#still unsure about the layout

[jakesangel]

come here, come closer ꣑୧ - in which situations jake would say that

꣑୧ flirty jake

this will surely happen early in the relationship, his shyness demeanor fading away as yours remains. if you still sit 'far away' from him on the couch, or is shy to start skinship. he'd take matters in his hands.

'baby, why are you so far away ?' jake breaks the silence as you two were watching a movie in his empty dorm. tho he is whispering, it caught you off guard, almost making you flinch. your head is still facing the tv and because you arent answering him, his hand touch your thigh, still sitting inches a part from you. ' you okay ?' he asked again. you're facing him giving him a shy smile, his puppy eyes too much for you to even stutter a word. he smiles at your reaction, his smirk a good warning of what he is about to do. he pretends to let you go, and you look back to the screen thinking it's all good, but to your surprise. his hand grabs under your thigh, and pull you closer to him. 'come here, come closer baby' he still whisper. you collide against his chest making you gasp a little , to jake's happiness as his smirk gets wider. he pretends to yawn, one of his arm over your shoulder, bringing you impossibly closer 'we're better like that. isn't it baby ?'

꣑୧ reassuring jake

still early in relationship, when you're the first one who's vulnerable in front of the other, too afraid to show your tears to your soft boyfriend.

'[...] i just cant do it anymore' you say as you vented your non-ending week to jake. it's the first time you cry in front of him, making you further more vulnerable and on nerve. you don't know how jake is going to react. tho he said he wants to support and can be a great ear, feeling his eye on you as you cry your heart out is too nerve wrecking for you. you hide your face under your hands, sobbing as you 'truly' can't do it anymore. and you were right. jake standing in front of your crying self, sadness overpowering his face. he doesn't know what to do, unsure of what you need right now. to be heard ? advice ? but what he is sure of, is that you need him and his comfort. he walks closer to you before staring to wrap his arms around your shaking figure ' come here, come closer' he says as he brings your face further into his chest.

꣑୧ needy jake

this surely happens throughout the whole relationship, after the first months pass and his shyness is completely gone, not embarrassed to show his neediness and eagerness he holds for you.

'come on baby, spend some time with me please ?' jake has been impossibly clingy today. he came to your place unnoticed because 'i miss my girlfriend' and kept on following you around the apartment as you had chores to do. and even tho you told jake you were busy 'seeing you is enough for me'. and obviously it wasn't. 'just lemme fold that, yunie', you tell him as you keep on folding your clothes to your wardrobe. 'how long is it going to take ?', he whines as he poops down on your bed. but as his head hits your soft mattress he got the best idea, and before you can even look back at the pile of clothes to answer him, he pulls you back, your back hitting his chest. 'play with me, baby', he whisper looking down on you. you try to look at cold as possible, but as you're looking up to him, he can only see your adorable round eyes to him, making him wanting you further more. so he walks off, a hand in yours, leading you to the bed. he sits down, and waits for you to do the same. but you stand there, hands on your hips, in between his legs, eyebrows furrowed symboling your duty to finish your weekly cleaning. he will not take no for an answer, 'come here, come closer' he says, as plops you on his lap. ' i'll help you do then later. just okay with me right, please ?'

princess' love letter : thank you anon for the inspo >.< i hope it fulfill ur fantasy > < also for the other anon who talked about my layout being not that readable, is it better that way ?ᩚ please lemme kno ᵎ ♡ྀི

perm tag list ( open ) : @berryyuni @stwrjvke @neos127 @goldenretrieverjakezgirlbaby @heeheeswifey @sjylouvre @txnwvc @oopshee @mioons @en-ner-jay @en-chantedtomeetyou @heeseungmyman @jlheon @ghostiiess @river-demon-slayer @djikeu @firstclassjaylee @pshwrldd

[put-me-through-the-wall]

Girl Next Door- Pt. 2

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader

Word count: 3k

Summary: Simon finally accept your offer for dinner. Did you mention you can cook?

A/N: I was a little slow on this but the idea of them getting close was stressing me out, okay? Also my MIL was in town and I couldn't get in the groove. All the support so far is amazing, thank you guys so much! If y'all like it there will be more to come. Warning: still slow burning

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Part I

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Simon sits across from you at your tiny dining table pressed against the wall of your cramped kitchen. You managed to lure him in with a fairly nice bottle of unopened scotch you found in the back of your cabinet that had potentially fallen into one of your own boxes when moving from your ex's house. 

He looks around your quaint little one bedroom apartment. It was a lot different than his own. The literal layout was the same. No extra rooms or walls but you’d done something different in here. The whole space had a cozy feeling to it. Every surface was decorated with useless gadgets and trinkets that he didn't understand the purpose of. Lots of blankets, pillows, soft things. You had music quietly playing through your TV speakers in the living room. A few lamps fill the dim room creating a subtle yellow glow that hits the high points of your face, softening your tired features.

"Do you think there's something wrong with me?" you suddenly blurt out.

"S'cuse me?" Simon asks, caught off guard by the question.

"Lately I've been feeling like there's something inside of me that attracts horrible guys. Like, is there a beacon coming out my head that says 'hey, come over here. I'm vulnerable and easy'."

Simon pauses, unsure how to respond. He watches your face closely. You're sad eyes looking to him for an answer he doesn't have. "I think you're...nice," but he has a feeling that's not what you wanted to hear.

"nice?" You let out a humorless laugh. "Maybe that's the problem. Nice must translate to doormat," You sigh and drop your head into your hands. 

Simon takes a sip of his drink. He's growing concerned this is entering too friendly territory. Then you pop your head back up.

"So, how much did you hear?"

"Not much"

"Yeah right," You toss him a coy smile. “Can I tell you what happened?”

“Sure,”

“Alright, so” you take a sip of your own drink and a deep breath before recounting your story. "I met him at work. He was really nice and offered to pick me up a coffee on his way in one day. I haven’t made any friends at work yet so it was nice just to chat over a coffee. Then we started having lunch together. Nothing serious just in the break room but it felt good to hear about something other than notes from my editor. I wasn’t looking for anything serious, I mean I moved here to focus on myself not continue dating more crappy guys. So of course he started texting me and he was really sweet. He complimented my outfits and thought all my jokes were hilarious apparently. I really wasn’t trying to get involved with this guy though. He said something about hearing I can cook and of course I said I do. It’s part of my job, duh. He’s giving my shit about it so I invited him over for dinner. I made this creamy potato gnocchi with Italian sausage that I got from that great butcher on the corner. I even hand rolled the gnocchi. I mean, who wouldn't kill for an authentic Italian meal?"

"He's sounds like some guy"

"Not really, I was testing out a new recipe for the column so, two birds one stone. Anyways, he comes up and we have some wine and listen to some music. It was going really well so far. Then I go to bring out a nice charcuterie board for an appetizer while the pasta finishes baking. While I'm bringing it to him I can see he's on his phone, texting someone and literally giggling. I walk up behind him and he is sexting. On my couch!" you throw you hands up incredulously. "Well, I thought he was. He’s looking at a picture of some girl bent over then I realize it’s me. He took a picture of my ass, while I was making him dinner. I couldn't fucking believe it. What kind of a scumbag does that to a woman preparing a fucking meal for him? Now, this is not something I'm proud of so let the record show this is very out of character for me but these were extraordinary circumstances. So, I dropped the fig chutney on his head. Right in his stupid quaffed hair. He jumps up and he's all mad and starts yelling and I'm yelling back. He calls me a crazy bitch then I call him a perv. After that he left." you conclude with a shrug.

"Wow" Simon responds, truly taken aback by the series of events. 

"Yeah, then you know the rest from there. I don't know what came over me. I guess after my last breakup I haven't felt very good about myself and this guy made me feel, I don't know- fun? That feels silly to say. I should’ve known better from a guy that works the celebrity gossip section. I probably looked like a big baby out there, how dramatic. I'm sorry about that, again."

"You don't need to apologize."

"After I moved here I thought things would be different. I thought guys in the city were classier I guess. Turns out all guys are the same. Just take what they want and go. Do you want another drink?" You point to his now empty glass. 

"Sure." You snag his cup and stand. He watches you walk over to the counter in your silky slip dress. The sleek fabric clings to your waist. Flaring around your hips and down your thighs. The warm light reflects on the shiny material, shifting with each step you take. It tightens perfectly about your waist and cinched with a neat little bow in the back. He wonders why you would wear a dress like that for this guy.

"So, do you date?" you question in a seemingly casual tone.

"No" 

"Yeah right," you laugh and look over your shoulder to see his stoney expression and your smile fades. "Oh, sorry, I just- I find that hard to believe."

"Why is that?" He tilts his head and you focus back on filling his glass. 

"It's just, you're a good looking guy. I would think you'd get plenty of female attention," You pivot back around and place the glass before him. You lean on the table with one hand and prop the other on your waist. 

"'M not interested," his gaze stays fixed on the brown liquid, grabbing it and taking another sip. He doesn't miss the way you deflated the slightest bit. 

"Maybe I should take a page out of your book, as in maybe swearing off men completely" The oven timer dings. "Oh! pasta!" You jump over and grab your oven mitts. You drop the oven door and slide out the sizzling dish. An aroma of cheese and basil fills the air. Your stomach audibly growls.

You pull down two plates from your cabinet. You serve up the steaming pasta, sprinkling parmesan and fresh chopped herbs for garnish. You proudly carry over the two dishes and place them carefully on the table. You place your hands on your hips while gazing down at the platter.

"This looks...great." Simon is truly taken aback by the incredible looking dish. 

"Wait, don't eat yet. Let me get a picture." You scamper into your living room, grabbing your phone off the coffee table and scurrying back. You hold your phone high above for a birds eye view. Simon scoots his chair back to avoid the gaze of the lens. The camera clicks with a flash. You examine the photo, seeming satisfied with the quality and finally taking a seat in your own chair. "It was okay if you were in the picture. I don't mind." 

"I do," he says simply. 

To anyone else, Simon comes off as rude or callous but you, you never seem to let his shortness affect you. You take his words and just keep going. You don't mind his lack of conversation. It seems you are totally satisfied with having someone there to listen. He was starting to think he didn't mind listening so much. 

"Oh," You shift uncomfortably in your chair. "Sorry then. Well, let me know what you think. Try to be detailed with your feelings about it if you can. You're my guinea pig and be honest. I don't want to put this out when it's garbage."

He proceeds to take a forkful in his mouth. He cannot control the groan that escapes his throat as the bold flavor hits his tongue. This is far cry from his usual take away food. He can't remember the last time he had a home cooked meal now that he thinks about it. 

"This is quite good." He grumbled between bites. Not caring to finish chewing before he's stabbing at the pasta on the plate once again. 

"Really? You don't need to be nice to spare my feelings. I don't mind criticism."

He shoves more in his mouth. "I’m serious"

"Thank you" You giggle watching him scarf down the still steaming hot meal. 

The two of you finish your respective plates without much more conversation to be had. On your last few bites you meet Simon's eyes as he reclines back in the creaky wooden chair, hands laying across his stomach. His head tips back with a satisfied grumble making a proud smile play across your lips. This may be the first time you've seen him express a true human emotion in your presence. 

"There's more if you want?"

"No, I'm stuffed." 

If you know one thing as a part time chef, food is the way to a man's heart. You knew if Simon tasted what you could make his ice exterior would melt away. You stand up and walk to the fridge. 

"Too stuffed for dessert?" you pull out a glass bowl filled with layers of custard, strawberries, cake, and whipped cream. "I made a traditional English trifle. Y'know for the holidays coming up and who doesn't love custard?" you shrug while carrying the bowl over to the table. You hurry back to the kitchen to grab two saucers and plate up the dessert.

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you're trying to butter me up." he comments, intently watching as you carefully slice through the layers. "What do you know about English food?" 

"Not much, which is why this is a special occasion. I can get some insight from a genuine Englishman," you slide the saucer to him. "Everything happens for a reason, I guess you were meant to be here tonight" you don’t realize how weird that comment is until it's already left your mouth. You suppress the feeling and internally cringe. You take a seat with your own plate and try a bite. "Hey, that's not too bad. I think Gordon Ramsey would be proud"

Simon actually chuckles when you compliment yourself making you giggle in return. This whole night is very different than you expected. Not that you were complaining.

Your leg bumps his underneath the narrow table. Your bare foot brushing up the edge of his pant leg for the briefest moment. A deep blush rises to your cheeks the second you realize it's his leg instead of the table's. 

"Oh, sorry!" you quickly draw your legs underneath your chair. Simon pauses his eating and meets your gaze. 

"S'alright," he slowly slides his long leg across the distance and nudges the shin of your tucked legs with the toe of his boot. "You scared?"

"What?" you allow your legs to relax, your calves sitting on either side of his outstretched leg. It felt natural, almost domestic. "You don't scare me." you're lying paired with an anxious laugh.

"No?" As he says this his foot shifts underneath the supports of your chair and yanks it forward causing your chair to skid a few inches across the tile, pressing you further into the table as you let you a surprised yelp. Hands brace against the edge of the table. Simon maintains his calm composure. "Are you sure?" he takes another bite of the fluffy dessert. 

You weren't sure if it was the liquor going to your head or the rush of adrenaline but you felt bold. You rest your cheek on your propped up hand, offering the most innocent eyes you can muster, as you delicately slide your foot along the smooth leather of his boot. Simon swallows and gently places his fork back on the table.

"What do you think of it?" you question in a hushed tone. your foot travels further up his ankle, dipping under his pant leg to feel his hot skin underneath. 

"It's sweet," He states simply but his words roll off his tongue smooth as butter. 

"Not too sweet?" You tilt your head the slightest bit.

"Hm," he hums in contemplation. Your eyes drift down to watch his hands grasp his drink. He grips the glass in his large palm. The rolled sleeves of his long sleeve reveal the muscles in his arm shifting when he raises the glass to his mouth. For the first time you notice a faint raised scar cutting through the outer corner of his lip and stopping just shy of the edge of his nose. He takes a long swig of the brown liquid, not quite finishing the drink. As he pulls back his lips glisten in the warm light. "Not bad when it's paired with a stiff drink," his tongue is quick to swipe across, collecting the residue. 

"I'll be sure to make a note of that." you smile sweetly. "Can I get you another drink?" You look down at the last sip coating the bottom of the glass. You make sure to flutter your lashes when you look back up at him. 

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" A smirk raises the corner of his mouth.

"No," you laugh. "Why, do you want me to?" 

He releases a deep gravelly laugh that makes your stomach stir. Then he glances at his watch and your stomach drops. 

"I need to get going." He mumbles. He pulls his leg away from yours and rises out of his chair. 

"Wait," you rush to stand, almost knocking your seat over in the process. "Can I- uh- get you a bit of pasta to go? There’s plenty left" Trying to think of any excuse to keep him here a moment longer. 

"S'okay, save it. Maybe I'll come by another time." He turns and steps out of your kitchen and into the hallway leading to your front door in only a few wide strides. 

"Are you sure?" You don't intend for your voice to come out as needy as it does. You follow on his heels like a lost puppy.

"I've got an early morning." Before he reaches the door he turns, seemingly surprised by how close you are to him. He looks down at your big round eyes. 

"Okay," you smile trying not to look defeated. "Well, you're welcome over anytime. I mean it, just knock and I'll probably be home. I'm gonna try writing at home more. Try to avoid that guy." You let out a halfhearted chuckle. "Maybe, you should get my number. Y'know, in case you want to check if I'm home."

"I'm alright, I'll just knock" His hand finds the doorknob. "Thanks for dinner, it was nice" Then he turns to go. Closing the door politely behind him. 

You rush to the peephole, watching his distorted figure step out of sight followed by the sound of his own door shutting. You rest your hot forehead against the cool wood grain of your door. 

You step back in the kitchen and begin putting away the leftovers. Piling the pasta into tupperware, rinsing the plates, collecting silverware. His glass remains in place with a sliver of scotch leftover. You hold the glass up in the light and see a faint smudge on its rim. You twist the cup around so your own mouth lines up with the imprint he left. You swallow the last bit slowly, savoring the way the sharp burn eases into a smooth, smoky aftertaste. You never liked scotch, but now you are starting to understand the meaning of an acquired taste.

The low atmospheric music is abruptly interrupted by an ad loudly cutting through the calm space. You rush into the living room to find the remote, hiding among the cushions and various throw pillows. Growing frustrated you end up walking over and manually hitting the power button. The silence that replaces it isn’t much better though. You step back and let your weak legs carry you until you collapse onto the comfort of your couch. The wine followed by the glass of scotch you polished off makes your head feel light but your limbs so heavy. You turn from your back to your side, realizing the used glass is still clutched in your hand. 

You reach across the gap and set it down on the coffee table with a thud. Your hand retreats back to rest under your head. You stare at it, taking in all the imperfections left on its reflective surface. Your eyes trace the rim once again looking for the smudge. On the corner you see the shadow of an impression peeking out underneath the red lipstick mark you have smeared over it. 

𝜗𝜚

Across the wall Simon falls back on his own couch. He looks around his dull apartment wondering what you have done differently to make your place look so welcoming. He never minded the minimal decorations he had. A photo frame with his team that his buddy gifted him and a couple of books always seemed like enough. After comparison though it just feels empty. 

He can hear you stomp across your floor. Footstep rushing from the kitchen until you're straight ahead. The sound of your TV turning off bathes the room in sudden silence. Only thing he can hear now is the rushing of his air conditioning unit. He considered your music annoying but now he couldn’t deny the way it added an unconscious energy to the small unit. Now sitting here, the cool tone of the overhead kitchen light illuminating into the living room he feels as though something is missing. Maybe a nice lamp would help. 

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

@azkza @neurolept @contractedcriteria @hidden-treasures21 @sprokat @stark-red19

[oimitocat]

LUST OVERFLOW | OS

han jisung x m!reader

cnc (dubious consent) + unintentional piss kink + slight crying + unprotected sex + semi public sex + praise kink + restroom sex + dry penetration (use lube guys)

a/n; imma try to slowly change my layout jjsj

you always bullied the others when they’d go to the bathroom in pairs. obviously it’s sometimes a security thing, but really, you found it silly how they always made someone go with them.

you were humming to yourself your verses, staring at yourself in the mirror while your stylist added some final touches to your hair. you lost track of how many times you’ve had your hair done today. this is the second show of the day and-

“you look nice,” you comment when your eyes drift towards jisung.

the rapper blinked, straightening up. his stylist finished long ago, he just walked near your station to grab your water bottle. he stares at you, unsure how to answer. you’re used to it, so you smile. the thing about your boyfriend is that when it comes to you- he doesn’t know how to take a compliment. anyone else can say something and he’ll be playfully narcissistic for a second.

not with you. he genuinely has his brain short circuit when his charming boyfriend compliments him. especially when you eye him with those eyes, which always trail towards his waist. he fidgets, taking a seat next to you. the members are off goofing around, the camera is running and recording felix with chan.

your stylist finishes and walks off to work on jeongin. no one is looking at you two.

jisung’s leg is bouncing, he realizes he maybe shouldn’t have drank so much water. he normally doesn’t but being around you makes him so parched for some reason. you still make him nervous, sometimes he can’t believe you actually want him. yet, he feels at ease when you place a hand on his knee. he swallows.

“wanna come with me to the restroom?” he asks, realizing he should probably empty his bladder before performing.

you smile, he misses the glint in your eyes as he stands. he gives a small announcement to chan before exiting with you. idols are buzzing about as he guides you to the restroom. he’s decently surprised when it’s empty, heading straight to the farthest stall.

he doesn’t think much of you coming in with him. he does the same to you sometimes. it’s his anxiety that makes him do that though, yet he still doesn’t question you.

before he even faces the toilet, you grab him and press your lips against his. he makes a small noise, closing his eyes and accepting the tender kiss. except the tenderness disappears once he melts into your arms. you have a hand behind his head, pushing him close and pulling him flush against you with an arm around his waist. his hands grab your sides, clinging to the outfit.

your kiss turns aggressive, eating away at his lips ferociously that he finds himself backing away. still, you finish eating his lip tint before finally letting go.

“w-what are you doing?” he asks breathlessly, eyeing you with hazy eyes. his heart is racing and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other when he remembers what he came here for.

“what do you mean?” you ask, not so innocently and slightly serious.

jisung blinks, pursing his lips. “i- no, nothing.” he says softly, pecking your lips again.

he tries to pull away again, he needs to pee. he feels his bladder crying out from how long he’s holding it in for. yet, the peck you mistake it for consent. you grip him again, making him whimper.

you spin him around, pulling down on the collar of his shirt. he shudders when you kiss and lick his nape. he’s sensitive there, trembling and hiccuping his moans. your hand snakes down and rubs him through his pants. that’s when he completely slaps your hand away.

“y/n- no-“ he tries to get away but you grab his waist and grind him. “i need to pee- that’s what i came here for!”

he slaps his hands over his mouth when the door opens and footsteps present themselves. just as two voices exchange conversation between themselves, you buckle his belt and pull his pants down. he tries to stop you, panicking because he’s never been good at being quiet.

“y/n,” he begs as quietly as possible, not only does he know what you want but there’s two things happening.

1) there’s people down the restroom stalls.

2) he needs to pee.

he’s getting overwhelmed. it doesn’t get better when you push him forward, making him brace himself against the wall with his hands out. his heart is about to jump up and crawl up his throat and out his mouth when he feels you hands spread his cheeks apart. the toilets flush farther down and he closes his eyes when he feels the tip of your dick against his hole.

“y/n-“ he whimpers out, bringing a hand back to push you away.

the two people are chattering as they walk out and jisung takes the opportunity to look back at you. his eyes are glistening with tears.

“i need to pee.” he says, “stop.”

“then pee baby,” you say with a serious expression, shoving yourself in with a single movement.

jisung turns back to face forward, trembling and gasping. he screws his eyes shut as you grab his hips and pull him flush against your pelvis. he feels you pulse inside him, he opens his eyes and looks down at the toilet bowl. his own dick semi-hard but close to bursting with piss.

“y/n- wait- pull out- we-we can’t,” he feels his tears drip from his eyes when he screws his eyes shut again at the movement of your hips.

“shh,” you usher as you lean forward, flush against his back.

“i need to pee-“

“then pee.” he shakes his head and you have the audacity to bring a hand over and grab his dick to aim down at the toilet-

“y/n stop-“ he shakes his head but the more you thrust into him, the more he feels his will weakening.

“come on baby,” you whisper huskily into his ear, “be my good boy. you’re doing good so far, so well, my pretty baby is obedient, no?”

jisung swallows, hiccuping when he feels a trickle of pee leave him. “ngh-“

“don’t you want to be good? my good little slut?”

that did it. he slaps a hand over his mouth, his other hand bracing him against the wall as he lets out the stream of piss into the bowl. you pound into him, as he pees, finding ecstasy in it. you do feel a little bad, but you two have talked about things like this and you know he’ll be fine.

even after he’s done, he trembles as you keep your relentless pace from behind. at some point he’s unsure if he came alongside his piss, the sensations new and overwhelming.

“that’s my pretty baby,” you grunt from behind, reaching your high soon after.

“you’re a piece of shit,” he gasps when he feels you cum deep inside, his hips aching from your grip on them.

“my feisty baby,” you smile, placing a kiss on his nape. “you can hate me later.”

“sure will.”

you smile at him as you pull out with a shuddered sigh. and maybe he definitely shows you his hatred later that night, cockblocking you with an evil, innocent smile.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 16

Azriel x third-oldest-Archeron-sibling!reader

a/n: kind of pleased how simple this chapter is compared with the last one

word count: 7,892

-Part 15- -Part 17-

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Feyre paces quietly through the halls of her home, bare feet sticking slightly to the waxed wooden floors as she repeats the corridors. Her throat is raw and hoarse, already short nails bitten shorter, eyes red and swollen as she tries to think past the turmoil in her stomach, ringing in her head. 

Footfalls approach her, steady so as not to startle her, but she jumps anyway until the familiar scent enters her lungs, and she turns to find those deep starlit eyes gazing back down at her, a hint of worry passing by. Warm palms graze up her bare arms, pausing at the roundness of her shoulders, thumbs stroking faintly as Rhys watches her quietly. She knows he’ll understand how distraught she is, devastation written across her gaunt features, harrowed by the past months of being torn between her family and her court, her mate and her baby. He reads the words she can’t bring herself to voice, hands moving to cup her jaw, thumbs brushing the skin coaxingly, violet eyes soft with an understanding she can hardly bare to recognise—to acknowledge where that understanding comes from is a wound she’s only beginning to understand the depth of. 

“She’s alive,” Rhys tells her quietly, keeping her gaze locked and focused, her own trembling hands wrapped around the bone of her elbows. “Madja will be free shortly to perform an analysis on her current state, but she’s still here, Feyre.” 

“She tried to kill herself.” 

The words are cold and raspy, voice hoarse from disuse, and it cracks through her again—who had so nearly been ripped away from her. “She tried to kill herself, Rhys,” Feyre rasps, and his eyes shine before he’s dipping down, lips brushing the skin of her cheek as he kisses away the tears that must be falling. She falls into the sure lines of him, forehead resting against his chest helplessly, too tired for any more sobs to come up yet she feels the sting of her throat closing up, the ache of pulling a muscle stuck in her neck, trying to swallow past the lump. 

“She’s alive, Feyre,” he repeats gently, palm settling over her hair, having lost its silky shine, a little knotted at the ends. “She’ll live.” 

————

The room is so dark you struggle to recognise anything, and for long, stretching moments, you don’t. 

The bedroom isn’t yours, the light-ish sheets unfamiliar to you, the entire layout strange and unknown. But you can recognise that scent, or at least a few small notes of it—you’ve been moved into the strange sanctuary of the River House. It’s your room. 

Silently, you push the duvet back, bones aching with the movement as fatigue remains thick in your mind, making it difficult to stand. But you manage anyway, quietly making your way across the floor to the heavy curtains draping thickly on the ground, exerting surprising force to push them aside, wide enough for you to be met with— the night’s sky. It’s night. 

You ease the window open, allowing the crisp air to wash over you, kissing along sweat-dampened skin, and you soften beneath the tender touch, craving the gentle caress so deeply you worry something might crack open inside of you. Swallowing thickly, you have to pry your tongue from the roof of your mouth, craving water. Turning for the door, you hope everyone will be asleep at this time, you aren’t ready for any sort of confrontation. After being alone in the House for so long, you’re unsure how to behave in a shared building—with fae hearing do you need to worry about being quiet, or are they used to sleeping through things in the night. 

Twisting the handle, having grabbed a shawl from the top of a chest of drawers, you squeeze your eyes shut at the small creak, freezing as you pray nobody will have heard. When no footsteps sound, you release a silent sigh, pulling the door open and quietly stepping out into the corridor. Keen hazel eyes greet your own, and your breath catches, causing you to cough slightly as you press back into the door, hand on your chest as your heart thunders beneath your palm. 

Cassian watches you silent, sat on a chair set beside your door, wings folded peacefully at his back, a book held between his giant’s hands that he’d been reading by candle light. “Something you need?” He asks. It’s quiet but not unfriendly, and you aren’t quite sure what to do. All at once you’re staring at him, eyes flitting fearfully across his features, darting from his gaze, to the edge of his lips, the set of his brows, the tension across his skin—what’s going on? Are you in trouble? Why are you here? Why is he outside your door? Is Azriel okay? Oh Gods, is Azriel okay? Did you kill him? 

Cassian is unable to answer you unasked questions, so waits patiently in the quiet dark of the hallway. 

“I…was getting some water,” you murmur hoarsely, unsure whether to continue or to run back into your room. Cassian nods slightly, hazel eyes flicking back to your closed door. “There’s a glass by your bed,” he supplies, and you blink. 

“I didn’t know if that was for me or not…” you hedge, wondering still why he’s outside your door. What your situation is. Why isn’t anyone telling you anything? 

Tension wells in your chest but you swallow it down, the questions about Azriel pushed away—how are you supposed to ask something like that? Like you’d be deserving of an answer. But is he dead? 

“Is… How is…?” You ask hoarsely, words croaking from your throat, too afraid of insulting him to speak his name. “Been through worse,” Cassian asks, a slight gleam in his eyes, but it fades swiftly and you feel your temperature cool further. “Okay,” you reply, giving a small nod. “Goodnight.” 

You hurry back into your room before he has a chance to reply, heart pounding in your chest as you slide down the door, sitting on the floor as you stare blankly across the room. Breathing shallowly, the night air making your skin shiver. You aren’t sure how long you sit there before emptying the glass of water, heading over to the window to open it a little wider, disliking the scent in your room. Your fingers fumble with the latch, unable to push it any further than a few inches wide—the hinge must be stuck, or rusted. You don’t want to go out there again. 

Reluctantly, you settle back into bed, falling into a restless sleep. 

————

When you next wake, it’s light. Foggy, grey morning sitting just outside your window. 

You lean back into the deep cushion, falling further into the soft heat of the bed, wishing the world away—or to at least have it pause temporarily so you don’t have to worry over—

Three soft knocks are landed to your door, but you nestle further into the bed, limbs curling up into a ball as you pretend not to hear anything. Muffled voices come from the other side of the door, jarring with their unfamiliar hurry, words flurrying in whispered rasps between mouths from behind the wooden slab. Male and female—you can’t make out what’s being said and neither do you particularly want to, but you can hear the distinct sharpness of the female’s tone, cutting and harsh as it quietly hisses like steel through the air. The second voice then is likely still Cassian, but you bring the pillow over your head, trying to block out the analogy. 

After long minutes, the knocks repeat, and your name is called softly from the entrance of the room—it’s Nesta. She’s asking if you’re awake. You keep very still, hardly even breathing so as to hopefully fool her into thinking you’re still asleep. She sighs. “You need to eat something,” she says firmly from the doorway, “Madja says it’ll help if you have something in your stomach.” You tuck yourself a little tighter, hiding away from the world beneath the cream covered duvet, dipping into the softness of the mattress. 

She calls your name again, but silence follows. 

The door clicks softly shut, like an arrow clicking into place, and tears drip over the bridge of your nose, sliding back into your hair as they dampen the fresh sheets. 

————

By what you guess is lunchtime, you’ve managed to prop yourself up, though it took three tries to be successful. 

On the first, you’d peeked over the hem of the covers, mind aching and eyes straining, everything a little blurry and bleary at the edges but preferring to be upright rather than remaining on your sides for the rest of the day. You’d managed to get as far as shifting in bed when you’d glanced down at yourself, wrapped in a long nightgown, but you could make out the pastiness of your skin. Up to your elbows, the skin was flaky and grey, flesh bumpy and lumpy in places, small swellings of tissue grouped together with crusted edges. To have taken over so much more of your body from that brief release of magic… You’d fallen back into the bed, unable to look at yourself, the gross wrongness of your skin. 

The second, your head had been pounding enough you’d forced yourself to roll through the tangle of sheets to reach your bedside table, but as soon as you’d stuck your arm out to hold the glass then tears had been rolling again. Arm so speckled with flakes and lumps, grey and ugly and so distinctly not yours you’d almost spilled the water over the floor on bringing it to your mouth. On your chest had been other small lumps and bumps, though closer to the size of spots, and your stomach had sunk further, disgusted by the state of your own body—what illness could ravage you in such a cruel way? 

The third, you had resolved simply to not glance down at yourself at all, resolutely shoving your arms out of sight as you pushed yourself up, propping yourself against the pillow and pulling the duvet firmly up to your shoulders so you wouldn’t have to even think of the ugly state of your flesh. It had been then the knocks had come again, and the door had opened slightly, silver eyes finding your own across the room. “May I come in?” She asks. 

You look away uncomfortably, unsure if you’re allowed to ask her to go away. Would that be too much? This would be so much easier if any of them were being openly hostile to you, but it feels like they’re hiding it away, silently encouraging it from the light, harbouring and nurturing it where you can’t see until resentment is strong enough to slither out and strangle you with a single, venomous bite. 

Nesta pauses, then pushes the door open with her foot, coming in with a tray of food and setting it on the bed. There’s a brief silence, then, “how are you feeling?” You dip your head slightly in a vague answer, but it sends an ache through your skull so you decide you’ll try not to do it again. Silver eyes drift from the tray then back to you. “Madja will be here this evening to have a look at you. You should eat.” You swallow thickly, not looking at her. 

“I’m not hungry,” you manage softly. Another silence passes, and you hope she’ll leave soon. “You need to eat,” she says firmly, a touch gentler than before. 

But you stay quiet, not looking at her. 

She moves abruptly, sitting down on the edge of the bed, making to reach gently for your hands beneath the duvet. You flinch, recoiling to the other side of the bed, upsetting a small carafe of cream as it spills across the tray, bleeding into the toast and pastry, softening them into mush. Your eyes unwillingly flinch as they meet her own set, sharp and silver and hurting, her brows curved, but she puts it away swiftly, recovering.

Nesta nods her head faintly, wordlessly, standing elegantly from the bed, collecting the tray in her warrior’s hands. “I’ll go find you something else. Just rest here, okay?” She requests softly. But you’ve already torn your eyes away, looking low elsewhere. “I’m not hungry.” 

————

Nesta had returned with another tray of food, instead setting this one on your bedside table so there would be no risk of it getting upturned. You don’t look at her, keeping your gaze to the floor on the other side of the room until you’d heard the door click shut, and again the memories swell across your skin, and you fall into sadness. 

Madja appears in the evening, Elain accompanying her, and you can’t help but be certain she’s been kept this long attending to Azriel. You have no idea what state he’s in, only that he’s been through worse, according to his brother. Little assurance that gives, knowing what’s probably a small fraction of the things he’s experienced. And now you’ve added to that list. Shame tugs at your gut, guilt starving hunger away. It would be better if you didn’t eat, at least that might be some way to begin atoning. 

“Will you show me your hands?” Madja asks gently, having brought in a chair to sit by your bedside. Reluctantly you pull them out, apologies naturally falling from your mouth as they’re presented to her, and you’re embarrassed by their stark ugliness in contrast to her own withered hands, but she shakes her head, assuring you there’s nothing to be sorry for. But you suppose that’s part of her job, too. To make even the most unnatural creature feel seen and reassured. 

A faint warmth ghosts across your skin where she’s touching you, and Elain watches from beside, a wariness in her cocoa eyes as Madja’s brows narrow in concentration. “Is it—” You swallow thickly, heart pounding in your chest, “can you fix it?” You scan her features eagerly as she opens her eyes. It would be nice to not have to find arm-length gloves. But Madja offers a quiet smile, “let me finish with my examination, then I can tell you my findings.” 

You flush a little at your haste, but nod briskly, leaning back into the pillow as one hand settles over your forehead, the other over your sternum. Elain meets your eyes, and you give a small smile that belies your excitement. None of the nurses you had as children could hold a flame to what Madja can do, the experience and knowledge she has, and it’s exciting being treated knowing you’ll be able to get better. You’re in a land of magic, after all. They have a cure for every known illness. 

That tingling feeling sharpens into something a little uncomfortable as it passes over your lungs, but Madja makes no reaction so you guess it can’t be anything bad. Her hand drifts over your stomach, Elain having helped to push the duvet down, and her middle and second finger begin pushing and prodding at different parts of your abdomen, feeling either side of your ribs, above your belly button, close to your hips, gently over your stomach, each time keeping that faint tingly warmth in her touch. At last she pulls away, gently settling her hand over your sternum again, eyes closed as she does her work, and you give Elain another excited look. She smiles faintly back, and an unfamiliar warmth tingles across your chest, independent from the magic of Madja’s fingertips.

When she’s done, you look at her expectantly, arms resting more easily at your sides. You look at her with eyes more bright than they’ve been in a while, and her features remain peacefully neutral, kind. She takes your hands in hers, and you cast a hasty glance at Elain to make sure she’s watching with as much attention as you are. “You asked me if I can fix your hands at the beginning of this session,” Madja begins, watching you kindly, and you manage a small nod, all your attention on her. Madja shakes her head a little, “I cannot.” 

You blink, the smile fading from your mouth, heart picking up in your chest. “What? You can’t? What do you mean you can’t?” You ask in a quiet flurry, confusion muddling your thoughts. Madja gives a patient smile, squeezing your hands lightly, “your skin is exactly as it’s supposed to be. There’s nothing wrong with how they are.” 

“There definitely is,” you urge, panic creeping into your voice as you stare into Madja’s warm brown eyes. “Madja they look…” you flush, humiliation creeping in as you lower your voice, “Madja, it’s hideous. You can’t tell me you can’t fix it. You must be able to… There has to be something wrong for you to fix.” 

She gives you another smile, this one sad but understanding, but you don’t feel understood at all. “I agree it might appear as though there’s cause for concern, but there’s nothing in your body I can identify as wrong. With wounds or bruises there are clear patterns within someone to follow that have been damaged, and that is instinctively how a healer knows what must be corrected without causing external changes or mutations. But with your skin, it’s simply different. There’s nothing wrong standing out to me. I can only assume this is the way your skin is meant to be, possibly to facilitate the use of your magic.” 

“What do you mean assume? Possibly? Do you— Don’t you know what’s happened to me?” You ask quietly, frantically, hold tightening on her though she doesn’t seem to mind at all. “Madja you can’t tell me I’m alright,” you urge, pointedly forcing yourself to look over the lumpy, discoloured flesh. 

Madja gives a pause, glancing down at your arms, before again returning her calm gaze to yours. “I have never seen something like this; all I can tell you is at this moment I can only observe what is happening inside of you. I cannot tell you whether it is good or bad, only what it is doing. I will continue with these check-ups—if you’re okay with them—and document your development so we can learn. Though my instincts are leading me to believe this is a phenomenon caused by however your magic is choosing to manifest. I would guess learning more about your magic will give us some insight into what’s happening, but for now all I can offer is to report on what I find in you over these coming weeks.” 

————

Another day has passed, it having started with you awkwardly wobbling over to your bathroom to throw up, heaving saliva into the toilet as flaky fingers gripped the pristine porcelain-looking shine of the seat. The grey sheen to your skin stands out more against the blinding white of the bathroom, and you feel like grime clinging to the tiles. 

————

Your next visitor is Feyre, and your stomach hollows out when she steps through the door. She looks worse than you do: her hair isn’t as resplendent as you remember, looking slightly greasy at the roots, little light in her eyes, slight lines carved beneath them and around the edges of her mouth. Indeed, she looks older than when you last saw one another, haggard and strained, and guilt kicks you hard in the unprotected soft part of your stomach—it’s your fault she looks like that for at least partly contributing to her worries. 

Feyre manages a small smile, walking over to your bed like a ghost and you watch silently, how she’s changed. “Hi!” She says softly, eyes crinkling at the edges as she pauses at the edge of the mattress, looking at you expectantly. “Hi,” you manage, hardly more than a horrid whisper as you stare at your younger sister. She looks like she’s been dragged from one end of the world to the other. “Can I sit down?” She asks, and you remember the last time you spoke together, alone in your room. You aren’t sure if she’s remembering too, but you manage a small nod and she smiles, crawling onto the foot of the mattress and crossing her bare feet over her lap. “So?” She asks gently, conversationally, “how have you been?” 

“Fine,” you answer instinctively. Both of you pause at that, unsure which of you should call the lie. “I’m fine,” you repeat, trying to speak it into existence, and Feyre watches you quietly, something changing in her gaze. It might be sorrow, but you look away before you have time to examine it. 

“How was the visit from Madja?” She asks at last, switching to an equally awful topic, and you shift beneath the bedsheets. “She doesn’t know what’s wrong,” you reply. At least you can be truthful with this answer. “She thinks…” you almost tell her Madja encouraged you to look into your powers, but after what’s happened… “What does she think?” Feyre asks when you’ve seemingly drifted into space. You blink, then sigh, “that this, is— that’s it’s fine.” 

Feyre’s brow furrows, a look of concentration settling over her features. “Does any of it hurt?” She asks, but you shake your head. 

“Not anymore.” Her expression shifts at that, concern deepening and you internally shrink away from the small lines deepening on her face, how you’re carving the worry lines into something more clear. “It used to hurt?” You sink into the pillow—you don’t want to burden her with all those strange pains and sharp discomforts, the blood and pasty flesh. “It’s fine.” 

Quiet passes, full and heavy, but you have no interest in continuing the stunted conversation. 

“Feyre, I’m tired, so…” You begin, but she speaks abruptly, looking directly into your eyes like she’s been preparing herself for this question. “Why did you do it?” 

As soon as the question is out however, her eyes are filling with tears, shining in the early light, her nose reddening as she hastily wipes at her cheeks with the sleeves of her top, trying to pull herself together. Her own tears make your eyes heat so you look away, sniffling so you don’t have to wipe your nose on the sleeve of your nightgown. “I don’t know,” you mumble defensively. “I don’t know. I was just— I was just scared, and tired, and I—” You cut yourself off, realising you’re mumbling out nonsense that you aren’t properly thinking about. “I don’t know,” you settle on, hardly a whisper. 

“Were you,” —Feyre stumbles, drying her eyes— “I mean, did you not feel like…like you could speak with us?” She manages, voice wet with tears. 

“I don’t know,” you cry softly, covering your face. “I just—… I didn’t want to be forced to…to kill someone. I didn’t want to be a murderer, Feyre. I just— I didn’t know what to do, so I guess I just figured it would be easier if I…if I wasn’t here…” your voice breaks on the last part, shoulders shaking as you try to muffle your sobs. “It would’ve been easier,” you whisper. 

The mattress dips as she crawls further up, settling at your side, and her arms wrap around you, both of you shifting to face one another as you cry, hiding your face in her hair as her own tears wet your night gown. “Please,” she whispers. “We’ll find a way through this. We’ll get through it. It’ll pass, and things will get better. You have to trust that they will get better.” 

“I can’t,” you whisper hollowly onto her shoulder. “What is there?” 

“So much,” she breathes, clutching you tighter, “there’s so much out there. And some of it’s awful, but a lot of it’s good, too. You just have to find it.” 

“I’m tired,” you cry quietly, fingers shaking as they hold onto her, wary of leaning too much on her. “I can’t. I don’t want to.” 

“Please,” she repeats. “Please.” 

You’re quiet, allowing tears to fall as she holds you tight, refusing to back off even as your own hold lightens, and you lean closer into her, both of you settling against the pillows for support. “I’ve been so worried,” she admits softly. “I thought you wanted space.” 

“I did want space,” you whisper back. “I still do,” you cry, grip tightening on her a little. 

“Should we— We should have been around more. I should have visited you more,” she murmurs, sniffling lightly. You shake your head, more tears falling, “you couldn’t’ve done anything. It wouldn’t’ve…it wouldn’t’ve worked.” 

“What about…what if it happens again?”

“It won’t.” 

She gives you a slight squeeze, and you know she doesn’t believe you. “Feyre, it won’t. I was just— I thought I was going to kill him,” you plead quietly. 

“So you tried to kill yourself first? Why? That wouldn’t have solved anything,” she cries, and guilt washes through you. As well as something like relief… She pulls back, gripping you firmly by the shoulders. “You would have been missing instead of him,” she breathes, pain-soaked words like a balm to a wound you didn’t know you had. But you still shake your head, “it would’ve been better.” 

Feyre’s brows curve in pain, and she looks like she wants to continue the conversation, but a soft set of knocks come from the door, and you raise your head enough to spot gentle cocoa eyes peering in, silver looking from overtop Elain’s silky, ringleted hair. “Can we come in?” Elain whispers, pausing at the door as Nesta watches from a little further back. Your lower lip wobbles as fresh tears fall, and you nod your head, allowing the other two to enter, closing the door behind them. 

They settle seamlessly on the bed, arms tangling as bodies are pressed together in a familiar mess, leaning back into the plump cushions as tears fall heavier. Both you and Elain are pressed in the centre of the bed, Feyre hugging close to your back with one of your own arms wrapped around Elain and the other in Nesta’s hand who lies solemnly close behind Elain. It’s so strange to be lying like this again, and you feel so stupid crying that you try to muffle your sobs, embarrassed by how you want to grip onto all of them now that they’re here. You hadn’t been aware of missing them, but now they’re lying at your side, and you can feel the heat of skin and the familiar press of joints and limbs you wonder how you’d made it this long without them. 

Everyone seems to be holding the others equally tightly though.

It’s not just you who’s scared of losing. 

————

The evening has come, and you’re feeling surprisingly awake. 

Despite having spent the afternoon locked inside you bedroom, spending the time lazing with your sisters, you don’t feel at all fatigued. Maybe some weight on your eyelids, a slight stiffness to your joints, but you’re awake. A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you search the cupboard for a mug, having departed from the group temporarily to find yourself some tea—the others were fine without. It feels good to get along with them, though you know it won’t stretch for longer than a day. This is your one small blessing, which makes it precious. There will be no reason for you to spend time so lazily together tomorrow, nor to sprawl inelegantly upon your bed, nor play cards until your mind hurts from all the schemes being cooked up. 

Footfalls come quietly into the kitchen, and you turn, expecting to find Feyre, only to find Rhysand stood at the threshold, just the other side of the border. His features are neutral, but there’s something different in his eyes that you don’t know well enough to make out. You stiffen at his presence, temperature cooling suddenly as the warmth leaves your body, smile dropping from your mouth. 

“Rhys,” you greet anxiously, wondering if you can get away with excusing yourself now while the tea is still steeping. You can drink it without milk…without sugar…there’s no way he wouldn’t notice your rudeness, and after the mess you’ve made for all of them…you push your hands anxiously behind your back to hide their tremble as you try for a friendly look, forcing a strange curve to your mouth, hoping your eyes will reflect the smile. He inclines his head in greeting but remains by the threshold of the kitchen. “You look well,” he remarks. 

You blink. Because you don’t. You know you don’t. Is it just a compliment? Is he trying to make you feel better? Is it a test to see how you’ll react? See if you’ll try and play up how ill you are in attempts to excuse yourself? What if he’s waiting to see if you’ll ask about Azriel? Or Cassian? You haven’t seen Cassian since you were first brought to the River House. Are you supposed to ask after him? Or should you just reciprocate the compliment? But what would you say to not sound insincere? Or what about Nyx? Should you apologise for causing Feyre to worry? Should you apologise to him for causing Feyre worry? For causing him worry? But what if he wasn’t worrying? You don’t want to assume care where there’s only duty? Maybe you should try and make normal conversation? But what about the House of Wind? Is it wrecked? Did you ruin it? Should you ask about that? Oh gods does he know where you were? Nobody’s mentioned Eris yet, is that what this conversation will be about? Mother above can he read your thoughts? Feyre mentioned sometimes thinking loudly. Are you thinking loudly? Goodness, is this weird? 

“Thank you,” you manage to choke out, though it sounds obviously strained, and you clear your throat. 

Rhys smiles faintly, then enters the kitchen, and you swiftly turn back to your tea, stirring the cup. You nearly spill some liquid, and slow your rotations of the spoon. Are you stirring too slowly now? Can you stir a cup too slowly? Everyone has their own pace. It’s fine. Out of everything that’s happened surely he won’t decide to call you out on this. You’re fine. It’s all fine. Everything’s fine. 

A silver ringed hand waves lightly at the corner of your vision and you blink, realising he’s speaking, flinching slightly how you hadn’t heard him. “Sorry, pardon?” You ask, peering at him. He smiles again, and you wonder if he’s doing it for your sake, if he’s actually incredibly irritated and busy. He totally is. Your temperature cools further. “I asked if you’re feeling well-rested,” he repeats, opening a cupboard and glancing inside. “Oh,” you swallow, nodding your head, “yes. I mean, no. I mean, I slept well, yes, but I’m still physically fatigued, I think?” Is that an okay answer? Was it too much? There was a lot of information he hadn’t asked for. Should you ask how he slept? No that would be weird. Or would it be polite? 

Rhysand nods, pulling out three mugs, and you wonder who they’re for. “Az said more-or-less the same, just more grumpily,” he replies lightly, and you glance at him. You’re lost. Is that an invitation to ask about him? Should you ask about him? Would it be rude not to? But given everyone knows how you feel about him wouldn’t it be weird? Kind of invasive? You don’t want to bother his space… “He’s well?” You ask hesitantly, metal spoon warming your fingertips. 

“He’s well,” Rhys confirms, catching your nervous gaze. “Well enough to receive visitors, at least.” 

Now what does that mean? 

His gaze is still on you, and you’re unsure whether to look away or to continue holding it. Is your tea ready? 

“It might be worth speaking with him,” Rhys says with a tone in his voice that you can’t figure out. “He can be tight-lipped when he wants to be. Though I suppose that’s what makes him excel at his position. It would be nice to know a little more about what’s going on, in my own Court though.” Do you tell him? Is he asking you to volunteer the information? Does he not know Azriel brought you back from the Autumn Court? Oh gods that makes everything so much worse. You had assumed they knew, and they might not be angry with you, but if he hasn’t told them… “Azriel hasn’t told you?” You manage to get out, fear crawling up your spine. 

“No,” Rhys replies, “but I can put some theoretical pieces together. One thing I can’t figure out, however, is what you were doing with a bow tipped with ash. I trust you know that’s our weakness?” You manage a small nod, ice practically dripping down your spine despite the pleasant temperature of the kitchen. “So? Would you mind elaborating?” He asks, setting the three mugs down to brew. He has the time to wait. 

“How much…did Azriel tell you?” You manage, voice strained, fingers gripping one another and you slide the ridge of your nail beneath the other, playing with the ring on your index finger. “Enough to lead me to believe you were somewhere in the Autumn Court,” Rhysand replies, violet watching you intently. You freeze beneath that look, words failing you. Why hadn’t the arrow flown true? Just another second…and everything would’ve—

“I don’t believe you did anything to intentionally harm Azriel,” he says quietly, and you want to tear your eyes away, feeling as though he can read something secret, something you want to keep hidden despite everyone already knowing. “You were in the Autumn Court, weren’t you?” He asks, voice a touch gentler than before. You answer with no more than a stiff nod, unable to lie to him. “And were you with Eris?” He asks. Your heart pounds in your chest, turning preternaturally still as you blink at the question, brows worrying slightly, too scared to answer—but it seems to be answer enough, as Rhys nods. 

“And the arrow?” He pushes, in the same quiet, light voice of his. 

“Eris,” you reply softly, panicking. Rhysand pauses, regarding you quietly. 

“Eris gave you the arrow? The ash arrow?” He questions, and you wonder if your mind is fabricating the note of doubt in his voice. You want to shrink away somewhere, hide in some dark corner, go back to your bedroom, sprawled across the mattress with your sisters. Why had you wanted to get tea? 

“And what did he tell you?” Rhysand questions, seemingly accepting your answer and not pushing for any more details. You’re glad, because you don’t think you could recall any in that moment. You blink, repeating the question in your head. “About what?” You ask nervously—was there anything he’d mentioned that’s rising to your mind now? No. Rhysand’s violet eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, and you feel your feet itching to step away, becoming conscious of how little warmth the shawl is providing. “No one’s angry.” He says, watching you still with that look in his eyes, and he looks like he might speak again but you’re already shaking your head. “I— He didn’t tell me anything… or, nothing I can think that would be important?” Had he? Should you have listened harder? Was Rhys expecting you to have gotten something? Were you supposed to have overheard something? Seen something? You hadn’t thought to do any of that. Were you supposed to? Your stomach plummets through your feet, blood turning cool in your veins—is he angry with you? 

“Nothing?” Rhys questions, still watching you closely. You shake your head, trying to prove your innocence. He pauses, and you feel like your heart is thundering in your chest, slamming against your ribs. Will he be angry now? “I promise,” you try uselessly, “he didn’t tell me anything.” 

But Rhys nods, “I believe you.” Your brow furrows, perplexed and desperately confused. Are you okay then? 

Rhys sighs, running a hand through his hair, glancing absently at the three mugs of tea, and they vanish abruptly from the side. You blink, still not entirely accustomed to the minute facility of magic. “You don’t know why you were given the arrow?” He asks, and your shoulders slope, completely lost. Should you know? Either way, you shake your head truthfully, and he nods again. “Alright,” he murmurs, making to step away from the counter, sighing heavily. He glances at you before leaving, a gentle but slightly stern look on his features. “Rest well, and look after yourself. You gave us all a scare.” Then he’s walking away out the kitchen, letting you breathe away the remaining tension that had worked its way into your body while you were speaking. 

You add milk, and the right amount of sugar, stirring your tea and sipping at it, finding the taste to be pleasant and relaxing as its heat washes through you, able to feel as it spreads throughout your body. 

Your name cuts through the silence, and you flinch at the naturally sharp intonation, tea dripping over your fingers. You glance over your shoulder to find Nesta leaning slightly against the kitchen doorframe. “You were taking a while,” she surmises, glancing around the kitchen suspiciously, then her nostrils flare delicately and a look of distaste passes behind her eyes. “I thought I’d come and check on you.” You swallow, nodding your head, hastily wiping up the small mess you’d made before gripping the hot cup and turning to go with her. 

When you approach, her gaze sweeps over you analytically, and you pause, shying slightly from the cutting look. “Rhysand was here,” she states, a note of displeasure in her tone, and you nod. “Did you two speak?” She prompts, turning on her feet to head back the way she’d come, with you in tow, and you nod again. “It was a little unnerving,” you mumble quietly, keeping an eye on your tea to make sure none of it spills again. “He’s an asshole,” Nesta mutters under her breath, teeth flashing briefly, and you settle into step with her. “Feyre loves him,” you murmur, not entirely sure why you mention it. “Still an asshole,” she replies bluntly, doing nothing to soften her voice, and you wince, hoping fae hearing isn’t good enough he’ll be able to hear her. 

“He can be scary,” you concede quietly, taking another sip of your tea before ascending the staircase. 

————

Your head is quiet and buzzing at the same time. A dull drone having a cool sensation settling wetly against the nape of your neck as you make your way down the unfamiliar hall to the closed door on the right. Behind it, you’ll find out what condition Azriel is in. What condition you’ve left him in, after… You’d rather not think about the situation that had led up to now. The forced vulnerability is too much; it’s too soon for you to begin sorting through the events. 

Having been asked directly by Feyre why, you answered the first thing that came to mind—that you were scared, that you hadn’t wanted to murder someone, a choice she would understand with more clarity perhaps than any of them, having been forced to take the lives of three innocent fae to save Prythian while she was still human. Perhaps if Elain had asked, you would have instinctively chosen something relating to an embarrassment of rejection, of how it felt to be left to yourself out of disinterest and the humiliation of being pushed aside because you aren’t good enough. Perhaps if Nesta had asked why you would have answered with a dislike for yourself, might have told her it felt so wrong to continue you’d had no choice but to remove yourself, the strain of simply living far too much for you to struggle through each and every day. When every morning is spent wishing to return to sleep, and each hour is counting closer to oblivion, but knowing deep down you’ll never pass eternally…how could you resolve that restlessness? 

None of it would have been a lie, each answer would have offered a peek at a single shard, but there are lots of shards scattered inside of you. A complexity that’s been metaphorically shattered, so many reasons messily broken on your floorboards. It’s cruel in a way to be asked why, quite simply if she doesn’t understand you can’t hope to explain. It’s a heaviness that’s relentless, not always appearing as a deep sadness but sometimes just a constant fatigue each morning. When every day is grey it’s hard to remember the sun, even if there’s no storm. 

Would you have been able to tell any one of them the conflict between yearning for company and knowing you’ll never know the kind you desire? 

The door comes into view, and you steady yourself before it. You’re fairly confident Rhysand had wanted you to speak with him, or at least see him. You shouldn’t worry about what to say, the conversation will either flow or not on its own. But you will not thank him for saving you. 

You knock lightly on the door, easing breath into your lungs to help with the tension as you listen for a sign to enter. Instead you hear muffled footfalls, and your heart jumps in your chest, stepping back into the hallway and you smooth down your clothes out of habit, making sure your hair is a neat as possible—you should have checked a mirror before coming here to make sure you don’t look unpresentable. 

Instead the door opens halfway through trying to smooth your hair out, and you freeze when amber eyes meet your own through the break in the door. The breath catches in your lungs, and after a pause you remember to settle your hands to your sides, unsure where to look as your breathing quickens. “Is Azr—… Is he awake?” You ask softly, looking away as your hands join in front of you. Mor is silent for a beat before answering. “He’s asleep.” 

“Oh…” 

Since stretches between you, and you wonder why she was in there. 

To check on him, obviously. They’re close. They care about one another. Why wouldn’t she be there, even if he’s sleeping? 

“I—… Is he okay…?” You ask quietly, not wanting to cause any excess sound that might wake him. You’ve done enough harm already. 

Again Mor pauses, then she’s stepping out into the hallway, softly shutting the door behind her, and your heart begins pounding in your chest. She remains stood in front of the door, but makes no motion to speak, and you shift uncomfortably on your feet. You fumble for a conversation topic, unsure whether to try persisting or whether it would be wiser to subtly excuse yourself. 

You shift on your feet, fingers mindlessly playing with the ring on your left hand, twisting it around lightly, pulling it up over the knuckle then sliding it back down again. “I…thank you for…for when we went out,” you manage thickly, heart still pounding as you keep your gaze firmly on your ungloved hands. “I don’t think I…I’m not sure if I mentioned it, or really felt it at the time, but thank you. For just…being around. And—…trying. Thank you, for…” you trail off, nodding subtly. “Thank you.” 

She’s still silent, and if it weren’t for the fact that you can see her shoes in the tops of your vision, you’d think she walked away. You blink, and shift nervously, unsure what to do now—should you continue or try to excuse yourself? You won’t get anywhere if you don’t reach out for help. 

You shift on your feet, steeling your spine how Nesta would, meeting absent amber eyes. Swallowing, you know what you want to say. “I would…” the words choke you, warmth flushing your skin as your eyes dart away, before returning to her own. “I’d like to do it again, sometime,” you manage to tell her, heart pounding in your chest. “I’d like to go into Velaris again. With you,” you add on for the sake of clarification. 

Mor regards you quietly and time stretches far between you; you can feel your pulse thundering in your ears, blood rushing through your body as your heart pounds. But her eyes soften marginally, lips curving with a hint of a smile, and you permit the tension to ever so slightly drain from your shoulders. She closes her eyes briefly, glancing down as if finding something amusing, and you can’t help the way your own mouth begins to curve with relieve she isn’t angry. Or at least, not as angry as you had convinced yourself. 

Amber eyes meet your own, and you allow the smile to tentatively spread across your lips. 

“I’d like that,” she says quietly, but not softly. Mor sighs, then stands straighter, the amusement flickering out of her gaze. “You’ll pay this time though, right?” She asks, and the floor falls out from under your feet. She glances down at her nails briefly, examining them before again meeting your own gaze, distraught. She tilts her head, “I paid last time. It’s only fair, don’t you agree? And if this is your way of apologising…” 

You stare at her, the smile having dropped clean from your mouth, splattered on the floor far below. Mor makes no effort to change what she’s said, no attempts to amend the choice she’s made, but you can’t remove your gaze, staring at her, lost. She doesn’t take it back, but she doesn’t smile either. This is more than a small jab from her—it’s resentment. A line in the sand. 

A line you crossed without care, or even thought. 

You remove your gaze, lips closing as the understanding begins to settle into your skin, the way pain disperses through flesh after a blow is struck. There’s no changing how your actions impacted her, no cleaning the mud you’d mindlessly splattered on those around you from running so recklessly.

Neither of you speak as you turn from her silently, understanding the conversation is at its end. You know when you aren’t wanted, and you know not to push if you won’t be accepted—if you’d known that from the start, you would have been saved a life’s worth of upset. You hardly register the steps you take as your feet carry you away back down the hallway, unable to raise your eyes from the floorboards. Head lowered as you make the walk back to your…to the bedroom you’ve been assigned. 

“You know, it’s better this way,” Mor calls, and you pause in your steps, casting a glance over your shoulder. “Even if you hadn’t done what you did, even if we had become friends…you’d always have been second to Feyre.” She quietens then and shakes her head gently, some golden hair shifting over her shoulder with the motion. When she meets your eyes again they’re…pitying. 

Of you. 

“Maybe you just aren’t made for first choice.”

 ——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[howcouldmuffin]

First Choice III

[ Chapter 3 : The Burden of Promises ]

You resolved to start fresh, determined to leave the past behind. Meanwhile, his actions only deepened your confusion, leaving you puzzled about his intentions and why he couldn’t let you move on.

PAIRING : Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Reader

WARNING : Kiss, Targaryen Incest, Non-canon

AN : It’s giving me so many emotions right now. The scene I’ve envisioned in my head is making me internally scream with excitement. I hope you enjoy this piece of writing.

CONTENTS : Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

please be kind to me English is not my first language.

“Why am I here?” you questioned yourself while at the celebration for Corlys Velaryon’s naming day. You barely knew anyone present. You were invited to the event with Jacaerys, who was now dancing with your cousin. Lucerys was talking with Corlys, and you felt out of place among the shipbuilders who eyed you with a somewhat menacing look.

Once you felt you weren’t being watched, you discreetly slipped away from the celebration. You had heard a lot about this place, High Tide, a castle built by Corlys. You decided to explore a bit, enjoying a sip from the drink you had brought from the party.

The castle had a distinctive scent, characteristic of its coastal location. It was quite damp and musty, but the people had been welcoming. After wandering for a while, you thought it might be time to return to the great hall.

Opting for the quieter balcony walkway, you enjoyed the romantic view of the sea at night. The moonlight reflecting off the water created a diamond-like sparkle. As you noticed a couple ahead, you decided to let them pass before continuing.

However, you encountered your betrothed and Baela, who were very close to each other. It was impolite to spy, but they were clearly visible despite the darkness. The prince leaned in close to her, and you were shocked. The drink in your hand fell, causing them to separate and turn towards you. Ignoring the spilled drink, you hurried back to your room.

Unfamiliar with the layout but still finding your way with accuracy, you rushed to your room, the prince following and pleading for you to stop. You ignored him, entered your room, and locked the door. You collapsed on the floor and cried, despite his pleas to open the door and explain. Eventually, the knocking stopped. You lay on your bed, exhausted from crying and unsure of what to do next.

You spent the entire night crying and avoided leaving your room due to swollen eyes. You told the maid that you were unwell and requested breakfast in your room. According to the schedule, you were to leave today, which you planned to do after bidding farewell to Lord Corlys. You applied a cold compress to your eyes, which improved slightly by morning. Dressed and ready, you went to the great hall to say your goodbyes. Jacaerys watched you, and for the first time, you saw him separate from Baela. You chose to ignore it and planned to address everything properly upon returning to Red Keep.

“How was Driftmark, Your Highness?” Vidah asked as you rushed into her embrace. She held you tightly, sensing your distress.

“It was awful, Vidah.” you sobbed. “So very awful.”

“I understand, Your Highness.” she said soothingly, guiding you to sit on the bed. “Please, tell me what happened.”

“He… he almost kissed Baela,” you said, your voice shaking with emotion. “I don’t know what to do. I know he doesn’t love me, but I can’t seem to get over it.” You buried your face in her lap, the tears flowing freely.

“We can’t control our feelings.” she said gently, stroking your hair. “Sometimes, the best thing is to let things unfold as they will.”

“I’m thinking of ending the engagement or at least letting him be with someone he truly cares about while we’re married.” you said, lifting your tear-streaked face to look at her. “I need to find someone I truly love, someone who makes me feel the way he never could.”

“Have you truly made up your mind, Your Highness?” Vidah asked, carefully wiping away your tears. “Then be resolute and act on it.”

“I just can’t bear to see him right now, or for some time.”

“Promise me, Your Highness, that you’ll only take a brief respite and not avoid the problem forever.”

“Yes.” you agreed, your voice firm despite the lingering sadness. “I promise.”

Every practice, you were absent. Every sword duel, you stayed away. Whenever Jacaerys was around, you were nowhere to be seen. You went out of your way to avoid him, sometimes even retreating to Helaena’s quarters to dodge his attempts to catch you.

Two weeks had passed since your return from Driftmark, and you remained resolute in your avoidance. You found refuge in Aemond’s library, more than ever before. Your brother, perceptive as ever, noticed something was amiss but chose not to pry.

“Sister.” Aemond remarked as he entered the room, his gaze shifting to you with a touch of amusement. “You seem to be avoiding the sun these days.” He selected a book from the shelf and settled beside you. You closed your own book and looked up at him.

“I simply prefer the quiet of the castle.” you said.

“Very well.” Aemond replied, flipping through the pages of his book. “He’s been pestering me about your whereabouts so much that it’s disrupted my training.”

“He doesn’t know I’m here, does he?”

“I told him you were in the castle.” Aemond admitted, “but I made it clear he wasn’t welcome in this room.” He glanced at you briefly before returning to his reading.

“Don’t you want to know why I’m avoiding him?”

“I have no desire to delve into your personal affairs.” he said nonchalantly. “By the way, Father wants us to join him for dinner tonight.”

“Again?”

“It’s just once a week.” he said with a smirk. “And don’t forget to sit next to your fiancé.”

“I’m not feeling well, I can’t go.”

“Stop being irresponsible.”

“Fine.” you said, standing up and returning the book to its place. “At least it will give me the chance to confront him directly.”

“You mean about how much you adore him and wish to marry him?” Aemond teased with a chuckle.

“No, I intend to end the engagement.” You thanked him for the book and left, determined to face the confrontation head-on.

“Stop staring at me, Prince.” you said, struggling to keep your voice steady as you sliced through the meat on your plate. The dinner conversation felt like a monotonous drone, and you were eager to escape.

“Uh.. I’m sorry.” he said, a flash of surprise crossing his face. “Would you care to dance?”

You placed your utensils down deliberately. “Yes, Prince.”

Despite the turmoil within you, you knew you had to confront him. It was time to face the issue directly.

“I believe we should annul our engagement.”

“What?” His eyes widened in shock.

“We need to end it.”

“No, no. Why would you want that?”

“You have feelings for Baela, and I’m clearly not the one you desire.”

“And how do you plan to achieve that? No one defies the king’s command.” he retorted, a tinge of anger in his tone.

“What about the prize from the hunting competition?” you suggested. “We haven’t claimed anything yet.”

“No way.” he declared, abruptly halting their dance. “If you believe you can wield that as leverage to dissolve our engagement, you are sorely mistaken.” With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving you alone and bewildered in the midst of the dance floor.

You returned to the dinner table, where everyone’s eyes were on you.

“It’s nothing.” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “He just remembered something he forgot.” As everyone resumed their conversations, you were left to ponder your next move. If he wouldn’t end the engagement through negotiation, how would you achieve it? You were willing to let him follow his heart, but the pain of watching him with someone else was a bitter pill to swallow. Love was proving to be a labyrinth of difficult choices and tangled emotions.

You awoke in an unfamiliar yet oddly familiar setting—an ancient, stone castle. This was Dragonstone, the venerable seat of your family. Before any questions could form or confusion set in, the door creaked open, and Jacaerys appeared.

“Where are the others?” you inquired, sitting up in bed.

“It is only us and the servants for now.” he answered, setting a tray of food on a nearby table. “We shall remain here together for a spell.”

“Did you abduct me here?” You sprang from the bed, attempting to make your way to the door. “Mother will certainly scold me.” But his swift hand seized your arm, causing you to stumble and fall into his embrace.

“No one will reprimand us.” he declared firmly, his voice resolute. “It is the king’s decree. Upon our return to the Red Keep, we shall wed.”

“And you did not refuse this arrangement?” you questioned, struggling against his grasp. His strength held you firmly in place.

“I desire to marry yo.,” he stated plainly. “That is why I did not refuse.”

“But I no longer wish for it. Release me.” you demanded, writhing in his arms. “Though I once loved you, if your affections lie elsewhere, you should set me free.”

“I love you.” his confession stilled you. “I cannot bear the thought of losing you.”

“How am I to believe your words?” you asked, your voice trembling. “I witnessed you nearly kiss Baela.”

“If you had truly observed, you would have seen a mere insect upon her, which I was brushing away.” he explained, loosening his hold. You stepped back, maintaining a safe distance where his presence could no longer impose upon you.

“How can I trust you?” you inquired. “I have never felt the depth of your love.” He stepped closer, and you instinctively retreated.

“I have realized that I cannot endure the thought of you betrothed to another. I cannot bear the notion of you not being my wife.”

“Enough.” you interjected. “We shall discuss this later. I am hungry and wish to partake of my breakfast.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” he said with a slight bow, drawing out a chair for you at the table. He seated himself opposite you, his gaze unwavering as you ate.

After the meal, you resolved to bathe and change attire. You remembered being brought here upon Vermax, recalling only drifting into slumber and awakening in this new setting. He claimed to love you, but how could you trust his words?

He had been unkind, maintaining a delicate boundary between you—never more than friends or siblings. Now, his declarations of love seemed contradictory. Perhaps you had misjudged his intentions.

Donning a casual yet elegant dress, reminiscent of those worn in King’s Landing, you awaited his presence. The door opened to reveal Jacaerys. He nodded to the departing maid and approached you. You remained by the window, contemplating your next move.

“Is escape truly impossible?” you asked, turning to him. “I rode Vermax with you.”

“Indeed, you cannot escape.” he replied, closing the distance between you. “Nor can you evade me.” His fingers gently lifted your chin, leaning in close.

“Is this truly what you desire?” you questioned, meeting his gaze as he drew near.

“I desire you.” he murmured, inching closer until you turned your face away and stepped out of the room, not daring to look back. Your cheeks flushed and your heart raced uncontrollably.

“I… I am heading to the library.” you declared, exiting swiftly. Though his charm was undeniable, you resolved not to be easily swayed. He might be feigning affection to secure your marriage, but you intended to make your decision on your own terms.

Upon entering the library, you took a moment to admire its quiet charm before selecting a few volumes to peruse. Soon, Jacaerys entered, but he did not intrude; instead, he settled himself with some paperwork, a reminder of his princely duties. As you both worked in silence, the library’s serene atmosphere seemed to hold a delicate tension.

The peaceful scene was disrupted by the subtle, but persistent, awareness of Jacaerys’s gaze. Each time you glanced up from your book, you would catch him watching you with a mixture of curiosity and something more tender. The dissonance between your practiced composure and the fluttering hope in your heart left you at a loss. Could it truly be that the man you had admired from afar for so long might harbor affection for you in return?

“What are your thoughts on where we might travel after our wedding?” Jacaerys’s voice broke the silence, his words punctuating the stillness. “Pentos, for instance, has a certain appeal.”

“I cannot say.” you replied, closing your book with a thoughtful sigh. “I have yet to see much of the world beyond these walls. My experience is limited to the confines of King’s Landing and the occasional hunt.”

“Would you like to explore all the realms?” he inquired, his tone hopeful.

“Are you suggesting we visit all seven kingdoms?” You approached his desk, curiosity piqued.

“If that is your desire, I shall ensure it is so.” he promised.

“You must keep your word.” you said firmly, standing before him. “Do not break it as you have before.” You turned back to your seat, attempting to re-engage with your reading. The memory of past promises lingered, and Jacaerys, ever perceptive, noticed your pretense.

The prince rose and approached, seating himself beside you on the sofa. His presence was both comforting and unsettling. You shifted slightly, accommodating his proximity. Resting his head gently on your shoulder, he took your hand in his, clasping it with a reassuring warmth.

“I owe you an apology.” he said, his voice low and earnest. “I was at fault. I failed to prioritize you as you deserved.”

“I was never your first choice.” you replied softly. “Could you place me at the forefront of your considerations?”

“From this moment forward, you shall always be my foremost thought.” he assured you, pressing a tender kiss to your neck. “It may seem strange, but my affection for you has been steadfast for some time. You have held a special place in my heart.”

“But when you appeared to disdain me, you would not even converse with me.” you said, a hint of sadness in your voice.

“I was uncertain of how to approach you.” he confessed. “You have grown into such grace and beauty, and I was at a loss as to how to act with the woman I love.” His lips traveled a gentle path from your collarbone to your neck and then to your cheek.

“Someone might witness us.” you protested gently. “This could cause complications.”

“Let them see.” he said with quiet determination.

“I am not ready.” you said, rising and retreating to your chamber. You locked the door behind you, leaving Jacaerys standing alone. In the solitude of your room, the lines between affection, duty, and his true intentions remained blurred. Your heart was a tumult of conflicting emotions, and trust in his promises was still elusive.

tag list : @r3va-dwme @ladyofvelaryon @mckennah123 @ericasabe @yohanseyebrowmole @mah1644 @miksde @staarflowerr @tempo-rary-fix

[enderwoah]

there is something about jaiden being the very clear and obvious best option for charlie's lawyer that is so endearing to me. like she was the most unsure of herself but she still really wanted to help because she felt that what happened to poor juanaflippa was completely undeserved and horible and unfair. and you could like hear the shock in her voice when charlie laid out the details to her, how enthusiastically she said that he had a great case, how she wove that whole story of "if i can't have her, no-one can" in her mind so quickly...i mean, she's the only one out of the five people charlie asked that actually asked for a layout of the case. like maybe im missing context because i watched from charlie's pov but it was so cool and refreshing to see someone genuinely try to help someone out of the goodness and justice in their heart. her enthusiasm was absolutely delectable

[lavendercharm]

Linger, Chapter 1: She's So Mean

Summary: From the moment you meet her, you can't stand Melissa Schemmenti.

Warnings: Strong Language

----

You’ve always been one to go above and beyond. Whether it was because you were truly an ambitious go-getter, or because it was actually rooted in a deep-seated fear of letting others down, who can say? What mattered was you were reliable. You did your best to stay organized and on top of things, despite the fact that you struggled with it. You thrived when it came to creative problem-solving. And you were never, ever late.

At least, that’s the mantra you repeated to yourself as you mentally practiced the apology you’d be giving Abbott Elementary’s principal. Glancing at the watch on your wrist as you burst through the front door, you curse under your breath. Arriving almost a full 45 minutes later than you were supposed to was not the way to make the first impression you wanted. You’d been a bundle of nerves the night before, prepping the following day’s lunch as much as possible. You’d made a concerted effort to get to bed at a decent hour, you’d laid out your “first day subbing at a new school” outfit, and you’d even set a few different alarms in order to prevent this exact situation.

It might have slipped your attention that the alarms you’d set were actually for the PM.

The surge of adrenaline when you’d seen 7:02 AM blinking back at you from the digital clock on your bedside table as you woke was more effective than any cup of coffee. You were barely finished dressing before you were out the front door with your shoulder bag in tow - hair piled in an unkempt mess on your head and makeup, socks, and half-prepped lunch forsaken in your haste.

Mercifully, most subs had pre-planned lessons to follow, so you didn’t have to worry about throwing off your student’s schedules too much today. But seeing as this was your first day at Abbott, you weren’t familiar with the building layout. Even worse, you’d never met the principal, which means you have no idea what kind of reaction to expect in regard to your tardiness.

You knew students started to arrive at Abbott at 7:30 for an 8 o’clock start to the day, and you’d been instructed to arrive no later than 7:15. You looked up from your watch to get your bearings in the unfamiliar environment. Just up the hall from the doors you entered, you saw an office with glass walls and what looked like a check in area where there stood a tall, stunning black woman.

She was dressed stylishly, shockingly so for someone who works in an elementary school. A form-fitting olive green dress hugged her curves, which were emphasized by the large brown belt around her waist. Her hair was long and looked right from a salon, her nails meticulously cared for. She wore red lipstick and her eye makeup could easily be seen on the cover of a magazine. Her face was buried in her phone, so she hadn’t noticed you enter the building. You approached her, your hectic morning creating a distinctly frazzled air around you.

You felt silly and underdressed standing next to her, your normally put-together appearance ditched in favor of time. You silently thanked your past self for having the foresight to lay out your clothes for the day. Even still, your plain black work trousers, white button-down, and sneakers felt distinctly out of place next to this woman. As you stood there, she didn’t look up from her phone.

Unsure what else to do, after a moment you made yourself known by clearing your throat. Without looking up from her phone, a single, sculpted brow raised in question, followed by a short, “What do you want?”

Taken aback, you stuttered, “I-I, uh, I’m the principal- I mean, I’m looking for the principal.” You felt heat rising in your cheeks at your mistake. ‘Good one,’ you thought.

At least your slip-up gained you some ground. The woman lowered her phone and glanced at you, giving you a once-over from head to toe. “What do you want with the principal? If you’re here to complain about something, you’ll have to send it in an email or Instagram DM, she’s on vacation.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach - the principal wasn’t even here? You weren’t sure if Abbott had a vice principal. You were already late, you didn’t know where you were supposed to go, and you weren’t sure if the vaguely-unfriendly woman in front of you would be able to help.

“Oh, actually I’m a sub-” you started.

You were cut off by a loud, “Oh! Well, why didn’t you say so? Why are you dressed like a waiter?”

You frowned. She was right. You did look like a waiter.

You were stunned as the woman’s entire demeanor changed. A large smile graced her features as she held out her hand. “Ava Coleman, principal of Abbott Elementary.” You stared at the outstretched hand before taking it, your eyebrows furrowed.

“Wait, did you just lie to my face about being on vacation?”

“Usually when someone introduces themself, you’re supposed to do it back. Unless you’re like Leo DiCaprio levels of famous, obviously,” she prompts you, entirely ignoring your question.

You give her your name, overwhelmed by the whirlwind that has been this morning and the whiplash of the woman’s sudden change in attitude. “Nice to meet you,” Ava says with a glowing smile as she releases your hand. “You know you’re late, right?”

You nod, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. All things considered, Ava didn’t seem upset, or even remotely reprimanding, for that matter. She might as well have been asking about the weather she was so nonchalant. Having braced yourself for a lecture or a raised voice, you found yourself feeling just the slightest bit relieved. “I’m sorry about that. This isn’t… it’s not the norm for me, I promise. It won’t happen again.”

“Girl, I am not pressed,” Ava says, brushing off your apology with a wave of her hand. “At least you showed up at all. Trying to get a sub lately has been like trying to get Taylor Swift tickets - a whole lot of waiting just to find out there aren’t any left.” She gives a cheesy grin at her own joke, not waiting for you to react before continuing, “You’ll actually be with another teacher. Her aide has appendicitis, she’s out for at least the next week and a half.”

You were surprised, not unpleasantly so. You’d expected to have your own room, but there were plus sides to subbing in for teaching aides. “Oh, okay. That will be good actually, I can get a feel for things and watch how she runs her class, maybe ask her for pointers,” you state as you start to follow Ava down the hall.

Ava glances back at you, a look you can’t quite discern in her eye. “Uh, yeah,” she said, entirely unconvincing. “I’m sure she’d love to share pointers. She’s been a teacher here for a long time, so she does stuff a certain way.”

Ava’s words reignite some of the anxiety you’d felt starting to dissipate. You thought having another teacher to lead the class and watch would be a good thing, but Ava is making it seem like this teacher would be difficult. You’d had plenty of old, strict, mean teachers as a student. When you first started subbing, you’d met a teacher at another school who went through teaching aides like Duracell batteries. She’d been in the same school for well over 35 years, so it was essentially her way or the highway. She was so strict and particular, most people ended up taking the highway.

Ava stopped at a door on the right side of the hall, and as she pulled the door open, you heard a chorus of tiny voices say, “Good morning Miss Schemmenti!” At least you’d managed to make it before any actual instruction began.

Popping her head in the room, you heard Ava say, “Melissa, you got a sub today.” A ripple of ‘oohs’ and giggles spread throughout the class. Kids were always interested in a new face.

“Oh really?” came a dulcet voice with the strongest Philly accent you’d heard in a minute. It was tinged with incredulity and annoyance. “A sub who can’t be bothered to show up on time?”

Your stomach churned with anxiety and shame, but you felt a slight spike of annoyance as well. You suppose you couldn’t blame her, but you hadn’t even met this woman yet. You pushed these feelings aside as best you could as Ava replied, “You’re lucky you got a sub at all girl. I didn’t have to put her in your class. You’re welcome!” Stepping aside, she gestures you into the room.

The first thing you notice is the sheer amount of kids crammed into one room. There’s a division in the center and one side seems to be slightly older. The confusion must be evident on your face, because Ava chimes in, “We lost a third-grade teacher last minute and we couldn’t afford another one, so we combined a second and third grade class. You get two for one! I love a good deal myself.” Her joke doesn’t land.

Two grades in one room was really unconventional. How could both classes be receiving the right instruction? You couldn’t wrap your brain around it. Either the second graders had to be feeling left behind, or the third graders were learning the same things they’d learned last year. Not to mention the number of kids presented a challenge itself. ‘There have to be close to thirty kids in this room!’ you thought.

The velvety voice from before chimed in, “You could at least try not to look overwhelmed. Jeez, how old are you anyway, kid? I’m not gonna be able to tell the difference between you and the students.” Some small giggles echoed around the room as you turned.

Whatever you had been expecting, this woman was not it. ‘Is everyone working in this school hot?’ you grimaced to yourself as your eyes took in the gorgeous red-headed woman who stood before you. She was older, which in your mind only enhanced her beauty. She was a few inches taller than you, although you noticed the heeled boots she wore. Her deep red hair was luscious, with soft waves begging to have fingers combed through them. A single eyebrow was raised and a decidedly unimpressed expression graced her face, a dusky rose color painting her pursed cupid's bow lips. Her nose was soft yet prominent - it suited her immensely. Her eyes were slightly close-set, a captivating green-hazel color. They were rimmed with a subtle smokey shadow that made them pop.

She had on a long-sleeved black shirt and a few necklaces decorated her collarbones. But what caught your attention most were the leather pants that clung tightly to her soft hips.

You’d always been a sucker for a woman in leather.

“You gonna acknowledge me or not? Do I need to get you a copy of the lesson plan, or a coloring sheet?” She asked, hands on her cocked hips. Another ripple of giggles ricocheted throughout the room. Your cheeks flame with embarrassment. You were used to being teased about your height and young appearance by people you knew, not by strangers using it as a way to question your position at work.

Feeling a surge of indignation and annoyance, you opened your mouth before you could stop yourself and shot back, “I’m 28 years old - how old are you?”

A loud chorus of “Ooooh!” from the class, and in a split-second, you knew you’d fucked up.

A fire ignited behind Melissa’s eyes, her eyebrows coming together and her weight shifting forward. Her posture was rigid, coiled like a rattlesnake, ready to strike at any moment. Her nostrils flared as she bit out, “I’m none-of-your-business years old.” Her tone was dangerous and sharp. The class waited with bated breath to see what you’d do. Would the new sub start a fight with Miss Schemmenti? The tension in the air could be cut with a knife.

You heard, “Neither of you swing before I start recording!” from Ava.

Your heart was rattling inside your chest. ‘And I thought being late would be enough to make the wrong first impression.’ But you didn’t feel sorry for what you said. It wasn’t fair for her to be so critical. If she wanted to play the age card, then you’d meet her where she was at. She had no right to belittle you, even if you were less experienced.

You decided then and there that you didn’t like Melissa Schemmenti.

But you needed to get past this - you both had a class to teach, after all. Standing your ground, you managed to hold her gaze as you said evenly, “If you would be so kind as to point me to my desk? I believe we have a school day to start.” You were immensely proud that your voice didn’t tremble, despite the way your pulse thrummed in your ears.

Glaring at you for a moment longer, you knew you’d live to see another day when Melissa shifted her weight back again, arms folding across her chest. 'Her well-endowed chest,' you thought. You immediately chastised yourself. You needed to get a grip. This was your workplace and you should be keeping things professional, although that had almost gone out the window already. Even if she was alarmingly hot, she’d disrespected you without so much as a “hello.” The woman had been ready to tear you limb from limb a moment ago, and not in a sexy way.

Melissa tilted her head with a pointed look toward the back corner of the room, and you glanced over to see a small desk. You met her gaze once more and muttered a “Thank you.” But as you started to turn, you realized neither she nor the class knew your name. Stopping, you introduced yourself, instinctively holding out a hand.

It occurred to you how incredibly awkward it was to offer to shake the hand of the woman you’d just slighted, and you’re thankful you can write off the heat still lingering on your cheeks as your temper.

For a moment, she stared disdainfully at your proffered hand, but she sent a furtive glance toward the class and a look of realization passed over her face - her students had been watching all of this unfold. Maybe she wanted to set a good example, or maybe she just wanted to move on, but she took your hand begrudgingly. Her grip was a bit too tight. “Miss Schemmenti,” she said, and you noted the lack of a first name. Her teeth were gritted behind a strained smile. The flash in her eyes made the message clear. You are not on my good side.

Ava made a disapproving sound. “Man, I thought I was gonna get something good,” she said, and you caught the light glinting off of what you suspect was her phone camera as she turned and walked away.

You released Melissa's hand and retreated to the back of the room. As you deposited your things on what was now your desk, Melissa began, “Alright my little cannolis, enough dilly-dallying. Shawnte, will you please help me pass out these math sheets?” Her irritation was masked impeccably behind a practiced teacher's voice as she split a stack of papers with a small girl from the third-grade side of the room.

You exhaled deeply. It was only 8:15 and you’d managed to make your first enemy at Abbott. Unpacking your things, you found you couldn’t resist watching Melissa as she made her way around the room. You didn't consider yourself quick to anger, but somehow this woman had managed to piss you off in a matter of minutes. And you were supposed to spend at least the next week and a half with her?

As she passed by you, her eyes shot up and briefly made contact with yours. You felt the heat of her glare piercing into you. It seems she couldn’t resist another pointed comment on your tardiness. “Maybe tomorrow, you could get here on time and do your job, so I don’t have to ask a student to help pass out papers.”

This was going to be a long week.

[brineoffire]

Part 2 of The Right Price!

Riled Up

You had none. Zero. Absolutely no idea how you got here. Laswell introduced you again to them man you saved. The Captain. You saved. You babble on about how it was a fluke, how it was absolutely dumb luck but there's no insisting with Price. There's no damn way a rookie could take out four hostiles on his own on luck alone. He knows it and you sure as hell better start focusing on it because you CAN NOT turn down the pay raise.

You'd definitely never planned to be flying with a Captain to join his task force. And you definitely didn't plan to have the shit scared out of you by the huge Lieutenant waiting at the helipad to meet the two of you when you touched down. The guy was huge! He saw a little over eye to eye with Price and damn if you didn't stare at that skull mask a little too long. It wasn't your fault. Tall, dark, and secretive was everyone's thing. That's what you tell yourself when you realize the guy, Ghost, is eyeing you suspiciously.

"Easy there Ghost. New recruit."

"H-howdy, good to meet you sir. Roland Haven, sir." You stumble over your own words as he stands there unamused, your hand out awkwardly before you give up and let it fall to your side. You suck in an embarrassed puff of air through your teeth.

"Don't take it personal, kid." Is all Price gives you as he claps you on the shoulder, pulling you forward with him past Ghost and into the base. You still feel his eyes burning into your spine but you don't let yourself look back again and focus on the direction your pushed in. You get shown to a small barren room, a simple bed, dresser, desk, and chair as Price nods you in.

"This'll be your room from now on lad. Get cozy, proper intros start in thirty." Giving him a nod he heads off as you set your small bag on the bed. You didn't have much with you but you do take a little time to throw your clothes in the dresser and drop your laptop and headphones on the desk. A deep sigh leaves your lips as you look around again and wonder how you got yourself this fucking deep. It doesn't really matter how anymore though, you definitely need the money, and you're not one to turn down a fast track past dealing with other shitty recruits like in your last two teams.

Before long you find yourself heading down the hall following after where Price went to the meeting room. You didn't have anything else to do so heading here ten minutes early was fine by you. Looking around the room you make a note of the layout, wandering around and glancing at maps and a few images of what you can guess is the entirety of the 141. Your skin nearly falls off your bones when you hear a gruff voice call out loud and clear somewhere behind you and you thank your horror game conditioning for keeping you from physically flinching.

"Someone's early ay?" You glance over your shoulder towards the opposite side of the room and notice Ghost once again. He stands by the back wall, arms crossed over his chest, the sockets of the skull baklava on his face look empty with how dark that end of the room is. There's a chill that runs up your spine as you turn to give him a salute, unsure of how to proceed.

"Uh. Yes sir. Wasn't really sure what else ta do." He stares at you as he steps forward, you can see the glint of the lights on his eyes now at least. Makes him look less like death but it means he's that much closer to you. Out of the frying pan you think to yourself. He stares for a long while before nodding and moving to lean on the large rectangular table.

"Right well now you wait with me then." He gestures a hand over to one of the seats opposite him and you hesitate before you get yourself stepping towards it.

"So, uh. Ghost huh? How'd you get that name?" His eyes narrow at you as you sit and you can't help but swallow air.

"Listen 'ere recruit. I ain't in the mood to lead a green'orn around 'ere, an' I sure as shite ain't gun'na let you get anyone on this team killed. You best keep up or you will be lef' behind." Another gulp as his dark eyes bore into yours. You raise your hands in a mock surrender as you nod.

"Understood sir. I ain't looking to ruffle any feathers." He scoffs but doesn't add anything else to his rant so you lower your hands to your lap and sit in a silence so loud you feel like your breath is annoying him. You know better then to piss off a giant you couldn't even hear so you keep any snark behind your lips, rare for you to keep quiet but Ghost didn't know that yet. It's a long ten minutes before you hear footfalls getting closer to the room, time to meet the team.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

I am a little late so I probably won’t get the date I want (my birthday is in August) but for the prompt could I get pre botw Link being comforted? If not totally fine, just feel free to reply to this and tell me no XD

Link knew this new task would be difficult. He’d steadily been gaining more attention, feeling the increasing pressure of the world’s expectations on his shoulders. But when the king himself had appointed Link to be the princess’ personal knight…

He’d been honored to take the task. The other Champions had congratulated him (well… almost all of them. He didn’t particularly care for Revali’s approval, though). But the princess herself…

To a degree, Link felt like he sort of understood. She felt pressure too, honestly. He just wished she wouldn’t take it out on him. He just wanted to be able to do his job.

Sighing heavily, he rubbed his face tiredly. Princess Zelda was thankfully in safe hands now, as they were visiting Van Ruta and Zora’s Domain was one of the safest places in Hyrule Kingdom. It also gave him a chance to just relax somewhere familiar - Link loved exploring all of Hyrule—it was one of the benefits of this position—but he was always on edge when they were somewhere foreign. But the Domain was a second home to him.

There was so much comfort in this place. The smell of water was heavy in the air, a cool, comforting, crisp sensation. Link could taste the moisture, could see how the water played with light reflecting off its surface, patterns dancing on pillars and luminous crystals. The area glowed beautifully in the night, like a gentle light from magical creatures, protecting them from the dangers of the world.

He also knew all the best places to hide.

Zora’s Domain was deceptive in its layout. It looked like a fairly small place, but there were many nooks and crannies for children to find and disappear, and Link had found nearly all of them when he was little. It allowed him some privacy now, for which he was grateful, as he tried to find somewhere that he wasn’t perceived.

He’d had enough of that lately. He was tired. Tired of being stared at, tired of being judged, tired of constantly being on guard, tired of being yelled at for just doing his duty.

”Link?”

His eyes opened abruptly, and he felt his chest tighten a little. The voice was familiar, soft and warm, and he glanced over to see Mipha watching him.

Oh, well. At least it was just Mipha who found him, he supposed. He didn’t mind her company.

Link and Mipha had been good friends when they were little all those years ago. They’d had adventures, taught each other to fight, and had joined the Big Bad Bazz Brigade. At the time, it had been innocent fun. As Link learned more of the political climate between the Zora and Hyrule over the years, he’d realized how much he’d missed. His friendship with Mipha was still dear to him, but when they’d first seen each other years later, he’d been far more distant, far quieter. It was how he’d grown and matured anyway, but with the added knowledge…

They were trying, he thought. Mipha could talk to him, and he even occasionally replied. In solitude, the pair could rekindle that friendship from long ago. He felt comfortable around her.

“I suppose I wasn’t the only one who wanted to find somewhere quiet,” Mipha remarked with a small laugh, trying to be light about the matter. As Link looked her over, he noticed she looked a little tired too. “It can… I understand that everything can be a bit much. That you might need to go somewhere to be alone. I can leave—”

Face softening, he pat the space beside him. Mipha hesitated a moment, unsure, before she settled there.

“It… can be a lot,” she said softly, glancing at him.

Link sighed. Yeah. It could.

“I’m glad we have each other, at least,” Mipha smiled cheerily, hands clasped in her lap. “But I’ll be quiet now. I know this is a place for solace, after all.”

Link wanted to tell her she didn’t have to be quiet. But she didn’t seem particularly upset with the matter, either, and she leaned back, closing her eyes and looking at peace. And somehow… that made it better. Neither of them had to talk. Neither of them expected anything of the other. But they were there for each other, and Link… found more solace in that than he expected to.

He leaned towards her a little. Just a little. She did the same. Their shoulders never touched, but they could feel each other well enough, eyes closed, basking in the moment, taking in the peace of it.

It was nice to be in the Domain.

[indigos-stardust]

Violet, Blue, And Bruised All Over: Long Talks part 2

Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/ Part 6/ Part 6 2/3

Sorry for the hiatus lol, Vio and greens Convo is next part, should be fun, Comments and reblogs appreciated!! I wanna hear y'all's thoughts!

"Green was right about those too being similar. But it wasn't just cuz they were so stubborn. More like they were both weirdos that had a vendetta against sleep. Seriously, would it kill Blue to sleep in for five more minutes..."

Blue unlocks the gate to the training yards, practically yanking the key out before he shoved his way into the door. Yep, there it was. Blue, folks. Mr. King of Emotional Repression. Red couldn't help but roll his eyes. Sure, he was kinda bullying Blue right now, but it was only in his head! And it wasn't his fault Blue dragged him out here before the Hylias light could even grace the sky.

Blue just kept moving like some stocky stiff machine, aggressively setting up the training dummies. Oh no- That layout and choice of training dummies and lack of shields meant he wanted to be competitive. Usually Green was there to rise to the challenge in those "everyone's the enemy and lets see who'll score more points because I actually feel angry at the world but I don't know how to talk about it cuz I'm Blue!" duel things. But today, it was only Red. Hell no.

Ok, all he had to do with turn up the charm! Just cuz there wasn't any sun didn't mean he couldn't shine bright enough to make up for it! Probably.

Red's plan was to softly put his hand on Blue's shoulder, start with that emotional support you know, but then Blue immediately stiffening and clenched his entire body so hard before he'd even grazed his fingers against him. Oh this was bad.

"Hey Blue?"

Blue grip on the wooden training swords was so tight his knuckles were white. If he breaks another one he'll get splinters again.

Time to turn up the charm, "Blue? Hey! Why are you being a grumpy silly head??"

He tried to really bring some light soft teasing into it, with wide open eyes and a non judgemental silence aaaannnnd-

Blue turned around with the most pathetic look he'd ever seen Blue wear in his entire life! Or well, since they became four people anyways- Is that what I look li- NO PAY ATTENTION TO BLUE.

He looks like a toddler trying desperately to NOT bawl his eyes out! Face all scrunched up, eyes unsure, and a wobbling uncertainty. He was obviously trying to look mad, but the way his furrowed brows and eye kept twitching it was clear he couldn't hold on to Red's all consuming gentleness.

All at once Blue yelled an ugly curse and kicked into the weapons rack. Red had to flinch back to avoid the whiplash.

"UEGH! Don't you get it?! Of course IM NOT FREAKING OKAY?!!"

Hook, line, and sinker.

"WHY IS IT THAT WHENVER SOMETHING BAD HAPPENS ITS ALL MY FAULT?! OH ILL TELL YOU WHY, ITS CUZ IM THE BAD GUY RIGHT?! RIGHT?!!"

Oof, and there it is. Raw and true, and oh so Blue. Red had been tempted to zone out on Blue's rant's since they could get.. slightly lengthy, but he still needed to pay attention. Cuz buried under all those sharp cold layers was something very raw and in pain. Lashing out like a cornered animal. Oh Blue...

Blue kept stomping and huffing as he went on, hands clenching and grasping as thought he was trying to strangle an enemy that wasn't there. Stomping feet leaving little clouds of dust in his wake as he went back and forth.

"I'm NOT some kid!"

" HE'S THE ONE WHO-"

"I didn't even DO ANYTHING?!"

"I trIeD to DEAL with the NERD but NoOOOOo I'm THE BAD GUY-"

"Teaching him a lesson and THEN GREEN-"

One after one, a dam broken, the hot waters gushing out with a force so great it'd overwhelm and push away anyone who tried to stop it. But Red didn't try to stop it. He let it pass around him as he observed. He was ok, and Blue would be ok too.

He loved Blue.

"And- AND- He- I JUST- AUGH!"

Suddenly, Blue stops in his tracks. Flustered, red and sweating, feet together like some shy and embarrassed kid. He's got a grip on his own arm, shoulders hunched, like he's trying to keep himself together. A look of frightened shock overcomes him, as though he's only just now realized where he is.

Red just keeps sitting on the bench though, head tilted, mind open. Puppy vibes c'mon. He watches Blue crumble inside, a deep sigh overcoming him.

"And I-"

"Yeah?"

"I just-"

Red quietly smiles, and pats the spot beside him. Before he knows it, Blue has already plopped beside him, exhausted without even picking up a sword.

"I just don't get it."

"Whaddya mean?"

Blue fists grip his knees tighter. "Why he was even so mad..."

"Green?"

"N-No, I... I deserved that. ONLY a little bit though I-"

Red incredulously raised a single eyebrow.

"AUGH! Ok fine! I deserved it a lot! Is that what you want?? To rub it in more?!"

Red blew a strand of hair out from Infront his nose. He seemed so disinterested at first, but then, like the flick of a finger, a mischievous little smirk grew.

"AWH, Blue!! I didn't know you thought of me so highly!" he beamed.

Blue couldn't have looked more unimpressed if he tried.

Red couldn't help but a giggle a little bit before he softed.

Blue sighed and mumbled remorseful, "Didn't mean to stress you out I just.."

Blue paused, watching the light join the horizon. His whole mood just reminded Red of a damp campfire. Or maybe a wet cat? One of the two for sure. Red couldn't help the surge of love and pride, Blue really had gotten SO much better at talking about his feelings! Blue worked so hard on it, Blue was amazing.

Red pressed up against his side and slipped his hand over Blue's.

Blue finally broke, "I just can't figure out how I messed up so bad- Vio- I know he doesn't like me, I get why I just- What did I do to make HIM outta all people get so... mad? at me?"

Oh. Red got it now.

"He never gets like that, that's what I do! And- I just don't get how I messed up that bad?!"

Red frowned, thoughtful, "Well, what happened before you guys started fighting and stuff?"

Blue grimaced, "I was just.. Telling him to do the laundry for once- Wasn't even telling him to do it correctly this time either!"

Red mentally facepalmed, but schooled his expression. This was like when he almost got into a fight with the radish seller guy isn't it?

"Blue," Red started quietly, "Do you remember how you asked him to do the laundry?"

Blue froze, stupefied, like he'd never considered in all his history that that could do anything with what happened. Probably because he hadn't. Blue was, extremely, tone deaf.

"I uh, joked about it? I mean- I he mentioned me like- being all frozen and stuff like a jerk! I was trying to "lighten stuff up like you said I should!"

Oh for Faron's fate-

"Blue," Red deadpanned, " Tell me exactly what you said. And what you guys were talking about BEFORE that. "

The absolute clueless, oblivious, and unaware look that screamed "thoughtless gerbil in a field with hawks" was. So painful to watch.

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh... Well uhhh Vio was kinda like. Being a btch?"

Red somehow managed to resist the urge to slam his skull into the brick wall behind them.

"Blue."

Blue, in question defensively puffed up like some startled baby kitten, " Hey! I- I'm telling the story and its the truth! It's not just me being mean about it! And- I won't even swear again ok! Don't tell Green- Please-"

Red silently stared into Blue's soul for half a minute. Din give me strength- "Okay."

Blue straightened up, like he was talking to some higher ranking knight, confident and steady. Or as confident and steady as you could be when you had baby rabbit ears that flicked and burned crimson with shame.

"He- He thinks that he's better than everyone else, you KNOW how big his head is-"

"Bigger than yours, Blue?"

"H-hey n- No! ANYWAYS, he was being all judgmental and crap!"

"Uh huh?"

" And- And all 'oHHOoOHH IM ~ViO~ And I'm- I'm smart and you're stupid! 'AND THEN- Get this! He goes all, freaking 'You don't care and you're hearts frozen HAHAHAh'-"

" Really, Blue? Really?"

"Oh come on! You know he's got that weird like- Theater kid laugh?? Like he learned it from that Shadow or something I dunno- Weird little sorta- kinda maniac-"

"Blue."

"Geez OK! Fine!," Blue relented, " Ok maybe he didn't laugh, but he did say like- my- My heart might as well still be frozen and-" Blue choked off.

"Oh. That's.... pretty messed up."

"Yeah. And- I've been thinking at least I have a heart..." Blue concluded grimly.

"Well there's more to it than that right?" Red prodded.

"Well! I tried to- Ya know, make it into a joke or whatever- And told him that oh hey! Maybe, maybe HE broke his brain like how the mirror was all smashed! Like- A you're making fun of me so I'm making fun of you joke-"

Blue made airquotes, "Banter, or whatever," he shrugged.

Was this how Green felt? Like several of his veins were just going to pop? Like he just wanted to lay on the ground and cry? And just eat a bunch of cupcakes and hide in his plushie pile? Okay, that last part was definitely mostly Red, but still! Blue was. The whole fight thing was... Yeah, yeah this just meant Red was right. They were being all emotional while trying to not be all emotional. That plan NEVER works! Stupid idiots. Big ol' dummies. His brothers.

"Blue, you know he's like... Sensitive about what happened in the tower of winds right??"

"He's what?"

"BLUE! He- He never talks about it! He gets all weird when WE talk about it! He- He goes off all quiet to "sort out his thoughts" or whatever! He doesn't go off and get all angry like you do!! He- He acts all mature and stoic and stuff!!"

"Oh."

"Bluuueee!!"

"Wait. Wait- So he actually- Wait are you saying I HURT his- his little twinky feelings??"

"BLUE!"

"What! I didn't know he cared about stuff!"

"You didn't think he had feelings??!!"

"N- I mean- Maybe- Have you met the guy?"

"BLUE WE USED TO BE THE SAME PERSON HOW ARE YOU SO-"

"...."

Red groaned, "Sorry Blue..."

"So Vio was right then huh?"

"H-huh?"

"I'm, I am kinda stupid huh?"

"Heh, well... hm... maybe jus' a lil bit.."

"He's still a jerk though."

"Ok, but now you guys can apologize?"

"..."

"BLUE-"

[p8rasite]

FINE.  ›  SUNG HANBIN ݃ 0612

synopsis.. where hanbin says it too often, he starts to believe he is.. until he isn’t.

muses.. roommate! hanbin x gn! reader

pantone.. angst & comfort ft. and they were roommates

cw + tap the mic.. self-doubt, reader kinda dislikes hanbin & mention of drinks + first zb1 writing let’s gaur! this was a mix of request & word vomit so i hope this is good enough 🥺 also new layout : @/stealanity & @/chiyuv

“no one’s here, come again in four to seven business weeks.”

you bite the inside of your cheek. as clear as it is that hanbin doesn’t want to entertain anyone at the moment, you refuse to let him be. not when he’s isolating himself within those four walls. not when you can just tug that handle and let yourself in.

so you do.

the abrupt bang of the door against the wall was slightly.. over the top, but at least it got his attention. well, more like his frown, but you can be bothered about the details some other time.

“what are you doing in here?” he mumbles, voice lacking its usual coat of vibrancy. this time, it’s soft and fragile, just like its owner.

you shrug your shoulders. “the kitchen told me you haven’t visited it in a few days so i’m checking in on you on their behalf.”

he chuckles, but even that sounds so hollow. another sign that he isn’t your roommate, but a shell of him. and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re even more a tad bit worried.

“may i?” you gesture to the space next to him, shortly receiving a nod. sitting on the floor—legs stretched out and back slouched against the wall—isn’t ideal, especially not when there’s a queen sized bed just a few steps away. although, given why you’re here in the first place, you suppose you could refrain from complaining this time.

(singular—you’re already stressing that before your friends can make assumptions.)

the two of you let silence wrap around you like a blanket, one neither of you seem eager to remove. you excuse your awkwardness by claiming you want to take in your new surroundings before moving further. to which, in fairness, makes sense because this is your first time in his room.

weird, isn’t it? living in a place where you’re familiar with everything but your roommate and his space. there were times where he left his door ajar enough for you to catch glimpses inside, but nothing could have prepared you to see it in its entirety.

so tidy, so cozy, so.. hanbin.

the young man in question fidgets with his sweater’s sleeve, a loose thread in particular. a translucent pane of absentmindedness hovers over his cocoa-tinted irises as he twists the material between his lithe fingers.

“i don’t know what’s missing,” hanbin gauges your reaction (seemingly blank, actually surprised) before continuing. “i gave everything i had to them, constantly tried to do and be my best self to make up for the things i lack, yet they still left.”

you nervously rub your palms upon your thighs, unsure where to pick up after such a heavy confession. there’s also that guilt that chews on your soul as you come to realize that this little mister perfect persona of his isn’t just for attracting people.

it’s supposed to convince those he loves to stay.

with this newfound understanding, you finally speak up, “them leaving isn’t on you.”

his brows furrow, lips slightly parting to reject your words but you lift your hand to cover his mouth. probably not the best idea, ‘specially not when he can just make muffled sounds through the makeshift gag, but it’ll have to do. all you need is for him to listen to you, no interruptions allowed.

“you gave almost all of yourself to them, which isn’t wrong—almost every person who’s been in love has done that. but that isn’t enough to make the relationship work because there’s two of you. now, either it’s a responsibility that they can’t or don’t want to face, which is why they broke up with you.

whichever it is, the fault still lies with them. and that, binnie, is why you shouldn’t be beating yourself up on this. yes, it’s okay to grieve what has been lost. but at the end of the day, you should acknowledge and accept that it isn’t your fault.”

you’re completely winded by the end of your speech, you don’t realize your hand had pulled away halfway through it. but then you notice the upward curve of his lips, and your eyes instinctively narrow at the suspicious sight.

“did i say something funny?”

he shakes his head and points out, “you called me binnie.”

..damn. you were so caught up in your rant that you hadn’t noticed your mistake. with a light hit at his shoulder, you grumble, “don’t read too deep into it, i just heard one of your friends constantly call you that so it slipped.”

“are you sure~?”

“yes.”

“very sure~?”

“..‘right, that’s the end of our therapy session. i expect you to pay me with a cup of karak tea later.” a groan emerges from the deepest part of your tired soul as you get back on your feet, backside sore from maintaining the same position for at least 10 minutes.

right as you’re on your way out, hanbin calls your name. intrigued confused as to what else he’d need, you take the chance and turn around. those busy fingers you noticed earlier? now they’re put together to make a unique heart gesture.

“thank you for keeping me company and opening my eyes to the bigger picture.” the warmth and cheeriness hasn’t been fully restored yet, but you can hear a sliver. and regardless of whether you admit it or not, you feel proud of yourself for assisting in bringing it back.

“no need to thank me, matters like this are why roommates were made.”

(uh huh, sure..)

❀ ... ⃕ not sure if i’ll make a taglist but feel free to donate to my kofi ! now, would you like to return to the masterlist? yes / no.

[sequinsmile-x]

I Knew You'd Linger Like a Tattoo Kiss - Chapter 1 - Wake-up Kisses

A series of unrelated one-shots and mini fics about the many types of kisses Aaron and Emily share.

-x-

Hi friends!

I hope you are all okay <3

This is for my dear friend @sometimesitswho who inspired this new little series!

The prompt list for this series can be found here! Feel free to send me some via my inbox/leave some in the comments if you don't have tumblr <3

This...got sadder/has more feelings than I intended...but it's also kind of soft.

As always, let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: Nightmares, pregnancy (tomorrow I will create a master list for this fic after i've had some sleep haha)

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

The first time it happens, they haven’t been together long. 

It isn’t the first time he’s slept over at hers, but it’s still new enough he has to think about the layout of her bedroom if he gets up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, his shins bruised from walking into her dresser more than once. At first, he isn’t sure what has woken him up. He groans when he checks the time, blinking to clear his vision in the darkness of the room. 

That’s when he hears it, a pained whimper from the woman pressed up against him, her grip on his shirt tightening, her nails digging into his skin through the thin material. 

“Em?” He asks, switching on the lamp on the nightstand, “Are you…” He trails off when he realises she’s sleeping, her face screwed up in distress as she mutters something he doesn’t quite hear, whatever monster she’s fighting in her dream making her fold in on herself as she twists in his arms. His heart feels like it’s in a vice, wound tighter together with guilt and sorrow as she whimpers again, “Oh, sweetheart.” 

He was no stranger to nightmares himself. He’d wake up sometimes, his breath caught in his chest as he felt the blade of Foyet’s knife, or the warmth of Haley’s blood against his skin, his knuckles aching, scars that had long since healed about to burst open. At first, he’d barely slept when he got back from the hospital. His apartment quiet even though it had never been the home he’d shared with Haley and Jack, and every sound he heard was Foyet coming back to finish the job. Sleep only found him when he was away on cases. Cheap, lumpy mattresses more of a safe space than the place he lived. He’d still wake up from nightmares though, unsure if he’d actually screamed or if he’d imagined it. The echo of his dream following him into consciousness, his past only ever one step behind him - its hand stretched out to pull him back in. 

When Jack came back home, the house Aaron had bought with Haley now a wretched tomb instead of the place he’d once found sanctuary, he had nightmares too. His brain filling in the gaps of all he’d heard when he was lying in the chest in his father’s office, his monsters real and tangible when he would wake up screaming for the mother he’d never get to truly know. 

Aaron gathers Emily closer, easily sitting up with her in his arms. Despite his instinct to do so, he doesn’t hold her any tighter, doesn’t want to restrict her movement as he holds her lightly to his chest. The last thing he wants to do is make her nightmare worse, to add to it, so he sits there and rubs his hand up and down her back, repeatedly pressing kisses to any part of her face that he can reach, murmuring against her skin the entire time as he slowly draws her back to him. 

“You’re okay.” 

“You’re safe.”

“You survived.” 

She wakes suddenly, tense and stiff in his arms as she pulls herself out of his embrace, her eyes wide as he willingly lets her go, “Em, sweetheart, it’s just me.” 

She looks at him, her eyes wild and shining, her chest heaving as she looks around, her gaze finally locking on him, “Aaron?” 

She sounds so ragged, so unlike her, that it takes everything in him to not reach out and touch her, well aware from experience that it needed to be her who initiated any physical contact. 

“Yes, baby,” he says, painting on a soft smile he does feel connected to, the expression misplaced in the heaviness of her bedroom but hopefully reassuring, “It’s me. It’s Aaron.” 

She sinks into him, her forehead against his neck as she breathes him in, her chest shuddering so hard he feels it, the stutter of her ribcage against his palms as he pulls her closer. 

“Fuck…I…” she trails off, her words stuck in her throat, her grip on him tightening as he tucks her against his chest, feels the shiver of her shoulders even though her skin is warm to the touch. 

“I’ve got you,” he says, kissing her forehead, her temple, anywhere he could reach again, “I’ve got you.” 

She shifts, curled up in a way he’s sure must be uncomfortable, her cheek pressed against his chest so she can feel his heartbeat, “Can you…can you talk?” 

“About what, sweetheart?” He asks, desperate to help her in any way he can. 

“Anything,” she breathes out, “Please just…anything. I need to…”

She doesn’t have to say anything else, doesn’t have to tell him that she just needs to think of something other than the cold warehouse floor where she’d almost died. Where she had died. He says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Did I tell you that Jack’s teacher pulled me aside today?” 

She huffs out a shaky breath and shakes her head, “No.” 

“Well,” he says, resting his cheek on top of her head, his hand still moving in soothing circles on her back, “Apparently, a new kid called Caleb was being bullied by someone else in their class, and after Caleb was pushed in a puddle by this kid, Jack jumped in after him.” 

She chuckles breathlessly and pulls back to look at him, her eyes still shining, sticky tracks smudged down her cheeks, “He jumped in?”

Aaron hums and nods, wiping her cheeks, “The teacher had to tell me because he had to change into his spare clothes. She wanted to explain why the clothes he went to school in were covered in mud.” 

She closes her eyes and shakes her head, “He’s a sweet kid,” she says, pressing her forehead against his.

“He told me he wanted to make sure Caleb was okay, and that he knew he had a friend.” 

She smiles and kisses him, her lips against his for just long enough to press the taste of her tears against his, “Like father, like son.” 

He kisses her, his hand around the back of her neck as he holds her in place, his nails scratching at her scalp when he feels her now even breath skip across his face, “Want to talk about it?”

She shrugs, her lips pressed together as she swallows thickly, “Not really.” 

He nods, understanding more than most, and he encourages her to sit against him, her side against his chest as she snuggles back into him, “Want to hear more about what Jack got up to today?” 

He feels her smile against his neck, a silent answer before she whispers her response, “Yes please.” 

___

At first, she thinks the baby has woken her up. 

She groans, her hands automatically drifting to her stomach, the curve beneath her palm making her smile just like it always did. She was enjoying the changes to her body, loved that she actually looked pregnant now and not just like she’d had a big meal, but she could do without the frequent trips to the bathroom. She’s about to quietly chastise the baby, whisper her usual half-hearted annoyance to her son about being woken up because he’d kicked her bladder, when she realises he hasn’t woken her up at all. 

Aaron tightens his grip on her even in sleep, his arm heavy over where her waist used to be, his hand in a fist around the covers lying over her. He’s murmuring something she can’t quite catch under his breath, his body tense as he pulls her closer, protecting her from whatever it was he could see in his dream. 

The first time she’d had a nightmare in front of him, she’d been embarrassed. She’d pressed her face against his chest as he told her all about his son, now their son, and apologised, cutting him off halfway through his story about Jack’s obsession with the sharks at the aquarium. Aaron had kissed her, his lips still just about touching hers when he told her she had nothing to apologise for, that he knew all too well how it felt to be haunted by a dead man. 

She knew he was telling the truth, but it was confirmed just a few days later after she woke up to him knocking on her hotel room door in the middle of the night, breaking their rule of never on cases less than six weeks after they’d set it. His eyes had been wild and shining when she’d opened the door wearing one of his shirts, something she’d stolen to try and settle herself that night, already too used to sleeping next to him. She’d known what had happened without him saying anything, the look on his face, the half-crescent indents in his palms gave him away immediately. She’d pulled him into her room and locked the door behind them and led him over to her bed. He’d curled up against her, his head against her chest in a way that made him seem like a little boy, an image distorted by his large hand grasping at her waist, his thumb and little finger skimming her ribcage and her hipbone. 

In some ways, she hated that they had this in common, that they each knew what it was like to stare into the abyss and have it stare back, but in another way, one that felt entirely selfish, she was glad he understood. Sure that she would never have been able to let herself fall apart in front of someone who didn’t understand as he did, the knowledge that he knew what it was like was enough to let her let him pick up all the pieces of her and slot them back into place. 

He was, after all, the only one who knew where all the pieces went. 

She rests her hand over his and eases it away from the comforter, sandwiching it between the two of hers as she lifts their hands to her face, first pressing her cheek against his knuckles before she starts to kiss them one by one. Focusing on the scars she doesn’t need to see to know where they are, evidence of when he’d torn himself apart for vengeance for the last woman he’d loved. 

She draws him back to her, feels his grip briefly tighten before he tenses behind her, his breath harsh and fast against the back of her neck. 

“You’re okay,” she says quietly, unwrapping one of her hands from around his to switch on the lamp on the nightstand, still squeezing his hand tightly with the other, “It was just a dream.” 

“Em?” 

She hums and sits up, scratching her nails across his scalp as she encourages him to look up at her, “It’s me, sweetheart,” she assures him, “It’s your Em.” 

She usually called him honey. It was the first nickname she’d tried on him, the taste of it as sweet as the nectar it was named after, as sweet as the smile on his face when she called him it. She only ever called him sweetheart in moments like this, when he looked afraid as if he’d somehow lost everything again, because it always made her feel better when that’s what he called her. 

He slides towards her, only sitting up enough to rest his head on her chest, his cheek against her breast as he places his arm over her bump, his palm resting where he knew their little boy kicked the most. They lay in silence for a little while, her nails scratching idle patterns on his scalp as his breathing slowly returned to normal, the warmth of it fanning out against her skin. 

“You know,” she says eventually, resting her cheek on top of his head as she wraps her arms around him, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was just an excuse to press your face against my breasts.” 

He laughs, a broken sound that cheers her up nonetheless. He turns his head just enough to kiss the closest bit of skin he can, his lips catching the edge of the brand left behind by a man who had once killed her. 

“You’ve got me,” he says wryly, his voice cracking still, “I can’t believe you saw through my plan.” 

She smiles and kisses the top of his before she rests her cheek against it again, wanting him as close as possible. They turn serious again, as they always did on nights like these, and she whispers, “Want to talk about it?” 

“No,” he replies, and she knows it’s because she’s heard it all before, that it was nothing new, so she seeks out his hand, linking their fingers over where their son rolled beneath her skin. 

“Jack told me he had some ideas for how we could decorate the nursery today.” 

She feels his smile against her skin, feels the way he clears his throat, their tradition something they both held fondly. It had started that first night when she’d been torn from sleep, unfocused and panicking as she asked him to talk about anything and he’d spoken about Jack. It was something they carried on doing, idly talking about the little boy, even if it was something the other knew, until they felt better or fell asleep. She knew that soon enough their son would be in the mix too, that they’d talk about him as well as his older brother. A much needed reminder of what they’d survived everything for, what they had now they’d fought their way here. 

“Oh yeah?” 

She hums, “Apparently,” she says, smiling as the baby kicks, “He thinks the baby will like dinosaurs.” 

He chuckles, his laugh already sounding more like his own, and he tilts his head to look up at her, his smile soft and his eyes looking like nothing short of the future, “I guess I’d better find some dinosaur stencils for the walls then.” 

She leans down to kiss him, ignoring the crick in her neck, and smiles as she pulls back, “Yes, I think you should.” 

[violet-1atte]

Candy Cane Mocha

this is very late...oops

Summary: After being in America for six years, Jisung returns to South Korea for the holidays and reunites with his best friend and ex lover, Minho

Tags: Minsung, Christmas, holiday, exes to lovers, getting back together, fluff, Minho is whipped, Jisung is whipped, smut, bottom!Jisung, top!Minho

AO3 Link

Six years. Six years since Han Jisung had left South Korea to go study abroad in the United States. Six years since he had seen any family other than his parents. Six years since he had been home. 

It was a good six years. In that time, he had improved dramatically in his English speaking skills, made new friends, lost friends, had relationships (although largely unsatisfying), and more hookups than he could count. He had finished college and was working on getting his name known as a producer alongside his friends Chan and Changbin who were transfer students just like him. It wasn’t that he had intentionally stayed away so long. Life had just taken over and he never had the time to plan a trip back. 

This year, he decided it was time. He had some vacation time saved up from work and honestly, he missed it. The States had their own charms, but he would still get an ache in his chest, yearning for his small hometown in South Korea even six years later. That was why he planned a four week vacation to visit his family for Christmas and see them for as much time as possible. 

As he waited for his parents to pick him up at the airport, a nervous excitement bubbled in his stomach. His parents had come to visit him while he had been gone, but it had been so long since he had been home, he didn’t know what to expect. What had changed? What had stayed the same? Did his parents keep his old bedroom in the same state he left it or did they clear it out? Did the same people live in his neighborhood or had they all left like Jisung six years before? If the same people were there, would they remember Jisung? And if they remembered him, what would they think of him? Was his ex still living here or had he left too? Jisung didn’t know whether he wanted him to be there or not. Would it be a crime to say he missed him even though it had been so long? 

There were so many questions Jisung had, and they all left his mind the moment he saw his parents. They hugged him and he hugged them back harder. His mom nearly cried, cupped his cheeks, and whined about how he was, “Too skinny.” His chest filled with warmth and for a moment he forgot all of his worries about returning. 

When he got home, his mother started preparing dinner. “I also got cheesecake for you,” she said, and Jisung’s mouth watered. “I thought you might like a little treat after that ridiculously long flight.” 

Jisung pressed his lips together, a knot forming in his throat. “Thank you, eomma,” he said softly. “Is there anything I can do to help with dinner?” 

“Oh no need,” his mother stated with a wave of her hand. “You appa will be helping me anyway. You should go and rest before dinner. I know you must be exhausted.” 

At the suggestion of rest, the fatigue hit Jisung’s body and his limbs felt too heavy for him to carry. He was exhausted. The jetlag was going to hit him hard and being on the plane for so many hours had taken it out of him. “Okay. I think I will go up to my room and rest for a bit,” he said with a smile. 

“Good! I’ll call you when dinner’s done.” 

Jisung grabbed his suitcases he had set down and made his way up the stairs to his old bedroom. His chest tightened as he took in the layout of the house, the same as it had always been. Family pictures lined the walls and he cringed at the school photo from his sophomore year where he was wearing thick rimmed glasses and had bright blue braces on his teeth. 

When he opened his bedroom door, he was suddenly eighteen again–unsure of himself, apprehensive of the future, mourning the end of his high school relationship–everything was exactly as he had left it, albeit a bit cleaner. The shelf full of manga he had left thinking it would be too immature to bring with him still remained, as did the shelf of figurines below that. His old posters were still on his wall, only the corners were curled in. His bed was made but he had no idea if it was with the same set he had made it with when he left. Knowing his mom and her affinity for cleanliness, probably not. But it didn’t even matter. It was all so similar that the wave of memories it brought back was almost too much for Jisung to handle. 

Going to sleep was the easiest solution to dampening the onslaught of emotionally-charged memories that being home produced. It didn’t take long for him to doze off either, and he only awoke when his father called to him from the bottom of the steps. He did a double take when he woke up, absorbing his surroundings in confusion before he relaxed. It was like stepping back into the past. 

As they sat down to dinner and Jisung filled his plate, his earlier questions came rushing back. “Has the town changed much since I’ve been gone? I remember you said they added a new shelter here,” Jisung started. There had always been stray cats and dogs wandering around his neighborhood when he was a kid, so the addition of a shelter was extremely welcome. 

“Not too much, honestly,” his father said with a shrug. “You know how it is around here. Nothing much to write home about.” He laughed softly, and Jisung was reminded how much he had missed the sound. Even though his parents came to visit, it had still been over a year. “We’ve had a couple families move out here and there, a couple move in. But it’s mostly the same.” 

Jisung nodded softly and then his mother got a lightbulb look on her face. “Oh! But this new coffee shop opened recently. About a year ago, I think. It’s such a cute little place, really gives the village an extra homey feel to it. It’s actually run by–” 

His father cleared his throat and gave his wife a pointed look. “It is really lovely,” he agreed. “You should check it out. We won’t be here tomorrow since I’ll be working at the office and your eomma will be at the shelter, so it’d give you something to do,” he suggested. 

Jisung wanted to ask about what his mom was going to say before she was cut off, but he decided it probably wasn’t important. He simply smiled and nodded at the suggestion. “That does sound nice. I’ve always loved places like that. Maybe I can work on some lyrics while I’m there.” He didn’t write music as much as he produced but there were still some artists he needed to work on lyrics for. Cafes and coffee shops were the best place to do work like that. 

“Good!” his mother said with a sweet smile. “I’m sure you’ll love it.” And contrary to what his younger self believed, she was often right, so Jisung believed her. 

“I’m sure I will,” he responded. 

His parents shared a look that he couldn’t interpret but then the topic shifted and he forgot about the entire exchange, other than the fact that he needed to visit the cafe. 

As much as Jisung loved winter, the wind nipping at his already numb cheeks was not his favorite thing. He pulled his scarf up just a bit higher so that it covered the bottoms of his cheeks and he rubbed his gloved hands over his skin. He reasoned that at least he would have a warm drink and a cozy coffee shop to sit in soon and all the wind and icy temperatures would be worth it. Thankfully, the shop was not too far away from his home and he was able to admire all the Christmas lights and decorations that lined the streets. Even if he was cold on the outside, he felt warm on the inside. 

The coffee shop was not easy to miss. He noticed it as soon as he came upon the building. The outside was decorated with garland and icicle lights and there was a large sign on the front that read, Lino’s Coffee and Tea in cursive lettering. The same title was printed across the two big windows in the front. The door was painted red and had a large wreath hanging on it, which Jisung admired for a moment before he opened the door. 

A quiet chime went off as Jisung pushed the door open and a delicious concoction of scents hit his nose as soon as he stepped inside. Rich coffee mixed with cinnamon and the smell of sweet pastries, and it made Jisung’s mouth water. There was no one standing at the counter, but there were a few patrons sitting at various tables, sipping on lattes and snacking on expertly prepared pastries. The display at the counter caught Jisung’s eye immediately, and while he had originally been planning on just getting a coffee, the sight of a cheesecake with a spiral of red strawberries around the edge and drizzles of chocolate over the top caught his eye. 

From inside the kitchen, someone called, “I’ll be with you in a minute!” and for a second, the voice sounded extremely familiar, but Jisung couldn’t place it. 

That was, until the owner of the voice stepped out. In an instant Jisung’s eyebrows shot up and his mouth fell agape. Deep-set brown eyes, rose-petal mouth, sharp jawline, the most perfect nose he had ever seen–he would recognize that face anywhere. 

The same look of recognition passed over the other man’s face and after a few seconds, his shocked expression softened and he smiled softly. “Jisung-ah,” he said, and Jisung’s stomach flipped when his name rolled off his tongue. His voice held the same, gentle warmth that it always had when he spoke to him. But that had been so long ago.

“Minho-hyung,” he breathed. 

He had not seen Minho in six years and it had been four or five since he had last spoken to him. He couldn’t exactly remember.  But at one point, they had been best friends. And before that, Minho had been his boyfriend. 

They started dating when Minho was in his senior year of high-school and Jisung was in his junior year. They had been friends since 7th grade and Minho was his first kiss. His first everything. Minho never intended to go to college so he was still around even as Jisung was in his senior year. But when Jisung graduated, that's when everything changed. They started having more disagreements, more tension, and less romance. Part of that was fueled by the fact that Jisung had applied to a college in the United States and was fully planning on attending. Minho acted like it would be okay and he would be fine, that they would be fine, but it was clear he was having a difficult time handling it. In the end, they both agreed to break up and go back to being friends. 

As time went on though, they progressively started talking less and less. The major time difference coupled with Jisung’s busy life and their past put a rift between them and at one point, one of them sent the last message. Jisung couldn't remember who, but he had a feeling it was him. 

"It's been a while," Minho said, bringing Jisung back to the present. "How long has it been?" 

"Gosh." Jisung rubbed the back of his neck. "Six years? Yeah. Six years. It's been a long while." 

"It has," Minho agreed with a nod. He was rocking back and forth–Jisung could imagine him bouncing on the balls of his feet. It was something he often did when he was excited or nervous. Jisung didn't know what to do with either of those things. “What are you doing back here?” 

“I’m here to visit my parents and just visit…home,” he answered, hesitating at the word “home.” “I’ve been saving up vacation time and money. So I was finally able to travel.” 

Minho hummed softly. “That’s good. Really good.” And really, Jisung couldn’t agree more.

"How have you been? Is this your place?" Jisung asked, gesturing around to the coffee shop. "Fuck wait–Lino? Is that you? Lee Minho? " 

A smile bloomed across Minho’s face and Jisung’s heart stuttered in his chest. Oh shit. It was just as beautiful as he had always remembered it. Even more so. He still had the same lopsided grin, the same slightly crooked front teeth. 

Jisung’s stomach felt like a whole zoo. 

"Yeah, this is my place. I opened it up about two years ago. I was working to open it for a while before though. The idea came to me when you–" Minho cleared his throat and glanced down. When you left, Jisung gathered. "I didn't really know what to do with myself. You know I was kind of directionless for a while…well I knew I didn't want to leave, and I loved baking and coffee, so it just made sense." 

Picturing Minho putting so much work into this little coffee shop–spending hours developing recipes, saving money to open–made Jisung's chest fill with warmth. He had always been such a hard worker and Jisung had always admired him for it. That hadn't changed. "Well it's beautiful. And everything–everything smells amazing and looks–wow. I can't believe you did this all on your own. It's spectacular. Wow." Jisung couldn't help his exclamations of awe. It really was amazing. The inside of the coffee shop was honestly beautiful, decorated for Christmas just like the outside. He hadn't even noticed the Christmas tree in a corner of the shop until he started looking around as he attempted a coherent compliment. 

Minho laughed, soft and bright, and it was the most beautiful sound Jisung had ever heard. Wow, he had missed him. It was insane how fast he felt comfortable around him again. “Thank you, I’m glad you like it,” he said genuinely. “Ah, I’m taking up your time. You probably have things to do. What can I get you, Jisung-ah?” 

“No, no, it’s okay! I was just gonna chill here for a bit, work on some song lyrics, you’re good,” Jisung said, waving his hand. “I think I’ll take a large candy cane mocha, and…a slice of that cheesecake there,” he said, pointing at the cheesecake on the display. A knowing grin spread across Minho’s face and he nodded as he typed Jisung’s order into a little keypad on the counter. 

“You never change,” he mumbled, the smile still on his face. 

Jisung’s cheeks warmed and he bit his lip. In the past, Jisung got cheesecake on every outing he possibly could, and it was his dessert of choice on dates. He didn’t respond as he paid, but he couldn’t get the thought out of his mind that Minho remembered. 

A few other people entered the shop as Jisung waited for Minho to finish his drink and get his dessert but Jisung’s eyes were focused on Minho. Over the years, Minho’s appearance had matured so much and he had grown into his features in a way that made him even more beautiful, which Jisung hadn’t thought possible when they were together in high school. 

When Minho handed Jisung his drink and his plate of cheesecake, their fingertips brushed. Minho didn’t seem to notice, but the contact sent sparks up Jisung’s arm. He needed to remind himself that this was his ex. His ex he had not spoken to in years. There was no reason for him to be reacting to him this way. None. 

Except, as he thanked Minho and began to move to find a table to sit at, Minho called out to him. “Jisung-ah,” he began, then clenched his fists on the edge of the counter, “it’s good to see you again. I…I missed you.” And oh this was not good for Jisung’s poor, lonely heart. 

He hadn’t realized how much of an ache there had been in his heart until it lifted, eased by Minho’s presence, his words. He swallowed a lump in his throat and inhaled. “I missed you too, hyung.” 

-

Minho and Jisung’s breakup had been Minho’s idea. It was mutual, and Jisung agreed to it almost immediately. That fact only made it harder for Minho, though. When he brought it up, part of him hoped that Jisung would fight for him, that he would say they could work things out, that distance wouldn’t destroy the love they had. Instead, he smiled a little sadly and nodded. “I think…I think that might be for the best.” 

No one knew that Minho spent every night for the next month crying after that. 

Years before, when his last message was left on read by the younger, Minho resigned himself to never seeing Jisung ever again. He reasoned that it was for the best, that it would help him move on and finally get settled with his life. And it had helped, even if not at first. It allowed him to focus more on planning for his cafe and that’s what he did; he threw himself into work like he never had before. In the end, it was worth it. He had a beautiful coffee shop that made a good profit and made the townsfolk happy. He was happy and he was settled. Sometimes he still thought of Jisung, wondered how he was doing and what he would say if he knew how successful Minho’s dream had become. But for the most part, Jisung was out of his mind. 

And then he walked into Minho’s shop and right back into his life. Nothing could have prepared him for the tidal wave of emotions that hit him the moment he laid eyes on Jisung. He looked the same as he always had, but he had grown up. His jaw was sharper but his cheeks were just as full. He had a few new piercings on his ears and his hair was lavender instead of the deep brown he had left with. Minho felt the same way he had felt when Jisung first held his hand, only this time the feeling choked him. 

Despite the cocktail of emotions swirling through Minho’s head, talking to Jisung was easy. As easy as it had always been. They just clicked like that. It felt like they had never stopped talking, like Jisung had never left. But at the end of the day, he had. It had been years, they were both adults, they had both been through things neither of them knew about in the time since they’d last spoken. In a way, they were practically strangers. 

And yet, Jisung looked so happy to see him. 

The interaction was something Minho couldn’t keep out of his head. It took everything in his power not to look at Jisung the entire time he was sitting at his table. He had to remind himself that things had changed, time had passed, Jisung probably had a girlfriend or a boyfriend back in America. 

Perhaps they could be friends. 

Minho had deleted his chat with Jisung a while ago but he still had his contact. He could never bring himself to delete it or block him. He had no reason to. Things had just faded out and they didn’t even end on a necessarily bad note, no matter how heartbroken Minho had been. Circumstance just brought them to that point. But now that he had seen Jisung again and he was in the area, likely staying with his parents, then there was a chance Minho could text him again and they could hang out. 

Unfortunately, Minho was scared. He was worried Jisung didn’t actually want anything to do with him and he would turn him down and he would be stuck in a pit of his own embarrassment. He needed to test the waters first. Jisung would likely be there until Christmas at least so he had time. 

What he had not been expecting was for Jisung to come into the shop almost every day from that point. The second day he came in and told him how his parents were the ones who told him to come to the coffee shop and how much they loved it. Minho realized he would have to give them a personal thank you for bringing Jisung back to him. That day he ordered a candy cane mocha again, saying that while he usually just went for an Americano, it was Christmas time so he wanted to be more festive. He had also had a larger sweet tooth lately. 

He didn’t come in the next day, but he showed up the day after that, getting a simple Americano that time. One day he came in and didn’t even order anything, just said he liked the environment and it was relaxing to write music there. Minho caught him looking at him at least five times while he was working behind the counter; there was no excuse for the way it made butterflies erupt in his stomach. 

Around a week from the first day he came in, Jisung showed up again when it was an hour before closing and he ordered a chocolate filled croissant and a hot chocolate with whipped cream. Minho gave him a little extra just because he could. And instead of leaving to sit at a table and write lyrics like he had the days before, Jisung stayed at the counter so he could talk to Minho in between customers. It was a slow day, so Minho was grateful for the company, especially since it was Jisung’s company. But he wouldn’t admit that out loud just yet. He didn’t talk about anything important, mostly just different anime he had watched recently and what some of the genres he had been working on were, but Minho held on to every word. 

The time rolled around for Minho to close up, and it made his chest ache as he thought of telling Jisung he was closing for the evening, but Jisung beat him to the topic instead. “I could help you clean up, if you want,” he suggested. 

Minho’s heart soared before it landed back on earth and he shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I’m sure you have things to do. I can handle it on my own,” he reassured him. 

Jisung’s bottom lip pushed out in a pout. It made Minho’s knees weak. Fuck, he was even worse off than he had been in the past. “I want to help though. You work here all by yourself and it’s gotta be hard, even if that’s what you usually do.” 

“I have help sometimes,” Minho said with a shrug. Jisung was still pouting and if Minho were a stronger man, he would tell him to go anyway and insist he could do it on his own like he always had. But Minho was incredibly weak. “Alright, fine. But don’t expect to get paid, this is volunteer work.” 

Jisung’s pout turned into a wide smile and he hopped off of his seat. “I know, don’t worry. I just wanted to help.” 

He shuffled behind the counter and suddenly Minho was keenly aware of the fact that since Jisung walked in two days ago, he hadn’t interacted with him without the barrier of the counter between him. Now it felt real–Jisung was actually here and not a figment of Minho’s imagination. He swallowed thickly. 

“Alright, if you want, you can just wipe down the counters and tables. I know where everything goes so I’ll take down the display.” He gestured for Jisung to follow him into the back and handed him a cloth and cleaning agent for the surfaces around the shop. 

“Sounds good to me, Minho-hyung,” Jisung said with a soft smile. He took the supplies from Minho and went back out to the front to begin wiping down the various tables and countertops. Minho watched him for a minute as he went, something tugging at his chest. He gave himself two firm pats over his heart and mumbled, “Shut up,” under his breath. 

They cleaned in relative silence. Occasionally, Jisung would break the silence by humming a melody Minho didn’t recognize under his breath. It was comfortable. This was how they always worked, Minho remembered it clearly. Silence didn’t bother either of them. They didn’t need to talk to fill some imaginary gap–each other’s presence was enough. 

With help, cleaning did go by faster. Jisung was efficient and even helped him sweep and mop so Minho could focus on fixing everything else that needed to be dealt with. 

The December sky was dark when they stepped out onto the street but the sidewalks were lit by lamps and colorful Christmas lights. Under the subtle glow, Minho could see the gentle flush on Jisung’s round cheeks. “Let me walk you home,” Minho suggested before he could think better of it. 

Jisung tilted his head at him, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Do you even remember where I live?” 

“I could never forget,” Minho admitted. He had walked past it a few times over the years and would sometimes pause in front for a moment, hoping that somehow Jisung would come through the front door. 

Jisung hummed, contemplating, and then nodded. “Okay, yeah. I could use some company on the way, if it’s not too much trouble.” He wrapped his scarf around himself, obscuring the bottom half of his face. 

“No trouble,” Minho reassured. “I’ve got nothing to do anyway." What he didn't say was that he just wanted to spend more time with Jisung. He didn’t want to go home and reminisce about the past while wishing he had just spent more time with Jisung. He didn’t even know how much time Jisung would be spending in Korea. He needed to get every second he could, even if it was the last he would ever see of him. 

The streets were fairly busy with cars and the sidewalks with people leaving work, but if anyone asked Minho later, he could only remember the two of them. They walked back together, closer than needed. They didn’t hold hands, but they came pretty damn close with the way their arms would brush together every few steps. Jisung either didn’t seem to notice or he didn’t mind. 

After they had walked a few blocks, thick flakes of snow fluttered down onto the sidewalk beneath their feet. Jisung’s eyes widened at the sight and he let out a soft gasp as more snowflakes joined in. “Oh my gosh snow! Wow, it's so pretty. Where I live in America doesn’t have much snow. This is exciting,” he said, skipping a little as he walked. 

“A little Christmas gift from the universe then,” Minho commented with a chuckle. Jisung’s eyes sparkled as he looked up at the sky and the Christmas lights reflected off them and cast a warm glow on his face. Minho was reminded that Jisung’s favorite season was winter. This walk may have been enough to make it Minho’s favorite, too. 

Jisung caught at least ten snowflakes on his tongue before they arrived at his house. Minho, unfortunately, only caught them in his eyes. But it was worth it to witness the joy on Jisung’s face. 

They paused at the door before Jisung went inside; it painfully reminded Minho of the first kiss he shared with Jisung after a walk similar to this–only that was on a warm summer evening and they were both hot and tired and so inexperienced–Minho thought that if they were to share a kiss now, it would be much better. He thought he saw Jisung’s eyes flick to his lips, but then the look was gone, Jisung meeting his eyes. “Thank you for walking me home,” Jisung said with a soft smile. 

“Of course.” Minho clenched his fists in his pockets. “Jisung-ah–I’ve been enjoying spending time with you at the coffee shop—” He watched Jisung’s face fall for a split second before he continued, “but I want to spend more time with you, if that’s okay? I know we stopped talking and it’s okay if you don’t want to but—” 

“I want to,” Jisung interrupted. “We can talk about all of that another time, I know I…I need to say some things. But I do want to.” 

Minho let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “Okay. Okay then. I’ll text you. I still have your contact.” Was that embarrassing to admit? Minho realized he didn’t care. 

“Oh…that’s–that’s good. Yeah. Text me. I’ll make sure I find a time.” 

“Perfect.” Minho knew his excitement was poorly concealed but this was Han Jisung. Han Jisung who used to be his Han Jisung. “I’ll let you go in now, it’s fucking freezing. And I think my fingers are turning into popsicles.” 

Jisung laughed and shook his head. “Well you better warm them up then. I’ll see you later, Minho.” He waved and then in a blink of an eye, he was on the other side of the door. 

Minho sighed and a shiver wracked his body. Fuck it was cold. 

-

Minho messaged Jisung the next morning. Jisung was sitting in his living room, sipping a mug of hot chocolate, when his phone made a loud ping! He nearly dropped it when he attempted to pick it up to check who had messaged him and his stomach flipped when he saw the contact name. He hadn’t changed it since they had last messaged. 

Minho-hyungie

10:27am When are you free? 

Jisung 

10:28am I’m free almost any time this week :) My fam still has to work until Christmas So lonely (˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥⋆)

Minho-hyungie

10:32am Later today then? I’ll ask my friend Felix to watch over the shop until close 

Jisung 

10:33am Reallyy? What are we gonna do? 

Minho-hyungie

10:36am Mm it’s a surprise 

Jisung 

10:36am Sounds suspicious You aren’t gonna murder me are you? 

Minho-hyungie

10:37am I already have the dumpster where i’ll dump your body in mind 

Jisung 

10:39am (°△°|||) Scary 

Minho-hyungie

10:40amI’ll pick you up at 2? 

Jisung 

10:41am I’ll be ready! 

Minho-hyungie

10:42am Make sure to wear warm clothes 

When Minho came to pick Jisung up, he pestered him the entire time, begging him to tell where they were going. But Minho wouldn’t budge, even when Jisung used his biggest, saddest eyes possible. That had gotten him so many things in life so it was entirely too frustrating that it didn’t work on Minho in the moment. But Minho apparently had developed a resolve of steel over the years so he could not be persuaded. 

It was only when they actually arrived that Jisung realized the surprise was worth it. Minho was taking him ice-skating. Something he hadn’t done in years. 

“Oh my gosh!” he exclaimed, eyes blowing wide as he turned to Minho. “You’re amazing.” 

“I know I am,” Minho said with a playful grin. 

Surveying the skating rink, Jisung was hit with memories from the last time he went ice skating. He and Minho were still together at the time. It was an icy winter day, colder than this one. Minho had surprised him then too. The only real difference was that it was closer to Christmas then and of course they were holding hands and sharing soft, giggly kisses every time one of them slipped. It was a memory Jisung had totally forgotten until now. He wondered if Minho remembered that too, if this location and the surprise had been intentional. He tried not to think about it. Things were different now. They were different now. 

Yet, when he looked at Minho and he smiled at him with the same soft fondness in his eyes as he did years ago, Jisung wondered if they really were so different. 

“Still remember how to skate?” Minho asked as they walked to get their skates. Jisung rolled his eyes and scoffed. 

“Pft, of course. It’s like riding a bike, right?” 

It was not like riding a bike. 

The moment Jisung was on the ice he was slipping and sliding everywhere except where he actually wanted to go. His arms flailed around and his legs slid across the ice in opposite directions, forcing him into a near split before he landed gracelessly on his butt. His lips jutted out in an exaggerated pout as Minho doubled over laughing, clutching his sides like Jisung’s pain was the funniest thing he had ever laid eyes on. “You are not amazing. I just changed my mind. Stop laughing! ” he whined. 

Minho let out a little “ah” as he finally caught his breath and wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry, Hannie. You were just so confident.” Hannie. He hadn’t called him that in a while. 

Minho eased towards him on his own skates and held his hand out for Jisung to take. Jisung’s eyebrows furrowed and he pursed his lips but he took his hand anyway. Unfortunately, even with Minho holding his hand, he was still unsteady on his feet and they nearly slipped out from under him as he stood so he went colliding into Minho’s chest. 

Warm arms went around his waist, holding him steady. Jisung inhaled a shaky breath, his nose filling with the scent of Minho’s cologne. It was something vanilla and sweet and it made Jisung a little dizzy. “Careful,” Minho chastised, his voice so gentle and warm that it melted over Jisung like caramel. “Hold onto me and I’ll help you.” 

It wasn’t good for Jisung to be this close to Minho. His ex and ex best friend. It wasn’t good for his sanity or his heart but Jisung was selfish. It was okay anyway, right? He was just helping him skate. So he nodded, not trusting the sound of his own voice now that he’d had real physical contact with Minho and had smelled his sugary cologne. 

“Okay, wrap your arm around me.” 

Jisung did as he was told and moved away from Minho just enough that he could wrap one arm around his waist. Minho did the same, his gloved hand coming to grip the curve of Jisung’s waist. They had too many layers between them for Jisung to really feel it but his breath still hitched at the pressure. Minho didn’t seem to notice, and if he did notice, he didn’t say anything. He got right into guiding Jisung along the ice, holding him firmly so that he wouldn’t slip. It started to come back to him as they glided along the smooth surface, but Jisung didn’t want to let go, even after he became confident enough to do it on his own. It was cold and Minho was so warm and his fingers felt nice digging into his side. He was probably holding him harder than he needed to but that didn’t phase Jisung one bit. 

“You really did forget all of this in America,” Minho said, shaking his head. “Is it really that warm there?” 

“Well, no…” Jisung responded, cheeks burning from embarrassment. “I just live in California near the ocean and it’s super warm there. We hardly ever get snow there. And America is so big, hyung! There’s places there that are super cold.” 

“Oh yeah, I know. I just mean…I don’t know…kinda forgot what state you lived in,” Minho admitted sheepishly. “I thought it was like New York or something. Nevermind.” 

Jisung frowned softly, discomfort twisting in his stomach. “It’s okay. I mean, we didn’t really talk about where I was going that much…and it’s been a while.” 

Minho hummed and when Jisung glanced up his lips were pursed and his expression looked pinched. The discomfort spread through Jisung’s stomach and settled in his chest like a weight. There was something hollow there, nestling deep inside him. They had stopped moving, no longer moving smoothly across the ice. The air had gotten colder and it was thick with the unspoken truth they both knew. We don’t know each other anymore. 

Minho looked over at Jisung and his face relaxed a little. “Sorry just… I know it’s silly. It’s just where you live. But it’s really been so long. I don’t–” He swallowed and for the first time Jisung noticed his eyes were glassy. “I don’t know anything about what your life has been like for the last–what? Four years?”

The hollow feeling crawled up Jisung’s throat and he held down a distressed sound. “Let’s–let’s sit down, hyung.” 

Minho nodded in agreement and he directed them to the edge of the rink so they could sit down on one of the benches. They were silent for a moment, both of them trying to figure out what to say, what needed to be said. After a moment, Jisung decided to be the first to speak. “What do you want to know?” 

“Huh?” Minho asked, tilting his head to look at Jisung. 

“What do you want to know about me? About my life. Since the last time we talked.” 

“Everything,” Minho answered easily. “I want to know everything, please.” 

So Jisung told him everything. He told him how he never intended to stop messaging him, how it almost just happened and in the end he thought it might be for the best–but he also told him how sorry he was for that. How the guilt still twisted his stomach like a hoard of snakes whenever he thought about it. He also told him about Chan, a music student from Australia, and Changbin, another music student who had grown up in New York city his entire life but had deeply Korean traditions, both who were Jisung’s two best friends in the United States. He told him how they wanted to start a production group together called 3Racha and they had been slowly working towards producing for bigger artists. He told Minho about the relationships he had while he was in America, not missing the way that Minho’s eyes flashed at mention. He told him about the friends he had made and about the time he went out drinking with Chan and Changbin and got so drunk he made an utter fool out of himself by attempting to dance on the bar. He told him how he started seeing a therapist for his anxiety and how he discovered that working out really helped him mentally. He told him everything that he could think of, everything that would make it seem like Minho had been there all those years. 

The sky was dark with only a hint of sunlight peeking over the horizon when Jisung finished. The tips of his ears were numb and his nose was running from the cold and even though his hands were shoved into his coat pockets, they still felt cold. Anyone else who had been there previously was gone and it was getting close to the point where the rink would be closed off for the night. 

“I’m sorry I took up all our time with my talking,” Jisung said through chattering teeth. Minho smiled softly and shook his head. 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s okay. I just liked spending time with you. Getting to hear you talk,” Minho told him. “Your life sounds so interesting.” 

Jisung chuckled. “Not super interesting. Just chaotic.” 

“It’s interesting to me.” Minho’s eyes held his and his gaze was so intense for a moment that Jisung’s heart nearly stuttered to a stop. But then the intensity was gone, leaving behind a mob of butterflies in Jisung’s stomach. “We should get going. Maybe get some hot cocoa since it’s so cold?” 

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’d like that.” Jisung stood up from the bench and stretched. His limbs were stiff from the cold and from sitting so long. The thought of hot cocoa made a shiver run through him from his head to his toes. He couldn’t wait to be warm and cozy instead of freezing. 

They dropped off their skates and went to Minho’s car. On their way back, they picked up some hot cocoa to go and as the warmth settled in Jisung’s stomach he let out a content sigh. Even though they didn’t spend their whole time out ice-skating, Jisung was happy. He felt a weight was off his chest now that he had shared so much about his life with Minho. There was still more they probably needed to talk about. The end of their friendship, their breakup. Jisung still wanted to be Minho’s friend, but he couldn’t deny there was something more there. Something that could be worth pursuing now that they were both older and more mature. The problem was, Jisung was nervous. It had only been a week since they had reunited and as much as Minho now knew about his life, Jisung knew little about what Minho had been doing all this time. 

He had been working on stepping out of his comfort zone though. He had been working on facing his fears. 

“I wanna hear about your life too,” Jisung said softly, picking at the edge of the lid on his hot cocoa cup with his thumb. “I did a lot of talking and you didn’t get to tell me about yourself.” 

“It’s not all that interesting,” Minho replied with a shrug, turning the wheel with a single hand. 

Jisung shook his head adamantly. “Not true. It’s you. And I think it’s up to me to decide whether or not it’s interesting while you’re telling it, right?” He smiled playfully and Minho sighed, rolling his eyes. 

“Alright, I’ll tell you everything you need to know,” Minho said with a chuckle. “But, later. It’s late. When we hang out next. If you want that, of course.” 

Jisung bit his lip, a jolt of excitement shooting through him. Minho wanted to continue spending time with him. That was good. “I do!” He nodded. “And then you’ll tell me everything, right?” 

“I will.” Minho took a quick glance at him and smiled so fondly Jisung was sure his heart would melt through his ribcage. 

“Then I can’t wait.” His lips curled up in a soft smile and he took a sip of his hot chocolate. The drive was quiet from that point on, with only the sound of the road underneath them for background noise. Jisung tried not to let his mind wander too much, but there was still something left on his mind that he needed to say. 

They arrived at Jisung’s house and as he stepped out of the car, he turned to look at Minho. “I’m sorry. For not texting you back. I should have–I wanted to, I just—” He sighed and chewed on his bottom lip. “I don’t really have an excuse. But I didn’t forget about you. I’m sorry I did that to you.” 

Minho smiled a little ruefully but Jisung could tell that behind the hurt that must have been there, there was sincerity. “It’s okay. It’s in the past now, yeah? I think I needed it anyway.” 

Jisung gave him a nod. “Well, it won’t happen again.” He didn’t say that really, over the last few days he had realized that he never wanted Minho out of his life again. He was a different person than the one that had left for the states, a better one. He could do better now. 

Minho’s smile changed into something sweeter and Jisung’s breathing became easier. “I’m glad. And if you do leave me on read again, I’ll just keep bothering you. Sound good?” 

Jisung’s cheeks hurt from how hard he smiled. “Yeah, sounds really good, hyung.” 

They said goodbye and when Jisung went inside, he placed his hand flat over his racing heart. This was so bad for him. He felt like he was slipping on ice again, careening towards the ground. Only there was a chance that someone might be there to catch him this time. 

Jisung did not get to see Minho much for the next few days. He was busy with the coffee shop and Jisung was busy spending time with his parents and old friends. He got together with his friend Hyunjin, who he had been close to in high school, and that brought a lot of ease to him. Hyunjin was as annoying as ever, but that only made Jisung happier to see him. Their time together reminded him of more carefree days, summers off of school, skipping class to do anything but homework. He hadn’t realized how closed off he had been to his old home until now, but now he had gone from being worried about his return to never wanting to leave. 

His parents seemed to be just as happy to have him back. His mom was making all his favorite foods for every meal and giving him portions to the point where he could swear his pants were getting tighter. His father insisted on hearing about every song Jisung produced or worked on, which was a little overwhelming but Jisung would never pass on sharing his pride and joy with someone else. 

With these bright sides though, there was something…slightly more annoying. They seemed intent on making Jisung’s reunion with Minho a Big Deal. 

“So…have you stopped by the coffee shop these last couple days?” Jisung’s mother asked as she stood at the sink washing vegetables for dinner. Jisung could feel his cheeks turn fifty shades of red and he shook his head. 

“No. Besides, why does it matter, huh? Something you want to tell me, eomma?” 

Jisung had figured out by now that his parents set him up to meet Minho. It didn’t take much inference to come to that conclusion. He was grateful but at the same time he couldn’t help but shake his head at their scheming. 

“No, nothing,” she said with a shrug, humming as she set the vegetables in a bowl. “I’m just glad that you two are talking again. You both always got along so well.” 

“I always liked him,” his father piped up as he entered the dining room. “A really good kid, that one. You should invite him over sometime! Christmas dinner?” Jisung resisted the urge to groan. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes to rub them. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Minho over for Christmas dinner. It just felt a bit too soon for that. And it might insinuate that he wanted more with Minho–which might not be a lie at this point. 

“I don’t think he’d want to do that. We’re just getting back to knowing each other.” He sighed, slumping down in his seat. 

“Well tell him he’s invited!” his mother said with a sharp nod of her head. “He can say no if he wants, but the offer is there!” 

“Humor you eomma, Jisung-ah,” his dad said. 

Jisung did groan this time, long and heavy; like a petulant child. “I’ll ask. Don’t worry.” 

That seemed to satisfy them for the time being and they quickly changed the subject to something else. Jisung didn’t know what–he was once again too lost in his thoughts. Thoughts about Minho, who was taking up too much of his mind. He shouldn’t be like this, not with his ex. But he couldn’t help it. His parents were right. They did work well. Chopsticks, their friends used to call them. 

Perhaps now, things could be different. Perhaps now, the distance wouldn’t be so hard to bridge. 

Later that day, it was Jisung who messaged Minho, asking when he was free to hang out next. They had been texting more since the day Minho brought him skating and through some of those texting conversations, Jisung had learned more about what Minho had been up to during the past few years. To his surprise, he discovered that Minho had not had a boyfriend since they had broken up. He learned that he had a situationship and a few miscellaneous no-strings-attached relationships that did not last long, but nothing substantial. The sicker part of Jisung’s brain twisted with excitement at this news. It made him believe that there was a chance. He wasn’t even sure when he had started wanting Minho back, but somehow he felt like he had since the moment he laid eyes on him in the coffee shop his first full day back home. 

Minho responded a half an hour later, waking Jisung up from the light sleep he had fallen into while lying on his bed watching anime. He rubbed his groggy eyes and blinked rapidly at his screen as his eyes adjusted to the bright light. 

Minho-hyungie

6:34pm You wanna come over tomorrow night? I’d invite you over tonight but I’m totally unprepared for guests lmao 

Jisung 

6:35pm Waaaa you wanna prepare for mee? \(๑•́o•̀๑)/

Minho-hyungie

6:35pm I’m just a great host 

Jisung 

6:37pm Yeah yeah But tomorrow does work good for me *gasp* we should make Christmas cookies! 

Minho-hyungie

6:40pm And have you burn my house down? No way 

Jisung pouted, rolling over on his bed. He had gotten much better at cooking since he and Minho were last together. Minho’s worry wasn’t entirely unfounded since the last time Jisung tried to cook anything he did end up lighting it on fire, but he had grown. He was twenty-four and he would be damned if he couldn’t make some Christmas cookies. 

Jisung 

6:42pm That’s so mean hyung :c I’m a lot better at cooking now yk And you can always bake the cookies while I decorate :3

Minho-hyungie

6:43pm Mhm sure I’ll pick up the ingredients tonight 

Jisung 

6:43pm Yayy! You’re the best 

Setting his phone down, Jisung stared up at the ceiling. His heart was beating too fast and his cheeks were warm, which was becoming a common side effect of talking to Minho or being in his presence. He was royally fucked. 

It only got worse as he got ready to go over to Minho’s house the next evening. He was aware they weren’t doing anything particularly special, but he could still feel the budding anxiety blooming in his stomach. When he and Minho were last together, Minho was still living with his parents. He was on his way towards getting an apartment of his own, but he hadn’t gotten everything settled with that yet. Now Minho was an established adult–he had his own place, his own home. There would be little bits and pieces of Minho’s personality spread throughout the entire place–he would get to meet Minho’s cats that he had heard so much about since returning to Korea. Jisung would be in Minho’s most personal space, he would see the most vulnerable parts of him. And they would be wholly, entirely alone. Together. 

He knew he was making a bigger deal of it than he needed to. But to him, it felt like something big. And it twisted his stomach and pulled his ribs together until the ends were rubbing against each other, making his chest too tight for him to breathe. 

But then Minho texted him a picture of his cat Soonie next to a ball of cookie dough with a text that said, “He keeps trying to steal our cookies. You better hurry up,” and suddenly Jisung didn’t feel as worried. Even if he and Minho were still in the process of getting to know each other again, it was still Minho. And as much as they didn’t know each other, they knew each other more than anyone else could ever understand. 

Everything would be fine. 

He arrived at Minho’s house five minutes before the clock hit 7pm. They had agreed to hang out “around that time,” so Jisung counted it as perfectly on time, if not a little early. Minho’s house was smaller than his family’s home and towards the outskirts of town. There were a few other houses lining the street around it and he had a small yard and what looked like it would be a flower garden during the summer. He had a doorbell so Jisung didn’t bother knocking, opting to ring it in hopes that it worked. 

Minho’s muffled voice responded from behind the door followed by the quiet padding of feet on the floor. Moments later, the door opened and there was Minho, smiling softly. His hair was slightly mussed and he was wearing an apron that had flour and a few sauce stains here and there and his cheeks were slightly flushed. Jisung swallowed thickly. Royally fucked. “Hi, Jisung-ah,” he greeted. “Come in. Are you hungry? I made some dinner ‘cause I didn’t know if you would’ve eaten but I probably should’ve asked—” 

“That’s perfect,” Jisung replied, the smile that had already been on his face the moment Minho opened the door splitting into a wide grin. “I actually haven’t eaten so I could definitely eat now.” 

He followed Minho inside and was immediately hit with just how Minho his house was. It was small, but cozy. Countless plants were spread throughout the living room and the kitchen, sitting on the edges of counters and tables. His furniture and decor was all warm toned with dark green and yellow throw pillows on his couch and a lounge chair he had in the door. There was a yellow checkered tablecloth on the dining room table and a pair of salt and pepper shakers shaped like cats in the middle. The sight alone made Jisung’s heart swell. 

After he was finished surveying the house, he finally noticed the delicious smell wafting from the kitchen. His stomach growled and his mouth watered, hit with the different spices in the air from whatever Minho had been cooking. “Oh my gosh I’m like, actually so excited to eat,” he said with a laugh. Minho turned and looked at him fondly. 

“Yeah? Well, good. I made a good amount,” Minho said, going to get the food off the counter. “Ah–it’s japchae. Is that okay?” 

Jisung’s eyes lit up. “Oh that’s perfect. Seriously. What planet are you from, hyung? You’ve always been so good at cooking.” 

Minho laughed and shrugged as he got the food for them. “Mars, but I didn’t learn to cook there.” 

Jisung shook his head, huffing out a laugh. “You’re so weird.” 

“You like weird though, right?” Minho asked with an attempted wink. Jisung’s stomach did somersaults. There was a time, so long ago, where he and Minho were sitting outside one summer night. Minho was having a hard time with his parents and some of his friends and had lamented at that moment that he was, “just too weird for people.” Jisung had turned to him, cupped his face in his hands and said, “You are never too weird, hyung. Not for me. And besides. I like weird.” 

To think that Minho still remembered that. Jisung ached. And worse, he wanted. 

Minho cleared his throat after Jisung had been silent for too long. “Sorry, that was…too much.” 

“No,” Jisung quickly reassured him. “You’re right. I do.” He smiled and Minho’s eyes went wide for a second before he smiled back. 

It was that moment that there was the sound of paws running across the floor and something furry was rubbing against Jisung’s legs. He looked down and let out a gasp at the sight of Minho’s cat, Soonie, curling himself around his ankles. Then, in less than a second, another ball of fur joined Soonie, butting its head against Jisung’s legs while emitting a loud purr. “Oh my gosh. Soonie and Doongie, right?” Jisung asked, kneeling down to pet the two cats on the head. “Hi guys! Oh aren’t you just the cutest? Oh my, so soft!” he cooed, scratching behind Doongie’s ears. 

“Yep, that’s them. Dori’s probably hiding somewhere, but I’m sure he’ll come out eventually.” 

Jisung glanced up as he petted the two cats and found Minho smiling down at him. He quickly looked away, but the sight made his cheeks warm. 

“As much as I would like for you to keep getting to know my babies, we should probably eat. The food’s gonna get cold,” Minho said, which prompted Jisung to pout. He gave both Soonie and Doongie a final pat on the head and let out a dramatic sigh. 

“I’m sorry, kitties, but your owner insists I leave you.” Doongie meowed and Jisung’s frown deepened. “I know, right?” He shook his head playfully as he stood up. Minho watched him with an amused glint in his eye as he went to sit down at the table. “Oh wow this looks good,” he exclaimed as soon as he laid eyes on the food in front of him, completely forgetting about his cat dilemma. He was salivating just looking at the food. 

Minho chuckled as he joined him sitting down and picked up his chopsticks. “Well I hope it tastes as good as it looks. Please, eat.” 

Jisung was never one to not listen when told to eat, so he did. And immediately he felt himself fall again for Minho entirely, the first bite of noodles bursting with so much flavor he nearly moaned. “Hyung, what the fuck,” he groaned. He scooped up another bite with his chopsticks and slurped the noodles into his mouth. “This is amazing. You’re amazing.” He almost tacked on an “I love you,” but refrained. 

“It’s not anything that special,” Minho said with a shrug. Jisung wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. 

“It is though! And you will accept the compliment.” 

Minho rolled his eyes and laughed. “Alright, I will, thank you.” 

Satisfied, Jisung went back to eating with more vigor than he even ate the meals his mother prepared. He would have to tell her that she had competition.

- 

Jisung looked ridiculously adorable, all messy from decorating cookies. There was a smear of blue icing on the corner of his mouth and flour on the tip of his nose. He was wearing one of Minho’s aprons because he didn’t want to get any of the icing on his outfit. Minho didn’t know what to do with the fact that he desperately wanted to kiss him. 

Making it through dinner without grabbing Jisung by the collar of his shirt and pulling him for a kiss was one of the most difficult things Minho had done in a long time. When Jisung took a bite and his eyes lit up and he smiled, when he groaned as the flavors hit his tongue, when he shook his hands in little fists, Minho’s heart ached. He had so many regrets and he wasn’t sure he could come back from them. He wanted Jisung back. He wanted his best friend back, he wanted the person he had once believed to be his soulmate back. 

Decorating cookies with Jisung made the thoughts in Minho’s head quiet down, at least a little bit. It made Minho so happy he couldn’t think negatively. Even if the ache in his heart didn’t subside, at least Jisung was here. And he was so happy. 

“Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree,” played in the background as Minho filled a Christmas tree-shaped cookie in with green icing. Jisung hummed softly to the tune and swayed his hips every now and then as he decorated his own snowman cookie. Minho’s eyes were drawn to the motion every few moments and he quickly averted his gaze whenever he realized what he was doing. Did he even know how irresistible he was? Or was Minho just insane? 

“Aww, I messed up his eyes,” Jisung whined, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout. He held up his snowman cookie, showing Minho the smeared black where the eyes were supposed to be. If it weren’t for the white all over the cookie and the shape it probably wouldn’t even look like a snowman with how wonky the features were, but to Minho, it was the best snowman in the entire world. 

“That’s okay, I think it looks just fine,” Minho reassured him with a slight smile. 

Jisung huffed a little, shaking his head. “All your cookies look perfect. It’s so annoying.” 

Minho couldn’t help but laugh at that, his cheeks hurting slightly from how much he had been smiling the whole evening. “And yours are good too, Sung. Besides, we’re just gonna eat them anyway so how they look doesn’t matter.” 

“That’s just a nice way of saying mine look fucked up.” 

“It is not!” Minho denied, even if Jisung’s snowman looked more like a demented Santa Claus. He tried. That’s what mattered. 

“Sure,” Jisung mumbled. He went back to decorating his cookies, a sulk plastered on his face. A chuckle escaped Minho’s lips and he rolled his eyes. 

They continued decorating cookies like that, mostly in silence. Occasionally Jisung would pipe up to say something random or he would sing along to the Christmas song that was playing. It was pleasant. Minho felt more comfortable than he had in a long while and for the first time in years, his chest swelled with a true Christmas feeling. His happiness swelled up and overflowed enough to get caught in his throat, giddiness like a child on Christmas morning spreading through even his limbs. 

Minho saved most of his cookies so that he could have a nice spread once he was done. Jisung periodically ate the cookies he made, and when they were finished, Minho had about a dozen cookies left while Jisung had a solid six and was complaining about his stomach hurting. 

“If you hadn’t eaten so many your stomach wouldn’t be hurting,” he scolded. 

“You can’t blame me when they’re cookies you made,” Jisung retorted, indignant. He gingerly rubbed over the top of his stomach and sighed. “It’s not my fault.” He lifted his hand to his face and licked bits of crumb and icing off his fingertips. Minho swallowed thickly. 

“Mhm, blame me.” 

He picked up one of his cookies and held it between his teeth as he gathered the rest onto a plate. “Wanna wastch a Chwrifmash movie?” he asked, words garbled by the cookie in his mouth. Jisung side-eyed him, the corners of his mouth turning downwards. 

“You couldn’t have asked before sticking that in your mouth?” Minho shrugged, finally biting off the piece. Damn, they were good. “But yes, I do. Can we have snacks too?” 

“You were just complaining about your stomach hurting,” Minho said, but at the same time went to his cabinets to see what he had. Jisung didn’t seem phased by his comment, instead going to his living room to make himself comfortable on the couch. The sight of him so at ease did something to Minho’s poor heart and he wet his lips, his mouth suddenly feeling dry. 

 He joined Jisung on the couch a few minutes later with two bottles of soju and an assortment of movie snacks in hand. He sat down with enough space between him and Jisung for another person. He knew they had gotten closer recently, but he wanted to make sure Jisung was comfortable. If they were going to be closer, Minho needed Jisung to make the first move. 

“What movie d’ya wanna watch?” he asked, leaning back against the couch cushions as he opened the bottle of soju. Peach flavored. He remembered Jisung saying he liked that in the past and hoped he still did. The first sip settled in his stomach with a pleasant warmth. Maybe a bit of alcohol would stop his thoughts. 

“Any is good. Elf, maybe?” Jisung asked. Minho snickered. He should have expected that. 

“Elf it is then.” He turned on the movie and Jisung settled back the same way he did, opening his soju with a quiet “thank you.” 

Ten minutes into the movie, Jisung scooted closer to Minho on the couch. He stiffened when he noticed and that made Jisung frown. “Is this okay?” he asked, sounding so small and vulnerable in a way that Minho never wanted to hear. 

“Yeah, it’s perfectly fine,” he told him with a gentle nod. He realized then that with as much as he wanted to be close to Jisung, Jisung might actually want the same thing. So instead of being a coward, he moved closer to Jisung and closed the gap between them so that they were touching from their shoulders down to their thighs. The contact made Minho’s skin tingle and his heart rabbited in his chest, yet somehow he wasn’t nervous. Maybe it was the sips of soju he’d had settling in his stomach sending alcohol through his veins–liquid courage–but he felt confident. Before he could overthink it, he wrapped his arm around Jisung’s shoulders, his fingertips brushing against his shoulder. He may have imagined it but for a second he thought he heard Jisung’s breath hitch at the contact. 

“Is this okay?” it was his turn to ask. Jisung nodded quickly, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. “You sure? I know we…” We’re not the same anymore. We’re exes. We broke up. We didn’t talk for years. 

“It is,” Jisung said, his voice the texture of cotton candy. The weight was removed from Minho’s chest. 

“Okay, good.” He pulled Jisung more into his side and caressed his shoulder with the tips of his fingers. He could hear Jisung’s soft breaths and could smell his shampoo like this–strawberry, he decided–and it was not good for his sanity. He was so warm against his body, so close. He had been worried about Jisung, but perhaps he should be worried about himself. 

They only made it five more minutes and another sip of soju into the movie before Minho’s feelings were exploding out of his chest, too much to contain. “Jisung…I…” He swallowed thickly and fiddled with Jisung’s shirt sleeve. He wasn’t looking at Jisung but he could feel his gaze on him. He took a deep breath. “I didn’t–I didn’t want to break up with you, back then. I thought–I thought it was the best thing for us but I didn’t want it. Fuck, I–I wanted you to say no.” His voice shook a little. 

“Hyung…” Jisung muttered, eyes wide as he stared at Minho. 

Minho wet his lips and turned his head, making eye contact with him. “I just…I need you to know. That I regretted it. There wasn’t a day I didn’t want you back.” 

“Hyung,” Jisung said again, his voice sounding a little more desperate. “Why–where is this coming from?” 

“I—” Minho wanted to blame it on the alcohol, but he wasn’t drunk. Sure, it was affecting him a little bit, easing his nerves, giving him the courage to say this. But it wasn’t why he was saying it. “Since the day you walked into my coffee shop last week, or whenever it was. I’ve been thinking about everything. And it just made me realize how much I missed you. I think I could–no, I am falling for you again, already. I just can’t keep it in, especially since you’ll be going to America again and I–” 

“Minho-yah, hey. Minho, it’s okay,” Jisung said, reaching up to cup Minho’s cheeks. Only when he brushed his thumb over the soft flesh there did he realize that he had started crying. What the fuck. 

“Sorry,” Minho choked. “I’m sorry, the last thing you probably wanted to come back to was your ex I mean we had to stop talking for a reason—” 

Minho was shut up the moment he felt Jisung’s plush lips press against his own in a warm, chaste kiss. There was little finesse, no tongue, no urgency, but in that moment it was everything. A calming buzz settled over Minho’s body and mind, something settling in his chest where it had been left hollow. Jisung tasted like peach soju and sugar from the cookies they had made together, and like something so familiar even six years later and so distinctly Jisung that it hit him with a wave of nostalgia. 

When Jisung pulled away, his heartbeat was roaring in his ears yet he felt calm. He felt sated, but he wanted more. That was the thing. When they broke up he said he was okay being his friend, but he continued wanting more. When Jisung came back, he told himself he wanted to be friends with him again, and here he was, wanting more. With Jisung, he was insatiable. Greedy. There was never enough when it came to Jisung. 

Jisung looked at him, seemingly waiting for a response to the kiss. He didn’t say anything else, rather, angled his body so he could face him better and pulled him into another kiss. This time he slotted their lips together with purpose, tilting his head so he could take all of Jisung in. He cupped Jisung’s cheek with one hand and the other he rested on Jisung’s waist. Oh his waist. It had always been one of Minho’s favorite parts of him and it turned out it was now, too. 

He gave the curve of Jisung’s waist a squeeze which prompted a small gasp from him. Minho parted his lips as Jisung gasped, licking across his bottom lip, a mere taste of all that he wanted. When Jisung seemed to reciprocate his desire, he licked into his mouth, swallowing down the little noises Jisung made as he kissed him deeper. He was a good kisser, much better than when they had been together as inexperienced teenagers. He tried not to think about all the people he must have kissed since then and tried to focus on the fact that regardless of any of that, Jisung was here. 

Jisung shifted and his hands slid from Minho’s cheeks to tangle in his hair and Minho groaned into his mouth. He wrapped his arm around Jisung’s waist and tugged him forward a little; Jisung seemed to get the memo because in the next moment he was moving to sit in Minho’s lap, his thighs straddling his hips. Minho tugged his bottom lip between his teeth and Jisung outright moaned, the sound pooling as arousal in his belly. 

“Min– Minho,” Jisung gasped against his mouth after Minho released his bottom lip. His hands fell from Minho’s hair to his shoulders and he gave a small roll of his hips–a barely-there movement, but Minho felt it. 

“ Mmh, Sung-ah, fuck,” he breathed. He felt dizzy, his head swimming like he was drunk. He wasn’t, but he might as well have downed the entire bottle of soju in one go. He hadn’t felt desperation like this in a long time. But he needed Jisung, needed him in ways he couldn’t begin to describe. 

Jisung released breathy whines into Minho’s mouth, their lips gliding together, slick and wet. Messy, but so good. Jisung’s breath came out in pants between kisses, a string of spit connecting them. It was driving Minho insane. And when he rolled his hips again Minho gasped at the friction against his cock, which was already hard in his sweatpants. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted—

But—

“Ah, Jisung, Sungie, wait,” he said when he got a moment to breathe from how incessantly Jisung was kissing him. Jisung froze, his movements stopping all together. 

“What is it?” he asked, eyes wide with worry, anxiety. 

Minho wet his lips, the taste of Jisung still lingering on them. “I don’t–I don’t really have anything for uh…uhm.” He gestured vaguely with his hand and cleared his throat. “And I think…I think we should wait. Maybe a little.” Getting those words out felt like tearing at his chest but with their history they couldn’t just rush into things. That would only end up in both of them getting hurt and that was the last thing Minho wanted. He wanted to do things right. 

Jisung frowned and looked a little disappointed, but he nodded. “You’re probably right,” he agreed softly. 

Minho swallowed. “I do want you,” he said, hoping to reassure any thoughts that might be going through Jisung’s head. “But I also want to make sure that you know I want you for more than just sex. And I don’t want us…I don’t want you to do something you might regret especially since you’ll be leaving and we have… history.” 

“I wouldn’t regret it though,” Jisung said assuredly. “I know that already.” He slid off of Minho’s lap but still stayed glued to his side. “And the same things you said, hyung. I didn’t want us to end either. And I never forgot about you. Even if I was an asshole and stopped messaging. That was never–it was never because I wanted to forget you. Fuck, Minho, I don’t think I could regret anything with you except for leaving you.” 

Minho’s eyes stung and he looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly a couple times. “That’s really…wow.” 

“We were stupid kids, hyung,” Jisung said, rubbing Minho’s shoulder. The action caused Minho’s heart to skip a beat. “I was too, especially. Neither of us knew what we were doing in life, I was totally immature.”

“Right person, wrong time,” Minho said with a wry laugh. Jisung still seemed like the right person, but would there ever be a right time? He was going back. Minho didn’t even want to think about it. 

“Yeah…” Jisung trailed off, looking down for a moment. “I know…things are kind of uncertain right now. But I want you to know that spending time with you since I got back has been the happiest I’ve been in a while.” 

Minho’s heart was going to beat out of his chest, he knew it. “That’s just because I feed you so much sugar.” 

“It is not!” Jisung gasped, shoving his shoulder. “You do make an amazing candy cane mocha, and amazing cheesecake, and amazing cookies–but that’s not the point!” 

Minho couldn’t help laughing, throwing his head back. “Ah, I know. I’m just teasing. I’m glad. Really. I’ve been happy too.” Jisung’s smile was worth any tension Minho had felt, any anxieties he had, any worries. He would do anything to see Jisung smile over and over again. 

A moment of quiet passed over them where Jisung just leaned against Minho. Then Minho took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Let’s think for a few days. I think I already know where I stand but I want to be sure. And I just want to keep enjoying my time with you.” What I have left until you leave. “And I want—” His cheeks warmed and he looked off to the side. “If we do anything, I want to make it special. I don’t get to have you for long, I want to make everything count.” 

Jisung stared at him for a moment before he grinned widely. He giggled and bounced in his seat. “ Hyung! That is so romantic and so cheesy. You’re so cute what the fuck.” He giggled again and Minho tongued his cheek. 

“I am not cute.” 

“You’re adorable. I lo–I love how much of a hopeless romantic you are.” 

Minho could deny Jisung’s accusations all he wanted but there was no way he could deny the way his heartbeat sped up just a little. “I just…I care about you, Sung-ah,” he said, his tone turning serious. “I know you haven’t been back for long, but I never stopped caring about you. So I want to show that.” Even if I only get to have you for one night. Even if that’s all I’ll ever get. 

“Hyung,” Jisung mumbled, eyes going a little wide. “I–that really means a lot. I care about you too. I’m still so sorry I just left like that. I won’t do it again. I promise.” 

Maybe Minho was a fool, but he chose to believe him. He reached up to brush a strand of hair behind Jisung’s ear. “I know. I wouldn’t let you anyway,” he joked, but inside he felt it was the truth. He couldn’t let him go again. He wouldn’t. 

“You better not,” Jisung said with a giggle. “Now let's pay attention to the movie. We missed Buddy getting attacked by the raccoon.” 

“Shit,” Minho muttered, laughing softly. “You’re right. Guess I’ll have to skip back.” 

The smile Jisung gave him made his heart ache. But it was a different ache this time. It was mixed with a little hope. 

“Yeah, you better.” 

-

For the next few days leading up to Christmas, Jisung thought a lot. He went over every memory he had with Minho in his head, mulled over his feelings for hours. His parents even asked him what was wrong with how silent he had been at the dinner table since he was usually full of endless conversation. He explained that he was alright but simply had something important on his mind. He was grateful to them for not prying too much. This was something he needed to figure out on his own. 

While he went over his thoughts, he tried to spend as much time with Minho as he could. That really only allowed for two coffee shop visits since he was busy with his own family and Minho was getting more visitors at the shop with it nearing Christmas. Couples were coming in every few minutes, holding hands, giggling, ordering matching drinks and desserts–Minho’s candy cane mocha was the most popular. Jisung had to agree with the popular choice. If he wasn’t coming for Minho there was a large chance he would come anyway to get it again. But maybe that was his bias. 

On his second visit since their night together, which happened to be the day before Christmas Eve, Jisung met Felix. He had heard about him from Minho and knew he helped out with the coffee shop on its busiest days but he hadn’t met him once since he had started coming there. He had not been expecting to hit it off with him so quickly. He was shocked to find out that they were born so close together, practically the same age. Felix could only be described as sunshine incarnate, with a smile that could blind anyone that looked at it for too long, and a personality that hooked anyone to him the moment they started talking to him. He spent more time talking to Felix then than he did Minho and there were more than a few times where he felt Minho’s gaze on them. Whenever Jisung looked over he would quickly look away, lips turned down in a frown. It made Jisung smile to himself. Minho was jealous. 

As much as Jisung enjoyed his jealousy, it was entirely unfounded. For some reason, Jisung meeting Felix only solidified his feelings. Meeting his friend somehow made him feel one step closer to the closeness they had once shared. And knowing he was friends with such an angel made him trust Minho more. 

That evening, while lying on his bed, he made his decision. He’d practically made it already, but he wanted to think about it like Minho wanted. He wanted Minho. That much he knew. There was a lot he had to figure out since he would be traveling back to the United States after the New Year, but he was also selfish. He wanted Minho even if the future was uncertain. He didn’t want to be cautious anymore. 

Jisung picked up his phone and his thumb hovered over Minho’s contact before he pressed “call.” It only rang a few times before there was a shuffled sound and Minho’s voice came over the speaker. 

“Hey, Hannie. What’s up?” 

Jisung licked his lips and sat up a bit straighter so he could focus. “Hi, hyung,” he greeted. “I’ve been thinking. About our conversation.” 

“Yeah?” Minho breathed. Jisung felt like he could hear his interest over the phone. 

“Yeah,” he reiterated. “I really do want you, hyung.” It made him blush to say it out loud again, his cheeks heating up from the simple admission. “I know it’s complicated and there’s a lot I have to figure out but you’re so…I wanna be yours again, hyung. Will you make me yours?” He swallowed thickly and took a deep breath as he waited for Minho’s response. He heard the other take in a sharp breath. 

“Yes. Yes, I’ll make you mine. I don’t care about anything else. I just want to have you one time, Sungie.” 

Jisung didn’t say how much he didn’t want it to be one time. This wouldn’t be their first time together, but somehow this felt even bigger than the first time they shared together. Jisung could still remember that moment. How they were both so young and inexperienced but that didn’t matter because it was them and they wanted each other even if they were still figuring out how things worked. Now they were reuniting with more experience, both of them more mature. Both of them with so much to figure out but with the undeniable pull towards each other. Jisung didn’t know how he had gone so long without talking to Minho. 

“You can have me, hyung,” he said, so soft he was worried Minho hadn’t picked it up, but the small hum he heard on the other side told him he had. 

“What are you doing on Christmas Eve?” Minho asked. 

Jisung didn’t even have to think. “I’m completely free. I’m not doing anything with my family until Christmas. And either way, I’m sure they would understand.” His parents had been nothing but encouraging of the renewal of his relationship with Minho. 

“Okay, good. Come over for dinner, then? I’ll make it really nice, just for you, Sung-ah.” 

A lump formed in Jisung’s throat and he nodded even though Minho couldn’t see. “That sounds perfect. Absolutely perfect. I’ll see you tomorrow then?” 

“Mm. Same time as last time.”

“Alright, hyung. I’ll see you then!” 

“See you then. I’ll let you go now, ‘kay? Gotta go give the demons water.” Jisung found himself nodding again, even though Minho couldn’t see. “Goodnight, Hannie.” 

“Okay, goodnight, Minho-hyung,” he said, unable to hold back his smile. The line cut off and he let out a sigh as he put his phone down. He had a date with Minho. A Christmas date no less. 

He was so fucked. 

Jisung had done his makeup, styled his hair, and done every possible thing under the sun to make himself the prettiest for Minho that he possibly could. He figured Minho liked him as he was, but a little extra effort didn’t hurt. Especially since he had a strong feeling of where the night was going to go after dinner. His eyes had a light golden shimmer on the lids and there was mascara on his lashes, his lips were a rosy pink tinted from a lip stain and gloss, and had added a hint of blush on his cheeks. He didn’t need much since he would most likely be blushing the entire evening anyway.

Minho’s smile when he invited him in was blinding and it made butterflies explode in Jisung’s stomach. He could tell that despite Minho’s excitement, he was still a little nervous which quelled some of Jisung’s nerves. 

“You look pretty, Hannie,” he said softly as he took in Jisung’s appearance. If it was possible for an entire body to blush, Jisung’s did just that. 

“Thank you, hyung-ah,” he replied, smiling bashfully to himself. Minho still thinks I look pretty. 

The house smelled just as good as last time and his stomach growled the moment he stepped inside. There was a bigger spread than before and the yellow checkered tablecloth had been replaced by a red tablecloth with two lit candles in the middle. The lights were dimmed and the flames of the candles cast a warm glow over the kitchen that made it the perfect combination of cozy and romantic. And when Jisung glanced into the living room he saw that Minho had even set up a Christmas tree. It was fake and some areas were more sparsely decorated than others, but it was the most beautiful tree he had ever seen. His eyes stung. 

“I hope this isn’t too much. Or too little–I wanted it to be nice,” Minho rushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I also–I made a cheesecake. Since I know you like that.” 

“This is perfect, ” Jisung exclaimed. He felt like his heart was going to explode out of his chest. “And you made me cheesecake? You’re amazing. I could kiss you.” 

Minho blinked a few times and then said, his voice a little softer, “You could.” 

Jisung’s eyes went wide but then he smiled, stepping into Minho’s space so he could hold him closer. He tilted his chin up and pressed his lips to Minho’s, eyelids fluttering shut. The kiss was a lot less passionate than the last one they had shared, but not as chaste as the first kiss Jisung had given him. It was just deep enough, the quick swipe of tongue against parted lips a promise of what was to come. 

“You taste so good, Sungie,” Minho murmured as he pulled away and Jisung’s cheeks turned a fiery red. 

“Goodness, shut up,” he whined, shoving him away playfully. “I won’t kiss you again if you’re gonna be embarrassing.” Minho smirked, satisfied with himself. They both knew Jisung was lying. He would kiss Minho again, and again, and again. 

They got to dinner after that, Minho being the gentleman he was and filling Jisung’s plate for him. There was a thick layer of tension that hung in the air as they ate and it made Jisung’s skin tingle and his stomach twist in delight. It was hard to focus on conversation, but he did his best to talk since it was Minho. And he could talk to Minho endlessly. He explained his Christmas plans and learned that Minho wouldn’t be seeing his parents for Christmas. As much as that saddened him, he wasn’t surprised. Minho had always had a rocky relationship with his parents; he was just sad they had never made any effort to repair their relationship with him. He invited him over to his house with his family but he learned that he already had plans to spend time with Felix and his family who were visiting from Australia. Rather than making Jisung jealous, he only felt happy. 

Dinner was filling and delicious and the cheesecake Minho had made was even better than the ones he made for his coffee shop. It practically melted on his tongue and Jisung couldn’t hold back the moan as the taste. “This is literally the best thing I have ever tasted. You have to make these like, every day now. Like seriously, send me this, hyung. I don’t know what I’ll ever do now that I’ve tasted this.” 

Minho blushed and the sight was so pretty Jisung nearly fainted. “I guess I’ll have to now, if you like it so much,” he said. Then, something in the air seemed to shift and Minho’s gaze shifted. He reached across the table and for a moment Jisung was confused at what he was doing, but then he cupped his jaw and swiped his thumb across his bottom lip. “You always eat desserts so messy.” 

Jisung’s cheeks heated up and his stomach swooped. He was going to whine, complain, but Minho apparently wasn’t done. His thumb still remained on Jisung’s lip and he gingerly pulled it down so his mouth opened just enough for him to slip his thumb inside. “Here,” he said. There was a gravelliness to his voice that hadn’t been there before. “Don’t want you to waste any.” 

Stunned, Jisung could only blink at him. And then he did the most logical thing–he swirled his tongue around Minho’s thumb, licking off the crumb of cheesecake he had swiped up. That seemed to satisfy Minho and his lips quirked up as he popped his thumb out of Jisung’s mouth. 

“Good boy. ” 

Jisung gasped and a jolt of arousal zipped through his stomach. He suddenly felt dizzy and all too aware at the same time. Minho ran his thumb along Jisung’s bottom lip, coating it in his own spit, before he pulled away. His lip and jaw tingled where Minho’s touch had been and his entire body felt like it was on fire. Fuck. 

“Finish up, Jisung.” Minho’s eyes were half lidded, sharp and catlike, and arousal pooled in Jisung’s stomach and prickled at his skin like needles. 

He nodded and took another bite of his cheesecake because even though his mind was elsewhere now, there was no way he would let it go to waste. And the sooner he finished, the sooner he could get to the real dessert of the night. 

Minho’s eyes were fixed on him the entire time he made his way through the dessert. He was afraid to look up, but when he did he found that Minho’s eyes never left him, even when they made eye contact. Occasionally Jisung noticed his gaze shifting from his face to his mouth–when he licked some of the cream off his lips the rhythm of Minho’s breathing changed, and even that sound was enough to make heat boil in the pit of Jisung’s stomach. 

Jisung licked the fork clean after the last bite and set it down on the plate. “Done, hyung,” he announced, the anticipation for what was to come sending tingles up and down his spine. 

“Did you like it?” Minho asked as he got up from his chair. Jisung followed, standing on shaky legs. Minho was in his space with two strides and he placed his hand on the curve of Jisung’s waist. His thumb rubbed up and down, melting Jisung’s brain into sugary syrup. 

“Yeah, it was amazing,” he mumbled, swallowing thickly. “I loved it.” 

“Mind if I see for myself?” Jisung knew what he was asking immediately–Minho already had his own slice, but that didn’t matter. 

“Please,” he whispered, heart beating wildly in his chest. 

The grip on his waist tightened and then Minho was kissing him. He coaxed his mouth open with his tongue and pulled him close until their bodies were flush together. He eased a thigh between Jisung’s legs and he let out a gasp into his mouth at the friction. He could feel Minho smirking against his mouth as he used the hand on his waist to make Jisung grind down onto his thigh. 

At the same time, he used the hand that wasn’t holding Jisung’s waist to grab Jisung’s hair and tilt his head so that he could slot their mouths together better. The slick sounds of their lips and tongues sliding together made the arousal coiling in Jisung’s belly grow and he whimpered pathetically. His mind felt hazy already from just a little kissing, his cock already fully hard in his pants as he practically humped Minho’s thigh. It was embarrassing but that only made him more turned on. 

“Minho-hyung, ahhh,” Jisung moaned as Minho tilted his head back with a tug of his hair and began planting open-mouthed kisses on his neck. The kisses quickly changed to him sucking bruises on his neck. He nipped gentle at the skin and Jisung let out a little ah again. 

“You sound so pretty…fuck you’re so pretty for me, Hannie,” he mumbled against his skin. Each brush of his lips made Jisung shiver and his cock twitched in his underwear. 

“Please, Mm-Minho,” Jisung begged. His legs were beginning to shake–any second he was going to collapse to the floor in a pile of goo. 

“Let’s go to the bedroom, hm?” 

Jisung nodded quickly as Minho led him down the hall to his bedroom. He never let go of his waist, instead wrapping his arm around him to guide him. It made Jisung feel safe somehow–owned, like he belonged to Minho. And maybe that was what he had needed all along. Maybe that was why none of the relationships he’d had in America felt right. Because right was waiting for him in South Korea. 

Minho’s bedroom was much like the rest of his house. Various potted plants spread about, some hanging from the ceiling. There was a cat tree in the corner and fairy lights going around the room attached to the ceiling. His bed was big and the blankets were a soft mint color. He still has the same favorite color, Jisung mused to himself as Minho laid him down on the bed. 

“Is this still okay?” Minho asked as he hovered over him, his hands sliding underneath Jisung’s sweater. His breath hitched as he nodded eagerly. 

“Yes, it’s perfect. I want you. Please,” he answered. To prove his point he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, leaving himself half naked for Minho to admire. Minho inhaled as he took in Jisung’s body, the curve of his waist, his built chest, the muscles in his arms. Jisung knew he looked good, but Minho’s hungry gaze still made him feel shy. He moved to cross his arms over himself after Minho looked too long, but he grabbed Jisung’s wrists and pinned them down. 

“Don’t hide, jagi, ” Minho instructed. “You look so perfect. So goddamn pretty.” 

Jisung swallowed down a whimper at the praise and the pet name. Jagi. Minho called him jagi. He never imagined he would hear him say that again, but here he was, calling him that while he pinned his wrists to the bed. He was blushing all the way down to his chest already. “I won’t, but hyung. Stop staring. I want you.” 

“What do you want, hm?” Minho asked, tilting his head. 

Jisung whined, his cheeks burning. “I want–” He wet his lips. “I want you to fuck me. Please, fuck me, hyung.” 

Minho’s eyes fluttered shut as he groaned. “Fuck, such a good boy, asking so nicely. Yeah, of course I’ll fuck you.” 

He leaned down to capture Jisung’s lips in a hungry kiss again and his hands began roaming Jisung’s body, sliding down to undo his pants. Jisung’s senses were overwhelmed with Minho, the taste of his mouth, the smell of his cologne, the heat of his body. His hands left fire wherever they touched, sparks igniting, exploding into flames that enveloped Jisung’s entire body. 

He lifted his hips as Minho attempted to tug his pants and boxers down, having to pull away from the kiss for a moment to get him completely naked. They tossed them somewhere in the room, neither of them caring where they landed. 

With Jisung left completely naked and Minho still dressed, he felt incredibly vulnerable, but somehow safe at the same time. Minho’s eyes were trained on him again, drinking him in like he was some sort of magic elixir. Jisung had never felt so desired. Minho looked at him like he was ready to worship the ground he walked on. 

A bead of precum leaked from the tip of Jisung’s dick and he whined when Minho’s eyes flitted down to it. “Minho,” he pleaded. “You’re still fully clothed. I want to see you.” 

Minho chuckled and smirked down at him. “Yeah? What do you have to say?” 

“Please,” Jisung said. He wasn’t beyond begging. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to have Minho right now. “Please let me see you, hyung.” 

Minho smiled and pressed a quick peck to his lips. “Okay, okay. You can see me.” He pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it in the same direction Jisung’s pants had gone, and Jisung nearly drooled at the sight. He had gotten much more built over the years but still maintained a layer of softness over it all. Broad shoulders and muscular arms faded into a soft tummy that Jisung wanted to sink his teeth into. A light trail of hair went down into the waistband of Minho’s pants. His mouth watered. 

“Off,” he huffed, sitting up so he could start tugging down Minho’s pants. 

“Impatient,” Minho laughed even as he helped him tug them down. 

“Don’t tease me.” Jisung pouted. “I’m so needy for you and you’re teasing me!” 

“Oh baby,” Minho cooed. “You’re just so cute when you’re all pouty.” He cupped Jisung’s jaw and brushed his thumb over his bottom lip. Jisung’s heart skipped a beat and blood rushed to his cheeks. “But don’t worry, I won’t make you wait long. Just a second, okay?” 

Jisung nodded dumbly, laying back down on the bed as Minho scooted back to get rid of the rest of his clothes. His cock hung heavy between his legs, so hard and red. And fuck he was huge. Jisung’s hole clenched around nothing at the thought of it inside of him, fucking into him, keeping him so full. 

Minho grinned at him and crawled forward to sit between Jisung’s thighs. “Spread these pretty thighs for me, jagi,” he said softly, tapping Jisung’s upper thigh. Jisung let out an embarrassed whine at how his cock twitched at the simple contact. 

Jisung took a deep, shuddering breath as he bent his knees and spread his legs apart to give Minho access. He tried to keep his nerves down but they continued to bubble up, making his heart race. Minho seemed to notice and rubbed a soothing hand up and down his thigh. “Shh, relax. I’m gonna take care of you, m’kay? And you can tell me if you don’t want to do anything, alright?” 

He nodded, wetting his lips. “I know. I trust you.” He relaxed a little more as Minho smiled, allowing himself to sink into the bed. Minho moved his thighs further apart and reached behind him to grab a bottle of lube sitting on the dresser and a condom that had been placed there. Jisung bit his lip as he uncapped the bottle and poured a generous amount onto his fingertips. The sight of Minho’s hands covered in the slick substance had Jisung’s stomach twisting, arousal building. 

He reached between his legs and pressed his middle finger to his entrance. “‘M gonna open you up now, okay?” Jisung exhaled shakily, not trusting himself to speak. Minho bit his lip as he pushed the tip of his first finger past his rim and his eyes winded when he was met with no resistance. “ Baby, what is this?” he asked, his voice taking on a gravelly edge it hadn’t had before. 

Jisung squirmed under him, body heating up like he was sitting in front of a fire. “I–uhm–I fingered myself before I came…so I would be ready,” he admitted shyly. He hadn’t planned to, he just got in the shower and it happened. He couldn’t stop thinking about Minho, his touches, the kisses they’d shared, getting fucked by him. 

“Shit, Sung, that’s so fucking hot,” Minho groaned, sliding his finger all the way in. “Did you think about me while you fingered yourself? Imagine it was my fingers? Or my cock?” 

He curled his finger and Jisung moaned, nodding his head. “Hah–y-yes,” he hiccuped. “Pictured it was you…wanted it to be you, hyung.” 

“Shit.” Minho looked almost as affected as Jisung felt and it only made his dick ache more. 

“I can take two now, I promise. I’m all prepped already, I need you, ple– ahhh, ” he moaned, cutting himself off. Minho inserted a second finger, filling him up easily. Jisung had gotten to three fingers before he came all over his hand. Minho’s hands had always been smaller than his, his fingers shorter, but there was something about the fact that it was Minho that made it feel so much better. 

“Sucking me in just perfect, fuck, ” Minho breathed as he pumped his fingers inside his hole. “Can’t wait to fuck you, shit. You’re so pretty.” 

“ Min ,” Jisung gasped, back arching as Minho spread his fingers. “Another, please, I’m ready.” 

Minho was too far gone himself to question and after pulling out his first two fingers he pushed inside him again with three. Jisung’s breath hitched and his toes curled. Minho pushed his fingers deeper, just shy of where he needed it, and it was so much, yet not enough. He needed more, more, more. 

Minho fucked him with his fingers for a little while longer, reducing him to a whiny, breathless mess with just his hands in no time. Even if he had smaller fingers, he knew how to use them and could angle them better than Jisung ever could when he fucked himself. His cock was leaking all over his stomach and his body was shaking when Minho first brushed the tip of his fingers against his prostate. His stomach tensed and his cock twitched against his stomach, telltale signs of his orgasm approaching. 

“Mmm, ‘m gonna–gonna come if you d-don’t stop. I’m ready, I promise, need you to fuck me now,” he begged, eyes stinging with tears of desperation. 

“You sure, Hannie?” he asked, tilting his head. 

“Yes, please. I can take it.” 

Minho let out a little sound, akin to a moan, and it went straight to Jisung’s cock, electricity shooting through his stomach. “O-okay, shit. You’re so perfect. How are you so perfect?” he mumbled as he pulled his fingers out. Jisung whimpered at the loss, body arching against the bed. 

“Don’t–dunno. It’s just for you,” he said, and he truly meant it. Having Minho back, having him like this, felt so good, there was no way he could have anyone else. 

“All for me, hm?” His gaze softened for a moment before they narrowed again as he hiked Jisung’s legs up so he could fold his hips back. “You’ll be good for me and take it then, hm?” he asked as he rolled a condom onto his cock with his free hand. 

Jisung nodded vigorously, eyes wide as he watched Minho adjust him like a doll, with one hand no less. “Yes, yes, please, just fuck me, fuck me jagi,” he begged, the pet name slipping out easy on his tongue. Minho’s eyes went wide for a second and he blinked, but seconds later his expression was back to normal. 

“Gonna take such good care of you Sungie. My Sungie,” he muttered. Jisung moaned as the tip of Minho’s cock pushed inside of him. It was barely anything but already he felt so full. Minho was going to split him in half. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he whimpered, ass clenching around Minho’s length. Minho hissed through his teeth and squeezed the flesh of Jisung’s soft thighs. It hurt a bit, and they were probably going to bruise. Jisung hoped he would be bruised for weeks. 

“Shit, Sung, you’re so fucking tight. Gotta relax for me, m’kay baby?” 

Jisung tried but he was too overwhelmed. Already the sensation of Minho’s cock filling him up was too much, too much—

“Kiss me,” he breathed, inhaling sharply as Minho pushed in a little deeper. 

Minho didn’t respond, opting to instead maneuver between Jisung’s thighs so he could cage him in with his arms. And then his lips were on him, kissing him incessantly as he pushed his cock deeper, deeper. Jisung moaned into his mouth and Minho swallowed his sounds down like a shot. Their breaths mingled together and Jisung was at the point where he couldn’t determine whether the soft moans and whines he was hearing were from his own mouth or Minho’s. And before he knew it, Minho was fully seated inside of him, his hips pressed first against his ass. 

“Oh my–fuck, you feel so good around me Jisung. Hannie ,” Minho groaned against his lips. “So good, such a good boy, relaxing all nice for me.” He pulled back and oh, Jisung was going to die. He looked so pretty, cheeks and ears red, his lips cherry-tinted and spit-slicked. At that moment, he was like a god, and Jisung wanted nothing more than to worship him.

“‘M good. Feel so good inside of me,” Jisung moaned, pressing his head into the pillows so his neck arched. “‘M so full. You fill me up so well, hyung.” 

“Yeah?” Minho breathed, eyes gleaming. “Shit it’s like–it’s like you were made for me.” 

“Maybe I was,” Jisung supplied, too delirious to think about his words. The sound Minho made was akin to a growl and it made shivers travel over the expanse of Jisung’s body. 

“My Jisungie,” he mumbled, reverent. “Can I move now, jagi? Please, my pretty?” 

“Mhmm, please, need you. Need you to fu-fuck me yesterday,” he stuttered. “Wanna feel you.” 

“Fuck,” Minho moaned, and then he was pulling out, all the way, until just the tip was left inside. Jisung was only given a second before he slammed back in, punching the air out of Jisung’s lungs in the form of a choked moan. 

His thrusts were relentless, each one leaving Jisung breathless, dizzy. He cried out as Minho angled himself just right, the head of his cock brushing against his sensitive prostate. Pleasure pulsed in his tummy, so overwhelming and so good at the same time.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck,” he cried, eyes stinging with tears again. 

“You–you look so fucking, mngh– pretty, shit, S-Sung,” Minho gritted in response. His hair was sticking to his forehead, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. A drop of it ran down and landed on Jisung’s cheek, causing his cock to jolt against his stomach, more precum beading at the tip. 

“ More, harder,” Jisung whined, his voice pathetic to his own ears. He wrapped his legs around Minho’s waist and Minho pushed forward with the extra help, practically folding him in half. The new angle had him hitting Jisung’s prostate head on, and it felt so good that tears finally spilled from Jisung’s eyes. They ran down his cheeks and spilled onto the pillow below him. Minho’s breath caught in his throat at the sight and he dropped his head between his shoulders. 

 “Are you–shit are you crying?” he asked breathlessly. Jisung whimpered. 

“Just feels–feels so good,” he sobbed. 

Minho groaned. “Fuck, you’re incredible. Taking it so well.” 

“Good? Am I good?” Jisung asked deliriously. He felt dumb, so dumb. Completely cockdrunk on Minho.

“ So good. Mm fuck. My good boy,” he praised. Jisung moaned wantonly at his words. He was so far gone. Everything was too much and simultaneously not enough. 

Minho continued fucking into him, maintaining a steady rhythm despite the fact that he was breathless and panting. Every thrust had Jisung sliding up the bed, his cock bouncing helplessly against his stomach. Even though Jisung’s stomach tensed every time he was filled up again, his body remained pliant, perfect for Minho to use how he wanted. He knew he must have looked utterly debauched to Minho with his mouth hanging open, endless moans spilling from his red-bitten lips. His makeup was probably running too. 

A hand reached between their bodies and wrapped around Jisung’s cock and he writhed. “ Nghh, Minho, Min– please, pleasepleaseplease—” he babbled, no clue at all what he was even begging for. Minho smiled crookedly above him. A drop of sweat collected at the tip of his nose. 

“Are you getting close, jagi?” Minho asked. His voice was rough and it made Jisung shudder. 

“Ye-yes,” he hiccuped. 

“Good,” Minho hummed. “You’ve been so good. You can come for me whenever you want.”

His body melted into pleasure as Minho began stroking his painfully hard cock in tandem with his thrusts. Jisung’s body was coming apart at the seams. He squirmed underneath Minho, the combined sensations of being fucked and touched almost too much–and then he was coming. He gasped and tossed his head back into the pillows as his orgasm washed over him and cum spilled all over his belly. He clenched rhythmically around Minho’s cock despite the overstimulation, pathetic whines falling from his lips. Minho groaned above him. 

“ Hng, oh my gosh, Sung-ah, you’re s-so–” was all he managed to get out. His thrusts stuttered as Jisung continued to clench around him while he rode out his orgasm. He needed to see Minho come, needed to see the expressions he made as he hit his peak. 

“Co-come inside me, pl-please,” he whimpered. He squeezed his legs around Minho’s waist and dug his heels into his lower back. “Please, wanna see you.” 

That seemed to be all the encouragement Minho needed, because all it took was a few more thrusts and he was coming too with Jisung’s name on his lips. He shoved his cock deep inside Jisung as he filled the condom and Jisung could almost imagine that it was him he was filling up instead. Minho moaned breathily as Jisung squeezed around his cock a couple times purposefully to milk him through his orgasm. The sound made Jisung’s cock twitch against his stomach even though he just came. There was no way he could get hard again so soon, but the sight and sound of Minho coming was almost enough. 

When he finished, he pulled out and tossed the condom in the trash and then let out a long exhale, collapsing onto the bed beside Jisung.  They laid there for a moment catching their breaths, the only sound in the room their gentle panting. Then Minho rolled over to face Jisung wordlessly. Jisung turned his head toward him and Minho merely blinked a few times and then his arms came around to pull him close. He maneuvered them until Jisung was on his side and they were spooning, Minho’s arms wrapped securely around his waist. His breath fanned across Jisung’s neck as he nuzzled close, and he remained silent. 

For a second Jisung thought that he was asleep, that was until he heard him take in a stuttering breath. “Minho?” he questioned softly, something twisting in his stomach at the sound. 

Minho exhaled slowly and squeezed Jisung’s waist tighter. “Please stay,” he whispered, voice small and barely audible. Seconds away from breaking. An ache spread through Jisung’s chest. He rested his hand on top of one of Minho’s and brushed his thumb over the knuckles. 

“ Jagi,” Jisung murmured. “Of course I’ll stay. I was hoping you’d ask.” He couldn’t be sure if Minho meant for just the night or forever, but he found that maybe he wanted to do both. 

“Okay,” Minho breathed, his body relaxing more behind Jisung. “I’ll drive you to your family’s in the morning. So you can spend Christmas with them.” 

“That sounds good to me. I’m glad I get to spend Christmas Eve with you.” 

Minho hummed and he could feel him smile from where he had rested against his shoulder. “Me too.” 

They continued cuddling for a few minutes afterward and then Jisung yawned loudly, triggering the same reaction from Minho. “Ugh, we should clean up,” he said. “I’d love to go to sleep now but we’re both disgusting.” 

Jisung groaned. “I don’t want to…” 

“What if we shower together?” 

At that Jisung’s eyes widened and he grinned. “Okay…maybe. But you have to carry me to the shower.” He wiggled around so that he could face Minho and gave him the biggest doe eyes he could. “ Please? I’m tired.” 

“You didn’t even do any work,” Minho responded with a scoff. But he moved to sit up anyway, pulling Jisung into his arms like a baby. Jisung giggled happily and wrapped his arms around Minho’s neck. 

“You’re the best, Minho-hyung,” he chirped. He craned his neck so he could kiss his cheek and giggled again at the sight of Minho’s ears turning red. Fuck, he really could love him again. He was afraid he already did. 

Minho set him down once they reached the bathroom and Jisung let out a squeak when he saw himself in the mirror. His cheeks were streaked with tears and lines of mascara and there were bruises littering his neck from when Minho had first started kissing him. His hair was a mess and his cheeks were still flushed even though they had rested a bit. He looked utterly fucked out.

“What?” Minho asked, cocking his head to the side. Jisung covered his face and groaned. 

“I am a mess! Why didn’t you say I looked like that?” he whined petulantly. 

Minho chuckled, shaking his head. “You look pretty. Means I fucked you like you deserved.” 

Jisung sputtered while Minho laughed at his reaction. As much as he wanted to pout though, he couldn’t keep the smile off his lips. 

Something warm bloomed in Jisung’s chest as he watched Minho prepare everything for their shower, humming to himself lightly as he grabbed an extra toothbrush from his cabinet and set it on the counter for him. The feeling quickly turned bittersweet though as he realized that in another week and a half he would be gone again. He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t. 

As soon as he was in the shower with Minho’s hands in his hair shampooing the strands with vanilla scented shampoo, his thoughts melted away. He sank back, rested his back against Minho’s chest even though the other complained that the angle made it harder for him to wash his hair. 

They traded off washing each other, managing to keep their hands from wandering for the most part, and then they walked back to bed, now clean and comfortable. Minho pulled off the top comforter out of principle and switched it for a cleaner one. He also grabbed Jisung a change of clothes and it made Jisung a little dizzy at how much they smelled like Minho and hung a little baggy on him. Minho had never been that much better than Jisung but obviously over the years he had gotten broader, while Jisung had only recently started working out regularly. Any size difference made Jisung’s heart flutter. He felt small in the best way. 

Since it wasn’t that late, they decided to turn on a cheesy Christmas movie while they cuddled under the covers. Jisung had trouble keeping his eyes open but he forced himself to stay awake, wanting the moment to last forever. Minho was completely engrossed in the movie but that didn’t stop the hand that was around Jisung from caressing him every now and then. 

By the time they finished their movie, it was a little past midnight and both of them were ready to sleep. Minho crawled under the covers first and opened his arms for Jisung to burrow in against him. Jisung released a content sigh as Minho’s arms came around to hold him. Minho kissed the top of his head, letting the kiss linger for a few seconds before he moved away. 

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he mumbled against his hair. Jisung’s heart kicked in his chest and he snuggled closer. 

“Merry Christmas, Minho.”

And for the first time in a while, Jisung remembered what Christmas really felt like. Even if he would be leaving soon, this would be worth it. 

-

Minho spent as much time as he could with Jisung during the rest of his time in Korea. Jisung came to visit him in the cafe whenever he was free, and after Minho was done working, he took Jisung out as long as he wasn’t busy with his family or other friends. Jisung also came over to his apartment almost every night. They would have dinner, maybe watch a movie, and then Minho would fuck him until he was a babbling, crying mess underneath him. He felt a little bad for stealing him away from his family so much, but Jisung’s parents seemed to be quite supportive anyway, if their knowing smiles when Minho dropped Jisung off on Christmas morning were anything to go by. 

There was a level of bittersweetness to everything they did. Minho could feel it and he could tell that Jisung felt it too. They were in a bubble, but it wouldn’t be long before reality came crashing down on them and they had to face the fact that Jisung would have to go back to America and they wouldn’t be together. Minho was doing his best to accept it, but it was harder than he could have imagined. He didn’t want to let Jisung go, not when he had just barely gotten him back. 

There was a chance they could do long distance, now that they were older and more mature. But their relationship was still in such a fragile stage that Minho worried the distance would rip them apart again. He couldn’t handle that. 

What made it worse was that Jisung didn’t seem to want to leave either. Minho could see it in his eyes, in the way that he looked at him. He knew it would be hard for them both and that somehow made it worse. Maybe if he knew that Jisung wasn’t feeling the same things he was feeling, and wasn’t falling for him again too, then it would be easier. He could tell himself that it wasn’t meant to be and he shouldn’t waste his time on someone who didn’t even like him the same way. But Jisung did. He could see that now, especially after they spent Christmas Eve together. Minho was losing him all over again and he didn’t know whether he would ever get him back. What if they really did end up getting torn apart again and Jisung chose to never come back to South Korea? How would Minho survive? 

It was New Years Eve when it all came to a head. Minho was with Jisung at a small party hosted by Felix, who had invited them and a few other friends, two of which Minho only had heard of named Seungmin and Jeongin, and one who he learned Jisung had been friends with for a while, who he learned was called Hyunjin. Jisung was lamenting the fact that his friends from America, Changbin and Chan, couldn’t be there to go into the New Year with them, and wouldn’t even be experiencing the New Year for fourteen more hours. At that moment, realization hit Minho like a truck and the drinks he’d had turned sour in his stomach, making him sick. There was no way he could do that. 

He excused himself from the conversation and made his way outside so he could stand in the cold air. Perhaps knock some sense into himself. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart and ease the mess in his stomach so he wouldn’t actually get sick. “Fuck,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. Why couldn’t life just be simple? 

After about a minute of alone time, the door opened followed by a quiet, “Minho-hyung?” 

Minho spun around and his eyes met Jisung’s. A lump caught in his throat and he desperately tried to swallow it down. “Hey,” he croaked weakly. 

“Is everything alright?” he asked. “You just…left.” His voice held a vulnerability to it that hurt Minho’s heart. He quickly stepped forward and grabbed Jisung’s hand to intertwine their fingers. 

“I’m sorry, jagi,” he said, giving Jisung’s hand a squeeze. That was a new development too since they had spent Christmas Eve together. Jisung seemed to like getting called that and Minho liked calling him that. It was normal for them when they were younger and it felt the same even now. “I just…” He swallowed thickly, the lump crawling back up his throat. “I don’t–” his voice began to crack and he took a deep breath. “I’m not good with words.” 

“That’s okay, take your time,” Jisung urged. He gave Minho a reassuring squeeze of his hand and that gave him the courage to continue. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he began. “I’ve missed you so much. And I’ve loved spending this time with you. More than…more than you even know. And that’s why–that’s why it hurts so fucking much, Hannie. I don’t know what I’m gonna do when you’re gone. I’m–I’m falling in love with you all over again and I can’t lose you again. I don’t want you to go but I can’t make you stay—” 

Minho was cut off when Jisung engulfed him in a hug, holding him so tight he almost struggled to take a deep breath. Jisung’s voice came out muffled from where his face was buried into Minho’s shoulder. “I don’t want to lose you either. I don’t. I’ll figure something out, I promise. But we can make it work. Please, let’s try to make it work.” 

Jisung sniffled and his body shook a little and that’s when Minho realized Jisung had started crying. “Oh no, baby, please don’t cry. Fuck, you’ll make me cry. I hate crying, you’ve already seen me cry too much,” he said with a watery laugh. 

“I just don’t want you to leave me. You don’t–I know I left before, but I’m not gonna leave you. I know it’ll be hard.” He lifted his head and moved back enough so that he could make eye contact with Minho. His watery eyes made Minho’s heart clench. He cupped Jisung’s cheek to wipe his tears and Jisung let him. “But can we please try? I promise I’ll do everything to make it work. I’ll visit as often as I can.” 

The promise did ease Minho’s fears but they were still there, sharp and biting. “I just don’t know how…it’s so far,” Minho lamented. “What if…what if you decide it's too much? Or if you decide you want someone else over in America? We’re still…we’ve barely even restarted our relationship. And I know how I feel but I don’t…” 

“I’m falling for you again too, Minho,” Jisung said firmly. “I might…I might already be there. I know it’s fast, but I already loved you in the past. I can love you again. We’re grown up now. I’m–I’m scared too, you know? Cause what if you find someone here? What if you change your mind?” Minho wanted to say that he would never do that, that he could never, but then he realized he would have to apply the same logic to his own thoughts. “But that doesn’t–that doesn’t matter enough for me to not hope.”

Minho nodded and Jisung took a deep breath. “If you…if you really don’t want to try then I understand. I know I may have seemed more chill about this whole thing but…I really think you’re it for me. Why else would we have met up again all these years later?” he asked. 

“You’re right. And I want you to be it for me too. I don’t think I ever fully let you go.” Minho swallowed. He couldn’t let his worries stop him from having Jisung back. He had let his fears stop him in the past, and maybe that was why he was having these issues now. It was probably good for them that they ended things, too young to properly navigate something as complicated as a long distance relationship. But maybe he could do it. For Jisung. For them. 

“I’ll try,” he said finally. “I want to try. So so bad. I’m just scared.” 

“Me too,” Jisung admitted shyly. “Like, really fucking scared. But we’ll be doing it together, right?” He smiled up at him and squeezed his hand. Minho couldn’t help smiling back. 

“You’re right. Together,” he agreed. Jisung’s smile grew wider and he bounced on his heels. 

“See? Now let’s go back inside. I don’t want to miss our midnight kiss. And it’s so cold. What were you thinking, coming out here by yourself anyway, Minho-yah? Trying to get sick,” he grumbled under his breath, making Minho laugh as he dragged him inside. It amazed him how easily Jisung was able to make him feel better. Maybe it was a sign that things would be okay. 

As they counted down the seconds to midnight, eyes locked together as they waited for the clock to hit 00:00, Minho felt it. Like sparks spreading through his chest. A flame igniting, taking over his body. And when Jisung kissed him, smiling so much against his lips that it practically couldn’t even count as a real kiss, and he tasted the decaf candy cane mocha he’d forced Minho to make him to help him sober up, he knew. It would be okay. 

[eregyrn-falls]

Organizing a Stan Twins-centric Multi-Artist Lyric Comic!

There's a song I've always wanted to see as an AMV or a lyric comic for the Stan Twins, and years pass, and I've never been able to tackle a project that big. So, I wanted to try to organize it as a multi-artist lyric comic!

The song is "Trouble", by Avicii. (See below.)

What is a multi-artist lyric comic? One where people sign up, and each artist is assigned a line from the song. Artists will then do 1 page for their line, and at the end, it's all put together. Here is an example from GF fandom in 2018. (Here is a video version that someone put together with the music.)

This song has 28 lines of lyrics, but it also has some instrumental breaks, and I've thought of a way to fill those that would allow more people to participate (particularly if someone was unsure if they could take on a full page).

Here's the song:

There's a lot of details to go into, so to keep this post from taking up too much dash real estate, I'm going to put more detail below a read-more.

Here is a link to a Google form you can fill out to indicate interest. (But we do urge you to read over the details below!)

The goal would be to complete this in time to make it public on August 31st or Sept. 1st, 2023 -- in line with the actual last days in-story of the show. Therefore, the due date for final art will likely be around August 15th or 20th.

I hope folks will find this intriguing! I think it could be a lot of fun!

@mercury-falls and I are the point-people for this, at the moment!

All right -- the way I've always seen it, the first verse of the song is very Stan-related, and the second verse is very Ford related.

Here is a Google Doc with the lyrics.

My idea for the instrumental breaks was to have people contribute smaller pieces of art that look a bit like Polaroid snapshots. If we can get the lyric comic combined with the music, think of the collection of Polaroids accumulating the way they do at the end of the show's opening credits.

There are two main ways artists can contribute to the project:

For lyrics, full landscape illustrations (which include color, lettering, and a background)

For instrumental breaks, polaroid-style illustrations (smaller, simpler pieces in square format). We will use these in a video edit of the comic and have them accumulate like the show’s intro during the breaks. (We will also figure out a good way to display them in the lyric-comic post itself.)

Your art should be canon-compliant, and can depict any time period of the Stans’ lives (past, present, and near-future)! Do with your art as you best see fit with your lyrics, but keep the focus on the Stans and their relationships with each other and other GF characters. Both original content and screenshot adaptations are welcome!

We also welcome collaborations between artists on full pages! We encourage every artist in the project to help and support each other if they are comfortable. On the interest form, you can tell us if you are interested in volunteering to help others with inking, coloring, or creating backgrounds! Or, you can tell us if you think you will need help.

On the form, you can indicate your preference towards the Stan or Ford verses. But once we have the team of artists doing lyrics chosen, we will randomize the list and then contact people in order, to ask about preferences for lyrics. If you aren't chosen for one of the full pages, we would still like to have you involved for the Polaroids! (And you can indicate willingness to be called on to do a page if others drop out.)

We will have check-in dates through the summer, with goals for people to report on the subject of their piece; to have a sketch or layout ready to show; and to show progress closer to the end.

We will be setting up a Discord server to help share information, and to allow people to post WIPs or just generally discuss things, and keep motivation going. If you really don't use Discord, though, and don't want to sign up for it, that's okay. We will put whatever instructions and details we have in a Google Doc, and will share that link for reference. And we can always communicate via email.

I (Eregyrn speaking!) have been involved in a LOT of fan projects over the years. One of the key things to ask of people who sign up for a project is: communication. That is, if you're having difficulties, just let us know! If you need to drop out, just let us know! Don't feel guilty that you signed up and then had to drop out. The thing that is hardest on organizers of projects like this is when people sign up, but disappear and don't answer DMs or emails. Believe me, I've been in that position where you feel guilty and don't want to admit that you have to drop out -- but it's always much easier on the organizers if you just let them know, instead of keeping them guessing! This is just something to keep in mind when you're signing up -- life happens! It's okay! But please try to let us know if something comes up and you have to bow out.

Here is the link to the Google Form, that you can fill out to indicate interest.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Could you do the follower bishops with someone who is wheelchair bound and loves to draw

Narinder

All he sees is a loyal follower who serves his vessel and praises his name, so he's indifferent to you being wheelchair-bound.

But out of curiosity, he examined how Lamb accommodated you through the Red Crown's eye.

They built ramps and wooden floorboards so grass/flowers didn't get stuck in your wheels, left an open space for you at the feasting table, and punish whoever discriminated against you or tried pushing your wheelchair without permission.

He's like "yes good,,,,inclusiveness will attract more to the cult >:3"

When Narinder himself winds up in the cult, he's moping around and avoiding everybody.

The other followers said you should prank him by rolling over his tail on "accident", but you aren't a fan of bullying.

Instead you roll up to one of his hiding spots like "hey, I have a small welcoming gift to cheer you up!"

He thinks it's "fertilizer" wrapped in a box, so he makes you open it.

It turns out to be a...portrait of himself?

You explain how you loved drawing your fellow followers, some even paying you and willing to sit still while you sketched their features in great detail.

"I hope it's alright that I took some creative liberties. I tried my best given how Leader described you in their sermons and........a-are you crying??"

"....what part of me made you assume I'm worthy to receive this? I almost killed you all!"

"Well..I like you better than our most recent dissenter who refused to listen to the Lamb unless they "cured" me."

"...ah, I see. So..what became of them?"

"Their body's still in the morgue pit. It's pretty messy...wanna see it?"

"Sure."

Leshy

Tbh he had no idea you were even in a wheelchair to begin with.

So when he first begins his farming duties within the cult, he hears wheels squeaking and thinks somebody's stealing the wheelbarrow from him.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going with that?! I need the wheelbarrow to-!!"

"Actually it's my wheelchair, Leshy. But you were close." You chuckle, assuring him you're not offended when he starts apologizing profusely.

It's a rather awkward first meeting between you two, though you both get along well afterwards.

Given that he's blind, it's hard for him to get around the base, too, so he sympathizes with you on that matter.

It took him a while just to focus on one person's scent at a time with so many followers surrounding him.

But he recognizes you by the smell of wood (different from the one he smells by the lumberyard) mixed in with your scent. So he always knows if you're approaching him.

And when he should stop so he doesn't accidentally bump into your wheelchair.

You've actually helped guide him around by letting him "push" your chair (he just holds onto the handles while you take him to different places so he can get a feel for the base's layout).

Leshy learns you love to draw, being disappointed he can't see the masterpieces you've created.

But you always describe them in great details for him, eventually deciding to invest in painting (specifically with acrylics) so he could feel the textures instead.

Heket

Caravans and carts have a difficult time traversing the swampy, mucky, and uneven terrain of Anura, so she's never seen a wheelchair user before.

When she meets you as a newly-indoctrinated follower, she just stares at your aid curiously, unsure of how to approach you and ask about it.

But since she has a constant resting bitch face, you think she's giving you a dirty look--and you give her one in kind.

"If you have something you wanna say, Heket, then-"

"..sorry.....didn't....mean...to...stare.."

Suddenly you remembered that she can barely talk, and you feel kinda bad for insulting her own disability.

So you cooked her a meal as an apology, to which she forgives you right away and warms up to you quicker than expected (though only bc you made great food).

She learns you love drawing and kinda wants to learn it herself. It could be a good way for her to better communicate her feelings.

Albeit her skills are.....novice at best.

She can draw runes, sigils, and demonic circles to perfection but drawing a simple frog is....tricky.

You give her some advice, and when she gets better through practice, you decide to draw portraits of each other.

Eventually she's comfortable enough to ask about your wheelchair, admitting she likes how you designed it.

Kallamar

He's likely no stranger to having followers with disabilities during his ruling of Anchordeep.

He may have been a ruthless paranoid bishop, but he's not cruel and has crafted mobility aids for whoever asked for one. Canes, wheelchairs, prosthetics--you name it. He even commissioned Kudaai for ones with weapon augments.

So he doesn't treat you any differently when he's indoctrinated into the cult, introducing himself like he would anybody else.

As narcissistic as he is sometimes, he's actually cool to be around.

But you feel like he only acts polite bc of Lamb.

While Kallamar knows you like to be independent, he's willing to help you out if asked.

Whether it's pushing your chair if your arms get tired, or to position it during a ritual you're attending, he's on the case.

The only con to this friendship is that he's deaf af and may have to lean down to hear you better.

But you don't mind it.

When he learns that you love to draw, he wonders if you've ever considered drawing him (he's far too shy to ask though).

However you must have a sixth sense...because you made him a portrait as a gift for a special occasion (aka the day the Blue Crown chose him as its bearer) and put it in a beautiful frame lined with crystal specs, leaving it wrapped up by his shelter.

After he sees it, he hugs it and rushes over to Lamb like "look at what Y/N made for me!!"

"That's nice, Kallamar-"

Do I have your permission to marry them?"

".....huh..?"

Shamura

They become an avid observer of everybody in the cult. Just to get a read on their personalities and what they do on a daily basis.

You're no exception, and they're impressed at how you get yourself around in a wheelchair.

Despite their damaged mind, it's still forever hungry for knowledge.

So they respectfully ask you how long you've had your aid and why, how Lamb has accommodated you, etc.

They're forgetful, but they hope to remember at least this for once and not have to ask you again.

You don't mind it at all, appreciating their politeness.

Whenever you're done with tasks and spend your free time drawing, Shamura often comes over to ask what inspired you today.

But one evening, they have a bad migraine attack while talking to you, forgetting who you are mid-conversation as they hissed, before skittering off....much to your bewilderment.

They couldn't sleep that night, wrought with guilt for acting that way in front of you, and the next morning they still can't remember your name despite it being on the very tip of their tongue.

They think it's wise to avoid you, but you track them down with a gift to assure them you weren't mad:

A simple portrait of themselves, signed with your name in the corner so they'd always have a reminder of you.

Least to say, Shamura hasn't forgotten your name since and is forever grateful.

[multitrackdrifting]

LobCorp Recommended Mod Guide (One-step install modpacks now linked below 1 for QoL but close to vanilla, and one to smooth over the progression curve/reduce grind)

As someone who played LobCorp vanilla (and strongly adovcate aganist it unmodded even for the theme of the story) these are my mod recommendations. I don't have the time to actually test these but these are what I think would help a lot of people play this game.

Basemod is a mod management platform that allows LobCorp to be modded - and because the game has a lot of jank that don't really speak to the game's actual difficulty curve a lot of it is worth modding out or adjusting even if you don't want to reduce the difficulty bad QoL is not an actual difficulty curve so some of the time you spend in this game is a result of jank and not actual mechanical depth or challenges. More below.

Original Basemod 5.1.1 guide (explains in simple terms how to install it in 2nd paragraph, unlinked mods are in here. This is the most popular mod guide afaik). A lot of the mods are translated/adapted from the forum DC Inside from the original BM creator abcdcode. Basemod 5.2 (unofficial) guide (maybe check this if some older ver. mods don't work) NexusMods (for most English mods that might help).

Make the game playable [QOL Focused, does not actually functionally change anything about the game's actual mechanics] (the game will still be hard as nails but without the jank that should be in the game):

Infinite Rerolls (95% of lategame difficulty is being trolled by RNG, if you don't want to use this mod, you can hit "return to menu" in the vanilla game to retry from last day without repo rewinding). [Checked]

Employee Group Select (the base game makes it really hard to micro departments unless you really like RTS) [Broken For Me]

Detailed Work-Related Stats (see discrete success chances as opposed to vague wording). [Checked]

Work Macro (holding Shift Auto-repeats work, great for mindlessly farming when all ordeals for a day are over). [Checked]

Agent List (Hitting TAB shows department select as opposed to an ordeal being required to do this). [Checked]

Shield Health Viewer (Shields actually show how much mitigation is remaining, notably absent from vanilla). [Checked]

Agent Recustomization (no longer costs 1 LOB to make your OCs or friends). [OLD] Have not found a working version.

Make the game approachable for all to enjoy [Removing constraints but still keeping MOST difficulty in but respecting your time because the game is absurdly grindy]:

Full-Time Employees (Your units remain if you go back to day 1) <== super good if you dont want to re-grind units every time you rewind. This means yo uwon't have to go through the bs of re-farming stats and can focus solely on gear-farm & doing the story while optimizing your Abno picks with infinite rerolls). [checked]

Overtime Pay (stat-grinding now gives extra points) [checked]

Instant Stat Gains (don't have to end a day to get rewarded with stat increases) [arguably a QoL mod too not gamebreaking]

Rewarding Ordeals (boosted EGO gift odds and stat growths after ordeals killed) [untested]

Extra Justice Attribute (justice now scales DPS) [works somewhat]

Increase Max EGO to 5 (reduces the re-roll grinding substantially) [Checked]

Speedup (increase game speed to 5 if you want) [OLD]

Suppress Leveling (suppressions actually give XP for combat). [Unsure but it seems to work for me]

Sticky Agents (agents no longer wander back & forth, caution this may make certain animation dodges very precise but will more often than not be helpful if you hate the wandering idle anims). [Checked]

Better Central Command Architecture (this department just has a bad layout imo) [Checked]

Flatten the curve to make the game reasonable [I just want to read the cutscenes but still play the game]:

Unsure if Super Agents works because it is old but if it does you will basically be invulnerable to ordeals/suppressions [OLD, replies seem to suggest it doesn't work but worth a try].

"Casual Mode Mod", a 2023 mod that makes daily energy lower and substantially reduces meltdowns to cut down the time of the grind. +100% exp rate, and LOB rewards increase. This mod alone doesn't make the game free but it cuts down the bizarrely high time requirement to play LobCorp which is one of the most substantial barriers to entry. (I'm about to beat it at around 150h). Combine this with the red and green mods and you'll basically have a great time.

Guaranteed Gifts (abno gifts will 100% trigger)

Overlapping Gifts (gifts no longer are 1 per slot)

There are mods to boost stats and EGOs, I suggest you find working ones on Reddit or NM.

I recommend looking around on Nexus Mods or even on reddit for other useful mod recommendations, but be careful, some mods will spoil you. The ones I suggested and recommended here do not contain any - but some on Nexus Mods definitely will.

If any mods don't work please check the Nexus Mods link for any similar mods that are from 2020, the 2019 ones seem to not be working as consistently or at all.

I can't attest that all the mods listed play nicely with each other but please give them a try if you find the base game too daunting, trust me, I went through the grinder and vanilla is fundamentally missing the green mods I listed here at the very least. The ones in the 1st document indicate which Basemod versions and above it will work with so if you have compatibility troubles just use the google doc that is first.

STEAM VISUAL GUIDE FOR MOD INSTALLATION:

The TL;DR for installing Basemod into the "Basemods" folder is that you need to make sure every mod has its own dedicated folder if the download itself doesn't come with one. This is an example layout where none of the mods have files outside of the folders they have dedicated to them. If they don't have an included folder, just name it after whatever the dll file is so you can tell what's in there. It will work nonetheless.

I have added the tag #lobcorpguide to make this post easier to find if it updates since tumblr hates proper-clickthroughs now. So you can find the updated details.

One-click installations (drag the files to the steam installation location and drop the minside the folder called LobotomyCorp_Data).

QoL only & Progression focused. Let me know if it works! The guide/readme file is in the "Basemods" with an s folder along with each mod. I explain what each does, and you can delete or add more at your leisure to that folder, just make sure it has a dedicated folder for each specific mod.