forehead smacks hard on his and knocks Hongjoong back. Yunho is forced to throw his hands down on either side of Hongjoong’s body to stabilize himself before fully crushing the shorter man.

“Ah, I’m such a mess. I’m a tipsy mess. A mess, Yunho, an absolute mess,” he mutters, eyes searching the other man’s face for a sign of discomfort. He finds nothing except a slight red tinge to Yunho’s face and drags his thumbs over the balls of the man’s cheeks.

“An adorable one nonetheless.”

Hongjoong finds himself stretching his neck up a bit. Yunho’s tongue darts out to drag over his lower him, eyes flitting from Hongjoong’s down to his lips and back up again. The visual clue is there, Hongjoong sees it, it’s impossible to miss even while drunk. Yunho’s next words only confirm his suspicions.

“I-I… Hongjoong, I – I want to kiss you b-but—”

“Do it,” Hongjoong blurts before he can stop himself.

“You’re drunk, Hongjoong. I won’t – I won’t take advantage of you like this, not while you’re drunk.”

“I want you to kiss me.”

“Maybe when you’re sober,” Yunho whispers. He hoists Hongjoong further up on the bed with such little effort that Hongjoong’s heart soars in his chest. “Do you want to change clothes?”

“Don’t have anything to wear,” Hongjoong grumbles back. The sudden change in topic hurts him more than he’d like to admit, and the thought of having Yunho so close yet so far away makes him want to sob.

“I have clothes.” The words are stilted and cut short like Yunho wants to say more but can’t bring himself to do it. Hongjoong refuses to move or react. Yunho takes it as an unspoken agreement and slips off the bed to stand up straight. “Let’s get you changed, Hongjoong. I’ll set out some clothes for you.”

When Yunho’s warmth disappears from his side, Hongjoong stretches a hand out after his back but ultimately lets it fall to his side uselessly. He can only watch on with tired eyes, growing more tired by the second as Yunho pulls a shirt and pair of pants out of his dresser. Hongjoong forces himself to sit up and takes the clothes from Yunho’s hands.

“Do you need help changing? I can—”

“I got it, I got it,” Hongjoong interrupts with a small wave of his hand.

“I’ll step into the bathroom then.” Yunho grins a bit before disappearing into said room so Hongjoong can stumble around and change.

“Yunho!” Hongjoong calls out as he’s switching out shirts. “Are you still there?”

“Do you need help?”

“Hm, no, no. Just checking to see if you’re still there!”

The sound of a huffed out laugh echoes through the door.

“I’m still here, Hongjoong.”

“I’m done changing!” It’s a half-truth, but it’s technically a full truth for Hongjoong because he only sleeps in a shirt regardless. He doesn’t bother putting the pants Yunho gave him on mostly thanks to the ridiculous length of them but also because Hongjoong never sleeps with pants on so it seems pointless. He throws himself back on the bed, rolling over to one side of the overly sized mattress as Yunho comes back into the bedroom.

“I – oh, um, Hongjoong, you… pants?” Yunho motions to his all too bare legs.

“Don’t sleep in them,” he mutters back, words still slurring a bit.

“Fair enough, uh, I suppose.” Maybe Yunho’s gaze is lingering a bit too long on the exposed skin of Hongjoong’s thighs, just at the midway point where Yunho’s shirt stops and skin begins. Yunho jerks his head to look in the opposite direction. “If you need anything, just let me know. I’ll be – be downstairs, yeah.”

Yunho doesn’t leave right away. He lingers by the bed, long fingers tracing over the edge of the mattress and eyes staring holes into the side of Hongjoong’s head.

“Can you… would you stay, Yunho?” Hongjoong dares to murmur. He’s too afraid to look Yunho in the eye, too scared of what he might see there (read – rejection). Yunho’s jaw stutters.

“I want to b-but that would be inappropriate of me,” Yunho whispers back. Hongjoong isn’t sure what he wants. He extended an invitation not once but twice, all that’s left is for Yunho to quit stalling and talking himself out of it. He just needs to commit, which is a cruel irony of Hongjoong to say because he can’t commit to even having feelings for the man as it is. Still, Hongjoong can’t be the only one pulling if Yunho isn’t going to move with him.

“Goodnight then, Yunho,” he says through a slightly bitten back tone that conceals his true feelings.

“G-Goodnight, Hongjoong. I hope you – please sleep well.”

Hongjoong is passed out under the sheets before Yunho can even get out the door. The only dreams that plague him that night are the thoughts of what might have happened if they spent the night crammed into each other’s space with little regard for what lines they were crossing or what boundaries they skipping over in Hongjoong’s drunken rush. Every dream he has ends in a nightmare.

…

In the week that has passed since Hongjoong’s drunken night at Yunho’s house, Wooyoung has warned him about getting too attached to the man at least three times. Hongjoong wishes he could say that he doesn’t remember a thing from that night but he remembers it all. The lingering touches, the laughs exchanged in breaths that mingled together, the near kisses, and most of all the way Yunho was so close within Hongjoong’s reach yet so far away at the same time.

“Maybe you aren’t ready for this.”

“For what, Wooyoung?”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all. I’ve seen enough people hurt you, and I do my best to help you recover every time, but I’m always scared that there’s gonna be one worse than the rest. One I can’t fix.”

Yunho is making conversation with Akemi on his right. Hongjoong can barely touch his food thanks to the uneasy feeling settling in his stomach, but he forces some food down just so that Yunho isn’t offended. He can’t quit thinking about that damn conversation with Wooyoung, the latest one that had the most lasting impact on his damn overthinking brain.

“Do you want this, Hongjoong?”

“He doesn’t.”

“How do you know that? You said that he literally wanted to kiss you.”

“I was drunk. Probably only said that because of the way I was acting.”

Maybe Hongjoong can move back home and find a job there. Or he can find a different school so he doesn’t have to see Yunho and his stupidly perfect face anymore.

“Are you tired, Mimi?” Hongjoong pulls his focus back to the scene before him, trying to shake the memories of that conversation out of his mind. Akemi nods her little head in agreement, and Yunho reaches out to comb his hand through her hair. “Okay, butterfly, run upstairs and brush your teeth. I’ll be right there.”

“Can Mr. Hong come tuck me in please?”

Hongjoong’s eyes widen a bit at that. Yunho twists to look at him, lips parted a bit in disbelief, then he returns to smiling at Akemi.

“We’ll see, angel. Head upstairs first.”

Akemi gets up from her seat with a loud giggle and darts around the table within seconds, gone from sight before Hongjoong can even blink. Yunho stands as well, albeit much slower, gathering his plate and Akemi’s from the table to head into the kitchen. Hongjoong follows suit with his own plate. His gaze finds the back of Yunho’s head.

“Do you want me to tuck her in?” He asks once Yunho sets his plates in the sink.

“Would you please? She will probably refuse to sleep unless you do it.”

Hongjoong replies with a smile and a nod, placing his dish on the counter and pulling away to follow Akemi up the stairs. Maybe it’s because he was already too deep in his thoughts but the act of tucking Yunho’s daughter in and putting her to bed before they indulge in some wine feels grossly domestic. It’s funny how much he hates the thought of it because this is what he’s always wanted: a family to come home to, spend time with, and be loved by. If it’s what he’s always wanted, why is his mind telling him to run away?

Akemi is crawling into bed when Hongjoong arrives in the doorway.

“Mr. Hong, Mr. Hong! Do you have a new poem for me?”

“Where did we leave off last time, little butterfly?” Hongjoong hums, stepping further into the room as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“You read one about stars and wasting time!” Akemi tugs her sheets up to her chin, bright eyes blinking at Hongjoong with endless wonder, and he grins at her enthusiasm.

“Hm, I have one about love but it’s a bit sappy.” Hongjoong squats beside her mattress and rests his elbows on the edge. Akemi twists to rest on her side.

“I wanna hear it!”

“Okay, okay, close your eyes and listen closely. This is a word we use to plug holes with. It's the right size for those warm blanks in speech, for those red heart-shaped vacancies on the page that look nothing like real hearts. Add lace and you can sell it. We insert it also in the one empty space on the printed form that comes with no instructions. There are whole magazines with not much in them but the word love, you can rub it all over your body and you can cook with it too. How do we know it isn't what goes on at the cool debaucheries of slugs under damp pieces of cardboard? As for the weed-seedlings nosing their tough snouts up among the lettuces, they shout it. Love, love, sing the soldiers, raising their glittering knives in salute. Then there's the two of us. This word is far too short for us, it has only four letters, too sparse to fill those deep bare vacuums between the stars that press on us with their deafness. It's not love we don't wish to fall into, but that fear. This word is not enough but it will have to do. It's a single vowel in this metallic silence, a mouth that says ‘oh’ again and again in wonder and pain, a breath, a finger grip on a cliffside. You can hold on or let go.” Hongjoong concludes with a small sigh, thumb dragging over his screen and blinking down at the typed words with a painful burn in his chest. Akemi’s eyes are squeezed shut, and he thinks the girl is asleep so he slowly gets back up and stands straight again. Before he moves to leave the room, he bends over Akemi’s bed and presses a soft kiss to the girl’s head.

“Is that how you and Daddy feel about each other?” Hongjoong’s heart almost stops dead in his chest. He chokes on air. What does Akemi know about love? About their feelings? About Hongjoong’s feelings?

“Go to sleep, little butterfly,” he murmurs before retreating for good, this time with heart heavier than lead.

Love. Hongjoong doesn’t know if he’s ever been in love. He hasn’t stopped to wonder if he has or not, hasn’t bothered putting certain labels on his past relationships out of fear of greater heartbreak.

He runs into something on his way out of the room, arms swinging up to lessen the blow only for his palms to land on Yunho’s chest as he hits the man. A small curse slips past his lips but it’s thankfully spoken too quietly for Akemi to stir in her bed. Yunho’s expression is unreadable in the darkness. Hongjoong can’t move his hands away from Yunho, and the man doesn’t ask him to, merely placing his hands over Hongjoong’s. He pulls the shorter man out of the room like that, and once they’re fully in the hallway, Yunho reaches around his shoulder to shut the door to Akemi’s room.

“This word is not enough but it will have to do,” Yunho murmurs. “What poem is that from?”

“Variations On The Word Love by Margaret Atwood.”

Yunho sinks his teeth into his lower lip. So close. Hongjoong tries to pull his hands away but Yunho keeps him in place, slowly guiding him to the stairs with little effort.

“We’ll fall down the stairs, Yunho.”

This word is far too short for us, it has only four letters, too sparse to fill those deep bare vacuums between the stars that press on us with their deafness.

“Right.”

“Let’s go downstairs,” Yunho mutters, finally releasing Hongjoong so that he can walk on his own. So far away.

It's not love we don't wish to fall into, but that fear.

Hongjoong’s legs are wobbling on his way down the stairs. This intimacy is foreign. It feels too much like a dance, one that only Yunho and Hongjoong are aware of and only they know the steps to, and Hongjoong can’t recall a time when he ever danced around a person for so long. People take what they want from him and leave him. That’s what Hongjoong is used to, and that’s what he knows how to handle after all this time.

Why is Yunho different?

It's a single vowel in this metallic silence, a mouth that says ‘oh’ again and again in wonder and pain, a breath, a finger grip on a cliffside.

They find their way to the couch where Yunho already has wine out on the coffee table, their unfinished glasses from dinner there as well. Hongjoong sinks to the cushions with a slight exhale of breath. He reaches for the wine immediately like the liquor is an extension of his body.

You can hold on or let go.

Hongjoong is afraid more than anything else that these feelings will ruin him forever, that Yunho will ruin everyone for him because he just seems too perfect. They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, slotted in each other’s space even as Yunho sinks down beside Hongjoong and their thighs brush together. Hongjoong wants to let go, to see this fail if only to prove that he was right about it all along. His heart is holding onto Yunho like he’s a lifeline.

“I wouldn’t expect you to read love poems, Hongjoong,” Yunho hums before taking a long drag of wine. “Are you secretly a hopeless romantic?”

“I’m not even sure I can make myself believe in love at this point.”

“How badly have you been hurt in the past? To think like that?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I used to think like that myself. Right after Akemi’s mother… after I found out. There was a short period of time where I knew she was cheating but couldn’t bring myself to say anything. I wanted to try to make things work for Akemi b-because I wanted so badly to give her two parents. I wanted to do everything in my power to make sure that she could have both of us growing up and that she wouldn’t be left with just one of us. Guess I failed her the minute her mother decided to walk out.”

“Yunho,” Hongjoong starts, voice hitching a bit in his throat.

“I’m not — I don’t say this to have your pity. I don’t want that. I guess – part of me wants to open up to you because I care about you but also because I can’t help myself around you. Maybe I’m just a fool though.”

“No, Yunho, I—” Hongjoong can’t finish the thought. Why can’t he give? Yunho sits there and pours his soul into every word, bares the most painful parts of himself without hesitation, and Hongjoong can do nothing but whine about how shitty his life is. “I’m the fool,” he whispers after some time has passed. “I’m scared. My last – my last relationship was s-so perfect up until the end, and I’m so afraid that it will happen again. I’m terrified of letting myself g-go enough to let someone in that way.”

“It’s okay to be afraid, Hongjoong. No one is asking you to stop being afraid. Even I’m still fearful of what could happen in the future or if I try again.”

“I guess it’s because I’m used to the pain of heartbreak.”

“That doesn’t mean it will always be that way though,” Yunho whispers, and Hongjoong dares to make eye contact with the man. The stare doesn’t hold for long though because Yunho moves to pour himself another glass of wine, and Hongjoong watches the liquid pour into the glass in silence. Yunho doesn’t speak again until he’s filled his glass and taken a lingering sip from it. “You deserve a chance at happiness too, Hongjoong.”

His response comes in the form of a small choking sound as he drinks too quickly from his wine and inhales the liquor on accident. He coughs his way through it, waving Yunho off when the man leans across the couch in a fit of worry, but Hongjoong really can’t handle him being any closer than he is.

“I-I am happy,” he finally manages to say after clearing his throat.

“Alone?”

“I’m fine on my own.”

Why seek something that could hurt you when you’re perfectly fine on your own?

Hongjoong finds himself asking the question again, though this time he can come up with many more answers than he is willing to admit.

“Every time I look at you, it’s like seeing a reflection of myself. I can see how lonely you are behind that mask you wear.”

“I have friends.” He sounds defensive, and it’s because he most definitely is getting defensive.

“You know that’s not what I mean, Hongjoong.”

“I don’t need to risk being hurt again,” he counters, pushing a bit of vehemence into his tone.

“By that logic, I don’t either but here I am, trying to rectify all the emotions in my body and make sense of them somehow. No matter how many times I’ve been hurt or how badly I’ve been hurt, I still want to keep trying because I truly believe I can get it right one day.”

Why does Yunho have to be right? Why can’t he just be an asshole and break Hongjoong’s heart that way? It hurts knowing that Hongjoong is gonna fuck this up somehow, these lingering feelings have tumbled out of control and he can’t pull them back into his stone-cold heart any longer. A second later, his vision begins to blur. He can’t pinpoint why or what’s going on until Yunho reaches a hand out and places it atop Hongjoong’s knee. Fingers splay over his clothed skin, swamping Hongjoong in the warmth of the touch, and he can’t help but notice how small and fragile he looks under Yunho’s grasp. Something wet falls atop one of Yunho’s fingers, and it’s not red so it can’t possibly be wine but Hongjoong can’t figure out what — oh. He’s crying.

“Hongjoong…”

He must look absolutely pathetic sitting here on Yunho’s couch, fat tears rolling over the balls of his cheeks with an unfinished glass of wine in his hands, but Yunho doesn’t chastise him or ridicule him in the slightest. He merely moves his free hand to take the glass from Hongjoong’s hands, placing it on the coffee table beside his own that somehow ended up over there without a word, and when he reaches back towards the shorter man, he catches Hongjoong’s face in his hands. Yunho swipes his thumbs over the balls of his cheeks with such gentle and caring fingers that Hongjoong can only cry harder because fuck, he’s touch-starved and even a hand on the knee sent him spiraling. Yunho keeps catching each tear that falls without complaint, hands never leaving Hongjoong for a second, and it causes a painful burn to blossom in his chest, one that grows and festers like a wound until it’s all he can feel.

This kind of weakness isn’t one he’s used to. Hongjoong doesn’t let the cracks show in front of other people like Wooyoung or San so they won’t worry about him not being okay, but Yunho just barged in and knocked those brick walls around Hongjoong down as though they were nothing. How does he do it? This damn blundering giant who has stars in his eyes and a laugh so bright that Hongjoong could gladly listen to it for the rest of his life is gonna ruin him forever. He won’t be able to look at anyone if they aren’t Yunho. Hongjoong wants to trust that Yunho will be better to him than all his exes were, but he can’t shake the fear gnawing away at his bones or the nagging sense of inadequacy when he looks in the mirror. Isn’t it too much? Can’t he just have this one nice thing?

Hongjoong wants so badly to throw all caution to the wind and close the distance between him and Yunho right now, kiss the man right on the mouth and tell him how he feels, but all he can do is mumble broken apologies in a choked tone.

“Don’t apologize, Hongjoong,” Yunho whispers back. The way he’s cradling Hongjoong’s face feels like too much, too intimate and too precious, something he shouldn’t allow himself to have, so he reaches up to push Yunho’s hands away from him like the touch is offensive. Hongjoong is good at only one thing and that’s ruining the good he has in his life.

“I – I should g-go. I need t-to go.” He barely remembers to place the spare key on the table beside his glass of wine as he stands up. Yunho moves with him. Hongjoong just wishes that he would stop being so damn considerate and kind and perfect. Stop being everything Hongjoong wants and needs in his life because it hurts too much. He doesn’t even get around the coffee table before Yunho snatches him by the wrist.

“I don’t want you driving in this state, Hongjoong. It’s not safe,” Yunho pleas. Anger bubbles up in Hongjoong’s gut. He’s been in this position before. He has stood in the center of a room with tears running down his cheeks and begged for someone to make him stay. No one ever did. His exes never stopped him or held onto him or asked him not to go.

“Why does it matter?” He spits back in response, and Yunho’s face blurs before him because of the tears. That question seems to catch Yunho off-guard. Hongjoong takes it as an opportunity to escape, slipping his wrist free of Yunho’s grasp and making for the door while he can, but Yunho snaps back to reality too quickly. He’s there to stop Hongjoong at the door; his hand slams against the wood just as Hongjoong turns the handle and cracks it open, pushing it back shut in an instant.

“It matters because I… it’s not safe. I can’t let you go like this in good conscience.”

“So this is about your conscience then?” Reason has left Hongjoong’s body, and at this point, his self-destructive nature has taken the wheel and is ready to drive him off a cliff. Hongjoong just might let it.

“No, I – Hongjoong, please. I c-care about you. I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want you to go out there and be alone.” Yunho’s arm stays planted against the door as though he’s afraid that Hongjoong might try to leave again.

“Can’t you be a fucking terrible person for one second?”

“I don’t know what you want me to do, Hongjoong, but I’m here for you. Please, just stay. I need you to stay, and maybe it’s selfish, yeah. Maybe I’m thinking too much about my own feelings and reading into things too much. But I know that you don’t want to be alone right now.”

“What I want is for you to be like every other person in my life and leave me when I need you most because that hurts less in the long run!”

Yunho’s fingers curl against the door until they’re tucked into a tight fist. His jaw stutters as he tries to come up with some sort of reply, one that will make Hongjoong feel better no doubt, but all Hongjoong wants is to run away. He’s nearing the edge of this cliff and it won’t be long until he tumbles over it, entering a freefall that will result in a dragging sense of pain only to land on another cliff. It’s a sick cycle Hongjoong lives in, but it’s what he’s used to and it’s what he knows how to handle.

“I don’t know what you’ve had to suffer in the past, Hongjoong, or what your past relationships have put you through. I’m not asking for you to tell me either. I just want to give you what you deserve now. You said you had friends so what does that make us? Am I not your friend too? Can you not rely on me too? I want to be close to you, but if that isn’t what you want from me, just say the word and I’ll back off.” The words roll off Hongjoong’s shoulders like they’re nothing, only one having a lasting effect on him in the heat of the moment.

Friend.

The word is laughable on his tongue, and he releases a cruel and sadistic sound that hurts his throat.

Of course. Hongjoong should have known. He told himself this would happen, he warned himself, he looked himself in the eye and said that this was the only outcome out of all of this. So why does it hurt so fucking much? Why did he give himself baseless hopes and wishes to cling to? How could he be so stupid? He drew the line himself. He defined their relationship as a friendship and nothing more. That was what he said would come out of this, and he told Yunho that that’s what they would be. He did this to himself.

If Yunho notices the way tears are flowing harder than before, he doesn’t comment, and this time he doesn’t move to wipe them away either. Hongjoong lifts a shaky and angry hand to furiously brush them off his flushed cheeks.

“I don’t want you to be my friend.” He tries so hard to push rage into the words, some sort of verbal poison that will put Yunho off forever so Hongjoong can just get over himself, but it only comes out broken and weak, like Hongjoong has zero confidence in what he’s saying because he truly doesn’t.

“Then what do you want me to be?”

Why can’t Yunho get it through his thick skull? Why doesn’t he understand what Hongjoong is trying to say?

He pushes as much strength as he can muster into his arms, hands shoving Yunho out of his personal space. Even though Hongjoong doesn’t hit him hard, Yunho’s body moves as though he does, and the man stumbles back on shaky feet. It’s enough to give him the getaway he wants so badly, but Hongjoong just has to drive the knife in Yunho’s chest a little bit deeper before leaving for good.

“I want you to be nothing to me.”

…

Hongjoong has decided that November 7th is the worst day of the year for no reason other than that it is his birthday. He has never enjoyed his birthday; it’s always an overdone celebration that makes him feel worse about getting older, and turning twenty-seven is no different. There is a lot of self-loathing tied to his birthdays every year, but that still never stops Wooyoung or San from trying to do the absolute most for him regardless. Hongjoong woke up to a bouquet of flowers and two small wrapped presents on his counter and Wooyoung on his couch. The gifts were from Seonghwa and Yeosang apparently, small things they sent since they couldn’t be there to celebrate with Hongjoong in person, and Hongjoong is grateful for them even thinking of him today. Wooyoung, on the other hand, is on thin ice.

This year, Wooyoung decided that it would be smart to do something bigger and better than all Hongjoong’s previous birthdays, which means throwing him a party. And before Hongjoong could even say no, Wooyoung hit him with the ‘I already bought all the stuff, San is at home decorating the house, your ass is coming over for drinks whether you like it or not’, so Hongjoong found himself roped into the mess without getting to a say in the matter. Maybe secretly Hongjoong appreciates it though, because he has been doing a lot of wallowing in his miserable feelings and self-loathing since that night at Yunho’s house.

It has been eleven days, not that Hongjoong is keeping track or anything stupid like that, but he has made note of how Yunho won’t look at him when he picks Akemi up from school. They haven’t met for dinner even once in the past two weeks, they haven’t spoken even a word to each other, and Akemi is the only thread hanging between them at the moment. Hongjoong is counting down the days to the end of the school year so the miserable awkwardness can be dispelled and he can move on with his life without having to see Yunho in it. He isn’t necessarily upset at Yunho anymore; it is moreso a matter of Hongjoong hating himself for doing the same shit he always does and ruining something perfectly good and wonderful. San didn’t help either with the long-winded lecture he threw Hongjoong’s way after six days of moping around by himself.

“Just admit that you fucked up. That will help you move on faster and get over these feelings. No one is asking you to be miserable, Joong. No one thinks you deserve to feel that way either, because you don’t. You are the only one making yourself feel that way, and it isn’t fair to yourself. I hate watching you go through this as much as Wooyoung does, but I won’t sit around and watch you hurt yourself without saying anything.”

He went on for a lot longer than that, but Hongjoong has selective memory and that is the only part that really stood out in his mind. Wooyoung made him swear that he wouldn’t think about that today, and Hongjoong is really trying his best not to. Part of him hoped to wake up to a happy birthday text from Yunho even though he knows that’s the last thing he deserves.

“No one else is coming, right?” Hongjoong mumbles from the passenger seat, glancing over to where Wooyoung sits in the driver’s one with one hand on the wheel and the other fiddling with the radio dial.

“That’s a surprise, shush.”

“Wooyoung–”

“You know we wouldn’t bring anyone you hate, right? Just trust us!”

But what about anyone who hates me? Hongjoong wants to ask, mind only envisioning one tall brunette with round cheeks and a stupidly adorable dorky smile. His gut churns with unspoken anxiety as Wooyoung pulls into the driveway at his and San’s shared house. It’s a somewhat recent development for the two of them — moving in together, that is — but Hongjoong thinks the pair will be stuck at the hip forever, so it wasn’t a surprise to him when they dragged him out for house shopping with them. The exterior of the house is blessedly plain when they reach the door, and Hongjoong is glad that Wooyoung didn’t decide to plaster his name in gold across the front of the building on a banner or something drastic like that.

His hopes are shot the moment he steps through the door because rather than seeing San, all he can see are broad shoulders, a brown mop of hair, and lengthy legs standing in the middle of their living room with his back turned on Hongjoong.

He nearly turns on his heel and walks out the door right then and there because how the fuck did Wooyoung manage to get Yunho to come and why the fuck did Yunho agree to be here? Surely he didn’t know this was for Hongjoong. Maybe he somehow knows Wooyoung and San through something else. Even so, how did they convince him to come? This makes no sense, and Hongjoong is reeling so much that he can’t even try to make it make even a sliver of sense. All his brain can do is go: what the fuck Choi San, what the fuck Jung Wooyoung, what the fuck Jeong Yunho.

“We were gonna invite Akemi too, but adult drinks are involved so that was out of the question,” Wooyoung whispers, leaning in close to speak into the shell of Hongjoong’s ear. “Please don’t be too mad at us. I know it’s your birthday, and we should’ve asked to make sure about this beforehand, but we knew you would probably say no because you were dead set on him hating you. Besides, he’s the one who reached out to me and asked if there was anything he could do. Found me through Instagram and saw all the pictures we’ve got together, so he messaged me and asked after you. He… Hongjoong, he won’t shut up about how much he’s worried about you. I thought I was bad with San, but damn, this man has me beat.”

San has Yunho distracted enough to where the man doesn’t notice that he and Wooyoung have come in yet, so Hongjoong takes the opportunity to reel on the man by his side and punch him in the arm. Wooyoung winces and releases an all too loud scream that betrays their presence in the house.

“Ow, you bitch!”

“Yep, there they are!” San chirps, dimples flashing in Yunho’s direction, and the man finally turns to face the door. Hongjoong is fully prepared for hell to break loose when their gazes meet. There’s nothing he can do to prepare himself for it except hold onto his breath like it’s a lifeline and wait for Yunho to spew angry words and hatred his way. It never comes. Wooyoung slips away from his side, moving to join San at the other end of the entryway, and Yunho walks forward to replace his presence.

“Um, happy birthday,” Yunho says, tone so quiet that Hongjoong almost doesn’t pick up a single word. The taller man looks nervous beyond belief, and his gaze flits away from Hongjoong’s after a single second of eye contact, slipping down to the floor instead.

“Who’s watching Akemi?” He asks without a breath of hesitation. Yunho huffs out a small laugh.

“My parents. They flew in yesterday to visit us, so I figured I could escape for at least part of the night.”

Who knows when the last time Yunho got to see his parents was yet he still decided to come to a stranger’s house for Hongjoong? Even after what Hongjoong said to him?

“You… I-I – why did you come?”

“I selfishly wanted to see you on your birthday?”

“But what I said to you and – and how I treated you… I don’t understand.”

Yunho presses his lips into a smile.

“Don’t understand what? Why I’m here? I’d hoped the gesture would be enough to convey my feelings.”

“You,” Hongjoong exhales, but that’s all he can get out.

“I hope you won’t be too mad that I brought you a gift.”

“Just you being here is enough.” Hongjoong huffs out a laugh as the corners of his eyes begin to burn with unshed tears. Shaky hands find Yunho’s collar and twist around his shoulders until Hongjoong can properly pull him into a hug. Yunho drapes his arms around Hongjoong’s waist without a drop of hesitation, pulling the shorter man in until all their senses are full of each other. “Everything about you is enough, Yunho.”

Yunho drops his face into the crook of Hongjoong’s neck, and the younger is almost definitely crying now, tears wetting Hongjoong’s skin as he clings to the man tighter.

“I’m so sorry for making you feel like you aren’t enough,” Hongjoong murmurs against the shell of the man’s ear. He runs a hand through Yunho’s hair, scraping blunt painted nails over his scalp with no particular rhythm. “Y-You’re so much more — so much more than enough.”

“Why are you making me cry on your birthday?” Yunho laughs, words reverberating against his skin, and the butterflies in Hongjoong’s stomach flutter dangerously.

“Why are you crying on my birthday?”

“Aside from Akemi, you’re one of the only good things I have in my life. I was scared I was going to lose you by being careless. I don’t – I don’t want to be careless with you, Hongjoong. I wanted to follow you out that door but couldn’t bring myself to.”

I want you. I like you. I need you. I love you. Hongjoong is thinking of all the things he could say, and the confidence is there, the willpower to say them is boiling over in his gut. San and Wooyoung watch from the edge of the living room with bitten-back smiles and a knowing gleam to their eyes. Even if they can’t hear the conversation, Hongjoong doesn’t doubt that they’ve stood in the same position and whispered confessions and promises and apologies to each other like this too. Instead of those confessions, Hongjoong mutters something else.

“I don’t want you to be nothing.”

“I spent too long hoping you would say that.” Yunho pulls his head up from Hongjoong’s neck and furiously blinks his tears away as he looks the shorter man in the eye.

“What else did you hope I would say?”

“I couldn’t bring myself to ask for anything more than that.”

Hongjoong presses a hand to Yunho’s cheek, collecting the tears staining his skin and pushing them away with the pads of his thumb.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I hope not. I’d like to keep you around for as long as possible.”

It’s not a confession for either of them. They aren’t admitting to anything special or telling each other how they feel or if they even feel the same way about each other. Maybe there are romantic emotions behind the words or maybe not; Hongjoong doesn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth and call anything too early. For now, he’s content with this. This admission of needing each other and wanting to be around each other. And when Hongjoong is ready, he will dissolve the line of friendship that he drew in the sand and be honest about how he feels. This is already more than he could have hoped for given what he said and how vehemently he tried to destroy their relationship.

“Um, as cute as you guys are, can you hurry it up so we can open presents?” Wooyoung croons from the other side of the room, and Hongjoong holds back the urge to roll his eyes. “And Yunho is not a present so please for the sake of my innocence don’t do anything explicit opening up over there!”

“You whore!” Hongjoong scoffs, glancing around Yunho’s shoulder to scowl at his friend. Wooyoung simply beams back at him before making a crude gesture with his hand and giving him a thumbs up. Still, they both heed his words and untangle their arms from each other to follow the other two further into the living room while Wooyoung prattles on about the new furniture he’s planning on getting for the house to a mildly interested Yunho. San stops beside Hongjoong, careening an elbow into his side and flashing his dimples. “Was this your idea?”

“Maybe? You should be glad I didn’t decide to lock the two of you in a room so you could talk shit through.” San clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Progress is progress, I suppose, so I can’t be too mad at the fact that you two literally look at each other with hearts in your eyes yet still refuse to confess.”

“Yeah, well, took you eight months to grow the balls to ask Wooyoung out.”

“Part of that was your fault. He’s your best friend before he’s my boyfriend, and I thought you would kill me if I so much as looked at him the wrong way.”

“Still might,” Hongjoong grumbles before joining the aforementioned man on the couch. Wooyoung scrambles to the side just before he sits down, making space between him and Yunho for Hongjoong to sit.

“Okay, me first, me first!” Wooyoung insists as he passes an all too large package Hongjoong’s way with his trademark toothy smile. Hongjoong least favorite part about birthdays is the awkwardness that comes with opening presents because he is the type who needs to give in return for receiving something. And if he’s being honest, he is most nervous about whatever Yunho brought him, but he tries to distract himself with Wooyoung and San’s gifts first.

Wooyoung gets him a new jean jacket along with a set of paints that Hongjoong had been eyeing for a while, adding that he got himself a jacket as well so that they could reform the clothes together as a friend project. Hongjoong pokes fun at him for the action and accuses him of only getting Hongjoong something because Wooyoung wanted it for himself at first. Wooyoung plays along with a scrunched nose, faking offense to mess with Hongjoong some more before San interrupts to pass another gift his way. Hongjoong unwraps a new pair of shoes from the man who insists they’ll add at least two inches to Hongjoong’s height just from the insoles, and he nearly earns a boot in the face for that comment but Hongjoong holds back only because Yunho is present.

And speaking of Yunho, that’s how Hongjoong finds himself suddenly looking him in the eye as the man extends a delicately wrapped box with a small blue bow on top of it.

“I wasn’t too sure what to get you but… I hope you’ll like it,” Yunho says just before biting his lip so hard that it hurts to look at. Hongjoong exhales a nervous laugh, fingers nearly shaking as he pulls the wrapping paper away and reveals the box underneath. He knows from experience that it must be jewelry of some sort, but even thinking about it can’t prepare him for what’s inside.

“Y-Yunho,” he stammers, eyes flitting between the gift and the man’s face in absolute disbelief. It’s something small and delicate, a thing that might be insignificant upon first glance or to anyone other than Yunho and Hongjoong themselves, but Hongjoong knows the second he sees it how special and precious the thought behind it is.

“Her mother used to call her that.”

“He would show me the pretty butterflies he painted and would read me a poem to help me fall asleep.”

“Okay, one little butterfly safely put back to bed without any issue.”

On a small bed of white foam there sits a little blue butterfly. It’s attached to a silver chain at the tip of one of the wings, tilted at a slight angle in the box, and Hongjoong tilts his head to match it as he stares down.

“We should get the drinks,” San cuts in, shaking Hongjoong out of his stunned reverie.

“Okay, babe. Have fun with that!”

“No, we, Wooyoung, we should get the drinks.”

“Huh? Why we? Oh! Oh. Oh my god, yes, we should definitely get the drinks. Excuse us for a second, we’ll be right back!” Wooyoung bolts from his spot on the couch, followed quickly by San, and all of a sudden, it’s just Hongjoong and Yunho sitting in the living room. Endless amounts of empty space around them yet only mere centimeters separating their thighs from touching.

“A butterfly,” Hongjoong whispers at last, and he finally dares to look back up at Yunho. Yunho doesn’t look back at him though; he has his head hung a bit, fingers awkwardly and nervously clasped around something on his neck. Hongjoong waits as patiently as he can for the man to react in some way, and once again his heart threatens to stop in his chest. Yunho unfolds his fingers to reveal an identical silver chain with a blue butterfly pendant placed in the exact same position as the one Hongjoong holds in his hand.

“It’s a, um, it’s a custom piece. The one I have, I mean. I got it shortly after Akemi’s mother and I officially split and she moved out. I contacted the jeweler who made it for me and asked if he could make another and he said absolutely, so… yeah.” Custom piece. Identical. Hongjoong might pass out actually. Yunho continues after a quick lick of his lips. “You’ve always — you always act like a father to Akemi even though no one expects you to or demands that of you. You do it willingly and happily, and I never thought I would meet a person like you in a million years. I don’t know how to show my gratitude for that but I thought that out of everyone in my life, you deserve this the most.”

A key to Yunho’s heart, his pride and joy, and an invitation. To what exactly, Hongjoong doesn’t think he could figure that out right now, but he indulges in himself a bit, turning around on the couch so his back is now to Yunho. With a quick flick of his wrist, he extends the box with the necklace behind him, giving Yunho a silent plea to put the necklace on for him. Yunho takes it in stride and pulls the box from Hongjoong’s hand. Their fingers brush for half a second, but both chase the feeling for another half-second before Yunho dips his chin with a chuckle.

The metal of the chain and pendant is cold against his skin, slipping over his neck and under the collar of his shirt before he can stop it. Hongjoong reaches up to touch the jewelry if only to confirm that it’s real, this is real, Yunho is real.

Yunho does his best not to touch the back of Hongjoong’s neck, and the older of the two is glad for it because he isn’t sure if his heart can handle much more of this.

“There,” Yunho whispers once the clasp sits attached on Hongjoong’s skin.

“Thank you,” Hongjoong says as he turns to face Yunho once more. His hand still sits atop the pendant, and he isn’t sure he could move it if he wanted to with how touched he is by the gesture of the necklace.

“You don’t need to thank me.”

A breath of silence. Hongjoong feels like Yunho is the only person in the universe at that moment, the only other human being who knows him and understands him in ways even Hongjoong doesn’t himself.

“I want to.”

“Then I suppose I can’t stop you if it’s what you want.” Yunho’s eyes are twinkling under the fluorescent lights above them, little gems that shine with so much emotion that Hongjoong is overwhelmed just from the sight of it.

“I was engaged,” Hongjoong blurts. He isn’t sure what comes over him or possesses him to say such a thing, and as soon as he processes what he’s said, he flings a hand up to cover his mouth. Yunho blinks back in equal parts shock and confusion. “I – hold on, I m-meant, uh, let me start over.” Hongjoong is begging Wooyoung and San to come back and save him from this awkwardness, but apparently, his mouth has a mind of its own because he just keeps speaking instead. “My last relationship – the one I kinda told you about – we were together for three years then he proposed to me. We were engaged for seven months and planned the wedding and honeymoon and everything. There weren’t… any problems between us, at least I didn’t see any signs of there being something wrong. A few days before the wedding, he c-called it off and said he didn’t want to marry me.”

“Wh–Why?” Yunho exhales, and the one word quivers on his tongue.

“He… found someone else he wanted to be with more. Made more money than me, taller than me, better looking no doubt – just everything he wanted and more. He didn’t even cheat on me b-but I selfishly wished he had just so that I could justify how I felt. I wanted to hate him but couldn’t even do that because he was open and h-honest and kind even then. I get scared with you because you’re so – so kind. So giving, and I get scared that I won’t be good enough in the long run.” Scared that it will happen again. That’s what Hongjoong wishes he could say, but he doesn’t need to because Yunho understands nonetheless.

Large hands cup his jaw, and Hongjoong is forced to look up at the man across from him.

“Anyone – and I truly mean anyone, Hongjoong – would be lucky to call you theirs for eternity. I hate that someone took that away from you and made you feel like you’re less than perfect.” Yunho is pulling him closer. He is sinking into Yunho’s touch, long fingers guiding him forward with endless gentleness, and Hongjoong secures a hand by Yunho’s side as he gets closer. Their noses brush, a smile twitches at Yunho’s lips, and Hongjoong is about to risk it all for this man.

“I’m not drunk this time,” Hongjoong murmurs, hot breath cascading over Yunho’s mouth.

“You’re not.”

“So kiss m—”

“Got drinks!”

Hongjoong has never scrambled to get away from a person faster in his life, and he’s pretty sure he nearly faceplants atop the glass coffee table in his rush to separate himself from Yunho.

Fuck Jung Wooyoung.

“Oh s-shit, uh, hold on, we’ll go back into the kitchen for a second! Continue!” Hongjoong hears angry whispers, followed by a loud smack and a noise of indignation coming from San as the pair rush to get back into the kitchen. Hongjoong’s cheeks burn with embarrassment. The mood has most definitely been killed thanks to Wooyoung’s interruption, and when Hongjoong glances over to gauge Yunho’s reaction, he finds a pretty blush splayed over the man’s cheeks.

It shouldn’t change anything. Friends have their moments like this, right? Friends get each other gifts and such, and maybe sometimes they nearly kiss in moments of clouded judgment. Yunho’s expression is one that Hongjoong can’t read. It’s only after he’s been staring at the younger man for well over a minute that Yunho meets his gaze and offers a shaky smile.

It shouldn’t change anything, so why does it feel like the ground under Hongjoong has been shifted in ways that he both can’t explain or reverse? The slippery slope just keeps sending him down.

…

There is an unspoken shift between the two of them from the night onwards. Nothing else significant happened that night; Yunho stayed to eat with them and drink a bit before saying that it was time for him to get back to Akemi. Hongjoong walked him to the door, put a hand on his arm, and thanked him one more time. They stared at each other’s lips for far too long, then Wooyoung started screaming about how San spilled beer on the couch cushions, and Hongjoong let Yunho go without asking for anything else from the man.

Their dinners resume as well, and Hongjoong is more grateful for that than he’d like to admit because admitting it would mean acknowledging how intense his feelings for the man are. They don’t talk about the near kisses or lingering touches either, but that’s alright by Hongjoong’s standards. He’ll take the peace and pining while it lasts because that’s the best way for him to avoid pain in the long run. He does make certain not to drink enough to get drunk like he did that one night. Things don’t change beyond that, that is until one day in mid-December when Hongjoong is back to visit for dinner but it’s quite different this time.

First, it’s a Saturday rather than their usual Fridays. Hongjoong couldn’t make it the day before because he promised that he would go visit Seonghwa and Yeosang in the new house they bought recently.

Second, Akemi isn’t present. According to Yunho, she’s off staying the night at a friend’s house for a birthday sleepover, so for the first time ever, Hongjoong is alone with Yunho in the house. He tries to insist that this won’t make anything different between them. It’s just their typical dinner after all, even if Akemi isn’t with them.

“What are your plans for Christmas?” Yunho asks midway through a bite of chicken. To be frank, Hongjoong completely forgot about the holiday. It’s never something huge or drastically special to him, so he pushed the thought of it to the back of his mind, but he should probably start debating what he’s going to be doing since it’s less than a week away now.

“Uh, I’m not sure. I won’t be going home, I know that much. Tickets are too expensive, and it isn’t worth the hassle to go. What about you?”

“I haven’t had time to think about it. Work is always busiest this time of year, but I’ll get some time off starting next week.”

“Not going home?” Hongjoong inquires, glancing over at the man.

“No, not this year. Parents are going to France for a trip so there won’t be anyone to go home to.”

“It’ll just be you and Akemi then?”

“Yup, first time too.”

Hongjoong has an idea. A bad one, but an idea nonetheless.

“If you – I, um, it will be a bit cramped, but you two could come to my place for Christmas?” He sounds too hopeful, and he probably looks a bit desperate with his lower lip caught between his teeth. Yunho cocks his head to the side. The silence that ensues feels like a ton of bricks sitting atop Hongjoong’s chest, and he’s about to backtrack and call the idea stupid when Yunho finally speaks.

“I was going to ask the same of you actually.”

“Oh. Oh! Yeah, y-yeah, uh—”

“Do you want to come over for Christmas, Hongjoong?” Yunho interjects. His gaze pierces the side of Hongjoong’s head, and the older man is certain that he forgets how to breathe for a second.

“I would love that,” he exhales quietly. Yunho hums through another bite of food and continues to finish his meal without mentioning it again, but the smile that lingers on his lips for the rest of dinner has Hongjoong’s heart doing cartwheels and frontflips for too long. They clean the dishes side by side for once. Without one of them needing to tuck Akemi in for the night, they can get the dishes done a lot faster than usual. Still, Hongjoong cannot shake the feeling that something they’re both unaware of is about to happen. Nothing about Yunho’s behavior is different tonight. Hongjoong thinks he’s acting normally himself as well.

So why? Why does this feel so different?

Yunho puts on a movie for the two of them to watch while Hongjoong finishes his one (and only) glass of wine. He might need more than that though because as much as he tries, he cannot tear his eyes away from the man on the other side of the couch. Yunho is far too attractive for his own good, legs splayed wide open and thighs on full display with one hand pressed to his right thigh and the other draped over the back of the couch.

“Are you cold?” Yunho asks after about half an hour of Hongjoong’s wandering eyes and lack of focus on the movie.

“H-Huh?” Hongjoong stammers.

“You keep curling up further and further in that corner of the couch.”

“Oh, I’m – I’m fine. I need to run to the bathroom actually.” Hongjoong bolts up before Yunho can reply, darting away from the living room in his sudden bout of panic. He doesn’t need to go to the bathroom, and Yunho probably knows that; all he needs to do is lecture his reflection in the mirror and tell himself to pull it together. He also wants to plaster the words ‘I’m desperately in love with you’ across his forehead just so that he doesn’t have to confess to Yunho himself.

No, Hongjoong, bad idea.

All Hongjoong does is splash some water across his face before returning to the living room. Yunho has shifted a bit and now has a blanket draped over his legs. When he catches sight of Hongjoong, he offers a grin and pulls the blanket up a tad.

“Just admit you’re cold and get under the blanket with me.”

“Okay,” Hongjoong squeaks out, trying to hide his flushing cheeks from view as he slips under the blanket. The space between their bodies is absolutely minimal now. Hongjoong tries to keep himself as far from Yunho’s body as possible, but he was truly cold and the warmth the blanket provides is really nice. Between the blanket, Yunho, and the soft volume of the television playing in the background, he can’t help but to become more drowsy with each passing second. Yunho’s arm is still on the back of the couch, nearly around Hongjoong’s shoulders, and if he’s honest, Hongjoong is only thinking about that and nothing else.

“For Christmas, do you want me to bring anything?” He asks after a while in a desperate attempt to stay awake. Yunho hums a little, head tilting side to side.

“I can’t think of anything off the top of my head. We can talk about that later on though.” Yunho sounds tired as well, and Hongjoong can’t tell whether that’s a good thing or not. On one hand, if they’re both so tired, it wouldn’t be as awkward to fall asleep like this, but on the other, it would be too intimate given Hongjoong’s feelings for him. “Do you want me to put up any specific decorations?”

“Hm? I don’t have a preference. It’s your home, you can choose whatever you like,” Hongjoong murmurs back, daring to let his head fall closer to Yunho’s shoulder.

“Can I put up mistletoe then?”

“Wh-What?”  That caught Hongjoong’s attention. And woke him up quite a bit too.

“I think you’d look cute under it,” Yunho whispers through a smile, leaning in to speak the words closer to Hongjoong’s mouth. “And it would give me an excuse to kiss you.”

What. What? Passing out seems like a good idea all of a sudden.

“Do you need an excuse?”

“Depends.” Yunho shrugs. The hand resting on the back of the couch falls forward, brushing Hongjoong’s shoulder before coming up to toy with a few strands of his hair.

“What if… what if I ask you to?” Hongjoong wets his lips then drags his teeth over his bottom lip. He doesn’t intend to be so seductive in the action; it’s merely a nervous habit he has, but Yunho watching his mouth move so intently that Hongjoong might melt.

“Are you asking me to?”

“No,” Hongjoong exhales. That catches Yunho a bit off-guard, eyes blinking furiously like he’s misunderstood Hongjoong’s advances and actions this whole time, but the older rushes to finish his thought. “I’m not asking. I’m telling you to kiss me already, Yunho. I’ve waited long enough, no?”

Yunho inhales so sharply that air whistles through his teeth. His eyes search Hongjoong’s features for something else, maybe a sign that he doesn’t mean what he’s saying, but all Hongjoong wears is pure determination and pent-up frustration at taking this long to kiss the man. Yunho curls his fingers in Hongjoong’s hair, gripping it like a vice but not hard enough to cause any pain.

“I didn’t expect you to be the demanding type, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong arches a brow at that and curls his lips enough to be taunting. Apparently, that turns out to be Yunho’s limit because the man finally dips in to close the distance between their mouths. He pulls at Hongjoong’s hair a little harder to get better access to his mouth. Hongjoong is positively floating with even the smallest pressure of the kiss, but when Yunho’s lips slot against his and deepen the pressure, he thinks that there’s no way this is reality. He’s ascended to the last level of heaven and is on his way to paradise, that’s the only explanation for this.

Hongjoong doesn’t remember moving at all but suddenly he’s pushing his way out from under the blanket and straddling Yunho’s hips without missing a beat. Their lips are still connected, thin trails of spit between them that only increase in volume when Hongjoong gets bold enough to swipe his tongue over the younger man’s lip. Yunho uses his free hand to yank the blanket out from between their bodies, letting Hongjoong press closer to his chest in a heated fervor. He can’t seem to move fast enough, nipping at Yunho’s lip until the man gasps. His tongue slips in next and fills the empty space in Yunho’s mouth to clash with the man’s tongue in a show of dominance. He doesn’t get to maintain that dominance for long as it turns out because Yunho gives a sharp tug to Hongjoong’s hair, and it sends a jolt through his body so intense that he forgets where he is and what he’s doing for a split second.

Yunho takes the opportunity to push back against Hongjoong’s tongue and shove his way into the smaller man’s mouth, and fuck, if that’s not the hottest thing he’s ever done, Hongjoong doesn’t know what could possibly top that. Until Yunho slips both hands down his back to secure at his hips with a grip that’s almost bruising in force, that is. That sends Hongjoong to a different plane of existence, but he doesn’t even want to come down from there if it means kissing Yunho like this. Or maybe just kissing him in general. He hasn’t decided.

Yunho decides it’s time to breathe, unfortunately, and Hongjoong has to pull away with no shortage of internal whining because goddammit lungs, hold a bit more air so he can kiss Yunho some more.

“That was nice,” Hongjoong exhales, still staring at the soft glisten of spit on Yunho’s lips. “Can we—”

“I like you, Hongjoong.”

“Y-You what?”

“I like you. In ways I can’t explain and in ways that words can’t describe. Just saying it wouldn’t do my feelings justice, and I-I thought… I hoped to make it clear on your birthday. When you asked me why I came and I said I hoped the gesture would convey my feelings – I should have said it then. I like you, every inch of you, every part of you inside and out, maybe so much so that it’s love.”

Hongjoong huffs out a breath of disbelief, jaw unable to close in his state of shock, and all he can do is bring a trembling hand to where Yunho’s heart lies behind the confines of his chest. Yunho gnaws at his lip. The corners of his mouth turn upward.

Then there's the two of us. This word is far too short for us, it has only four letters, too sparse to fill those deep bare vacuums between the stars that press on us with their deafness.

“I-I’ve liked you for s-so long,” Hongjoong whispers once the initial surprise passes. “I didn’t – I tried talking myself out of it and convincing myself that there was no way you could ever feel the same.”

It's not love we don't wish to fall into, but that fear.

“How could I not when it’s you?” Yunho is holding his cheek now, thumb caressing his face like Hongjoong is a piece of glass in his hands. “You’re… everything I could ever have asked for in a person. Everything and more. I wish I could put it into words – how you make me feel – but the best I can do is say I think I love you.”

This word is not enough but it will have to do.

“I think I love you too.” It scares Hongjoong to admit that out loud; it’s something he could never even let himself say in his thoughts, but Yunho pulls the words from his lips with no effort at all. Like he’s meant to say it.

It's a single vowel in this metallic silence, a mouth that says ‘oh’ again and again in wonder and pain.

His chest burns a little from the heat of all the emotions running through his body. Yunho pulls him closer, one hand still wrapped around Hongjoong’s delicate waist with the other dragging soft patterns over his cheek. They have been this close for so long. They’ve worked in this standstill where they are together but apart, close but far away, and now all that’s left to do is increase the distance or close it forever.

A breath.

It is Hongjoong’s turn to inhale as Yunho sighs over his still-swollen lips.

A finger grip on a cliffside.

The way Yunho’s eyes rake over his face is intimate in a way Hongjoong can’t describe. Yunho almost speaks through only that gaze, like he’s telling – no, asking, pleading, begging Hongjoong to hold onto him and not let go.

You can hold on or let go.

Hongjoong, at last, has decided that he wants to hold on, even if the past has scarred him and the future scares him.

…

Hongjoong arrives outside Yunho’s door on Christmas day with a knot in his stomach that won’t go away. It’s not a bad sort of knot – at least he thinks it isn’t – but it is one that leaves him a bit nervous. The butterfly necklace Yunho gifted him still sits around his neck, not taken off once since Yunho gifted it to him, and the bag of gifts in his hands feels heavier than usual. He and Yunho have spoken since that night, but Hongjoong hasn’t come over again nor have they discussed what the events of that night entail for them moving forward. It would taste a lie on his lips if Hongjoong tried to say that he hasn’t been thinking about kissing Yunho every day since.

“Mr. Hong! You’re here! Mr. Hong is here, Daddy!” The door swings open to reveal Akemi, all dolled up in a precious little plaid dress with small butterfly clips in her hair, and Hongjoong’s nerves melt away at the sight of her bright smile. Then Yunho steps into view, much less dolled up and more looking like he just rolled out of bed five minutes ago, but Hongjoong can’t say that he doesn’t look damn good as it is. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks about the possibility of waking up to a Yunho with bedhead and flushed cheeks.

“Can you take the gifts in for him, Mimi?” Yunho asks, running a hand through Akemi’s hair. She beams back at him and takes the bag in Hongjoong’s hands away without complaint, which leaves Hongjoong suddenly very empty-handed and alone before Yunho. “Hi friend.”

Friend? Hongjoong cocks his head to the side.

“That’s what you said the first time I tried to kiss you,” Yunho explains upon seeing Hongjoong’s confusion.

“Hi friend,” Hongjoong replies through a stretched grin. The sight of Yunho before him is making him feel a bit bold, maybe too reckless, but he rolls with it and stretches up on his tiptoes to place a small kiss on the corner of Yunho’s mouth. “Merry Christmas.”

“We’re not even under the mistletoe yet.”

Hongjoong squints and looks off to the side, pretending to think the words through, then breaks into a broad smile.

“Need an excuse to kiss me then?”

“Never,” Yunho murmurs before dipping in to give Hongjoong a proper kiss on the lips, and it’s everything he could have wanted and more. Everything about Yunho feels safe and warm, like something Hongjoong never wants to let go of, and thankfully Yunho seems to think the same of him as his lips chase after Hongjoong’s when the shorter man pulls away.

“Daddy! Mr. Hong will get cold if you don’t let him in!”

“Yeah, Yunho! Do you want me to get all cold out here?” Hongjoong teases, stepping around Yunho to properly greet Akemi inside.

“I had to wake Daddy up because he was trying to sleep in this morning,” the little girl explains when Hongjoong squats down to be eye level with her.

“Did you? Shame on him! He should know to be up early for Christmas morning!”

“He should! He said he stayed up late, so I think he was trying to spy on Santa.”

“Spy on Santa? My goodness, Yunho, you are causing trouble left and right.”

“Yes, well, Santa and I had to meet up during the night. I had to ask him for one more gift.”

“He didn’t leave any other gifts on the fireplace though, Daddy!” Akemi protests, motioning to the hearth behind her. Yunho blinks at the spot for a moment then turns to look down at Hongjoong with a smile.

“He brought my gift to the door this morning it seems.”

Hongjoong releases a scoff to hide his embarrassment and reaches over to swat at Yunho’s stupidly long legs.

“You’re disgusting!”

“Yeah, Daddy! Ew! Don’t say icky things!” Akemi scrunches up her nose and feigns disgust although Hongjoong isn’t sure she can even understand what Yunho means by his comment, so she might just be playing along with Hongjoong’s show of disgust. Yunho shakes his head a little but relents in his grossly cheesy comments to say something else.

“Mimi, honey, can you run upstairs for a moment? Daddy wants to talk to Mr. Hong in private for a little bit, then when we’re done, we can open up all the presents!”

“Okay, Daddy! Can I play with my dolls while I wait?”

“Of course, baby, go ahead. Run, run! We won’t be long, I promise!” Yunho shoos the little girl off, watching her bound up the stairs with nothing but fondness in his eyes, and he continues to stare after her even after Hongjoong pushes himself to his feet.

“Talk in private?” Hongjoong asks.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I was going to wait until after gifts and such but… you decided to kiss me right off the bat, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus after that.”

“Are you saying that I’m distracting, Mr. Jeong?”

“In more ways than one, absolutely.” Yunho draws his lips into a tight purse then presses them into a thin line in the same motion. “What do you want us to be, Hongjoong?”

That’s… not the question Hongjoong was expecting.

“I’m content with it being up to you,” he whispers in response.

“If – so if I asked for us to be exclusive, what would you say?” Hongjoong’s heart leaps in his chest.

“Say the word and I’m yours, Yunho.”

“Well, you can’t say things like that. I’ll lose all my inhibitions before noon,” Yunho chuckles, dipping his head to his chest. Hongjoong takes a step closer to him and closes a bit of the distance between their bodies. He lifts a hand in a sudden bout of confidence and cups Yunho’s cheek.

“I want to be yours and only yours. Even if I’m scared of the future and what it holds, I don’t want to lose what we have or what we could have. So if you would have me, I will gladly be yours for as long as you want me.”

“And if I happen to want you forever?”

“Then you’re stuck with me,” Hongjoong murmurs. The undisclosed promises in those words sting a bit, memories of the past threatening to resurface until Yunho chases them away with his next words.

“Do you – do you want me as well?”

“I want you,” he whispers while the confidence still lasts. He delivers a quick kiss to the tip of Yunho’s nose. “I like you—” another to his right cheek “—I need you—” one where his thumb ends and Yunho’s skin begins “—and I’m madly in love with you, Jeong Yunho.”

It’s good that Hongjoong has nothing else to say because Yunho cuts off his air, lips smashing hard against his with an almost bruising force, and Hongjoong could almost cry because of all the emotions built up in his chest. He scrambles to wrap his arms around Yunho’s neck as the other man deepens the kiss. His back curls hard to press himself fully against Yunho. There’s a certain kind of desperation in his body, one that just makes him want to pull Yunho closer and kiss him for hours on end. Even if it’s not their first kiss or their last, Hongjoong cherishes it nonetheless. They only pull apart when every ounce of air has left their bodies and they’re on the verge of blacking out. Yunho gasps for air, huffing in deep breaths stolen from Hongjoong’s exhales, and it’s too close, too intimate, too everything. Hongjoong doesn’t want it to stop even for a second.

“Good because I’m in love with you too, Hongjoong. And I plan to continue loving you for as long as I can.”

He would like to think that there are unspoken promises in those words as well, ones that only the two of them know, but for now, Hongjoong will live in this moment as long as he can without thinking about the past or the future. He has Yunho now, and that's enough for him.

..

a/n: hi wow yes you made it to the end of this fic!! this is officially the longest standalone fic i’ve ever written and god it’s long as hell and took the life out of me but i absolutely adore this fic and am very proud of it and myself for finishing it! i hope you all enjoy as much as i do :c

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Four

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: hey y'all. my new job has been draining the life out of me so i have very little energy left for writing, which is why these updates are taking so long. im still very passionate about this fic though, it just takes me more time to write :(

in other news, this chapter is saturated with descriptions of pain, both physical and emotional. i hated writing it but it was worth it.

***

Nesta, 14

Sometimes it all becomes too much. Feyre asking for help with homework and Elain begging for more money to go to the strip mall, and their dad ignoring them all as if they aren’t even there. Sometimes she wants to leave it all behind and pretend she isn’t anchored to three other people, wants to pretend she is a lone being in a lonely world.

When she needs to go away, she comes here.

Cherrywood House is quiet, as it always is this time of year. One of several expensive vacation homes in the Smokies, Cherrywood is Nesta’s favorite for a multitude of reasons— it’s empty for ten out of twelve months of the year, it’s the only house with a clear view of the nearby lake, and cherry blossoms bloom on trees out in the back every spring.

It’s early June, and she has a few more weeks left with the house until its owners return. The family that owns the place never leaves a trace of themselves behind when they leave each August, so Nesta returns the favor by never leaving hints of her inhabitance either.

She takes her worn Converse and socks off at the back porch and climbs in through the unlocked window barefoot. This is where she belongs. A ghost roaming the empty halls, with no one to care for and no one to care for her.

She makes her way upstairs to her preferred hideout spot: an airy bedroom with a bay window seat that looks out onto the cherry blossom trees outside. Cracking the window open to let the fragrance of flowers in, she settles into the bench seat with her book of the week and starts reading.

Absorbed in dreams of deep love and deeper kisses, Nesta doesn't notice the sun going down until she can barely make out the words on the page before her. Glancing up with sore eyes, she realizes she needs to leave soon if she doesn't want to take the wooded path back home in the dark.

“Damn,” she sighs, but she gets up and shuts the window firmly.

She keeps her nose in her book all the way down the hall and down the stairs, and doesn't sense anything off until a large shadow flashes in the corner of her eye. Her head whips up, and the face that greets her looks just as surprised as she is.

Nesta freezes.

“Um,” the guy says. He’s maybe a few years older than her, seventeen or eighteen, and tall with shaggy dark hair. The front door of the house is still cracked open behind him. “What the fuck?”

Nesta unfreezes. And then she runs.

All the way through the main hall and to the back door, while the boy’s shouts chase her through the house. “Hey, wait up!”

They weren't supposed to be here this early—

Her hand wraps around the back door handle and she flings it open, shoving through the second screen door and shooting right down the porch steps. Heavy steps behind her ignite a panic in her, and she gains a burst of speed.

“HEY!” he calls again. Soft grass becomes dirt and twigs beneath Nesta's feet, and she knows she's reached the tree line. Dark shadows fall over her as she darts into the safety of the woods.

Still standing on the back porch and waving a raggedy pair of Converse, Cassian tries calling for the girl one more time. “You forgot your shoes!”

Cassian wakes up at five in the morning to the sound of the house’s pipes creaking, a telltale sign that someone is using one of the faucets. Blinking his eyes open, he hears the distant sound of the shower running.

Who would get up in the freezing cold at this hour just to take a shower? He checks the time once more to make sure he isn't imagining things, and gets up to peek his head out of his bedroom. Sure enough, light leaks out from under the bathroom door.

Cassian walks up to the bathroom and listens closely for any sound beside running water. He knocks hesitantly. “Nesta?”

Her muffled voice calls back to him, but he can't make out a thing.

“Are you alright?” he asks. “How long have you been in there?”

There’s no response, and now he’s concerned. Raising his voice, he says, “I’m going to come in to hear you better, is that okay?”

A soft affirmative answers him, and he tries the doorknob. It’s already unlocked, which is odd, but he pokes his head into the steam-filled bathroom cautiously. “Nesta?”

From behind the curtain of the shower, a pale, tired face appears. She’s sitting on the floor of the tub, he realizes. “Hey,” she attempts a feeble smile at him.

Cassian fully enters the bathroom, the humidity dampening his skin. “Are you okay? When did you get up?”

“I’ve only been in here for an hour, maybe.” Her voice is weak enough that he has to move closer to hear her. “Don’t worry about your water bill. I’ll pay it, I swear.”

He shakes his head, confounded. “I don’t care about the water bill. You still haven’t told me if you’re okay.” He moves to crouch beside the bathtub, the opaque shower curtain the only barrier between them.

Nesta rolls her eyes, looking embarrassed. “It’s just cramps. I get really sick on my periods, and I would have warned you that they suck ass, but that would imply that my period could affect you. It doesn’t have to affect you— if you just leave me to myself for a few days, I won’t even be a bother.”

Cassian blinks, not really knowing where to start with that, so he just says, “But why the shower?”

Nesta shifts uncomfortably behind the curtain. “Sometimes hot water is the only thing that helps with the pain. I already tried getting out of the shower, but it hurt so bad— I had to go right back in. I’ll get out eventually, don’t worry.”

Cassian frowns. This all sounds incredibly worrying. “This is normal for you?”

She’s about to answer when her face pinches in a look of discomfort. “Cassian,” she says, strained.

He leans closer, wanting to help. “Yeah?”

“Get out.” She doesn't look like she has the energy to add anything else.

Cassian wants to defy Nesta and stay right there, but that would require arguing with her, and she clearly is no longer in the mood to hold up a conversation.

Reluctantly, he nods. “I’ll be right down the hall. Yell if you need anything.”

Nesta is already sinking lower into the tub, trying to get more fully under the burning hot spray. Her eyes drift closed and she hums in answer.

Cassian doesn't return to his room like he said he would, but heads downstairs instead. He spends a good ten minutes reading the drug labels of various painkillers from the medicine cabinet before carefully arranging a nonlethal cocktail of them on a tray. He adds a cold glass of water and various handpicked snacks before returning upstairs to set the tray by Nesta’s bedside, and turns the heat all the way up to combat the chill in her room, just in case.

Then he goes back to his room and waits. He tries to listen closely for the sound of the shower stopping, but he’s not used to being up this early on a Saturday, and his bed is so warm…

He falls asleep waiting.

***

Nesta stumbles out of the shower long after Cassian leaves her and downs a handful of pills without thinking too much about who left them for her. She already has an idea of how the next few days will go, and she just hopes Cassian will allow her the dignity to suffer through it alone.

She crawls into bed exhausted and shuts her eyes tight. The next time she opens them, sunlight is streaming weakly through the windows. Jarring pain lances through her abdomen, and she brings her legs all the way up to her chest and whimpers. From the edge of her consciousness, she notices the snack tray has been replaced with lunch— some leftover lasagna from the night before. Sneaking out her hand from her mountain of blankets, she goes for her phone. A text sent nearly an hour ago waits for her.

Cassian: please eat.

Nesta glares at the lasagna because she knows better. She might have spent this morning eyeing the bathroom tiles to determine if they were clean enough for her to curl up there and die, but she's not at a point to abandon her dignity just yet. The last thing her roiling nausea needs is solid food. Instead, she gathers the focus to text back Cassian: Leave me alone today.

It's only after she sends the message that she realizes it sounds harsh, but she can't bring herself to explain further or to soften her tone. Her pain always has a way of stripping her of any defenses and formalities and leaving only a primal creature behind.

Turning her phone off, she closes her eyes and inhales tightly through her nose. A wave of cramps that feels closer to what a brutal stabbing victim would feel like overtakes her, and— no, she has to get up.

During times like these, the bathroom is Nesta’s favorite place in the whole world. Cool tiles to rest her head on, hot water just a foot away, and a spacious tub if she ever feels like passing out. Heaven. Naturally, she escapes there first.

After maybe another hour of restless writhing and moving about, Nesta decides the suffering isn't worth it and hobbles downstairs in search of some Nyquil to knock her out. She’s got the medicine cabinet halfway open when a broad hand slams it back shut, and she turns to find Cassian standing behind her with a stern look. “You haven’t eaten anything all day. You can’t take meds on an empty stomach.”

Nesta wants to cry at the denial of pain relief, but she grips the counter behind her and manages a glare instead. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I will absolutely tell you not to wreck your liver, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

A desperate whine escapes her, and she can’t believe Cassian has to see her like this. Even worse, she sees sympathy soften his face as his hand slips off the cabinet next to her head. “I made soup,” he offers. “Can you have soup?”

Nesta hesitates. Her insides don’t hate the idea of soup. She nods.

***

Nesta insisted on avoiding Cassian for the rest of the day, and Cassian graciously eased off her back once he knew she’d eaten. He kindly pretended he didn’t hear her running back and forth from the bathroom all day because she couldn’t sit still, and only interrupted her once to make sure she took more Tylenol before bed.

Now, long after night has fallen, Nesta is truly alone. Her medicine either hasn’t kicked in yet or isn’t strong enough to do its job tonight. She can barely think straight, and this is when the most primal part of herself comes out.

Despite her age, despite everything, she still cries. She cries as if anyone would bother listening, physical pain intertwining with the pain and humiliation of being ignored. “Papa,” she calls into her pillow, again and again.

She hasn’t trusted her papa in years, and yet she still expects him to rescue her. She still waits for him to show up and make everything better.

A hot tear leaks from her eye, and the catharsis of it distracts from her cramps. She curls up into a ball and cries harder, as if she can weep out everything that’s wrong with her body.

A soft knock interrupts her helpless whimpers, and Nesta hears the door open a moment later. “Nesta? Were you calling for me?”

Somebody came. No one’s ever come for her before.

A sigh of relief escapes her, and she forgets to put her walls up. “I’m just—” she tries to say, “so tired.”

She hears Cassian come farther into the room and curse. “Fuck, it’s an icebox in here.”

A hand nudges at her mound of comforters, giving Nesta’s shoulder a shake. “You should’ve told me the heater wasn’t working. Are you okay?”

That question sets her on edge. “Do I look okay?” her voice cracks. She wants to cry even harder now that he’s here, for some reason.

“Obviously not,” he mutters. “You’re staying in my room tonight. Get up.”

Nesta groans and burrows further into her freezing cocoon of sheets. “Don’twannamove.”

“It’s either that or I’m carrying you. I’m good either way.”

Nesta finally cracks her eyes open, glad that Cassian is only a tear-blurred figure in the dark. She doesn’t want to read whatever is on his face right now. Gathering her heavy comforter around herself, she gets up and lets Cassian lead her down the hall to his room.

Toasty warmth hits her as soon as she’s inside, and she makes an exhausted sound and drops the comforter. In a blur, she’s tucked into Cassian’s bed, enveloped by his scent and his lingering body heat on the sheets. Under the dim lamplight, Cassian seems to finally take notice of the tear tracks on her face. Clicking his tongue in sympathy and concern, he rubs his thumb over the sensitive skin under Nesta’s eyes. Her whole body shudders under the gentle touch. Who knew just the pad of his finger could combat this inescapable agony?

“This isn’t normal,” he murmurs. “I’m taking you to a doctor as soon as this storm clears.”

If Nesta was in the right state of mind, she’d tell him absolutely not. However, she’s barely comprehending his words as it is, so she watches him click the lamp off in silence. Darkness fills the room, but she can hear him moving.

“I’ll be right back,” his voice rumbles, and then she’s alone again. More tears leak at the feeling of abandonment. She’s so sick of herself.

After what feels like an eternity but is only a few minutes, she hears Cassian return. The mattress dips behind her as he climbs under the blankets with her, and then Nesta feels something hot and dry being pressed to her side. A towel. “Does this help?” he murmurs, his voice surprisingly close to her ear.

Wordlessly, Nesta reaches down and takes his hand holding the hot towel, dragging it beneath the hem of her sweater so the heat burns against her bare skin. She sighs and allows her tensed body to sag, leaning back into the hard cradle of Cassian’s chest and arms.

In her ear, Cassian’s breathing has gone shallow. His hand slips from her side, only to find her back and start rubbing up and down.

Her eyes flutter shut.

“My mother was a Muslim immigrant from Algeria,” Cassian whispers out of nowhere. “And whenever I felt sick as a little kid, I would crawl into her lap and she would rub my back just like this, and say some prayers and blow on my face, and I would feel better.”

Nesta makes a weak sound of acknowledgment. That sounds nice, nicer than anything she ever knew growing up.

“I’m sorry I don’t know any prayers,” Cassian says. Then, Nesta feels a whoosh of breath tickle the side of her face. “Does that help?”

It feels weirdly good, and Nesta's shoulders start shaking. She doesn't know if she's holding in a laugh or a sob. Cassian’s hand stills on her back. “Nesta?”

A sharp wave of pain sets her straight. After she breathes through it, she tells him, “You don't need to pray. Just… keep talking to me.”

His hand resumes drawing circles on her back. “Alright.” And he whispers stories into her ear for the rest of the night, until she's fallen asleep and long afterward.

The next morning, Nesta is feeling much better. Cassian knows this because she’s sitting in the living room when he comes downstairs, straight-backed instead of hunched over in pain, and she’s regained the energy to glare at him.

Cassian’s relief at seeing Nesta okay hesitates at that glare. He slows on the bottom step. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Don't call me that.”

He blinks, not sure what he did wrong. Before he can ask, Nesta says, “You didn't listen to me.”

“Excuse me?” He strolls deeper into the living area.

“I told you to leave me alone while I'm on my period, and you didn't listen. You dragged me to your room and made me spend the night with you.”

“You were crying for help,” Cassian says in disbelief. “What was I supposed to do? Ignore you?”

“Yes.” She looks even angrier. “It’s humiliating for me to have you see me like that. It's humiliating to have my own family see me like that.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but you’re—” He almost says overreacting, but some deep instinct tells him that word won’t fly well with Nesta. “You’re wrong,” he decides. “Whatever you think I’m thinking of you after last night, you’re wrong.” Cassian has no problem going into caretaker mode for Nesta; it's his natural state of being most of the time anyway. Besides, last night was… a new experience for him. For a multitude of reasons. “You can't tell me you go through that every month and have never had anybody take care of you.”

“I haven't, and for good reason,” Nesta seethes. “You had no right to see me like that.”

Cassian leans on the arm of a chair and crosses his arms, considering her. “Have you ever seen a doctor about your period?”

“That’s none of your business,” she snaps. Here is the Nesta that Feyre is always talking about: quick to anger and always on the defense, to the point that she comes off as unreasonable. Nothing like the helpless woman in tears from just the night before.

It brings out a rougher side of Cassian, one that wants to nip and bite at her boundaries instead of letting her be comfortable all the time. “That’s no way to talk to someone who stayed up all night to wait on you hand and foot, you know.”

“Don’t you dare hold that against me.” Nesta’s voice is dangerously cold.

“I’m not holding it against you. I’m taking you to a doctor.”

“No.”

“I already made an appointment.”

“Cancel it.” Her voice is brittle and she’s now trembling with restrained rage. Cassian doesn’t know if it’s because he’s refusing to give her a choice or if she just really doesn’t like doctors. Either way, it doesn’t change how Nesta ran out of bed at four this morning to puke her soup up. If it wasn’t for all this snow, he would have dragged her ass to the ER by now.

“I don’t have health insurance,” Nesta admits when she sees that Cassian won’t back down. “And I’ve made it this far without any cause for concern; there’s no reason to go.”

“Then I’ll pay for it,” he says simply. Her lack of care for her health astounds and angers Cassian at the same time. How is it that nobody, not even her family, has looked at this woman before and said You’re not okay, do you need help? How many times has she cried in pain with no one to listen?

Nesta has now stood up and is turning red in the face. “Absolutely not. Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Cassian smirks and straightens up.

“I’m not going to the doctor,” she barks. “Cancel the appointment.”

“No.”

“DO IT!”

In that moment, Cassian sees it. He sees how beneath the adult manner and adult words, the carefully crafted facade of cool, there is an explosive, tantrum-prone child. And he’s about to reveal her for good.

“It’s this Wednesday. I hope you don't mind skipping class.”

An enraged shriek shatters the air in the room, and before Cassian can even be shocked Nesta is verbally pouncing on him, yelling, “How fucking dare you, you complete shithead—”

“Nesta.”

“You have no right to— You’re so useless, this is why I didn't want to stay with you, this is why I never talked to you—”

“Nest—”

“You egomaniacal manipulative bastard— just because you let me stay in your house doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do—”

“Damn it Nesta, can you just shut up and LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE!”

Nesta freezes and blinks, taken aback. Cassian immediately snaps his mouth shut, wondering if he’s finally crossed that line he’s been so cautiously toeing this whole time.

He watches her face closely, looking for signs of upset— or worse, fear. She only says, “Fine.”

He’s confused. “Fine, what?”

“Fine, I’ll go to the doctor’s.” Just like that, her fight is gone and the facade is back in place. She sets her jaw, but a hint of surprise and newfound discovery lingers in her eyes. “But I’m not letting you pay for it. It’ll have to come out of my own pocket.” She doesn't look happy about that part.

Cassian wants to argue her, but he knows how to pick and choose his battles. For now, he’s just baffled that he demanded Nesta to do something, and she listened.

He raised his voice at her. God, he yelled at her in anger and she only blinked in response, and now she’s listening to him. What kind of sick alien shit is this?

***

a/n: i love talking about these characters so if you ever get sick of waiting for part 5 just shoot me an ask and ill gladly discuss nessian with you

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx

[aelin-world-walker]

Some headcanons I have post-ACOSF

(don’t ask where this comes from i’m just aching because i finished rereading acosf and thinking headcanons is my coping mechanism)

(i wrote “some” in the title but they are like a million????)

(like now this is a master list of headcanons i have...)

BE AWARE OF ACOSF SPOILERS!!!

*Probably I’ll edit it pretty often because headcanons come whenever they like.

*i’ll probably add feysand headcanons in the future but not now because there’re A LOT out here but know I have some like feysand beign parents is too cute to ignore.

*sorry if there are some spelling errors, English is not my first language.

The cabin headcanons

(yes the cabin has its own subtitle)

Cassian takes Nesta to the cabin after their mating bond ceremony and then happens chapter 55 but Nesta adapted. There’s no soup but a biscuit.

When Nyx is a little older he starts participating in the snowball fight. Rhys, Cassian and Az let him win.

In one of her visits, Feyre paints her sisters and Nyx’s eyes beside the IC ones, because they are now part of the Court of Dreams (this one made me cry a little honestly)

Whenever one of the IC’s couples wants to take a break they go to the cabin. Sometimes Az goes too to play chaperone. Spoiler: it doesn’t work (especially NOT with Nessian) (this one made me laugh)

Nesta likes the cabin’s vibes to read, so she goes often. Sometimes Cassian joins her but he bores to death so he wouldn’t let her read (if you get what i mean)

I can imagine the IC visiting it, long nights bonding in front of a fire and playing board games. Rhys, Nesta and Azriel are so competitive that stay awake til one of them wins. (actually Rhys and Azriel competitive spirit over board games is canon) (i just imagine Nesta playing the courtier to win) (then she loses and is cranky for a day). Meanwhile, Mor and Cassian drink themselves silly, and Feyre and Elain play with Nyx. Amren just purrs sitting in Varian’s lap. (Amren as the house cat)

The girls decide to do their own snowball fight honestly i don’t know why this is not canon yet. One year they decide to do girls vs. boys. The girls win and the boys don’t want to play against them again.

Nyx and his cousins learning to fly in a summer vacation there. (yeah because nessian’s children are happening in the future and they are in some of my headcanons sorry)

Nesta, Gwyn and Emerie go there sometimes (not so often because they prefer staying with the House please never forget they are all friends) and go hiking.

When Nyx and Nessian’s children are older and misbehave their parents send them to the cabin. Then whoever of them didn’t got to be grounded slips alcohol to the ones inside. (Actually i can see them doing this??? Rhys and Mor did the same. Also I can see Nyx and his cousins having a relationship similar to Rhys and Mor’s and Aelin and Aedion’s)

Inner Circle couples and the sauna. Not gonna say anything else, but just know it’s hella weird there’re no scenes in there...

The House of Wind headcanons

(big house deserved its own headcanons)

Nesta installs a dance studio in there and whenever she can she goes and dance for hours.

Nesta, Gwyn, Emerie and the House start a monthly sleep-over in the private library. The House always conjures the miniature pegasus without being asked.

Can we talk about the fact that in the future the House of Wind will have a nursery???? because i have to talk about it. don’t know if i’ll be able to do so without crying but just- nessian’s babies nation

When Nessian’s children are born the House would conjure anything just to please them and will protect them at all costs. The House as a babysitter and mother-hen.

The House starts talking to Cassian and recommends him smut books. He reads them and find them pretty interesting. He also recommends the House books but as they are of warfare the House finds them boring.

When Cassian and Nesta fight the House would be angry with Cassian for some days and would serve his food cold.

The House of Wind is Nyx’s favorite place in the city. Cassian and Nesta even give him a room when he is older. He loves it for the same reason Rhys did: flying. He also likes asking the House ridiculous things -the House loves his petitions-

Azriel keeps his room of course, but playing the chaperone is useless now (it always was)

Mor befriends the house and together they plan jokes to Cassian.

Feyre loves going to the House because it reminds her that her sister is happy and will never be alone.

Nessian headcanons

(of course there are nessian’s headcanons)

While sleeping, Cassian is very restless while Nesta sleeps in a ball, but they make it work. Also, Cassian takes all the blankets so Nesta ends up beside him and his wings.

The two of them loves sleeping in. Cassian would never admit it because he would never hear the end of it from the ic. (i know he said in acomaf that daylight is precious but now that he has found his mate he has change a liiitle his opinion about that. like now wake up beside his love is more precious than anything!!!!!)

I think it’s not fair we didn’t got a smut scene in the bathtub.

And in Windhaven.

Aaaaand in the cabin.

When Nesta has a nightmare, Cassian would hug her and comfort her while remind her it was a dream, and now she got out, and is loved and cherished by a lot of people.

Nesta loves that Cassian strokes her head, more when her hair is down. (i really like that nesta prefers updo hairstyles tho)

Nesta sitting on Cassian’s lap. That’s all I need for a next book. (i also need more domestic scenes between them like the one in Winter Solstice when Nesta hangs their coats) (also i need to read nessian from another pov i want to know how they look like from outside their pov)

Nessian dancing into the darkest hours, losing themselves into the music and their embrace. (i need a slow dancing fanfic thx)

Nesta is still a little uncomfortable to venture into Velaris so she asks Cassian to fly her over the city whenever she needs to go out and doesnt want to tangle in the multitude.

Cassian reading an Illyrian report while Nesta reads a romance book. Domestic mates part one hundred.

Nesta loves flying (WHY THIS IS NOT CANON SARAH) (like i would have been awesome to read nesta liking flying after that scene with rhys in acowar)

I love that is canon they like chocolate cake idk just wanted to say that.

Nesta headcanons

(my daughter deserves them)

Every Starfall, Nesta would take the stairs down and up just to remind herself the way up is long but by the end she would find happiness.

She is really protective over the House. She wouldn’t let anyone spill anything or mess around.

She starts taking dancing lessons again, even though she doesn’t need them. It’s her favorite part of the week. I can imagine Gwyn joining her. Emerie prefers watching them and smirk while drinking tea.

She visits her father’s tomb more than her sisters, and tells him every aspect of her life because she didn’t do it when he was alive.

She doesn’t like the Court of Nightmares, but the Winter Solstice ball in there is one of her favorites events of the year.

She goes back to being a courtier/emmisary for the Night Court and loves tormenting the people she has to deal with. (just imagine Nesta in Vallahan, they would sign the treaty in a second)

She continues working in the Library because she is still healing and the Library is such a big part of that. She continues fighting with Merrill too (gwyn is please of that)

Also she starts practicing with Amren to use her powers, even if there is not a lot to master (tho i think she is still very powerful but let’s wait for the next book to confirm this)

ALSO Nesta as a mother: she gives her children a lot of love because she remembers how it is to have a cold mother and doesn’t want to repeat the story.

Nessian’s children headcanon

(tho i imagine they have at least a daughter so she is gonna appear a lot in my hc sorry)

I can imagine them having an unexpected pregnancy idk why they would be very happy tho (like chaolene’s) (not so soon after acosf, they would enjoy some free-of-babies-years)

Now I want a fanfic about nessian finding out they are pregnant please writers do it

Tho I can imagine its during training.

Nessian’s baby would sleep between them. Cassian loves that and even though Nesta says the contrary, privately she loves it too.

Nesta teaching their daughter to dance, while Cassian teaches her to fly. Together, they teach her to fight. Their daughter wants to be a Valkyrie like her mom and aunts.

Also Nesta reading her daughter to bed and then getting asleep. Cassian would find the two of them sleeping and would cover them with a quilt.

Their daughter loves to hear the stories about Nessian’s Blood Rites, and would ask everyone about them.

Their daughter is their number 1 fan im crying in softness

She also wants to hear the stories of her uncles and aunts even though some are sad, because she knows they are happy and together now.

I can see Nessian wanting another baby tbh but let’s stop in one until Sarah shows us the contrary.

But just imagine Nessian’s children + Nyx playing hide-and-seek on the House of the Wind and the House helping them hide.

Nessian’s daugther loves hearing Gwyn sing, and is particularly obsessed with Emerie because she sees herself in Emerie (like they are both Illyrians i’m crying nessian’s daughter doesnt understand why her aunt can’t fly).

She has spring allergies too.

[putas-in-suffering]

Ego Boost

Pairing: Angel Reyes x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW 18+ older

Warnings: Language, unprotected vaginal sex, mentions of bodily fluids, Angel’s muscles

Word Count: 2.6K

Summary: You get caught checking out your boyfriend so he decides to have some fun with you.

A/N: Angel Reyes is making his way to the main stage! This was inspired purely by that shirtless picture of Clayton. Ya’ll know the one. But if you don’t, don’t worry because we got you. We’ll post it below. The man is getting into shape and our minds couldn’t help but think of Angel and all the shirtless scenes we’re owed. Let’s manifest that shit for season three because we wanna see shirts off and asses out. Also, this fic can be looked at as a prequel to the drunk sex with Angel fic we posted awhile ago. It makes mention of this particular instance so if you wanna be in the know, check it out here. Enjoy and share with your fellow sucias! Feedback is the preferred drug for our addiction and greatly appreciated 💖💖

(Photo credit and this post belongs to @shadesalvarez​)

You hummed to the faint melody playing on the radio, the volume muted by the rooms that separated you. You made your way to the source of the noise, cold beer in hand. You opened the door that led to the garage, the multitude of sounds now magnified without the barrier of wood to close them out. Your eyes took in the space. The large whirring fan, the half open garage door, the smooth metallic chrome of the motorcycle, and of course your boyfriend.

Angel was hunched over his bike, a pair of black basketball shorts sitting low on his hips. He was shirtless, the sinewy muscles of his arms and abdomen making you pause. You studied him for a long moment, as if seeing him for the first time. He looked bigger, more defined. The long lines of ink now ran over ridges of muscles and veins, the softness he’d once held now gone. His chest was chiseled and the very visible contours of a six-pack were now proudly displayed.

The sight made you swallow. Your mouth suddenly too dry and your panties suddenly too wet.

You knew Angel had taken up working out with EZ. He always made sure to stay in shape, but having his brother come out of prison looking like The Hulk had pushed Angel to train with his younger brother. You’d been surprised at first, but supportive nonetheless. Angel was perfect in your eyes, but you understood. So you’d supported him. And over time you’d noticed small changes here and there.

But today…today you were seeing the differences all at once. And it was noticeable.

You stepped into the garage, shutting the door behind you. Angel had yet to notice you and you took advantage of that as you watched him work. He was concentrating hard, brows furrowed as he fiddled with a part on his bike. His tongue poked out between his bearded lips and the gesture made your insides warm.

You wanted him. Right then. You wanted him in an animalistic way that made your insides clench and your nipples harden. You’d both indulged in some morning sex earlier that day, but it’d been slow and lazy, a statement of love rather than a primal desire. You wanted rough hands and deep thrusts you could feel all the way in your throat. You wanted the ache of his cock to be felt for days after he’d been there.

“Baby…”

You jumped when Angel touched your arm, almost causing you to drop the sweating bottle of beer. You focused your eyes back on the man that now stood less than two feet away from you, his chest showing hints of perspiration. Your tongue yearned to lick it from him.

“You okay? You zoned out.” Angel asked, concern lacing his gravelly voice. His deep chocolate eyes were running the length of you, searching for anything that may be out of place. It was cute.

“I’m good. Sorry, just got distracted.” You half-lied. By the look in his eye, Angel knew what that meant. Under the fullness of his beard you could see the playful smirk on his lips. He took the beer out of your hand and took a large pull, his eyes still not leaving yours. Only this time they said something entirely different.

“Distracted, huh?” He prompted once he’d wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He set the beer on the floor near his bike, straightening and waiting for you to speak.

“You look…” You hesitated on how to articulate exactly what you’d been daydreaming about. You, for some unknown reason, were suddenly nervous around your boyfriend. The butterflies in your stomach grew stronger, their movement shifting from your middle to the lower half of your body.

He patiently waited for you to continue, his brow arched as if he knew exactly what had you all out of sorts. He reached for you, bringing your body flush with his as he settled his hands on your hips. They didn’t stay there for long though. Angel was never one to stay still, and making love was no exception. The man was always moving, always switching sensations before you could get used to one. His hands traveled to your ass, gripping the flesh in encouragement.

“I just noticed how different you look. You look good.” You finally answered meekly, still unwilling to let him fully see the storm that brewed within you.

Angel nodded, as if anticipating the words. You could see the enjoyment on his face, see the pleasure he got from your torture.

“Just good?” He urged, head bowing to bury his face against your neck. You grasped his naked biceps, silently marveling at the size of them. He felt so sturdy under your delicate touches. Felt like he could break you in two if he wanted to. The thought pushed a whimper from your lips, his own beginning to suckle at your flesh.

“Angel,” You whimpered, feeling his teeth dig into a spot he’d been working over. His hips pushed against yours, letting you feel the hardening muscle beneath his shorts.

“Tell me, baby.” He demanded into your ear, suckling the appendage. You shivered, rubbing yourself against his solid form in a weak attempt to entice him. He didn’t budge.

“Sexy…” You finally whispered, tugging at his thick locks. His mouth began to move towards your lips, peppering your face with soft kisses. His hands gently massaged your ass, his dexterous fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shorts to graze your skin.

“Yeah? What else?”

He continued to lock you in a series of delicate kisses, ensuring you stayed in the haze he’d built around you. You surrendered to it, giving every inch of yourself over to it and him.

“Strong.” You breathed into his mouth, gripping his forearms to feel the veins and muscles beneath your palm.

Angel growled, palming your ass with a more veracious grip. You entangled your tongue with his, feeling him begin to shift you backwards. You moved with him until you felt the hard edge of his steel workbench dig into your back. You used it for support, struggling to keep up with the rough hands that seared your flesh.

“Fuck, baby…you got me hard as fuck.”

Arousal flooded your thighs at his words, feeling the proof against your stomach. He began to move your tank top up and over your head, revealing the black bra you wore underneath. You took the initiative and unclasped the garment, carelessly flinging it off. Warm palms encased your naked breasts, kneading the supple flesh with an expertise that had you seeing stars. His entire hand covered you, the ink splashed across his skin making the sight all that more erotic. The only thing missing were his rings. He didn’t wear them around the house, but you found yourself yearning for that cool touch of metal against your nipple. Something you’d gotten used to.

“Angel, please…” You shamelessly begged, throwing your head back when his hungry mouth joined his hands. You arched into him as he licked and sucked, pulling a peaked nipple into his mouth like an impatient newborn. He went further, encasing more of your breast into his mouth and sucking. You whimpered at the force of it, nails digging into the sinewy ridges of his back. You were both slick with perspiration, the fan doing nothing to ease the heat of the day or the growing heat between you.

Angel didn’t verbally answer your plea, but he responded. He pushed your shorts down, taking your panties with them. You stepped out of them and kicked the balled up fabric away. His arms lifted you, seating you on the cool surface of the bench. You flinched at the sensation against your overheated flesh, but settled once his hands began to smooth up your thighs. He widened your legs, fitting his massive form against you. He surrounded you. He smelled of motor oil and the shower gel he’d used that morning. He tasted of the beer you’d brought him. His naked chest stuck to yours, the warm air of the garage making your bodies slide against one another.

“You wet?” He asked, finger already edging to the space between your thighs. You nodded, but he continued on his exploration, feeling your soaked lips. His finger slipped easily in, instantly engulfed by your desire.

“I don’t need it.” You insisted desperately, attempting to push his hand away. You were so far beyond foreplay. You just needed him. Needed the raw connection that only he could give.

He relented, pushing his shorts down enough to free himself. You immediately reached for him, stroking the one muscle that hadn’t changed. Angel had always been gifted in that regard. He was heavy and thick, excitement almost making him seem larger. You swallowed at the feel of him, remembering the moments he thrust himself down your throat. You could practically taste him against your tongue as the tip of him leaked with appreciation. His hips began to move in time with your hand, getting lost in the moment. He grunted and growled, his fingers pressing into your thighs with a pressure that bordered on painful.

“Querida…” He warned, halting your wrist. His eyes met yours as he shook his head, fully removing your hand from his body. He looked almost feral. His hair askew, his beard longer than usual, his eyes wild with simmering tension. Hell, he looked dangerous. All tattoos and muscles. It was an assault on your senses. A fire raged within you; one that you were sure had never burned as bright as it did right now.

“You want it?”

You nodded, uncaring of how eager you seemed. He caressed your cheek, bearded lips barely grazing yours as he rubbed himself against your core.

“How bad?”

You writhed in place as he teased you, slipping only the tip in before pulling away. You anchored yourself to his arms as you shifted your lower half closer to the edge of the bench.

“Angel, stop teasing.” You chastised, feeling the stretch of him as he once again entered you before backing off.

“I want you to tell me, baby…tell me how bad you need me. Tell me how bad it hurts without me inside you.”

Fuck, the man could tease. His words made your walls constrict, trying to squeeze around the phantom sensation of his cock inside you. You were paying for your ogling. Paying for the inflation of Angel’s ego. It was all worth it in the end, but damn did he play a dirty fucking game.

“Let me show you.” You insisted, licking the seam of his lips. He grunted in approval, keeping your gaze as he began to push fully in. You gasped at the familiar ache of him sliding home. Your entire body came alive with him sheathed inside you. Your spine twisted, your limbs wrapped around him, your breathing accelerated. It was a chaotic state of passion and love, but it was addictive. And your body constantly craved more.

He started slow, making you earn every gasp and moan. Your insides clutched at him in desperation, intent on having him stay this way forever. His eyes were trained on your joined bodies. Taking in the way you coated him for smooth passage. What had started out as a ravenous moment of desire had shifted to something more intimate. Something to be savored.

“Angel…you feel so good.” You marveled, closing your eyes when he made his hips flush with yours, forcing him further into your depths.

“Squeeze me.” He demanded as he remained unmoving. You complied, relishing the throb of him against you in return. “Fuck, like that.”

You did it again. And again. Letting him feel just how amazing he made you feel. His hips began to increase in speed, his patience wearing thin as you gripped him. Sweat droplets formed on his forehead as strands of hair shifted into his eyes. You rubbed at your clit, leaning back so that he could see. He licked his lips at the sight, his rhythm faltering. You were both close, the end just beyond reach. He no longer stroked your walls, but instead assaulted them. He no longer left your body as his thrusts became erratic and fast, forcing you to hold on.

The brightness of the day grew hotter. The fan whirring in the corner was drowned out by your hard and reckless coupling. The rattling of the tools littered along the bench echoed as each thrust sent the bench back into the wall. Soon, your body was matching the intensity of your surroundings, lifting you high and pitching you into space. You cried out as you shook and trembled with pleasure. The only word that escaped your lungs was a name.

“Angel…”

“I’m almost there, baby…”

And with that, he was.

Heat as warm as the day filled you. You widened your legs as Angel’s body spasmed with his climax. He thrust with every release of him inside you, continuing to ensure that you’d be filled to the brim for days after. The way he groaned into your ear made you wrap your legs tighter around his waist, locking him to you. His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes squeezed shut. He looked in pain, but you knew better. There was a flash of ecstasy and then it was gone, replaced with a calmness that you’d bared witness to a thousand times. When his muscles began to ease from the tension, you kissed him, running delicate fingers through his beard. His own ran up your back and over your spine, tickling you.

“You know,” He started once he’d pulled away from your lips, eyes now alight with mirth and satisfaction. “If I’d known bulking up was gonna get me this much ass, I woulda done it a long time ago.”

You shoved at his shoulder, laughter ravaging your body as he smirked down at you. “Not true. You get ass on the regular. Don��t even.”

He wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing his face a hair’s breadth away from yours. He rubbed his nose against your own, the action making you melt.

“Yeah, you are pretty generous. Gotta be with a super hot boyfriend and all.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you.

You scoffed, but laughed nonetheless. He wasn’t wrong.

“Okay, okay…you’re hot. Let’s move on.”

You tried to escape his hold, but he caught your wrists and pinned you to him.

“No, I wanna hear more. Tell me how hot I am.” He tickled your ribs as he spoke, forcing you to jerk away. You giggled when he followed, his mouth now nestled against your neck, rubbing his facial hair against your skin.

“Angel!”

You tried to wriggle away, but his Adonis-like body kept you immobile, along with his hardening cock still embedded inside you. You stopped struggling when he placed a hand to your neck, feeling your pulse jump against his palm. His face grew serious, the tendrils of lust starting to darken his irises all over again.

“Lay back, mama. I’m gonna return the favor.” He instructed, pushing against your chest. You followed his words and movements, letting him retreat from your body. He took hold of your thighs, leveling your lower half to his smirking mouth.

It only took two minutes before Angel had to close the garage door, your moans too loud for any passerby on a neighborhood street.

It took another five minutes for the cops to show up, claiming they got a domestic disturbance call in response to some questionable noises.

Angel had never looked so pleased with himself.

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