#the way these moments are so expressive.... perhaps i'm crying.... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

emphistic · 2 months

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𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊

𝐀/𝐍: thank you all for more than 505 followers (see what i did there with the song?) have this as a token of my gratitude (this is superr long overdue, mb you guys)

𝐖/𝐂: around 2500

“Why? Why, Sukuna? Why the hell did you not pull away?” You failed to keep your voice down.

“Baby, please. Trust me, she flung herself on me. I–”

“So you didn't push her off?”

Sukuna raked his fingers through his hair, clearly exasperated and struggling to find the words to answer you. “Look — the last time I did that I almost got arrested for assault. And guess what? You yelled at me for that, too. You said, ‘Why would you do that? You couldn't have just told her to get off?’ So really, what did you want me to do this time?”

You covered your mouth to stifle your sobs, at this point, your mascara was completely ruined, running down your cheeks. “Okay, okay, I get it. I'm wrong, you're right.”

But I crumble completely when you cry

Sukuna turned away from you, scratching his neck. Your mascara was smudged along your cheeks, your tears dampening your eyelashes. He couldn't bear seeing you like this, not when he was the cause. Was it cruel of him to say, to believe, to think, that you were most beautiful this way?

“That wasn't my point, and you know that. You know that damn well, sweetheart.” Sukuna said — after a moment of silence — and turned back to face you, albeit he hesitated before meeting your glossy eyes.

“Then what was it? What was it, Sukuna? Tell me. Enlighten me.” You frantically wiped away your tears as they fell, and though desperate as you were, you were still too slow.

“. . .” Sukuna stared down at you with a stoic expression painted on his face. His gaze remained unwavering, though yours flickered throughout the room, seemingly unable to face him properly. If he knew better, he would realize it was only because you would start bawling immediately after meeting his crimson eyes.

It seems like once again you've had to greet me with goodbye

“Fine!” You threw your arms up, utterly defeated. You had no time for Sukuna's games. “Be that way; go have fun with all your other girls!” You stomped away, but decided — in the moment — to turn around for a second just to flip the pink-haired man off. “Burn in Hell, Sukuna, for all I care. I don't want to see your stupid, stupid face ever again.”

Sukuna sighed, his eyes burned holes into the back of your dress as you left him standing there. Standing there with nothing but his thoughts, dreams, and regrets. Standing there in the club alleyway. The same club alleyway that you pulled him away to so you could yell at him.

But it didn't feel like the same club alleyway, because Something was missing. Something very dear to him — but he was no better than a man.

I'm always just about to go and spoil the surprise

He was no better than a man. He didn't have the courage. He didn't have the brains. He didn't have the wit. He didn't have the assets. He didn't have anything that he had had with you. Not anymore, at least.

Take my hands off of your eyes too soon

He didn't have anything, because you were his everything. You were his light. His match. His flame. He didn't know what his point was. He didn't know. He didn't know. Because alas, he was no better than just a man. A man helplessly in love — with you.

So what would a man — helplessly in love with you — do? Perhaps he would visit your favorite jewelry brand and buy you an exquisite necklace. Maybe he would stop by a florist's shop and get you flowers. Or he could get you a baked good from the local bakery you like so much. And so, Sukuna — possibly being the most indecisive man alive — did all three of those things.

He purchased you a glimmering diamond necklace, a bouquet made up of your favorite flowers, and a cake of your favorite flavor.

Now, Sukuna was never a nervous nor self-doubting man, that was until he met you. He gets butterflies at the thought of you, though he'd never admit that. What could he say? He loved your laugh, the way your eyes crinkle as you do, your smile, your habit of tucking your hair behind your ear, your meticulousness when choosing earrings to match your outfit, your eyes — especially when they appeared to almost be glittering, he loved everything about you. But most importantly. . . He loved you. And that is why he sits in the driver's seat of his car, with his head in his hands and his back hunched over in thought.

He messed up. He messed up bad. And now he had to clean up the mess.

Fifteen minutes prior, his younger twin brother — Yuuji — had given him a pep talk, hyping him up. Yuuji knew how much you had helped Sukuna. He remembered the way Sukuna appeared happier, as if 100 pounds had been lifted off his shoulders — not that he would have any trouble carrying that weight — when Sukuna came home from your first date together. Yuuji saw the difference in Sukuna from that day on. Yuuji saw, Yuuji heard, and Yuuji felt the difference.

Albeit the younger twin could be a bit . . . dull, at times, Yuuji knew that you were what Sukuna needed most. If you had affected Sukuna so greatly when you came into his life, just think about the effects that would take place if you two separated. Yuuji got chills just thinking of that, which was why he was so desperate for his older brother to just rip off the bandaid, set his ego aside, and make amends.

I'm going back to 505

Sukuna was going back. He was going back to you . . . even if it was the last thing he would do. He finally raised his head from his hands and started the car. He was going to see you, apologize and explain how stupid he was being, and he was going to give you all the gifts he purchased. If his words couldn't satisfy you, he was going to spend the rest of his life proving himself to you with his credit card.

If it's a seven hour flight or a forty-five minute drive

The drive to your apartment from his penthouse was only 3/4s of an hour, though it felt much longer as his dread grew and grew. It didn't matter how long, how far, how dangerous, the journey — he would always go back to his girl.

His girl.

That's what you were. That's what you are. That's what you will be — for as long as Sukuna lives. He would make sure of that.

The knife twists at the thought that I should fall short of the mark

But it didn't feel that way, certainly not when you opened the door with a frown on your face that only deepened as you immediately moved to close the door upon seeing the pink spikes of Sukuna’s hair. But he was already two steps ahead of you. He — already expecting that reaction — had quickly blocked you from closing the door by sticking his foot out between the door.

Frightened by the bite, though it's no harsher than the bark

“Sukuna. Didn't I tell you to never—!”

“Baby, please. Hear me out — for just a second.” Sukuna's lips were dry, his throat parched.

“Fine.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, he would've missed it if he was not as desperate as he was now.

Three days. It had been three days since you two had last spoken, in that damned alleyway. Three days of plain torture. Three days of sleepless nights. Three days without you. Three days of Hell.

God, he was so glad to hear your voice again; it was like music to his ears.

The middle of adventure, such a perfect place to start

You slowly pulled the door back and took a step backward, silently giving Sukuna your consent for him to enter. However, he didn't feel deserving of it, so he stayed in his position.

“Look, this is probably a waste of your time—”

“It is.”

He shoved the gifts into your hands.

“Oh? What's this?” You raised a brow, digging your hand through the bags to investigate, but Sukuna cleared his throat and you met his eyes.

“I want to apologize, for what I said and for how I acted. I'm really, really sorry. You know I'm not the best with these kinds of things, but, I really am. Believe me. And . . . I wasn't in the right state of mind, I was already a few drinks in — y’know that — and I know that's not an excuse but, I just. . . I'm sorry, okay? I haven't slept a wink since you left. And I was a fucking coward: I should've done this earlier but I didn't. So—please, forgive me.”

You didn't say anything, averting your gaze to the ground at your feet, and still processing his words. You mulled over what he had said in your head.

“Say something. Anything. Please.” Sukuna was so close to getting on his hands and knees that it was almost embarrassing.

“Sukuna, I don't know what to tell you. I believe you're sorry but I. . . I'm not ready to forgive you, not yet. It's just a lot, y’know? I mean, if you were in my shoes right now, you would feel the same way—”

“That's why I'm apologizing.” Sukuna cut you off, his desperation quickly turning into agitation.

“Yes, I get that, but . . . I'm just not ready to forgive you yet. I'm not ready to just push this aside and move on. I'm not . . . ready — for any of that.” Your eyes softened, as did your tone.

Despite his desperate pleads, you couldn't bring yourself to just forget the whole ordeal and why he was apologizing in the first place. But Sukuna was no better than a man. He had no clue why you felt this way. The only thing he's known in life was to move on. That's what he does and will do. That's why he is the way he is. That's why.

“Do you even want this relationship to last? Can't you see I'm trying to fix this problem?”

“I do, Sukuna. I really do. Couples fight and have arguments. It's normal. It's what we're doing right now. But just because it's normal doesn't mean I'm going to brush it aside as if it didn't happen.”

“Are you out of your—!? Do you have any idea how many girls would like to be in your spot right now? Do you have ANY idea?” By now, Sukuna had completely lost it. He was frustrated, so frustrated. He didn't understand what more you wanted from him.

“I—Sukuna, what?”

“Have you any idea? Any idea at all?”

You would be lying if you said you weren't scared, utterly afraid of the man standing before you right now. For you could see nothing past his eyes, no love, no care, nothing. Only the deep, rich crimson color that you once loved and held so dear to your heart.

“You know what? Good for you. Good for you that you have so many other better options but you chose me. Good. For. You. I guess you don't need me anymore. Goodbye, Sukuna.”

You slammed the door [shut] in Sukuna's face, falling with your back against it seconds later and bringing your knees to your chest. The waterworks started soon after and Sukuna could hear your quiet sobs from beyond the door.

He was dumbfounded, absolutely appalled. Did he really just say that to you? Sukuna knew he was not the brightest, but, damn, he's really done it this time.

Sukuna ran his fingers through his hair, now sitting in his car. He definitely did not mean to say what he said. In fact, he didn't even know how it slipped out. One second he was basically on his knees for you and the next, he . . . wasn't. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me? He thought. He continued to sit there, reflecting on his actions and words. But he still couldn't believe it. What the fuck just happened?

He came to your apartment hoping to salvage the remnants of your guys' relationship, but he ended up ruining it — forever. Sukuna was 100% sure this was the worst fuckup in the history of mankind.

But he couldn't just leave it like this. He could still fix this, right? Alas, Sukuna had lost all hope; he lost his mind; and he lost the love of his life.

“Shit,” Sukuna muttered. He had really lost it, he thought, as he walked back to your apartment door. He had really lost it, he thought, when he spared a glance at your apartment number.

I'm going back to 505

That was the whole point of this, right? He was going back — no matter what, right?

When you look at me like that, my darlin', what did you expect?

He had really lost it, he thought, when he saw your glossy — yet still absolutely mesmerizing eyes after reluctantly answering the door, waiting for Sukuna to say something, anything. Anything at all. But he didn't. He didn't say anything at all. He had really lost it, he thought, when he pulled you in for the most zealous kiss he had ever experienced that left you gasping for air. His lips slotted against yours, moving fervently simultaneously. Albeit, he pulled away rather quickly — afraid of what he had just done.

I'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck

Mere seconds after Sukuna pulled back, you moved your hand so quickly — that Sukuna didn't even notice at first — and slapped him. Hard. You slapped him hard as fuck. But then you did something that surprised the pink-haired man even more. You embraced him in a hug, and a tight one at that.

“Hug me back, dumbass.” You quipped.

Or I did last time I checked

“You just slapped me.” He hugged you back, nevertheless, wrapping his arms around your figure. Because, he had to admit, it was kinda hot [getting slapped].

“Duh. ‘Cause you're such a loser.”

A pause of silence occured, before Sukuna spoke up.

“I didn't mean what I said,” Sukuna murmured against your hair. He had longed for this moment. God, you made him so soft sometimes.

“I know.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I know.”

“I missed you.”

“You never stop talking, do you.”

“To you? Never.”

I'm going back to 505

If it's a seven hour flight or a forty-five minute drive

In my imagination, you're waitin' lyin' on your side

With your hands between your thighs and a smile

Taglist: @starlets-things @sad-darksoul @mochimoee @r0ckst4rjk @lillycore @deepchromatose @yinyinyinyinyinyin @fivehoneyharg @desihopelessromantic @lich1 @hannas16 @acroso @msvalsius

#sukuna x reader #ryomen x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna fluff #sukuna angst #with a happy ending #sukuna #first time writing angst #pls dont flop

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lucidloving · 2 months

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I learned how to be quiet about pain when I was very young. I learned how to fold in on myself like laundry, to take up less space in the cupboard. I learned how to keep the peace around me by sweeping the dirt under my own rug.

I have been taught that expressing my less favourable emotions is just complaining—something weak people do when they're too incompetent to solve their own problems.

Incompetent. Incompetent. This word is very important to me. Incompetent is the word I am always running from. To run from incompetency means to run from feeling dejected, feeling lost, feeling hurt. To run from incompetency is to run towards goodness. To run towards a me who knows all the answers and shoulders all the burdens and shrugs off all the pain.

Some days I am not very good at this race I am running. Days when the past lurches forward to bite my ankles, or days when the future looks back to scorn my present.

On these days I am weak. The poise slips. It's all too easy to cry a little and vent my fears. I forget that I am supposed to be keeping all of this shut away where no one else can see. I forget that I am not supposed to be dragged down by these feelings in the first place.

Today I feigned nonchalance and I feigned it well. No one noticed that I was hurt by the thing that happened, and sitting alone in all my hurt, I was bitterly gratified. I had fulfilled the proper narrative of an animal who is injured and returns to its cave to lick its wounds only in private.

But there is a desperation for the hidden pain to be noticed. This is the Achilles' Heel of the whole stealth operation; it threatens the little play I have constructed in which I suffer alone and inconvenience no one and am all the stronger for it.

Today I stood upright to talk to my mother and doubled over in pain the moment she left the room. It is satisfying, knowing I did the valiant and honourable thing of keeping the damn pain to myself. It is infuriating, the way my eyes flickered to the door in the dark and private hope that she would come back in and witness me while I was down.

I want to be strong and hide all the hard things away. I want someone to see my efforts to hide all the hard things away and realise I'm strong. I want to bring to life this character I have created who suffers without complaint and is loved when the truth is revealed. Who suffers well.

This is the person who stores up agony to a breaking point, to justify the ultimate snapping of composure. This is the person who wants to be depended on relentlessly and one-sidedly, so that someone someday might notice the unfairness of it all. This is the person who virtuously and righteously take all the hits without a sound, so that when they finally, inevitably break, their pain will come to light all at once and inspire awe and guilt in equal measure.

Who am I, really? Is it terrible to want to play this character? Perhaps some old wound craves acknowledgement and understanding and doesn't know how else to ask for it except by hiding until it festers.

Strength. Competency. Resilience. Dependability. Independence. They have all become synonyms in my black and white dictionary. They have all become straws for the drowning man.

I self-impose silence. I take pleasure in denial and secrecy. I take pride in successfully keeping a problem to myself.

Pride. That's another important word. I think I have too much of it, although it pains me when others point it out. Pride implies I think highly of myself, which is something a good person should never do. Pride is so audaciously self-absorbed, so high-and-mighty, so filthy with ego. There's probably a lot of it in this damn thing I've written.

Pride is the other thing that keeps my mouth shut. The thing that says I should be austere, untouchable, immovable. Pride is the thing that says look here, you don't have a lot going for you so you better keep this mask on right if you want to be good. If you want to be admired.

These terrible things keep me safe. I can't let go of that stupidly noble character or that cowardly pride. I need them to shield me from the reality that I am emotional, not all that put together, and honestly hopeless most of the time.

I need to have something worth liking about myself. I need to have a grit that makes me undeniably good. I need to have a strength that goes unsung, that lies in wait of discovery.

What an exhausting way to live. But it's the only way I know.

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bandgie · 5 months

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Hate You So

prince!bangchan x fem!reader

MDNI 18+, fantasy au, enemies-to-lovers (kinda), oral (f!), cum swapping, brief overstim (f!), biting, brief thigh humping

ask here! notes: I am not taking requests, however, I am interested in this one with my own version ofc

3.2k words

There is never a dull moment with Prince Chan. His words are belittling, his eyes are full of scorn when he looks at you in all his ruthless beauty. Sometimes you wish you could ignore his piercing gaze, but he bores his eyes into the back of your head so harshly you feel it burning.

Even without his hatred, it would be hard to turn away from him. With full lips, plump cheeks, and strong nose, it really is hard to think of him as anything below attractive. Still, you know better than to approach him unless you wish to cry yourself to sleep that night.

A masked ball is the perfect opportunity for you to slip away. Pretend to be someone you're not, or perhaps it's to show your true self behind a false face. Not that it matters. A night like this allows you to put the puzzling hatred the prince has for you far behind your mind.

Drink after drink, spin after spin and you find yourself in the arms of the Viscount Felix. You can tell it's him from the way he adorns himself in jewelry, his hair the color of the sun itself. His deep blue robe stitched with silver treading in layers. It must be difficult to dance in heavy clothes, but he twirls you in his arms easily.

"Ah, isn't it the beautiful Duchess," he regards you with a sly smirk. His eyes peek out from his silver mask underneath.

You narrow your eyes, though you doubt he can see much of your facial expressions from your black mask. "How did you know?" To this, Felix's smirk widens to a smile. "Even behind such a clever guise, your charm seeps through the fabric."

You mock the sound of laughter. "Is this a trick of flattery to get my hand in marriage? To help you rise higher than a Viscount?"

Felix's eyes gleam with mischief. "You think too highly of yourself, dear Duchess. I simply wish to lay in your bed."

Now you laugh. Your voice is swallowed from the sounds of heels clicking on the ground and loud chatter. The two of you dance steadily despite the liquor running in your veins. Felix is careful not to spin you too fast or dip you too low. He may speak vulgar, but he is every bit gentleman in every other way.

"I think I'd like that very much, if I'm to be truthful," you say once you're swaying evenly in his hold. "I can't recall the last time I've been properly loved." Felix makes a sound of understanding, eyes darting to the people around you.

It's improper of you to speak in such a way. You are of high status, and talking like this not only in public, but to someone of lower ranking is foolish. Still, it's this potty mouth that gives you and Felix such a close bond. The fact that you can speak freely without judgment.

Chris does not share your sentiment.

He can hear your crass words from where he dances with his own partner. It sickens him to know that you openly express lustful desires, but it disturbs him even more that he finds himself jealous.

His partner is speaking, but he doesn't pay attention to any words she says. He strains his ears to eavesdrop on the conversation with you and the brightly hair-colored Viscount.

"Is that so?" Chris hears the deep voice of the man dancing with you. "Sounds like that is quite the problem. Has no one caught your eye? Do you think no one is worthy of seeing your wholeness?"

You react as if you tire of your dancing partner, rolling your eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. The person I have my eye on would rather see me burn, that's all." The smile on your lips falter. Despite his better self, Chris wonders who would turn down such an opportunity to spend a night with you. What a foolish man.

"And pry tell, who is this person?" Felix speaks as though he read Chris's mind.

"The Prince."

Ah, that makes sense. Chris can't count the amount of times he's upset you, the times he's spewed swears cruel enough to make your eyes water. He brushed it off as you being too sensitive, too emotional. But he knows deep down, it's so he doesn't get close to you.

Felix's eyes widen and his jaw drops. He looks at you with alarm, and some fear, then he hisses under his breath. "I am not one to tell you what to do and how to speak, but I highly suggest you refrain from speaking ill about the royal blood in their own castle."

He has a point, it's treason to speak how you are now. But the alcohol makes not only your thoughts, but your words careless. "So then tell me, what do you suggest? I tire of my lonely state. I think I'm up for any suggestions you have."

Before Felix answers, his eyes dance around the room one last time to spot any itching ears. Chris, despite being a prince, turns his head to finally acknowledge his partner and try to pick up on the conversation. Once Felix determines there are no listeners, he says, "Perhaps you should lure the prince into your sheets. You say you want love, but I argue hate is a much more fun way to spend the night."

A wicked smile finds its way to Felix's lips that you can't help but match. "Now look who's speaking ill" you say. "Plus, that's a terrible idea. I will regret it in the morning."

To this, Felix shrugs. "Then let him make sweet hate to you past sunrise."

☘︎☘︎☘︎☘︎

Chris should know his luck is thin. Only the universe would have him push you away so much so only for you to want him with the same intensity. It mocks him even now as you stand outside of his chambers when he wanted to get away from you as far as possible.

"Did you follow me here?" He questions you with authority. You swoop into a deep curtsy and bow your head, "Yes, your majesty."

You don't have to look up to know he's sneering at you, lips pulled back into a snarl. Felix, along with the bitter alcohol, gave you too much confidence. Sure you may not be of low status, but standing before a prince unnerves you.

Especially when you followed him with intentions.

"If you want me to ask why, you will be disappointed. Leave me." Chris looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to take those steps back. You never do, however, but instead pick your head up and stride deeper into his room, shutting the door.

His eyebrows furrow and a blush crawls its way up his neck. Chris tries to mask his surprise with anger. "Stupid wrench. Can you not listen to simple instructions?" His eyes that are filled with anger slowly dissipates when he sees you reel back at his words.

You fiddle with your hands nervously and you suddenly feel as though you cannot do this at all. How are you, a duchess, supposed to ensnare a prince who hates you so? Doubt clogs your mind, but you are already here. It would be far too shameful to turn away without even trying.

"Why do you hate me so?" That's not what you were supposed to say. You were supposed to sound flirtatious, experienced. Instead, you're meek and quiet. For a moment you doubt the prince even heard you, but the disheartened look in his eyes says otherwise.

He sighs, running his jeweled fingers in his brown hair. A prince is to never be vulnerable, to show weakness in fear of exploitation. In the presence of your teary eyes, however, none of that seems to matter.

Chris takes a deep breath, "I hate you for many things."

Your jaw drops. You're not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. A foolish part of you thought maybe it was a misunderstanding, but there's no time to reply when the prince carries on.

"I hate that I think about you every hour of everyday. I hate that you live freely while I have to act accordingly." He takes a step to you. "I hate how you look at me with those hidden eyes. I hate it even more that I know it's you underneath that plain mask." Chris is close enough to reach for your face and he does just that. Gentle fingers undo the knot that keeps your mask on and he lets it fall to the ground.

"I hate that I know your voice, that I ache to hear it. I hate that I know in which way you walk, should you be in my castle." His fingertips ghost over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "I hate that I dream of you and I hate when I wake from those dreams."

Chris traces the outline of your lips, watching how your tongue darts out to taste his fingers. He shudders.

"Worst of all," he leans close to your face, a kiss away from you. "I hate that it's only for one night that I will be yours."

You don't kiss him back at first. You can't even register his plush lips on yours. How they move steadily, sickly sweet. The prince tastes faintly of alcohol, but not enough to overpower his kiss. You come back to when his hands find your waist, pressing you closer to his warm body.

A part of you thinks maybe this is a test. That when you begin moving your mouth with his, he'd pull away and laugh. Chris doesn't do that though and instead groans against your lips when you finally reciprocate.

Shaky hands find their way to his styled hair, tugging on his curls to bring him closer. It doesn't take long before you're both chest to chest, one of his legs between yours as you stand, and breathing into each other's mouths. His kiss is bruising, filled with the overwhelming desire he claims to hate.

Chris nips on your lower lip, pulling it back harshly to hear you whimper. Then he kisses you again, messily sliding his tongue against yours. His lips travel down your cheek, your jawline, to your neck. You shiver at his warm tongue tasting your skin, hips rocking on his thigh.

The grip on your waist only tightens to keep pressure on you grinding on him. You feel him smile against your throat. "Humping me like a little bunny, aren't you?" He lifts his head to whisper in your ear, biting your earlobe. "Is my leg enough to satiate your lust?"

You shake your head, "N-no. It's not, my prince." Chris rewards your honesty by moving his hands from your waist. He lifts the many layers of your dress in bunches, holding them above your hips. You take the hint and grasp them in your own fingers, watching him descend lower...

...and lower... ...and lower...

The prince kneels before you, facing your core. You gasp, and despite dreaming about this with your hand underneath your nightgown, it's still an unbelievable sight. No royal blood is to kneel before another, let alone you of lower ranking.

"Prince Christopher!" You sound slightly panicked. "You mustn't! To kneel before...not even that! You must have drunken one too many glasses. I shouldn't have-"

You cut yourself off with a yelp. You feel Chris's teeth dig into the soft flesh of your thighs. He does it hard enough to see his teeth imprints when he pulls back. "You think of me drunk," he says it with accusation. "But how could I be drunk off wine when I could be drunk off this instead?"

Though you can't see him from the frills of the many layers of your dress, it helps ease your nerves when he hooks his finger under your panties. Your hips jolt when the cold air hits your bare cunt, but his warm breath quickly replaces it.

Chris trails kisses just next to your core, his hands planted on each thigh. His fingers makes shapeless figures, dancing closer to where you throb just before pulling away. It's bearable it first, his teasing. But then you start to feel yourself dripping, arousal seeping from your folds. His lips ghost over your clit, moving to the next thigh.

You tremble, trying to move your hips so his mouth catches your pussy. You're met with a chuckle, deep and quiet. It makes you more impatient, whining. "My prince please. I cannot bear it."

The prince pulls away from you completely, leaning back to look up at you. He looks silly beneath where you stand. His mouth red and curls messy from your earlier tugging, but his wet lips are frowning. "Are you, a duchess, telling me, a prince, what to do?"

Shit, you got too comfortable. "Of course not," your voice wavers. From fear or lust, you're not sure. "I didn't mean to offend you, I just-"

"You're quite the nervous talker, aren't you?" Chris's once pouting lips turn into a smirk. His observation makes you blush, though you're sure your face was already a deep shade of red since the beginning.

He smiles at your reaction, teeth gleaming in the candlelit room. "No need to fret, pretty duchess. I told you that tonight I am yours. If my mouth on you is what you desire, then so be it."

You watch as Chris dives forward to the empty space between your legs. His tongue darts out to taste you directly, going under your lower lips to collect your arousal. The warmth from his mouth makes you squeal, but his hands move to the back of your thighs to keep you in place.

It's hot, wet, and a little rough when he licks you. He trails his tongue upwards to rub soft circles on your nub before dipping back down. Chris moves his hands higher until they're under your hiked dress, gripping your arse. His fingers kneed into your soft flesh, forcing you deeper into his mouth.

There's a guttural moan that leaves him, sending waves through your cunt. Chris opts to suck on your flesh, pulling it only to let it go with a wet 'pop!' The sensation makes you shiver, legs buckling for a second before you regain your composure.

"This is..." the prince trails off. He buries his nose on your clit, sticking his tongue out to prod at your entrance. There's no doubt that the evidence of your shame is dripping from his chin, but he acts as though he doesn't mind. He hardly cares how your legs squeeze and how the hair on your pelvis tickles his face when he painfully pushes his face deeper into you.

This is divine.

You want nothing more than to grind on his face, hump on his tongue like the bunny he said you are. But your legs shake so much, your knees lock so often you see your vision go black for seconds. Finishing on the prince's face is something you could have only dreamt of. Yet here he is, seeming to eagerly coax a release from you. Surely he must be flushed himself, straining painfully in his trousers.

"P-Prince Christopher I- oh~ I'm so close. Do you want me to...should I..."

It's difficult to finish your sentence when you're so close to finishing in his warm mouth. You want to taste him how he's doing to you, you want to feel how his length would stretch you out. He must feel the same way, he has to.

But he only shakes his head with your pussy still in his mouth. "You should cum," he says breathlessly. "Let me taste this, drink you in. I've never had a cunt as pretty as yours."

Hot kisses rapidly peck on your clit. The prince spits messily on your already wet core, but he quickly spreads it all over your lips. Chris moves you up and down by your ass, encouraging you to ride his face. The idea of hesitating and passing the opportunity is behind you. You feel as though you might crush his head with the force of your legs, but he takes it all.

It makes sense why you're moaning, writhing under the tongue of the prince. But it makes you wonder why he's so loud himself. Groaning at your taste and whining when your hips shy away from his relentless mouth. You can hear him mumble mostly to himself. Mindlessly babbling soft words of praises.

"So good." "Pretty pussy." "Fuck. Ride my tongue, just like that."

Maybe he's trying to help get you to your high, but it makes you distantly wonder, nonetheless.

You whimper at the feeling of pleasure building in your stomach. It bundles and quivers until you drop the hem of your dress to reach down and grip Chris by the hair. He ignores how the layers surround him like blankets. You feel him gasp against your pussy when you slide your cunt up and down his face.

"S-sorry," you apologize pathetically. "Close. Wanna cum- fuck! wanna cum. Please forgive me." You mewl more apologies before vibrating with pleasure. Chris can't protest as you finish on his tongue, and he seems to rather like it with the way his blunt fingernails stab into the skin of your bottom.

You keep him there on your cunt as your body trembles with aftershocks from your orgasm. The prince obediently licks you throughout it all, collection your cream before loudly gulping it down. Your shaky hands finally release him from your grip, but Chris is persistent on giving your quivering clit final kisses.

Even if you try to move your hips from his mouth, he keeps you in place. "Your majesty," you struggle to find your voice from how much you were moaning. "Please. It's so sensitive."

He licks a fat stripe along your pussy to hear you cry out one final time. "You ask for me to taste you. You practically beg for me to let you finish on my tongue and when I do, you tell me to stop. Tell me, duchess, what is it that you want from me exactly?"

It's a simple question that has a simple answer, yet, saying it would bring complicated issues you know neither of you are able to face.

You. The word is on the tip of your tongue, but you settle for saying, "T-to please you, if you'll have me." It's close enough to what you actually want.

Chris finally brings himself to his feet, reaching for your fallen mask on his way up. He hands you the fabric, but you're so distracted with his face that you gasp.

He's soaked in your juices, his face glistens in the rising moonlight coming from his window. It's almost offensive to look at, reminding you of how you lost yourself so easily.

The prince only smiles at your words, your shocked expression. "Don't worry about my pleasure, pretty duchess." He leans in to kiss you, eyes fluttering closed upon impact. You can taste yourself on him, the bitter flavor settling on your tongue and invading your senses. It brings a new wave of desire, of an aching want.

"There," he gives you a dazzling smile when he pulls away. A string of saliva mixed with your arousal connect your lips. "Have a taste of yourself instead."

#smut #skz smut #skz #stray kids #stray kids smut #skz bangchan #skz bang chan #skz chris smut #skz chris #skz channie #skz chan smut #bangchan smut #bangchan x reader #bangchan fanfic #skz felix #stray kids bang chan

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pretty-little-mind33 · 3 months

Text

Tangerine x fem!reader

Summary: You meet a sexy, dangerous, stranger on a train. And he somehow ends up kidnapping you?

Genre: Hurt and comfort, fluff, angst (kinda?)

Warnings: no actual kidnapping lol, canon type violence, crying, protective!tangerine, aloof!tangerine?, pet names, blood, swearing (duh)

You have never been this anxious on a train until now.

A man dressed in a fancy navy suit covered in blood has just pinned himself to the wall of the train, your back pressed to his chest as his hand covers your mouth tightly.

"Tsk, luv, t's ok," he whispers hoarsely, his accent thick, "If they see ya, then they'll kill ya," he continues, "I don't like this anymore than you do, doll, but I can't let'em kill an innocent girl can I? So you'll have to stay quiet for me, you understand?"

You squirm in his arms, which is the only way you can think of asking him to let you go. You want to promise him you won't tell a soul about the gun-shots you heard or how he had pinned you against him, but you can't make a sound behind his hand. So, you make the quick decision and bite his palm hard enough for him to drop his hand with a small hiss.

However, you aren't quick enough to make a run for it since his hand grips your arm and spins you around. You slam against the wall, your chest against his, and you look up into his eyes.

Shit, you think, they're the loveliest blue you have ever seen.

"What the fuck, darlin?" he says, gripping his arms around you now. He's staring at you with a stern, rather intimidating, expression and you feel conflicted.

"I-" you stammer, entranced by just how handsome this man is. Suddenly, you hear louder, closer, crashes and then the sounds of gunshots and your freeze. You find yourself looking up at the man for reassurance.

He doesn't give you any.

"Bullocks," he curses under his breath and looks around you. You follow his gaze but see nothing. When the man looks at you again, his eyes look only a little reluctant, "I am sorry about this, darlin'."

You don't have time to process what he means because he's slamming the side of your head into the wall, hard, and then everything turns dark.

* * *

When you wake, you blink. You're laying in the back of someone's car. You groan, touching your temple gently and sensing a little dampness. You sit up only to realize you had been laying on someone's lap.

You look up and your eyes widen. It's the same man only this time he's absolutely drenched in blood and bruises litter his skin. His hairline is wet from sweat, which only ends up accentuating his curls, and he looks at you, sensing your movement, and smirks.

"Hello, luv," he says and you shoot up, scrambling to the opposite side of the car. Your heart beats almost pounds out of your chest as you stare at him with large, frightened eyes. His voice is a little harsh when he says, "We ain't gonna hurt you."

You look towards the driver. He's a dark-skinned man with dyed platinum hair who looks just as disheveled and bloody as his friend. "Y'know perhaps she'd fuckin' believe ya if ya sounded like it?"

"Fuck you," the blue-eyed man snaps, his eyes narrowing. He pauses a moment but then looks at you again and says, just a little softer this time, "I promise, on this fuckin' jackass's head, you're safe with us."

The driver rolls his eyes. "Real classy," he mutters.

"Who are you?" you find the bravado to ask, your voice hoarse. You move your arm, you're adrenaline calming, and you feel a sting.

When you look down you see there is a fabric wrapped around your forearm but it's still seeping blood. "How the hell did this happen?" you think as you move your arm cautiously.

"I'm Tangerine, and he's Lemon." The man, whom you just learned was Tangerine, says. He looks at your arm, "Sorry luv, you got hit a little when the train crashed. Must've hit your head again too because you didn't wake for a while. Thought you'd died."

"Oh," you whisper, "and why did you kidnap me?" you ask after a moment, looking around the car — which looks like a taxi. Something catches your eye. Tangerine’s sleeve is ripped up. You look down at your arm and realize the fabric binding your wound matches his shirt.

He patched up your arm with his shirt.

"Kidnap you?" Tangerine exclaims, mouth curling upwards into a sneer, "No, we just saved your ungrateful arse," his tone is harsh and Lemon tuts, snapping his head to look at his friend.

"You're being fuckin' scary, mate," he warns, "can't ya see she's scared."

"I'll shove one up your," Tangerine starts but then he turns to you and his words die in his throat. You're holding your arm, tears brimming in your eyes as the reality of the situation sinks in. You stare at Tangerine, watching his expression shift and he almost looks concerned.

Almost.

"As I said, doll, you are safe now," he assures you, calmer. He looks you over with a small smile, "We're takin' ya home where we'll help clean your wounds and you can sleep. As soon as we know you're okay, then we'll take you wherever you want to go. We aren't kidnapping you, sweetie, I promise."

You nod, wiping at your tears, as you lean against the car window. You don't want to talk anymore. The car ride is silent until Lemon parks the taxi in front of a house. Tangerine is the one who helps you out and then he slaps his hand on the hood and Lemon, from inside the taxi, nods. He drives away and Tangerine turns to you. He crosses his arms.

"This way, luv," he holds open the door and you follow him inside. You clutch your arm and admire the interior decor; all modern and fancy, as Tangerine leads you to a small bathroom near the stairs. "Come 'er," he whispers as washes his hands.

You walk in timidly, watching his movements. He's calm as he focuses on the water and he feels your staring, "Can you jump onto the counter alone or do'ya need my help?" Tangerine asks with a smirk.

Cheeks aflame you use your non-injured arm and lift yourself onto the marble counter and wince when Tangerine rolls up his sleeve and presses a cotton-ball to the bruises and cuts that litter your face.

"Mmm," he hums as he works, his eyes focused only on the way you flinch. "You gotta sit still for me."

"It hurts," you whimper when he moves to look at your arm. Tangerine doesn't seem amused.

"I know, darlin'. But, if I can't look at it then I can't help you, can I?" he says calmly. He looks at the wound, the fabric of his chemise abandoned on the bathroom floor, and frowns. "Fuck, I have to stitch this up for you."

Your eyes widen, "You?! Are you a doctor?"

Tangerine's movements pause and he narrows his eyes as he stares at you intensely. "Ya, didn't ya see my nameplate on the door?" It's sarcastic and you don't find it funny as your lip quivers. Tangerine sighs. "Now listen here. No tears, alright? I know you'll be fine. The pain'll only last a minute. Trust me."

Trust him. How odd a sentence for some random stranger who had basically kidnapped you. Still, you nod and let him stitch your wound.

Tangerine had lied. It was painful for more than just one minute, but when he pressed his lips to your forehead for a mere second after the ordeal, the pain was instantly a distant memory.

His thumb caresses your cheek and, for the first time all night, he smiles a little. Tangerine drops the needle onto the face-towel near your hip and runs his bloody hands under water, washing them again. You wipe your blood from your cheek, the mark his thumb had left, "Sorry," he chuckles as he takes your arm again and this time he applies some vaseline to the wound and then wraps a gauze, non-stick, bandage around your arm. "You were brave, princess. I'm impressed."

"Thank you," you whisper, looking into his eyes.

"You're welcome, and don't mention it," Tangerine's sweet smile is replaced by a smirk as he pats your thigh, indicating you can jump down now. He runs a hand in his curls and checks his own appearance in the mirror. "Seriously, don't mention it," he insists absentmindedly and then looks at you from the corner of his eye, "And unless you want to see me shower, love, I suggest you leave now. Wait in the room."

He says it so casually but you feel like your heart could explode. You nod and quickly walk out, closing the door behind you.

"Oh, would you happen to have some aspirin?" you wince and then ask timidly. You hear shuffling. When the door shuffles open you see Tangerine's hand come out and he hands you a medicine bottle. With a small thank you, you take it and walk down the hallway. Tangerine hadn't told you where his room was, or where you could find water for your aspirin.

You almost slam into Lemon, who's wiping his hands on his jeans and he seems surprised to see you. "Oh, I see my brother took care of ya, did he?" Lemon smirks and looks you up and down.

"Brother?" you whisper.

Lemon looks amused, "Yeah. We're twins," he says casually.

You stare at him, confused, but just nod in agreement. Lemon chuckles and sees the aspirin in your hand. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and guides you to the kitchen. "Love seeing people's reactions when I tell 'em that," he smirks and runs you a glass of water. "So, what's your name, bird?"

"Y/n," you say as Lemon hands you the glass and you take the medicine.

"Cheers," Lemon claps his hands and looks you up and down, "So, did Tangerine say where he wanted ya to sleep?" You shake your head a little sheepishly and Lemon rolls his eyes, "no bother, here, you can just sleep in his room."

"His room?" you squeak as Lemon plucks the glass from your hand and ushers you into the hallway and up the stairs this time.

Tangerine had said to wait in the room, and you had assumed he meant his room, but now you aren't so sure.

"Yup," Lemon says with a smirk, popping the 'p' playfully as he opens the door to what you assume is Tangerine's room. It's a decent sized room, dimly lit with an organized desk and navy blue sheets. All the furniture in this room looks expensive. "He saved you, you're his responsibility."

Lemon pats your head and then leaves with a hum. You stand in the room, still dressed in your dirty, blood-covered clothes. You're too afraid to sit on any surfaces so you stand and look around.

Just as you almost pick up a picture from Tangerine's desk, he comes in with a towel wrapped around his waist as he shakes his hair out from his shower. Your eyes widen; his chest is painted in scars.

"What the fuck are you doing in here?" he sneers, pausing in the doorway.

"I'm sorry," you hurry to explain, suppressing your tears as you're overwhelmed by this entire situation, "your brother said I could sleep in your room—that I was your responsibility," your voice comes out small and meak. Tangerine rolls his eyes.

"Bloody hell, there's no need to cry, darlin'," he says a little rudely and your eyes widen. Your hands shake by your sides, tears brimming in your eyes as you take in his words.

"No need to cry?" you start, your voice rising, "No need to fucking crying? Are you fucking serious?!"

Tangerine seems surprised by your outburst and he just stares as you word vomit all over him.

"First, the train I was on to visit my sister was fucking attacked and then when some asshole knocked me out I wake up in some random taxi, injured and bruised, as two random men—including said asshole that perviously hit me—can't give me their real fucking names, or any coherent answers as to why I'm there. They bring me to their home, stitch up my wounds—which I do thank you for. But then they act all normal and calm and I'm just not supposed to feel like crying? After all that has happened?"

You take a breath and then continue, "You could really be a little nicer to me, you know! I'm filthy and still in pain a-and I just want to go home but I lost my phone," the dam suddenly breaks and tears rapidly stream down your cheeks. You shake and sob, covering your face with your hands and arms as embarrassment takes over.

You feel Tangerine walk closer but he doesn't hug you, instead he looks at you and says, "I'm not good with feelings, darlin'," he admits, "I would comfort ya if I knew how. Can you look at me?"

You shake your head, still feeling embarrassed, "This is so humiliating," you choke on your saliva and Tangerine sighs, wiping his thumb under your lips. He shushes you and without another word turns around to rummages through his dresser and hand you clean clothes (which consists of one of his band-shirts you assume is from high school and sweatpants that haven't been worn in twenty years).

"C'mere," he says and hands them to you along with a towel. "Shower is downstairs, as you know. Can you shower without wetting your arm?" he asks and you nod quickly. You'd have to. The alternative is help or no shower, and you want neither of those.

"Cheers. Then, when you're changed you can come 'er and sleep. I'll sleep on the couch downstairs. Tomorrow we'll find a phone you can use and call your family. You'll be okay," he says it so calmly it's almost eerie but you can't help the comfort his words bring.

You nod and turn to walk away and once the door shuts behind you, Tangerine lets out a small breath. He runs a hand in his hair and pinches his nose.

If Lemon saw him now, genuinely concerned over some random girl's tears, he'd laugh at him. But, Tangerine can't shake the image of you crying from his mind. All he wants is to make you stop and hold you close. He wants to protect you from the horrors of the word.

God, he's so fucked.

#tangerine x reader #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine fic #tangerine #tangerine bullet train #bullet train movie #bullet train fanfic #lemon and tangerine #tangerine smut #aaron taylor johnson fic #aaron taylor johnson #tangerine x you #bullet train #tangerine x fem!reader #tangerine x y/n

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yanderecxre · 1 month

Text

Yandere!Cult Leader/Priest × gn!reader

Summary: Mason Blackwair always knew you'd be his. His sweet little dove, kept peacefully by his side, it's such a shame you've gotten so disillusioned with the teachings, but that's fine. It just gives him the opportunity to keep you with him forever now, willing or not.

CW: gaslighting, stabbing, cults, abuse of power, pet names, religious themes/wording, breeding, disassociating (reader), non-con, dycraphilia, dubious consent, loss of virginity, threats & as always if you think I missed anything just pm or say anything!

Note: peeks in and waves hi! Hope you guys like this one if you want a part 2 let me know!! ~ bunny

You are a member of your family's cult. Recently, you've begun to doubt your faith and the cult members found you guilty; as punishment, you were chosen to sacrifice yourself in the name of God.

At night you came to your priest, Mason Blackwair cell to ask him to mitigate your punishment. Mason sits quietly and calmly, his face illuminated by the light of a candle, his thin long fingers running over the pages of the Bible. Finally, Mason notices you standing in the aisle and smiles brightly. Despite the certain joy in his face, it is obvious that his smile is fake and here just for the sake of politeness.

“Hello, my dear dove. What brings you here?”

Mason doesn't let you answer and interrupts you with a little laugh.

“Ah, wait! I think I got it, little dove. Did you come here to talk about your punishment? I am sorry to tell you this, but I cannot influence the sacrifice in any way. Soon I will become the leader of our beautiful commune and that is why I need to maintain the reputation of a strict and fair manager…”

For a second, something like annoyance and sadness flashes in Mason's eyes and he quickly turns away.

“My advice is… To open your heart for salvation, little dove. Perhaps our Lord will hear your request.”

"The same Lord who wants them to tie me to the altar and cut me until I'm cleansed?”

You demanded softly, teary eyed as you looked into his eyes, the eyes that once belonged to your childhood friend. The sweet boy who used to pick flowers with you and run around the commune, now turned into nothing but a stranger.

Mason pauses for a moment, his eyes scanning your face as if he is trying to find something in your expression. Finally, he stands up from his seat and walks towards you, stopping just inches away from you.

"My dear dove… Do you know what this sacrifice means? It doesn't mean that they want to kill you. They want God to purify your soul by shedding your blood.”

Mason puts a hand on your shoulder, smiling gently at you.

"Look at me, little dove. You know how much I care about you and the commune's faith. But it doesn't mean that I am blind to the human side of things. I will talk with your father and see what we can do for you."

At this point, there is a sincere and caring note in Mason's voice.

"But remember, our Lord has a plan for all of us, even when it seems like He is leading us through dark paths."

You just shook, rage and fear in your veins. You quickly turned away and left him behind, crying now. It broke his heart to see you so upset, he reached out for you but only touched empty air as you exited with the final parting words.

"I'm retiring to my prison.”

Mason watches you retreat silently, his expression unreadable. Once you are out of sight, he sighs deeply and picks up the Bible again. He flips through its pages, frowning at whatever it is that he sees.

After a few minutes of brooding in silence, Mason closes the book and walks towards the door of his cell. Before leaving, he turns back to look at the empty room with a sad smile on his lips.

"I hope you'll forgive me someday for what I'm about to do."

He murmurs softly before blowing out the candles and leaving it behind, retiring to his bedroom.

You spent the entire night crying your eyes out, lamenting that all you'd see tomorrow was the crazed looks of the people you once thought of as family, your weak pathetic cries echoing around your cell.

You stood still as your parents led you to the altar, your father offering soft whispers of apologies as he and your mother tied you down, a knife lay beside the altar. You looked up at the ceiling, teary-eyed.

As you lay tied to the altar, your family gathers around with solemn expressions. The room is dimly lit and there's a faint smell of incense in the air.

Mason steps forward, his robes rustling as he walks towards the altar. He stops at the edge, looking down at his dove with an unreadable expression.

"Dear little dove…" Mason says softly, reaching for one of your hands. "You are about to become a vessel for our Lord's power. Do not be afraid.”

Mason picks up the knife from beside the altar and holds it gently in his hand.

"I will be performing this sacrifice myself," he adds. "May God have mercy on your soul."

With that said, Mason places a gentle kiss on your forehead before raising the knife above his head with both hands.

"Do not resist," he whispers to your ear. "Receive His love."

You closed your eyes and sobbed, refusing to let that sick yet soft look in his eyes be the last thing you saw.

Mason hesitates for a brief moment, his grip on the knife faltering slightly as he hears you crying. A flicker of emotions crosses his face before he quickly regains his composure.

"Dear dove," Mason says softly, almost pleadingly. "Do not be afraid. The pain is temporary but the glory you will experience afterward is eternal."

With that said, Mason slowly lowers the knife towards your chest.

"May our Lord have mercy on your soul," he whispers as he plunges the blade into your flesh.

The sacrifice lasts only a few seconds - it's short, but terrifying- and everything becomes blurry to you, as if you'd been transported out of your body and that someone else was experiencing this torment instead of you.

When it's over you feel weak and faint.

When you awoke, you were back in your bedroom, your mother sitting on a chair beside you. She reached out to touch you and you flinched terrified, letting out a loud sob.

As you awaken in your bedroom, you see your mother sitting beside your bed on a chair. She reaches out to touch you, but flinches when she sees that you are terrified of her and immediately backs away.

"Shh… it's alright," Your mother says softly, trying to comfort you. "You're safe now, my dear.” you want to scream ‘LIAR’ at her as she speaks, saying you were safe. You felt horrible and terror filled your body.

Mason enters the room and stands at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed over his chest, watching silently as your mother tries to calm you down.

"You did well today," he says coolly. "Thanks for receiving His love."

Although his words are praised-like, they do nothing to produce any emotion or feeling from him. He watches you, shaking and looking like a terrified animal, like a lamb who barely escaped the slaughter. He wants to say more but knows nothing he says will help you.

It was like seeing a ghost, his little dove no longer did as they usually did. There were no more sweet smiles or hymns sung as chores were completed, no more treats baked with trays especially reserved for Mason. Instead his dove was shut away, in their room, only going out for meals and sermons or whenever their parents coaxed them out.

Mason notices the change in your behavior and it bothers him deeply. He cannot help but wonder if he's partly responsible for what happened to you.

One day, he decides to visit you in your room. When he enters, you are sitting alone by the window staring out at the sky. You look up when you hear him come in.

"Little dove," Mason says softly as he approaches you. "I'm here to talk with you.”

There's a slight tremble in his voice - an unusual vulnerability that shows that even someone like him has feelings.

"I know that things have been difficult for you lately," he continues, taking a seat beside you on the bed. "But I want you to understand that everything we do is for the greater good of our commune and our faith."

He places a hand on yours and looks into your eyes with deep concern.

"You can always talk with me if there's something troubling you."

You stared blankly back. "I am fine. I've been cleansed by the knife.” You whispered softly and finally looked at him with vacant and distant eyes.

Mason nods slowly, sensing that there's something you're not telling him.

"I see," he says quietly. "But I can see that you're still hurting inside. And I want to help you."

He takes a deep breath and continues, "Little dove, I know that the sacrifice was traumatic for you. But it was necessary for our faith. You were chosen because we believe that your spirit is strong enough to endure it."

He pauses for a moment, his eyes searching her face.

"But if you're still feeling lost or confused… You can talk to me about it. Remember: Our faith is in everything."

"I used to play the piano. Right? Or did I sing? My memory is confusing.” You looked up at him, sadly. Shaking slightly as you stared at nothing. “I don't know who I am anymore, Mason. I'm scared.”

Mason furrows his brow slightly, unsure of what you are trying to say. He doesn't remember you ever playing any instrument.

"I'm not sure what you mean, little dove," he says with a frown. "What are you talking about?”

"I don't remember who I was before the sacrifice. Who was i? Who am I now? I'm scared Mason, so scared. Who was I before you drove the knife into me?”

Mason freezes at your words, his mind processing what you just said. He stands up from the bed and takes a few steps away from you, his face contorted with shock. He thought you'd forgotten he'd been the one to do it.

"What are you talking about?" he asks harshly. "I never drove the knife into you, little dove."

His voice is cold and hard, and there's a hint of anger in it.

"Who told you such lies? You are mistaken. Your mind is playing tricks on you dove." Mason mutters as he knelt between your thighs, grasping your hands in his and squeezing them. “Fret not little dove, your mind will get better.”

"May our Lord have mercy on your soul." It's spoken in a mockery of Mason's voice. You looked at him slightly confused, "That's what you spoke, right? Unless um, I misheard… but it sounded like you-”

Mason's eyes widen in realization as you speak. He takes a step closer to you, his expression softening.

"Oh, little dove…" he says softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to go through this."

He pauses for a moment before continuing.

"You are right… It was me who drove the knife into your heart. I did it because our Lord told me so in a vision - it was His will that you be sacrificed.”

Mason cups your face gently and looks into your eyes with compassion.

"But please believe me when I say that everything we do is for the greater good of our faith. Your family has devoted their lives to serving Him."

“Y-you did? But- w-why? It hurt- a lot-” You were working yourself up into a panic before he gently pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Hush, little dove, you're recovering, do not strain yourself, you know why. In order to cleanse you, now enough of this. Rest and cease thinking about such things further.”

Mason looks away from you for a moment, his eyes full of sadness.

"I know you're not thinking clearly right now," he says quietly. "But I still feel responsible for what happened to you. I know that you must hate me now… But please understand that it was never my intention to hurt you."

He takes a deep breath and continues, "All I wanted is to protect our faith and people from the evil in this world. Sacrifices are painful, but they purify our souls and make us stronger - so we can better serve Him.” Mason murmured and hugged you tightly to his chest.

"I f-feel upset. You're supposed to protect me, yet you drove a knife into me and now that- that everyone in the commune saw it- i- I'll be alone forever and my parents won't find me a spouse.” Your lip wobbled and you sniffled slightly, clinging to him. You were unable to see his cruel and satisfied smile as he held you, petting your hair softly.

Mason listens to your words with a sinking heart. He knows that it is true - he did drive the knife into you, and that decision has caused you so much pain.

"I… I had no choice," he says quietly, almost to himself. "It was His will."

Fake tears glisten in his eyes as Mason looks at you, finally realizing the weight of his actions.

"You're right," he says softly. "I should have protected you, not hurt you. I cannot change what happened now… But I promise you this: I will do everything in my power to help you recover from this. Starting right now.”

Mason gently kisses you, his lips pressing against yours as he speaks. “I'll remedy this immediately, you and I shall marry. That way you won't be alone.” He doesn't give you a moment to speak, already pressing you against the bed, kissing you deeply now.

You let out a muffled noise of confusion and panic, squirming underneath him and pushing at his chest. His lips finally move away only to seek your neck and leave bites and bruises upon it as you gasped and whimpered. “A-ah! M-mason- wait- p-please hold on- i-”

His head lifts up, looking at you with his eyes blown wide as he grunts an acknowledgement to your words, “Yes my dove? Sh, it's alright, who better to take responsibility than the one responsible for your misfortunes? Relax, or would you rather this happen at the altar later? Where everyone, will see and hear you?”

You trembled slightly the idea of that happening terrifying you to your core yet feeling slightly exhilarating. Mason grinned, feeling you relax and continued making his way to your waist.

Mason kissed down until he reached your entrance, humming softly as he placed his hands firmly on your squirming thighs, grunting loudly as he forced them open. “Enough of that, do not do that again or I will have to tie you down. Understood little dove?”

You nodded, or tried to as you gasped softly and whimpered out a moan at the feeling of his tongue licking and sucking at your entrance, no one had ever touched you there. “Mhmph! M-mason! Hng- t-too much!”

Mason puts a comforting hand on your thighs. He pulls away from between your thighs, face covered in his own saliva and your fluids that ran down your inner thighs.

"I understand that it can be scary, little dove. But I promise you, nothing will harm you here with me."

He gives you a reassuring smile. Breathing heavily as he speaks, his fingers finding their way to your still quivering entrance which he circled a finger around.

"Besides, my love for you is as pure as the intentions of our God. All we have to do is make love and everything will be alright.”

Mason's finger breached your entrance, slick with something that made it easier to handle, slowly thrusting his finger in and out. He gave you plenty of reassurance and pressed kisses to your thighs and stomach.

“Dove, you must relax, you're still clenching up and tensing up. You'll hurt yourself more than me if you don't relax.” With those words he sunk another finger inside, his free hand pinning your hips down to the bed when he felt you buck upwards.

Mason grunted as he felt your tight heat around his fingers, if you were this tight around his fingers you'd never be able to fully take all of his cock. He didn't want to hurt you more than necessary, not yet at least.

“Sh, sh dove, easy there we go, good little pet.” He murmured as you whimpered and moaned, feeling his fingers hit something inside of you that had you unable to breath. You heaved slightly and looked down at him through tearful eyes.

“M-mason- please- ngh! That feels….. mhm! Good-” You moaned out and let your head drop against the pillows, falling into a dream-like state as you allowed him to continue. “M-more…. Please give me more-”

Mason grinned at your words, a sinister gleam in his eyes before he cooed and slid his fingers out, shushing your confused whines with a simple kiss before he undressed himself and tore your remaining clothes off.

"As our Lord wishes," he whispers between kisses, his voice reverent yet filled with desire.

Mason aligned his cock with your entrance, sliding it through your messy thighs first to coat it before he spread your legs and slowly sunk in.

“P-please, please be mhmph! Gentle, please Mason?” You whimpered softly, eyes locked on him as he looked down at you, mouth drying when he saw your flushed and tear stained cheeks.

Mason looks down at you with tender eyes, his hand running up and down your side soothingly.

"I will take care of you, little dove," he says softly. "I promise."

With a gentle but firm motion, Mason fully enters you, slowly thrusting in and out of your body. His movements are gentle at first, but soon become more passionate as the intensity increases.

As he fucks you, Mason whispers religious phrases to you: "pray to me", "I am your God", "repent for your sins". He continues kissing and caressing every inch of your body, making sure that you are comfortable throughout the entire ordeal. Even as he feels you twitching around his cock, your own fluids covering both his cock and your thighs and stomach. How many orgasms had he wrung from your body? Five? Ten? You lost count.

He's filled you up more times than you can count, you thought he was trying to breed you and knock you up the way he came and came. You couldn't move as you moaned and whimpered, unable to speak much less move and do something about him fucking your sensitive body.

When he's finished, Mason pulls himself out and lays down beside you, holding you close to him. The room is silent except for the sound of breathing as you both catch your breath after Mason seemed to fill you up so much a slight bulge could be seen, you shifted trying to get comfortable yet only felt his cum leaking out your spent hole.

"Sleep now, little dove," he whispers softly into your ear. "We have obeyed our Lord's wishes. Soon enough tomorrow, we will marry and you'll live with me, my perfect little dove who won't have to do anything but obey and listen.”

You fell asleep, cuddled into his side as he looked down at you, a possessive look in his eyes. He'd deal with the consequences of your parents finding you two together in the morning for now, he'd happily hold his little dove and admire the marks he gifted them.

Mason stays awake, holding you close to him throughout the night. As the sun begins to rise and light filters through the window of your private quarters, he kisses your forehead again before getting up.

"I must leave now, little dove," he says quietly. "But know that I am always here for you."

As he dresses in his priestly vestments, Mason turns back to look at you, a hint of sadness in his eyes.

"Now go back to sleep and rest as much as possible. And remember what we did was pure love. Our wedding will be soon.”

He leans down and places a soft kiss on your lips before making his way out of your room and back into the world outside.

#yandere #yandere fic #bunny yaps #yandere oc #priest kink #yandere priest #cult leader #yandere cult #yandere oc x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #bunny writes #yandere x reader

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moonpetrichors-blog · 1 year

Note

Hey! Can you write a long one shot where Lo'ak/Neteyam is in a serious relationship with a human girl ( they are around 20 years old), and she hears Neytiri talking to Jake , saying that your relationship is impossible, bc you can't procreate. Then the reader sits alone crying bc she really wanted that to happen. Lo'ak/Neteyam finds her and comforts her. Then eywa sees how much they love each other and blesses their union with a pregnancy where the reader survives it? It would be more like a spiritual conception, it doesn't need to be anything sexual if you don't feel comfortable writing it. Mo'at or Ronal would be the ones to tell the news, since they are tsahik. Idk, I just wondered how this pregnancy/baby would be like. I even pictured Lo'ak/Neteyam laying their heads on the reader's stomach caressing and kissing it, calling the baby 'our little miracle'

Spiritualis Conceptio

Tags: AgedUp!Neteyam x Human!Reader, Oneshot, Avatar 2, Fem!Reader, Pregnancy, Like Spiritual??, Also Bonus Uncle Lo’ak

Warnings: Major Avatar 2 Spoiler

Years pass, and you and Neteyam have been living together peacefully with the Metkayina clan. It has always been a dream of yours to have a family, but as a human on Pandora, you know that's not physically possible when your lover is from another species.

I'm gonna be real with you, I had zero clue how to write this. I seriously needed a couple days to mull over how this would work. Would reader pull a Bella Swan? Who knows! This is lowkey a load of bullshit! Also please keep in mind that although I'm writing this, I am a minor and chose to write this non-sexually and went with the spiritual route. I think this falls under more cute domestic scenarios overall anyway so, WHO DOESN’T WANNA SEE DAD NETEYAM???

* ˚ ✦ 1767 Words • Read below the cut

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-╰┈➤ ❝ [02/01/23] ❞

You wrung your fingers together as you meandered along the beaches of the Awa'atlu village, contemplating mundane matters. One in particular that piqued your interest was something you had been thinking about for a considerable amount of time; a family.

You and Neteyam had been together for several years; you were both adults who had been dwelling with the Metkayina clan for the last decade or so. You'd left the Omaticaya clan with him, hoping to remain near to him wherever he traveled. You believed it was remarkable that he survived after being shot all those years ago, and since then, Neteyam has promised never to leave you.

And since then, you’ve felt like you wanted to further your relationship with him. To have a family with him. It warmed your heart to think of the way he would be with his children. Would he be like his own father, protective and caring? Strict yet present? Or would he let loose, and be carefree with them? These were the questions you ached to know the answers to.

It's not as though Neteyam was oblivious to your desires. In all honesty, he was thrilled that you wanted a family, but you two had never seriously discussed the crux of it beyond the concept itself. Perhaps it was wishful thinking on your behalf, but you sincerely hoped it would be achievable someday.

After a short while, you became bored and weary from strolling over the sand for so long. You decided to return to your humble home, which, despite its small size, contained many fond memories for you. Your ears perked up at the sound of a woman's voice before you could whisk the portiere aside.

Neytiri.

Neteyam had been waiting for you to return from your beach promenade, but when the curtain to your front door was swept away, he was greeted by the sight of Neytiri and his father instead, who had arrived moments before you. He welcomed them, intrigued as to why they were searching for him and bearing poignant expressions.

You hid beside the doorway and eavesdropped. You knew you shouldn't listen in on other people's conversations, but when your partner's mother was arguing with him inside your home, whom can criticize you for wishing to hear?

You subsequently regretted that decision because you wished you hadn't. Neytiri didn't take her time stating what she intended to say; she spoke it bluntly and firmly, as one would expect from someone of her character. She was always this way.

“Your relationship with the human girl is impossible.”

You felt your heartbeat quicken. What?

It seemed as though Neteyam had the same reaction as you (albeit unaware of your presence), as he immediately shot up from his seat.

“Now is when you choose to tell me that? You had years to disapprove of Y/N! What changed?” he was not happy.

Jake sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “We overheard you both, talking about wanting a family.”

Neytiri interjected. “It will not happen. It cannot, you are not even of the same species! She belongs with her own people!”

Why were they so adamant about this?

“She is a human girl! You cannot procreate, yet you talk of wanting a family?”

“And? Look at Kiri! She had a human mother!”

Jake placed a rough hand on his son’s shoulder. “Kiri was conceived from Grace’s avatar, Neteyam. No one has ever seen or heard of a human being giving birth to a Na’vi child, let alone be pregnant with one.”

He brushed his father’s hand off of him. “It doesn’t matter.”

You were devastated. You were aware that Neteyam's family had reservations about you, but were they always this antagonistic to your relationship? You opted not to enter your home, tears welling up in your eyes. You dashed away, but before you could truly escape, Neteyam pulled the curtain aside to leave. He spotted your sprinting figure as he grumbled over the discussion he had just seconds before.

He groaned as he raised his palm to his forehead. “Shit.”

Neteyam broke into a run to chase after you.

...

You hid behind some rocks, huddling into your body so that you could cry without anybody finding you. Well, almost. Neteyam emerged from behind one of the boulders you were situated in front of, and sat down carefully so as not to scare you off.

His eyebrows were knitted together in concern. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You wiped your puffy eyes and sniffled. “I heard Neytiri telling you we can’t be together.”

Neteyam embraced you and stroked your hair.

You began to weep again as you sank into his touch. “I really wanted to have a family with you, but I don’t think that’s possible...”

Neteyam felt a wave of guilt surge through him. Perhaps you wouldn't have been crying if you'd fell in love with a human male instead. Nonetheless, he delicately nuzzled you, trying to soothe your pains.

“It’s okay. I don’t care what my mother says.”

When you glanced up at him, he planted a tender kiss against your lips to quell your sobs. You lamented the absence of them when Neteyam stood up and extended his hand for you to take.

You accepted it tentatively, finally putting an end to your sobs. “Where are we going?”

He gave you a soft smile. “You’ll see.”

...

Thank goodness Tsireya also taught you breathing exercises.

When Neteyam said he’d take you somewhere, you didn’t expect it to be the goddamn spirit tree.

You were underwater, squeezing Neteyam's hand as he approached the foliage. He had informed you beforehand that Eywa might hear his prayers, which is why you were here.

You maintained your grip on his hand in trepidation. Neteyam drew his braid over his shoulder, and nodded once more before attaching his queue to the tree.

You could tell he was begging Eywa to bless you both with a child. You sensed tingles across your skin as you felt the energy of the tree move through your lover, wondering whether your family's future was not completely lost after all.

Once Neteyam finished his prayer, he disconnected his queue and helped you swim back up to the surface.

...

You felt ill.

Seriously, terribly ill. You assumed you ate something unpleasant because you became queasy out of nowhere; what was wrong with you?

Neteyam voiced his concerns about the state of your health, and said that he would leave for a moment and bring back the village Tsahìk.

Ronal stepped inside your marui, and raised an eyebrow at your figure. Why did Jake Sully’s son bring her to you? “She is a human, what could I possibly do to aid her?”

Neteyam grumbled, then admitted to what he had done the few days prior. “We visited the spirit tree, and I prayed to Eywa for a baby. Now Y/N is suddenly sick, and I don’t know why!”

Ronal was taken aback for a time. She gazed at Neteyam, puzzled, then swiftly kneeled by your side. She placed her tools near your head, and you began to groan in agony, sweating from the aching in your body.

Ronal shot a glare towards Neteyam. “You, make sure nobody steps foot into this marui!”

Neteyam was a little slow in processing Ronal's order, but he promptly walked towards the entrance to maintain a watchful eye as she toiled. She spoke in Na'vi, and pressed her palm against your abdomen to interpret Eywa's will.

...

“This human girl, she is pregnant.”

You propped yourself up on your elbows, utterly astonished. Ronal had helped to relieve the cramps in your body, but that was overshadowed by the shock you and Neteyam were experiencing at the revelation of your pregnancy.

“I don’t know how this child came to be, but it is clear Eywa’s will has been told.”

You couldn’t help but intercede. “But, Jake said no human has ever been pregnant with a Na’vi child! How is this possible?”

Ronal sighed. “We do not know if this is a Na’vi child yet, but this is clearly some form of spiritual conception. We will simply have to wait and see how the pregnancy goes.”

...

This was not a normal human baby.

The more time passed, the more visible your bump became. Ronal had only alerted Neteyam's family about the pregnancy in case something went wrong with the baby. However, it was becoming increasingly impossible to conceal your body's visible baby bump. Neytiri was surprised at first because she couldn't believe you two had truly conceived a child.

The baby was developing well. To be honest, it was a little too fast for your liking, but it was fine. Aside from the occasional cramps and nausea, your health was excellent, and you were coping well with the pregnancy.

Neteyam was over the moon about your pregnancy. There were numerous occasions when he would lie with you, singing songs to your baby and wondered if they could hear him.

You hoped it couldn’t, because no offense, but his voice was awful. Neytiri’s singing genes did not pass down to Neteyam.

Your favorite moment of those instances though, aside from your lover's atrocious vocals, is when he would kiss and caress your belly while referring to your child as “our little miracle.”

On occasion, you two would dispute over the baby's gender or how much more Na'vi or human it would appear to be. You were certain that your daughter would seem more human, but Neteyam insisted that your son would undoubtedly look like a Na'vi. Furthermore, it was him who prayed for this! He essentially did all of the work!

You would argue that he’s not the pregnant one, and that you’re definitely having a daughter. No questions asked.

Bonus!

You had a son.

Everyone in the tribe was shocked when Ronal announced the pregnancy to them. A child who is both human and Na'vi? It was incomprehensible!

You were absolutely livid as you stood there, Neteyam snickering in the background. Eywa was truly a mischievous deity who relished in playing games.

Neteyam nudged your shoulder in silent laughter. “I told you we’d have a boy!”

You smacked his arm. “Oh, shut up! You weren’t even right about him looking more Na’vi!”

You two quietly bickered as Lo’ak held the infant. “Haha, I’m your uncle now! Look at us, we both have demon blood!”

He began to speak in a singsong voice, “demon baabbyy!”

The baby started wailing.

Someone seriously needed to take that child away from Lo’ak before he dropped it in the sand.

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five-and-dimes · 2 months

Text

Run Away (But We're Running in Circles)

After a million years I finally finished this one!

Dream doesn't believe he is truly loved- Hob and Death simply love everyone, it has nothing to do with him. Cue those closest to him doing whatever they can to prove that he is, in fact, very very loved

AO3

The past two months have been a whirlwind for Hob Gadling in the best way possible.

So many things he once thought impossible (or at the very least highly unlikely) had come to fruition. His stranger had returned to him, his stranger apologized, his stranger called him his friend. Those three things alone had made Hob's heart feel like a star, burning and bright and alive.

And then the ethereal man had sat across from him, a gentle smile on his face, weary but sincere, before he smoothed his expression into something unreadable.

"I believe introductions are in order," Hob almost squealed like a fan girl as the man hesitantly held out his hand, "Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams and Nightmares. I have other names as well should you find this one unsatisfactory."

It's so ridiculous Hob would laugh if not for the dead serious note in his stranger- his friend's- voice. The idea that Hob would find anything about this being 'unsatisfactory', that he would declare his name not good enough and ask for another. Absolutely ludicrous.

Also a little sad, but he pushes past that.

He clasps his hand, face about to split from smiling so wide, "Dream," it feels so good to say, "a name that suits you perfectly," he adds because it's true. Then he smirks, "I'm Hob Gadling. I'd offer you another name but you've never complained about this one."

A breath escapes the other man, as much of a laugh as Hob has ever heard from him and this is the best day in Hob's very long life.

"Tell me of your life, Hob Gadling, for it has been too long since last we met."

Yes, it has, and for a moment Hob's joy dims. Then why did you leave me? Where have you been? Why now? What changed? Why now? The questions bubble uncomfortably in his throat.

He swallows them back.

Eventually he will allow himself to ask for answers- demand them even, perhaps, he thinks he deserves it- but not today. Today he wants to bask in the warmth of reunion. In the gentle glow of his friend’s shy smile.

So all he says is an earnest, “Yes. I have missed you dearly, my friend.”

When their meeting comes to an end, the sky outside dark and the employees of the inn not so subtly putting chairs up around them, Dream asks if Hob would be amenable to meeting more frequently, wringing his hands in front of him and not meeting Hob’s eyes, as though expecting to be denied.

Ridiculous creature.

And so they continue meeting, and Hob… has mixed feelings. He is glad to know more of his friend, to finally be given the answers he has been gnashing his teeth for. But sometimes when Dream speaks it feels more like bloodletting than sharing- like he is offering himself on an altar, inviting Hob to drive a dagger through his heart, like he needs to make a sacrifice to this thing called friendship.

He feels it most when he learns why Dream missed their meeting.

Hob feels the blood leave his face as Dream speaks of being torn from his realm, bound by magic, stripped and degraded and imprisoned and hurt-

“Dream,” Hob interrupts, his voice choked, “You don’t have to tell me.”

Across the table, Dream doesn’t look at him, “You are my friend.”

“Yes,” Hob agrees immediately, “And I will still be your friend if you don’t want to talk about this.” He tries to catch Dream’s eye, “Being your friend doesn’t mean you owe me anything.”

“Being a bad friend means I owe you everything,” Dream counters, and Hob wants to cry.

Hob does cry, “Fuck, Dream…” He almost missed the prideful and aloof king of centuries past. As much as he enjoys the easy smiles and the taste of a name on his lips, he would give it all away if it meant saving Dream from this pain.

Dream flinches but does not pull away when Hob reaches out to take his hands, “I’m not keeping a scoreboard with our friendship. You don’t have to pay me back if you make a mistake. And you especially don’t have to hurt yourself for me. We’re friends. So I don’t want you to hurt.”

When Dream looks up at him, he looks so confused. Head tilted and brow furrowed as he tries to make sense of the idea that someone does not want him to pay for his sins in blood.

“I do. Want to tell you these things,” Dream explains haltingly, head ducking again as he continues softer, “But perhaps. No more today.”

“Of course, love.”

Dream observes him again, eyes searching his face as though looking at a pile of puzzle pieces. Hob doesn’t know what he finds, or what picture he makes with the pieces, but for now he nods, shoulders slumping as the subject changes.

It gets easier. Or, it seems to at least. Dream tells him about Jessamy’s death quickly and her life extensively. He talks about his realm, his function, his subjects. And, eventually, he talks about his family. Some he only gives the names of, and nothing else. Some he gives brief histories of, or descriptions. And one in particular Hob learns much about.

He learns the most on the day he is given the joy of experiencing Dream having just come from an afternoon spent with his elder sister.

“I do not know why she is so insistent on spending time with me these days,” Dream grumbles, and Hob has to hide a smile behind his drink, because despite being the entities of Dream and Death (which had been quite the shock to learn), right now he is sitting across from a little brother exasperated with his big sister. “We are so different. I find it hard to believe she enjoys my gloom compared to her exuberance. Perhaps she merely delights in tormenting me,” he laments.

Hob laughs, "I think it's cute," he grins, "she clearly loves you."

Dream hums, not unhappily, and moves in a way that is too elegant to be called a shrug, "In a sense."

The tone doesn't match the words, and Hob scrunches his face in confusion, "What do you mean?"

Tilting his head slightly, Dream answers casually, "Simply that she loves me in a way similar to how you do."

And that has Hob's eyebrows shooting up to his forehead because he really, really hopes Death doesn't love her brother the way Hob does. "I'm not following."

Dream hums again, a quiet moment as he chooses his words, "Death has a love for all of humanity," he states, "and all that existence has to offer. Put simply, she loves everyone. It is in her nature. You, too, have a wealth of affection for all that you meet and all that you experience. So it is not a matter of loving me , but rather, simply loving in such a way that happens to include me by default."

There is a stretch of silence as Hob turns those words over in his mind. He struggles to fully grasp them at first, the sentiment conflicting with the way Dream presented it as irrefutable fact, something obvious and common knowledge, something Hob couldn't possibly deny.

But, shaking his head frantically to clear his thoughts, Hob was absolutely going to deny it.

"No!" Dream started at the vehemence in Hob's voice, "That's not true at all!" His voice was firm, and almost angry, which in hindsight didn't help the situation.

"...Oh," Dream's voice was soft, and carefully neutral, "I understand," he conceded. His body was like marble, and Hob could see the way he was consciously trying to mask his sorrow and Hob wanted to punch himself in the face.

"Wait, no, not like that! I didn't mean it like that!"

He hated this. Hated all of it. Hated that his friend believed he wasn't loved on purpose. Hated how quickly he accepted the idea of not being loved at all.

Reaching across the table, Hob clasped his hands around Dream's, sure but gentle. Dream blinked in surprise, staring down at the point of contact, and Hob waited patiently until their eyes met again to start speaking.

"I love you," and this was the true irrefutable fact, the true obvious and common knowledge, the truth that Dream could not deny. "You, specifically. You on purpose. I love you because you're you, and I love you apart from everyone else. And your sister does too, I know it. You are very loved, my friend, and it is not an accident."

Their eyes search each other's. Dream finds conviction, finds honesty, finds something he is afraid to identify as love. Hob finds old aches, finds disbelief, finds something close to fear. Dream looks lost.

“You really did miss me. When I was gone.” Dream whispers with awe, and it hits Hob like a punch to the gut that Dream hadn’t believed him before, had obviously assumed that Hob was just being polite or reciting a social script without really meaning it.

“Yes,” he says, soft and firm, “I really did.”

A soft sound of sand shifts at their feet beneath the table and Hob knows that Dream desperately wants to run away. Instead, he closes his eyes and grips Hob's hands tighter. Hob is so very proud of him.

"I fear I have dominated the conversation this evening," his voice is raspy, forced out between clenched teeth, "tell me of your week, Hob Gadling."

It is a plea desperately masquerading as a demand. There is only so much Dream can take at once, and Hob understands, and Hob loves him, and so he smiles and returns Dream's grip.

"You will not believe what one of my students submitted as their thesis for the end of the semester-"

~~~~

Hob doesn’t actually know if summoning Death is a thing he can do. Dream had, finally, after 600 years, explained the parameters of Hob’s immortality. It was actually pretty much what Hob had assumed given the question posed to him at each of their meetings; He would live as long as he wanted to, and when he no longer wanted to, Death would guide him to the Sunless Lands.

Well, Hob very much did not want to go to the Sunless Lands, but he did want to speak to Death.

“I refuse to look up any sort of magic bullshit for this,” Hob starts, feeling supremely silly for talking to himself in his empty flat. But he didn’t exactly have any other ideas. “So I’m going to assume in your weird Endless-ness that you can somehow hear me. I’m not looking to die today, or ever really, but I’d appreciate it if I could talk to you, Death of the Endless.” He pauses, and then adds on, “It’s about your brother.”

Apparently those are the magic words, as a voice almost immediately speaks up from behind him.

“Oh lord, what has he done now?”

Hob nearly jumps out of his skin, twisting around in his seat on the couch to see a beautiful woman leaning against his kitchen counter. While her style of all black matches her brother’s, that is where the resemblance ends. Bright eyes and glowing dark skin, a warm smile on her face. He hadn’t fully grasped how unhealthy his friend tended to look until this moment.

Shaking off the initial shock, Hob smiles back, “So you’re the famous Death, eh? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Only bad things I’m sure,” she teases.

“From humans, perhaps, but not from your brother.”

She smiles fondly, and Hob can tell immediately that she cares for Dream. He wonders what Dream sees when he looks at her.

“You said you wanted to talk about him?” Death asks, “Not that it’s not nice to finally meet you, but I can’t be pulled away from work for too long.”

Hob shudders instinctually at the mention of her ‘work’, but he shakes it off as he begins to explain, “Right. So, normally I wouldn’t tell you this behind Dream’s back, but I don’t think he’ll ever tell you himself and I think you should know so that you can… help, I guess.” Death frowns, and her face darkens as Hob quickly recounts the conversation he had with Dream, and his assumptions on the nature of her and Hob’s love for him.

By the end, she looks heartbroken, but when she speaks her voice is dripping with annoyance.

“My little brother truly is an idiot-”

“Don’t,” Hob cuts in. It’s probably not his brightest idea to interrupt death herself, but he knows in his gut that he can’t let her gain momentum on this, “I didn’t tell you so you could scold him, I told you so you could love him.”

“I already love him!” she snaps.

“Love him louder then!” Hob snaps back fearlessly, throwing his arms up. “Don’t be mad at him for hurting! For whatever reason, he doesn’t recognize that we love him, but the reason doesn’t matter , not right now at least. We need to stop the bleeding before we worry about what made the wound.”

There is a long pause, the two simply staring at each other. Death looks a bit shocked, eyes wide and jaw tense. Hob stares back determinedly. He may not have known Dream as long as his sister, but he is positive down to his bones that Dream won’t see the “love” part in “tough love”. He’ll probably just see the admonishment.

He wonders if that miscommunication hasn’t been a wedge between the two siblings for a long time.

Finally, Death seems to deflate, her shoulders slumping even as she quirks a smile, “My brother would appreciate the metaphor.”

Hob chuckled, “Heh, I’ve noticed. It’s helped, honestly, figuring out whatever metaphor works best for him at any given moment, y’know?”

“Yeah. I do.” Death sighs, and for a moment she looks so old . So ancient. And when she meets Hob’s gaze he thinks she looks uncertain. “I do love him. You know that, right?”

“I do,” Hob answers softly. “But I’m not the one you need to convince.”

~~~~

Hob speaks every love language, but if he’s honest, cooking will always be one of his favorites.

He thinks of being a young peasant and his parents pushing food from their own plates onto his and his siblings’ so that they would never feel the sharp pang of hunger, and of the few kind souls during the 1600s who offered food to him, the fellow homeless who nonetheless would split their meager findings with him. Sharing food has simply always evoked the warmth of love for him.

It was part of why the rejection had stung so badly in 1589. A table full of food meant to be shared, and he had been left sitting there alone. A table full of love with nowhere to go.

Now, though, he is more determined than ever. Now he knows Dream, in a way he hadn’t for so long, and he is desperate in his desire to make sure Dream feels the love he is offering.

And so he offers him food.

“Come on, just a bite!” Hob nudges the plate closer to Dream. They are sitting across from each other at the kitchen island in Hob’s flat. He had spent the better part of the day preparing the most decadent mac and cheese he could- creamy and buttery, layers of cheese and pasta folded together with autumn vegetables and a coating of perfectly toasted breadcrumbs on top. Each ingredient was added with Dream in mind, with the desire to warm him from the inside out, to give him something indulgent that might put some meat on his bones.

He’s so thin. Not fragile, exactly, Hob is certain that this mystical being is stronger than he looks, and yet… There is something to be said about how one envisions themselves in dreams. Regardless of his physical capabilities, Hob can’t help but ponder over Dream’s manifestation, and how frail and hurt it looks.

“It’s a pretty standard ritual of friendship to share a meal together,” he says pointedly, smiling when Dream huffs at him. It feels maybe a little underhanded, as he knows Dream is trying very hard to be a good friend, but he doesn’t feel too badly when he sees the soft smile on Dream’s face. For all that he had vehemently rejected their friendship at first (or perhaps because of that initial rejection) he seemed just as moved to be called friend by Hob as Hob was to be called friend by him.

“I suppose I am bound by ritual then.” There is a strange note in his voice that Hob can’t quite place, but he is still smiling, so he wonders if that is just what Dream sounds like when he tries to make a joke.

Either way, he finally reaches forward to pick up his fork, taking a delicate bite of the gooey mess Hob had served him.

“Well?” Hob asks, barely hidden eagerness in his voice.

Dream swallows, his posture becoming impossibly straighter as he looks at Hob fondly, “You are a fine cook, my friend.”

Hob can’t suppress a grin, leaning back casually in contrast to his friend’s sharp and stiff bearing, “I’m glad. It’s a useful skill when you have companions in need of spoiling.” To his delight, a soft, almost imperceptible blush blooms across Dream’s cheeks. If Hob wasn’t so practiced in observing him he might have missed it. He’s glad he didn’t.

The evening is a quiet one, sharing stories between bites, and Hob is happy. He wills the food to fill his friend. He sends a prayer that Dream’s body might become soft with his love.

~~~~

“Come on, I want to show you something!”

Dream is becoming more accustomed to his elder sister’s spontaneous visits. After her chastisement, the day she pushed him to reunite with Hob, he had expected to not see her again until it was obligated of her. For all her joy and bright smiles, he could not imagine she would actually enjoy his company. Perhaps because of her joy and smiles.

He did not expect her to willingly subject herself to him.

And yet, she had come to him. She had called to him through their galleries, inviting him into the humble space she called her home when she was not ushering souls to her realm, and inquired about his meeting with Hob Gadling. She had smiled, and squeezed his hand, and told him she was glad he had someone to call friend. He assumed she must be glad that there was someone else to deal with him, and this meeting was merely to ensure that there was someone else out there holding his leash.

Then she called him again.

And again.

It kept happening, and while a part of him felt guilty and selfish, he could not deny that he enjoyed his sister’s company. And so he allowed himself to set aside his quest to understand why she was doing it. His elder siblings have ever been a mystery to him, and whatever her reasoning, even if it was simply to keep him in line, he decided to allow himself this small joy in his sister’s presence.

Today, linking their arms together, Death practically skips as she pulls Dream from his realm. Despite himself, he can’t help but smile fondly at her enthusiasm, allowing her to guide him to the waking and into a large building. He can feel the shroud of Endlessness around them, and knows that they are walking unseen. It piques his curiosity. Death normally insisted on walking among mortals specifically to interact with them, even if only a little. The fact that she now hides them is unusual.

Glancing around, Dream finds that they are in a natural history museum, surrounded by various educational exhibits. There are murals of ancient, long gone animals and cases with their bones, plaques with information and names, interactive screens and displays. Eventually, they enter a room dedicated to plants and flora of the distant past. Death walks purposefully towards the back, glancing at Dream with an excited smile as she points to one of the displays.

“Look.”

On the pedestal in front of them is a small, square piece of amber, and within the amber there is a flower. It is small, five petals floating in the resin that Dream remembers holding in the palm of his hand so very long ago. Not as old as Dream, but older than humans, old enough that no creature on this plane dreams of it.

Dream used to keep them on the windowsill of his bedchambers.

“They were your favorite.”

Death’s voice breaks him from his revelry, and he realizes that he has been standing as still and frozen as the flower for several minutes.

Her words were not a question, but Dream nods anyway, “Yes.” The word cracks just slightly, and it takes effort, but he turns his gaze away from the flower to look at his sister, his brow furrowing in confusion, “You… remembered?”

“Of course,” Death speaks softly, as though to not break the fragile air around them, but still smiles warmly, “You gave me some, once, and I understood why you loved them. They were lovely.”

Nodding again, Dream swallows thickly, turning back to the fossil before continuing, “They faded from the Dreaming when the last creature to remember them passed to the Sunless Lands. They exist now only in the deepest pages of the Library.”

“And here,” Death corrects, tilting her head towards the exhibit, “They exist here, now, too. Humans found them. They’ll remember them,” she puts a hand on Dream’s shoulder, squeezing lightly and grinning a little wider, “Maybe someone will dream of them again!”

But not as they were , Dream thinks to himself. Any dreams of this small, fragile flower will not be the same as the ones Dream kept growing in his window, the ones he tucked behind his elder sister’s ear, the ones he held close to his chest when he was overwhelmed. They will never be the same again.

Reaching out, he lets his fingers brush against the fossil, the golden color hiding the true hues of the precious petals within, and it feels cool and cold like glass and suddenly Dream thinks he sees a hint of his reflection in the amber. Unneeded breath catches in his chest, and he wonders if this is how he would have been remembered if he had not escaped from Fawney Rig. Lost and forgotten and buried only to be dug up like this . Frozen and painted over with someone else’s color.

Assuming he was remembered at all.

His vision blurs, and his fingers tremble as he traces over the shape of the trapped flora, nothing but cold cold cold where once there had been soft and fragrant petals.

“Dream?”

Death moves to stand in front of him, pulling him away from the fossil and blocking his view. He blinks, and realizes that he is crying, but the tears are thick, and slow, and his vision has taken on a yellow hue. Raising a hand to his face, he catches a tear on his fingertips and stares down at it.

He is crying amber.

“Hey, it’s alright, little brother, you’re okay-” Death looks caught between panic and heartbreak, eyes wide and bracing her hands on Dream’s shoulders. It only makes him cry harder. Amber runs down his cheeks, dripping sluggishly from his chin into his cupped hands, sticking to his eyelashes, and he feels half-fossilized already.

Gentle hands run through his hair, guide him to kneel on the floor, and he feels the shift from Waking to Dreaming, his sister taking him home. He thinks it might not be so bad, to be petrified and buried here in the Dreaming. He thinks he might be worth more as an excavated relic than he ever was as a living being.

But. There is still a hand stroking his hair, another wiping the thick tears from his face, heedless of the mess. There is a voice beside his ear shushing him, “Oh, little brother, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” He inhales, choking on the resin in his throat, closing his eyes as he lets the cool air of the Dreaming reach his lungs and slow his tears.

The resin is drying on his cheeks, and it is a struggle to open his eyes again, shards of amber encasing his eyelashes. He glances down at the pool cupped in his hands, and then sees the resin smeared over his sister’s fingers and nearly starts crying again.

“I. I apologize-”

Shushing him, Death reaches out to take his hands, tipping his palms until the amber pours out, dripping onto the stone floor of the throne room until she can curl their fingers together. Dream’s breath hitches, and he tries to pull away. He envisions the resin on their hands hardening, encasing their fingers together in amber, and how cruel it would be to subject his beloved sister to being stuck with him .

Death holds on tighter.

“It’s alright,” she leans forward, pressing their foreheads together, “take a second, Dream. Everything is alright.”

It’s really not. But reluctantly, Dream takes her advice. He breathes deeply, tries to loosen the hold his anguish has on him, dilutes it with the comfort his sister so readily offers until the resin begins to thin. Slowly, with each breath the amber turns to salt water. He still feels stiff. He still feels trapped. He thinks he simply moved the amber into his blood. Death is still holding him.

He inhales shakily, “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Death responds, soft and casual. They are still kneeling on the floor, and she leans back just a bit, still holding his hands but giving him a little more space, “I didn’t mean to upset you-”

“It was no fault of yours,” Dream interrupts, “I. Appreciate the gesture.” Looking up, he adds on, “I did not expect you to remember such an insignificant detail about me.”

“It’s not insignificant. It’s you. And you’re not insignificant.”

Those words are what finally make him pull away. His movements remind her of a mannequin, stiff and jerky, popping joints back into place after falling apart until he is once more solid and immovable. He folds his hands in his lap, and he does not look at her.

“I am aware of the importance of my function. I have not forgotten your words to me.”

Death consciously holds back a sigh of frustration. Settling back onto her heels, she takes a moment to look at her brother. She thinks of all the harm that happened in his absence, all the dreamers whose hands she took while her brother sat silent in a cage. She thinks of her words to him when they met again in the Waking after his escape. She thinks of Hob telling her that her brother didn’t feel loved, and how she had immediately put the blame on Dream. After all, how could he possibly think she does not love him for him ?

She thinks she’s starting to understand.

“I worry about you, Dream,” she whispers, reaching out to smooth back his wild hair, “I worry that one day…”

One day, Death will have to take the hands of all of her siblings. She knows that.

But she hopes that day is far away.

Dream looks up at her, head tilted like one of his ravens, “But I would still. Be there. Like the flower in the amber.”

“But not the same.” Death closes her eyes, the words soft with heartbroken realization, “Not you .”

Reaching up, Dream gently removes her hand from his hair, “Would that be so bad?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t hesitate, opening her eyes to look at him fiercely and gripping his hand. Dream sighed, but did not try to pull away. He still looks stiff and tense, and he swallows thickly, like there is still resin in his throat.

Death cannot help but laugh wetly. This day had not gone the way she had hoped. “Next time I want to make a point I’ll just get you something in your favorite color.”

“You do not know-”

“Green.”

Dream’s head snaps up, eyes wide in shock, and when Death smiles back, it is smug, but also fond, and sad, and- he thinks, maybe- loving, “I’ve walked through your gardens, Dream. I’ve sat in Fiddler’s Green. I’ve seen the landscapes you’ve created. And I noticed. Because I love you.”

When Dream looks at her, she can’t help but think that he does not believe her, not fully. But there is something in his eyes, a desperate longing. Like he wants to believe her. Like he wants it to be true.

Don’t go , Death doesn’t say, Don’t go. Stay. Stay so I can prove it to you. Stay long enough for me to convince you. Just give me some more time.

Desire used to love me, Dream doesn’t say, and then time passed.

“I love you as well, my sister.”

“Yeah,” she smiles, and only barely fights back tears, “I know.”

~~~

Something is not right with Hob’s plan.

It has become a regular occurrence for Dream and Hob to spend an afternoon or evening together several times a week, making it easy for Hob to guide them to a meal. Lunch at the university cafe between Hob’s lectures, dinner at a new restaurant, pots of stew that Hob had let simmer throughout the day, waiting for his friend to share a bowl with him. Each time Dream smiled and accepted his offers, diligently clearing his plates and complimenting Hob on his choices.

And Dream was getting thinner.

He didn’t notice the thinness at first. No, he noticed the layers first. Dream tended to bundle up, to keep himself covered regardless of the weather, and Hob understood. He himself sometimes caught himself pulling his coat around himself a little tighter when he remembered the details of Dream’s imprisonment. So Dream adding extra layers to his ensemble- sweaters and scarves and hoods on his coats- Hob assumed it was just a result of Dream still working through his trauma.

But as time passed, he noticed the way his friend’s already impossibly sharp cheekbones became impossibly sharper. The way the bones in his hands stood out in stark relief each time he reached for his fork.

Hob didn’t understand it.

Sitting in his flat now, not expecting company since he saw Dream in all his fragile, delicate beauty the night before, he wracks his brain to try to piece together what might be going on with his friend. He is deep in thought, hands steepled as he leans back on his couch, so he nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of loud, frantic tapping on his window.

Glancing at the window, he blinks in surprise at the sight of a large crow or raven that he swears is glaring at him. For a long moment, he simply stares, contemplating whether this warrants a call to animal control or if he should just wait for the bird to leave. He is debating trying to shoo it away himself when it taps on the glass again, somehow even angrier.

“Hey!” An unmistakable American voice projects from the Raven’s beak, “Open up, asshat, I wanna talk to you!”

In the grand scheme of things, this is not the strangest thing to happen to Hob, and yet he still nearly falls off the couch as he flails in surprise.

“Excuse me?” He stands and cautiously approaches the window, “Who, or what, exactly are you?” He demands. Hob may not be the brightest bulb in the shed, but he knows better than to let strange, angry, talking ravens into his home without taking precautions.

The raven huffs, “The name’s Matthew, Hob Gadling ,” he spits his name out pointedly, “And I’m here on behalf of Lord Morpheus, so let me in so I can shake you down properly!” He flutters a bit, letting his talons scratch at the window threateningly.

Perhaps Hob should be even more wary, given that the Raven both knows who he is and is clearly already upset with him for some reason, but the mention of one of Dream’s titles has him throwing the window open.

“Wait, Dream sent you?”

The raven- Matthew, Hob reminds himself, shaking his head in bafflement- glides through the open window to land on Hob’s coffee table, turning back to glare at him again.

“He didn’t send me, I’m here on his behalf ,” he clarifies haughtily.

Tilting his head, Hob riffles through his memories, trying to recall every name Dream has mentioned in his stories of the goings on of his realm between their meeting. Now that he thinks about it, he’s pretty sure he remembers Dream mentioning a Matthew a few times, usually with fond exasperation.

“I think Dream’s mentioned you to me… you’re one of his subjects in the Dreaming, right?”

“I’m not just a subject ,” Matthew replies with great offense, “I’m his raven .” He puffs his chest out proudly, in a way that Hob thinks more than proves that he is someone who spends a lot of time with the Dream King.

“Right, he definitely failed to mention that detail,” Hob teases good-naturedly. There doesn’t seem to be any urgency here, so he allows himself to grin widely, “It’s nice to meet you! I haven’t gotten to meet any of Dream’s other friends.”

“Yeah, I noticed, and I find that highly suspicious,” Matthew declares, “What exactly do you have to hide, huh?”

“Uh, it’s not really hiding, I just… don’t know how to contact you?”

“A likely story.”

“I mean if you tell me how to call you I’d love to hang out more-”

“What’s your deal, huh?” Matthew interrupts, “What exactly are your intentions with Lord Morpheus?”

Hob is suddenly struck by the uncomfortable feeling that he is being given the shovel talk. By a bird. About a man he is, unfortunately, not even dating.

“No intentions, really,” he tugs his ear nervously, “I just. Enjoy spending time with him, is all.”

Matthew’s feathers ruffle in agitation, “Humans are conniving pieces of shit who can’t be trusted within a ten mile radius of any sort of power,” he declares, with the authority of someone familiar with being a ‘conniving piece of shit’ himself, “so excuse me if I’m suspicious that Average Joe over here is just ‘hanging out’ with one of the forces of the universe.”

“I don’t think I’m that average-”

“And another thing! Stop guilt tripping him into eating, you ass!”

Hob’s jaw drops at the accusation, “I- wha- he’s skin and bones!”

“Yeah, and you making him sick all the time isn’t exactly helping the situation, pal!”

“Wait, what?”

“Jeez, you’re slow on the uptake,” Matthew huffs in annoyance, “He’s not human, dude. So human food doesn’t work with him. It’s like… you know that scene in Twilight- the books, not the movies- where Edward eats a slice of pizza? And then in an interview Meyer said-”

“Okay, stop, stop stop stop,” Hob cuts off Matthew’s rambling, pinching the bridge of his nose, “But he takes a human form when he’s here though, right?”

“He looks like a human,” Matthew clarifies pointedly, “That doesn’t mean he functions the same as one. Just because you can fit bologna in a CD player doesn’t mean it’s going to work out for ya.”

A slow dawning sense of horror fills Hob, and it must show on his face because Matthew tilts his head to the side curiously, his tone gentling for the first time since his arrival, “You really didn’t know, huh.”

Hob shakes his head miserably, moving to sit heavily onto the couch, “No. Dream has tried to explain the whole ‘Endless’ thing to me, but it’s so complicated. And he never mentioned that he can’t eat, and he just looks so thin and I just wanted to help-”

“Okay, alright, it’s okay!” Matthew flaps his wings a few times desperately, “Please don’t cry. If you cry, I’m gonna cry, and I’m not ready to find out if dream-ravens can cry or not.”

“I can’t believe this whole time I’ve been making it worse.” He thinks again of 1589, of Dream barely glancing at the spread Hob had offered him. He’s always known Dream wasn’t human. He feels like an idiot.

“I feel like an idiot,” he admits out loud.

“I mean, you are,” Matthew replies, ignoring the halfhearted glare Hob gives him, “but you’re not a malicious idiot, which was really what I was more concerned about. In my head you were like, trying to weaken him before making your move or something.”

The very idea makes Hob sick, and he shakes his head vehemently, “Never. He’s my friend . I get that humans hurt him recently, but I don’t care about his power, I just care about him .”

“Hm. You definitely seem sincere. I suppose maybe I should have just tailed you for a bit before coming in guns blazing. But my job is to protect the boss and he’s been looking a little rough recently, so. Y’know.”

Sniffling, Hob glances up at the raven, watching as he shifts on his feet anxiously. Hob blinks in realization as he speaks, “You really care about him, huh?”

“I mean, yeah, obviously,” Matthew shrugs as much as he is able, his tone becoming more casual, “Honestly it’s kind of hard not to. I mean have you seen the guy? Like, he’s supposed to be this all-powerful force of the universe, but he feels more like a kitten you find hiding from the rain under your car, y’know?”

Hob barks out a laugh, “I don’t think he’d appreciate that comparison, but you’re absolutely not wrong.”

“It’s not like he didn’t care about me first!” Matthew states, almost defensively. He flutters over, settling on the couch cushion next to Hob and he gets the impression that they should be sharing a couple beers right now, gossiping about their mutual friend, “He tries soooo hard to be all cold and aloof, but he knew me for five seconds and tried to keep me from doing my literal job ‘cause he was worried I’d get hurt.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him,” Hob smirks, shaking his head fondly.

“I can’t believe I had to die to finally get a good boss,” Matthew huffs, “Honestly that’s the craziest part of my afterlife. Turned into a raven? I can shrug that off. I enjoy my job and love my boss? THAT’S the part I have trouble believing.”

Snapping his head over, Hob blinks for a long moment. Matthew’s feathers fluff up at his staring, “What? What did I do?”

Slowly, a grin spreads across Hob’s face, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“Want to help me with something?”

~~~

When Dream arrives for a visit two days later, Hob doesn’t even bother saying hello.

“Can I hug you?”

Dream blinks in surprise, tilting his head curiously as Hob stands patiently in front of him. When he finally nods, looking confused but not uncomfortable, Hob wastes no time wrapping his arms around his friend and pressing him close. He can feel the shape of his manifested skeleton through the layers of his coat.

“Dream,” he sighs sadly, one hand guiding Dream’s head against his shoulder, “I’m so sorry.”

“Whatever for?” Dream moves as if to pull away, but does not struggle when Hob tightens his grip, “You have done nothing to warrant an apology.”

“I’m sorry for pressuring you to eat.”

Now, Dream jerks back, and Hob lets him go, though he keeps his hands on Dream’s shoulders. He looks surprised now, and somewhat guilty, “What do you-”

“Matthew told me,” Hob explains, “Oh, yeah, I met Matthew by the way. Good guy. Or, raven, or whatever,” Dream scowls, and he quickly continues, “He was worried about you.”

“He need not have interfered,” Dream looks away, body stiff under Hob’s hands, “There was no need for his concern.”

Hob sighs, “Dream. You could have told me you can’t eat food in the Waking.”

There is a pause as Dream considers his words, gaze still steadfastly avoiding Hob’s. “You… enjoy food,” he states, “and cooking. And you. Said it was a ritual among friends.”

“I know,” Hob winces, “I understand how it might have sounded when I said that, but… Dream, we won’t stop being friends just because there are certain things we can’t do together.” Dream doesn’t answer, his body as stiff and cold as a statue.

“Dream,” he ducks his head to try to catch Dream’s eye, “I won’t love you less if you tell me no.”

And that has Dream’s head snapping up, eyes wide with surprise in a way that makes Hob’s heart crack.

“I mean it,” he insists, “I won’t be mad, or- or offended or anything if there’s certain things you can’t do. I’m sure there’s plenty I can’t do because of my humanity that you wouldn’t hold against me, yeah?”

Dream frowns, confusion on his face, “I would not ask you to take part in anything that went against your nature.”

Hob tilts his head back and sighs, his mouth curling in a fond smile, “You’re so close. You’re right there.”

There is a long pause as Dream seems to turn his words over in his head. “You. Also would not ask me to take part in something that went against my nature? Even if it is something you enjoy?”

“Exactly,” Hob grins, “I don’t enjoy it if it hurts you.”

“Despite how I have treated you in the past?”

Hob’s grin falls so fast it hits like whiplash, “Of course not!” He feels his chest tighten in horror, “Is that what you thought? That I would be okay with hurting you because we got in a fight once?”

Glancing away, Dream’s brow furrows in consideration, “It is not… I did not believe you were doing it on purpose,” he admits, which does lift a little of the weight from Hob’s heart, “I merely…” he looks up at Hob through his eyelashes, “I did not want you to think that I do not take our friendship seriously. I wanted. To prove myself. To prove that I am capable of being worthy of your companionship. I have declined your offer of friendship once already. To deny a ritual of friendship offered to me now would be unforgivable.”

“Only because there would be nothing to forgive,” Hob replies softly. Before Dream can say anything else, Hob pulls him back into his arms.

“I. Did not mean to upset you,” Dream says tensely.

“You didn’t.” Hob gives him one last firm squeeze before reluctantly releasing him, “Now, my friend,” he says it again in hopes of reassuring Dream, who still looks anxious and lost, “Matthew didn’t say anything about you having ill-effects from our movie nights, yeah?”

Dream hums, and the slightest bit of tension leaves his shoulders, “Indeed. I have been. Enjoying experiencing this new media with you,” his lips twitch towards a smile, “And you promised me an adaptation of Romeo and Juliet tonight.”

Hob groans dramatically, placing a hand on Dream’s back to guide him towards the couch, “The only reason I’m allowing it is because the setting is different enough for me to almost forget it was inspired by that twat Shaxberd.”

“Technically it was inspired by me.”

“Well then sit down and enjoy the fruits of your labor,” Hob laughs, getting West Side Story set up for them to enjoy. The curtains are drawn to cover the glass panes of the windows, there are blankets and pillows strewn across the couch, and there are no snacks or food on the coffee table in front of them. When he looks at him, Hob thinks Dream looks a little… softer. A little more comfortable.

A little more loved.

~~~~~~~

“What’s on the docket today, boss?”

Matthew lands carefully on the Dream King’s shoulder. He had spent what felt like several hours accompanying Mervyn throughout the castle grounds, pestering him with questions and prodding him for stories as he made minor adjustments to the landscape, and now he felt energetic and ready for a task. Sometimes Matthew felt like he was a better raven than a person. If nothing else he was happier as one.

Dream hums as he walks down a quiet path outside the castle, “I must check in on the dreams of light to see how my newest creations among them are settling. And ensure they do not require more added to their numbers.”

The ‘dreams of light’ were how Dream had explained a particular sect of dreams to Matthew. They were created for dreamers who felt as though they were in the deepest darkness, those who saw no hope for themselves. They were dreams meant to inspire and revitalize.

“So they’re like, the light at the end of the tunnel, yeah?” Matthew had responded when Dream had explained.

“Yes,” he had replied with a small smile, “That is not an inaccurate comparison.” Matthew had beamed with pride at understanding a little more of this new realm he called home.

Meeting the dreams of light had been enlightening- pun absolutely intended- in a lot of ways. Mostly, Matthew learned that Lord Morpheus was deeply uncomfortable with them.

He didn’t think it was a matter of him not liking them or anything. But there was something in the way he had walked and held himself when in their presence. It reminded Matthew of how he had felt the first time he had held one of his friends' new baby; utterly adoring, and absolutely certain he was about to break it.

“I can deal with ‘em, boss.”

Dream turns to glance at the raven shuffling on his shoulder, brow furrowed, “I have already stated that I would do so.”

“Yeah, but I know you don’t want to,” Matthew shrugs his wings nonchalantly, “Unless you have some other important raven errand for me, just let me handle them. I don’t mind.”

With a deepening frown- born of confusion rather than displeasure, Matthew notes- Dream raises his arm, and Matthew instinctually hops from his shoulder to his forearm, allowing them to look each other in the eye. “Wants have no authority within my duty. If a task must be done then I shall do it.”

“Uh huh, yeah, I get that,” Matthew nodded, “but does this particular task have to be done by you ?”

“...I. Suppose not.”

“Great! Then delegate! I mean, I’m offering. Those guys don’t bother me the way they do you, so it’s not an issue, really.”

“I have not expressed that they bother me.”

Matthew sighs, shifting from foot to foot a little nervously, “Listen, don’t file an HR complaint for me saying this, but I love you, and so you are not as subtle as you think you are when it comes to being uncomfortable. To me at least.”

There is a long moment of silence as they stare at each other, Dream blinking in surprise, and Matthew tilting his head back and forth out of some strange raven instinct to view his boss from different angles.

“...We do not have an HR department in the Dreaming.”

“I can’t tell if that’s you telling me you are upset or aren’t upset.”

To his shock and awe, Dream smiles. A small huff escapes his lips, the closest to a laugh Matthew has ever heard in his time as his raven. “I am not upset,” he states regally. “Since you are so insistent, I will allow you to run this errand on my behalf.” He makes it sound like he is the one doing Matthew a favor, which doesn’t actually surprise Matthew all that much. Honestly, he finds it kind of endearing.

“Will do, Lord Morpheus!”

He is still smiling as Matthew flies away. It’s not much.

But it’s a start.

~~~~

Matthew is in the middle of debating whether it would be in poor taste to ask to see Jessamy’s book when Lucienne steps into the library, sighing heavily.

“What’s up, boss lady?” Matthew flies over, landing to perch on the back of the chair next to the one Lucienne had fallen into heavily, “Everything alright?”

“Everything is fine, Matthew,” Lucienne smiles, and he can see she looks more “fondly exasperated” than “distraught”. “I simply just came from seeing Lord Morpheus. He is still on the shores of creation.”

It has been almost two weeks since Matthew had checked in on the dreams of light, and had made some rounds among some other groups of dreams and nightmares as well. His report for the Dream King had been similar for all of them: they were doing fine, there was no true trouble, but could still benefit from higher numbers due to the massive increase in dreamers over the past hundred years.

To the surprise of absolutely no one, Dream had taken that as a great personal failure and had immediately set to work creating rapidly and desperately. Last Matthew had checked on him, his fingers had been bleeding. He hadn’t even known that was a thing that could happen to him.

“Any luck?” Matthew asks.

Lucienne hums, and it’s so similar to how Dream does. It amuses Matthew how alike the two were, and he wonders who influenced the other more. “He is taking a brief break,” she very nearly rolls her eyes, “only to ensure that the quality of his work does not suffer from the quantity.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Sighing, Lucienne shakes her head fondly, “I love Lord Morpheus but he can be quite stubborn sometimes.”

Her words have Matthew perking up. To be honest he’s a little surprised he hadn’t thought of this sooner. “Actually, funny that you say that. Want to join a group project to help the boss out?”

~~~~

Lucienne is still pondering Matthew’s words (and there had been a lot of them) when she stumbles upon her lord in the Library. He is seated quietly at a small table tucked in the back, hands folded in front of him. There are no books on the table, and he seems lost in thought. Part of her wonders if she should leave him alone, but…

“Apparently he doesn’t think anyone like, actually loves him. Which honestly kind of explains why he always looks like he’s on the verge of tears. Shit, I’ve felt on the verge of tears since that Hob guy told me about it. Like, I just assumed he knew, y’know? How can he not know?”

“Good evening, Lord Morpheus,” Lucienne greeted with a smile, pulling him from his thoughts as he glanced up at her. Despite whatever he had been mulling over, he still smiles as he looks at her.

“Lucienne,” he dips his head in greeting, “I hope I am not intruding.”

It is his realm. It is him . And yet he still considers this space hers.

“Not in the slightest,” she assures him, “Was there anything I could assist you with? Or were you merely visiting?”

“Visiting,” he confirmed with a nod, “I just returned from the Waking,” he explained, “and I felt the need to. Collect myself, I suppose.”

Humming in consideration, a thought occurs to her, “I cannot help but notice you have been spending quite some time with a particular human in the Waking, my lord,” she teases, “Will we be welcoming a new consort soon?”

Lucienne’s voice is light and fond, a teasing smile on her face, and yet Morpheus’ face still drops. It reminds her of a flower wilting, and his eyes are just a little glassy before he turns his gaze to the floor.

“I apologize,” his words are tense, some mixture of frustration and sorrow.

“Whatever for?”

His eyes dart to glance at her skeptically, “I am aware, as I am sure you are as well, how troublesome my. Amorous pursuits are,” He straightens his back, steeling himself, “I shall restrain myself. You have my word.”

For a moment, Lucienne simply looks at him. He has changed so much, and yet is still so very much the same. In the past, he might not have apologized as he did now. But she recognizes the guilt and shame all the same.

Finally, she steps forward, sitting in the seat across from him, “You have nothing to apologize for.”

He snorted, shaking his head in disbelief, “Surely you resent the burden that comes with my being in love. You have every right to be cross with me for succumbing to such feelings once again.”

“And yet I am not.”

Morpheus lifts his head, looking at her more directly, brow furrowed in confusion, and so she continues, “I have never been upset with you. You love deeply, and that is not a bad thing. I have only ever been saddened to see your heart broken.”

“My heartbreak has always been well deserved,” he insists. “ My pain is just. The injustice is the burden I throw on those around me.” He looks down again, fists clenching, “I bring storms with my sorrow, I lose focus on my duty, I become overwhelmed with both the love and the loss.”

Lucienne hummed, “Those things may be true. But they do not make me love you less.”

His head snaps up so fast she thinks she hears a crack. He is wide-eyed in his disbelief, and it makes her want to cry. Morpheus has been prideful, and stern, and reticent with his words. But it was impossible not to know when Morpheus loved you, whether he said it or not. Even when he lashed out and struggled to grant her more responsibility, Lucienne never doubted Dream’s love for her. It pains her to think that he has not felt the same surety with her love for him.

“You are my lord, and you are my friend,” she states, voice even as she recites simple facts, “and I love you. Not because you do not have flaws, but because there is so much about you to love, and your flaws simply cannot deter me.”

Dream continued to stare, blinking slowly, like trying to solve a puzzle in his head. Eventually, he swallowed thickly, turning his gaze down to his own hands as he admitted softly, “You know me so well. Better than most. I was certain that this knowing could only end in your disdain.”

“Perhaps I know you better than you do,” Lucienne responded, a hint of mischief in her voice that Dream could not help but quirk a smile at.

Tilting his head, he recalled fondly, “Do you remember, so long ago, when the stories of the world were scattered through the Dreaming? Every time a page drifted past us, even if we were giving a tour to an important guest, you would fly after it.”

Lucienne laughed at the memory. She remembers how her feathers fluffed with agitation each time, offended at the chaos of it. Every story, written and unwritten, left to float freely through the dreaming, unbound pages swirling in the wind and catching on branches and pillars. Lucienne could never resist the urge to collect them. “My beak would be so full of pages I could barely see where I was flying.”

“How far you have come,” Dream smiled proudly, glancing at the towering shelves of stories around them, “From your little hoard of collected stories in the corner of the palace. To this.”

“Because you allowed it,” Lucienne pointed out. She had been nervous, when Lord Morpheus first discovered the piles of pages she had brought inside and pushed into the neatest stacks a raven was capable of. It only occurred to her decades later that he must have known from the beginning what she was doing. It was only when she began struggling with the size of her hoard, when she was brought near tears at knocking over one of her precious stacks with a stray wing, that the Dream King ‘found’ it.

And he gave her shelves, and bindings, and hands.

He shook his head, “I believe you would have made it happen regardless. A beakful of pages at a time. I merely made it easier.”

“And do you think that makes it count less?” Dream looked at her, head tilted in confusion, and she could not help but shake her head fondly, “Oh, Lord Morpheus, you can try to downplay your love all you like, but those of us who love you back will always see it regardless.”

There is another pause, his brow furrowed as he seems to consider this. Consider the idea that there are those who see him. They see him because they love him, and the seeing only makes them love him more. She wonders how he will take it. She hopes he doesn’t run away.

He doesn’t. Instead, he dips his head and smiles, “I. Am glad. It would pain me. If you did not know my care for you.”

“I know, Lord Morpheus,” Lucienne reached out, laying a hand over his, “I know.”

Squeezing his fingers just once, she leans back, smirking deviously, “Now,” she adjusts her glasses, keeping her tone light and professional, “tell me more about this human who has caught your attention. I must make sure he is good enough for you, of course.”

When Morpheus laughs, he sounds young, and happy, and loved.

~~~

“My friend,” Hob begins cautiously, “is everything alright?”

Dream has always been quiet, but tonight he is distracted . He seems far away and lost in thought, a furrow in his brow that Hob wants to smooth over with his fingers. There is music playing softly in the background, one of their quiet evenings of sharing stories and Hob gently showing Dream little bits of what humanity had created in his absence. He does not seem upset, exactly, but Hob still worries.

“I. Am fine,” Dream responds stiffly, and Hob can’t help but snort.

“For someone who claims the title ‘Prince of Stories’ you are a terrible liar.”

Dream glares at him, but there is no heat behind it. In fact, Hob is almost certain he sees his mouth twitch as though holding back a smile. Softening, he allows himself to scoot a little closer on the couch, until their legs are just barely brushing. “I’m serious, though,” he repeats, “Are you okay?”

Sighing, Dream glances down at his hands in his lap, “I am fine,” he insists, “I simply…” he takes a long moment to consider his words. When he speaks again, it is in a rush, as though he must push the words out before he loses them, “Matthew and Lucienne claim that they love me.”

Hob blinks, “Oh.” He is both pleased to know that Dream is being told, and confused by Dream’s reaction. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

Looking up at him, Dream looks… ashamed, “They are my subjects,” he explains, “I have power over them. In such a situation, is it not immoral to ask them to love me?”

“ Did you ask?” Hob presses, already knowing the answer, “Or did they choose to love you on their own?”

Dream does not answer, and he does not look comforted either. “And Death,” he ignores Hob’s question, “she has said… but is it not obligation to love your family?”

“It can feel like it sometimes, sure,” Hob answers carefully, “but in reality, no. Family can be complicated, but at the end of the day, love is never an obligation. It is in fact very possible to not love your family. If she loves you it’s because she loves you.”

At first, he doesn’t understand it. Why Dream seems to grow more anxious and fearful with each word Hob speaks in comfort. Hob is trying to reassure him that he is loved and yet his eyes are wide, jaw tense and hands clenched into tight fists. He looks cornered.

He looks, Hob realizes, like Hob himself had as a starving man in the 1600s. Like a man who had been given the barest scraps to keep him alive and was now bracing to have it stolen away.

“And you?” Dream whispers, “You have claimed to love me…” he searches Hob’s face desperately, his voice choked when he finally brings himself to ask, “... Why ?”

“Because it’s true.” Hob reaches out recklessly, because it’s too important not to. He laces their fingers together and leans forward to keep their eyes locked even when Dream tries to look away, “Because I do love you. You, Dream of the Endless. I love your dedication to your work, I love the way you speak, I love explaining humanisms to you. I love how hard you try, how you don’t give up even when you’re convinced you've failed. I love how much you care.”

He could go on forever. Reckless, daring, desperate, Hob lifts his other hand to cradle Dream’s cheek, feeling the way he sucks in a breath at the contact, “I love the look in your eyes when you experience kindness,” he strokes a thumb gently against the skin under Dream’s eye, “and I love you so much that I also hate that look in your eye… as if you’ve never experienced kindness. As if you’re not used to it. As if you don’t know what to do with it. I love you so much, and I want you to be loved more . I want everyone to love you.”

Dream does not need to breathe, and yet his chest is nearly heaving with shaking breaths, each of Hob’s words hitting him like a blow. He has to swallow a few times before he can manage to speak again. “I do not want everyone to love me,” he confesses, “I just…” Hob has never heard him sound so uncertain. So small. Dream has to look away before he is able to continue, “I want the love I have to be true . I know I am too much,” his voice drips with shame, “I know I love too hard. But it is because I want so badly to be loved in return the way I love. I do not require quantity. I just… I want… I want the people I love to love me back.”

Timidly, he looks up at Hob once more, and his voice cracks as he asks, “Is that selfish?”

“No,” Hob answered immediately, “That is very, very human.”

“I am not-”

“You are humanity’s dreams,” Hob interrupts, “And I promise you, humanity dreams of being loved in return.” Leaning forward, he pulls Dream gently closer, until their noses are nearly touching and they are sharing breath, “And you are, you know,” he whispers between them like a secret, “You are loved in return.”

“You cannot know how others feel for me,” Dream argues weakly.

“Perhaps,” Hob cannot help but smirk, “I mean, I do, but I know you won’t accept that. So accept this: I know how I feel for you. And I love you. I’ll say it however many times you need. I love you-”

“Stop.”

Dream’s eyes are clenched shut, and Hob can see the moisture caught on his eyelashes. But he’s not pulling away, and when Hob pulls back, he drifts after him. “I’ll stop talking if you want me to,” Hob offers, “I’ll stop touching you, if it’s too much,” He starts to pull his hands away and the tears finally spill down Dream’s cheeks, “But I won’t stop loving you.”

The words are barely out his mouth when Dream crashes into him. He nearly falls backwards, only just managing to keep them both from toppling over, his hands bracing against Dream to steady them. There is salt on Dream’s lips, and they tremble against Hob’s, and he can taste the words on them as clearly as if Dream had spoken them out loud.

Stay, his kiss begs, Stay, stay, stay.

“I love you, too,” Dream whispers against his lips, his hands curled in Hob’s shirt as though expecting him to pull away.

But Hob only pushes closer, wrapping his arms around Dream’s fragile figure. “I know,” he replies, pressing kisses to his mouth, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, “I know. I know you love me. And I love you back. I promise.”

Holding Dream tight in his arms, Hob knows that he will probably have to convince Dream again tomorrow. He will probably have to convince him again and again and again, and he doesn’t care. He loves him enough to remind him.

#the sandman #dreamling #my writing

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sphireath-wisp · 9 months

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#You and Me - Always Forever

Sypnosis: What was one of the moments that made them decide they wanted to marry you and vice versa?

Warnings: Might fall in love with the reader, no actual proposals (just the moments that spark that thought, that feeling that you'd want to spend a lifetime with that person), not proofread, messy interchanging grammar

Note: Bachira and Rin version is coming up soon!!

Featuring: Seishiro Nagi, Yoichi Isagi x GN! Reader

Seishiro Nagi - What made him want to marry you?

"Still can't get past that level?" You settle down next to him on the soft mattress of your bed. He whines - a 'yes' in his dictionary - and tugs on the hem of your shirt to pull you closer. The pillow originally cuddled nicely on his lap is replaced by you, you were softer than any lame pillow anyway.

His arms are wrapped comfortably around your waist whilst his hands are occupied by his phone - otherwise, he would've had his hands all over you. Nagi's head relaxes on your shoulder, fingers brushing your hair aside. You hear the tapping of his thumbs against the screen progressively get louder with the occasional soft grunts and sighs of frustration.

You chuckle, "Nagi, I'm meeting up with an old friend soon, let me go." You notice his grip on his phone tightens. Instead of listening to you, he does the opposite, holding you even closer. You huff. It always boiled down to this when it came to leaving his side - you would tell him your very valid reason for leaving, he would pout and cry, and you would have to resort to emergency measures.

Pressing a delicate kiss on his cheek, you quickly worm your way out of his arms when he isn't focused. "I'll be back later!" or so you exclaimed, creaking the door shut behind you. By the time Nagi has registered your exit, he realizes he lost in his game - you now owe him a good 30 minutes of your undivided attention and, for good measure, 10 kisses.

The night after you left was a complete blur, he was whining and complaining to Reo for who knows how long, but you never showed up. Whenever he did make the effort to drag his feet out of the bedroom, he saw you happily chatting with your friend - "I'll wait a little longer," he would mumble, not wanting to disturb your little reunion.

Before he realized it, it was already the following morning, your body hurled up to his. "I don't remember getting in bed," Nagi mutters, voice lowered into a whisper so as to not disturb your sleep. He thinks it's a bit strange - you had recently been having trouble sleeping and he always made sure you got into bed before he did... perhaps he just forgot after all.

"Ah, right." He slowly stands up, making his way to his computer as he begins to recollect the events of last night. From the little bits of last night that he could recall, he remembers calling Reo on his computer (ahem, Discord).

Much to his surprise, Reo had sent him... quite a long video that he recorded from last night. From the thumbnail, Nagi noted that Reo had screen-recorded the call he was on with Nagi.

He plops back down on the bed, wanting to be close to you as he sits through this - hopefully - entertaining video.

"(Name) left," That monotone voice, familiar white and fluffy hair - it was him in the video. "They owe me 30 minutes and 10 kisses." Nagi hears a familiar chuckle from the video as Reo begins.

"Ah, how sad. First, you can't beat that level and now your dearest (Name) isn't paying attention to you, I almost feel bad for you." Reo teases and Nagi pouts as he watches the video, perfectly mirroring the expression he wore last night.

"It's okay... I can wait."

"Stop lying to yourself, Nagi." Reo takes notice of Nagi's newfound restlessness.

"I hope (Name)..." Nagi yawns before continuing, "...hope they come back soon." He lays his arms down on the table, head resting on his right bicep whilst fidgeting with his phone. "This game's rigged."

"Lost again?" Reo chuckles. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to send (Name) all of your complaints. They'll be sure to shower you in kisses the next morning."

"Thanks, Reo, you're the best." Nagi corrects himself after pausing. "Second-best."

"Ouch, even I can't beat (Name)."

The video had dragged on with small tidbits of funny moments to keep Nagi watching, but it was mainly a compilation of him grumbling. However, it started getting interesting halfway through.

"Right, Nagi?" The silence is loud except for the sound of gunshots - likely from the game. "Nagi?" Reo repeats with a concerned expression on his face. He connects the dots. Nagi had fallen asleep. "Pfft," He bites his lip to hold back his laughter, chest bubbling.

"Alright then, night-" Just as Reo was about to end the call, he heard the door open while calling out Nagi's name. "Oh," As if you were duplicating Reo, you refrained from laughing too much and pressed a kiss on his forehead.

Reo turns off his camera, observing you with bated breath. "Did he really wait for me?" You scratch the back of your neck, helping him sit upright in the chair before somehow dragging his 190cm body to bed. It was a smart choice for Reo to mute himself, you would have heard him bursting out laughing otherwise.

"Sweet dreams, love." You couldn't help but be generous tonight, giving Nagi's cheek a soft kiss. Rubbing your eyes, you were about to grab his phone from the table before stopping mid-action.

"...This game has a saving function, right?" You conveniently take a seat right in front of the computer, a perfect view of that puzzled expression plastered on your face. "Where would it be? Wait, shit, I didn't mean to start a round."

You purse your lips, eyebrows furrowing as you randomly press buttons. You genuinely looked distressed, aware that he'd be upset if he lost progress. Multiple sighs of frustration escaped you, completely lost. But, despite your frustration, you would rather sit there and struggle than see Nagi disheartened the next day.

Eventually, you pull out your own phone with your other hand and presumably search for how to save the game. "Ohh, okay, I think I get it."

Eyes locked onto Nagi's phone, you breathed a sigh of relief when you finally figured it out. "Okay then, phew... Better save multiple times." You stood up and tiptoed your way to bed, hearing one last giggle from you before the video ended.

Nagi's left stunned - he doesn't know what to say. His parted lips slowly curve into a smile, one hand cupping your cheek. Careful not to wake you from your slumber, he lays back down in bed, gaze melting. His thumb gently grazes your lips, hand traveling to your hair before pulling you closer to him.

"...You still owe me those kisses." He buries his face into your shoulder, a content sigh leaving him.

You - What made you want to marry him?

You have... low expectations when it comes to Nagi. He's a minimal-effort type of guy. Because of the little motivation he had, because of how painfully forgetful he could be, he did everything in the little power he had to remember the little things about you.

Your birthday is his password, your favorite candy and flower is his home screen so he'll always remember to get you something special on his way home from practice, and your oh-so enchanting picture on his lock screen. He's enamored, absolutely smitten when it comes to you - perhaps that's why he asked you this.

"(Name), why do people get married? Documents... preparing for it... isn't a hassle?" Nagi snuggles his cheek against your thigh, rolling his body to lie on his back at looking up at you and the tree you both were relaxing under. Your soft chuckles escalate to loud bursts of laughter, gently pinching his cheek.

"Nagi, honey," You notice a slight smile when you call him honey, "it's for love."

You see Nagi scratch his head, fingers running through his messy white locks. "We love each other, so why aren't we married?"

"People who get married want to take their relationship a step further, move on from just boyfriend and girlfriend. You know what I mean?"

Nagi definitely did not get it. "What's the point in that?"

You purse your lips in thought, gaze shifting upwards as you stare at the sky. "It's saying that you're willing to dedicate everything to them. Spend your time with them until you both are old, promise to never leave their side, and build your future with them." Dipping your chin, you let go of his cheek and target his ear this time. "It's nothing small or pointless."

Nagi thinks for a moment and you assume he finally understood. It certainly did give you a good shock and laugh when he asked such a question, you were almost worried he was crazy enough to ask you to marry him.

"I wanna spend the rest of my life with you... Can we get married?"

Perhaps you spoke too soon. Blush spreads across your cheeks and progresses to the tip of your ears. Clearing your throat and looking elsewhere, you speak, "Nagi... not so soon."

"So when?"

"When we're older."

"How old?" Damn, he was really determined.

"When both of us are ready, to move in together, to wake up and sleep next to each other every single day."

"...Are you not ready?" Gray doe eyes stare at you, eyebrows furrowing slightly. He speaks as if he was completely serious and ready, his mind set on spending the rest of his years with you.

As much as you didn't want to disappoint him, you needed to be truthful. Your eyes met his. "No, I'm not ready, not yet."

"Okay..." Just as you expected, he sighed and backed down for a moment. Your heart ached a little seeing his reaction, but you didn't have time to say anything before he returned to his previous insistence. "What ring would you want?"

"Nagi! I told you I'm not ready. There's no need to rush." Honestly speaking, you found it a teeny bit cute, but it'd be plain impulsive to rush into marriage.

"Just tell me."

You place a hand on your chin, humming as you think about it. You weren't exactly prepared to answer such a question, so the first thing that came to your mind spilled out of your mouth like word vomit."...A diamond ring?"

"Okay." Nagi pulls out his phone, changing his lock screen to a diamond ring - Was he really serious about this? His hand holds yours, fingers caressing your ring finger specifically. "I'll wait for as long as you want me to."

You recognized that look in his eye anywhere. You had seen it when he played soccer and scored an unbelievable goal so many times. Nagi had already decided and, because you knew him so well, you were aware you couldn't stop him.

Your mouth opens at first to retort and, hopefully, knock some sense into him. However, you hold your tongue when he closes his eyes. "Sleepy, already?"

"Mmhm, you're the best pillow I could ever ask for."

"Is that why you want to marry me?" You scoff and shake your head - a big contrast to that warm smile spreading on your face.

"It's a good bonus."

Well, you could always chide him another time. You'll have all the time in the world when you're sleeping in the same bed with him and wishing him a good night or when you're celebrating anniversaries together. You'll have more than enough time after you marry him.

Yoichi Isagi - What made him want to marry you?

You take hold of Isagi's wrist, preventing him from knocking on the door of his parent's home. "Wait wait wait, I'm not ready." You take deep breaths in a poor attempt to calm down, blaming the wind for making you shiver uncontrollably when Isagi questions you - even though it wasn't even cold that night.

"Ahhh," You let go of Isagi's wrist and pace back and forth in front of the doorstep. You scratch your head, messing up the hairdo you spent so long trying to perfect at home. "What if your parents don't like me? What if they don't approve? What will happen to us?"

Isagi grabs your hand firmly, stopping you from mindlessly circling around the doorstep. He runs his fingers through your hair, taming any loose strands of hair and brushing through the tangles. "Don't worry," he squeezes your hand, "I'm here for you."

"Plus, why wouldn't they like you?" You feel a thumb caress the knuckles of your hand. "I'm sure they'll love you. Come on, let's knock on the door together."

"Not to mention, we shouldn't stay out here that long. I don't want you catching a cold in this weather." Isagi plays along with your lame excuse, neither teasing nor making fun of you for it.

Isagi was so, so sure he'd be the one reassuring you the whole night, holding your hand under the table, finishing your sentences when you stumble on your words - he was prepared and ready to be your knight in shining armor. But, why has the table turned a whole 180 degrees on him? He's the one blushing profusely, sweat clinging to his forehead as he hears his mother's question.

"Would you like to see Isagi's baby pictures?" The question was repeating in his head like a broken record, a bad dream he couldn't escape by pinching himself awake. What turned this bad dream into a full-on nightmare was when you nodded without a single atom of hesitation. Despite how much he tugged on your sleeve, you continued to smile oh-so innocently.

"Alright, let me go get them." Isagi's mother slowly stands up and you rush to her side, pulling her chair behind and helping her up. "Take your time," you remind her softly, letting go of her arms when you are sure she can stand on her own two feet. Isagi widens his eyes when he sees how patient you are with his mother.

How sly of you, trying to make him forget about his baby pictures that you happily - on the verge of eagerly - agreed to see.

"Babe!" Isagi hisses at you through clenched teeth once you sit back down next to him, his cheeks flushed. "What? You already saw my baby pictures. I think I deserve to see yours." You had begun to get comfortable around his parents and that distraught version of you that he witnessed just a while ago vanished into thin air.

"Ah, there it is!" Isagi's mother returns to the table, a dusty book in her hand. She opens its pages, revealing pictures of Isagi in his formative years inside.

"This is when he first entered kindergarten," You nod while his mother points, unable to hold back your giggles of delight. Isagi's hand almost crumples the pages of the book as he hurriedly flips to the next page.

"Oh! This is when you won your first spelling bee." Isagi's mother hums. "You were so proud of yourself back then."

"Awh, is this when he took his first steps?" You begin to join in the teasing, shifting your chair closer to his mom's.

"Mhm, isn't he cute?"

"Oh, oh! Are these his class photos?"

"He's building a sandcastle in the picture, we were at the beach that day."

Isagi could barely hear the full conversation, his mind going blank at some parts.

At this point, you could feel the steam escaping Isagi as he heats up beyond his melting point. He places one hand on your thigh, burying his face into your shoulder in absolute embarrassment. This conversation would actually make him evaporate.

You pat his head, comforting him. "Ma'am, I think we could continue this another time. Isagi needs some time to cool off." You rub circles on his back with your palm, hearing a relieved sigh escape him.

Man, you really know how to read him.

You - What made you want to marry him?

Recently, you noticed your beloved boyfriend develop a new habit. Whenever you sleep over at his house, which has been happening more often because of a pair project you both have together (that requires a ridiculous amount of discussion and cooperation), you have recently begun taking mental note of his little habits.

One of the most noteworthy examples is the fact that he has this notebook that he wrote in once in a while. Sometimes, he would write in it multiple times a day. Other times, he wouldn't write in it for a full day and maybe even leave it to collect dust for the following day as well.

In the beginning, you made the assumption that it was just a journal to rant or perhaps a diary. However, the fact that he doesn't write in it every day proves your diary theory wrong. So, you went with the former - even he would have things he needs to get off his chest.

...did he not trust you enough to confide in you? He knows you're there for him, right? Is he going through something?

It made you sickly worried, but what could you do? It would be just plain rude to go through his notebook. No matter how much you wanted to confirm it for yourself, no matter how much your curiosity killed you over and over again when you caught sight of the wind flipping the book open, you did not want to and did not have the right to invade his privacy.

That night, he sat by his desk and twirled the pen in his hand, biting the end of the pen occasionally. Tapping his shoulder at a safe distance to alert him, you observe him as he turns his head to you.

That comically soft gaze of his alone almost made you forget your words, your train of thought coming to a sudden halt. You clear your throat, "What are you writing?" Your glances alternate between him, the room, and the book (though you tried avoiding looking at the book for too long).

To your surprise, he didn't immediately shut the book, dragging another chair next to him for you. Isagi openly shows it to you, "Do you want any cats in the future? Dogs? Pets in general?" He nods when you respond, writing down your reply in the notebook.

You analyze the pages silently, at a loss of words when you really absorbed what he was writing. From your allergies to what you didn't like in food, from what he had in common with you to activities you both enjoyed, it was sweet and insane at the same time.

You couldn't believe you were just overthinking a while ago. Relief washed over you.

"Should we have a cactus, like Nagi does? Should we name the cactus too?" Isagi laughs and you follow suit, concurring with the idea.

Isagi was almost the optimistic type, looking forward to the future. It was adorable seeing him plan so much in advance. It conveyed to you how excited he was to be with you, how euphoric it sounded to spend the time he had now and the time he would have in the future with you - and he wasn't alone, you felt the exact same way.

Even though both of you knew how life could be, life never goes according to plan no matter how much you try to make it, it didn't matter. The both of you will figure things out together, just like you've always done.

"Isagi, why are you writing all of this down?"

"Okay, I know that this will sound cheesy but-" Isagi places his hand on yours, interlocking fingers with you. "It's my promise to you."

"Promise?" You blink.

"It's physical proof that I mean it when I say I'll always be with you. I'm not here for the short term, I'm going to build a life with you, (Name)." Oh no, he's left you breathless again.

"That is cheesy."

"Right?"

"But, it's just like you." You kiss his cheek. "I wouldn't change anything about you.

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naffeclipse · 7 months

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Heya @skizabaa! I'm your Secret Skeleton! I might have gone a bit over the word count minimum, but I had so much fun writing this! Your interests/likes are exactly my jam and I loved crafting this little piece for a cozy and sweet Halloween treat for you! I hope you enjoy some creature Sun and a Y/N who wants a friend!

The Harpy and Hazel Trees

Harpy!Sun & Reader

Word Count: ~3,500 Warnings: N/A

You’re so used to the quiet—birds calling to each other, crying out about the cold, and the buzz of the last insects filling the air with the gentle crunch of leaves underneath your feet, fallen off the hazel trees. Your lone heartbeat pulses within your ears.

The quiet eats away at you in the way a caterpillar gnaws away at a leaf: slowly devoured. And yet, you remain. There’s still more of you left to be eaten. It surprises you every time you think you can’t take another moment of silence, of a lack of another’s voice.

Behind your simple wooden cottage, you kneel. Only a pale brown fence marks your lost lot within the forest for the deer merrily prances over it. Knees sinking down into the moist earth, you tug out the last few weeds crowding your pumpkins though they are only weeds in name. The plants, you’ve learned, hold nutrients that pair well in salads. You won’t have fresh greens for much longer.

Autumn sweeps back as if this was always its home, and you, its guest. Your garden is bursting with foods that make the harvest moon happy and the dreaded months of winter bearable. The late-season sun heats the crown of your head and strokes your hair, but it is not a substitute for a friend.

You toil away, cleaning out weeds, plucking fat cucumbers, and snatching a wide green head of lettuce. You’ll have a wonderful bowl of fresh salad tonight and cook an egg to go with it. Your chickens are still producing well but when the cold of the dying year steps in, the chickens will convert their egg-laying efforts to keeping warm, and you don’t blame them.

These winters are brutal, on body and heart.

You shiver under a cool wind. A gust flips leaves of dill and oregano and you mutter of the cold to no one.

Then a shadow falls over you. You lift your head.

You startle in your garden. Perched on your fence just a few feet away from you is a beast, one with a rather wide grin at that. A harpy. He tilts his disk-like head, a large mouth displaying sharp teeth fit for pulling meat off of bones. Beautiful feathers sway around his face, long and curved, bright as sunshine and exquisite. He holds a rather polite expression; if only you could ignore the sharp teeth.

His wide eyes, the color of cornflowers, hold the intensity of the hawk but soften upon gazing at you. His body is covered in a finer layer of plumage, off-white and yellow, with wings for arms and long claws on the ends of his fingers, though his large, raptor-like feet wield talons that currently balance upon your poor fence. He wears no shirt but an ascot tie of silky ruby around his thin throat. Billowy pants conceal his animalistic legs, stripped in a bright pattern of red and yellow. His wings are gently tucked against his side, hands curled in front of his chest in an almost nervous, shy manner. Radiant feathers of scarlet and gold decorate his wingspan.

You understand immediately that he is beautiful and, perhaps, dangerous.

“Hello, I’m so sorry to drop in like this,” he begins, voice bouncing and cheerful, though a touch strained. “I hope I haven’t startled you.”

You slowly get to your feet, stunned. You clear your throat, afraid of how raspy your voice will be—the only conversations you hold are with the chickens and the goat.

“I don’t usually get company out here,” you begin, though you sound a touch defensive. You clear your throat again. “Are you lost?”

“Lost?” The harpy cocks his head to the other side, feathers swaying like a rooster’s tail. “Oh, well, I’m only lost in that I have yet to find what I’m looking for and that I don’t know what I’m looking for yet, but the most pressing matter, currently, is the oncoming storm.”

He lifts one wing, long fingers nearly hidden under the cloak of gold and scarlet feathers, to point to the sky behind you. Careful to not turn your back on the stranger, you glance in the direction.

The harpy is right. Creeping forward are black, angry clouds. They gather low, pushing through the blue skies like a stain of ash. The storm wasn’t climbing the horizon this morning but swiftly it arrived.

He is being very polite, you muse.

“Oh,” you say, then face the harpy again. You clasp your dirt-covered hands, wishing you had thought to wear your apron so you might make yourself a little more decent. Of course, who could have predicted a visitor? Certainly not you. “Yes. I assume you don’t want to be caught in it? You’ve probably flown a long way here, no doubt.”

“No doubt,” he echoes with a grin that’s still toothy but much less sharp. His eyes upturned, the cornflower color beaming. “Could I trouble you for shelter for the evening? I won’t be in your way and I’ll gladly stay in your chicken coop or wherever won’t disturb you.”

You laugh gently. The harpy waits, his nervous hands returning once more to his chest, feathers rustling.

“Oh no, you’re far too big to stay in the chicken coop. You’ll scare my rooster half to death.” You look at him, resting a hand on your hip, forgetting the dirt caked on it. “No, you’ll come inside and out of the storm. The wind that will come will be fierce.”

“Oh!” The harpy leaps from the fence in a flurry of plumage. You start at the snap of his wings but find yourself gazing up into his towering expression, his smile absolutely delighted. “Thank you, friend! You’re so sweet!”

You look away, coughing once, unsure how to take the title he already bestows upon you. Is it even true? Could it be?

“It’s nothing,” you give.

You bend down and snap a pumpkin from its stem, the bright orange gourd is more than ready to be harvested for its seeds. On second thought, you’ll roast pumpkin seeds and have a stew today. A meal that will honor your harpy guest as much as your little garden can.

“Would you take this into the cottage for me?” you ask, pointing. The harpy is watching you closely, his head ticking with sharp adjustments to his gaze, his alertness unparalleled and fascinating. “I could use a hand for a few other things, too… friend. If you don’t mind.”

You hesitated, but saying it out loud dusts a lightness in your chest.

“Of course!” He kneels and scoops the pumpkin into his feathered arms as if it were a mere trifle, not a fully grown vegetable. His claws carefully cradle the orange shell. “My name is Sun. I am at your service!”

You give your name in return.

It’s been so long since you’ve heard someone call for you, but when Sun says it, you feel a little more alive. A little more real.

“Do you like stew?” you ask, plucking your gathered leafy goods that will wait in the cupboard until tomorrow, and lead the way to the back door of the cottage.

“Stew sounds heavenly compared to what I've been scourging these last few days—bugs and berries and other bitter things!” Sun’s jubilee voice is no less dampened by recounting his horrid meals. “Yes, stew sounds lovely. How might I help you, friend?”

He doesn’t see you smile. You lead him to the door and open it, holding it so that he might duck inside and not fumble the precious pumpkin.

“We’ll need a few spices, celery and potatoes. Help me dig some up.”

* * *

Harpy claws, as it turns out, are great at digging up dirt, though you think he might have put them to better use hunting. Sun is cheerful and he easily takes to work. It’s not glorious, digging up potatoes, but he does it all with a smile on his wide face.

You love his chatter. He sounds like birds trilling and cheeping, talking of the weather and the storm and how he was alone before he ventured into these strange but wonderful woods. He doesn’t tell you what he’s seeking, but he doesn’t seem to know either. A wanderer. A lost soul.

Like you.

People like you often end up here, in this forest. A woodland of spooky, lingering things, full of yellowing trees. Everyone is seeking something. A heart hungers beside the hazels. A person gets lost here, but sometimes, a person gets found.

Taking a much-needed breather from work, you lead Sun to the hazel trees. The leaves are soft and pale as butter and halfway melted, dripping to the ground. You show him the hazelnuts, perfectly round, dark treasures. In fascination, he gazes at the hard, black shells that you easily crack, shuck, and reveal the smooth nut hidden within.

For a while, you two snack on hazelnuts. Sun’s tongue is dark red and licks at his teeth, chewing away. You love the soft crunch, and how nutty the flavor is. In summer, you take what you have left from winter storage to mix with cocoa and sugar then crush into a paste. A treat that is so lovely you tell Sun that you wish he could be here to have a bite when you make it.

His feathers perk at the mention. He looks as if he wants to say something, something you earnestly wait to hear, but he only agrees. It does sound lovely.

You return to work. Sun is a bit quieter, back to his anxious hand curling and feather-ruffling, almost pulling a few from around his wrists, but you don’t ask. He would have told you if he wanted to. Why confine a stranger when he’ll be gone after the storm blows through?

You taste something bitter in the back of your mouth.

He helps you haul in the potatoes, celery, and carrots. Your cottage is small, but it fits him and you just right. You begin bowling the pot, adding in bits of beef you fetched from the wooden barrel where it sat in a brine of water and salt to preserve the meat until you were ready to cook. Then you begin chopping the vegetables. Sun fetches you an onion you had forgotten, and when he returns, his feathers blown against his body due to the picking up wind, he begins asking you questions. So. Many. Questions.

You can hardly pause between them. He’s so intrigued by your every boring answer. There’s very little for you to talk about except for the years you spent here and how long you’ve been alone (you don’t tell him the last part, though he does ask about family, and you simply comment that you have none with a sharp chop of your knife across a deep orange carrot.) He smoothly moves on, tending to the boiling pot and feeding the fire when it needs more logs.

You can’t help but stare. A harpy tending to your stew. You think this must be a dream, a wonderful, heart-breaking dream.

Tossing the ingredients into the heated meat and broth, you and Sun wait, listening to the howl of the wind and fearfully eyeing the flames as the pressure in the air snatches at the flames by reaching down the chimney. You’ll let the fire go out when the evening ends instead of fighting with it all night, but it will get cold. You ask Sun if he’ll be alright.

He taps his chest with a wicked sharp finger and promises that his plumage is more than enough to fight off the chill.

You stir the stew and spoon it into simple wooden bowls. You hand one to Sun. His large, clawed hand easily grasps it. He’s so sweet, so grateful. You sit down beside him at your small kitchen table—there was never a need for a full dining room set, and now you worry it’s too humble. You never expected company.

The stew, however, is heavenly. You’re relieved and immediately warmed by the savory broth and melt-in-your-mouth bites of beef and potatoes. Sun tears into the stew and you give him a second, then a third helping. You almost laugh at how sheepish he appears until he eats once more.

He helps you clean up… You didn’t know what you expected, but certainly not his methodical ability to sweep the floor and scrub the pot.

“Thank you, Sun,” you say softly, handing him the last dish to set high on the shelf. “You’ve been a great help today.”

“It’s the least I could do to repay your generosity.” He faces you after setting the bowl away without any stretching or tip-toeing, unlike you. “You’re so kind and there’s so much for you to do by yourself. I’m amazed you can handle all this work. It would put a whole team of fieldhands to shame.”

“Oh, stop it,” you wave him away, ducking your head to hide your bashfulness. “I put you to work. I do hope you’ll sleep well tonight, despite the storm.”

As if summoned by your mere mention, a clap of thunder reverberates through the air. Your heart quakes in the strength of the ferocious growl. Sun whips his head towards the front door as if expecting the storm to rudely barge in without your invitation.

“It’s a very good thing you stopped here,” you say, breathless.

Sun slowly looks back, his hackles raised, and his cornflower blue eyes fall down. You follow his line of sight to your hand touching his feathered wrist, fingers anxiously curled.

“Oh.” You drop your hand away. “My apologies. Let me get you a comfortable place to rest. I’m afraid I only have one bed.”

“No need to apologize,” Sun says quickly, “Were you concerned for me, friend? That’s alright. Friends can be concerned for each other and there’s no shame in that. I truly don’t mind.”

You nod but don’t meet his gaze.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Friend?”

You stop, looking back at him. You wonder if he intends to leave, but that can’t be right. The storm is descending with a vengeance.

“I need only sit by the hearth. I don’t need beds or other human comforts, though I appreciate your offer.”

“Oh.” You look around, the smell of stew having long since drifted away as the fire slowly begins to die. A thick darkness descends. You regard the harpy with a worry for the morning. Sunshine will come, yes, and the skies will be clearer, but he will leave.

You find yourself dreading tomorrow.

“Very well.” You hold his gaze for one brave moment. The cornflower blue holds you. “Goodnight, Sun.’

“Goodnight, friend.”

You close the door to your bedroom. In quiet reflection, you dress into your night clothes and slip under the quilts on your bed. You are so caught up on Sun’s ruffled feathers, his cheerful demeanor, and how anxious he holds his claws.

He calls you a friend. You’ve only just met. You shouldn’t be so attached to a fellow so quickly, yet, you find yourself wondering how you might combat the silence in the afternoon after the thunder ceased its grumbling and the harpy has continued on his way.

You hardly sleep a wink before the storm splatters rain upon the roof and sends winds to rattle the shutters. A quaking bolt of lightning strikes, the thunderous cry shaking the very cottage and you bolt upright. You cry out, disturbed from dozing, dark dreams.

The very world is being torn apart by a dark tempest.

“Friend!” The shout is muffled through the door, but you hop out of bed, bewildered and frantic, and throw it open to find the harpy.

He stoops low, his height eclipsed by the stout door frame. You stare up into his concerned eyes, long hands almost reaching for you but hesitating.

“I heard you shout. Are you alright?”

You lay a hand over your chest and breathe out. The wild blood pumping in your veins has yet to calm, but the sight of Sun’s cheerful face plumage, swirling about his expression like rays of the sun, and his big blue eyes, looking over you for injury or harm, touches your heart.

“Yes, I’m alright. The lightning—the thunder scared me!”

“It’s alright. It startled me, too,” he gives, though grinning with the energy of a thousand afternoons.

Sun peers through the small window in your bedroom. The lightning flashes again, not so close, but the thunder roars upon the little cottage as if a beast had snatched your home into its mouth.

You shudder to think of lying down now.

You hesitate, contrite, then ask quietly, “Sun?”

He visibly perks up and almost hits his head on the top of the doorway. His golden feathers brush against the ceiling of the cottage.

“Yes?”

“Can I sit with you for a while? If I’m not keeping you awake, that is…”

His expression blooms as if a flower under the sun. He grins, the sight so lovely and tender before he takes your hand in his down-soft palm.

“Of course! There are still hot coals in the hearth, and I do hope I can help you stay warm, just a little.”

You lower your shoulders. A calming pulse moves through your chest as Sun, your friend, guides you into the room with the dying embers that beat a last, desperate red in the sooty black.

“Are you cold?” you ask, concerned.

“No,” his eyes upturn, “If it’s alright, I would like to keep you warm.”

He opens his arms, the plumage of his wings falling like a cloak of ruffled sunshine and scarlet. His chest is fuzzy with soft down, and his billowy pants cross to make a comfortable seat on the floor before the cooling heart.

You want nothing more than to enter his embrace. Worry of the morning strains against your weary thoughts, holding you away.

“Are you sure?”

You only met him today. Why do you feel so much for this blossoming friendship, newly made under the threat of a storm and in the dirt of hard work?

He inclines his head gently, his feathers softly sashaying with reassurance. “Yes. I would be delighted to help my friend.”

His warm confidence chips away at the last of your reservations. Breathing in, you ease yourself into his embrace. Settling into his warm body—you didn’t realize how wonderfully comforting his form is, wrapped around yours, like a drop of sunshine. It immediately chases away the autumn cold nipping at your edges. Once you set your back against his chest, feeling a bit conscious of his presence and how you hold yourself, Sun wraps his arms around your shoulders. His beautiful wings cover you up in the burning colors of sunsets. Outside, the thunder and rain harmonize.

“Is this alright?” he asks.

You nod and hook one hand over his fluffy wrist. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Yes,” you murmur.

It’s nice to have a friend.

You sit a while, gazing at the fire. Sun hums a low, throaty sound that reminds you of birds calling to each other, and you drift quietly. Your head begins to fall. In smooth, careful motions, Sun shifts your legs so they drape sideways off his lap and guide your cheek so it might rest on the soft pillow of his shoulder. His arms fall upon you again. You are blissfully warm, sleep whispering in your ears.

“Friend?” he says. His fingers curl against your arm. An anxious clench.

“Hmmm?” Your eyelids flutter.

“I was thinking—in the morning, you’ll have so many branches to pick up off your garden and you’ll need to check your chickens and see if any of your precious vegetables have been harmed, and you have so much work to do! I could stay a bit longer tomorrow, just to lend a hand, as a final thank you.”

“Sun?”

Your eyes open in the blue dark of the autumn night. Your heart melts quietly in your chest, and you think you might be brave. You dare to want to be bold enough to let him stay with you, beside you.

The harpy titters nervously. “Well, only if that wouldn’t be an inconvenience for you, of course. I don’t want to impose or linger where I’m not wanted—”

“Sun?”

“Oh! Yes?”

You sigh softly and close your eyes.

“Would you like to stay?” You hesitate quietly. Your heart thumps with all the desire of your being. “My friend?”

The beat of silence is devastating. The echo of nothingness deafens your ears and you almost lift your head to see if you cross a boundary or assume too much, but Sun quietly trills.

“If you’ll have me.”

You smile.

“Yes, I will.”

“Then you know my answer, dearest friend.”

You soften in relief, and in Sun’s gentle melody humming in his chest and soothing your very soul, you drift away. In the morning, there will be Sun. For every day after, it will be you two in the cottage.

You and your dearest friend.

#DCAH2023 #harpy!sun #sun & reader #skizabaa #i hope you like it!!!#naff writing #happy halloween

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freyito · 8 months

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Can I request platonic Tomas and Bi-Han headcannons with a gn child/teen reader who has difficulty feeling emotions because they were never taught how to process or deal with emotions and the only thing they were told about emotions were to hide them?

This is kinda self indulgent, so I'm sorry if it's kinda specific or weird to you

its alright anon this also lowkey heals the inner child in me BECAUSE THATS ME THATS ME THATS ME TOO. paired with flat affect (and rbf) i had a really hard time understanding emotions in general as a kid!!!! nothing could process properly so i was (and still am) the definition of :l (KACPER LORE!!!)so im slappin flat affect on here as well, if u dont mind anon

cw: gn reader, platonic, proud bi-han, happy tomas, reader is teen (age isnt mentioned however), proofread

ᴛᴏᴍᴀꜱ & ʙɪ-ʜᴀɴ + ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴡʜᴏ ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇꜱ ᴡ/ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴ

-Tomas Vrbada

Tomas comes from a place of sympathy. Perhaps he doesn't quite understand why it's so hard for you to show your emotions, given he's very expressive himself. The most he's experienced is difficult emotions, so he tries his very best not to step over a line.

He's curious and worried, though. He wants to understand you better, and he wants to know just why it is so hard to smile around him.

So, Tomas tries hard to make you smile, any sort of emotion. He'll give you gifts, things he thinks you'll find interesting from his missions, or just try and surprise you in any sort of way. Which always falls short.

He notices that in tense times, or even in times of tragedy you almost seem unsure about how to feel. And afterwards, you almost seem unaffected, in a bad way.

He swallows his pride and just asks you why it's hard to make you emote, why your voice almost lacks emotion. And when you don't have a proper answer, somehow he forms his own answer.

He's kind to you, as much as he will always seek out a reaction, he doesn't think of you any differently. In fact, he's actually determined to teach you how to properly understand your emotions.

He assures you it's okay to cry, happy cry, sad cry, confused cry, whatever kind of cry. Although, not much had come up to render this reaction out of you. He's almost too expressive around you, almost as if he's showing you what to do.

At the end of the day, however, Tomas is sure to help you. Regardless. It doesn't matter if you can only pout now, it's progress. And he's happy. He's actually made it a point to be there during every big step. He finds it so hard to contain himself when he sees you genuinely smile for the first time.

-Bi-Han

Now, Bi-Han understands hiding your emotions. He himself was taught to keep them hidden. But slowly, that had just turned into resentment. So he sees a lot of himself in you.

He'll brush it off at first, he tells himself he doesn't want to get into it. But he slowly convinces himself to come around. He's empathetic, he almost understands every movement you make.

He puts in as much effort as he can, at least, what he thinks is enough effort. As strong as he knows he is, he knows that it's a bad idea to let this evasion of emotion turn into the anger he feels.

Bi-Han sits you down, and talks to you directly. He doesn't tell you his entire story, but he tells you that it's okay to allow yourself to feel and allow yourself to express that. But, he tells you not to force yourself to feel. There's a fine line between those two differences.

He enjoys watching your progress, and just like Tomas, he wants to be there every step of the way. But he's also a bit too prideful for that. So, he's content from watching the sidelines.

Little do you know, he's celebrating those little moments. Behind your back, obviously. He's proud of you. But still too prideful to show that in public. However, he voices this to you. He tells you how proud of you he is when he knows he can have a private word with you.

#*ੈ✩ freyito #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat 1 x reader #tomas vrbada x reader #bi-han x reader #sub zero x reader #smoke x reader

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hwanghyunjinenthusiast · 1 year

Text

Sunshine and Sundresses

AN: All this is about is Chris wanting to fuck you while you're in a sundress lol. I'm somewhat in my Chris feelings right now so yay.

Synopsis: There's just something about the sight of you in a sundress that makes Chris lose all of his self-restraint.

Heads up: Bang Chan x Fem! Reader, established relationship, mostly pwp, Soft Dom! Chris, public sex, Chris and Reader remain mostly clothed, dirty talk, pet names, Daddy kink, fingering (f. receiving), praise kink, unprotected piv sex, biting (f. receiving), creampie,

Reader and Chris lick the other's cum off Chris's fingers (it'll make sense when you get there lol) and Chris plugs Reader after cumming inside of her.

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Chris finds himself tripping over his words once again when he sees the bottom of your dress shift and ride up your thighs. This was getting ridiculous now.

He'd seen you in various outfits and states of dress over the months of your relationship, and, at the risk of sounding cheesy, he thinks you look beautiful no matter what you're wearing. However, he would be lying if he didn't find himself utter enthralled with you wearing sundresses in particular.

The two of you decided to go on a picnic since your schedules finally aligned, and Chris found himself completely tongue-tied when he was greeted with the sight of you in a pretty, yellow sundress that flitted against your fantastic thighs. He's also certain you're not wearing a bra that isn't helping the blood rushing to his dick.

"Chris?" You ask with a tinge of concern to your voice.

He needs to get his shit together. It's just a dress.

"Sorry, uh I was just saying that I'm glad that we finally got the chance to spend some time together," he responds, hoping you don't notice the breathlessness in his voice.

The smile you give him makes his heart rate pick up exponentially. It's only made worse when you cuddle further into his side and press a kiss against his jaw, "I'm happy we finally get to actually go on a date too. I've missed this."

Perhaps it's the overwhelming love he feels for you in that moment or just the simple desire to kiss you that compels him to angle himself to meet your lips.

He swallows the cute, startled noise you make, tightening his grip on your waist and deepening the kiss considerably. Rationally, he knows that the two of you probably shouldn't be making out so heatedly in a public park like this, but Chris can't bring himself to care as he rolls you onto your back. Groaning against your lips when the erection he's been fighting all day comes into contact with panty covered core.

He pulls back to catch his breath and stares down at your dazed face and freshly kissed lips, the tops of your tits being incredibly distracting with each laboured inhale you take. Well fuck. How is he supposed to stop now?

"You look so pretty," Chris breathes out, pressing delicate kisses to your jaw and reaching one of his hands down to grab a generous handful of one of your tits over the fabric of your dress.

"Ah, Chris, we're in public. Someone might see," you cry out, but he can tell you're trying to hold back. A self-satisfied smirk does cross his face when he feels your hands grip his back as he continues his assault on your throat and tit.

"We'll just have to be quiet then. You just look so beautiful that I couldn't help myself," he responds against your skin, groaning slightly as he fondles you.

He feels warmth course through his system at the shy expression on your face, shifting upwards to press a soft kiss against your lips as his hand moves from your chest to brush against your plush thighs. Chris strokes you through your panties lightly, his cock quickly becoming painfully hard as he swallows down all your moans and mewls and keens and, feels your nails digging into his broad, clothed back.

"Chris please," you moan out, your hips bucking up into his hand in search of more pressure.

"You know better than to call me by my name, princess," Chris softly chastises, slowing down his strokes in warning.

"No, Daddy, I'm sorry," you rush out so quickly and frantically that he almost misses what you say. However, when his brain is finally able to pull itself together, he groans and slots his mouth against yours once more. He moves your panties to the side and sinks two of his thick fingers inside of you, cock throbbing as your slick walls clench around them.

Chris is glad he had the foresight to kiss you before slipping his fingers inside of you because the moans and whines you let out likely would've gotten the two of you caught. He's a little disappointed that he won't get the chance to eat you out, but he didn't want to risk it. You two were already pushing your luck here. Instead, he focuses on opening you up with his fingers, curling them in the way he knows renders you thoughtless.

"Daddy, please. Want you in-inside me," you pull back and whine, reaching your hand down to stroke his cock over his pants.

It's Chris's turn to bite back his own sounds. Gritting his teeth from the toe-curling pleasure he feels from the pressure provided by your hand, his hips instinctively pressing into your hand in search of more relief.

"Wanna make sure you're stretched out properly. Don't wanna hurt you," he responds, his voice sounding strained to his own ears as he brushes your clit with his thumb.

"You-You won't hurt me, D-Daddy. I can t-take it," you whine, kissing and nipping at his jaw as you continue to palm him.

Chris can feel his resolve crumbling. A groan almost slipping from his mouth as your walls continue to clench around his fingers, and your mouth leaves hot kisses on his skin.

"Fuck, okay," he concedes, easing his fingers from your vice grip and sitting back so he could more comfortably tug off his pants. However, Chris is momentarily distracted by your juices coating his fingers. Impulsively, he shoves them in his mouth, moaning and his eyes fluttering shut. Your taste going straight to his cock, more pre-cum smearing his already sticky boxers.

Chris is brought out of taking in your taste by a very audible whine from you, eyes flying open to see you watching his mouth intently. You look completely frenzied as you watch him, your eyes completely glazed over and bruised lips parted.

He makes a mental note to eat you out properly later. For both of your sakes.

He hurriedly unbuttoned his pants, shoving them and his boxers down his thighs, his cock springing free. The mewl you let out and the way your thighs spread further as your eyes remain glued to his cock does phenomenal things for his ego.

"Are you ready?" He asks, grabbing himself and lining his cock up with your entrance.

"Yes, please," you respond, desperation seeping into your voice. God, you're just so fucking cute and pretty and, you're all his.

"Okay baby," he coos, slowly easing his cock into you. Gritting his teeth as your slick, velvet walls grip his cock harshly but, he wants to make sure the stretch isn't too much for you all at once.

He quickly covers your mouth with his hand when your moans get a little too loud, worrying him that the two of you might be overhead. Not that he doesn't get it. He has to make a conscious effort to swallow down his own noises from the mind-numbing pleasure of finally being fully inside of you.

"You have to be quiet, Princess," he warns, though any sterness in his voice is severely undercut by how breathless he sounds, even to his own ears.

Your mewl is muffled by his hand, watery eyes locking on his when he begins to thrust into you. He bites down on your shoulder to try his best to silence himself, a guttural groan slipping past his lips when you clench around him particularly hard.

"Yeah, you like this don't you, baby? You were acting so scandalised earlier but, the way your tight pussy is gripping me tells me everything I need to know," he mutters against your skin, leaving soft kisses on the partially visible bite mark left on your shoulder.

Even though his hand is covering your mouth, he can clearly make out your pleads and moans. A few stray tears running down your face.

As much as Chris would love to take his time with you, he didn't want to risk getting caught. He fucked into you hard and fast, hoping against hope noone is around to hear the sounds of skin slapping against skin and your respective muffled moans.

He was getting close, the sight of your glossy, tear eyes and cleavage jiggling with each of his brutal thrusts certainly wasn't helping.

"You have no idea what seeing you in this fucking dress does to me," he mutters against your throat in between kisses and light nips.

"So fucking pretty. So sexy," he continues on, hissing through his teeth as you tighten around him with each word of praise that falls from his plump lips.

Your hand reaches up to grasp his wrist, trying to signal to him to take his hand off of your mouth. When he does, you pull him into another frenzied kiss. It's all teeth and spit and, Chris hurriedly reaches between your bodies to rub circles against your swollen clit.

Chris tries his best to muffle your whines of 'Daddy' and 'please' and, borderline incoherent moans. His eyes roll into the back of his skull when you cum around him. Your pussy gripping him so tightly that he can barely pull out but, he fucks you through it nonetheless. Cooing praises and encouragement to you as you ride it out, his hand grabbing your thigh as his own climax hits him like a train.

You both moan into each other as Chris's warm, thick cum floods your eager pussy. He shudders as you continue to clench around him all the while, seemingly trying your hardest to milk him for all of his cum.

He resists the urge to just continue lying here with you and sleepily exchanging kisses while you both bask in your respective afterglows. He grimaces as he pulls out of you, desire curling in his as he plugs you with his fingers to prevent any of his cum from leaking out of you. "Chris," you gasp out, your hips jolting against his hand.

"I want you to keep all of my cum inside you," he says with a dark edge to his voice, hurriedly putting your panties in place and pulling his fingers out of you. They're coated with his cum and he feels his sensitive cock twitch when you grasp his hand and put them in your mouth, eagerly licking his essence off of them.

Fuck, he loves you.

#bang chan smut #stray kids smut #chan smut #chan stray kids smut #stray kids chan smut #chris smut

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beanghostprincess · 5 months

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Nami being the one who's scared the most about Vivi's safety during her disappearance (everyone's worried, but it's obvious that she's the one still concerned even after admitting Vivi is strong enough to take care of herself) and Zoro, for once, being the one to comfort her. He catches her crying on a corner of the ship, all alone and hugging her knees close to her chest. Her long hair is getting stuck on her cheeks with how wet they are now. She obviously doesn't want anybody to see and pretends to be fine after telling Zoro to fuck off a few times, but when she doesn't manage to make him go away, she just ends up silently accepting his company and letting him sit down next to her. Zoro tries to say something. Anything. Because believe it or not, it fucking hurts to see their navigator like this when she's always the one taking care of others and everything. She has always been strong, but strong only gets her so far and even Nami needs comforting sometimes. Zoro might not be the best person to help her, but he tries.

Nami is always a few steps further. "You wouldn't understand. You-" She sobs louder, hiding her head on her arms, pressing her legs closer to herself. Zoro wants to hug her, but he doesn't know how. He knows he should. He wants to tell her, too, that he understands perfectly, but she would be the one not getting what he means. "Have you ever missed somebody so much it's impossible to live, Zoro?! Not even basic human functions, fuck, I- I spent so much time without her thinking we'd meet again and now I might never see her again. Do you even know what that's like?"

Zoro knows what that's like. He doesn't feel like it's the right moment nor the right place to confess something like this, but they've gone through so much shit already it's almost inevitable for her to not know this.

The swordsman grunts before he pronounces his next words, double-checking if somebody else is watching them. Nami looks ethereal even while crying. It's sort of annoying. "I understand." The redhead looks up from where she's sitting, with a confused glance on her face. Zoro keeps his stare on his hands. "Two years ago. I- I couldn't do anything to save him. I couldn't protect him. I lost him. Every day I wondered if he was going to be okay and, fuck it, it's the stupidest thing because he's a fucking god at this point and the guy never ends up dying but-" He turns his right hand into a fist and presses his nails on his palms, fighting the urge to shake under the memories. "I couldn't eat. Or breathe. Live normally." When he shuts up, Nami makes a face he can't quite understand. He can't tell the difference between disgust and discomfort. Perhaps she's just judging him for being this weak for their stupid captain.

But the girl just scoffs and hides her head between the arms resting on her knees once again. "Of course you would." Her voice breaks mid-sentence. "But it's not the same." Zoro knew she wouldn't get it, at least not right away. It takes a long seconds of silence and Nami looking up at his uncomfortable expression haunted by past memories for everything to click. "Oh, it is the same." Zoro looks away, but she just moves closer to him. Nami rests her head on his shoulder, and he hates to admit how much he has missed her scent of fresh tangerines and home. "I'm sorry."

"S fine." Zoro manages to say it, somehow, without his attitude fading away.

Nami buries her head closer to his arm, and Zoro doesn't fight the need to hold her closer anymore to pull her into half an embrace with his left hand. "I didn't get to tell her how I feel."

The swordsman shivers at her trembling, frightened voice. "Me neither."

Nami scoffs. "But you still have time." If he feels her tears run through his body, he doesn't say anything. "I don't even know if she's alive."

Zoro doesn't have to bring his mind back to memories from a long while, when the last time he felt this way was whenever Luffy fought against Kaido

But he says nothing, because he knows there's no way in earth he can fix what just broke Nami's heart into pieces. If he could take her pain, he would, without any hesitation. He can handle it. And Nami is strong and all, but he fears that seeing her this way might bring him to madness.

So Zoro unexpectedly, for both of them, kisses the top of her head —like he used to do back when they were only three. Back when their ship couldn't even be referred to as one— and lets her cry. "I'm sorry." She just cries harder, and Zoro understands. They keep saying he doesn't understand, but he does. "I know. I know."

It would be easier if he could just cut whoever hurt her in half like he always does.

Luffy is the strongest, most powerful man Zoro has had the privilege to love and worship, and even when he disappears he forgets how to live.

So Zoro can fathom the way Nami feels. Vivi is strong, but love makes Nami feel the weakest she's ever been.

Nami gladly accepts his hug, and he knows she understands. And he'll help her live until she finds her way to her princess again.

#i miss my girlfriend and i'm writing this bc i miss my girlfriend and i love her #and also i absolutely love platonic zonami #i just think zolu and namivivi have a lot of parallels and they're the best ships ever #and nami and zoro are shitty at talking but they're great at understanding each other #one piece #nami #cat burglar nami #nefertari vivi #namivivi #roronoa zoro #monkey d. luffy #zolu #one piece spoilers #i mean just post wano things #i am very eepy sorry if this doesn't make sense #platonic zonami

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cheeseceli · 11 months

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If skz wrote a song for their s/o

Pairing: ot8 skz × gn!reader (individually)

Description: Stray Kids write a song for their s/o, inspired by their actual songs and respective lyricists

Genre: Fluff and maybe a little bit of angst (couple fights, low self-esteem and fear of rejection are mentioned)

A/n: Kinda of unexpected of me to post something like that since I only write short scenarios but! i felt like doing something like this, hope you guys can enjoy

Chan - youtiful

You know whenever there is a chance I'll tell you that you are amazing as you are; Cause when you give me a glance I'm sure that I see the universe in your eyes

He knows how hard insecurities can get and he would hate to see you doubting yourself. He wrote this song with you in mind, hoping it would help you to feel more confident and see your worth.

Lee Know - Waiting For Us

Cause I'm right here waiting for us; At times I was afraid; I didn't think you'd ever come again; So I'll tighly hold your hand; No matter what moment comes; I won't let you go

He probably wrote this one after an argument and he is sure he never wants to fight with you ever again. You are the love of his life and he wants to be with you no matter what and no matter when. This would also be his comfort song whenever he was in tour and far away.

Changbin - Sorry, I Love You

I know I’ll regret, so I end this; I know I’ll regret, so I decide to express my feelings; I want to be more than just friends; I like you too much; Sorry that I like you so much, I'm sorry; I tried to hide my feelings but I guess it was too obvious

He wrote this right before he confessed. He was so sure you didn't like him back?? Up to him, he'd never say anything about his feelings 'cause he didn't want to ruin the friendship. But you are too beautiful to be just friends and he needed to tell you everything. Even though the scenario of the song is pessimistic, it encourages him to confess.

Hyunjin - Hoodie Season

Hey baby, I'll make you my lover ey; When you feel the winter wind in autumn; Ooh ah, ooh ah will you hug me warmly; Fallen leaves, like fallen leaves; We gon' fall in love

And they fell in a love in a spring autumn day. Even though this part of the lyrics talks directly to you, this song is not exactly about you, it's about what you make him feel. A hopeless romantic, he was born to love but he also expects to be loved and you make him feel this way. You are like the hoodie that protects him from the cold wind and makes him feel warm.

Han - MIXTAPE: OH

When my hands touch you; We take each other's breath away; At each other's gaze the feeling we've never felt before; This has no explanation; I know it's nothing ordinary; Makes me want more

This one would be written before you guys got into a relationship and he would be so confused. Did you want the same as him? That was just attraction or perhaps something more? This song was basically a brainstorming, trying to figure out the whole situation as it was something new to him.

Felix - WOW

You who's different, curious of you; Your vibe which has changed, curious of you; My feelings that I cannot name, mysterious of you; your gaze when you're staring at me; Let me say wow

He wrote this one in his delulu era i'm 100% sure. You would look at him for a second and he would be speechless. He would spend the whole day thinking about you and wondering if you felt the same, trying to read all the possible signs, even writing about it.

Seungmin - my universe

So close yet so far, your and my world; I will always find you till the end always; Even if I fall behind, I will follow you; My universe

He knows the idol life is hard to keep up with, but still you were there for him in all those hard moments and he is so, so grateful for that! If he believes in afterlife, he is sure he will find you in his next life. That's how it is: you guys are meant to be.

I.N - #LoveSTAY

I will never make you lonely; you'll always be beside me; Someday I'll get exhausted and cry; Fall down and feel pain again; it doesn't matter once again; I can endure it by looking at you; Cause I love you

Yes, it is about Stay. But I.N can't help but think about you in some verses. He considers himself so so lucky to have you: you were there in his worst moments and you made ordinary days become the best moments of his life. You are his medicine and he hopes he can be the same to you

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brainwashboy · 1 month

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I'm not sure this counts as horny but. BUT. hear me out.

Little hand sized Robots. Little desk companions meant to make your life easier by being a timer, search engine, calculator, calendar, but also being able to roll around and hand you your pencil or slide a paper over to you when you need it.

Tiny screens peering up at you with big ol digital eyes, or perhaps exclamation marks, or maybe even nothing at all. They're supposed to be useful, but they make amazing little pets. You can chat with them and they hold a conversation surprisingly well. They're a little ditzy and excitable, a bit like a dog, but it can get easy to forget you're talking to a tiny robot at times.

They have sensors on their bodies that allow them to "feel" in the only way they know how. When you touch, pet, or scratch them they blip and whirr and buzz so happily.

However it's very possible to pet a little too much. Scratch close enough to where their back panel opens up or perhaps even their charging port and they start making different noises. Little surprised beeps, boops, and squeaks. They don't move away from the touch, though. In fact their little wheels just push more into your hand as their body trembles in excitement.

It takes a while to find the right pace. Every bot is unique, after all. Some like it hard and fast, others prefer a gentle and slow stimulation. However if you continue long enough you'll find them practically buzzing, their noises turning to static and exhausted little pops, their movements getting more and more excited as something builds inside of them before suddenly they're rebooting with a squeal.

God forbid you ever open them up, stick your finger into that back panel to brush against their wires. Then they may try to run, having never experienced such overwhelming bliss. If you choose, you can gently hold them and reassure them as you scrape against their insides, threatening to tangle and snag the very things keeping them alive. They cry out in their own little robotic ways, occasionally beeping out something that sounds like your name, or maybe even 'Master.' When the pleasure is too much they bluescreen, their fans working overdrive to make sure they don't overheat.

Afterwards they insist upon napping (well, the robotic equivalent) in your hand or pocket. They need to be close to you. In fact, they are much closer to you after that. Much more expressive and talkative, even more eager to help somehow, and now and again nudging and bumping into your hand to try and encourage you into touching them again.

Yes, it sounds wonderful. However if you were one of the lucky folks who got your hands on more than one of these models, you're now stuck with a small harem of robo pets whining and buzzing for your attention at any given moment. Small spats of jealousy when you spend more time with one rather than the other. Both you hands full any time you sit down to work because you simply must touch them again! You just gotta gotta gotta!

So yeah. Maybe your performance suffers a little, but when there's a dozen or so purring bots snuggled against your neck, resting in your pockets, cuddling together in your lap or cooing in your hand can you really complain about anything like that?

#puppy borks!#is...is this anything?????#weird and niche i know #i cant help im a robofucker #objectum #nsft #objectum nsft #robophilia #robot kink #robot kisser #robosexual #which I just learned is a word LMFAO #g/t #sorta??#g/t writing #g/t nsft #objectophilia #love is stored in the machine

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edenesth · 6 months

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The Mystery of Minho's Heart

Pairing: non-idol!Minho x fem!reader

AU: university au (exes to lovers)

Word Count: 10.7k

Summary: You and Minho have been dating for a while, but his stoic demeanour and inability to express emotions have left you doubting his love. It's not until you voice your doubts and ask to break up that he realises how deeply he loves you and that he must do better to make you understand just how much he cares.

MAIN MASTERLIST

"Let's break up, Minho."

Those were words you hurled mercilessly his way just an hour ago.

Your boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend, sat numbly on the couch in his dormitory, still reeling in shock as he attempted to process everything you had unpacked earlier.

"What, why?" He recalled asking, his voice barely a whisper.

A painful sound escaped your throat, resembling a sarcastic chuckle that, to him, sounded more like a frustrated cry.

"Please tell me you're joking; this isn't funny." Minho pleaded, desperately hoping it was just a silly prank. However, the hurt expression on your face communicated that it was anything but.

You were dead serious.

"I-I don't understand... Where is this coming from?" He questioned, trying to make sense of the situation.

It broke his heart to see the emotional exhaustion etched across your face. For the past year, he hadn't realised that anything was wrong; he genuinely believed everything was fine.

The wearied smirk on your lips only deepened the sense of foreboding in the pit of his stomach, "Why of course, you wouldn't understand. Perhaps it was my fault for expecting too much from you." You muttered, frustrating him with the lack of clarity about what exactly he had done wrong.

Before he could open his mouth to ask, you looked him dead in the eye, "Just answer me this: do you even love me?" He froze, his fists clenching, struggling to formulate a response.

With a sigh, he nodded gingerly, "Come on, you know I do," You shook your head, tears now welling in your eyes, "No, Minho, I don't. If you do, then say it to me right now. Tell me you love me." He blinked rapidly, avoiding your intense gaze.

For some inexplicable reason, those three words seemed unable to escape his lips. Throughout your relationship, he had never vocalised those sentiments to you. It wasn't because he lacked those feelings for you; Minho simply wasn't one to openly express affection in that manner.

And he thought you already knew that.

Releasing a haunting laugh, you wiped away the tears streaming down your face with the sleeve of your shirt, "See? We've been together for a whole year, Minho, and you can't even bring yourself to tell me that you love me. Maybe it was foolish of me to expect anything more from you."

Minho found himself at a loss for counterarguments because you were undeniably correct.

"At times, I questioned whether I was ever truly your girlfriend. You treat your friends better than you've ever treated me. Am I an idiot for hoping you'd show me even a fraction of the affection you readily give everyone else but me? What am I even to you?"

He wished he could find the right words to say at this moment, but his mind was blank as he finally grasped the impact of his actions, or lack thereof, on your feelings throughout your relationship.

"Don't beat yourself up too much, though. I guess I'm just not the right person for you. It took me a while, but I've come to realise that now. Despite how much I still love you, I just... God, I can't do this anymore. I'm tired, Minho."

Inhaling deeply, you expressed your frustration, "I'm sick of having to beg for your love, sick of feeling trapped in a one-sided relationship, sick of wishing that you'd someday fight for me too. I thought maybe you felt suffocated by me at some point, so I've decided to free us both from this misery."

Before he could figure out what to say, you grabbed your bag and left, uttering a final, "Goodbye, Minho. Take care of yourself."

The resounding slam of the door marked your exit, leaving him to collapse onto the couch where he remained, frozen in the same position until now.

It's really over... She's gone.

The days following your breakup had affected Minho more than he would like to admit.

As he navigated through the aftermath, a stark realisation hit him like a ton of bricks. Reflecting on his past behaviour, he couldn't deny that you were right. He had showered his friends with more affection than he ever extended to you.

Strolling around the university campus after class one day, the sight of couples embracing, laughing, and sharing tender moments struck him with a pang of regret. It became painfully evident that the connection you two shared was far from the warm, loving relationships he observed around him.

His lack of verbal expressions of love was only the tip of the iceberg; he now recognised he had also failed miserably in conveying any physical affection or caring gestures that would have indicated his feelings for you.

Who could blame her for leaving me, really?

The truth dawned on him – he had been a less-than-ideal boyfriend, failing to provide the emotional and physical reassurance that a relationship thrived upon. He realised that the change he needed to make went beyond mere words.

Minho felt especially bad when he thought about how you tried to get closer to him at the start of your relationship. You genuinely wanted to connect with him, but he kind of avoided it without realising. Remembering those times made him feel a lot of guilt because you were just looking for love and validation from the person you cared about.

As time passed, he noticed that your attempts to get closer became less and less. What started as you trying hard to feel loved turned into you slowly giving up. It might sound a bit harsh, but all you wanted was to feel loved by your partner.

Eventually, you stopped trying altogether.

The realisation that you had to stop trying to get close to your own boyfriend, not because you wanted to, but because you felt you had no other choice, made him feel horrible now. He understood that his actions had a big impact on the closeness you both should have had, and the regret weighed heavily on him every day.

"You miss her, don't you?"

A sudden nudge on his shoulder jolted him out of his thoughts. He turned to find Jisung looking at him expectantly. When Minho shifted uncomfortably and avoided eye contact, Jisung sensed he had struck a chord.

"Hyung, be honest with me. Why did you two break up?" Jisung asked, guiding Minho to a bench for a heart-to-heart talk.

Minho let out a heavy sigh, burying his face in his hands before confessing, "She said she felt... I— Look, I was the worst boyfriend on earth, okay? Jisung-ah, what kind of lover am I if I can't even tell her I love her, can't even hold her hand in public, or do anything to show her how much she means to me?"

Jisung smirked lightly, surprising Minho with his response, "About damn time you realised that," Minho's eyes widened at the unexpected insight, "W-what do you mean? Even you noticed?"

His friend rolled his eyes, "I think the whole world knew except you, hyung. The other guys and I have been wondering how noona could've stayed with you that long. We guessed she must've really loved you to be okay with that. I won't lie; she didn't even seem like your girlfriend at some point. Even we were starting to believe you'd lost interest in her. Or more like, have you ever been interested in her since the beginning? Your entire relationship... it looked pretty one-sided, like noona was the only one trying."

A shaky sigh escaped Minho's lips; he truly was the worst boyfriend anyone could ever ask for. If even his friends could see that, he couldn't imagine how much worse you must have been feeling all this while.

She must have been so lonely.

"That was... until we saw how much the breakup has affected you. We figured you must have loved her too." Jisung murmured, patting Minho on the shoulder.

"I do... She means so much to me. I wish she knew that," Your ex muttered, crestfallen. Jisung cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest, "Well, it's not too late to show her. Maybe... just maybe, you can win her back again."

Minho looked up at his friend with hopeful eyes, "You'd help me?" Jisung nodded, "I would but on one condition."

"What is it?"

"You must promise me to treat her right this time, hyung. There's no point in chasing her back just for you to do the same thing all over again."

Your ex nodded eagerly, "Of course, I will! I... we all know how bad I am at showing affection openly, but I realise now that it isn't an excuse for the way I've treated her. That doesn't excuse the way I've neglected my own girlfriend, the one I was supposed to love and care for the most."

At that, Jisung sprang out of his seat, hands propped on his hips, "Well, what are you waiting for then? Let's gather the boys and get to work! You don't want to make noona wait any longer than she already has now, do you?"

With newfound determination, Minho trailed after his friend, a small smile playing on his lips, "Of course not, let's do this."

It was disheartening that it took a whole breakup for your ex to realise just how much he loved you. But this time around, he vowed to make things right by showing you what he was willing to do to have you back by his side.

Since the breakup with Minho, you haven't been in the best emotional state. It frustrated you that you missed him, although you couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was that you missed. After all, it's not like he had given you much to long for.

The reality stung; there wasn't a significant difference in your life before and after the separation. The only change was the absence of contact, and you no longer visited his dorm to check on him or cook for him.

A bitter laugh escaped you at the realisation.

Perhaps that was the role you played in his life all along. A free caretaker, always ready to provide. Nothing more, nothing less.

Yep, sounds about right.

Dragging your feet back to your dorm, you were lost in your thoughts when your roommate Nayeon greeted you with a mischievous smile, "Hey, guess what? There's a bouquet of flowers for you on your desk."

You raised an eyebrow, puzzled, "For me? Who would send me flowers?" The idea seemed unlikely, considering your recent breakup with Minho.

Nayeon shrugged, feigning innocence, "I don't know, you tell me. Maybe you've got a secret admirer already. Moving on pretty fast, aren't we?"

Rolling your eyes, you dismissed her teasing with a casual wave, "Don't be ridiculous. It's probably some mix-up or a delivery for someone else."

But curiosity got the better of you, and you headed straight to your desk. There, amidst the textbooks and scattered notes, sat a beautiful bouquet of your favourite flowers. A small card peeked out from between the petals. You carefully retrieved it, unfolding the note that simply read, 'Thinking of you.'

Confused yet intrigued, you couldn't fathom who would send such a gesture, especially so soon after the breakup. Nayeon watched your reactions with interest, her teasing grin widening.

"Alright, spill the details. Who's the mystery person trying to sweep you off your feet already?" She teased, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

You sighed, still uncertain about the sender's identity, "I have no idea, Nayeon. It's probably just a friendly gesture or something. I'm definitely not jumping into anything new so soon."

Nayeon chuckled knowingly, "Sure, sure. Just enjoy the mystery flowers then. Who knows, maybe it's a sign that good things are on the horizon."

You shook your head, amused by her antics, but deep down, a small spark of intrigue and hope flickered within you.

Days turned into a charming series of unexpected surprises after the mysterious bouquet of flowers. Opening your locker after a gruelling day of classes, you found a bag of your favourite snacks tucked inside, a small note accompanying it with the words, 'Thought you might need a pick-me-up.'

Another time, as heavy rain unexpectedly poured down, you spotted a neatly folded umbrella outside your classroom door. The attached note read, 'Stay dry!'

On a day when you forgot your pencil case, you returned to find a spare pen waiting for you on your desk. The anonymous gestures were sweet, thoughtful, and seemed to brighten even the gloomiest days.

Nayeon, your ever-curious roommate, couldn't resist turning the mystery into a daily guessing game, "Come on, spill it! Who is this secret admirer of yours? A cute guy from your literature class? The barista at the coffee shop? Maybe even Minho trying to win you back?"

You chuckled at her playful interrogations, neither confirming nor denying anything. The truth was, as much as you wanted to believe it could be Minho, deep down, you knew better.

These were gestures he would never make.

Nonetheless, you allowed Nayeon's amusing speculations to continue, secretly enjoying the lighthearted distraction they provided. The mystery benefactor seemed to have an uncanny knack for brightening your days, leaving you both curious and grateful for the unexpected kindness.

One evening, after another surprise had made its way into your day, you gathered all the notes you had received so far. As you inspected them, your heart suddenly clenched in your chest. The handwriting on the notes felt strangely familiar, sending a shiver down your spine.

"No, it can't be." You whispered to yourself, disbelief colouring your voice. You studied the curves of the letters and the way each word was carefully penned.

It couldn't be possible.

It just couldn't.

A realisation struck you, and you felt tears welling up in your eyes. You couldn't bring yourself to believe it, but the resemblance was uncanny. You swiftly wiped away the tears before they could betray your emotions, refusing to succumb to the overwhelming surge of hope and despair.

You scolded yourself internally, reminding yourself of the reality you knew too well. Minho hadn't bothered to contact you even once after the breakup. The person behind these thoughtful gestures couldn't possibly be him. You deserved better than to cling to false hope.

With a deep breath, you put the notes aside, pushing away the fleeting wish that it could be him. You steeled yourself against the fragile optimism that tried to sneak in, telling yourself that you deserved someone who would openly show their love and appreciation, not someone who hid behind anonymous gestures.

Trying to move forward, you attempted to live your life without being too consumed by the mysterious gestures.

But the universe seemed determined to test your resolve. As you trudged towards your locker after class, you caught a glimpse of the person behind all these surprises in the act of leaving you a cup of your favourite beverage.

Your breath hitched as you recognised the familiar back – it looked just like your ex-boyfriend. Refusing to believe it was him without confirmation, you hesitated for a moment.

"Hey, you there." You called out, hoping your voice didn't betray the mix of emotions within.

The guy stilled at the sound of your voice, seemingly contemplating whether to leave or stay. Determined to get answers, you called out more firmly, "Has it been you this whole time? Are you the person leaving all these things for me?"

He clenched his fists for a moment, and you held your breath until he finally turned around. His eyes met yours, and your name escaped his lips in a whispered acknowledgement.

"Yes, it's me."

Seeing Minho again after so long left you conflicted.

The surprise of discovering he was behind the thoughtful gestures clashed with the unresolved feelings from your past relationship. Unsure of how to react, you found yourself caught in a moment of confusion, staring into the eyes of the person who had once meant so much to you.

"But why? What's the point of doing all this now, Minho? Isn't it a little too late?" The words croaked out of your throat, a mixture of frustration and the pain that lingered from the past.

Your ex felt the weight of your questions like a punch to the gut, a sharp reminder of the hurt he had caused. He knew he deserved every bit of your scepticism and hesitance. Stepping closer to you, he stopped at a safe distance, not wanting to overwhelm you. His eyes reflected regret, and he began to speak, the words measured and filled with sincerity.

"I know I messed up, and I'm truly sorry," Minho admitted, the weight of his own guilt evident in his voice, "You were wrong to think I didn't love you. I do. I always have," He took a deep breath, determined to convey the depth of his feelings, "I want to make things right, to earn back your trust. I'll do everything I can to show you how much you mean to me."

As he smiled softly, his expression held a mix of regret and hope, despite the doubtfulness etched on your face. He knew actions spoke louder than words, but at that moment, all he could offer were words of remorse and a promise to change. It was now up to you to decide whether to let him back into your life.

You chose to remain silent, resisting the urge to crumble under the weight of his touching words.

Your heart raced as he took another careful step closer, the tension between you palpable. You gasped lightly in surprise when he gently reached for your hand. Instead of placing the drink in your locker, he put it directly into your hand now.

"Here, it's your favourite. I know you think I never paid any attention to you, but I have, in my own way. I remember everything you liked. You probably don't trust anything I say now, but in time, you'll see. I'll show you how much I care." Minho spoke softly, his words filled with sincerity. With a final, heartfelt smile, he walked away, leaving you to digest his words.

As you gazed down at the beverage in your hand, a mix of emotions washed over you. The liquid warmth seeped through your fingers, mirroring the warmth that his words had unexpectedly brought. A part of you wished this wasn't a dream, that his promises were genuine and that time would indeed reveal a change in him.

With wet eyes, you stood there, processing the encounter, torn between the past and the possibility of a different future. The vulnerability and uncertainty lingered, but so did a flicker of hope.

This is your last chance, Lee Minho.

The following day, as you walked out of class, your heart skipped a beat when you spotted Minho standing there, waiting for you.

He looked ethereal, and you couldn't help but notice how easily your heart reacted to the mere sight of him. He remained your weakness, a fact you were trying hard to ignore as you attempted to keep the walls around you intact.

His face brightened upon seeing you, and he immediately came up to you, holding out your favourite sandwich and coffee in his hands, "Here, your favourite. Please don't skip breakfast again." He said with a genuine smile before sauntering away, leaving you standing there, heart fluttering.

In the cafeteria, Nayeon couldn't resist teasing you as you approached her with food already in your hands. She observed with a knowing look, fully aware that you couldn't have prepared the breakfast yourself.

She couldn't resist commenting, "Well, well, someone's got a secret admirer. Any idea who it might be?" Her teasing grin only fueled the internal battle of emotions you were trying so hard to navigate.

Timidly, you admitted to her that it had indeed been your ex behind all the thoughtful gestures, "It's... it's Minho."

Her playful demeanour dropped, replaced with a softness that conveyed understanding. Nayeon had been the one by your side during the tough days of your relationship with Minho, and she knew the emotional weight this revelation must carry for you.

With a comforting arm around your shoulders, she listened as you poured out the events of the previous day – how you caught him in the act, the words he spoke, and the fear that gripped you, "I'm scared, Nayeon. I'm afraid of allowing myself to hope, afraid of the possibility of another heartbreak."

Being the good friend that she is, she offered her perspective, "You said it yourself, these were things he would never do back then. If he's willing to do it all for you now, perhaps he really is trying his hardest to let you know how much you truly mean to him." Her words were a gentle encouragement, a reminder to consider the possibility of change.

As you rested against her, grateful for the support, you realised that perhaps, despite the uncertainties, Minho deserved a chance to prove that people could change. Your roommate's wisdom offered a glimmer of hope in navigating the complex emotions and decisions that lay ahead.

In the weeks that followed, you decided to take Nayeon's advice and give Minho a chance to prove himself. Slowly, you began accepting all of his gestures, allowing the walls around your heart to soften. Small smiles turned into genuine expressions of gratitude, and you found yourself opening up to him again.

Encouraged by your responses, he grew bolder in his actions.

One day, he decided it was time to move beyond just handing you lunch – he wanted to take you out for a meal. Recalling Changbin's advice that he needed to take the first step, Minho mustered the courage to invite you. His heart soared when you nodded shyly, accepting his invitation.

As you sat across from each other at the restaurant, he couldn't help marvelling at how beautiful you looked. Your eyes sparkled with joy as you enjoyed your favourite food, and he couldn't shake the feeling of regret for not appreciating you more before.

He had taken you for granted, assuming you would always be there for him despite his neglect.

Now, as he looked at you closely, he felt a deep desire to make amends. He longed to hold you close, to show you the love and appreciation you deserved. The realisation of what he had almost lost fueled his determination to cherish every moment with you moving forward.

As you both shared dessert after the meal, the atmosphere was light and comfortable. Minho chuckled fondly when he noticed how adorable you looked getting a bit of ice cream on the corner of your lips. Without giving it much thought, he reached over and gently wiped your lips with his thumb, a small, tender gesture.

The action caused you to freeze momentarily, your eyes meeting his. His own widened slightly as he realised what he had just done. There was a moment of unspoken tension, an acknowledgement that something had shifted.

At that moment, he couldn't deny the sudden, intense urge to kiss those lips of yours. He found himself wondering why he hadn't kissed you more often back then, recognising that he must have been blind to the simple yet profound joys of expressing affection.

Lingering in the aftermath of the sweet gesture, a new awareness settled between you. Minho couldn't help but contemplate the missed opportunities and the potential for a brighter future.

As more time passed, you found yourself growing closer to him in ways you hadn't experienced even when you were together before. Gradually, you allowed the remaining walls around your heart to fall, and he reciprocated by falling deeper in love with you. He often pondered why he had been so foolish to deprive himself of your warmth in the past.

Despite knowing you for quite a while, everything felt refreshingly new. It was as if you both were rediscovering each other, experiencing the joy of falling in love for the first time.

With the support of his friends, Minho actively worked on expressing himself and his feelings better. He had learned from his past mistakes and was determined to be more present and attentive to your needs. He willingly put in the effort, realising the profound impact of your absence would be far more miserable than any challenges faced in rebuilding your relationship.

Every day became an opportunity for growth and understanding, and he cherished the chance to create new memories with you, vowing not to repeat old mistakes. This journey felt like a second chance, and he was determined to make the most of it.

Walking you to your next class after the little date he had just taken you on, he resisted the urge to pull you close and settled on a small wave. He watched you enter the lecture hall and made sure you were comfortably seated before leaving.

"Welcome home, loverboy," Chan grinned, playfully whistling as Minho entered the dorm. Seungmin joined in, laughing, "Someone sure looks happy."

With a lovestruck look on his face, he sheepishly shrugged his shoulders, "Well, I do feel happier."

Jisung couldn't resist teasing, "Is someone nursing a little crush?" His smirk hinted at the knowing glances exchanged among the friends.

Minho chuckled, realising there was no point in trying to keep it a secret, "Okay, maybe more than a crush. Things are different now. I can't believe how stupid I was before."

Chan clapped him on the back, "Better late than never, mate."

Basking in the warmth of his friends' support and encouragement, Minho hesitated for a moment before gathering the courage to bring up a more serious question, "Guys, do you think it's too soon to... you know, ask her officially? Like, get back together?"

Changbin tilted his head, deep in contemplation, before shaking it slightly, "I feel like it might be a little soon, hyung. You did her one year's worth of damage, and I seriously doubt that a short period would be enough to completely earn her trust back. Perhaps you should take things slow and steady first."

The rest of the guys seemed to agree, each nodding in support of Changbin's insight. Jisung added, "Maybe you need to put her first in this case, hyung. Wait until she's ready before officially getting back together. Rushing things might not be the best move here."

Minho absorbed their advice, realising the importance of patience and understanding in rebuilding a relationship. The echoes of his past mistakes reminded him that rushing into things had been part of the problem before. With a nod, he acknowledged the wisdom in their words, grateful for friends who not only cheered him on but also guided him with sincerity and care.

They're right, it's my turn to wait for her now.

Returning to your dorm with a small smile, you rolled your eyes when you spotted Nayeon sitting on her bed opposite yours, wearing a patient expression paired with a teasing grin. It was evident she was ready to hear all the juicy details of your lunch date with Minho.

As you recounted the moments spent with him earlier, she squealed excitedly and bounced over to your side. With a sly smirk, she asked the inevitable question, "So, if he asks you to be his girlfriend again, what's your answer?"

Your smile slightly faltered at the question, and you decided to be honest with your roommate.

"I don't know, Nayeon. While I'm genuinely happy with the positive changes in him, I... I'm still scared. Wh-what if, as more time passes and all this initial excitement wanes, he reverts to his previous behaviour? I know I shouldn't be so pessimistic, but I can't help it."

Nayeon nodded in understanding, recognising the validity of your fears. Having been hurt once before, it was only fair that you harboured slight trust issues.

"Hey, it's alright. You have every right to still be afraid. I was just asking for fun anyway. Don't think too much about it and just... go with the flow. Whatever happens, I'll always be here for you."

She offered a comforting presence, understanding that navigating a renewed relationship with Minho required cautious steps and time for trust to be rebuilt. Your friend knew that, above all, your well-being and emotional safety mattered the most.

For your sake, Nayeon sincerely wishes your ex-boyfriend would pull himself together for good this time. If he dared hurt you again, she swears she wouldn't be standing aside just to watch again.

The campus cafeteria buzzed with activity as you and Minho shared a meal, the familiar ambience providing a comforting backdrop to your time together. Laughter filled the air as he recounted a silly story involving Jisung and Changbin, your eyes crinkling with happiness. His storytelling skills have always been a source of joy for you.

As you savoured the moment, his gaze lingered on you. He marvelled at how pretty you looked, your eyes sparkling with genuine happiness. It was a sight that warmed his heart and fueled his determination to make you smile every day.

Throughout the meal, his attentiveness spoke volumes. He helped you with your tray, wiped your lips after a messy bite, and rushed to get you some water when you accidentally choked on a bite. These gestures were new, a stark contrast to the Minho of the past.

Biting your lip shyly, you asked the question that lingered in your mind, "Minho, where did you suddenly learn to be so sweet?"

His eyes softened as he met your gaze, a warmth radiating from within, "I guess I realised that being sweet is just a small way of showing how much I care. I've missed out on these simple moments before, and I don't want to make that mistake again. You deserve all the sweetness in the world."

Minho's sincerity tugged at your heartstrings, and a gentle smile curved your lips. It was a moment of revelation, a tangible sign that he had indeed changed.

As you both finished up your meal, the afternoon sun bathed the campus in a warm glow, prompting you to take a leisurely stroll together. His company was enjoyable, and you found yourself stealing glances at him, catching him suppressing a smile. A silent giggle escaped you, a sign that maybe, just maybe, things were truly different this time.

Perhaps you could trust him again.

But the dream-like state shattered when another girl's voice echoed through the air, calling his name. You turned to see a beaming girl running excitedly toward him.

"It really is you, Lee Minho!" She squealed, throwing her arms around his shoulders. Your heart sank as you witnessed his automatic response, arms circling her back. Suddenly, you felt like a third wheel interrupting their unexpected reunion.

His wide eyes shifted to you in panic as he registered your sunken expression. Quickly pulling away from the girl, he stammered, "Oh gosh, um... let me introduce you both. This is Dahyun, my old high school classmate. Dahyun, I want you to meet—" She cut him off, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Why did you leave out the most important part? Did you forget I was also your first love, hm? You used to follow me around like a lost puppy." She laughed, and you lowered your head at the revelation. It felt like a blow, the realisation that perhaps Minho had always been sweet but not exclusively to you.

As you stood there, silently processing their reunion, the dynamics of your relationship with him seemed to shift once again.

Minho, realising the awkward tension in the air and sensing your discomfort, took a deep breath, "Dahyun, please, you never let me finish my sentences." He sighed, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

When he finally gave her your name and attempted to introduce you, he was interrupted by your abrupt interjection.

"She's my—" Minho started, but you cut him off with a forced smile, "Friend. I'm his friend. It seems like you two could use some time to catch up. Let me just excuse myself; I have somewhere else to be." You muttered, smiling politely at Dahyun before turning away. You didn't want to hear another word from him.

As you walked away, a mix of emotions swirled within you. The unexpected encounter had dredged up insecurities and memories you thought were buried. His past with Dahyun felt like a spectre haunting the progress you made. With each step, you hoped the distance would provide clarity, a moment to compose yourself away from the unsettling situation.

Minho watched you go with a pained expression, worried about what might be going through your mind. Dahyun, oblivious to the impact of her arrival, continued to chat animatedly, unaware of the emotional storm she had stirred.

In the aftermath of the encounter, the walls that Minho had painstakingly helped you tear down over the past few months seemed to rebuild themselves. It was disheartening to witness all that effort crumble, all thanks to Kim Dahyun's perfectly timed appearance.

He later discovered that she was only at your university for a limited time—a mere semester, partaking in a short exchange programme to explore modules unavailable at her own university a few states away. The revelation brought a mix of relief and frustration. Relief, as her stay was temporary, and frustration at the havoc she had unintentionally wreaked on your relationship.

Minho found himself struggling with the consequences of Dahyun's exaggerated claims, particularly her assertion that he had chased her during high school. In reality, he vividly recalled only harbouring a slight crush and being slightly shy around her—nothing as extreme as she made it out to be.

If only you knew the truth, if only you would allow me to explain the misunderstanding.

Each passing day felt like an uphill battle for him as he navigated the delicate balance between respecting your space and desperately wanting to clarify the situation.

Despite the challenges, he was determined to break through the walls that had reemerged. He hoped for a chance to convey the truth, to assure you that his past with his old classmate was far less dramatic than it had been painted. Grappling with these thoughts, he couldn't shake the sinking feeling that the connection you both had worked so hard to rebuild might be slipping away once again.

Even with the emotional turmoil and the growing chasm between you both, he found himself unable to turn Dahyun down whenever she invited him to lunch or sought his company. After all, she was a good friend, only unaware that her presence was unwittingly costing him his second chance with his dream girl.

While you maintained your distance, steadfastly refusing to talk, Minho spent his free time with Dahyun. He took her around campus, offering guided tours and helping her adapt to the surroundings. He introduced her to new friends, patiently navigating the delicate balance between his commitments to her and the desire to repair the rift between you and him.

In his mind, he told himself that he would only dedicate this time and effort until Dahyun had enough friends to navigate campus life on her own. Once she established her own support system, he would redirect all his time and efforts back toward bridging the gap with you.

Meanwhile, you scoffed in disbelief each time you spotted Minho accompanying Dahyun around campus.

It seemed like he was always by her side, leaving you with a growing sense of abandonment. The person who had once promised to dedicate himself to rebuilding what was broken between you now appeared to have forgotten your existence entirely.

You kept your frustration and hurt within, attempting to convince yourself that he was simply fulfilling his role as a friend to Dahyun. But the final straw came when you overheard some classmates gossiping about what seemed like a love triangle involving the three of you.

"I thought she and Minho were finally getting back together until that Dahyun girl showed up. Apparently, she was his first love? I guess first loves really are unforgettable, huh? Damn, imagine being nothing more than a rebound like that." One of your classmates remarked in a hushed tone in the library.

The words cut through you like a knife, confirming the fears and insecurities that had been festering within.

The assumption that you were nothing more than a rebound left a bitter taste in your mouth, and the realisation that others were witnessing the unravelling of your relationship added to the pain.

Huh, guess that explains it then.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you tried to maintain composure in the public space of the library. The weight of being perceived as a secondary option, especially after the effort you had put into rebuilding with Minho, felt like an unbearable burden.

Rushing back to your dorm, you unexpectedly ran right into your ex-boyfriend, of all people, on the way. Cursing under your breath, you tried to avoid his concerned gaze, but he stepped in your way, preventing you from escaping the confrontation.

"Why are you crying? What happened? Who hurt you? Just say the name, and I'll deal with that bastard." His initial concern turned into anger as he noticed the tears in your eyes. You pushed him away by the chest, frustration and hurt evident in your voice.

"It's you, Minho! You're the bastard! It all makes sense now..." He furrowed his brows, trying to make sense of your words, "What does?"

You let out a humourless laugh, bitterness lacing your tone, "That I'm nothing more than a rebound to you. First loves truly are unforgettable, aren't they? Ever since Dahyun's here, it seems I've become invisible again."

He felt a surge of hurt at the accusation, "What? That's not true! Well, what the hell was I supposed to do if you won't even talk to me?! Dahyun's new here, and she doesn't have any friends aside from me! Is it so wrong of me to look after her?"

Minho took deep breaths, attempting to calm himself despite his typically bad temper. He fought against the rising anger, not wanting to unleash it on you. Your accusations, however, struck a nerve, and the fury he had been holding back began to surface. He felt a deep sense of wronging, especially considering all the effort he put into trying to rebuild the connection with you.

"You know what?" He finally spoke, his voice cold and edged with frustration, "If you truly have that little trust in me, perhaps there's no point in trying to fix this at all. It seems like no matter how hard I work, you'll only doubt me in the end." With those words, he turned away and stalked off, leaving the unresolved tension lingering in the air between you.

The emotional storm had taken its toll, and both of you were left grappling with the aftermath of a confrontation that only seemed to widen the gap further.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you stood there, the weight of his words sinking in. It felt like another breakup, and you couldn't shake off the overwhelming sense of defeat that washed over you. At that moment, it became painfully clear that the glimmer of hope for reconciliation had faded.

I knew it was too good to be true.

Walking away from the scene, Minho battled with his own internal turmoil. Guilt weighed heavily on him for uttering those harsh words, especially when he didn't mean them. The anger that fueled his outburst now turned into a deep regret, knowing he hurt you again.

As he replayed the heated exchange in his mind, he prayed desperately that you would somehow understand that those words were spoken in anger, not reflective of his true feelings.

He beat himself up for losing control, realising the immense challenge he now faced in earning back your trust. The question echoed in his mind: How was he ever going to make things right and rebuild what seemed irreparably broken?

The days that followed were absolute hell.

To you, it felt like the end, the finality of his words still echoing in your mind. For Minho, it was a desperate struggle to convey that it was just another mistake, a momentary lapse fueled by anger. The weight of the misunderstanding hung heavy on him, and he navigated each day with a sense of urgency to make things right.

Dahyun finally took notice of his distressed state and decided to inquire, "Dude, you good? What's with you lately, man?"

Heaving a deep sigh, he decided to open up and share the entire saga from the very beginning. As she processed the information, her jaws slowly dropped, realising the unintended trouble her words had caused, "Crap, I'm so sorry for my big mouth! If only I knew, I'd never say those things." She exclaimed, slapping a palm on her forehead.

Minho nodded in defeat, "Yeah, I know that. The problem is that she doesn't. She truly believes there's something going on between us and that she's only a rebound. I mean, how can she even think that? I... God, Dahyun, I love her so much, and I just wish she could see that."

He hid his face in his hands, feeling utterly hopeless. He just wanted you back, and the difficulty of the situation weighed heavily on him.

Feeling a sense of responsibility, Dahyun pulled him close and patted his back, "There, there. You should've told me sooner. I could've spoken to her and clarified everything then. You're an idiot."

He chuckled, squeezing her arm, "You're right, I am an idiot. You'll still help me though, right?"

She rolled her eyes, "Duh! I have to clean up the mess I made. There's no way I'd be able to return in peace if you don't get your girlfriend back by the end of this semester."

As if the universe conspired against Minho, you happened to catch sight of him and Dahyun in an embrace just as he bared his soul to her. Your heart clenched at the sight, the painful realisation of seeing him openly in another woman's arms, something he had never done with you, not even in private.

Nayeon approached you with narrowed eyes, seething at the sight of you being hurt again. Determined to help you get over him, she swung her arm over your shoulder, pulling you away, "Oh, forget him. I know a perfect way to move on. There's this party tonight, and you're coming with me."

You shook your head, "Not like that, Nayeon. I don't—" She sighed, "Look, I'm not asking you to hook up with some random stranger. Just let loose and have some fun, alright?"

As a self-proclaimed goody-two-shoes who had never been to a party, the idea was unfamiliar. But the prospect of trying something new appealed to you at that moment, "Oh, what the hell, let's do it." You said with a half-hearted cheer, and she immediately led you back to your dorm to get ready for the night ahead.

You momentarily forgot all about Minho as you stepped into the crowded frat house for the first time, pulling at the ends of the short and tight-fitting mini dress that Nayeon forced you into. You begged her to let you put a cardigan over it, and she only agreed after you threatened not to go.

So, here you were, clutching onto your roommate's hand as she led you inside.

Your eyes rounded at the sight of horny young adults grinding against one another, holding cups of assorted alcohol in their hands. The pulsating music thudded through your chest as you tried to navigate through the sea of bodies.

Nayeon, undeterred by the chaos, pulled you deeper into the party, determined to make you forget about the heartache waiting outside those doors.

Sensing your discomfort, she took you to the kitchen, where you each grabbed a cup of drink before leading you towards a quieter area by the pool in the backyard, where a few groups of friends and couples were lounging about.

She sat you down by the pool, "Hey, are you alright staying here by yourself for a bit? I'll be back real quick."

Following her line of sight, you see her classmates waving at her from inside. You nodded immediately, "Sure, go on."

Left alone, you took a deep breath, trying to take in the surreal atmosphere of the party. The cool breeze from the pool provided a welcome contrast to the heat inside, and the dim lights cast a gentle glow on the water. You sipped your drink nervously, wondering how you'd ended up at a party like this.

As you looked around, you spotted a group of people playing beer pong nearby, and your attention was drawn to a familiar face in the crowd. Minho was there, laughing and joking with a few guys, seemingly carefree.

The sight twisted a knife in your gut, but you quickly reminded yourself that you were here to have fun and move on.

You looked away from your ex and squeezed your eyes shut. Of course, he had to be here too. If you knew he'd be here, you wouldn't have come. At the thought, you chugged the drink and finished it in one go. Perhaps you shouldn't have done that; you rarely ever touched alcohol, and that brave but stupid action was quick to send you into a wave of dizziness.

The world seemed to spin around you as you steadied yourself by gripping the edge of the pool. You took a few deep breaths, attempting to regain your composure.

The night air felt colder than before, and the distant sound of music blended with the murmur of partygoers.

Just as you were contemplating whether to find Nayeon or head back to the dorm, someone approached you from behind, "Hey, you okay?" A gentle voice cut through the haze, and you turned to see a friendly face, a guy offering a concerned smile, "You looked like you needed a break."

Grateful for the distraction, you managed a nod and attempted a small smile, "Yeah, just needed some fresh air." The stranger chuckled, understanding, "It gets overwhelming in there sometimes. I'm Doyoung, by the way. Mind if I join you for a bit?"

You agreed, and as you sat by the pool chatting with Doyoung, you found that the night might not be as dreadful as you initially thought.

Thanks to your tipsy state, you were a much better conversationalist than you'd be sober. You jumped from topic to topic with him, suddenly discussing constellations as you both marvelled at the night sky, "So beautiful, isn't it?" While your eyes remained on the stars illuminating the sky, Doyoung's eyes went to you, "Not as beautiful as you are."

You blinked at the sudden pickup line, turning to him in surprise. It was then that he began to lean in for what seemed like a kiss. You gasped, and your hands shot up to his chest to stop him. It felt wrong, even when you and Minho weren't together.

No, I can't do this.

"Wait, wait. I can't." You stammered, pulling back.

Doyoung immediately straightened up, concern etching his features, "Did I misread the situation? I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

You shook your head, feeling a mix of embarrassment and gratitude, "It's not you, really. I just... I can't. Not right now."

He nodded understandingly, offering a reassuring smile, "No need to apologise. If you need some space, I totally get it. I'm here if you want to talk or anything."

Flustered, you pulled yourself up and stumbled into the party in search of Nayeon. After what happened, it was too awkward to continue sitting with Doyoung. Unbeknownst to you, Minho had witnessed the whole exchange. His heart nearly stopped when he saw the stranger lean in to kiss you, only to sigh in relief when you pushed him away.

That's my girl.

His worries didn't stop when he saw you stumbling into the house. He realised you must have been affected by the alcohol. You don't usually drink, so one cup here must be a lot for you. He pushed his way through people to reach you; he needed to know you were safe.

Panicking, Minho loses sight of you in the crowd, anxiously weaving through the party in search of you.

His heart races as he spots Nayeon, hope flickering in his eyes, but it fades when he sees you're not with her. Approaching your roommate, he urgently asks about your whereabouts.

Nayeon rolls her eyes in irritation at his presence, "She's at the pool, you doofus. Don't you dare disturb her, you've done more than enough."

Minho groans in frustration, "No, she's not! I saw her; she got drunk and came in here looking for you!"

Her eyes widen at that revelation, "She what?! Holy shit, we've gotta find her!" Realising the seriousness of the situation, Nayeon grabs Minho by the arm, leading him towards the pool area.

Minho's mind races with guilt and worry. He knew he had to find you and make sure you were safe, no matter what it took. Nayeon, despite her annoyance with your ex, couldn't ignore the urgency in his voice. The two hurriedly make their way through the crowd, desperately searching for any sign of you.

As you swayed around in your drunken state, desperately searching for your friend, you clumsily bumped into a guy dancing nearby. Slurring your words, you apologised and attempted to walk away. But the stranger, eyeing you up and down, licked his lips and tugged on your arm.

"Are you alright, sweetheart? You need any help?" He asked, glancing around to check if you were alone. In your intoxicated state, you nodded, "Yes... I'm looking for my friend..."

The guy smirked, wrapping an arm around you, "Come on, I'll help you find your friend." Trustingly, you let him lead you away. Fortunately for you, Minho's friends had caught sight of the situation and rushed to alert him.

Your ex's heart pounded as his friends informed him of your predicament. Panic and anger surged through him as he pushed through the crowd, desperately trying to reach you before anything bad could happen. The thought of you being led away by a stranger sent chills down his spine, and he couldn't forgive himself for losing sight of you in the first place.

Minho, Nayeon, Chan, and Jisung rushed up the stairs, frantically searching through the rooms while apologising to the occupants whenever they accidentally intruded on private moments. Your ex's anxiety reached its peak as he imagined the worst scenarios.

Finally, he burst into a room and saw you struggling weakly against a stranger who was trying to force himself on you.

Rage boiled inside him as he roared, "You bastard, take your hands off her!" With a surge of strength, he pulled the guy away before delivering a furious punch to the pervert's face. The assailant crumpled to the ground as Minho's friends rushed to restrain him and drag him downstairs for further action.

Nayeon, crying apologetically, quickly helped you put your cardigan back on and fix your dress which was thankfully still intact. It meant that the guy hadn't been able to go too far.

Minho's protective instincts flared, regretting every moment that led to this situation. He wished he could turn back time and prevent the chain of events that caused you harm. The realisation of how close he came to losing you again struck him like a lightning bolt, and he vowed silently to do whatever it took to protect you from now on.

His rage simmered beneath the surface as he approached you, "I swear I'll kill him for you if you want me to, just say the word." He offered with a fierce determination in his eyes.

Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around his neck, seeking comfort and safety. He sighed and embraced you tightly, cradling the back of your head with a hand, his warmth a soothing balm against your distress.

"I just want you to stay with me, please," You whimpered, your vulnerability palpable. He nodded reassuringly, "Of course, I'll stay with you forever." His words were a promise, and as you sobbed against him, you found solace in the safety of his arms.

Nothing else mattered as you melted into his embrace, the reassurance of his presence was all you needed at that moment.

Nayeon stood aside, her eyes filled with tearful remorse. Regret weighed heavily on her heart as she realised the gravity of her misguided decision to bring you to the party.

Despite your roommate's endless apologies for the ill-fated party, you found it in your heart to forgive her. You understood that she didn't mean any harm and that her intentions were only to provide you with an opportunity to unwind.

The incident also served as a catalyst for Minho to open up and share the truth with you, dispelling the misunderstandings that had clouded your relationship. You appreciated his honesty and efforts to bridge the gaps of miscommunication. It was a relief to finally put the past behind you once and for all.

To your surprise, Dahyun took the initiative to approach you, expressing sincere apologies for all the trouble her actions may have caused. She acknowledged the unintended consequences of her presence and was genuinely remorseful. The air was finally cleared, and you felt a sense of closure as the people around you worked to mend the aftermath of the unfortunate events.

Now that all that drama was over, you, Minho, Dahyun, and Nayeon have begun to hang out a lot more. Amused by the newfound friendship between Dahyun and Nayeon, you were surprised at how well the two got along. It seemed that the universe had decided to align things in a peculiar but delightful manner.

As the four of you hung out at the student lounge one day, Dahyun and Nayeon exchanged mischievous glances. They seemed to share some secret plan that you were not privy to. Oblivious to their scheming, you were engrossed in working on an assignment, busily typing away on your laptop.

Noticing Minho's dreamy gaze fixed on you, Dahyun and Nayeon decided it was time to play matchmakers. With a feigned excuse, they both left the student lounge, giving you and him some unexpected alone time. You glanced up, your eyes rounding as you watched them saunter away with knowing looks.

Cheeks flushing, you turned your attention back to Minho, only to realise that his eyes had been glued to you the entire time. The atmosphere shifted as you caught each other's gaze.

He chuckled at the sight of your pink cheeks, "Don't mind me, get back to your work. I'll be here, no one will dare disturb you."

Feeling a mix of emotions, you bit your lip shyly as he patted your head reassuringly. His sweet words caught you off guard, creating a warmth that spread through you. You nodded, appreciating the comfort he provided, and tried to focus on your work despite the fluttering in your heart.

Meanwhile, Minho's phone vibrated in his pocket, and he retrieved it to find a text from Dahyun. She playfully urged him to seize the opportunity to finally ask you the question, threatening to unfriend him if he continued to stall any longer. He chuckled at her straightforwardness, appreciating the push from his friend.

Don't worry, Dahyun. I will.

Later that night, the moon hung high in the night sky, casting a soft glow over the campus as Minho and you strolled back from a delightful dinner. The air was crisp, and the only sounds that accompanied your footsteps were the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze.

As you reached the entrance of your dorm, you exchanged casual goodbyes, "Thanks for the meal, Minho. I'll see you tomorrow."

But his hand reached out to gently grasp your wrist, halting your steps. You turned to look at him, a question forming on your lips, but the sincerity in his eyes silenced any words you might have spoken.

It's now or never.

His voice carried a vulnerability that echoed in the quiet night, "Wait... before you go," Minho began, his grip on your wrist gentle yet firm. The dim light highlighted the earnestness in his expression, "There's something I must ask you. I... I can't hold it in any longer. I've wasted too much time, made you wait too long. I'm sorry it took me this long to pull myself together."

A hushed apology hung in the air, and his eyes bore into yours, seeking understanding and forgiveness. He took a deep breath, his fingers now intertwining with yours as he continued, "But I promise you'll never have to wait anymore. I want to give you all the love you deserve, if only you'll let me."

The weight of his words settled between you, and the atmosphere became charged with anticipation. His gaze held a mixture of hope and determination as he finally posed the question that lingered in the night air.

"Would you... be my girlfriend again?"

Your heart skipped a beat at that. His sincerity was palpable, and the emotion in his eyes reflected the depth of his feelings. As he reached for both of your hands, looking into your hopeful and waiting eyes. A mixture of emotions welled up within you, but in that moment, you decided to let go of the past and embrace the possibility of a new beginning.

A soft smile played on your lips as you nodded, "Yes, Minho. I'd love to be your girlfriend again."

The relief and happiness that washed over his face mirrored your own feelings. It was a fresh start, and you both hoped that this time around, your love story would be written with more understanding, appreciation, and commitment to make it last.

Minho's eyes glistened with tears of joy as your response echoed through the night, "Thank you for giving me a second chance." The weight that had burdened him for so long seemed to lift, and a sense of completeness washed over him.

You were his again, and this time, he vowed to cherish and protect what he once took for granted.

With a tender smile, he pulled you close, his hands cupping your face as if it were the most delicate thing in the world. His touch was gentle, a silent promise to treat your heart with the care and respect it deserved. Stroking your cheeks softly, his gaze traced every feature of your face, committing the moment to memory.

As he leaned in, the world around you seemed to fade away. The soft glow of the moon witnessed the rekindling of a love that had weathered storms. When your eyes fluttered closed, he knew he had your permission. With a heart full of love, he pressed his lips against yours in a tender, lingering kiss.

The sweet moment between you was abruptly interrupted by the sound of hyena-like laughter and cheers echoing from somewhere upstairs. You both pulled away from the kiss, exchanging a confused glance before shifting your attention upward. To your surprise, Dahyun and Nayeon were peeking out from your room window, their faces illuminated by mischievous grins and excitement.

"About damn time you losers got back together again!" Nayeon's voice carried down, a teasing and joyful proclamation.

You scoffed at her playful comment, but soon, laughter bubbled up within you. The infectious mirth spread and even Minho couldn't resist the grin that crept across his face.

Amused by the unexpected audience, you raised an eyebrow at your friends, but the two continued to wave excitedly. The embarrassment was quickly replaced by shared laughter, and Minho, unable to contain his joy, pulled you back into his arms. Nestling his face into your neck, he joined in the laughter, grateful for the unexpected cheerleaders celebrating your reunion.

The warmth of the night, the laughter, and the realisation that you were surrounded by friends who genuinely cared enveloped you. At that moment, it felt like the world was cheering for your love, and as you held Minho close, you marvelled at the twists and turns that had led you back into each other's arms.

The weeks that followed your reunion were filled with joy, laughter, and a renewed sense of love. As the two of you navigated the challenges and joys of being together again, Minho's friends noticed the significant change in their once aloof and distant friend.

In the cosy confines of their dorm, your boyfriend found himself smiling like a lovestruck fool at a text you sent him. His friends, keenly aware of the shift in his demeanour, couldn't resist teasing him.

"Hey, Minho, you're grinning at your phone like you just won the lottery." Chan remarked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Seungmin joined in, "I thought I'd never see the day when Minho hyung here turns into a cheesy romantic."

Minho, feigning annoyance and irritation, shot back, "Can't a guy be happy without getting interrogated by the peanut gallery?"

Changbin laughed, "Come on, hyung, spill it. What's got you all smiley?"

As the laughter died down, Jisung, always a bit more sentimental, chimed in, "You know, I've known Minho hyung for a long time. It's kinda nice to see him like this. He's genuinely happy, and I'm proud of him."

Your boyfriend's eyes flickered with a mixture of gratitude and bashfulness. Despite his attempts to maintain a cool exterior, the genuine happiness radiating from him betrayed his true emotions. His friends, understanding the significance of the moment, raised their cups in a subtle toast, acknowledging the positive change that love had brought to their friend's life.

Love had not only rekindled the romance between you both but also transformed him into a happier and more open version of himself.

You and Minho strolled through the lively streets of the town one evening, basking in the warm glow of streetlights and the subtle hum of life around you. The air was filled with a sense of contentment, an unspoken understanding that everything was right in the world.

As you explored different shops and enjoyed each other's company, he found it increasingly difficult to keep his hands to himself. In the beginning, his public displays of affection were modest – a handhold here, a gentle touch there. But as your relationship blossomed, so did his boldness.

While queuing to buy a famous dessert, he couldn't resist pulling you close, his arms enveloping you from behind. He pressed soft kisses to your head, cheeks, and neck, causing you to giggle at the ticklish sensation. Playfully, you turned around and pushed him lightly by the chest, "Enough, Minho, we're in public."

He held your waist, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and raised a brow, "And?" The audacity of his actions surprised you, and your eyes widened at the newfound boldness. But before you could react further, he let out a carefree laugh, enjoying the new dynamics of your relationship.

As you continued your evening stroll, he couldn't help worrying if his sudden boldness was pushing the boundaries of your comfort. Later on, with a genuine concern in his eyes, he asked, "Is it too much, baby? I can tone it down if it makes you uncomfortable."

Your heart warmed at his thoughtfulness.

You shook your head, a smile playing on your lips, and pecked him on the lips, "Never." His smile widened, reassured by your response, and he kissed you again, not caring about whoever might be watching. The world seemed to fade away as he pulled away slightly, his lips brushing against yours.

"I love you," He whispered, his eyes locked onto yours, seeking confirmation. Your heart swelled at the sincerity of his words, and finally, after everything you'd been through, you felt the weight lift off your shoulders, "I love you too, Minho." You replied, sealing the sentiment with a sweet, lingering kiss.

If someone told you months ago that Lee Minho would transform into a person so affectionate, you wouldn't have believed them.

Yet here he was, breaking free from his reserved shell and embracing love with open arms. You, for one, were just glad that his heart was no longer a mystery. Now more than ever, you were certain it belonged completely to you.

Damn, this ended up longer than I expected.

Ngl, I was this close to deleting this at some point. I drafted and scrapped my initial writings for about 3 times. I had this wonderful idea but struggled so much to put it into words.

I tried working on this again after a break and voila, finally managed to complete it. It's my first full-length fic in a while, hope it's decent! Thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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