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saetoru · 11 months

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。RIGOR — AL-HAITHAM.

contents. mild injuries (al-haitham), established relationship, fluff, really bad banter, al-haitham is left handed because i say so

notes. literally just 2k embarrassing words of you taking care of al-haitham after he’s injured from a trip to the desert. yeah.

“that stings,” al-haitham hisses, glaring at you—which earns him an equally as harsh glare back. “why don’t you just pour the entire bottle of antiseptic down my arm at this rate?

“don’t yell at me,” you hiss back, scowling as you dab at the (already clean) wound some more, “i’m not the one who came back with this. why didn’t you get it checked?”

to your utter dismay, al-haitham comes home from a visit to the desert injured. gravely.

well, truth be told, it’s not really grave. that’s just how you see it because anything beyond a scratch is enough to throw you into a fit of panic. he’s not really used to coming home to someone fretting over him like this—standing between his legs as he sits on the edge of the bathtub, dabbing ever so gently at the small (and hardly deep, he’d like to point out) cut on his arm.

running into eremites is an inevitable part of most visits to desert ruins. usually, al-haitham manages to come back unscathed, but sometimes, things don’t always go accordingly. in his defense, he’d thought he’d be able to dodge the blade of the eremite he happened to be fighting. al-haitham has the precision and athletic ability to not only manage, but excel at dodging things that are thrown at him. but still, even he has his moments of miscalculation, and just by a hair, he feels the sting of a blade’s edge tearing through the surface of his skin.

it’s unfortunate, but it’s not a big deal—at least, that’s what he thought. apparently, but not unusually, you have a tendency to disagree with him on most things.

“i was going to check it myself,” he says simply, “it would’ve been fine.”

“oh, i didn’t realize you graduated in linguistics and biology,” you raise a brow.

al-haitham is a well rounded man—he reads books from just about any subject so long as it’s informative and offers him new knowledge that can assist him in being well versed in any topic. more importantly, al-haitham rarely loses arguments, and in order to be able to always win said arguments, his understanding of most subjects is required to be thorough.

he knows how to treat a small wound or two, especially with as often as he lands himself in small fights as he explores ruins.

he looks up at you with an unimpressed stare as he mumbles, “i’ve taken at least a few classes from every darshan.”

“i hate you,” you huff. he exhales tiredly.

“it’s only a cut,” he argues, “there’s no need to be so worried—”

“i’m always worried,” you sigh, staring dejectedly at the injury littering his arm. no one should ever leave a mark over his skin—unless it’s you, and that’s only in a very different context. “does it hurt?” you ask quietly.

a small part of him feels guilty that he’s worried you over his well being, that he’s come home harmed even the slightest bit and disrupted your peace. but the larger and more rational part of him reasons that injuries of this nature are common and inevitable in trips to the desert like this, and he’s skilled enough to ensure that nothing serious ever happens.

still, for your sake, he mumbles, “no.”

it’s a bit of a white lie—it does sting a bit, and the antiseptic you pressed just a few moments ago didn’t exactly help, but admitting to you that he’s in any sort of pain is only opening up more avenues to making this into a larger deal than it really is.

al-haitham is fine, and he’s doesn’t need anything for the slightly inconvenient but not serious laceration on his skin. he’s sure of that.

but then, you cup his cheeks and press a small kiss to his forehead as you murmur, “my poor baby,” with a small pout, “i’ll feed you dinner, okay? they got your left arm.”

he wants to tell you that his motor skills are good enough that he can function with his non dominant hand—being left handed in a world catered for right handed individuals forces you to acquire functionality in both hands. but before he can open his mouth, you kiss down his cheeks, tracing your lips along him until they map out his jaw.

it distracts him for a moment, making hie eyes close and his breath hitch as he lets your warmth settle into the deepest crevices of his skin.

“don’t worry, haitham, i’ll take care of you until this heals,” you murmur sweetly.

and just like that, al-haitham is a bit conflicted now. in his two plus decades of life, he has always been an independent and capable individual—more than most his age. he doesn’t need the assistance of anyone, nor has he ever really needed the assistance of anyone. but you’re making it very hard to resist with the way you’re doting on him with affection.

“i’m fine,” he tries to argue, “really—”

“i should run you a bath,” you mumble, cutting him off. he gets the strong feeling you’re taking more to yourself than him. “and i’ll wash your hair for you too.”

even with the self control someone like him has, even he can’t help but sigh in content when your fingers slip into his hair, stroking through the strands and scratching gently at his scalp. it’s a bit nice—he has to admit that being taken care of, even as minimally as fingers in his hair, is nice.

“you don’t have to do all that,” he mutters.

“i don’t want you moving that arm,” you huff, “would it kill you to stop acting high and mighty for once? most people would take advantage of being spoiled.”

“i don’t enjoy taking advantage of others like most people,” he shrugs.

“you know what i mean,” you glower, rolling your eyes.

it’s a common understanding to most that al-haitham is a bit difficult—you don’t think you ever remember a time where he hasn’t been. he’s stubborn and always believes his views to be correct, and he’s not ashamed of arguing his point no matter who it is. you’re surprised that mouth of his hasn’t landed him in trouble yet—although, you suppose he’s not exactly in the good graces of most at the akademiya.

and as the akademiya’s acting grand sage, you admire his unwillingness to back down. but, as your boyfriend and the man you love, you wish he’d just compromise sometimes—and maybe let you wash his hair and hand feed him dinner for a bit as you nurse his injury back to health.

just this once….and maybe just a few more times later on too. you don’t ask for much, you like to think.

“i’ve gotten injuries like this before,” he reasons, “i’ve survived.”

you look at him with that delicate look of yours, the one that makes him feel like maybe he’s been living his life wrong this whole time. that it only became correct once his life involved you.

he thinks that’s might just be the case when you grin slightly, pinching his nose as you lean down, pecking his forehead and mumbling, “you don’t always have to just survive. you can indulge a bit, you know.”

“is that so?” he raises a brow, his good arm snaking around your hips.

“yes,” you hum, “if you give it a try, you might just enjoy indulging here and there,” you grin, stroking a thumb over his cheek as you admire his features, relearning every curve and every angle of his face. you don’t think you’d ever get bored like this—just standing in your bathroom, staring at him. you think you could comfortably stay right here like this forever.

maybe longer.

“i see,” he says slowly. al-haitham has always had a strong sense of control. but that was before you—he’s now forced to admit that his resolve is a bit weaker, just a bit shakier after you’ve come along. “does this begin with washing my hair?”

“and feeding you dinner,” you nod, tracing your thumb over his brow, letting it wander along the hook of his nose. “do you want me to kiss your arm better too?”

“is that really going to help?” he asks in amusement, making you giggle.

“oh yes,” you tease, “it was in a class i took from amurta. you probably didn’t take it—it’s far too rigorous for you.”

“oh,” he nods playfully, “of course. you’ll have to excuse my lack of understanding. not everyone can be as advanced as you.”

“here,” you grin—and it’s wide, and it’s warm, and it’s far too bright to ever be dimmed by the light of your bathroom as you stare at him, “i can demonstrate if you want. hands-on learning is always the best.”

“i must ask—have you ever learned hands-on like this with anyone else?” he raises a brow.

“and if i have? would that make you jealous?”

“perhaps a little,” he admits, fighting desperately to keep his own smile hidden. it’s hard not to smile when you’re around—how could he not when you swallow the sun with your lips every time they curve upwards in that honeyed way that they do?

“don’t worry,” you giggle again—and god, he thinks, he really loves that sound. he watches you lean down and kiss softly along the edges of his wound, tracing the cut slowly as you say, “you’re my only academic partner now.”

“i’m most grateful.”

“well?” you peck his shoulder, “a kiss helps, doesn’t it?”

“it does,” he chuckles quietly, “maybe you can show me a bit more.”

he’s given into you completely by now—you can tell by the way his body is relaxed on the edge of the bathtub. you can tell by that easy grin plastered on his usually blank face. you can tell by the way he leans into your touch every chance he gets. you can tell by the way he asks you to kiss his wound some more—the same wound he didn’t think you needed to care about.

but you always care, and he’s starting to understand you always will. so he stares at you hopefully, expecting just a few more presses of your lips.

so you do, kissing along his arm, peppering scattered pecks along his shoulder, pressing your lips gently along the column of his neck as he sighs softly and closes his eyes.

maybe being taken care of isn’t so bad—maybe he’s been missing out all this time….but then again, he thinks it’s just that he’s always been missing you. like he was born to find you. like he was made to be yours and you were made to be his and you both were made for each other if nothing else.

if nothing else, al-haitham is glad to be yours.

“does it still hurt?” you ask after some time.

“just a little,” he lets himself admit, “it’s nothing i’ve never dealt with before.”

“you really worried me you know,” you breathe quietly, making him squeeze your hips in reassurance, “don’t hide next time you’re hurt.”

“and will you kiss me back to health if i tell you?” he hums, leaning his head back to let you kiss his jaw easier.

you smile against his skin, letting your touch linger for a moment before you mumble, “of course, it’s only the best treatment. only those who take rigorous classes would know that.”

“good thing i have you to teach me.”

“yes, you’re really quite lucky,” you say with a cheeky smile.

there’s a warm bath waiting for him after this. and a hand fed meal. and perhaps a few more gentle kisses. but most certainly a lifetime of you—that much he knows.

i feel like i’m borderline violating myself by posting this bc it’s so self indulgent but here u go

#teepods.writings #drabbles.#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham x you #alhaitham fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fluff

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oozedninjas · 5 months

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Would they love you if you were a worm?

2012 verse

Leo

He blinks at the question.

"What do you mean by a worm? Like a worm worm, or like a mutant worm?"

"Just a worm, babe. Would you, or would you not love me if I was a worm."

He would, and he's quick to say so. Yes, you're his soulmate! haha, it's definitely not that he wants to escape that killing look that you just gave him!

No, but really, he would.

Raph

"I can't believe you say that!"

You stormed out of the room, and Raph trailed behind you desperately.

"Babe, I like talking to you! A worm can't talk!" he retorted, "I didn't even answer da question yet!"

You stopped, fighting to repress the cackle threatening to blurt out of your mouth. "So, would you love me if I was a worm?"

"I would. Ya gotta live up my shoulder all the freakin' time, though."

He said it so worriedly like you were actively thinking about mutating yourself into a tiny specimen, that you just couldn't hold back your laugh any longer.

Donnie

"Hey Don, I was wondering. If I, I don't know, for whatever reason, biologically turned into a worm, would you still be into me?"

Donnie looks blankly at you for what feels like a solid minute. "Just like that? A worm?" he said, "a normal worm?"

"Yeah. Would you still love me if I was one?"

Donnie smiles. "Of course!"

"Aww bab-"

"And that's why I'd try everything in my power to nurse you back into your human form. Accidents can happen! I have a lot of new devices that could potentially be useful to—"

And he's talking about experimenting with your wormy form. As if it could actually happen. Shivers.

Yeah, no thanks. You slowly start walking backward out of the lab.

Mikey

"Hey baby, would you love me if I was a-"

"I would," he declares with a deadpan stare, slappin' a hand on your shoulder. His gaze gets all serious, and he repeats with a profuse nod, "I would."

#I keep seeing this on tiktok and I just #I'm sorry #thought it'd be fun #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2k12 #tmnt donatello #tmnt raphael #tmnt leo #leo tmnt #tmnt mikey #tmnt x reader #tmnt 2012 donnie #tmnt 2012 leo #tmnt 2012 mikey #tmnt x y/n #tmnt donnie #tmnt donnatello

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here2bbtstrash · 2 years

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party on you (explicit)

genre: SMUT SMUT SMUT with an extremely small side of fluff lol

pairing: hoseok x reader

summary: the only thing stronger than your social anxiety is your big dumb crush on hoseok - and you're certainly not expecting it when he tells you the real reason he threw this album release party.

word count: 9.8k

contains: explicit sexual content aka PORN !!!! idol-verse, literally takes place at the JITB album release party, friends to lovers, erotic hand holding, they're both cute and dumb, a studio hookup 👀 dirty talk, thigh riding, cunnilingus, a single pussy slap lol, taint touching (?), HOBI EATS ASS, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, throat fucking, reader gets a facial, and a lil bit of cum eating, it's cute 😌

A/N: so, hi, i went to hobipalooza lmao. this is actually lowkey a songfic ??? charli xcx was one of the earlier acts on hobi's stage and. my god. seeing her live was a religious experience, and when she performed party 4 u i was like hnnnhghg this should be a fic. and now it is !!!! and i hope u enjoy 🥺🥺 i tried some new stuff in here, both soft and freaky lmao so i'm nervy to share!!! as always your support and feedback means the world to meeeee ok ilysomuch bye~

read on AO3 !

~*~

You collapse back against the cushions of your couch with a soft whine of distress.

The whole thing is really so ridiculous. You told yourself when this started that you could be chill about it. People get crushes every day. It doesn’t have to be a huge fucking deal. You’re a sane, rational adult, perfectly capable of admiring a man quietly from afar while doing your best to be a good friend to him.

And, yes, maybe also obsessing a little too much over what to wear when you hang out, and what to post on Instagram in case he might see it, and dear god, how long his hair is getting. All normal crush things.

But now, as you press your phone to your chest with both hands and sigh forlornly, you wonder if it might actually be possible to yearn yourself to death. To like somebody so much that your heart just fucking explodes. If anyone could be capable of inciting spontaneous combustion, it is absolutely Jung Hoseok.

And he wants you to come to his big fancy party– has specifically sent a day-of reminder text, like you didn’t already receive a formal invitation weeks ago.

You purse your lips, fighting to keep a smile off your face despite being alone in your apartment where no one can perceive you. Hoseok is always so good at keeping in touch, even when he’s in an insanely busy season of his life. You can picture him now, probably bustling around his place in a robe, getting ready while simultaneously sending everyone their own personalized message.

Everyone– when you last chatted about the party, he rattled off enough of the guest list for you to know that easily half the industry will be there tonight. And even Lizzo has gushed about how great of a texter he is. You try to ease yourself off the ledge with the comforting thought that this has to be just one courtesy text of dozens, his pretty painted thumbnails working overtime to send gratuitous emojis out to every idol in the city.

And somehow also to you. Because your big fat crush made you stupid enough to say yes to what is arguably your worst nightmare: A party full of cool famous people, where you will know no one except the guest of honor.

Skipping the party is not an option becomes your internal refrain as the hours tick by. You have to remind yourself of this even more emphatically when you wind up on the floor of your bedroom, having tried on every article of clothing in your closet and having decisively hated it all.

Skipping the party is not an option, you think again, grabbing your phone to check the clock. Your heart sinks when you realize how much time you’ve wasted being an anxious wreck– you had planned to be ready to leave five minutes ago, not laying half-naked on the floor, hair and makeup still undone.

But skipping the party is not an option. A pre-party cry, however, might be on the table.

Pushing yourself up to sit on your heels, you force the tears back while you aimlessly sort through a pile of clothes. You’re barely looking at what’s in front of you, but you pause to do a double-take as your hand passes over a particularly enjoyable texture.

When you manage to extract the item, you realize it’s a dress you’d forgotten about entirely– something a friend made you buy a lifetime ago that you’ve never worn because you’ve always been uncomfortable with how short it is. But it’s smooth baby pink satin, and as different from your usual as it may be, you recall not being mad about the way it stuck to your curves like water.

Fuck it. You’re already late, and if there’s ever a party where you can take a fashion risk, it’s one thrown by Hoseok. You can only imagine what he might have on tonight; it honestly wouldn’t surprise you if he showed up in the same fucking dress.

The thought of seeing him is enough to make your heart leap in your chest, and you do your best to speed through your usual makeup and hair routine despite the way your hands are starting to tremble. By the time you grab your purse and make it out the door, you’re thirty minutes late. That thirty minutes quickly stretches into a full hour before you’re stepping off the elevator onto the 19th floor of HYBE headquarters, feeling like an asshole.

Gorgeous idols and various other famous people stream in around you, dressed in clothes that appear casual but you’re sure cost double your monthly rent payment, looking less than unbothered about showing up late. You do your best to slip in unnoticed and stick to the perimeter of the massive room, feeling like an absolute fraud.

Thankfully it’s only a few steps before you find a table taken up entirely by pre-filled flutes of champagne, and you eagerly grab one, mostly just grateful for something to do with your hands.

It occurs to you how little you know about celebrity culture, because the party doesn’t even seem to have started yet: early 2000s R&B is bumping through the speakers, and it feels like every few minutes the elevator chimes to let another group of people trickle into the space. You find an unoccupied section of wall to lean against as you sip your drink slowly, hoping that if you try hard enough, you might actually manage to become one with the wallpaper.

Tipping your head back for another sip of champagne, you nearly choke at an unexpected voice from over your shoulder.

“You look like you hate parties as much as I do.”

You manage to not inhale your drink, instead giving a polite smile as your eyes drift across the crowded room. You’re too nervous to immediately steal a glance at whoever is speaking to you, though you’re sure it just makes you seem rude. “Hate isn’t exactly it.” You have nothing against parties, or people who enjoy them. “I just… haven’t figured out what I’m supposed to be doing, exactly.”

“I think talking to people is generally expected,” the voice quips. “So, hey, you’re doing great already. Keep it up and they might even think you’re an extrovert.”

You exhale a soft laugh, a slight heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

“But Hobi said I didn’t have to meet and greet if I didn't want to. So I’m taking that as full permission to enjoy free alcohol and read webtoons on my phone.”

Your gaze snaps over at the familiar nickname, and your mouth goes dry as you realize you’ve been casually conversing with none other than Kim Seokjin, who is absentmindedly fiddling with the thin green strap of the bag slung over his shoulder.

Fuck. Embarrassing yourself in front of random famous people was exactly what you were trying to avoid when you picked this wall to lean against. You’d figured the other members would all be out mingling in the center of things, not hiding in a corner. Who knew celebrities were just like you?

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, immediately dropping your gaze to avoid making eye contact when Jin looks up. He probably assumed you’d sidled up next to him on purpose, like some kind of creepy fan. “I’ll leave you alone, I actually really didn’t mean to–”

You glance up again only to realize Jin is laughing, shoulders shaking slightly.

“Wow, I’m so bad at this. That wasn’t me telling you to fuck off. I was just trying to sympathize.” He gestures lazily towards the stage at the front of the room. “Thankfully it looks like you don’t have to suffer my conversation any longer.”

A Jack in the Box graphic has started to flash, projected onto the screen. After a few seconds, the image stills, and a spotlight clicks on, following Hoseok as he emerges from backstage. You lean forward to set your drink on the closest table so you can join in the applause for him.

Hoseok looks as effortlessly cool as he always does, but even more so tonight, like someone has cranked his charisma up to the max setting. A real fucking popstar, a rockstar, even: baggy clothes, multiple layers of necklaces, chunky black boots, dark hair pushed back with a few strands falling into his eyes. He somehow even manages to make wearing sunglasses indoors look cool– probably because they’re immediately offset by the wide, sweet grin of his mouth as he addresses the crowd. You can hear that he’s nervous by how hard he’s trying to keep his voice even, and it’s enough to make you feel the flutter of butterfly wings in your throat.

As you pick your drink back up for another sip, you can’t help but wonder if Jin can literally see the hearts in your eyes, or a nervous little teardrop floating above your head like an anime character. You do your best to hide your smile behind your glass.

“J-Hope is pretty cool, huh?”

You bite down on your bottom lip, answering Jin’s question with a shy nod.

Hoseok descends the stage as the lights lower, and then the album intro is starting and there’s no more time for conversation. You watch from across the room as he drops down on the large built-in stairs next to Jungkook, who immediately wraps a supportive arm around his waist while Hoseok laughs like he’s embarrassed. You’ve always been in total awe of the way Hoseok can light up and command the energy of a room easily, then squirm away from it at the next second.

Jin gets waved over and gives you a small nod as he departs, and then you’re alone again with the champagne in your hand and the wall against your back and Hoseok’s music thrumming through your nervous system.

The album is nothing like you expected– you didn’t know what to expect, really– and you absolutely love it. You’ve always felt like you have a stupidly limited vocabulary when it comes to talking about music, particularly around Hoseok, but even you can manage to string together the thought that these songs are fucking special.

But then again, so is he.

In what feels like the blink of an eye Hoseok is taking the stage again to giggle through his thanks, bent slightly at the waist in overwhelmed appreciation, and then the pop playlist is switched back on and the lights are dimmed and you suddenly feel your palms start to slick up against your champagne flute.

You can’t help but wonder what the fuck you’re supposed to do now.

The obvious choice would be to finally go talk to Hoseok, but of course, he’s the man of the hour, so every other person in the room seems to have the same idea. You choose to hang back and watch as he weaves through the growing crowd, putting on a bored expression to pose for pictures, laughing excitedly as people shake his hand and speak to him in hushed tones, and flashing thumbs ups and peace signs left, right and center.

It looks exhausting, you think to yourself with a small smile. And this is why you’re not famous.

For the second time tonight someone manages to sneak up on you, and this time it’s accompanied with a gentle call of your name. You nearly drop your drink as you whip around.

When you find yourself face-to-face with Park Jimin, it takes a few seconds for you to remember how to close your mouth. What is going on?

“I thought that was you.”

You double-blink, unable to find any words at all. You have never met this man before in your life. Seen him dozens of times on your TV screen, sure, but certainly never formally introduced.

“I’m Jimin,” he says, and you have to swallow the urge to giggle in his face because, yeah, no shit.

“Hi, Jimin.”

“Hoseok is going to be excited that you’re here.” Jimin scrunches his face up a little, like he knows he shouldn’t be telling you this. “He kept asking me if I thought you would show or not. He really wouldn’t shut up about it.”

You find yourself stammering again, trying to figure out how the hell to respond. Why, out of everyone on the guest list, would Hoseok be concerned about you? And he’s talked to Jimin about you enough for him to know who you are, that he can recognize you on sight alone? Your head starts to spin, despite the fact that you’re only halfway through your glass of champagne.

“Since you don’t like parties,” Jimin says, like it’s common knowledge, as if it’s totally normal for this very busy and famous kpop idol to keep tabs on your socialization preferences.

You nod dumbly. “I, yeah. I’m just not very good at them.”

Jimin nods, pushing up the sleeves of his white Chanel sweater. “You just have to get comfortable with talking to people about boring shit. Did you try the food?”

You shake your head– the very thought is enough to make you feel a little sick. “I get, like, a nervous stomach?” You hate that it comes out like a question when it clearly isn’t.

“Aish, you and Hoseok are so alike,” Jimin rolls his eyes, hands on hips, but you can see he’s smiling a little. “I haven’t been able to get him to eat anything all day. And we ordered so much food, I don’t even know why. Like half the people in this room aren’t on fucking diets.”

“Jimin-ah!”

Both of your heads snap up at the sound of Namjoon’s voice from the other side of the room, distorted slightly by the thudding bass.

“Ahh, they’re doing pictures,” Jimin says with an exaggerated sigh, like it’s just so hard being desirable and photogenic. “Do you want to get a photo?”

You shake your head as emphatically as possible. “No, nope, absolutely not.”

Jimin pauses, squinting at you for a second in a way that makes you think that if you were closer friends, he’d be dragging you across the room regardless of your answer to the question. You watch as he clearly attempts to restrain himself.

“Well, don’t drink too much on an empty stomach, okay? I’ll make you a to-go plate of food before you leave.” He starts to walk backwards away from you, raising his voice a little so you can still hear him. “And please talk to Hoseokie when we’re done! Maybe then he’ll calm the fuck down!”

You can’t hide the smile that blooms across your face, and Jimin wiggles his eyebrows for emphasis before turning around and pressing his way through the crowd to the photo wall.

The members take turns passing Hoseok around, punctuated by the snap of the camera: pinching his cheeks, leaning into him, clinging to his shoulders, wrapping an arm around his neck. You laugh out loud when Taehyung hikes a leg up high on Hoseok’s hip and tips back, a hand draped across his forehead, eyes shut, so fucking dramatic.

Hoseok stares down the camera like a professional, only to immediately dissolve into giggles between shots, tongue poking out between his teeth like he can’t quite handle all the attention. It’s enough to have you nearly fighting for your life.

The members crowd in for a few group shots, posing cutely until Jimin finally waves everyone back off to the dancefloor. He keeps Hoseok behind with one hand gripping his bicep, and your heart drops into your stomach when Jimin leans in to whisper something in Hoseok’s ear.

Oh, fuck.

You try to calm yourself down, reasoning that he could be talking about any number of important things, but then Jimin pulls Hoseok’s sunglasses off his face, turns him unmistakably in your direction, and gives his shoulders a hard push. It’s clear Hoseok doesn’t quite know where he’s going as he stumbles forward and squints at the party lights, so you throw back the last of your champagne for some assistance, set the empty flute on a table, and force yourself to be brave.

You run your palms nervously over the sides of your dress, trying to focus on the feeling of smooth satin as you cross the room to meet him.

“Hobi.” His eyes find yours and you watch as his face, still in party mode— all perfect straight lines and severe grace and supermodel apathy— softens, brightens.

“Oh thank god, you made it,” Hoseok huffs a disbelieving laugh. “Come here.”

He pulls you in for a hug, not the lazy one-armed greetings you’ve seen celebrities give each other all night but a real, solid embrace, both arms crossed firmly over the small of your back. You press your nose into the crook of his neck, the thin fabric of his tank top brushing against your skin. Heat radiates off of him in waves, and he smells so good, like expensive cologne. It’s dizzying.

“Hi,” you murmur, and it’s punctuated with a soft giggle when you realize you’re speaking directly into his collarbone. You move to extract yourself, but his grip tightens.

“Five more seconds,” Hoseok says with another half-laugh, and you gladly allow yourself to melt back into his arms.

He sounds slightly hoarse, you notice, probably from talking all night. You think for easily the millionth time that you have no idea how he does it, but this moment of softness makes you wonder if being the life of the party is a little more difficult than he lets on.

Hoseok hums a little, and the feeling rumbles through your chest, buzzing all the way down to your fingertips like an electric current. When he finally releases you, it’s with a soft sigh, something that almost sounds like reluctance. Your heart backflips at the thought.

The lights flash waves of rainbow color over his face, each one painting his perfect features with a slightly different energy: pink, blue, orange, green. You momentarily forget how to talk, but Hoseok doesn’t miss a beat.

“Are you having fun?”

You nod as decisively as you can. “I’m just awkward, but that’s not your party’s fault.” He giggles, gaze flitting nervously around the room, as you continue. “Seriously, it’s a great party. And I’m not just saying that because you have free booze.”

“Did you want more?” He asks quickly, then seems to think better of it. “Or, well, how much have you had? Do you need water?”

You smile a little despite yourself. “I’m fine, Hobi, thank you. You have better things to do tonight than look after me because I nursed a single glass of champagne. And besides, Jimin already tried to mother hen me earlier.”

A look of serious anguish crosses Hoseok’s face, and he glances back over his shoulder, but Jimin has evaporated into the crowd of beautiful people. “God, I specifically told him to leave you alone.”

You shrug. “It’s not a big deal. He was sweet.”

Hoseok’s gaze lands back on you, and it feels like your chest lights up from the inside out. You almost can’t look directly at him– it’s not unlike staring into the sun. You blink up at him once, twice, more than dazed, and then he laughs again, nose scrunching slightly as if to cringe at himself.

“Agh, I feel awkward. I don’t know what to say.”

You’re smiling, too. “That’s okay,” you say, because it is. You’re perfectly content to just stand here with him, unconcerned with the chaos of the party around you.

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

“And– well, I guess you’ve never been here before, right? Can I give you a tour? I can take you downstairs and show you my studio.”

Your cheeks start to burn from all the questions, from how fixed his gaze is on you. It’s overwhelming. “Hobi, this is literally your party. You should stay here. I was doing fine holding up the wall over there.”

“Come on, I really want to. Please?” He leans in towards you slightly, glancing around as if to make sure he’s not being overheard. When he speaks into your ear, his voice drops to a lower register for privacy, and you can’t ignore the chills that dot up your spine. “I can’t talk to one more person that isn’t you right now.”

You nod, every nerve ending in your body now hyper-aware of how very close he is to you. “If you’re sure. I’d like that.”

“Thank you,” he says softly, and you breathe a soft giggle at how ridiculous it is that he’s the one thanking you at this moment. Before you even realize what he’s doing, his hand finds your hand, delicate fingers intertwining with yours. The skin of his palm is soft and warm. “Let’s go.” He chases the words with a gentle squeeze.

Hoseok leads you into the elevator and presses the button for a lower floor. You’re a little surprised when he slumps back against the wall with a heavy sigh as the doors close, still holding your hand.

“Oh, I’m tired.” He says quietly, almost like he’s talking to himself rather than to you. “It just hit me now. That was a lot.”

You squeeze his hand back, and his eyes flutter open to look at you. You press yourself up against the wall next to him. “You sound like me after any social event. And here I was thinking all night that you made it look so easy.”

Hoseok smiles. “I’m good at faking it. But I always collapse after stuff like this.” His eyes drift away from you and he stares into the empty space in front of him, his expression darkening slightly. “I just really hope they liked it. It’s so hard to tell what people think, or who’s only bullshitting you when they tell you it’s good. I’d rather they be honest with me.”

“Well, if it means anything, I loved it.” You say softly, your eyes searching his face. “And I’m not a bullshitter.”

Hoseok blinks, then nods once, his eyes not meeting yours. “You’re not. I appreciate that.”

The chime of the elevator seems to snap him somewhat out of his headspace, and he tugs on your joined hands to pull you through the doors as they slide open. “It’s just at the end of the hall.”

There’s something about Hoseok that comforts you all the way to your core, laps gently at the edges of your shyness until it recedes a bit. He just makes you feel like you can say anything without fear of judgment. Conversation comes easier with him, like this.

“How do you feel about it?”

“The album?” He asks.

You shrug. “Everything.”

“I’m very nervous,” Hoseok answers immediately with a bright peal of laughter, squeezing your hand again for emphasis. “I’m working really hard but… it all feels like uncharted territory. It’s so different to do it alone.”

His eyes jump from studio door to studio door as he leads you down the hallway. “I don’t know if people are going to like this side of me or the things I have to say. I don’t know if anyone will still care now that it’s just me. And ugh, I’m so unsure about the music festival. I’ve never done a whole show on my own before. I practice so much every day and I still don’t know if I can do it. Or if it will be any good.”

When he stops you outside of the final door at the end of the hallway, he seems to remember himself. “Wow, look at me. You were probably only being polite and I threw so much at you. This is just what goes around in my head. Every day and every night.”

“You sound stressed,” you say softly.

Hoseok purses his lips for a second. “I guess. I just really want to do well. I don’t want to disappoint anyone. I would– what?”

It isn’t until he asks the question, regarding you with a confused expression, that you realize you’re shaking your head. The smile that has crept across your face is a mixture of disbelief and appreciation.

“I’m sorry,” you’re practically laughing. “Please, keep going.”

“No, no, what is that face?”

You chew on the corner of your lip, trying to figure out the best way to word it. “I just… I don’t want to dismiss your concerns, because I absolutely understand all of them. And I would be shitting a brick, no question. But you…” Hoseok’s eyes widen a little as you pause, drinking him in, the way concern tugs down the corners of his mouth. “You just have no idea. No idea what it’s like to watch you from out here. And I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”

He pauses as if to consider your words. “What do you see?”

You don’t even have to think about the answer. It feels as steady and honest as the beat of your heart behind your ribs. “I see a fucking star. I see somebody who was born to do exactly what he’s doing. And, I mean, I think being nervous is a good thing, and I don’t say this to try and invalidate how you’re feeling at all. But I don’t see any possible future where you don’t succeed, Hoseok. It’s just... not an option. You’re going to get up there and kill it, I know you are. Because it’s you.”

Hoseok’s hand slips out of yours, and you can feel the warmth of his palms as he presses them to your waist to pull you close. Anticipation sparks through you. His eyes search yours intently, like he’s looking for something. “You really feel that way?”

“Completely. There’s no doubt in my mind.” Your gaze drops to his mouth, the way his full lips are parted slightly, and it occurs to you that maybe you’re talking about more than one thing now. “It feels predestined, to me… I don’t know. Inevitable.”

Hoseok makes a soft noise as he continues to close the distance between you. “Inevitable?” You tilt your chin up towards him, every cell in your body humming. “Like this?”

The way he kisses you is so gentle and sweet, you swear your heart leaps into your throat. You allow a second, maybe two, to move your mouth against his and get lost in it, and then you force yourself to break away, your mind reeling.

“I’m sorry,” he says automatically. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

“Hoseok,” you murmur, eyes squeezing shut as you attempt to navigate the discomfort of being vulnerable. “I– you should know that I really, really like you.”

“Really?”

The shock in his voice makes your eyes snap open again, and you can’t help but make a face of utter disbelief. “I thought it was obvious.”

“Looks like I’m not the only one who doesn’t realize how other people see me. You’re actually very hard to read.” Hoseok slips one hand off of your waist to push down on the door handle behind you, then gestures for you to step through. He keeps talking as he follows in after you, letting the door shut behind him. “I second-guess myself all the time with you. Jimin is so fucking tired of hearing about it.”

“Wow,” you say dumbly. “I had no idea.”

“You didn’t even text me back about tonight! I had no idea if you were coming.”

You start to laugh as the realization washes over you: you’d been so busy sighing forlornly and stressing about what to wear, you’d forgotten to actually reply to his messages.

“Okay, this time was actually an accident. But…” You sweep your gaze over his studio, trying to think. “I don’t know, I just always feel like I’m bothering you. Your life is so big and important. Even now: you should be upstairs being the star of your own party. Not down here with me.”

Hoseok shakes his head immediately. “I don’t want to talk to anyone up there the way I want to talk to you. I was such a wreck today when you didn’t answer.”

You can’t believe what he’s saying, even as he takes a step in towards you, his mouth invitingly close to yours again. “Why? I am quite literally the least important person on the guestlist.”

“Because,” Hoseok pauses for a second, then sighs. “I like you, and I was scared that you’d decided not to come, when I…” He’s practically grinning, and the tell of his scrunched up nose makes you realize– he’s embarrassed. “I threw this whole party just to have an excuse to see you.”

Your jaw drops open. “You what?”

“Please don’t make me say it again.”

“Hobi.” You both start to laugh as you stare in disbelief, trying to process the most ridiculous statement you’ve ever heard in your life. “You could have just called me.”

“I tend to overthink these things.”

He’s close enough that you barely have to move to slide your hands up his chest and grip the lapels of his white button-down.

“I think I can help with that,” you murmur, and then you tug him back down into a kiss that makes your head spin.

The sweet nervousness of your first kiss has been replaced with urgency now, Hoseok’s mouth moving over yours like he’s hungry for it. You tug gently on your fistfuls of his shirt to move him towards you, stumbling backwards until you find purchase against the door of the studio.

Hoseok moves skillfully, tongue licking into your mouth while one of his strong thighs shifts to tease your legs apart and press between them. The quick succession of the two is enough to make your breath hitch, and it seems to encourage him more. The rough denim of his jeans grinds into your center, and your already-short dress has ridden up enough that the pressure drags hot sparks right over your core.

Your jaw goes slack as your focus slips, and you tip your head back against the door with a soft whine, circling your hips for more friction. “Fuck, Hoseok.”

His lips drop down to the exposed skin of your neck. The warmth of his mouth has your back arching, your nipples rubbed into stiff peaks under the thin fabric you couldn’t wear a bra with.

“You look so fucking good tonight,” Hoseok groans. “Driving me crazy in this little dress.”

There’s the soft brush of a hand on your thigh, and he teases the hem of your dress up higher and higher as your hips keep moving; his tongue darts out to lick a languid stripe over your collarbone. His other hand slides up from your waist to cup your breast over satin, deftly rolling the bud of your nipple between his long fingers, pinching with just enough pressure to coax a moan out of you.

“I like the sounds you make. Don’t want you to be shy with me.” Hoseok murmurs over your skin before he starts to suck deliberately at your neck, right on your pulse point. You couldn’t stifle the sound his mouth pulls from you even if you wanted to.

With all your attention drawn to grinding your clit against his leg and the warmth of his palm cupping your breast, your grip on the fabric of his shirt has loosened. Moving in a haze of pleasure, your hands fumble at his denim jacket, attempting to push it down his shoulders. Hoseok pulls back slightly when he realizes what you’re doing, though his fingers still lazily squeeze at your nipple.

“Let me just– hang on–” Hoseok untangles himself from you entirely with a sheepish grin, and you take the moment to collect yourself, your chest heaving in shallow breaths. You can feel the way your panties are soaked through as you press your thighs together, desperate for continued friction.

He’s moving quickly as he slips out of his oversized jacket and button down beneath it. You can clearly see the wheels in his head turning as he lays the pieces over the back of his desk chair, then immediately scrunches his face up as if to think better of it.

“Agh, sorry, sorry, one second–” Hoseok shakes out the jacket, then the shirt, folding both in quick yet precise succession before stacking the neat rectangles together and gently setting them on the small couch next to his desk.

Even in the dim studio lighting you can see his face is flushed pink with embarrassment as he returns to press you back against the door.

“I just– I don’t want wrinkles,” he says softly, and you’re very grateful that you no longer have to suppress the urge to take his face in your hands and kiss him.

“I like you so much,” you giggle into his mouth, and it’s punctuated with a squeak when his hands slide down to firmly grab your ass. The fabric of your dress is so thin that it hardly feels like it’s there at all.

Hoseok must have the same thought, because he releases his grip only for as long as it takes to push the skirt of your dress up over your ass; now there’s nothing separating his fingers from your skin when he squeezes you again.

“Like you,” he agrees, his voice husky. “Want to taste you.” Your core aches for his touch, clenches around nothing when he releases his grip and cracks a hand over the soft flesh of your asscheek.

“Please, Hobi.”

You find his mouth with yours again for a needy taste of a kiss, tongues sliding together. Your arms wrap around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him impossibly closer.

In one swift move he presses you flush against the door, and his hands slip to hitch your legs over his waist before moving back to your ass, hoisting your hips up to properly straddle him. You whimper at the grind of his erection through his jeans, right over your rubbed-sensitive center, and at the thought that he could fuck you just like this, up against this door.

Hoseok’s mouth doesn’t leave yours as he turns and carries you the short distance across the room, hands sliding to your hips so he can set you down on the desk. His lips are full and kiss-bitten red when he pulls back to look at you, pupils blown dark with lust.

“Sure this is okay?”

You meet his gaze, reaching up to dust strands of hair out of his eyes. His mouth chases the heel of your hand so he can press those soft lips into the center of your palm, chaste and sweet.

“It’s so much more than okay,” you murmur.

He’s smiling as he leans forward for another kiss, only pulling back to press his forehead to yours once you’re both breathless. “I have wanted to do this for so fucking long. You have no idea.”

His hands hook under the backs of your thighs to scoot you gently forward until you’re perched at the very edge of his desk, and then he sinks to his knees. Your legs that were slipped around his waist find new purchase thrown over his shoulders and you tense a little when your high heels scrape over his back.

“I can take these off,” you start, but he��s already shaking his head as his palms encourage your thighs apart.

“I like it.”

You’re nearly gasping for breath with anticipation as his long fingers slip under the band of your panties and you lift your hips up so he can pull them down. You manage to extract one leg to drape back over his shoulders, leaving the lacy fabric to dangle off the other as you open up for him.

Hoseok’s thumbs press to either side of your pussy, gently spreading your lips apart to admire how soaked you already are. Anyone else examining you like this would have you squirming away self-consciously, but there’s just something about Hoseok that’s different. You want him to know every part of you fully, intimately.

“God, you are so gorgeous.” His breath is hot over your skin, makes your cunt tighten needily as if to beckon him closer.

You lean back to brace your forearms on the desk behind you and Hoseok’s gaze jumps up to meet yours. He doesn’t drop eye contact as he leans forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to your slit, both of you groaning at the contact.

His mouth moves just as it did against yours, and you let your eyes flutter closed as pleasure sears through you like a hot knife. Hoseok grunts a little, low in his throat when he adds tongue to his kisses, licking softly but deliberately to part your slick folds.

“Hobi,” you whine, rolling your hips up into him as he starts to apply more pressure with his tongue. “Fuck, ah, feels so good.”

Hoseok pulls off of you with a throaty gasp, like maybe he was so focused on eating you out that he didn’t quite remember to keep breathing. When you look down at him, his lips are wet and glossy, spread in a wide smile. “You taste so fucking good.”

You don’t even have time to ask for more before he’s hooking his biceps around your thighs and tugging your hips towards him, pulling you even closer to bury his face between your legs. This time he licks a stripe straight up to your swollen clit, pulling the bud into his mouth to suck on.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, digging your nails into the desk beneath you as sparks shoot through you and your clit twitches in his mouth.

Hoseok hums steadily around you, as if to once again encourage you to be vocal. He starts to nod his head as he sucks, his nose pressed flush against your pubic bone. Your hips fall in time with his rhythm, grinding back down on him.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whimper. “Shit, Hobi.” Your voice catches on a dazed, disbelieving laugh. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that.”

He doesn’t let up, squeezing his grip on your thighs that much tighter when you start to quiver beneath him. Your arousal coils tight and hot in your core as he works more not-so-shy noises out of you, breathy moans, needy whines.

You cling desperately to the edge of his desk, teetering equally on the edge of your own release. The wet slick wash of his tongue is lush, decadent, lapping at your clit between pulses of suction, and it’s all too fucking much.

“Yes, Hoseok, fuck!”

You cry out, your heels digging into the hard plane of Hoseok’s back as he works an intense, shuddering orgasm out of you. Your cunt throbs over and over as you come, a rush of arousal painting the crux of your thighs.

When you catch your breath it’s in uneven, shaky gasps, and the movement of your hips sharpens into jolts as you become hypersensitive to Hoseok’s mouth. He releases you almost reluctantly, still hovering close, continuing to dart his tongue out to gently lick up your folds.

“I don’t want to stop,” he says with a shy, blossoming laugh, the light catching the shine of his lips and chin when he glances up at you.

You’re dazed, beyond blissed out, unable to believe that any of this is real. You like him so much.

“Can I keep going?”

Just that sentence is enough to make you tighten all over again with anticipation. “I–” you laugh a little too despite yourself. “I want that. But I think my clit needs a second.”

Hoseok’s touch is featherlight as he circles a digit lower, over your entrance, as if to ask permission. “What about here?” Your pussy lips twitch even under so gentle a touch, but you ache for more; you like that it’s overwhelming.

“Yeah, yes. There, please, fuck,” you babble. He’s added a second finger to tease now, and you whimper when they finally press together into your sensitive cunt.

Hoseok is watching his fingers intently, and you can hear the way your pussy squelches as he pumps them slowly, can feel the tremors of your orgasm still shuddering through you, causing slick to drip from your center. You can only imagine what his view must be like, how you must look: dripping, needy, trembling for him, fingers gripping the desk and head lolling back.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, his voice low and soft, and then he dips his head down to lap below your entrance, tasting the juices that have leaked out of you. He pulls back to smack his other hand over your whole cunt, light enough that you barely feel the tap, but just the visual of it makes you squirm beneath him.

“So cute,” he smiles. His fingers rub circles into your front wall, becoming more insistent, and you breathe in shaky waves as you start to grip tightly around him.

“Hoseok,” you breathe, letting your eyes drop closed. Arousal blossoms through you like a heavy weight, your second climax already building, when you feel his other hand cup the join of your ass and thigh.

A soft whimper spills out of you as Hoseok starts to massage below your entrance, thumb working at a new bundle of nerves, like nothing you’ve ever felt. It’s pleasure that makes you hot all over, makes the muscles in your legs shiver and tense when it’s paired with the crook of his fingers still working your pussy.

“Fuck,” you pant, “Hobi, what are– that feels so–” You’re starting to lose a grip on your words, sentences going incoherent as your head spins. It’s hard to think over all the sensation, the way your body is lit up like a live wire, and the sound of your cunt gushing around him as he fucks into your g-spot.

“Has anyone touched you here before?” He asks softly, thumb tapping at the thin bridge of skin between your pussy and your ass. His head dips down for a chaste kiss there, then a second, adding a languid lap of tongue.

“N-no,” you whimper, toes curling in your shoes as he continues to drag his tongue over this delicate, sensitive place. “Keep going.”

Hoseok pulls back, a string of saliva still connecting him to you, and he lets it loose with a swipe of his hand over his mouth. His fingers slip out of you as he pairs a question with a smile. “Turn over for me?”

Your legs would be shaking even if you weren’t in fancy party heels, and you do your best to be graceful as you unsteadily spin, one arm keeping the fabric of your dress hiked up over your hips.

“Brace yourself on the desk,” Hoseok instructs, and you do, leaning forward until your stomach and forearms are flush with the wood, your bare ass hanging off the desk, presented for him. You spread your legs apart again and can feel the way your pussy drools arousal down your thighs. “That’s it,” he coaxes.

His fingers massage firmly into the flesh of your asscheeks, and your back arches up as you groan at the feeling. He spreads you just a little, enough for cool air to tease at your slick center; your hips wiggle towards him on instinct.

“Pretty back here, too,” he murmurs. “Tell me how it feels, okay? Won’t do it if you don’t like it.”

You clench for him in both places, even your fists grip tight in the fabric of your dress. “I’ll like it. Please, baby.”

“Baby,” Hoseok repeats back with a shy exhale. “I like that. I like you.” He leaves a sweet kiss pressed halfway up your thigh.

“Hobi–” you choke out a whine of his name as his breath ghosts over you, hands still firmly keeping you spread. His tongue returns to your perineum again, licking a hot, slow stripe that keeps moving up, up, until you feel the tease of warmth and wetness over your ass. “Oh, fuck.”

You’re so sensitive here, just the lightest drag of his tongue over your rim makes you moan, feet kicking listlessly as pleasure shudders through you.

“It’s good–” you manage to whimper, voice muffled slightly as your forehead drops against the desk, too, your whole body pinned down by his mouth. “–ngh, really good, Hobi.” Your cunt throbs when he does it again, as he falls into a consistent pace of long, steady laps that set off fireworks behind your eyes.

The ache in your core begs for touch, friction, and you oblige needily, tucking a hand under the weight of your hips pressed into the desk, a sweat-slicked palm for your mouth-wet clit.

Hoseok doesn’t miss a thing. It’s only for a second that he pulls off of you, but you whine at the loss of his tongue, sated slightly by the gentle brush of his lips over the small of your back. “Gonna get yourself off while I eat you out?”

You grind a circle down with your hips, hissing at the white-hot pulse against your hand. “Yes, baby, please.”

He doesn’t need any more encouragement to dive back in, fingers gripping harder to spread you and tongue licking deliberately, tracing patterns that work more arousal out of your pussy. You’re unraveling fast from humping against your palm, hips jolting forward to make your clit twitch and backwards to press towards Hoseok’s mouth.

You’re already wound so tight that you’re too desperate for words, reduced instead to little breathless gasps– “ah, ahh”– as you speed up the rub of your hand, your hips. Hoseok’s tongue never falters, firm pressure laved over and over your sensitive, flexing ass.

With a soft hum of effort, you feel him press a little harder, tongue barely dipping in past your tight ring of muscle, and the sweet stretch of it is the final push you need.

You roll your clit just right over your palm a final time and then you’re shaking and moaning as everything starts to pulse. The all-over clench pushes a fresh wave of fluid from your cunt, rolling down the backs of your thighs, fat droplets of arousal that Hoseok chases with sloppy kisses as the waves of your orgasm shudder through you.

It takes a moment before you can say anything, do anything, limbs too heavy and brain too fucked-out dumb. You do your best to slide gracefully off the desk, but your legs shake with aftershocks that betray you, and you stumble.

Hoseok is quick to wrap his arms around you and guide your hips down to the floor next to him. You collapse in a heap of giggles, him tangled over your waist, the skirt of your dress still pushed up, your bare ass on his studio carpet.

“Are you okay?” Hoseok laughs, and you bury your face in the fabric of his tank top as an answer, not convinced your coherency has returned to you yet.

“Too good,” you murmur, words slurring. “Fucked me too good.”

“You’re so hot.” You can tell he’s blushing just by the tone of his voice, and you start to come to a little, slow-blinking back to reality and rolling over to look up at him. His dark eyes shine as he smiles. You don’t want to come all the way down from this dazed, happy place yet, you realize, and you curl a finger into the loop of his jeans, tugging him closer.

“My turn.” Your hands start to fumble to undo his belt buckle. His jeans are oversized, but not enough to obscure the print of his hard cock pressed against his thigh.

“Let me take you home,” he says softly, running a fingertip along your jaw. “This should be– I want you to be comfortable. I want it to feel good.”

“It all feels good,” you say earnestly, sitting up to tug at the button of his jeans, undeterred. “And you can take me home. But you’ve been so good to me, Hobi.” You manage to work his fly open, and you lift your gaze to meet him. “Let me be good to you.”

You resume your work, wriggling Hoseok’s jeans down his thighs until his hands cover yours and he takes over, stripping himself of his shoes as well. He reaches back between his shoulder blades to pull his tank top over his head, and your eyes sweep over his body, taking in his lithe figure and smooth, hard muscles. You trail the tips of your fingers down the defined lines of his chest.

“Fuck,” Hoseok starts to smile self-consciously, one hand drifting over his dick straining against tight black briefs with a slightly darker spot in the center where he’s left a kiss of precum on the fabric. “I don’t have any condoms here.”

You sit up on your knees in front of him, considering this. “Use my mouth.” The high of your orgasm has subsided enough now that you’re not quite shameless anymore, and heat blooms in your face as you continue. “Like, fuck my throat.”

He tries and fails to suppress a groan, and his delicate hands reach to cup either side of your face, thumbs rubbing circles into the hinge of your jaw. “You–” he laughs softly. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“I mean it,” you say simply.

“But you really want to?”

You nod, half play-acting your shyness now, letting your lashes flutter as you blink up at him. “I’ve done it before. I like it.”

“Fuck,” Hoseok breathes. “I want to do everything you like.”

“Please?” You ask sweetly, and Hoseok is already getting to his feet, one hand still cupping your jaw.

“Pretty,” he murmurs, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “So pretty when you beg to suck my cock.” You’re smiling, your fingers slipping under his waistband to slide his briefs down his legs.

“Take your dress off, baby,” Hoseok instructs as he steps back to finish pulling off his underwear. “Don’t wanna ruin it.”

You do as you’re told, staying on your knees to pull it over your head, your heart squeezing again when he takes it from you and treats it as gently as his own clothes. It’s oddly domestic to watch him fold the smooth fabric with shaking hands, naked except for his jewelry, his hard dick leaking against his stomach.

When he turns back to you, you take the opportunity to properly admire him. His cock is as flushed and gorgeous as the rest of him, thick and dripping wet from his tip. You duck down to press a kiss to the sensitive spot under his head, then slide your lips up to gloss over his slit, slicking your mouth with his precum.

You look up at him, hands gripping the backs of his thighs; Hoseok’s eyelids are heavy with lust as he watches you work, tongue toying at the corner of his mouth. He groans a little as you pop just the head into your mouth and swirl your tongue over it, tasting the salt of him.

His hand slides to the back of your head, tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, and his adam’s apple jerks in his throat as he swallows.

“Tap my foot if you need to stop.” Hoseok’s voice is quiet but firm, and his socked toes wiggle, brushing against your knee pressed into the carpet. “Okay?”

You hum your acknowledgement and maintain eye contact as he holds you still and slides his cock into your mouth. He starts off at a gentle pace, and you hollow your cheeks around him, pressing your tongue flat so it drags over his shaft as he starts to pump in and out of you.

As much as you want him in control, there’s a part of you that can’t help yourself– you lean forward, eyes fluttering closed, wanting to prove to him how much you can take. The head of his cock starts to stretch down your throat and you focus on breathing steady through your nose, your muscles jumping around him in a half-swallow.

“Fuck,” Hoseok groans, his voice dark and rough-edged. You can feel drool starting to leak out of your mouth, and the mess just makes it better. “You take it so well.”

His hips keep rolling, withdrawing his cock into the heat of your mouth only to push it back down the tight clutch of your throat. It gets easier as he starts to move faster, the weight of him pressing bright on your gag reflex in shorter and shorter bursts. It’s just enough to make tears well up in your eyes. They eventually spill over, staining your cheeks until your face is slick and wet, like the sounds of him hitting the back of your throat, all of it obscene and hot.

The hand in your hair tightens as he pulls you all the way down on his shaft until your nose is flush with his abdomen and your throat bulges, filled with him. He holds you there, eyes roaming hungrily over your face.

“You look so sweet with my cock down your throat, baby.”

The hum of agreement you try makes you gag a little, and he quickly releases, pulling out to let you gasp for air. Your tongue lolls out of your mouth as you smile up at him, dazed, and catch your breath.

“Was that too much?” His brows pinch together slightly with concern. You wipe a hand over your nose and shake your head.

“I want more, Hobi,” you purr, moving your face back towards his dick. You lean forward to lazily drag your tongue up his shaft for emphasis. “Want you to come on my face,” you admit as you fix your gaze on him.

You swear you feel his knees almost buckle when you take him in your mouth again.

“You are so fucking sexy,” Hoseok practically growls, hand returning to the nape of your neck. He pushes himself back down your throat and starts to pick up the pace. You want him all and take it easily now, drool slicking your neck and chest when you swallow around his length.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, and you can feel his cock twitch on your tongue as he fucks roughly into your mouth, chasing his orgasm. “Oh my god.”

Hoseok’s grip on your hair goes slack and he pulls out, hand pumping fast over his drool-glossed cock. He tips his head back, exposing the column of his throat with a heady whine when he starts to come. You’re up on your knees and ready for it, nose bumping his fist, face presented for him to paint. Warm spurts of cum hit your cheeks, tongue, lips, and you giggle a little as you try to hold still, as he makes another throaty grunt of effort and release.

“Shit,” he hisses as the movements of his hand slow, as he works out the last of it, stray drips already trailing down your neck, between the valley of your breasts. “Fuuuck.” His breathing is ragged, and you press a wet kiss to the tip of his dick as he recovers.

He’s clearly already focused on the mess he’s made of you, spinning in a dazed semi-circle before reaching to grab a box of tissues off of the desk. His bare knees thud on the carpet as he sinks down next to you.

You’re surprised when he leans in to kiss you, humming softly against your mouth, tongue even darting out to lick at the cum that drips off your lips. You smile into it, teeth gently grazing over his bottom lip.

“Hi,” he huffs a laugh as he leans back. “Was that okay? Not too much?”

You shake your head. “I liked it,” you say again, though your voice comes out a little hoarse. “Wouldn’t have asked for it if I didn’t. I like you. I–” your breath hitches slightly with nerves, and it’s funny to you, that it’s easy to ask him to fuck your throat, but hard to talk about the bigger feelings underneath. It’s more intimate, somehow, to be earnest. “You always worry so much about everyone else. I just want to take care of you.”

“You can.” Hoseok’s voice is gentle and warm. “We both can.” He pulls a tissue loose from the box, hovering close to you. “Let me clean you up.”

You’re too blissed out to stop yourself from giggling. “You have a whole party to get back to.” You nod dumbly at the verity of your own statement as he uses tissues to wipe cum and drool off your face, tear stains and smudged makeup from your cheeks.

“This,” he swipes a thumb down over your bottom lip, chases it with another quick kiss, “was so much better than a fucking party.” He adds the last of the dampened tissues to the small pile he’s made on the floor, tilting your jaw with his hand to inspect his work, to ensure perfection as he does with everything. “But I probably don’t have much longer before people start looking for me.”

“You should go,” you say quietly, trying to ignore the drop in your stomach.

His hand slips into yours for the second time tonight. “Will you come with me? I know it’s not really your thing.”

You falter momentarily– not because you don’t want to, but you can’t shake your own self-consciousness, this sense that you don’t belong here, rubbing elbows with all these famous people. But it’s hard to feel like any of that matters with the way Hoseok is looking at you, the soft turn of his lips in a barely-there smile.

“Are you sure?”

“Very.” He gives your hand an affirming squeeze. “Do I need to remind you that this entire party is literally for you?”

You shake your head, rolling your eyes at his antics despite the laugh that bubbles up in your throat. “I still can’t believe you. What is this, The Great Gatsby?”

His laugh is high and sweet, hand untangling from yours to wrap both arms around your waist, and he pulls you into his chest, bare skin on bare skin, hearts beating together. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, Hobi,” you relent. “I’ll go back with you. Besides, Jimin promised to feed me.”

You can feel Hoseok’s smile as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Come on, then. I promise it’ll be fun. If we get Jungkook drunk enough he’ll probably start dancing on the stage.”

“Now that I have to see.”

#hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #bts smut #bts x reader #hoseok x y/n

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twopoppies · 5 months

Note

Are the any new fics (within the last couple months) that are good? I’m in a reading drought and I feel like I’ve read every Larry fic there is :( I got so desperate I even thought about looking into f/m fics..

NOOOOO NOT THE HET FICS. DON’T DO IT. 😆

I think I’m just going to use your ask to post my year-end favorite fics. Hope you don’t mind.

It’s been a tough year for me, and I haven’t gotten to read a ton, but these are all excellent.

Secrets, Santa? By @indiaalphawhiskey (E, 19K) disaster gay Harry in all his bumbling, endearing glory still manages to make his incredibly hot boss (Louis) fall for him. This one has snappy dialogue, great internal monologue, and scorching smut. I’d expect nothing less from this author.

your lips in the low light by etherealbliss / @givesuethemoon (E, 21K) It’s been a long time since I read a Larry Uni AU, and this one checked all the boxes. This author managed to really capture the immaturity and obsessive emotions of university age lovers arguing and breaking up, and making each other jealous, and fucking and fighting some more, and ultimately making up. Harry is bratty and sensitive and Louis is dense and long-suffering and they’re perfect for each other.

Scorpions et Madragores by Stria / @nooradeservedbetter (E, 23K) Read the tags and author’s note on this one because there are some themes that could be triggering. This is a dark fic and Harry is a pretty creepy vampire, but the story is very well told and there’s a happy ending.

2 a.m. texts by everysingleday / @sun-lt (T, 30K) This was very sweet and very funny and had just enough sexiness (although I wouldn’t have minded more. LOL!) Link is to a download.

The Doppel Effect by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright (T, 6K) the concept for this fic was so original and a really compelling read, I can’t help but hope the author gets inspired to continue this ‘verse.

Danger I Can’t Hide by CelticSky (E, 227K) This one’s got all the tension and drama you’d expect of a World War II story—life and death high stakes, friends and lovers unexpectedly torn apart, battles and heroism, plus the added stakes of classism and homophobia—then add a slow burn, high risk, scorching love affair spanning years. If you want a story that’s complex and fantastically researched, plus lovers to root for, read it. It’s long. But I couldn’t put it down. When I finally did, I picked it right back up and read it twice more. It’s that good.

one conversation by fondleeds (NR, 1K) This really is just a couple of scenes, and the story is open-ended, but, if for no other reason, read it for the beautiful way the sentences flow. My notes on every fic of theirs begin with: “I wish I could write like this.”

Night Shift by banaanipoika (E, 9K) This was incredibly sexy and beautifully written. I loved that there was such a unique setting with so much descriptive language making me feel like I could smell and feel everything in that hospital room.

On The Pull by @homosociallyyours (E, 4K) Short, but really sexy and just the right amount of bittersweet and hopeful. Loved the characterizations and the smooth writing. So few people write canon Larry these days so this was a nice change of pace.

Devil in my brain, whispering my name by @lunarheslwt (E, 9K) i i thought this author struck a great balance between the dirtiness of a demon defiling an angel and the way the angel gave in to his desire to be defiled. Super sexy.

pull you closer (kiss me harder) by @sunshineandthemoonlight (E, 6K) This was absolutely beautiful — just the perfect amount of tension and wistfulness to make me tear up. But then it was sexy and full of hope at the end. I loved how Louis supported Harry and gave him exactly what he needed (and really, H gave Louis what he needed, too).

#my fic rec #Favorite fics 2023 #Larry fic rec

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wood-white-writer · 7 months

Text

"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [4/...]

- OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

"I think my brain is rotting in places, I think my heart is ready to die, I think my body's falling in pieces, I think my blood is passing me by."

— Mitski, "Brand New City"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 | Part 6

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. Years have passed since you last saw Buggy following the dispute that you thought ended your friendship. When you finally reunite with the blue-haired menace you once considered your closest friend, it’s under less than “friendly” circumstances.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, LA!Verse, Buggy is a lonely asshole, "Cross-Hairs"/reader is a lonely asshole too, flashbacks, semi-canon divergence, Reader is strong AF, a mixture of both the Reader's and Buggy's POVs, angst

A/N: This chapter is a little shorter than usual with only 2.2k words... Sorry.

Taglist:@kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

You’re like a savage beast when you’re fighting, Buggy admits to himself in awe as he watches you tear through your opponents one by one with substantially more strength than anyone thought your body capable of.

But Buggy's not just anybody. He's always known that your body is of a special sort, an Iron Maiden encompassed by skin, flesh, veins, arteries, and ligaments; capable of bringing ruin to anyone and anything if only you have reason enough. Chains can't hold you, nor can any power on this earth.

He relishes in it.

You have your sword and your pistol both disposable at the belt on your hip, but you seem to have no interest in wielding them for the battle. No, your body is a weapon on its own; a blade cutting through people like grass straws on a narrow field.

It’s during times like these — when he gets to watch your strength from the front rows — that he wonders whether you’ve eaten a Devil Fruit of your own at some point, but that can't be. He’s seen you swim.

You, him, and Shanks had been simply traveling through the town where the Oro Jackson was docked, minding your own business when a group of rival pirates suddenly ambushed you. Thinking they easily could kidnap the apprentices of the famous Gol D. Roger and demand ransom, the shidiots would quickly come to realize that they made a mistake.

A very costly one at that. One they will be sure not to repeat.

Whereas he and Shanks stand partnered together against a few of the rival group, you are holding your own quite well from the other side of the fight. He swears he saw one of the men flying over him at some point, though it might’ve just been a trick of the adrenaline.

Kicking one of the larger pirates straight in the balls with his lower body severed from the rest, he turns his upper body to catch a glimpse of you in case you need help.

What he sees instead is a flash of the sun reflecting in your eyes as you pounce at your prey, casting a yellow line in the air that reminds him of lightning about to strike the ground. Everything around him seems to cease mid-motion save for you. There is no fighting going on, no shouting, no Shanks telling him to take cover from an incoming blow.

All he sees is you, and all he hears is his own voice telling him: "Gods, you’re fucking marvelous."

The last thing he hears is Shanks shouting his name before the world begins to darken around him, and the last thing he sees is lightning making its way toward him, destroying everything in its path to get to him.

He wonders drowsily if it's going to strike him too.

———

The fight that ensues reminds you of the battles you partook in during your years as Captain. The chaos in it all. The carnage. The general inability to think properly as you fight. Of course, your opponents back then lacked Buggy's uncanny ability to split up into multiple parts while still alive, but it doesn't stop you.

Nothing on this earth can.

Blades are thrown, skin is cut, and by the time you get close enough to reach him, a number of props have scattered to pieces in the midst of your warfare. It seems like an endless battle trying to defeat him, just get him to fucking stay still.

Just as you reach for Buggy's chest with your nails reached out to claw at his vest, his midsection separates and all you're left with is air. Just empty air.

He cackles as he puts himself back a few good feet from where you're standing. "C'mon! Put your back into it! It's like you're not even tryin—!"

In a flash, your face is hairsbreadths away from his, and it feels like everything around him stops.

At that moment, he realizes that the golden color of the sun has not left your eyes. Only to find that, upon closer inspection, it's not the color of the sun that he's met with.

It's thunder, and it strikes hard.

Before he has the chance to blink, the next thing he knows is the feeling of a boulder being pushed against his stomach. Not a sound leaves his throat save for a guttural groan, and he finds himself on the ground before he knows it with stars adorning the edges of his vision.

Gods, he thinks while in a state of both pain and exhausted satisfaction, your face a blurred canvas in his eyes. You’re so fucking marvelous.

By the time Nami and Zoro debut to join the battle, you have already pinned Buggy to the ground with your legs planted firmly on each side of his hips, and a bruising grip around his neck as you press your forearm down onto it. Not enough to cut his flow of oxygen, but enough so that he doesn't have the capacity to move unless he splits.

His face, the very same face you used to paint when you were younger, looks up at you with nothing short of manic glee. He doesn't even divide himself up to get free this time. It's almost like merely connecting to him, even during an act of violence such as this, is enough to keep him entertained. Happy, you dare think.

You find those sea-blue eyes looking up at you, and before you try and strike the finishing blow, you hesitate. You fuckinghesitate, because when it all comes down to it, you can't find it in yourself to kill him.

The legendary Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates, the executioner of a thousand marines and other pirates, can't kill something this time.

You can't kill him. You can't kill those ocean-blue eyes, even when your body yearns to see through with what you promised. You always stick to your promises, but for the first time in forever, you don't. You can't.

Not him.

Never him.

Meanwhile, Buggy can't help examining you like you're the most fascinating creature he's ever laid his eyes on, because you are. Even after all this time, he's still as drawn to the fire in your eyes that as he was all those years ago. It's a feeling he can never hope to extinguish.

Nor does he want to.

Being the jester that he is, however, he takes the moment to his advantage. This one, vulnerable moment. It's not out of pettiness, but survival. Nothing personal.

He separates his femur and exploits the momentum to knock you off him. He can tell you're surprised as you position yourself on your knees and hands, yet it only takes you a ghost of a moment to recover.

The fire is back in your eyes, a thousand times brighter this time, and the fight continues.

Now, neither of you holds back, and he becomes first-hand acquainted with just how ruthless truly you can be. When there is nothing keeping you down.

Truth be told, it excites him. Very much so.

He has the Bounty Hunter and the Tangerine-haired girl hot on his tail, but he hardly provides them a medium of his attention. You're the only thing he can't take his eyes off.

"NAMI! THE CRATES!"

And that's where the entire play gradually comes to an end. Maybe it's what pisses him off the most?

You stalk after his separated body parts like a hunter after a flock of deer, throwing them into the crates as the rest of your companions follow suit. Whereas Nami and Zoro are strategic with their actions, complementing each other, you're acting on pure, unadulterated wrath.

You do not have Luffy's stretchy capabilities, Zoro's precision, or Nami's diligence.

What you have is something far, far deadlier.

It's twenty years of pent-up heartache.

Catching pieces of him is much easier than catching all of him.

This is what it's come to, with you and him fighting; with you and him having different goals. It's not the future you envisioned for yourself at all. In fact, it's the exact opposite. If you knew then what you know now, you would've ...

Once, it was you and him together against the rest of the world. Now, it's you against him, against the rest of the world.

You can feel your eyes threaten to sting as you catch his femur and throw it in an open box that promptly shuts, but like with everything else, you push it down. You push it until all that remains is the vague ache.

It doesn't matter, you tell yourself. This is what it will stay like.

In the end, all of his body parts save for his head, hands, and feet are spared from the confinement of the containers, and when he melds them together to a pathetically small version of his usual self, you can't help but address the irony of the situation.

"What have you done to me?!" Buggy cries.

Luffy grins as he caresses his beloved hat, having suffered the most injuries. "Cut you down to size."

Buggy looks as small as you felt that day. Helpless. Pathetic. Reduced to almost nothing.

Still, it's not a moment that brings you any happiness. Not any victory, or satisfaction. You don't even have the urge to gloat.

All it brings you, as you tower over him from the side, is nothingness.

You're tempted to kick him, and you almost do. You take a step closer to him, a river of anger rushing through your veins. With nowhere else to go, it circles.

"The One Piece will never be yours!" Buggy yells and flaps his hands, too focused on Luffy to notice you calmly stalking toward him from the dark. "You're just a sad, lonely little boy, wearing another man's hat!"

It’s Shanks’s hat, you want to scream. Our friend’s hat. Don’t you remember?

Luffy's words don't register with you as you kneel in front of the shortened clown, nor do Nami's questions or Zoro's inquisitive eyes. It all tunes out into the background as you raise your hand slowly to Buggy, and you think about how easy it will be. It will be so easy to end it now. He's weak, he's practically defenseless. There's nothing to stop you now.

Buggy simply stares when he notices you, his mouth slightly parted in what you can only perceive as surprise and ... disbelief? You take one final look at his face, the same face you used to paint long ago, and you briefly wonder how many layers of white, red, and blue separate this one from the touches you applied years ago.

Is there still some residue left? Any fingerprint? Does anything from you still linger with him, or did he try to scrub your touches off his face the same way he tried to scrub you from his life altogether?

Buggy is completely still as your outstretched fingers close in on him, and he thinks that this is it. Now's the moment when you will make good on your threats, where you'll finally kill him. Truth be told, it's a less-than-satisfactory way to go, but surprisingly enough, it doesn't bother him half as much as he expected it would.

Maybe it's because, after all this time, it's still you until the end? You and him, like it was always meant to be.

He closes his eyes with a sigh and finds that the edge of his lip tilts a little up. "Go for it," he says, awaiting the moment when your calloused fingers grip him. He can anticipate your nails clawing at his scalp, tearing the skin of his cranium, digging until there is nothing left to tear at.

Devil Fruit or not, you're the only one he'll let end him like this.

Except, you don't.

All he feels are your fingertips gently grazing the sides of his cheek, so uncharacteristically soft against his thin stubbles that he could've mistaken it for air brushing his face.

The same hands he knows capable of such great feats of violence and brutality, the same ones who had just fought against him with enough strength to match a beast, are touching him like he's made of glass.

He snaps his eyes open, and when he meets your gaze, he's surprised to find them ... empty. Hollow.

The sun is gone, and so is the thunder. Now, there are only clouds in his view.

"Goodbye, Buggy." Your voice is so tranquil that he strains to hear it, and before he gets to, you stand up again and turn your back to him. "He's all yours, Luffy."

No, no! He tries to walk up to you, but his shortened sature won't let him. Don't look away, not yet! Look at me! If only to keep your fucking promise! Just fucking pleas—Please just look at me again!

"GUM-GUM—!"

"No, no, no!" Buggy, for the first time in his life, begs as the kid stretches his arms backward. Not like this. Not yet. He tries to search for you, only to discover that you've already left the circus tent. "Wait, wait, wait! Just wait!"

"— BAZOOKA!"

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #one piece live action #buggy one piece #buggy x reader #one piece x reader #buggy the clown fanfiction #one piece #one piece buggy

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doodle-pops · 6 months

Text

House of Fingolfin | Being In An Arranged Marriage With Them

A/N: This takes place in Valinor, in a no–darkening verse and arranged marriages are common traditions among the elves. By now, I'm considering this an AU within the Silm verse with all the ideas that’s been swimming in my mind after writing each headcanon (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Warnings: feelings of neglect and loneliness, resentment, disputes, there is some comfort, angst because it's an arranged marriage

Arranged Marriage AU: Arafinweans ver.

☆ . ࣪ ˖ ࿐ Fingolfin

Fingolfin strongly resents being told what to do. However, if complying benefits his family and upholds his royal status as an exemplar for princes, he will reluctantly follow through. In this context, he would have no significant objections to an arranged marriage.

He genuinely believes in his father’s good intentions and considers his mother’s agreement as final. Fingolfin would attentively attend the meeting, listening to the criteria and rationale for the arrangement while occasionally glancing at your disheartened expression.

Initially, he might struggle to comprehend why you don’t view the situation as a win–win, given that you’re marrying a prince and about to enjoy a luxurious lifestyle. The notion of being forced into this or having a lover only dawns on Fingolfin when his younger brother or a friend brings it up.

He’s determined to make the relationship work and hopes you won’t be confrontational or resist connecting with each other. Your reluctance to make things work is a source of frustration for him, but his pride prevents him from complaining to others.

But it is important to keep in mind that as much as he’s fighting you to make this work, he is respectful of your boundaries and personal space.

“I may have been slow to realise your reservations about the arrangement, but may I ask that you at least attempt not to distance yourself when all I want is for this to go smoothly? Yes, we will be married soon, but I’m not suggesting a romantic involvement, just a basic level of cooperation to ease the tension, please.”

He’s eager to make the arrangement a success because he sees it as essential for his role as a prince and a way to outshine his older brother. In Fingolfin’s perspective, this is a competition, albeit unfortunate for you.

You must assert that for this relationship to work, it shouldn’t be a platform for competition or jealousy, but rather something mutually beneficial and meaningful. You seek a partner you can rely on and trust, while he desires a confidant.

Despite the challenges, you enjoy a royal lifestyle with extravagant parties, balls, and dinners, access to the finest materials and food, a luxurious house designed to your liking, and any other desired indulgence. Fingolfin explicitly mentions that the house was created with your preferences in mind in hopes of ensuring some form of comfort is achieved.

An added benefit of the relationship is Fingolfin’s trust in your abilities as a mediator and leader. As a means to enhance communication, he gradually opens up and seeks your advice in the hopes of strengthening the arrangement.

☆ . ࣪ ˖ ࿐ Fingon

Initially, when the news was broken to him, Fingon found it all rather amusing. He doubled over and laughed in his father’s face, thinking it was some kind of joke. It took a while for the seriousness of the situation to sink in, and he soon realised that this was no laughing matter. Fingon is a free–spirited individual who believes in choosing when to marry, not never for political reasons, as was the case in this instance.

When you’re in the room, Fingon prefers to keep his anger in check and maintain a pleasant demeanour, as he doesn’t want to frighten you. He’s well aware that you had no say in this decision, and his father is the only one he has an issue with.

The sorrowful look on his face when he meets your eyes is heart–wrenching, as both of you are victims of politics. Despite the circumstances, he does his best to shield you from the harsh reality and maintain the illusion of a simple friendship.

Among all his siblings and his father, Fingon is undoubtedly the most agreeable elf to be married to. Despite his inner turmoil and his father’s constant pressure to make the relationship work, he remains cheerful and amiable in your company, ensuring your comfort throughout the entire engagement.

However, in the early days of the marriage, he was the complete opposite of his usual self, largely due to your reserved nature. He was distant and mostly silent as he grappled with controlling his temper, trying to figure out how to make the relationship work.

If he’s going to be your husband against his will, he’s determined to be the best one you could hope for. Do you require your space? You got it. Do you not wish to see or speak to him? He’ll respect it. Do you want him to stop pretending that everything’s perfect? You’ll get that as well, although it may not be what you expect.

“You might be expecting me to shout, scream, or completely ignore you. I couldn’t bring myself to do any of that, though, as it’s not how my mother raised me to behave when I’m dissatisfied... I understand that you see through the façade I put up; it’s mostly to get my father off my back. But it’s not an act when I’m around you.”

Count on Fingon to make your forced marriage bearable and tolerable. He alleviates the typical anxiety associated with arranged marriages by filling it with unconditional love, support, appreciation, and trust. He never lets the burden fall on you and always stands by your side, ready to defend you.

One thing he won’t tolerate is anyone belittling your role as his spouse, whether it’s from your family or his. He respects your choices and ensures that you’re comfortable before engaging in anything personal.

Fingon never rushes you into anything uncomfortable and allows you to make decisions, trusting your judgment and revealing his vulnerability. He sees this as a hopeful approach to overcoming the arranged marriage label that hangs over your heads.

☆ . ࣪ ˖ ࿐ Turgon

Even if it were his father delivering the news that an arranged marriage was necessary to uphold the family name, Turgon was on the verge of overturning a table and vanishing before his father could reveal your name. However, Turgon knew he wouldn’t get far before being compelled to return home and address the situation.

It was the gloomiest atmosphere in recent memory when he was in the room, glaring at your presence as you entered with your family. The whole ordeal made him feel nauseous, especially when he observed how supportive his mother was in the matter.

Turgon didn’t speak or acknowledge your existence. If you were residing in your preexisting home, you both slept in separate quarters. He even made an effort to become familiar with your schedule to ensure you didn’t cross paths because he wanted to avoid giving the impression of any interest in making things work.

It felt like living alone with a brooding spectre who constantly muttered under his breath as though he was casting a spell. He was quick to anger and often directed his frustration at everyone around him, not just his and your parents. Congratulations, you were arranged to someone who unjustly blamed you.

Like his cousins, you had to assert yourself and demand respect, forcing your voice above his constant grumbling.

“Listen, I’ll make this clear just once, so don’t make me repeat myself. Stop blaming me and direct your frustrations at my parents and yours. We’re in this together whether we like it or not—so accept it and put an end to the complaining, just like I did. We’re going to make this work—we don’t have to share a bed or be best friends, but we should find common ground and understanding. I won’t accept ‘no’ as an answer, as it’s proven to be pointless, so stop whining and work with me!”

You earned his respect because no one had the audacity to confront him like that without fearing his explosive anger. From that day on, there was a subtle change in the household routine, like not avoiding your schedules and sharing the same space (excluding the bedroom).

Any attempts at conversation were initiated by you, and you had to strain your ears to catch his mumbled responses. When it came to public appearances, he was as stiff as a board and communicated sparingly.

However, it was his instinct to defend you and his family if anyone made disrespectful comments about your situation. That was something for him and you to contemplate, not for others to meddle in, so someone would be put in their place. That night, you saw the most emotion from him apart from his temper.

An incident like that brought you both a step closer to displaying your emotions and feelings, particularly your protectiveness toward him. As simple as it may seem, he wanted to know about your day and if anyone insulted you when you were out. It was a step in the growth of your relationship.

☆ . ࣪ ˖ ࿐ Argon

Argon is fucking bewildered and struggling to comprehend the situation because he’s still a young individual being informed of an arranged marriage he never wanted. He responds with profanity and loud protests until his father intervenes to calm him down.

He despises every moment of it, particularly when he recalls how his cousins and brothers were subjected to the same process. He can’t believe he’s in the same situation despite his strong desire to find love on his own. Even if you were present in the room, his anger blinds him to your concern.

For days to weeks, you two may not exchange words, with occasional glances and stares being the only form of communication. Even after the marriage, he only engages in minimal conversation, ensuring your well–being and comfort in the shared space, though his tone is often filled with bitterness.

Initially, your marriage feels like cohabitating with a mere housemate, as your interactions are limited to household chores. Meaningful conversations based on your interests are virtually non–existent. It would take significant time and effort before either of you musters the courage to address the awkward silence in the house, ideally during breakfast.

“May I speak? No, it’s not about breakfast; it’s about us. We’ve been living like roommates for months, hardly even acquaintances. All we do together is eat and do chores. I know you’re still upset about this arrangement—so am I—but I’d appreciate it if we could replace this white noise with something resembling friendship. We’re already living together, so we’re past the stage of being strangers.”

Argon is genuinely sorry to discover that you desire more meaningful interactions rather than distance, which he had assumed. Your first breakthrough occurs when you jest about his misinterpretation of your gestures, breaking the awkward silence with a touch of Argon’s playful nature.

Following in the footsteps of his eldest brother, he emulates his gestures in the hopes of fostering a deeper connection. Although his emotions make him eager and impulsive, he doesn’t want you to bear the blame for his dissatisfaction.

Eventually, a level of vulnerability emerges in your discussions, allowing both of you to overcome this significant turning point in your lives. More joy and laughter infuse the household as you both express your opinions, views on the situation, and expectations for the future. Given his youth and the wealth of advice he’s received on arranged marriages, he engages in meaningful conversations to ensure you share the same expectations.

He has no intention of subjecting you to the mistreatment that others might inflict on their spouses, placing trust in you and expecting the same in return. For the majority of your marriage, despite lingering awkwardness, you manage to build a friendship with someone who is open and respectful.

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind

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fafefae · 4 months

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on the topic of alastor's hatred for vox vs alastor's hatred for lucifer, there's actually a HUGE difference. one is a hatred based in mutual respect and spite (some may call it rivalry, others, kismesissitude), but the other one is just pure unhealthy toxic hatred.

here's my thoughts on alastor's reasoning behind why he hates lucifer, and also some speculation on why alastor seemed so insistent on calling himself charlie's dad when that's so wildly out of character for him in the context of the theory that lilith is the one holding alastor's leash. his relationship (as in, his interactions) with lucifer are not a personal choice; this has his own soul on the line with lilith involved, and it puts him on edge. he's extremely manipulative in "hell's greatest dad" and for the entire rest of the episode too.

but enough about that, in this post im gonna look at alastor and vox, because unlike alastor and lucifer singing "hell's greatest dad", (in which alastor is genuinely fighting to push lucifer out of charlie's life and to keep him gone for ulterior reasons), alastor makes an effort to meet vox as an equal while singing "stayed gone", pushing and allowing vox to push back. his relationship with vox is a personal choice he continues to make.

because by the time vox realizes alastor's back, alastor has been back for a week, and yet it's only when vox announces it on TV that alastor decides to do his first radio broadcast since his return. the radio demon, waiting to do something he loves that he hasn't done in seven years? but that's what he did, alastor waited for vox to initiate something via TV broadcast before jumping in with a radio broadcast.

"did anybody miss him? did anybody notice?"

vox seems really desperate to dismiss how much alastor's return doesn't bother him, how much he doesn't care about where alastor's been, and how much better he's been doing without alastor,

"while he hid in radio, we've pivoted to video!" ... "hell's been better since he split, where's he been, who gives a shit?!"

which REALLY sounds like someone who's been rejected and is bitter about it. and when alastor sings his verses later in the song, that's actually exactly what he says!

"and here's the sugar on the cream, he asked me to join his team! i said no, and now he's pissy, that's the tea!"

alastor REJECTED vox's offer to be part of the Vees, but then alastor seems to have no trouble meeting vox on his own turf. in fact, he seems to get some enjoyment out of riling vox up, to the point where alastor pretty much admits he kept tabs on vox while he was gone those seven years.

"is vox insecure, pursuing allure? flitting between this fad and that, is nothing working? every day, he's got a new format!"

alastor finds this rivalry with vox enjoyable. one could argue that vox is obsessed with alastor, but i'm gonna argue that the inverse is true as well. alastor is JUST AS OBSESSED with vox as vox is with him, and the proof is in the way alastor speaks.

"instead of a clout-chasing mediocre video podcast" ... "now he's pissy, that's the tea!"

those are MODERN SLANG PHRASES. one of alastor's biggest character traits is that he despises modernity, or really, anything that came after he died. and YET, he updated his slang to not only keep up with vox, but meet him as an equal on vox's turf. "see? i can do it too."

and vox does meet him back! the instrumental of "stayed gone" starts off with some electro technical modern sounds (vox's sounds), but when vox opens up the rest of the song to address alastor in his broadcast, it switches to a big band jazzy sound that's extremely reminiscent of the 1920s-1930s, aka, vox is singing a song that's backed by something that is alastor's theming. this is vox meeting alastor. "see? i can do that too."

because at the end of it all, they're actually both the same kind of demon; they're both focused on entertainment, which truly makes them equals. it's just how they both go about it that makes them different.

vox's domain extends over modern entertainment and two of the biggest entertainment industries (adult entertainment and pop-culture) are already in his pocket. the real leader of the Vees is vox (not velvette, as much as she likes to believe she is). but vox wants all of the entertainment domain under his control; for all that vox makes fun of alastor, he still asked alastor to join his team, because radio and podcasts are entertainment, and more importantly, they're sections of the entertainment domain that alastor will never give up.

vox will never stop chasing after alastor, but alastor enjoys that. he enjoys having something vox will never have, and he enjoys that it makes him equal and relevant to vox. and as much as vox proclaims he'll make alastor wish he'd stayed gone, he knows very well he can't control alastor, and alastor knows this very well too.

and that's what makes him so alluring to vox! vox is used to being able to control people! he easily calms valentino down, he easily hypnotizes the masses, but alastor? vox knows damn well that alastor is his equal. and alastor knows damn well that vox is his equal.

"oh, this will be fun."

#hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #vox hazbin hotel #staticradio #staticlovetune #<- ??? i think #UM. SORRY FOR THE LONG POST. I WAS POSSESSED.

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harrysfolklore · 1 year

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Someone throwing something onstage and it hits bandmate yn and he gets all upset??

here it is! this was previously posted on patreon, if you want access to my work earlier and exclusive writings, SUBSCRIBE HERE

BANDMATE!YN MASTERLIST

ask me anything | masterlist | likes and reblogs are appreciated !

Harry loved performing, and now that he gets to do that alongside with his girlfriend, he loves it even more.

His shows are known for being a safe space for everyone, a place where they can be whoever they want to be, dance the night away, meet new people and if they’re lucky enough, get some advice from their favorite singer or get him to catch something they throw on stage for him.

All kinds of stuff were thrown on stage for him and his band: flags, stuffed animals, crocheted flowers, signs and sometimes even phones, but lately his fans were fond on throwing water on stage, with the purpose of starting a water fight with Harry.

Harry didn’t have a problem with his fans throwing stuff his way, in fact, he quite enjoyed seeing what they come up with, but he surely wasn’t fond of them throwing water on stage because it made the space all slippery and easy for him or anyone on his band to fall. Some fans caught up that he didn’t like when they did that, being able to tell it by the serious face he makes when he notices it, but some decide to turn a blind eye and do it anyway, and that was tonight’s case.

The band was on stage halfway through their 8th of 15 shows in Los Angeles, adrenaline running through their veins as they performed Medicine, Harry and YN had a tradition of singing the second verse together so she always moved towards where his mic stand was set to share the microphone with him, and every single time the action made the fans go nuts. Tonight wasn’t the exception, as the second verse approached, YN moved to where Harry was already waiting for her, but she failed to notice the wet surface that made her slip and fall, landing on her elbow and cutting it open since she was wearing a tank top for the night.

“Shit,” Harry let out on the microphone as he hurried towards his girlfriend, not caring about the fact that he stopped mid song and everyone in the arena was looking, “Baby, are you okay?” he grabbed her face looking for an answer before he noticed her bleeding elbow “Of course you’re not, fucking wet floors, they should know by now throwing water is not the goddamn thing to do.” he spoke again, fans on the barricade could faintly hear him and the anger on his voice was evident, along with his sour expression and furrowed brows.

"I'm okay H, I just need a quick bandage and I'll be good to go," YN said as she got up from the floor with Harry's help, looking at her elbow for the first time and noticing that her injure was worse than she thought.

"Nonsense, I need to take you to the hospital, this show is over," his face was as serious as the tone of his voice, proper upset that his girlfriend got injured because of some careless fans.

“You're being irrational now, we're not ditching the show when there's just two songs left, let me get bandaged up so I can keep playing, and go back to singing or everyone will be upset," YN scolded him as she walked to the stairs to get off the stage, a medical crew was already waiting for her for a quick check up

"Fuck everyone."

And regardless of a crowd of more than 20,000 people waiting for him, he followed his girlfriend off the stage, stood next to her as the medical crew cleaned and bind up her elbow, luckily the injury was pretty superficial and no stitches were needed, however, Harry was still pretty much upset and worried.

"Once we get up that stage again you're going to wipe that angry face off and we're going to play the last two songs as if nothing happened, okay?" YN scolded him again, she was bummed about getting hurt too but she wasn't going to let him take it out on his fans just because a couple of them were the reason she got injured.

"Okay, but everyone can expect a lecture about throwing water tomorrow, that's for sure" he kissed her lips quickly before they went back to the stage, and even with an injured elbow YN still delivered a great performance like the rock star she is.

taglist: @cucciolafaerie @eleanordaisy @sunflowersndpeaches @golden-hoax @alienorknight t @daydreamingofmatilda @sunflowervolume66 @vanteguccir @ivyproblems @ayeshathestyles @stylesmygucci i @gimsaysay @rosaliedepp @dontworrysunflower @milfrrynation @manifestrry @iceebabies @harrystylesrecs @pleasingrryyy @harianaswhore @leadmetogarden @abeanontoast @grapejuice-rry @vrittivsanghavi @msolbesg @tati813 @sad1esgf @ivegotparticulartaste @eviesaurusrex @itsgabbysblog @theekyliepage @gumballavocadoharry @watermelonsugacry @be-with-me-so-happily @a-strange-familiar @reveriehs @musicforcinemas @rafeyyyyy @tinydeskwriter @noooovaaaaa @tenaciousperfectionunknown @mxltifxnd0m @rach2602 @balletdancerry @b-reads-things @juiceboxrry @lomlolivia @itsgigikay

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i-cannot-spell-chaos · 11 months

Text

Webs and Masks

(I don't own image)

(Yandere spider verse platonic and romantic x Villain! Spider man reader!)

(Sorry it took so long! warning cursing!Sorry if it's bad!)

A comic was slapped on the table the cover showing You a spider man jumping away from a crime scene. SO let explain shall we? You had been Spider man for a year and a half. Getting bit by a radioactive spider on the ankle when rescuing a scientist who sadly passed due to radiation from an experiment called InSpid mutation where they would mutate spiders but the spiders got loose. You did die legally speaking having to claw your way out of your grave is not recommended. *You look at Uncle Ben spider man 'how the fuck'* So you decided since you were dead technically you would run the under streets of New York. You expected a hero however he never came your fate had changed. You found out through the discovery of the multi verse and time lines. The spider who was supposed to create your rival had been brought to another universe. Due to this your canon event didn't happen meaning you weren't a true spider man just a villain who is spider man?

SO to sum it up you were bit by a radioactive clone spider became villain spider man and is working on creating a way to go into different universes.

Other than that you like visiting your neighbor every Sunday for game night. This family was the Morales family your universe is the only universe you're alive in all the other universes you go missing or you're found dead by spider man. You hoped this peace will stay for as long as it can.

Until a portal opens in your lab or a spot? A man with a plain white face and a spot in the middle popped his head out looking around. Thoughts run in your head but the main one is how the hell is he doing that. The man looked at you before asking "Hey do you want to fuck up this Spider guy's introduction? He's kinda attacking my rival Miles Morales and I need someone to be in the inside" You look at him wide eyes grabbing his face. "He's attacking my buddy? I'm gonna crush that man with my thighs" You jumped through the portal getting sent to this spider verse HQ

"So it hasn't happened yet but Miles Morales will show up in two months sorry" The portal closes behind you.

You look around realizing how fucked you are in this situation. He sent you a month ahead?! You got caught in an hour after glitching and was brought to Miguel o Hara. After finding who you were and why you were there you were given a day watch to stop the glitching. Miguel was curious about you and your time line theory.

You spent hours explaining it and showing it through spider webs. The Spider can choose different webs Some Spiders don't even have webs but the things that make them all alike is what defines them. Every Spider man has choices that change in different universes that is their time line however if it changed the time line collapse on itself. Sometimes these webs are built and can change however if they are already prone to change. For example you can say anything to a person in pompeii before the volcanic explosion but that doesn't damage the time line since it was coming to an end.

Miguel loved this theory since it went with his until you went on with time loops and got stuck in a loop for an hour.

However the reason why you came creeped onto him before he knew it. You became friends with the children of the Spider verse MayDay,Hobie,Paviter, and Gwen. Spotting you multiple times from a window seeing you jump across buildings just to make sure they weren't injured when they came back. Wolf spider he figured due to your attachments to younger spider people. The other got quite attached to you being there. Since Miguel wouldn't allow you to leave for an odd reason.

The day it finally happened before you knew it. Miles Morales came to HQ after fighting the spot. He seemed to recognize you from his universe hugging you. At first you returned it until he didn't let go.

Miles had known the reason why you disapeared in his universe seeing it for him self. You were close to him like another dad before you went missing. Seeing you alive squeezed his heart his reaction was holding onto you.

You had to get help from Peter B and Gwen to get him off.

"Going to introduce yourself, kid?" you asked the boy patting his shoulder. "I'm Miles Morales Spider man in my universe" Miles smiled showing his teeth. "I'm Doctor (your name) the evil version of spider man in my universe bit of advice pretty sure Miguel has Rabies don't let him bite you and being spider is not all of the swing shift your weight when you jump to where you want to swing the jump matters." You smile showing off your fangs. Miles looked shocked at your fangs you really were different here.

Jess called the two of you over saying Miguel wanted to see us. Hobie groaned before you dragged him along happily. Walking in pocketing the final things for your watch. Miguel kept you here only with a day pass so you started making your own.

You plopped into a seat ignoring what was about to happen. Miles spoke to Miguel while you were finishing your watch. Everything was in place when suddenly Miguel threw a desk down at Miles scaring you. Quickly grabbing Miles away from it. You looked up at Miguel worried "The hell man! You can't just hit a kid!" You yelled at him "He's an anomly!" Miguel yelled at you glaring down at Miles.

Seeing you were backing down he looked at Miles "Let me explain...follow me" He led them to a room filled with holograms. "This is the spider verse in every universe there is cannon" Miguel went on with his lecture when he brought out cannon events. "These things happen in every universe this is what makes spider man" there was a pause a thing you dreaded with Miguel in the two months you had known him. Those pauses is when something bad will happen "That included when a chief is close to spider man they die every single time" Some thought ran through your head....you didn't know any police chief's Mile's dad never got through the police acedemy so he was a security guard in your universe..So are you really spider man you have spider man dna but are you truelly spider man haha butt oh speaking of butts why is miguel cheeked up on a tuesday afternoon? Where did he get all that ass?

Your thoughts were cut off when Miguel mentioned your name. "Huh" "(Your name)...Run!" Peter b yelled at you. Looking for the danger you saw an approaching Miguel and a running Miles. You booked it sliding easily through the halls knowing the place for weeks. Miles was right behind before jumping on your back. You stumbled in shock before continuing to run. "Don't listen to them (Your name) come back" Miguel called for you.

Now you don't know true fear unless you had been chased by Miguel. Mother fuckers growling behind you clawing at walls going through them. There was a crowd in front of you so you did the first thing that came to your head. "Evacuate the building Miguel o Hara from universe 2099 have is chasing after me and I was listening!" People usually only hear the first part so they move quickly. You passed through quickly holding Miles close before jumping. Looking down you saw Miguel's claw almost catching you. He desperate look for you brought actual fear in your bones. "Miles why is he after me" You asked Miles landing on a random building "Miguel was saying stuff about canon events when he said me saving my dad would cause my universe to collapse and the reason why your universe had no other spider man was because you were supposed to be in his!" Miles yelled catching his breath.

"I knew something was up with him but i got a plan for us. I think I finished the watch I might be able to bring you home I just need to scan you" You pressed a few button before scanning him showing his universe. Opening the portal you saw Miguel claw his was up the building. The portal was unstable but it was fully open you threw Miles through. You turn around to see Miguel right behind you breathing down your neck. "Miguel...hey bud" you say nervously backing away from him. "You weren't planning on leaving right?" Miguel asked you his hand grabbing your coat sleeve. "Close the portal Mi Vida I can take you home now" Miguel said leaning down to your neck. After spending some time with this man you knew something was up but this was to far. "Miguel let go.."You asked him breathing quickly anxiety almost pouring through your ears as you heart pounded in your chest. "Are you scared of me" Miguel asked taking off his mask showing you his face. "We all want you back. What about those spider kids will you really leave them? Your soft to soft for your own good Mi vida" Miguel whispered in your ear.

Instinct was the last thing that came out of your body. Kicking your legs using Miguel as a boost sending yourself through the portal behind you ripped you jacket with his claw. Miguel landed on his ass looking at you launching himself at the portal luckily it closed before he could get through.

You looked around seeing you were on a tall building's roof. In front of you was a wall spray painted memorial of two people on it. You and Miles's dad. "Well damn-" you were knocked out quickly.

You woke up on a couch blinking seeing yourself in a familiar place. Looking up you saw Miles tyed up to a bean bag talking to another...Miles? Oh were in the wrong universe!

"Miles!" You yelled out both boys looking at you. Miles 42 gasping seeing you awake going over to you quickly. "Careful Uncle (your name) we just didn't want you running off like before...it's really mean yelling at your family because they wanted to keep you safe and when you went missing and was pronounced dead we knew it was fake! I knew you wouldn't be killed that easily! You were just sleeping!"

...."Huh" was the only thing you could get out before passing out again.

(part 2 coming up next sorry!)

#male reader #yandere #yandere male #platonic yandere #platonic spider #yandere spiderverse #yandere spiderman #spider gwen

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auteurdelabre · 6 months

Text

Something to Fight For (series) Part 13

Word Count: 8.0K

Pairing: Dad!Joel Miller x f!reader (no use of y/n, no physical descriptions) Tommy x Maria (yay!) / Tess x Joel (temporary) / Bill x Frank (forever)

Warnings: Smuuuuuuuut. Spoilers: thigh riding, dirty talk, female orgasm, Joel's a giver.

A/N: This is part of a sweeter series (lots of angst, pining and smut ahead) Also despite Sarah's young age Joel is early 40's in this because slightly grey babygirl DILF Joel is the best Joe

“An old favorite,” Paul says with a charming smile. “Maria will love it.”

You and Paul are at his place sitting on the sofa facing one another. Paul has his guitar resting on his lap and he's strumming the first few bars to "Always on my Mind". He's decided that Maria and Tommy would love this at the wedding; a little impromptu reunion of the band.

“What about Tommy?” you pose, feeling strange about the whole thing. “He wasn’t even around to see us play before.”

“Oh he’ll get on board,” Paul says with confidence.

"I haven't sung it in so long," you say, your nerves building as you think about singing in public again. "I don't really think I wanna do it, Paul."

"It's the perfect song for a wedding." Paul insists, strumming the guitar a little more loudly. "Now c'mon, we only have a few weeks to get it right."

He sets off into the first verse, his voice clear and melodic before he prompts you with a raise of his brows.

This is the part of Paul you didn't miss.

The pressing.

Even when you didn't want to sing at the bars some nights all those years ago, he'd insist. You'd stand up there, your heart hammering as you gazed out into the crowd. But then Paul would be at your side with his guitar over his shoulder squeezing your hip and whispering that you sounded amazing, that everyone loved it and that you needed to keep going. He'd never force you, never threaten. He'd just wear you down to the point where it was easier to just give in.

And you would.

The only time you'd refused Paul anything was the night he told you he was ending things. After your big blow out where you told him in no uncertain terms that you weren't leaving your job to run off with he and Jack to tour.

You'd been devastated. The anguish you'd felt you'd packed in a rush, holding in your sniffles even when Paul begged you to reconsider. That heavy sadness when Paul watched you leave the apartment, telling you that it was a mistake.

You frown at the memory now, those same feelings of anxiety spreading through your body.

"C'mon," Paul urges you in a voice heavy with love for you. "This is your part, baby."

And as you always did back then, you nod and you relent.

///

"Hey friend," comes Joel's smiling voice at the end of the phone the next day. "Any chance you have a minute?"

You glance at the mountain of paperwork on your desk at the humane society and a smile moves over your features at the request. "Always."

You can hear Joel crawling into the seat of his truck, closing his door to the sound of the work site drilling and hammering.

"Good. I wanted your advice about Sarah's birthday party." Joel's voice is thoughtful. "I know it's gotta be toads and purple but that's where I'm stuck. When I asked her she just mentioned she wanted McDonalds. Doesn't care about anything else."

"Not everything has to be toads," you reason with a smile and a laugh. "Why not ... McDonalds and mini golf? That new course just opened up and I bet Sarah would love it."

"That's a good idea," Joel agrees, and you can imagine him nodding. "Didn't think of that."

Tess ' words come back to you sharp and unexpected.

Maybe you could back off a little bit with Sarah? Just for a bit. Just until I can wedge myself in there, ya know?

How are you giving her room to bond with Sarah if you're doing this? You're practically planning Sarah's birthday party like you’re her mother or something. There's an acute tug at your heart at that thought before you sober.

"What did Tess say?"

"Huh?"

"When you asked her about this," you say motioning to the air in front of you. "What was her idea?"

There is a stretch of quiet. You can hear Joel's fingers strumming the wheel.

"I, uh, haven't asked her yet," Joel finally recovers. "You've known Sarah longer so I thought I'd ask you first."

"Oh right. Well, Tess really likes Sarah," you say, holding in a wince. "I bet she'd have lots of good ideas."

The conversation is suddenly awkward and stilted. You both find reasons to end the call that have everything and nothing to do with your respective jobs.

The gap begins.

///

At the end of your shift you're surprised to see Tommy in the parking lot of your building. He’s leaning against the back like something out of a teen girl’s magazine. He gives you a sweet smile when you approach.

“Was heading to Maria’s and thought you’d wanna lift.”

You had no desire to take the bus home tonight; you’re exhausted from all this sanctuary planning. You shoot him a thankful smile.

“You’re the best,” you enthuse, bringing yourself up into the truck’s bench seat. You stow your purse at your feet, buckling in as Tommy starts the truck up. You give a wave to Alex as you pull out of the lot and onto the winding road home.

Tommy and Joel are peas in a pod when it comes to music. You try to change it to a pop station before Tommy shoots you a meaningful look and switches the dial back to 92.5 CountryJamFM.

“Jesus,” you mock as the first straining guitar ballad begins. “Just as bad as your brother.”

“Really?” Tommy is smiling widely.

“Yep. I gave him shit for the exact same thing.”

“Not surprised. Our mom was always sayin’ I copied everything Joel did when we were kids,” Tommy laughs. “I thought he was the coolest person on earth. Always wanted to do everything he did, listen to the same bands, drink the same beer. Guess some of it stuck.”

You’re imagining the two young brown-eyed boys (one a little older, a little more serious), laughing and playing in forests and building tree forts. When you think of the Miller brothers it’s always out in nature, wild and unfettered

“That’s actually really sweet,” you say with a smile. “Joel never really talks about your parents.”

“Not a shock. Neither’s around anymore.” Tommy looks grim and you immediately regret saying anything about to apologize but then Tommy gets a faraway look in his eyes. “You know when we were younger, and our Mom was sick, Joel quit school?”

“What?” this surprises you. “Where was your dad?”

“Left years before. I don’t even remember what he looked like.”

Tommy is frowning now and you’re trying to formulate the whirring thoughts in your head. You’re surprised by so much of what is happening. You and Tommy have never had a great many deep conversations. You know so little Joel’s history.

“I thought Joel said he didn’t do well in school. Said he only enjoyed shop.”

“Nah, not true,” Tommy says with a shake of his head. “He was really smart, ‘specially in English classes. He only left so he could get a job and support us. Construction place near our house was hiring.”

You sit in the seat next to Tommy and mull over your time with Joel realizing that while he was so determined to learn more of you, you were more passive, taking in the information in crumbs when he offered them. You have a heavy regret that settles into your tummy with this information Tommy is sharing.

“And then I grow up, smokin’ weed in bathrooms and getting’ into bar fights and there’s Joel comin’ to rescue me every time. I barely graduated and then I couldn’t keep a job. And then Joel had this construction company, something he built from the ground up. ‘Course Joel hired me and now my life is better than it ever could be but only because of my brother.” Tommy shakes his head, his eyes still peeled on the road but glassy. “Sometimes I feel guilty, like I stole Joel’s future from him.”

You want to shake your head and assure Tommy that this couldn’t be the case. But the reality is you don’t know. You two lapse into silence as the drive continues but you can’t stop thinking about Joel and his childhood.

“Joel’s always been that way though.”

“What way?”

“Protector. Always wants to do what’s best for other people instead of himself. S'funny," Tommy says airily looking at the stretch of road in front of him. "I always thought you were a great match for my brother because you’re just the same."

Pure unfettered delight goes through your body like a drug. A tingling sensation that makes your cheeks flush and your mouth curl into a grin. Tommy thinks that? Tommy thinks you’re a good match for Joel?

All at once you realize you sober.

He thought that.

Past tense.

Because Joel is with Tess now.

“It’s why I dragged him to trivia that night,” Tommy confesses with a shy grin. “Was hoping you two’d hit it off after that fucking abysmal first night.”

Your heart is thumping now. You wonder why Tommy is telling you this at all.

"I was so sure something had happened between you two," Tommy adds before he can stop himself. “He came home from that Christmas party all excited and smiling and I thought ‘this is the Joel from when we were kids.’ Like he finally had something just for himself. Not for Sarah or for me.”

Joel’s words haunt you now, swirling in your mind and your heart. The way he’d held you and kissed you and whispered those words.

I want you for my own.

And you know that Joel never meant it to possess you or own you. He wanted that carved space in his heart to be filled with something he didn’t have to share. Something that he could cherish and rely would still be there.

Tears are stinging your eyes and you blink them back furiously. Tommy slants a look at your down-turned face.

“Can I ask you somethin’?”

“Sure.”

“You really like that Paul guy?”

Tommy has a cringing look on his face, like he knows what he asked is over the line. He’s bracing himself for your ire or complete silence. You give him neither because you know Tommy isn’t asking to be cruel or prying. He’s asking, you realize, because he’s not really sure.

And while you want to tell Tommy that yes, you do like Paul you also really, really like Joel. But you can’t help but think of Tess and her hopes for a future with him. You think of Paul and his desire to start a life together with you. You realize that wanting more is incredibly selfish so you give Tommy a small nod and smile.

“I do.”

///

Joel stands in front of his bathroom mirror and stares at himself. He's taken to doing this in recent weeks, but not for vanity's sake. He doesn't look at his hair or his body.

He leans over the counter, his wide palms flat on the cool stone until his nose is inches from the mirror. There he keeps gaze with his own reflection until his mouth curls in disgust.

"You're a piece of shit."

He reminds himself of this because no one else does.

Being back in Frank and Bill's had done something to him. Sitting there in the scene of the crime. He'd made sure not to go past the studio door, terrified of what he'd do if he saw the same sofa you'd been entangled on. He was sure he'd feel the phantom touch of your hands in his hair and the way you'd looked at him that night.

It stirred up not just feelings of lust but if overwhelming regret. Sadness that was so much more acute than loneliness had been. And this deep unrelenting guilt that he'd fucked up.

He hadn't been able to keep himself from looking over at you during that visit, sneaking looks when you laughed. His own lips quirking in amusement when you did. Your arm had brushed against his as you shifted in your seat and he'd refused to move, desperate for you to do it again.

Seeing you happy makes him feel so fucking good even if he's not the one doing it.

Frank and Bill, they give you ease and comfort and he likes being there with you in this world of baked goods and laughing and gentle comments of how wonderful Sarah is.

His heart felt full that day and then it broke just as easily in the subsequent ones.

Coming to see Tommy at Maria's had been a last minute detour to grab the tools. He hadn't even considered you'd be there until his brother invited him in for a drink and he'd seen you there snuggled up against Paul. A handsome man, a man who had you tucked under his arm like you were his.

And Joel had felt that sickening lurch in his heart followed quickly by a scorching and ugly possessiveness. Who the fuck was this guy touching you? You were Joel’s.

Except you aren't.

Joel doesn't get to feel that way. He doesn't get to feel any way about who you take up with. He'd lost that privilege the second he'd taken up with Tess. He stares with menace into his reflection until the dark brown of his eyes are all he sees and feels, suffocating and harsh and unrelenting.

Why did you do it?

Why? How did he convince himself that being with Tess, that not waiting for you, had been the logical decision?

Was it anger at your lack of communication? Perhaps. Hurt and pathetic jealousy over knowing that you had contacted Maria and not him? Likely. Feeling rejected? Feeling unworthy? Maybe. Had it been fair?

No.

The thing with Tess had been so unexpected. A month of silence from you had left Joel feeling insecure and rejected. Sarah's concern that you didn't like her anymore or were mad at her had him upset. So when Tess called suggesting a play date for Daniel and Sarah he'd jumped at the chance to get out of his house and out of his head.

He hadn't gone in with the intention of anything more than a cup of coffee. Sarah and Daniel were in the next room giggling and pretending they were mermaids.

Joel and Tess sat across from one another in the kitchen with their rapidly cooling coffees. They began with chatting about their prospective Christmases and the stress that comes with the holiday when you have a five year old. But then Tess had given him a sharp look.

"You look tired."

"Not sleeping much," Joel replied.

"Me neither." Tess took a sip of her coffee. "Dave's girlfriend is pregnant."

That had shocked Joel's eyes from the mug to her face. Tess was looking at him with that curiously intense gaze of hers.

"Yeah that was my Christmas present this year," Tess replied with a forced laugh. "Finding out my ex is already moving on with some slut from his office and he's already gotten her pregnant."

"Daniel?"

"He's thrilled. Can't wait to be a big brother." Tess' gaze turned hard. "Sorry, shouldn't be bringing this up with you."

"Why not?"

"Because that's not really our dynamic, is it?" Tess has asked him curiously. "Our kids play together, sometimes we talk. . . Surface level stuff."

Joel had shrugged. "I don't mind listening."

Tess had been surprised by Joel's candor and in the way he sat there, hand around his mug listening as Tess poured her heart out about her ex. The hurt, the loneliness that Joel could relate to a bit too much.

"Thanks for listening," Tess said with a wry smile as she finished.

"Any time," Joel replied with a small lift of his fingers from the table.

"You seein' anyone these days?" Tess said it airily, but she was pretty sure she knew the answer. She'd seen the pretty woman in his truck weeks ago. The one he couldn't stop glancing over his shoulder to look at, to smile at.

Joel felt his mouth tug into a frown at that question. Was he seeing someone?

No.

You didn't even want to talk to him. He couldn't call you to see where the two of you stood. Wasn't that his answer?

He shook his head to indicate the negative. That action felt like a betrayal the moment he stopped.

"Ever feel lonely?" Tess had mused, tracing her finger along the rim of her mug. "I sure fucking do."

"Yeah," Joel had nodded. Because it was true. He did feel lonely in a way Tommy and Sarah and his job couldn't touch.

"Wanna be lonely together? Go on a date?"

Joel hadn't been expecting that from Tess. His knee jerk reaction was to say no. That he was seeing someone. That it was complicated. But what was the complication? He told you how he felt and you'd left, icing him out.

Joel thought of the worst scenario: that you didn't actually like him. That he'd pressured you into something you didn't want and now you wanted nothing to do with him.

He could see the insecurity growing in Tess' face the longer he didn't answer.

"Sure," Joel had agreed with a smile that didn't feel genuine. "Yeah."

"Did you really even like me that much?"

Of course you would wonder that. Of course you would sit there looking so beautiful and hurt and asking that in a way that made Joel's heart ache. And he deserved it. He deserved that question and that pain.

And he'd waited for your disgust, your recalcitrance when he explained his loneliness. Because it wasn't a good enough answer. It didn't encompass how he thought you'd not wanted him and how he'd been weak enough not to fight for you.

But you'd responded with kindness and patience and above all you wanted to know how it would affect Sarah.

And that's when he'd felt his resolve starting to slip. That was when he considered taking you into his arms and covering your face with kisses. He wanted to throw himself at your feet and beg your forgiveness. He wanted to push you onto your bed and make gentle love to you for hours.

And then he'd heard the name Paul. And then he sees you tucked up beside him days later and he hears Maria tell Tommy that she thinks you're happy and he wants you to be happy. After everything Joel just wants that smile of yours to stay.

///

You come to babysit that Friday night loaded down with a backpack full of puzzles and Disney DVDs and Sarah runs screeching into your arms as you heft her onto one hip. You’re especially excited to see her today.

"Had to show you this," you tell Sarah as you hold her in one arm. Her tiny arms wrap around you, twisting to look at the flip phone you've opened and begun to bring images up on. You stop on the most recent, smiling at her.

"Are those kitty's?"

"Yup," you smile at her reaction. "Foster parent sent the photos to me this morning. 5 kittens in all."

"What's a fozzer parent?"

"A foster parent,” you correct gently. “They're the people who take care of the animals when they're small until they're big and strong enough to get adopted."

Sarah is digesting this, her wide eyes going off into middle distance just as Joel enters the kitchen. He's dressed casual tonight in jeans that hug the curve of his ass and a t-shirt that strains along the arm and broad chest of his body.

If Frank was here you're sure he'd be foaming at the mouth.

"Hi Daddy."

"Hey babygirl."

Joel smiles a hello at you, going to grab a glass of water before he leaves. You continue scanning through the grainy photos in your phone at Sarah’s request. She suggests names like Pumpkin and Carrot for the kittens and you don’t bother telling her they already have Lord of the Rings names because the foster parent is a Tolkien nerd.

///

Joel sips his water slowly, needing to extend the time in your presence. He watches you hold his daughter on your hip, both sets of eyes on the glowing phone in your hands. Sarah is excitedly rambling and you’re glancing over at her with an indulgent smile.

He loves you.

Wait, what? No. He means he loves watching you with Sarah. The sweetness of your bond. He doesn’t love you. You’re friends, that’s it.

You seem really happy with Paul, as much as he hates to admit it. He hears from Maria how happy you are.

He can’t love you.

///

You feel Joel’s warm eyes on you and you glance up to see him staring at you and Sarah. You can’t stop looking at him differently now after your conversation with Tommy. You give a sweet smile of affection for him.

Protector.

I want you for my own.

There is a part of your lizard brain that focuses on this aspect of Joel. The strong protector covering his own hurt. The way he wants to take care of you. The way he wants to protect everyone even at a cost to his own happiness.

And you can admit now, as you stare into his eyes, that you love that about him. This deep, abiding affection that makes your heart swell when you look at him. It makes you daydream about a world and a future that isn’t yours.

You think what it would be like if Joel was your husband. You can imagine it. The three of you just as you have always been. Except now its Joel curving forward to rest his chin on your shoulder, looking at the phone with Sarah perched on your hip. His strong arms wrapping around your expanded midsection. His mouth coming to your temple to whisper how much he wanted this, how much he wanted you.

The dam breaks.

All the emotions you’d been holding back sputter out of you and you nearly drop the phone. Thankfully Sarah has a grip on it and she stills it. Your eyes are threatening to spill over and you rub them furiously.

“Careful,” Sarah tells you, her attention still on the images of the little kittens. Joel approaches, his eyes peering into yours. His hand is on your cheek, cupping it before you can say anything.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod shakily, trying not to nuzzle into his palm. “Just a headache.”

“I don’t have to go,” Joel insists, worried he sounds too eager. “I could cancel if you’re not feeling well.”

This affection you have for Joel, this worrisome love that you can’t seem to stop builds in your chest. And just as Tommy said, you are so similar. Because while you care for Joel you know that Tess is a better match. You are chaotic and troubled and you bring drama into this single father’s life; drama he never had before you. Tess is even and steady and no, she’s not perfect. But neither is Joel.

“You go on,” you croak, forcing a smile to your face. “Have fun.”

Joel nods and gives a weak smile, dropping his hand from your cheek.

“Don’t know how much fun a bid meeting is, but we’ll see.”

Since she's still in your arms you watch as Joel leans forward and presses a kiss to Sarah's forehead before smiling indulgently at her.

"Your beard tickles," Sarah giggles with a smile up at her father before mentioning the kittens from your work. Her voice is fading though because Joel's eyes have snapped to you and he's not moving back. If anything his face is getting closer to yours.

You don’t pull away.

Ever so softly, Joel presses a kiss to your cheek. Your eyes flutter shut at the contact. His lips are warm and soft against your skin and you feel his hand skating along to your lower back, resting there. He’s so close you can smell the scent of his shampoo and the laundry detergent and this underlying scent that is just Joel to you.

He pulls back slowly, staring at you as you blink open your eyes. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you. Can he tell everything in your gaze?

Sarah barely notices this interaction between the two grownups because her attention is on the phone and on the subject of what she has decided what she'll do for a job when she gets to an employable age: Fozzer parent.

"Have fun you two," he says to you both in a deep voice before clearing it.

You swallow; swaying gently and watching him leave. You decide to stop acting like a stunned mullet when the door closes behind him and you’ve lowered Sarah back to the floor

“Let’s play Barbies.”

Sarah is unaware of your sudden daze, or the way you stumble when you walk into the living room after her. She doesn’t even comment on how you’re smiling crookedly as you dress the various Barbie dolls she shoves at you.

“This one needs a bit of love,” you say brushing the hair of a particularly bedraggled Barbie as you and Sarah sit before another one of her Christmas acquisitions; a Barbie Dream home. So pink and purple you want to wear sunglasses just to look at it.

“My birthday is soon.”

“I know,” you say with measured enthusiasm. “I hear you and your dad are planning something really fun.”

“McDonalds and mini golf,” Sarah tells you smiling widely. “They have a big play place with a ball pit.”

“Mhmm. Who’s coming?”

“Uncle Tommy, Auntie Maria (auntie! You’ll never get over that!) and my best friend Jessie. And you, right?”

“Of course,” you answer without thinking then realize some names have been left off her list. “You think you’ll invite Daniel and Miss Tess?”

“Daniel’s annoying.” Sarah adds nothing else to this as she’s struggling to put a pair of plastic shoes onto a Barbie with springy feet. “He only wants to play cars.”

"Ah, that’s boys for you,” you try to say it casually. “I think Miss Tess is really nice though."

"She doesn't do voices right when she reads," Sarah tells you flatly, not looking up from the Barbie she’s currently trying to make walk. "Templeton sounds the same like Wilbur."

You hold in a laugh at her criticism of Tess' ability to read Charlotte's Web to her standards.

"Maybe there's another book she can read with you?" You offer. "One we haven't read yet."

Sarah looks up at you with a peering expression, as if she can’t really figure you out tonight. But this dims when her attention becomes fixed on the Barbie you've now made look presentable

"Olivia books?" Sarah suggests finally. "Olivia is a pig but she wears a red dress. That’s a good book."

You nod and hope your smile hides the pain behind it.

///

After two stories (with very good voices), one song (“You are my sunshine” seemed more appropriate for a five year old than more Linda Ronstadt), five forehead kisses (plus one for toad) and two “I love you’s” (two each, that is), Sarah is asleep and you’re daydreaming on the sofa.

You can’t stop thinking about Joel kissing your cheek. The warmth of him, the broadness of his frame, the soft rasp of his whiskers. Every single thing about Joel makes you feel giddy and fluttery and just when you feel yourself about to giggle out loud, the house phone rings and you sit up as Tess’ voice rings through the air as the answering machine clicks on.

Hey Joel, it’s me. Just wanted to know what you thought Sar-bear would want for her birthday? I already got something but I’m worried it’s not enough. Call me back, k? Bye.

You can hear the unspoken ‘I love you’ in the ‘bye’. You know it’s because the machine is public, possible for Sarah to listen to.

Sar-bear?

Jesus Christ. Were you really so naïve to think you could exist in this world with Sarah and Joel, immune to what lay outside the doors? Immune to the woman who wants to have Sarah for a daughter and Joel for a husband?

Besides, you’re reading too much into this. He kissed your cheek. Tommy kisses your cheek hello sometimes when you see he and Maria at dinner. There’s nothing sensual there, just a form of affection.

The TV is turned on and your mind is distracted until a short while later you hear a rapping on the door. You switch the TV off, feeling a bit nervous. You consider taking the butcher knife from the kitchen but then decide perhaps this is an overreaction since Joel lives in a perfectly safe neighborhood.

A quick look through the peephole tells you its Paul on the other side. Your ride home. A quick glance at your wristwatch tells you that its barely nine o’clock.

“Hey baby,” Paul says, leaning against the door frame. He kisses you gently. “Ready to go?”

“I said Joel would be back around nine-thirty,” you remind him, feeling a flash of irritation. You don’t like that he’s here at the door, so close to a world you’ve unknowingly kept him on the perimeter of. It makes you feel strange to have him there on the doorstep.

“Sorry,” Paul says with a wince. “Think I heard wrong. Can I come in?"

“I don’t think that’s. . . I don’t know how Joel would feel about that.”

Paul looks shocked by this from you, about to say something when another voice sounds out from behind him.

“How would I feel about what?”

Joel is striding up to the house, his muscled legs moving up the drive.

“Bringing boyfriends over while you babysit? A bit cliche,” Joel teases, but his voice is tight and his smile looks forced. You feel a strange sense of guilt that Paul is here.

“Hey Joel,” you say with an awkward laugh. “This is Paul. Paul, this is Joel."

Joel walks up the steps and extends a hand that Paul immediately shakes, smiling warmly.

“Yeah I think I saw you once at Maria’s. Heard lots about you.”

Joel slants a look your way before nodding back at Paul. “Good things I hope.”

You watch, stricken as the two men shake hands before breaking apart.

“Paul just got here early to pick me up.”

“Good man,” Joel says and up close you can see the strange look in his eyes. He brushes past you gently to go into the house as you prepare to leave, feeling strange to be leaving like this, one foot already on the threshold of the door. You give a soft goodnight to Joel, preparing to head out when Paul furrows his brow and grips your wrist, stopping you.

“Aren’t you going to pay her?”

Joel who had been about to walk inside his house stops, stepping back and looking at Paul. You immediately blanch, looking at your boyfriend in dull horror.

“No, that’s not-“

“She did a service for you, she deserves to get paid.”

Paul states this as if he’s doing you a favor. He says this about you – that you’re too kind and you do too much for others. That you don’t stand up for yourself enough and you know he’s doing it to be kind but you want to scream at him.

“We have a deal, Joel built all those kennels for me and-“

“Your boyfriend is right,” Joel interrupts lowly, taking the wallet out the back of his pants pocket. “You do a lot and you deserve to get paid for it.”

Paul shoots you a look that says: See?

You swallow the warm shame that is flushing your entire body a humiliated pink. You can only stand in horrible, awkward silence as Joel peels off five twenty dollar bills (far too much for a few hours babysitting) and gently holds them to you. You stare at the money a beat too long before Paul reaches out, taking the money and then handing it to you himself.

“Thanks,” you mutter with your eyes on the ground as you put the money in your pocket.

"Good night," Joel says.

///

You can’t stop thinking about of Joel’s mouth.

You should be turned off, especially after the humiliating spectacle you just endured but your mind keeps flying back to the softness in his eyes and the way his hand had skated down your back. Abuzz with thoughts of Joel and his lips on your fevered cheek, you drive to Paul’s house almost thrumming beside him.

In bed Paul moves between your legs with the comforting motions of a longtime lover. Your bodies are familiar with one another; you know the sweet spots each other enjoys. After two years there is gentleness to the intimacy, a calm and steady reliance that when you fall you'll be caught.

He likes to do it best with both you on your sides, his front pressed against your back, your legs scissor with his, rolling your hips against him as he fucks you. He is usually silent, the only noises are the grunts and gasps when he hits you in a way that makes you squirm delightedly. At this angle you often come, shuddering his name.

Tonight is no different except the mouth on your body that you imagine in Joel's and you feel the warmth expand up your body, making you go boneless against Paul as he finishes soon after.

He kisses your sweaty temple, holding you until he softens, disposing of the condom and returning to bed to hold you again.

"Remind me, I gotta go to the pharmacy tomorrow," you tell Paul flicking off the lamp next to the bed. "Gotta get my refill."

You feel Paul snuggling up against you in bed and you smile. You like cozy nights like this at his place. His bed is bigger than yours, more room to stretch out and his lithe body is so warm.

"Maybe don't get a refill this time," Paul coos as he comes to wrap his arms around you.

"What?"

You're suddenly so tensed that Paul begins tugging you back into him. He sighs gently before pressing a chaste kiss to your shoulder.

"I wanna make a baby with you," Paul says, his hand coming to span over your empty stomach. "I want us to build a family."

You want to laugh at the preposterousness of the suggestion but something stops you.

Paul is offering you a family.

you won't have Sarah and Joel. Tess has laid a very obvious claim to them and you don't have a leg to stand on. Maria and Tommy are starting a new chapter in their lives. It won't be long before they too will turn inward, their lives intertwined.

And wouldn't it be nice to raise kids together with Maria? Maybe even be pregnant at the same time? The thought causes an excited frisson to go through you. You have images of you both holding newborns. Maria glowing and holding a curly haired baby with dark caramel skin.

You rocking a baby in your arms, a baby with large eyes a dark chocolate brown that look up at you with adoration. The same brown color as -

You feel your eyes fly open. You glance over at Paul, taking in his sweet blue eyes and give a guilty smile.

"I'll think about it."

///

You’re surprised to see Joel at your work later that week. It’s early and you’re just arriving from the bus, your bag bouncing against your hip. At first you see him and his gentle smile and a surge of affection goes through you followed by a crushing humiliation at the memory of the last time you saw him.

You wave and walk over to the truck confused at his arrival before you see a flurry of movement in the back seat.

The widow is rolled down and Sarah shouts your name. You jog the rest of the way over, smirking over at Joel before you lean over the right window of the back seat. Sarah is dressed in a purple sweater and bumblebee boots. Her hair is in tight buns on either side of her head.

"Hey, how's it goin' bug?"

She reaches out towards you with one hand, and then frustrated at being buckled into her car seat she frowns at her father. "Daddy, let me out!"

"We had a deal," Joel warns her, looking at her through the rear view mirror. Sarah leans back in her car seat shooting daggers at her dad as she theatrically crosses her arms.

"What was the deal?" You ask Sarah playfully.

"She found out I driving in this direction for work and she begged me to take her to see ya before I dropped her at school," Joel explains with a smirk and a shrug from the front seat. "Drove by your place to see if you wanted a lift but you’d already left.”

You try to hide a pleased smile.

“Do you have a sec? If not we understand."

You love seeing them and you love that Sarah was so eager to see you.

"I always have time for Sarah," you say turning your attention back to the squirming girl in the backseat. "So what's up?"

Sarah reaches beside her in the car seat and you expect to see toad flying out of her pocket. Instead it's a glittery piece of stationary with the image of a frog in a tutu dancing with a party hat on.

"My birthday party," she explains handing you the card. "Can you come?"

"Your birthday party is finally here?" You say, feeling your heart melt as you see she's filled in all the information herself in her wide, crooked lettering. "How old are you turning? 20? 25? Can you finally rent a car?"

Sarah giggles at this, shaking her head. “I’m turning six.”

You look at the information. McDonalds and mini golf. You used to have parties like that when you were little. It makes you feel nostalgic for a life not overshadowed by poor memories.

"It's a small party," Joel explains from the front seat. "Just Tommy and Maria, Tess and Daniel and Sarah's friend from school."

"Jessie," Sarah tells you. "She's my best friend since I was four."

She says this like it's a relationship that has weathered many seasons. The party sounds like it's an intimate affair and you wonder if that means you shouldn't go. Yes, you want to be part of Sarah’s life and yes, you love her but Tess will be there and it's too hard for you to pretend like you don't care that she's with Joel.

You glance at the date on the shining card stock where Joel has obviously helped her to print the date: this Saturday.

"We're having ice cream cake," Sarah explains. "I get vanilla and chocolate."

"Lucky girl!" You enthuse before your eyes dart to Joel in the front seat. He's looking between you and Sarah in the rear view mirror, his gaze unreadable.

"Yep!" Sarah shouts this giggling madly and kicking her feet. Her little boots bump against the car seat, squeaking as she speaks rapidly. "I'm gonna have so many pieces-"

"Time to go, say goodbye," Joel says in a playful voice before he starts the engine again, seeing that Sarah's attention now firmly rests on what she's going to be eating on Saturday.

"Wait daddy! Are you coming to my birthday?" Sarah asks you with wide eyes before her dad can hit the gas pedal.

Maybe you could back off a little bit with Sarah. Just for a bit. Just until I can wedge myself in there, ya know?

You made a promise to Tess. Not one you wanted to make, not one that feels particularly fair, but one that you agreed to. You look from the sweet child to the sweet man in the front seat and feel your heart aching. You want so much for them both to be happy. And this means you need to pull back, just a little bit.

"Sarah, this is so nice of you to invite me," you enthuse. "But uh, unfortunately this Saturday I have plans. I can't make it."

You aren't expecting the devastation that crosses Sarah's face. Her crumpling face makes your heart sink.

“But you and me we’ll go to the movies or something, just us, and I'll still totally get you a present!" You promise, reaching through the window and cupping her warm cheek in your hand. "What were you wanting?"

"That's not necessa-" Joel starts from the front seat.

"Because I want to," you say speaking over Joel. "I'll make sure to give it to your dad so you get it before the party. Just tell me what you want."

Sarah's tears are warm and cover your thumbs. She pulls her face away from you, rubbing at her eyes as she tries to stop crying. You feel wretched.

"We better go," Joel grumbles as he shifts into gear.

The gap widens.

///

She’s sobbing.

His little girl is sobbing.

He can’t remember the last time he saw Sarah this upset. She’s in his lap in the front of the truck and he’s rocking her back and forth, murmuring soothing words as he rubs at her back. She’s too upset to go to daycare quite yet, so they’re in the parking lot.

You were lying. Lying to Sarah of all people. What the fuck is wrong with you?

He’d seen the indecision in your eyes that morning, almost felt the panic you had as you looked over the invitation. What was the problem? Was it that Paul wasn’t invited? He’d invite the entire fucking neighborhood if that’s what it took.

“I don’t w-wanna stupid party anymore,” Sarah hiccups, her body shuddering with the effort of trying to stop her crying. Her little arms around his neck and her forehead pressed to his cheek. “I don’t want one.”

“Sarah,” Joel offers diplomatically, pulling her back so he can look at her face. “Now you’re actin’ silly. You love parties.”

“Not without her. She makes cupcakes and tells me stories.”

“She said she was gonna take you out, just the two of you. I bet if you asked she’d make you your favorite cupcakes,” Joel insists, wiping at her runny nose with a tissue from his glove box. “Babygirl, sometimes grownups get busy.”

“Not her,” Sarah says wiping at her eyes even as fresh tears replace the old. “She loves me.”

“She does love you,” Joel insists, his heart seizing. “Loving you has nothing to do with coming to your party. So many people that love you will be at your party. I love you and Uncle Tommy loves you and-”

“Maybe she loves me like Mommy does?” Sarah asks, her lower lip trembling as she tries to understand, to rationalize you as a grown up. “Love but from far away?”

///

You left work early. You couldn’t concentrate on the tasks at hand. All you could think of was Sarah and how upset she’d been. You know you’re only doing what Tess asked. You’re backing off, giving her space to bond with Sarah.

It’s supposed to be the right thing, but it hurts so much. The kind of pain you feel you can taste in your mouth, bitter and metallic.

But you would want the same if Paul had a kid, wouldn’t you? You’d want to bond with the child that brings the man you care for such joy. The conversation you had earlier in the week with Paul makes your stomach flip, but not quite pleasantly.

There's a large knock at your door and you open it only to have Joel standing there looking as if he’s about to open fire.

“Joel?”

“Can I come in?”

You take a step backward, confused and a little wary. He looks furious. More furious than you can recall. His hands are at his sides and you note that he’s rubbing the fingertips together in agitation.

“Is everything-“

"So that promise you made about always being there for Sarah? Loving her?" Joel interrupts, walking in at your gesture. "I guess that was all bullshit?"

"No, I meant it," you defend immediately, closing the door behind you with a slam. “And I am. I just can’t come to her party on Saturday.”

“Because you have plans?”

“Yes.”

“You think I don’t know when you’re lyin’?” Joel says, his eyes swimming over your face. “You think I can’t see it in your eyes? I thought we were past this? Tell me the truth. Why aren’t you coming?”

You don’t want to answer him. But you know you have to.

“Because she doesn’t need me there,” you answer in half-truth. “She has Tess now. I figured I should ease off a bit. Give you guys some room.”

"She's not askin' for Tess, she's askin" for you!" Joel insists angrily, his drawl more pronounced when he's upset. Joel loves his daughter, he loves her so much and you've hurt her. You can see the anger in the tightness of his jaw, in the burning coals of his dark eyes.

It frightens you to see Joel this angry and you lash out.

"Stop yelling at me!" you shout at him, not acknowledging the irony. “Or you can get the fuck out of my place!”

Joel falters, realizing that he’s come in too hot, too aggressive.

"She keeps saying she doesn't wanna have a party if you're not there," he says, his voice dropping a bit as if he’s just now recognizing the volume and severity. "Says it won't feel like a real party without you."

"Well I didn't know that," you throw back at him. "I thought it was more of a family thing. I didn't wanna intrude."

"You're not intruding. You're family to her. So are you coming or not?" Joel insists. He's panting now, coming down from his furious high.

Maybe you could back off a little bit with Sarah? Just for a bit. Just until I can wedge myself in there, ya know?

Tess’ plea for you to stay away is ignored, pushed away by the sight of Sarah’s father glaring down at you.

No, not just because Joel is upset.

But because you have no intention of staying away from Sarah. If Tess wants Joel and Sarah she has to understand that you’ll be there in the peripheral, fighting for your place. You left Joel and Sarah once and it was the worst thing you could have done, you refuse to do it again.

"Yes,” you say softly. "Of course I'll come. What time?"

"Three."

"Fine."

Joel's voice is a soft rasp now. You take a step back, just as he steps forward.

"Fine."

It's like your bodies are magnets.

You keep trying to pull back from one another but it feels inevitable when you finally crash together.

Joel's hands are immediately fisting through your hair, tugging it so your head tilts back and he can move his mouth over yours. Your arms are around his neck, holding him tightly as you moan against his parting lips.

Your bodies are both trembling with need as Joel backs you against the wall, his eyes shut as he kisses you deeply. His knee comes to rest between your thighs and his hips press against yours fervently. You can feel him there, hard and thick through his denim.

So good. So good.

He licks into your mouth, curling his body around yours as you cling to him, desperate to feel everything. In a daring move your hands skate under his flannel and you feel the smooth, taught warmth of his broad back under your hands. He lets out a small moan into your mouth as goose bumps rise under your fingertips.

You’re quivering, full body shudders of desire that have your breath coming out in little quakes. Joel tilts his head so he can hear every sound, groaning lowly as your hips begin to slide along his thigh.

The friction of his jeans and the seam of yours hits perfectly, causing you to hiccup a gasp, pulling up. You quiver, your entire body shuddering as Joel urges you down against his thigh again, his own hips moving in tandem as you do. Your arms are on his shoulders, holding him.

One of his hands is palm flat above your shoulders on the wall at your back, balancing you both. The other is at the base of your spine, guiding you, urging you to grind harder against him. You do, feeling the arousal pooling between your legs.

Joel pulls back to look at you heavy-lidded with a mouth swollen from his lips. He watches your hips moving to rub against his thigh, your own thigh brushing his stiffened cock under the jeans. He’s aching, physically throbbing as he groans again, his brows saddling and his head falling forward.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasps in your ear.

It’s not a dare from Joel, it’s a beg. A needful beg for you to be the one to stop things. For you to be the one that reminds him it’s wrong. For you to see that he’s completely undone, unable to stop himself.

"Don’t stop," you moan, tilting your head so that he has better access to trace his tongue along your neck. He does so, pressing you tighter to the wall until it’s not just his thigh you’re riding, but almost rutting up against his hips.

You grip him around the neck, your mouth panting against the slope where his shoulder meet the base of his neck. With a sound of delight Joel is coaxing you to take what you need, that he’s got you.

You can feel him hard against you and you have the strongest desire to reach into his jeans and just hold him, thick and twitching in your palm.

“Joel I w-wanna t-touch-” you begin, your words stopping sharply as the seam of your jeans hits that sweet spot.

You hear his smile, because your eyes are slammed shut as he begins to rub himself against you at an achingly slow pace.

“You first, honey,” he rasps against your jaw and this time you embrace the endearment as it slips past his lush lips. “Need to hear those sounds you make.”

"F-fuck," you gasp out. It's nothing like Paul or James.You’re fully clothed, your riding his fucking thigh and yet you feel electric. If it were anyone else you’d laugh at the sight of two grown people dry humping against a wall, but with Joel it’s the hottest thing you can imagine outside of full-blown sex.

His eyes are open now and staring at your face as you begin to crest whimpering his name. Your eyes crack open and in silent communion you watch each other. The darkening of Joel’s irises as his pupils expand, the flush of your cheeks and neck.

"Are you gonna come?" he's murmuring in awe before he’s pressing kisses to the corner of your mouth a as you rut against his jeans. "Already? I can’t believe… So fucking beautiful. . .”

You feel beautiful when you arch out against him and whimper that yes, you’re close and that you can’t stop. Both of his broad hands are on your hip, urging your body more firmly against his muscled thigh.

"Please come for me," he groans as he presses wet kisses along your jaw. “I need it.”

You feel the ripples of pleasure taking you over, your nipples tightening painfully under your shirt. You arch again, tilting your head back as you moan lowly.

“There she goes,” Joel marvels as he watches your eyes roll back into your head as you buck against him. And when the orgasm rolls through you, devastatingly fast, it's his name on your tongue as you surrender to the pleasure that consumes you, collapsing against his shoulder as you come down.

Then there is nothing heard but your mutual panting, your face buried in the crook of his neck as he presses you against the wall, holding you there. You give a shuddering whimper as Joel slowly brings his thigh from between your legs.

As he does this, it’s like he drains you of your lustful haze.

What did you just do?

Paul.

Tess.

"What the fuck," you shoving the hair from your feverish face. You push away from Joel and in a daze he stumbles back, his eyes pitched black as he stares at you.

"What are we doing?"

"I don't know," Joel says slowly, his eyes unable to stop travelling the length of you. “But I don’t want to stop.”

“We have to stop! That was so fucking wrong Joel,” you say, your heart thundering.

You feel a sick pit in the bottom of your stomach, this dreadful realization that you’ve just done something so incredibly selfish. Tears slip down your cheeks, full of guilt and shame. Joel’s eyes immediately sharpen and he cups your face in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Joel says pressing gentle kisses to your cheeks, trying to dry them of your tears. “I’m so sorry, honey-“

He crowds you, holding you to him as he kisses your cheeks tenderly. This motion is meant only to give you comfort. Your hands go to his wrists on either side of your face, wanting to tear his hands away, needing to breathe.

But it’s Joel.

You move your head so that now his lips inadvertently brush your mouth and not your cheek. And suddenly one hand is cupping the back of your head and the other is banding against your back, pulling you into him because his head is tilted and your lips are against his and you’re kissing him, holding to the back of his neck and kissing him so ardently you feel breathless.

Now you're licking into his mouth and whimpering and its your needy hands sliding from his chest up to the neck of his flannel, trembling fingers trying to undo the button closest to his sternum. Now it’s Joel who stops, pulling back from your mouth and panting down at you. You feel your entire world tilting in that gaze.

He says your name, slow and breathy and you feel everything in those syllables. Never before has your name sounded so laced with sensuality.

And that’s the fucking problem. You blink up at him, trying to clear your head.

Tess. Paul. Marmalade.

“Joel I- we can’t be alone together anymore.”

“It was – “ Joel wants to defend himself, to explain that this was just a one-time slip up. But he knows that’s not true. Knows that if you gave him the word he’d take you to the bed right now and fuck you until you couldn’t walk.

"You should go."

"Sarah’s party – “

"I’ll be there," you say as you herd him towards the door like some frazzled, still-horny border collie. "But until then we need to stay away from one another. And right now you gotta go, Paul is coming over."

Joel is in the frame of the open door about to leave when he turns around.

“Tell me you’re happy with him.”

“I am.”

“Happier than with me?”

You’re about to respond but then you hear the sound of footsteps on gravel approaching and you jerk back. Paul is coming around the corner to the door, he sees Joel's broad shouldered frame in the door just as you two break apart.

"Hey."

Joel turns with a start to see a smiling Paul making his way to the door. Your face is tense and you wonder if he guesses what just went on between you and Joel. If he does, his face doesn’t show it.

“Joel, this is a surprise.”

"Yup," Joel nods, "I was just inviting your girl to Sarah's birthday. You should come too. More the merrier."

His girl?

Joel looks so casual as he says this, as if he didn’t just make you come seconds ago in this very suite.

"When is it?"

"Saturday afternoon."

Paul enters into the suite and pecks a kiss to your cheek. He misses when Joel narrows his eyes at that.

"Works for me, what about you, baby?"

You wince at the nickname. It's not that you hate it; you just hate hearing it in front of Joel. The man whose eyes are boring into your face so intensely you feel flustered.

"Yep. Of course we’ll be there."

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