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ellethespaceunicorn · 10 months

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Sometimes The Silence Guides A Mind

Title: Sometimes The Silence Guides A Mind

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Fandom: Enola Holmes series

Word Count: 1.7K

Summary: As you were getting close to Sherlock, he stops visiting. You pop over to Baker Street and share an eye-opening moment.

Warnings: age gap(reader is about 20 in this, Sherlock is mid-30s), slight voyeurism, masturbation (male), handjob, unprotected p-in-v sex (wrap it up y’all), creampie

A/N: I’ve been throwing around this idea about Sherlock for quite some time. I hope you enjoy it. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

You’ve been friends with Enola for a short time, only since the beginning of the year. She’s led you on a few fun adventures, but more often than not, she’s led you on wild goose chases. She has helped you come out of your shell and you are grateful for that. On days that you weren’t exploring the countryside or causing a ruckus in the city, you would lounge around her large house.

Spending time with her in her large house had its benefits. One of which was 6’1 with a head of unruly curls. The famous Sherlock Holmes was your best friend’s big brother. He lived in the city but came to visit Enola every week.

You always made sure to be available on those days. If only for the chance to say hello to Sherlock. You wanted more but, truth be told, he made you a bit nervous.

You tried your best to keep calm when he would arrive, but Enola noticed your demeanor change every time. She teased you endlessly about your little crush and you would always bring up Tewkesbury. That would usually shut her up.

In truth, she did not care that you liked her brother, she just didn’t want you to waste your time. The man was not exactly sociable unless he found value in the opinions of others. One opinion he respected was that of his sister. You could sit and watch them talk for hours. She would get him to laugh with her jokes, and he would bring her to annoyance with his riddles.

You would interject a thought here and there and when Sherlock would give his attention to you, you froze. Something about the look in his eyes, it was more than attention. It was intense as if the two of you were the only ones in the world let alone the room.

More than once, Enola had cleared her throat loudly to get you and Sherlock’s attention back on her. But sometimes, she would just listen to you ramble on while Sherlock seemed enthralled in your thoughts. You mused about music and how interesting you thought his cases were. The more you spoke with him, the more comfortable you felt around him.

Sherlock would show up now and then with little trinkets from his cases. At first, it was just things for Enola, but soon he would start bringing you little gifts as well. He started small with a single flower or a tasty treat from his favorite bakery. But soon, his gifts grew oddly specific. He bought you a brooch you had mentioned seeing at a store in the city. He would learn pieces of music from a composer you talked about and play it for you, much to the chagrin of Enola who wasn’t a fan of the violin.

It was when he didn’t visit for two weeks that you started to realize you were developing feelings for the older detective. You’d come to enjoy his presence and not because of his gifts. You just enjoyed seeing his face light up when he saw you. You relished the power you felt when the normally unflappable and distant man would sit enthralled when you gave voice to your thoughts.

So, why did it stop so suddenly? Had you done something to offend him?

You wracked your brain and Enola’s brain for that matter. She gave you his address so you could go and talk to him and she could finally be free of your fretting.

You arrive at 221 Baker Street, your hands trembling as you knock on the main door. A sweet woman opens the door and introduces herself as Ms. Hudson. When you ask to speak to Sherlock, she sends you up the steps to 221B.

As you’re about to knock, a man opens the door and almost collides with you.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. May I help you, Miss?”

“Ehm, I’m here to see Mr. Holmes…but I can come back if that’s–” You are cut off when he speaks again.

“You wouldn’t happen to be friends with Enola, would you?” You nod, giving your name, “Of course, Sherlock mentioned you. I’m Dr. John Watson, and I have to be going but you are more than welcome to come in. Sherlock is just in his room down the hall.” He points around the corner from the door and walks past you before waving goodbye.

So, that’s how you end up in Sherlock’s apartment. It is eerily quiet and you think he might be asleep. That is until you hear soft moans coming from down the hall. Your first thought is it must have been the floorboards creaking under your feet.

What you hear next is the unmistakable sound of your name followed by a whimper. It sounded like Sherlock was calling to you, but how would he know you were here already? You walk down the hallway quietly and see that his bedroom door is slightly ajar.

Peeking in, you are blessed with a sight! Sherlock is laid out on his bed with his shirt and waistcoat open, his hairy chest on full display as it rises and falls quickly. His beautiful face constricted in pain one second, solemn and peaceful in the next. His curls are a sweaty mess on his forehead. One hand is fisting the sheets at his side and the other hand is wrapped around his thick veiny dick. You’re mesmerized watching him stroke himself until you hear him moan your name again.

In a moment of bravery, you step into the room. Your bosom heaves in your bodice as you breathe shallowly, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

His hand stops its ministrations and he looks to you as you walk towards him. He’s frozen on the spot and can only watch you as you climb atop the bed and lay next to him. You replace his hand with yours and continue to pump his dick. Your hand barely fits around him and you enjoy the feel of his soft uncut length in your hand.

His hands come up to caress your face and pull you down for a kiss. When his tongue begs for entry, you allow it in. Heatedly, you mold your mouth to his, letting your moans and whimpers be consumed by him. Breaking the kiss, he looks into your eyes and you can tell he is close.

You remove your hand from him and stand up from the bed. It is only when you remove your undergarments does Sherlock understand why you stopped. Climbing back on the bed, you settle yourself with your cunt dripping onto him.

“I want you to be certain that you–” You cut him off as you slink down, his velvety smoothness sliding inside your wet heat. You take a moment to get used to the sheer size of him. He stretches you almost painfully. Leaning down, you whisper into his ear.

“Do I seem certain, Mr. Holmes?”

Instead of an answer, Sherlock groans and twitches inside you. His hands travel under your skirt and rest on your hips. You take that as a sign and sit up. With your hands on his chest, you begin to ride him slowly, agonizingly to the point where his hands start to guide you to a quicker pace.

Using you like a ragdoll, he flips you so he is atop you while you are on your back. He slams into you repeatedly and you are no longer in control. He savors the sounds coming from you as he fucks into you. He urges you on as he kisses and licks and nips at your neck, careful not to leave any marks.

Pulling out, he moves you to your hands and knees before inserting himself again. The angle allows him to go deeper and you thank the Gods for it. As he holds onto you, he hammers into you. The filthy utterances that come from his mouth only serve to solidify the notion that he missed you too.

“I knew you would feel like Heaven, my sweet angel…”

“This pretty pussy belongs to me now…”

“You would look so perfect with my cum dripping out of you…”

“I could fuck you all day and night and still never get enough of you…”

“Be my good angel and come all over my cock,” He reaches down and rubs your clit between two fingers as he plows into you. You never stood a chance, your walls quivering around him within moments, “That’s my good girl. So good…for me. Fuck, so close!”

“Sherlock, please! Need you to fill me with all you have to give!” You surprise yourself and your lover with those words.

Sherlock’s answering grunts as he makes mincemeat of your pussy are music to your ears. His punishing thrusts falter and he pulls you flush to him. He’s deep enough to kiss your cervix with the tip of his dick. You feel him swell inside you and it’s enough to make you climax again, milking him through his release.

And the noises he makes when he comes are more intricate than the 24 Caprices. You’re sure that Sherlock would disagree but you don’t even care. You revel in the melody of his moans and surrender to its hold on you.

Sherlock’s hands roam over your back, your hips, your ass, and your thighs. As if he can’t get enough of you. He doesn’t pull out until you wiggle your hips, a sign that your legs are tired. Extricating himself from your sensitive folds allows his spend to escape. He catches what slips free and pushes it all back in before helping you lay down on your front.

He lays down next to you, pulling you close to him with one arm while the other rests behind his head. He looks so peaceful as he closes his eyes and hums. The feminine urge for pillow talk is high, but so is the need to just bask in this moment.

You’re in the arms of the man you care for, who also adores you. You rest your cheek on his shoulder and tangle your fingers in his chest hair. You breathe in his smell, his pheromones are surely on high alert from your activity. When he rests his head against yours, you feel at peace.

You do plan on talking to Sherlock later about everything. But, for now, you can take pleasure in the simplicity of the harmonization of your heartbeats.

A/N: The title of this fic is taken from The Neighborhood’s Sweater Weather. There is an amazing violin version of this song by Joel Sunny. And anything violin makes me think of Sherlock.

A/N: Also, I know Ms. Hudson wasn't featured in Enola Holmes, but I love her as a character and I wanted to use her.

**Tag List**

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@astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry @rebelangel1102

Let me know if you wanna be added (or removed) 😁

#sherlock holmes henry cavill #sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes #henry cavill #henry cavill characters #enola holmes fanfiction #enola holmes #enola holmes 2 #henry!holmes x reader #henry!holmes #henry!sherlock #henry cavill sherlock holmes #ellethespaceunicorn fanfic #henry cavill fan fiction #henry cavill fic #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction

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writingforstraykids · 3 days

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I owe you a kiss - Pt.9

Pairing: Minchan x femReader

Word Count: 2943

Summary: Minho and you spend a day at the art gallery, Chan takes you out for dinner by the river. Both of them try their best to make room for you and reconnect. You haven't been so happy in a while.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, dinner date, museum date, soft!min, soft!chan

A/N: Thought I'd surprise you with another chapter today that I wrote after posting chapter 8. I think we could use the fluff🤭🖤

PART EIGHT | PART TEN (coming soon)

You exchange a soft smile with your husband, tilting your head at him. “You’re okay?” you ask gently. For a moment, all you can hear is the low hum of the city life outside the window.

“Let’s go out today?” he asks suddenly, his voice cutting through the calm. “Just you and me.”

You study Minho’s face, swallowing at the hope in his eyes. It’s been three weeks since you clashed and you’ve been working on easing out the many strains those past months have taken on your life. Sometimes, Minho seemed a little hesitant, not knowing if you’d let him in enough. “Where would we go?” you ask, allowing a small smile to cover your lips.

“You mentioned that art exhibit at the new gallery downtown a few days ago. I thought you might want to see?” he suggests gently.

You feel warmth spreading through your chest at the thought of him still remembering that. “That sounds wonderful,” you say excitedly. “I would love to.”

“Yeah?” He smiles so sweetly that you reach out for him. He leans into your touch as you caress his cheek and searches your eyes carefully.

“Yes, darling,” you mirror his smile.

The two of you get ready in comfortable silence, side by side, occasionally sharing glances that hold soft smiles and unspoken words. As you step outside, hand in hand, the city greets you with the vibrant colors of an early evening. The sun, low in the sky, paints everything in hues of orange and gold.

The gallery is a modern space with stark white walls filled with vibrant art. You wander through the exhibits, Minho’s presence a steady warmth at your side. You’re busy looking at the different pieces, but his eyes can’t stop finding you. Once more, he notices how beautiful you are, how much he loves you, and how safe you always make him feel. A small smile settles on his lips as he watches you, following you around the rooms willingly.

At one painting, a chaotic blend of dark and light, you pause longer than at the others. Minho beside you observes the play of emotions across your face. “What do you see?” he asks quietly, not asking about the painting but the meaning you give it.

Your eyes linger on the canvas, chewing your lip a little. “Struggle,” you say, your voice soft in the almost empty room. “But there’s beauty in it too. The colors clash, and still they harmonize…it’s almost like…,” you pause, not quite sure if you should continue.

“It’s like us,” Minho finishes for you, his voice barely above a whisper. He turns to look at you, his gaze filled with understanding. “Finding our beauty in the struggle. Finding some light in the darkness.”

You meet his gaze, your heart aching at the truth of his words. You reach for his hand, fingers intertwining naturally as if they were made to fit together. “Thank you for bringing me here,” you say, your voice thick with emotion.

Minho’s thumb strokes your hand gently, and his eyes soften. “I’d go anywhere with you,” he replies.

You continue your walk through the gallery, and once you step outside, the sky has turned into a velvety blue, and and stars begin to peek out. You decide to take a little detour on your way back home, walking through the park. The city sounds soften in the background, replaced by the rustle of leaves and distant laughter.

The park is lit by scattered lamps, casting their golden lights on the winding path. You walk slowly, comfortable in the peace you feel with him. At a bench by the duck pond, you sit down with him, gazing at the water that glitters beneath the moonlight.

The air is cool by now, a gentle breeze teasing your skin, making you shiver. Minho notices almost immediately, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you into a warm hug. You lean against him, head resting against his shoulder, and sigh happily. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Minho confesses, voice laced with a warmth that reminds you he’s your home. “I missed just being with you without having to try and function. Just..us.”

You turn to look at him, eyes finding his in the dim light. “We don’t always have to be strong, do we? We can just be us, flaws and all.”

“No, we don’t always have to be strong,” Minho agrees, his hand gently cupping your face. As long as we’re together…that’s enough. That’s more than I could’ve ever asked for,” he whispers. Your lips meet in a gentle kiss before he squeezes your shoulder. “Let’s get back home, hm?”

The walk back is quiet but comfortable. As you reach the doorstep, Minho stops, turning to you with a serious expression on his face. “Let’s make a promise,” he says, eyes locking with yours. “No matter what happens, we keep fighting together, we keep finding beauty in the chaos.”

You nod, face softening at the desperation in his eyes. “I promise.”

Minho leans in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss to seal your promise. It’s soft and sweet and holds the promise and gentle words of today. “Come on, honey. Let’s see if Channie’s home yet,” he says, and you nod happily.

Inside, the house is quiet, making the atmosphere feel almost too serene. As you shed your coats and shoes, Minho calls out gently, not wanting to startle Chan, who might be home. There's no response, and he leads you through to the kitchen, where a note on the counter catches your eye.

"Out with Felix and Binnie. Don't wait up. - Chan" reads the neatly penned message, Minho's lips turning up in a small, knowing smile. "Guess it's just us tonight," he comments.

You nod, missing Chan but also relishing the quiet intimacy that the evening promises with just the two of you. "What do you feel like for dinner?" you ask, turning towards the fridge.

Minho shrugs, watching you with an affectionate gaze. "Anything's fine, as long as I'm with you," he replies, his tone soft.

Deciding on something light and easy, you opt to make a salad with all the fresh ingredients you have, adding grilled chicken for some warmth and substance. Minho sets the table, his movements relaxed, a playlist of soft music filling the background.

As you both sit down to eat, the conversation flows more freely than it has in weeks. Gradually, the dialogue drifts towards more personal topics, about how you've both been feeling and the little things you've missed about each other.

"It's been tough, hasn't it?" Minho says at one point, his fork paused halfway to his mouth. "But nights like this... they remind me why it's worth it. Why we're worth it."

You reach across the table, your hand covering his. "It has been tough. But I wouldn't want to face it with anyone but you," you admit, your voice thick with emotion.

After dinner, you clear the dishes together, a routine that feels comforting in its normalcy. Minho washes, you dry, and there's a gentle efficiency to your movements, a dance you've performed countless times before, each step familiar and reassuring.

With the kitchen tidied up, Minho suggests a walk outside. The night air is still warm enough to be inviting. "Let's just walk around the block, a little night stroll," he proposes, and you agree readily.

Outside, the neighborhood is quiet. Most of the houses are dimmed for the evening, and their inhabitants are likely winding down much like yourselves. You walk hand in hand, your steps unhurried, the silence between you comfortable and easy.

At one point, Minho stops, pulling you into a gentle embrace. "I love you," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I don't say it enough, but I do. So very much."

"I love you too," you respond, leaning back to look into his eyes. “And you're right. Nights like tonight remind me of us, of what we have and what we're fighting for."

Returning home, you settle onto the sofa, Minho pulling a blanket over you both. You lean into him, your head on his shoulder, and he kisses the top of your head.

"Let's not wait so long to do this again," you suggest, your voice muffled against his shirt.

"Yeah," Minho says, his arm tightening around you.

As you nod in agreement, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek, you realize that the struggles and the chaos of the past weeks have not been in vain. They've brought you to this moment, safe in Minho’s arms.

Chan finds himself back earlier than he planned. After his evening out, he feels the pull of home - of you and Minho - stronger than the laughter and light of the city streets. As he approaches the house, his heart is a mix of nerves and hope. He unlocks the door quietly, half-expecting to find the house still echoing with the tension of previous weeks.

Instead, he steps into a soft-lit silence, low music playing in the living room where he finds you and Minho asleep on the sofa, intertwined under a shared blanket. The sight makes him stop in the doorway, a gentle smile spreading across his face as relief washes over him. Here, in this scene of peaceful slumber, he sees the healing that has begun between you. It almost feels as if you’ve never struggled.

Chan sets down his keys quietly and walks over, his movements gentle to avoid waking you. The intimacy of the moment - the way Minho's arm encircles your waist, how your head rests against his chest - is so sweet. It reminds him of the depth of love and commitment that binds you together, a stark contrast to the coldness that had crept into your interactions lately.

Chan reaches down, tenderly brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch is feather-light, a silent vow to himself to mend the threads of your relationship that he's held too loosely. The small action makes you stir, and your eyes flutter open, meeting his in a sleepy state.

"Channie," you mumble, your voice thick with sleep. "You're back early."

He nods, his hand moving from your hair to gently squeeze your shoulder. "Couldn't stay away too long," he admits, his voice low and warm. "I missed home."

Minho stirs next to you, his eyes opening to Chan's familiar presence. "Hey," he greets, his voice rough with sleep "We were just waiting up for you," Minho teases lightly, though the crinkles by his eyes show his sincerity. He sits up, adjusting the blanket over you, ensuring you're still covered and warm.

Chan chuckles softly, the sound soothing the lingering edges of his earlier anxiety. "It looks like you did more sleeping than waiting," he observes gently.

"Join us," you say, patting the space beside you.

As Chan settles beside you, the weight of the past weeks—the misunderstandings, fears, and pain—seems to lift slightly. Together, you sit in the soft glow of the room, the silence comfortable, filled only with the soft sounds of your synchronized breathing.

As the evening deepens into night, you all decide it's time to move from the sofa to the bed. Hand in hand, you help each other tidy up the living space before heading to the bedroom.

You all get comfortable in bed, Chan, in the middle this time, turns to face each of you, his eyes holding a soft light. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "For this. For us."

Minho reaches to squeeze his hand. “We love you, Channie.”

“I love you too,” he smiles happily.

Chan had suggested it: a quiet evening out, just the two of you. You agreed to the promise of a few hours solely with him, which sounded too good to pass. Chan suggested a small restaurant by the river, one that promised a breathtaking view.

Now that the evening is here, you feel nervous, a soft flutter in your stomach. It reminds you of the early days, the first few dates, and the awkward dance of not wanting to choose between Minho and him. You spend quite some time picking your outfit, wanting to feel beautiful and hoping to see the spark in Chan’s eyes you haven’t seen in a while.

Chan is not one bit less nervous than you are, choosing a simple but elegant shirt he knows you like. When he sees you, ready and waiting, his breath catches in his throat. “You look so beautiful,” he manages, his voice rough with emotion. The sincerity in his gaze and the slow smile covering his lips make your heart beat faster, and your eyes water a little.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “You look quite handsome yourself.”

“Thanks,” he smiles shyly, blushing a little.

The drive to the restaurant is quiet, with music playing in the background. Chan parks near the river just as the sun is slowly dipping below the horizon, painting the water with a golden glow.

Hand in hand, you walk to the cozy restaurant, which has soft lighting and a gentle, nonintrusive conversation. You choose a table near a window with a view of the river, now shimmering under the first touches of twilight.

You two fall into easy conversation as you eat, yet beneath the lightness of their conversation, deeper topics linger at the edges, waiting. "Y/n," he begins, his voice serious but gentle. “I know things have been tough. I know I've been... distant. Not because I want to be, but because I've been scared - scared of doing the wrong thing, of saying the wrong thing."

"Chan, I understand. I’ve been feeling overwhelmed, too, scared of pushing you away or making things harder for you,” you admit gently.

“I never meant to feel like you couldn’t come to me…or that Min is more important to me,” he tells you guiltily.

“I know,” you reply, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “But we're here now, and that’s what matters. We can find our way back together.”

Chan’s smile returns, his eyes lighting up as if a weight has been lifted. “I’d like that. A lot.”

As dinner comes to an end, Chan suggests a walk along the river. The cool breeze from the water is refreshing, and the rhythmic sound of the waves against the shore is soothing.

“Look at the moon,” Chan points up, and you both stop to gaze at the full moon, casting a silver glow over the river. It’s beautiful and peaceful, and for a moment, it feels like everything is right in the world.

“It’s gorgeous,” you comment, leaning into him.

Chan wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer. “Not as gorgeous as you,” he says, which makes you both chuckle.

The moment feels right, and you stop walking and turn to face him. “Chan, thank you for tonight. It means a lot to me. I’ve missed just being with you like this.”

He cups your face gently, his touch tender. “I’ve missed it, too—more than I realized. Let’s not let it go again, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, and he leans in to kiss you softly and sweetly under the moonlight by the river.

On the drive home, the car is filled with comfortable silence. A song that you both love comes on the radio, and Chan reaches over to turn it up. You smile and start to sing along quietly. He joins in, and soon, you’re both laughing and singing at the top of your lungs.

Chan parks the car in front of your house and turns to you with a giddy smile. You smile softly, leaning over to cup his face. “My beautiful Channie angel,” you whisper, and he blushes a little. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he smiles shyly. “My sweet baby girl.”

Minho greets you with a gentle smile as you step inside. “Had fun, you two?” he asks gently, giggling surprised as you give him a long, soft kiss. “Hey, darling,” he whispers adoringly.

“Come cuddle with us?” you plead softly, making him laugh.

“Please?” Chan asks sweetly, kissing his cheek.

“Fine, fine,” he laughs. “Go get ready for bed, I’ll be there in a bit,” he promises.

Not much later you’re all comfortable in bed. You’re in the middle, feeling safe between them. To your left, Minho’s warmth is a comforting pressure against your side, his arm thrown loosely over your waist. His fingers draw mindless patterns on the fabric of your nightshirt. Chan’s body is curved around yours protectively, his breath softly tickling your neck. Minho shifts a little, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His eyes meet Chan’s in a silent agreement of how much they love you.

“Comfortable?” Minho asks softly, barely above a whisper, as if he’s scared of speaking too loudly.

“Very,” you nod, agreeing. You turn your head slightly to smile at him, reaching to touch his cheek. Chan responds by tightening his embrace around you, his hand splaying across your stomach, grounding you.

The room falls into a comfortable silence, the only sounds are the soft rustling of the sheets and the steady, rhythmic breathing of three hearts in sync. You find yourself tracing the lines of Chan’s hand after a while, feeling the strength and warmth of his fingers intertwined with yours. Minho, feeling a surge of affection, leans over to plant a gentle kiss on your forehead, then Chan’s jaw. Chan smiles at the gesture, a small, happy sound escaping his lips. It feels perfect.

PART EIGHT | PART TEN (coming soon)

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

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Taglist: (Please let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the taglist!)

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hana-no-seiiki · 1 year

Note

Are you familiar with Ms Marvel (Kamala Khan)? What about Yandere Platonic Batfamily with a reader who is basically like Kamala (Comics ver).

Just imagine how hilarious to find that their Fangirl knows their identities and made a few fanfics about them. Like for example-

Red Hood vs The Monster truck possessed demon!

Batman and Robin vs Evil Sewer lizard's from another world!

Nightwing and the Smog-Breather!

Y'know just Fanfic writer who's also a superhero.

Also I love your content. Make sure to take breaks!

YANDERE BATFAM W/ MS MARVEL! READER

“Just to make sure. . . You’re totally Damian Wayne right?”

“What-“

“Cool! That means Batman has to be Bruce. And the robins…”

You may or may not have been knocked out during your first encounter with one of your favorite heroes. By Robin himself.

Look, Damian doesn’t usually knock out innocent civilians like they murdered his cat or anything but you were a liability and a half.

Yeah, maybe revealing that you knew everyone’s identities wasn’t a good idea.

Besides Damian was kind of iffy about you since you were feeling up his body when he swooped in to save you.

(Turns out you were just confirming your theories but still)

Now the surveillance started mostly due to your uncanny encyclopedic knowledge of the Batfam and basically every other hero and villain out there.

Once they figured out you were basically harmless and just needed to get a better filter when it comes to things you say, you were mostly home free.

The thing is, the Batsons might have formed an obsession with you. Since you’re asking a yandere blog here, it was definitely not healthy.

They liked the idea of someone knowing them in and out. You’ve had competitions with Tim to figure out who knew the other better while Bruce and Damian just deadpanned in the background.

Dick loved entertaining your ships and headcannon questions. Bruce was more reluctant but found it to be a great way to incentivize you to behave and work with him better.

Jason just adores you. You’re the only younger sibling that isn’t stuck up or reminds him of his low self esteem and struggle to be a good vigilante. He was definitely weirded out at first but grew to be like Dick and definitely fuels your fan habits. Both guys definitely not so subtly strip in front of you sometimes so you can get more “reference” material.

Which brings me to the next point, who you choose to write or draw on your blog definitely gets discussed. Your blog’s every post is actively monitored at all moments. I wouldn’t be surprised if Bruce installed a large monitor in the Batcave just to watch over it.

Him and Tim definitely analyze your stats and help you with growing your blog. Watch Bruce spend thousands of dollars to get your page everywhere (subtly cause the first time he did it, you were so embarrassed you refused to talk to him for a week). Alfred works as your personal assistant when it comes to timing/scheduling your posts and making sure you tag them properly + have the most aesthetic formats.

Anyways, back to the discussing your posts thing, you learnt to make sure your posts, heck even your drafts, are all equal when it comes to who it features. Otherwise prepare to get overwhelmed with love bombing.

It took Damian the longest to warm up to you, but when he realizes how much you mean to him there’s no turning back. It starts from him unconsciously humoring your questions to full blown out debates over how he’d definitely win in whatever battle you pit him in your fanfics.

Speaking of fanfics, Damian loves to blackmail you about them. He’s the type of brother to love tormenting you about your totally ‘weird hobbies’ while simultaneously reading every piece of literature/art piece in your blog as if you’re bringing out the modern bible and he’s a staunch believer in the God that is you.

He then proceeds to critique your art and written works if not outright bash them.

You’d have been in tears from the essays he writes about you if you didn’t already know it was him.

(Tim told you.)

Now when your powers awakened, you went from that one sibling that knew way too much to almost an essential part of their team.

Almost because every time you were allowed to go out, someone had to be on “mouth guard duty” for when you accidentally spill what you know.

(It’s usually Tim or Bruce)

You worked a lot with Bruce during those times. Who definitely flexes the hours you two spend in comparison to the batsons.

He doesn’t mind it if you get distracted by the boys, though.

Really, he’s glad you haven’t asked how your family has been doing or when you’re going home.

‘Cause he’d have a lot of explaining to do.

General Batfam Taglist: @the-sander-fander

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pinkroseblooms · 3 months

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Birthday Wishes

Summary: Uramichi may not like birthdays, but he might like you. 2.5k A/N: Official art from Gaku Kaze; Uramichi Omota/F!Reader, lots of fluff and some humor. TW: Mentions of depression and self esteem issues (kinda a given considering it's Uramichi, but still) Enjoy!

Working on Together with Maman was one of the most thankless, tedious jobs you’ve ever been underpaid to do. While the director got to lord over the staff and the actors got some praise and respect, you were just one of the many unsung heroes behind the scenes. Editing out Uramichi Omota’s regular mental breakdowns and existential crises from the show’s footage was a full time job in and of itself, but you did it every week without fail for the past three years. At this point you could practically do it in your sleep; sometimes Uramichi’s strained, desperate attempts to keep a cheerful expression on his face made regular appearances in your dreams. You suspected the void that was his stare would haunt your mind long after the time came for you to leave Together with Maman .

You did feel a bit guilty at the twinge of resentment you had toward the cast when they got the lion’s share of the glory. After all, they all had their good points: to start, Kumitani was fairly considerate of the staff, particularly those on the lowest rungs of the workplace hierarchy. Speaking of hidden kindness, despite Utano’s complaints, she was a devoted and thoughtful girlfriend. Iketeru’s childish wonder and joy was infectious; he hardly ever complained and was very appreciative. Even Usahara with his bad habit of putting his foot in his mouth, was still committed to a certain level of professionalism and was quick to amend for his mistakes. When everything was said and done, you had a fondness for them all.

Last but not least, there was Uramichi. One works with many different types in the entertainment industry and you were no stranger to washed up, jaded, regularly drinking their weight in booze performers putting on a show off and on camera but Uramichi was the worst.

Needless to say, you were crazy about the man.

Today was Uramichi’s 32nd birthday and though he no doubt would prefer to ignore such a day all together, you couldn’t help yourself. This was the perfect time to do something to show your appreciation for Uramichi and not just as a gymnast oniisan. With any luck, he might not hate it. In fact, you were certain he was going to love what you chose to do.

After making up an excuse to get his attention, Uramichi dutifully trailed after you, grim faced and changed out of his costume. You intercepted him just as Usahara and a somewhat less enthusiastic Kumatani were going to usher their colleague to a bar for a night of begrudging celebration. As unlikely as it was that Uramichi would rather spend any evening doing more work, you thought he seemed a bit relieved to be taken away.

“Sorry, this won’t take long.”

“It’s fine.” Uramichi assured you in the most unconvincing attempt you ever heard. “Your job is editing, right? What do you need me for?”

“I wanted to get your approval on a few things. I wanted to work in some parts of what you were saying to the kids before.”

“From the segment about labeling?”

That particular sketch was meant to teach the children about putting their names on their school things. Doing this would help them keep track of their positions, as well as teach them about personal responsibility. It could even be a good chance to allow children to practice their spelling and penmanship. It all went about as well as it could have.

“The bit where you warned the children about adhering to the labels others will try to assign to you and how the pressures of society are designed to slowly crush any trace of individuality that doesn’t help them go with the flow was a bit long winded, but I think we can keep in bits and pieces.”

“You…want to keep it in?”

“I mean, it’s not a bad message.” You type in the passcode to the staff room. “The script is good, but you have a way of talking to kids so they can understand without talking down to them. Not everyone learns at the same pace; it helps when adults can get on a kid’s level. Most are too proud.”

“You,” Uramichi followed you into the room. “Are you saying I lack pride as an adult?”

“What? No.”

As you pull out a seat for Uramichi to use, his face says he doesn’t believe you. Seeing how despondent he is makes you want to call the whole thing off, but then you would have to come up with an excuse as to why you requested his presence in the first place.

Anyone would be justified in feeling insulted at Uramichi’s knee jerk reaction to assume the worst; it’s hardly charming, but you get it. How much of Uramichi’s attitude is natural or something he uses like a shield is anyone’s guess.

“I guess it makes sense. It’s not like we know each other that well. Besides, this is our first time speaking one on one and I had to lie to you.”

Uramichi was glancing around the room; there wasn’t any projector or cameras or a computer.

“Wait, so you don’t think I have any pride?”

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” You stare in disbelief. “I meant about looking over the footage. Hold on, I need to-”

“So then…was all that other stuff you said just to get me to come here?”

“No, it wasn’t. I’ve already got someone editing that segment anyway.”

In the corner is an easel, like one of the props they use for presentations in the show. Instead of a whiteboard or a display of cartoon images, there’s a sheet covering up the project you’ve been working on just for today.

“That’s good.”

“Huh?”

“I thought you were going to lecture me about being more professional so you didn’t have such a heavy workload. I’m sure most of your time is taken up erasing the evidence of my family unfriendly fits of despair. My bad.”

“Even hearing you apologize is bumming me out.” You sigh. “Listen, it’s not that much trouble. Besides, it’s really not my place to scold you or the other cast members.”

“Why not? You have to make up for our screw ups. Don’t tell me it can’t be stressful. You look tired just being here.”

“That’s not really something you should say to a woman. Well, anyone really.”

The blank stare widens as Uramichi realizes what he implied, but you cut him off. Things have gotten awkward enough without dragging on this conversation. Besides, you brought him here to cheer him up, if that’s even possible.

“I hope you like this. I made it for your birthday. Well, I put it together. The kids made it.”

You unveil the display with a smile, hoping you had this right and Uramichi wasn’t going to walk out. Or worse, put on his fake smile to spare your feelings. You prefer an honest reaction to your efforts.

“These are all the drawings kids have sent in for the past year. I got the idea to save them up and make a collage.”

The board is covered in crayon doodles, rough sketches, and messy paintings. There’s some postcards and pages ripped from coloring books. Almost all of them are of Uramichi-oniisan in various costumes, mainly his tracksuit: in some he’s frolicking with Kumao-kun or Usao-kun or holding hands with Utano and Iketeru. Some illustrations are of Uramichi surrounded by children or animals or just random scribbles. There’s also a decent amount featuring Kotori-san but you try not to think about that too hard.

“I thought maybe we could show the board in a show, but I wanted you to see it first. We could keep it safe in the studio, if you don’t have room for it in your place. It’s your birthday present.”

Uramichi stands up to get a closer look; he doesn’t look appalled and you choose to take this as a good sign. You step to the side, trying not to seem too nervous when he stands by your side; after a minute, Uramichi still hasn’t said anything. Even so, you’re feeling more worried by the second.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Good.” You smile, but don’t feel too relieved. “You’re not just saying that, right? It’s okay, you can be honest. Is it too cheesy? Maybe I should have left out the ones with Kotori-san.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I hate that demon, but the kid’s probably worked hard to draw it. I don't mind so much. You said this took a year?”

“More or less. Uramichi, whatever you think, you’re appreciated. The kids see you do your best. It’s more than a lot of people bother to do. I figured you wouldn’t want a staff party, but everyone here sees it too. We’re glad to have you as our gymnast oniisan.”

Uramichi was still looking over the pictures. “You work a lot harder than I do.”

“I wouldn’t say that. Our jobs are just different.”

“But no one gives the behind the scenes crew much credit. I’ve never been especially considerate to your job before, but you spent a year making me a present?”

“I only collected the drawings. It only took a couple hours to actually put it together.” You replied. “Is this too much?”

“Yeah. I don’t deserve this.” Uramichi told you bluntly. “I don’t get it. Why did you do this?”

For a long time now, you’ve watched Uramichi drag himself through the day; as much as he professes going through the motions, you know that’s not exactly true.

“The thing is, I wish I could do more. I want you to have a nice birthday.”

“I don’t like celebrating my birthday. It just reminds me that I’m a year older and I’ve wasted more time. Which is strange, since I don’t even know why I feel that way. I can’t even imagine what else I would be doing if I wasn’t an oniisan, so why do I feel like I’m wasting time at all? I can’t do this forever. I’m already 32, but I don’t have anything planned for when I get too old for Together with Maman. ’’

“You could probably still find work on another show. It doesn’t have to be physical. Unless you want to leave the industry for something else entirely. I bet you could do something with your physical education degree; you’ve had experience with children, then maybe you could work that into whatever you go for next.”

“That…sounds like a lot to think about.”

You can’t help laughing a little at how defeated Uramichi looks just from the prospect of having to start over. It’s oddly cute, like a sad puppy being told they have to go to the vet.

“It is, but if you do it one step at a time, it won’t be so daunting. That’s why I like birthdays: I see them as a chance to, well,” You scratch your head. “It’s like, yes, I made it another year! It wasn’t easy, but I’m here and that’s enough. It’s something to celebrate.”

“Hey, you should be more careful with how you phrase things.”

“What did I say wrong?”

“You’re going to make me think you have feelings for me or something.” Uramichi chuckles dryly, turning his back on you to head toward the door. “If I was Usahara, I would take this as a proposal. But anyway, thanks. I can’t remember when someone tried so hard. I guess I should return the favor. I’m being emotionally blackmailed into going out tonight: if you want, you can join. Or not. Do you drink?”

“Yes, to both.”

“Both?”

“I wanted to tell you this now, before I start taking classes full time next month. Uramichi, I like you. I do, so,” You clear your throat. “Happy birthday. I hope you’ll still accept the poster. It’s more from the kids than me anyhow. I was going to bake you something, but I wasn’t even sure if you liked cake or-”

“You talk a lot. Hold on, I need a minute.”

Uramichi has his head in his hands; he looks pale and visibly disturbed. It seems like your confession wasn’t appreciated, but you could have guessed as much. Maybe you’re too different or maybe Uramichi just isn’t interested in dating.

You can respect that, no matter how much it hurts you. In hindsight, it would have been better to keep quiet or just wait until your time was done at the studio, but you naively assumed Uramichi might like hearing someone cared. Not everything comes with conditions or ulterior motives; sometimes the pay off is as straightforward as making someone else’s day a little easier to get through.

“I’m sorry. I should go.” You make your way past him to the door. “I hope you enjoy your night!”

“Wa-wait don’t just leave! You can’t drop a bomb like that and just breeze past like-like-!” Uramichi stumbles to get to you before you rush outside. “You’re serious? Did Usahara put you up to this?”

“No.”

“Well, are you, like, sure? You didn’t mistake me for someone else?”

“You’re Uramichi Omota?”

“Yeah.”

“If this makes you uncomfortable, you really don’t have to worry, I never said anything to anyone else.”

“It’s not that. I’m just…processing. Do you really?”

“You know, maybe the next segment we do should be on active listening skills.” You cross your arms. “Uramichi, this isn’t rocket science. If you’re not interested, okay. I’ll live. I don’t mind being single, but I wouldn’t be bothering you with this if I wasn’t serious.”

Uramichi seems calmer, but no less baffled; it’s probably the most emotion you’ve ever seen him emote at once that wasn’t irritation or exhaustion. Surely he has had other girls confess to him before; you heard he was pretty popular in school. You don’t see why he’s having a hard time handling this one.

“When I was drunk, I said I thought you were cute. I wouldn’t put it past that damn bunny to try to rope you into one of his pranks.”

You grin. “You did? When?”

“Come on, I’m embarrassed enough. I’m too old for this.”

“For what?”

“To act this way.” Uramichi sighs and drags a hand over his face. “I hate it. It’s like I’m back in high school or something. It’s awkward and I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Don’t you already feel that way?”

“That doesn’t help.”

“So then?” You shrug your shoulders. “Am I cute enough to date?”

To your surprise, Uramichi’s cheeks flush slightly; you wonder if your own nervousness is showing. Truly, adults pretend as much as kids do.

“Is that offer for a drink still valid? Unless you don’t want me flirting with you in front of everyone.”

“No way.” Uramichi objects. “I don’t want to deal with that headache. Let’s not say anything until after you’re done working here.”

“Oh, now who’s making big plans for the future?” You can't resist a little more teasing. "I thought looking that far ahead was too much to handle?"

“That was when I didn’t have something to look forward to.”

Uramichi might not have meant it to sound like a line; he said it with the same bland, borderline monotone that he usually spoke with, but you feel butterflies all the same.

#life lessons with uramichi oniisan #uramichi oniisan #big brother uramichi #uramichi omota #uramichi omota x reader #fem reader #x reader #reader insert #one shot #fluff #romance #ao3 fanfic

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hwajin · 10 months

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☆°. — 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄 — 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 : ᴏᴄʜɪsɪᴀ

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, angst, smut

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: hyunjin x fem!reader

𝐰𝐜: 10.1k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: big break up (👀), a bit of swearing, unprotected sex, implications of cumming inside, oral (f receiving), painful angst etc etc!! this is a LONG one and i hope you'll like it!! i eat up every bit of feedback!! the next chapter will be the final one so i wanna thank everyone already who has been reading and reblogging this series 🫶🫶

series masterlist | final chapter

You and Hyunjin were friends. The label all but feeling foreign to you now, everything but scary; a few weeks ago it would have been frightening. Holding stable contact with the man wasn’t a hard task if you’d call it one in the first place – not long after the first introductory words and small talk was done, when the basics of a persona had been revealed your conversation had flowed naturally, as though friends for decades. It was as easy talking, texting and calling him as it was when you had first exchanged numbers – when Hyunjin had looked up your number in his system, that is. You enjoyed time when it meant spending it with him, even if you didn’t meet up physically. Hearing his voice over the speaker was calming, often fun – Hyunjin bore a kind of humour that you deemed only came out when he found himself in comfort, not intentionally comedic, simply naturally witty; you never missed a day giggling about whatever with him.

Often it was relaxing. You weren’t always talking when on the phone. Sometimes your words would fade into a comfortable silence and the only sound you’d hear from Hyunjin’s end of the speaker was pencil on paper, or brushes against a glass of water to wash off the previous colours. You’d often ask about his art, whether he was an artist to show it around or one that shied away from the attention towards his pieces; if you could ever catch a glimpse at them. He had argued that, considering it his wanted career, he needed to be brave enough to showcase his work and to accept critique for it – so yes, he’d be ready to show you, if you only asked.

Moments like those, the ones you spent in silence, in a comfortable one that only established itself between good friends and over time, it seemed, felt the most sinful, though disguising as the most innocent. When you weren’t meeting each other physically, and when you barely talked – when in fact, it seemed like you shared the least amount of contact it felt utterly shameful. Because it was intimate. Because it was more than any physical connection could ever build, you thought. Because in moments like those you could be vulnerable, existing in each other’s presence, if only in thought. Allowing yourself for them to wander, allowing sole silence to settle between you. It felt worse than any physical cheating could ever feel.

But then again, it was platonic. You argued it was, internally. You have met once or twice in the store, unintentionally – you had both needed groceries, and had stayed a bit to chat. It had evoked nostalgia, when you’d remembered it was the first place of your meeting. You had talked like friends would when crossing paths without planning to, had laughed and paid at the register together before making your ways home. And yet you had a feeling within that didn’t mimic friendship, that felt somewhat foreign yet strangely and wholly familiar. It was comforting, rather than butterflies that swarmed in the lower pit of your stomach it felt like waves of soft waters, ones you’d lay atop on when visiting a beach. Every conversation with Hyunjin – the physical ones more than the ones when you called, or merely texted – felt like water carrying your body weightlessly; utterly calming, silent, longing. You often tried to ignore it to your best abilities whenever it evoked, but it was not deniable eventually that whatever was developing between the two of you was maybe, just maybe, more than what you’d call a sheer friendship. Because you truly shouldn’t feel as excited, as happy and curious about another man you claimed to be simply acquainted with.

Speaking of, you were everything but keeping Hyunjin a secret from Chan. Despite your situation, dilemma – however you wished to call it, certainly not an easy turn of events, surely – you didn’t have the heart to give up on Chan, not that easily. You had promised to try, and he had too – which all but meant a sudden careless relationship. Arguments occurred, still, ones you didn’t seem to grow out of. Over little things, over bigger things both of you deemed important – Hyunjin was a subject of said disputes, more often than not. You felt guilty, surely, for feeling as content with him as you did. Though you had often argued that you wouldn’t tolerate jealousy from Chan in that matter. You said there wasn’t a reason for Chan to grow protective if you were the very person to admit you and Hyunjin being friends; which in no way was forbidden, Seungmin and you were too, after all; you found it childish thinking of every member of the opposite sex as a potential threat to a relationship, which Chan reluctantly agreed on. You were aware that you weren’t fully honest, not truly, that you were sinning in one way or another – you weren’t cheating, were far from it, and you’d never stoop so low – before anything possibly developed, you’d be the first to break it off with Chan. Yet you weren’t lying when you had promised to try again, to not give up the year long relationship you had been building, had honest intentions in that matter – if anything, you were thoroughly conflicted. Staying with Chan to observe, to see if your bond would reconnect, yet befriending Hyunjin to yet grasp if he was a good match, a better than Chan maybe, altogether; it drained you, internally.

And faster than you could look, four weeks had passed since you had been in the library, since you had lent out the book you were supposed to bring in sooner or later. You had enjoyed reading, had remembered Hyunjin all the while – recalling he had read the book as well, wondering his thoughts on an impactful passage or a nice message you’d read. You enjoyed that you had similar taste – momentarily drawing the comparison that you and Chan could never bond over factors like these, your taste in literature and similar arts fundamentally different. It had never been an obstacle in your relationship, though having another person to enjoy the same things as you did was comforting, you couldn’t lie.

One o’clock on a Monday, and you were excited when you stood before the library, approaching the familiar wooden door. It looked heavy, was heavier when you pulled on it; it opened with a thick creaking, one that dared to disturb the entire quiet of such a silent space. The smell of books filled your senses momentarily, and though the place was utterly clean small particles of dust reflected in the rays of the sun and danced a dance you disturbed by walking right through. Hyunjin was sitting on his assigned desk, as promised working from twelve to six from Monday to Thursday – you had missed his face. You had missed seeing him, had missed observing him during work – not that you have done it often enough to truly miss it, yet excitement filled your body when he caught your eyes and smiled back at you. You’ve seen each other occasionally the last weeks so his smile seemed familiar, warm in nature and showing pearly teeth, and you had missed it. You had missed him. Deeply so – it didn’t scare you.

Eager steps carried you to the man, your shoes clacking softly against the wooden floor and echoed through the tall room of the library. Hyunjin fit into this place like a glove, you though – you could see the appeal it drew to him, could see how someone like him – someone quiet, someone sensitive and life-loving – would enjoy a beauteous, nearly sacred place like this. That he enjoyed typing away on his working computer and listening to the keyboard’s melody as he did, undisturbed and silent room around him, or that he liked grabbing a book or a pencil to kill time while work was slow – it fit him, in the best way it could fit.

“Hey.”

His voice like honey, and you have missed that, too. His voice, you have noticed the first time around, bore soothing fruits that melted on your tongue and got you hooked when you as far as tasted it. Anything about him had such effect, you couldn’t lie, but it was his voice that you learned to enjoy so much over the past weeks. You had missed it, deeply so.

You responded, watched as Hyunjin’s eyes softened at your word, took out the book you had not forget to pack and return. A bit of small talk around it, mutual asking about certain passages, about the ending or the characters and warmth coursed its way through your limbs – it certainly was nice to have someone with similar taste, someone who thought and felt close to the way you did. Chan rarely did, not about literature or arts, anyways.

“Oh, I’d love to see your stuff at some point…”, the conversation had shifted to Hyunjin’s very own art – ever since the party you had wondered what kind of paintings he created, ever since the party Hyunjin had told you you’d be welcome to stop by any time. “…do you like, have studio?”. A shy approach to invite yourself without actually doing so, without seeming pushy, interested instead. Yet you hoped Hyunjin would get the hint.

“Oh, no- not really, I mean. I’ve always wanted an atelier, but I can’t afford it right now…”, a glance up to you, reading your face, wondering if inviting you would be too much at this stage. Risking it anyways. “…I do have a home studio, though. You know, if you want… I’m free in an hour here.”

An exchanged smile, relief from both sides after you agreed and said you’d grab a book to read while waiting for his shift to end. Mutual giddiness bubbling in your chests and you all but could concentrate on whatever novel you picked from the various shelves – in thought already at Hyunjin’s place. You hadn’t expected, hadn’t particularly planned to be invited home to him. Your intentions had been pure, you hadn’t lie when you said you were interested in his art – though you couldn’t lie over the face that being within his own four walls rope a sort of anticipation inside you. Ones home was utterly intimate, felt like a new step to your friendship – a step you should probably be wary to take, one you maybe shouldn’t take altogether. Though you weren’t able to mind it, in all honesty.

Minute by minute went by and an hour felt like an infinity. You’d read barely twenty pages, having to go over paragraphs more often than not in your lack of absorption, until Hyunjin stood before you, finally. Bag thrown over one shoulder, single strands of hair fallen out his ponytail framing his face, soft smile dancing across his lips – he was a sight comforting to look at, and if there’d been any guilt left – about waiting an hour for the man your boyfriend was most jealous of, about visiting said man in his very own home, about taking more interest in his life, his art, his passions than in your boyfriends’ – then it was all gone by now. You didn’t mind anymore, didn’t care. Had decided maybe in that particular moment, with Hyunjin standing before you in all glory, so cautious since aware of your unavailability, yet a promising look in his eyes, one telling to simply choose him, leave your gone love behind and find happiness in a new one, that whatever was left with Chan was long over. Was barely worth fighting for, if not for sheer comfort and habit. That you in fact would stop fighting, for you’d been the only one doing so, after all. That though Hyunjin was yet a land foreign to you, yet to be discovered and explored he was a land of most promising and ripe fruits, of most beauteous nature and sight, of most comfort and secureness.

“You ready?”

___ . ꫂ

Hyunjin had played down the state of his home studio severely — it was as good as an actual atelier would be, to your knowledge anyways. The apartment he shared with his roommates — all gone now, stuck in classes or blowing raspberries at work — bore an extra room too small to be a bedroom and too spacey to work as a simple storage room, and Hyunjin had quickly taken the chance to claim ownership over the space. It’s walls and floor were littered in various combinations of cold and warm colours, stains Hyunjin was likely unable to remove for the overall state of the room was a clean one, despite being the one of an artist – you didn’t know any artists personally, yet had always imagined them to be on the chaotic side. Hyunjin’s studio, stains aside, brought nothing of such – brushes and paint kits stood under a rough system, seemed clean and neat in their position. Yet the studio carried the aura of pure artistry nevertheless — canvases piled up on each other or against the walls, unfinished and breath-taking sketches revealing themselves the longer you laid eyes upon the room, new mystery revealing itself with every closer look you took. There was art everywhere you looked, warm and comforting art you didn’t think you’d ever grow tired upon seeing. Art that made you blush, naked bodies piling upon each other, wondering if Hyunjin ever took live references, art that made you think, canvases filled with so much abstractness, so much variation in colour and texture that it needed you a minute to understand what you were looking at altogether.

You wanted to never leave this place again.

“You made all that?”

Stupid question expectant of stupider answer, though Hyunjin merely chuckled, his cheeks darkening, his fingers fiddling suddenly.

“Yeah... I mean, some of it is like super rough and not really good but... you know, inspiration comes and goes.”

The man gave you a look shy, one you wanted embedded behind a lock within your heart for an eternity – it was pureness, it was innocence that laid in his eyes when he looked at you like this. It was salvation, spoken with a pair of orbs, freedom offered with a single gaze.

And it was art that revealed itself to be a person, laying eyes on Hyunjin, art prettier than pencils and colours could ever create. Looking at him as though your entire world, looking at him as though he was the answer to everything you’d been looking for.

“Oh, shut up, nothing in here is ‘not really good’, I love every single piece…”, exchanged shy look, reddened faces the both of you, and you continued quickly, “I mean, I’m no artist but looking at your paintings makes me, like… feel something. I guess that’s a compliment for an artist, no?”

You chuckled, made your way into the depths of his atelier – it wasn’t anything but, as modest as Hyunjin chose to be about it – and let yourself flood with emotions he had converted onto paper and canvas, allowed yourself to discover colours and shapes, to give them a meaning only guessable – you truly weren’t an artist nor in any right of a good critique, though for Hyunjin you felt ready to learn it all. To understand theory and technique and profession, to dive into a world so unknown to you before, so beauteous you found yourself unable to resist.

A chuckle from him, then; “Yeah, you’re right… thank you.”

Hyunjin wasn’t following you through your journey across his works, stood by his most current piece near the window of the room – he had explained before that natural light was the best to paint with, so grateful the room happened to face the west side. He stood and watched you, enchanted by your interest in him, in his most vulnerable thing, nervous if you’d end up liking it altogether – art was insanely subjective, and while Hyunjin never took it personally nor illy if people and critiques reacted negatively, he needed you to be of an opinion positive. He needed you to like whatever you saw, to maybe understand even, inspiration and emotion, thought-process behind pieces and paintings. Though maybe that was too much to ask for, maybe to greedy of a wish to make. So Hyunjin stood watching you by the open window, hoping for simple contentment with his works from your side. Simple liking, nothing more. Because your validation was all he viewed necessary, from person least knowing of the subject yet of most important value.

Eyes meeting his, and you chuckled out, catching Hyunjin by surprise.

“You don’t talk much, huh?”

Catching Hyunjin by surprise anew – you were impossible to figure out. Admittedly, he had been silent from the moment you started making your way through his works. While he could have explained his inspiration behind certain ones he decided to refrain from it, letting you – hopefully – enjoy the silent satisfaction art brought. He was merely watching you – if maybe because in awe, though you were right, surely. He didn’t talk much, ever, truly.

“Yeah. I don’t really have much to say, I guess.”

Surprised look from your side now, and you shrugged your shoulders.

“I don’t know. Your paintings say otherwise.”

And with that you kept looking, and left Hyunjin utterly perplexed. It was a statement so base yet so determined in its character, and Hyunjin nothing but blushed at it.

He kept watching your eyes widen at certain works, when you liked the colours or when you did, after all, reciprocate thoughts and feelings, watched as you walked carefully, cautious not to nudge or bump against still wet canvasses and drying paint. Watched and shied when your gaze met his, when you decided to explore him instead of the art all around – and Hyunjin wondered if you felt the same. Ever wondered if the tension he still felt when around had dissipated for you already, if you had gotten used to the pulling and urging and longing your bodies fell into whenever near each other. No doubt that you had felt the same yet wondering if it was still the case, or if he was the one needing to hold a grip of himself – his body plucked by yours in the smallness of the room was unbearable, nearly, made him lose himself if he wasn’t careful enough. Needed constant reminding to not lose himself in the sight of you fully, converting his eyes for a second or two, collecting composition, regaining control. Control you so loved to take away from him, were so eager to steal right through the holes in his heart.

He damned your boyfriend — if it wasn’t for him, Hyunjin would have long made a move, despite his shy, his careful character, would have long spilled out his hearts’ desires for it took his body every last nerve to resist you, the whole of you. As you made your way through his paintings, through his emotions, through the soul of his Hyunjin’s body urged to be with yours, his heart desired your very own.

“You’d be beautiful to paint.”

Words past Hyunjin’s lips, gushing out too fast as to catch them from being heard. Far louder in the small room that he had intended them to be, for he hadn’t intended them at all. Hyunjin hadn’t even finished the thought before the words had materialized into the room – they simply appeared, as much to your surprise as his, and they bathed the both of you with a shower of fluster, of speechlessness. Exchanging looks, though faces burned hot converting eyes wasn’t in neither of your strengths to do – you simply looked at each other, purified disbelief dripping from within your eyes and onto your faces, standing like two idiots caught red-handed; because that was the first time thoughts had been spoken out aloud. Thoughts too secret, too forbidden to share, thoughts nearly sinful, bashful to even think, really. And they occupied your minds entirely – and Hyunjin was the first to admit to them. Though not wanted yet he did, and you’d been scared of the consequences. Scared to move because that would mean realness, scared to shift gaze because that would mean shyness, similar-mindedness; sin.

“I’m – oh my god, I’m sorry. I just mean --- you’d be a good reference, that’s all. I-”

Words a waterfall, and you shook your head, back in the studio after having felt lost, floating somewhere above the room, brought back the voice of his. And roughly, so.

“No, no… don’t apologize… uh- thank you…? I’m sorry, uh, thank you, really.”

Voice as trembling as you felt, and you shook your head all the while speaking, huffing out in attempted amusement, though it came out as a snort and ended up awkward; which made your heart beat faster and your face paint darker, and you cursed Hyunjin for saying those five words, so short a sentence, so small a promise and yet enough to shake your word. Walls you built so carefully before stepping into his home crumbling in their place, any sort of shield around your heart, regardless of its material, shattering into pieces to let free the feeling you had been trying to suffocate beneath layers of pretend. Allowing your body to be pulled by his, allowing the string that connected your hearts to tighten, to bring you closer, to connect you. To truly connect you, because now his word was spoken, now his promise was made. As small a promise as it was, and there was way to go, but it was irreversible.

And he knew it, too. Felt the threads, felt the needle in his arteries poking deeper, felt the fine fibre pulling him towards you and you towards him, felt your heart sink altogether, felt your crumbling composure. Knew even, maybe, entirely what you’ve been thinking – though not a master to mind reading he swore he knew what was going on in yours, felt your thoughts as though they were his own.

“I… actually… I haven’t really painted you, per se, but…”, though shy, resistant, Hyunjin let his mouth speak, as though a stranger to his own words, with no control over his mouth, his body. But the moment called for honesty, and he was ready to grant it to you. Ready to cross boundaries if he needed to – he hated your damned boyfriend, and if the last thing he did was being the reason for your end then so be it. He’d be ready to die on that hill, he’d be ready to die on any hill, if it was for you. Pathetic, because unsure if you felt the same, though not embarrassed, never ashamed. Hyunjin decided maybe in that very moment that he’d fight, as long as you let him. That, as long as you visited him, the library, his studio, or merely your voice at night over the hushed speaker of his phone, when your boyfriend worked his life away, unapologetic of your own, that he would fight for you. For your love. For your heart.

“I made this. And you… were the inspiration, I guess. More like, the feeling I have… when I’m around you. The feeling we both had, I think… when we first touched at that party… God that sounds so stupid.”

He mumbled; you nearly asked him to repeat himself. Though the very moment you laid eyes upon the canvas every thought ceased to exist within you – you had never seen a painting, a work of art as delicate as the one he showed you, brought up from behind a pile of abstract looking pieces. It were hues upon hues, oranges and blues, light and dark composition, moulded together in a way you wondered how was humanly possible. Where one colour ended the next began, mixing where they met each other, connecting in strokes articulate, almost. As though the painting bore the ability to speak, telling you of its thoughts, of its longings and desires, of its love. Of Hyunjin’s love, ultimately – for he was the one who brought the painting to life. With you in thought, with you behind the lids of his eyes, with you before his very being.

And you knew from maybe that moment that it was him. That it had always been him, the empty space within you, the wishing part of you, the one asking for contentment, for delicateness, for love within your life. That it had been him before you ever grew to know him, that it had been him before you’d been placed on this earth, before you had walked the planet, altogether.

___ . ꫂ

“You have no right to be angry at me, and you know that.”

Not screaming though you weren’t too far from it at that point, trying to collect voice because volume surely wouldn’t help.

You had come home, step light and head high, Hyunjin and the past hour occupying your mind entirely – until you had reached your entrance door, made your way into it, and had met Chan on the sofa, angry, upset.

“You have forgotten our date.”

Words as simple as that, and they had made you furious. Furious because he was unbelievable – missed chances from his point and it was fine, the moment you gave him a taste of his own medicine, bitter and unpleasant he reacted. It was unfair on you, and he was crazy not to be seeing it. His hypocrisy, his idiocy.

And you had been impatient. Had nearly not wanted to fight or argue because you saw no point within, knowing your boyfriend well enough to predict no outcome would leave the both of you satisfied. That compromising throughout your relationship, throughout the time you’ve spent together could only do so much, could only work for as long as it has. That you have reached a breaking point, surely, finally.

“You have no right to be angry with me. I can’t even count on fingers how many you have missed and I won’t let you ride my dick for the one that skipped my mind today!!”

You and Chan stood opposite, so far away from each other, and it didn’t feel like enough. You wanted to get away, needed to, because he was suffocating. Suffocating and impossible, loved so dearly once and now hated all the more. You didn’t want to; hate was a word so strong it nearly scared you, though love was as well. The flame with Chan, if there’s ever been one, had burned out, had used out every last match it could find, every last piece of rotten wood it could burn. Left was a cold bundle of ash, asked to be taken out, to be thrown away, to be abandoned. To be finally left alone, because it was tired, exhausted of the constant tries of starting a fire, of getting it to burn again. Pained from the constant nagging, from the fruitless effort, from the overripe dejection.

“I am angry though!? We’ve promised to start to make an effort, and I’m really fucking trying here, I’ve cleared my fucking schedule for you, I’ve cancelled important meetings and appointments I needed to attend and I did for fucking you!? Fucking hell.”

Words intended to make you feel bad though you failed to. Couldn’t, not with a right mind. Though Chan wasn’t wrong in theory, you couldn’t bear the heart to truly feel bad for him; you long stopped to, should have long stopped pretending to. You looked at him, through eyes cold, senseless. You’ve lost all hope with him, all hope for him. There was nothing left within you to feed the love you’ve so carefully tended, nothing that would make you regret your thoughts, doubt them, demonize them. You looked at him and he was furious, shouting words meaningless to you. Telling you to speak, to explain to him, to make him understand. If this was the moment where it was over, where you’d part ways. Where you’d give up. It was nothing but meaningless to you. Didn’t feel bad for Chan even when you saw tears daring to stain his cheeks, his shirt. When his fingers ran through his hair, noticing how thin they’ve grown. Couldn’t feel bad for him when his body sank to the ground, missing the sofa by inches, making contact with cold hardness beneath him instead, letting head fall into hands, chocked sobs emerging from within him.

You couldn’t feel bad for him. Couldn’t because it had been you on that same spot by the sofa countless of times, the reason him, always. You who would choke sobs past your throat, embarrassed of how they sounded through the echo of the apartment, an apartment so lonely you had wondered if it was shared, in the first place. Apartment so lonely you had doubted you had a partner altogether, maybe only a fraction of your imagination, a fabrication of your deepest wishes. To be loved, and to love – you had been missing that even though committed, and you had decided now, watching, listening to your lost love cry, that it was the last time you would miss it. That this point, the breaking one, should have enrolled far longer – though now you’d make the best of it, with what you had.

“It’s over.”

Words so disturbingly loud you jumped at your own voice, jumped at Chan’s reaction to them – his head shot up momentarily, glistening eyes boring into yours, brows furrowed and lips quivering impossibly. He was furious, confused. Started begging, screaming. Seated in his space, not moving an inch from the spot by the sofa. Stayed screaming at you, begging right after, apologizing frantically, crying fat tears that rolled heavy down his cheeks. You couldn’t feel bad for him.

He stayed crying at the spot by the sofa when you started moving, finally, letting your body get used to the sensation, feeling heavy, feeling as though you stood a statue of stone by the kitchen counter, not as much as blinking. You moved towards your shoes, grabbing a jacket as you went, slipping into the right, then the left. Motions automatic, robotic. You couldn’t care about him. Grabbing keys, listening to his pleading, to his cries of your name, to his apologies. Words you’ve heard so very often you feared to grow null towards them, emotionless, careless. Words worth gold though Chan reduced them to mere dirt, nothing more than. Words you now heard behind you, hand on the handle, opening the door to welcome the cool from outside, before it engulfed you whole, before it consumed you fully and never bound to let you go, not for tonight.

___ . ꫂ

He was in love with you. When you had left his apartment, Hyunjin feeling a useless fool, corners of his mouth from eye to eye, the pounding in his heart had never seemed to stop. He had prepared himself dinner, had put on a show he didn’t pay the least attention to, he washed the dishes with a carelessness he never laid upon chores – and then his phone’d chimed up, ringing in a tone familiar, and his heart had nearly made its way out of its confines, snugly laid within the ribcage beneath his skin when he saw your name, a text from you. Maybe she felt me thinking about her, he thought, naively, and cringed at his very own theorization.

00: 18 >> hey, are you free? right now?

Questioning look on Hyunjin’s visage, and he’d responded he was, yet asking whether there was a problem – it was a bit after midnight, and though Hyunjin would welcome you with open arms regardless how late, regardless the reason, he worried. He knew you shared a place with your boyfriend – scoffing at the thought right as he had thought it, body flooding with dislike the very moment – and there was seemingly no reason for your search for Hyunjin, not after having spent half the day in company.

And then hope filled his being, occupied his lungs with so much weight it felt heavy to breathe, made his soul bloom in flowers most delicate, most spacious he was at risk to lose sight of all else – you had texted him in the middle of the night, though it was your supposed boyfriend you ought to be with at such hour. Him who you had come home to, in all likeliness – him, or the traces of him, the loneliness he left the thing you fled from. To Hyunjin, instead. To the guy you surely walked on eggshells around, the very guy your boyfriend must be hating insatiably. And yet you had texted him a little after midnight, and had rang his doorbell.

“I’m so sorry, I know how late it is, I just- I’m so sorry, oh my god.“

You stumbled into his apartment after Hyunjin had opened the door for you, apologies gushing past your lips like mantras. Reassuring you, offering you a seat by his sofa – the apartment was yet empty, roommates having texted they would stay over at their friends’ or partners’, and Hyunjin had been giddy about having the place for himself for a night, not remembering the last time he had had the chance to – yet he was giddier now that you joined his lonesome, though worry overshadowed any excitement Hyunjin could have bared.

You weren’t crying, though the puffiness of your eyes, the red around them, your bruised up lips revealed that you had been before reaching Hyunjin’s place. He knew the reason was the boyfriend, though he didn’t allow his jealousy, his messed-up mind to start a conversation – you would explain if you needed to, wouldn’t if you didn’t have the strength to. Hyunjin would wait it out either way, would grant a listening ear or a simple companion – he’d be whatever you needed him to be.

“God, I should have called Seungmin… I would have called him, I just- I felt like I needed to see you.”

Your voice frantic, though less now than before. Hyunjin sat beside you on the soft cushions, keeping a fair distance though it wasn’t possibly enough – your distraught heart pulling him forward, and he shifted to create more space – he would touch you if he didn’t, would lay a comforting hand on your shoulder, would embrace you in a hug. Figuring it was the last thing you needed he regained control against the waves of pressure your body shot his way, waited simply for your words to take on form, to start making sense.

“No… it’s okay, don’t worry about it… are you okay? Are you hurt, did something happen?”

Soothing words and far more soothing voice, and it nearly shot another heat of tears right past your eyes and onto the wetness of your cheeks. You felt bad, guilty for disturbing Hyunjin’s night, guiltier to come crying by his doorstep. Though there wasn’t an ounce of reluctance within him, it seemed, welcoming you as though it was a normality, as though it was a given for him to take you in. And maybe that made it all the worse, his kind-heartedness, his demeanour, his readiness for you. His drastic difference to you boyfriend – your ex –, his wholly different character, kinder, calmer, softer.

“No, I’m fine, I’m fine. I just… I ended it. With Chan. I couldn’t take it anymore, Hyunjin.”

Silent tears down your eyes, glistening against your skin like flooded rain in pavement cracks, tears as you materialized what had happened prior, as you made real a tragedy so relieving. Hyunjin shouldn’t be happy, oh did he feel bad for wanting to flip over the world in feeling of newly gained strength and energy, of satisfaction so grand he never thought possible. Felt so very bad for not feeling bad for you, not in ways one would think – it hurt his heart that you were pained, understood that despite his despise it was a relationship your own heart had been invested in, so all the more painful now that it was over. And yet he was relieved. For your very own sake, because he was aware of the hardships a one-sided love must have brought, undoubtedly. Screws in his brain rutting, and Hyunjin realized he must offer a place of comfort, despite his flawed thoughts, despite his evil mind. He only hoped you couldn’t read the relief in his eyes as you locked in his gaze with your teary one.

“Fuck, I’m… I’m so sorry. God, you must feel horrible, wait… let me give you a water, are you thirsty? If you have no place to stay you can sleep here, by the way, all the others are gone… you can have my bed and some clothes, just… feel at home… wait, let me give you that water—”

And you started sobbing. Tears gushing out as fast as Hyunjin’s words were, words of utter comfort, of compassion, of kindness. You damned him for it. Damned him for your fragile heart, for the way he was so easy to shake it. Damned him for making his way into your life so unknowingly, so quietly you hadn’t noticed the point where it’s been too late. Damned him for loving him as much as you did, for seeing him when thinking of deepest desires, of love in its very being. Looking at him, eyes milked up yet looking at him. He stared back, perplexed, halfway to the kitchen though stopped in his tracks at the sound of your cries, at the sight of your eyes, your face – he stood looking at your pain, unsure gaze meeting untempt one, seconds feeling like days, entirely too long while anticipating an answer or an explanation altogether, for sudden outburst, for sudden tears at act so kind.

“Stop… just stop being so nice to me.”

Standing up from your seat, legs feeling weak as they moved around the room. Heavy steps towards Hyunjin, careful not to get too close, not to meet his tide, a tide so strong you’d be pulled into wholly if movements grew too risked.

“Please stop being so nice to me, I- I’ll fall in love with you even more.”

Words cutting into every layer of tension that had laid itself upon the room, breaking every damn either of you had built tediously, shooting right through every wall, through every measure of safety you had kept around your hearts. You had taken the knife and stabbed times a million where it was most sensitive, had cut out oxygen from where it was more necessary. And you were close. Too close to him to feel at ease, too close to Hyunjin for his blood to pump in speed it would be healthy – mind and body racing, part of his brain encoding the meaning of your very confession, of your impossible words. Words so powerful it knocked him off his feet, words he never believed to be lucky enough to hear. You were wholly insane, and he was utterly in love.

Stepping closer to you, space between you buzzing, hissing, lighting up as though bodies were electrified, as though highest volts were coursing your veins, your skin. Stepped closer to watch your face paint in agony, so close he was tempted to wipe off the tears grazing your eyes. His hand raised, inches away from your cheek. You shifted, tilted your head to escape his touch. He stayed in position, arm raised, eyes boring into you.

“I can’t.”

Your voice so quiet he had to lip read, his hand ever in position, ready to soothe if you only gave the word. More and thicker tears rolled down the curve of your face, the perky bone, down the plush and onto the dip by your collarbone. He watched it, wished to kiss it away.

“I can’t get into a relationship right away. I know there’s… something… here…”, you let your hands sway through the space between your bodies, your hand breaking through resistance so strong you didn’t believe there was nothing than mere air between your bodies. Had to be something more, something deeper, “but me and Chan, it was so exhausting.”

A choked sob and you regained control, eyes losing his for only a moment before holding gaze anew – his own didn’t wander, every of his senses glued onto you as though you’d break apart if he only as though looked a different direction. He stood listening to you, aching heart and far more aching soul – he was willing to gift you anything, to morph into the very person you needed most this very moment, to become whatever you now desired. Understanding you and waiting to take him as he was, because he was willing to get hurt if it was for you. Tears wettening your shirt, apology staining the room – and Hyunjin’s hands engulfed your face, one big hand on either of your side, palms dampened in tears. The feeling that shot through your bodies was one neither of you could ignore, eyes softening, limbs stiffening, minds short circuiting – it needed Hyunjin a moment to find his words, though sure of them the sensation of touch, your skin against his had knocked out remaining rationality.

“I need you however you’ll let me have you.”

Blinking, his words like sweetest venom in your ear. His eyes expectant, his palms providing warmth, soothing touch to disrupted skin, to torn up heart. You tended to it, tended to him.

“Will you let me hurt you, then?”

And then your lips met. Hyunjin’s answer his mouth on your own, his hands in your hair. Your own finally brave enough to reciprocate touch – you had never sensed him before, not really. Had never sought out to find his touch directly, never actively, so. It was a sensation like no other, a million light bulbs, uncountable fireworks popping in colour underneath your skin, just where yours met his. Fingertips on his neck, by the back of his hair, by the perk of his shoulder. A million fireworks in blue and red and purple and green, sounding through your ears as though going off in this very room, in this very apartment, place so lonely, filled with two lost souls that had found each other finally, though maybe in the wrong moment. Two souls connected the way two snap hooks were, sealed within each other.

Hyunjin lead you through it. His mouth opened to a kiss of teeth and clatter, and you allowed him to, sunk into the feeling of him, his lips on yours, his hands on the vastness of your body. He wasn’t greedy with his moves, needy though as he stopped before his tongue protruded into mouth of yours, asking for permission silently until you granted allowance – only then he continued forward, wet muscles enchanting in a dance addicting, warmth spreading through the entireties of your bodies. You stood in place and kissed each other, a kiss so long awaited it might have been a dream, altogether. A kiss so surreal Hyunjin had to pull away or a moment quick, looking at you, looking at the whole of you – your blown out eyes, pleading, scared. Your lips red, your hands on his chest, his own by the curve of your waist. He had dreamed of this very moment throughout countless nights, when it was only him and his thoughts, and you within them. Had dreamed to kiss you under different circumstances, yet kiss you altogether; and it was sweeter, softer, better than any dream could fabricate.

Staggered breath from both of you as you took the other in, locking blown out eyes and holding trembling bodies, tending running minds, with as much as a look, a touch. And then lips found lips again. As though instinctively, as though it was the very thing, the only thing you’d been born to do. To wrap mouth around mouth, to allow tongues within, to graze upon teeth, to bite down on lips. Softly, experimentally, and then again, when wanted reaction followed.

Hyunjin started backing against the soft of the sofa as your hands made their way through his hair, messing up the softened locks to your liking. He let you, gratefully, toy at him as you wished. Let you explore his body as he explored yours, bunching up clothes in fists, so impatient, so eager. Because this has been all you’d ever wanted, the both of you, everything and more of what you’d desired, since the very moment you’d seen each other in the small of the convenience store, entirely unfamiliar then yet strangely connected. The embrace of the other, lips dancing in sync as though meant to be, hands dancing across body as though born to serve that very purpose.

Hyunjin crouched down, motioning your body softly, swiftly, so you sat on the edge of the couch, his body hovering above yours, darkening your view against the dim light of the living room. His lips never tore apart from your own – the sounds of wet against wet filled the small of the room, joined by softest sighs and gasps for air; you were left speechless, thoughtless with every additional touch, with every further exploring, the both of you. Hyunjin crouched down further, face to face with you and he went lower, yet, pulling your head with him, leaving you to be the one above him after he settled on his knees between your own. Hands on either of your thighs, caressing the plush, groping at the flesh when your fingers pulled against his darkened roots – you quickly discovered him to like it when you did.

Hyunjin broke the kiss, reluctant to let you go, meeting equally reluctant eyes, your lips chasing his for a moment until he connected them to the curve of your neck, minimally dampened in sweat – you must have walked to his place, only now he figured, feeling even deeper discontentment with your ex; until he remembered he was the one kissing you this very moment, his mouth the one attached to the softness of your neck, to the bit behind your ear, to the hollow part of your collarbone. He was the one whose hands steadied themselves on your waist, squeezing to his liking, kissing down to meet your chest. He was the reason you squirmed in his hold, in between his hands, on his couch, in his home – it was him, and Hyunjin would be a fool to grow salty, to let you go. To miss the opportunity, the way your ex did – Hyunjin wouldn’t possibly be so dumb, would give his heart to treat you the way you had deserved to be treated, the years passed. Would show you what love could be like, if it was him you were with.

You grew desperate. Loved the way Hyunjin’s mouth lapped at your body, loved his hands exploring it – but you needed more. Needed the very thing his whole demeanour pointed towards – his body caged between your legs, his hands on your thighs, moving closer to your sex, his face inching nearer towards it. Though he was taking his time. Sweet time to dote on you, to tend you, to love you. Hands only going as far as pulling your shirt high enough to litter your lower stomach in kisses most sweet, and you couldn’t take any more.

“Hyunjin... please.”

Your words as though brought him back to reality, if he had forgotten his surroundings before, merely focusing on you and your body, on the way you sounded, smelled and felt to the touch he now was grounded again, finding himself on his knees before you, finding your eyes looking at him with so much plead, so much desire he might just implode. He understood, your words of impatience, and he mumbled a quick apology, wasting no time now to jumble up the hem of your shirt, to busy his hands with the button of your jeans, hook his fingers into the waistband of your attires. Sliding off pants and underwear in one go after an approving look, and Hyunjin feared that truly, his heart would simply shoot up in a million tiny pieces and out of his body. The sight of you, hovering on the edge of the sofa, body leaned against the back of it, arms working as a prop behind you — lower half exposed, sinfully so; you were glistening in soft wetness, excitement lacing your features, the entirety of you body. It was better than Hyunjin could have ever dare to dream of. This very image having haunted his nightly fantasies ever so often, guilt in the pit of his stomach as his hand had lowered to ease himself every single time — and now he lived it, would no longer have to rely on his mind to fabricate most eager sceneries, wouldn’t need to rely on solely his hand to grand him sweetest release. You lay before him and in flesh, and his eyes glazed over with a sheen of adoration, with a hint of disbelief, maybe.

“So pretty. So, so pretty.”

Words leaving mouth quietly as his lips connected to the plush of your thighs, your body jumping at both the compliment and the sudden contact of warm lips to warmer skin. It felt foreign yet all too much familiar, too known a feeling to be strange, and your lids fluttered close, neck giving in, head lulling to the side. Hyunjin didn’t keep his eyes off you for a moment – watching you intently through deep lashed as he bit and sucked on the flesh of inner thighs, learning most sensitive zones, most erogenous spots. Mouth moving closer to your heat and your legs opened wider at his antics, feeling his lips on the bone connecting leg and pelvis, and your hips rolled forward – minimally yet enough to drive Hyunjin insane, seeing, sensing your need a matter unbelievable to him – you wanted him as much as he wanted you, and he everything but stayed calm at the mere thought alone. A feeling of increased ego, or simple relief – the both of you had walked on eggshells around the other, ever since the day at the store. Had felt feelings reciprocated yet had never been entirely sure, because too cowardly to ever ask – knowing surely now, the desire was of mutual nature – Hyunjin felt utterly helpless.

Mouth attaching to your slit, wetness covering him whole momentarily, hum leaving his throat and sending vibrations right through you, making your back arch into him this much more, your neck throwing back now, eyes shut and hand entangled in coloured hair. Pulling on it slightly to get soft sounds to leave his lips, to feel them against the sensitivity of your clit, to hear his satisfaction in satisfying you. His tongue lapping up your every bit, humming at the taste of you, at your smell. At the sight of you basking in his ministrations on you, focused and determined, wanting nothing more than to please you, the way he’s been dreaming of, imagining too many times to count. It was working, seemingly – shy whimpers leaving your mouth, self-conscious of being too loud, yet unable to deny the feeling Hyunjin provided you, gifted you with. Tongue dancing in kitten licks and sucks against your clit, or prodding at your entrance, and you’ve lost yourself further and further into him, both waiting for release, anticipating it yet dreading it, because the moment would be over, then. Wanted to bask in the impossible feeling of satisfaction that would never be enough only to not let the moment end, altogether – yet Hyunjin didn’t stop, kept driving you to said release, with licks against your slit, with kisses against your sensitivity, detaching only to litter wettened kisses against the vastness of your thighs. Your following whines of protest in loss of touch made Hyunjin chuckle and he went back to bask you in sweetest pleasure, fingers toying at your entrance, sliding into you when your hips bucked to allow him in, when impatient hands grabbed for his wrist, pleads rolling past your tongue in sheer holiest mantras.

Hyunjin was driven, wrist sore from curling up against the spot he had found after moments of searching, knowing he had when your back had arched so violently it had nearly scared him, jaw clacking in overuse though he was the last to care about any of it. Driven to drive you to where you needed him to, until you’d see white, until his very name would be the last thing on your mind, the feeling of him on you the very last feeling you’d die to feel. He watched you as your hands pulled him closer to your middle, as your hips rolled against his face, until you started clenching around the girth of his fingers, relentless pleasure in the way they never missed the softest spot so deep within you, until you started seeing stars. Only mumbling nonsense, utterly lost in the feeling of him, thighs contracting beside his head, your mind free from the frustrations of previous moments – wholly focused on your release that came in waves heavy, stormy, washing over you as Hyunjin sat careful to ride it out, not stopping movements until you told him to, until you squirmed in his hold in overstimulation. Your breath staggered, your chest heaving, your legs tired. Your eyes finding his in a moment of realisation, hearts skipping a beat as you fell back to reality – Hyunjin’s pupils were impossibly blown out, outlined erection visible even through the fabric of his worn-out sweatpants, breath as staggered as yours was. You ought to scream at the top of your lungs at the lust, the desire he watched you with – knowing he wanted you as much as you did, knowing he had felt the same about you the previous weeks where worry’d been all that’s been on your mind, worry about lost love, worry about the risks of finding a new one – he had been there and he had been feeling the very same you had, and you urged to kiss him at mere thought alone.

Pulled him up by his chin so your lips could meet in a kiss passionate, wet and laced with your release, drowned in your contentment, teeth clashing and hands groping wherever they could reach. Sneaking beneath shirts to pull them off seconds later, leaving you wholly naked, Hyunjin in only his sweats. And the kiss was never enough. The moment you wanted to pull away for air, or to ask Hyunjin for more, for his pants and underwear to be gone you simultaneously felt reluctant to, seemingly unable to break the kiss, to detach your lips from his. Having waited to have him like this for far too long it now seemed impossible to let him go for even a moment, if it meant burning with emptiness and desire a little while longer.

Though your bodies could only take so much. Hips longing for friction, yours as much as his, the confines of his pants only paining him, his impatience. And you didn’t let him hurt for too long. Started reaching down his body, tracing lines of abs and soft muscles to hook your fingers into the waistband of his undergarments, pleading for him to take them off, eyes anticipating, hands wanting. He complied gratefully, pulled off sweats and boxers in one go, adding them to the pile of carelessly tossed cloths before his eyes were back on your own – only looking, exchanged gaze as you waited for someone to do the crucial move, the one that would bound you as one for the remaining of time. Both of you too cowardly, hot breath hitting faces, sweat forming to dance on flushed skin.

“I can’t- I can only give you this much. I can’t give you want you want, not right now. I want you to know that, this is- this is the only thing I can give you.”

Voice on the verge of breaking, quiet in your throat, eyes filling with agony. You didn’t want to hurt him, wished to be able to love him the way he wanted you to, the way he deserved it. Wished that Chan wouldn’t have settled into your very being as persistent as he did, making him the only reason for your heart to be reluctant, scared to open up as wide anew.

Hyunjin’s thumb caressed the high of your cheek, head leaning closer, giving a peck to bruised up lips to lean his forehead against yours a moment later. Intimacy dizzying the both of you, closeness and proximity making it heart to reach for air.

“Then it’s enough for the time being. I’ll wait for you, I promise.”

A sigh out of your lungs and a nod, and Hyunjin started lining up with your entrance, precum and your wetness enough for his sinking into you to be utterly painless, for the stretch to be one of unbelievable pleasure. Fireworks setting off in your bodies anew, and only now the relentless pulling seemed to have faded, had turned into a feeling of passion, of pleasure in measures unknown to you times previous. You whimpered out momentarily, reciprocating Hyunjin’s deep groan against your ear, his stuttering hips as he bottomed out within you, so deep your body felt as helpless as they came. All five senses entirely focused on him, on the way he filled you – though for the very first time, you yet felt nostalgia rushing through you, as though this very moment had happened in a past life, as though your bodies, your souls had loved each other the very same way long before you had known it yourselves.

Setting a slow rhythm, embracing each other, holding your bodies close. Chests flushed, heartbeats in sync, hips meeting somewhere in the middle, where your cores connected. Sweat a sheet across your fleshes, breaths hitching in your throats, confessions spilling past kiss-bitten lips – it was connection you had craved for years on end, connection so deep it dared to scratch your heart. And in this very moment, one you’ve anticipated behind closed doors, in most private fantasies, you weren’t man and woman having sex, you were two people, two souls loving the other. Because it were your souls that loved, not your bodies. When you kissed, when you touched, when you let lips and hands dance across bodies where it was most desired your bodies expressed the love your very souls felt, because your souls themselves couldn’t possibly reveal such feelings. So, you took your bodies as a vessel, as a messenger for your love, your desire, your longing. Materialized what souls were feeling – and you grunted against the other, bodies growing more frantic, more feverous, reaching closer the point you so badly wanted to reach, together, in unison.

It didn’t take you much longer – one thrust, a second and a third until you whined out, letting Hyunjin know how close you were, through gritted tears and teary eyes, until he nodded and agreed, telling you, begging you to let go, for you were with him. And you did at the sound of his voice, waves of pleasure gushing over you before they took over Hyunjin, whines filling the stuffiness of the room, confessions following right after. Collapsing on top of you and staying within the hold of your arms – another dream he’s had, so all the more unbelievable, impossible now that he was living it. Shifting on the sofa so you lay comfortably, never letting go of bodies, holding close to warmth. Careless about your stickiness, your sweat covering the whole of you – careless because this moment, you were everything that mattered, Hyunjin was.

“I don’t wanna sleep yet. Because then this moment will pass.”

Chuckling in his hold, and you felt no different. Basking in the feeling of him, laying on his sofa, heartbreak and suffering so far away now you wondered if the last hour had even occurred, or if it was a fabricated memory for your mind to play with you, to hurt you. It was all gone in Hyunjin’s arms, with his body so close to yours. The pulling, the string that had seemed to be connecting your hearts, your bodies wherever you went, from the moment in the store had tightened the two of you together for eternity, finally, eventually. At it was a feeling good, of utter contentment. One of relief, because the matter had been sitting on your shoulders for far too long, for your own good, for your own health. Your hearts had finally found each other, rightfully so, like they were intended to before your bodies walked this earth – and you fell asleep to Hyunjin’s soft snoring, you in his heart and him in your own, ought to be bound with nothing to tear you apart.

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