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astraystayyh · 11 months

Text

Invisible thread- one

pairing : minho x reader

genre : university au, academic rivals to lovers (rivals not enemies because they respect each other), slow burn, fluff, angst.

warnings : reader has a very bad relationship with her mother, insecurities, talk about murder but as a joke, mention of alcohol, reader has she/her pronouns.

summary : Your studies were your lifeline for as long as you can remember. What happens when Minho comes into your life and rips it away from you?

word count : 20k

Author's note : I've been working on this fic on and off for the past two months, so if you do enjoy reading, please let me know. asks, comments, reblogs i read them all and they truly make me the happiest <3 (also i based this off my own college experience, where we study two terms and there is one person on top of the class every semester)

part two

You have always been first in your class.

Not because you particularly enjoyed studying. You simply felt that your worth was solely tied to the marks on your papers.

You never wanted to crumble under the pressure of studies, to hole yourself up in your room for an assignment you won’t remember in a month. But achieving good grades was the only way for you to feel seen; to make someone stop in their tracks and acknowledge you.

A simple “good job” that you preserved inside your mind, as a reminder that you did exist to other people. Considering that the majority of your life was spent in silence.

Your mom put a roof above your head and food on your table, but she never asked about your day, nor did she seem to care. You felt as though you were no more important to her than the tapestry hanging on your wall.

At times, you imagined that if you stood close enough to that tapestry, you could merge with it as one. The intricate embroidery would wrap around you and draw you in. And your mother wouldn’t notice. She would regard you with the same indifference she showed towards that textile- a mere decoration, at times a nuisance when she had to dust it.

You always ate your dinner alone. When you scraped your knee, you tended to the wound by yourself. No one attended your childhood musicals, and you patted your back when you cracked an egg without dropping a shell into the bowl.

You’ve come to learn since your young age that all your milestones, both small and significant, would be celebrated alone.

On the rare times your mother would acknowledge your presence, she’d unleash a flurry of criticism your way as if she was eagerly awaiting the opportunity to strike you down. She'd toss crude comments over her shoulder as easily as a casual hello, leaving you feeling battered and bruised in her wake.

You felt as if you were shoreline rocks, and your mother was the ocean. You never knew if she would be like a gentle tide, barely brushing against you, or an enraged storm, mercilessly crashing down on your being. And you weren't sure which one was worse: to be invisible or to be seen and despised.

That’s why you grew up plagued with self-doubt. You made friends throughout your school years but you never allowed them to get close enough to really see you -you feared that they might glimpse the very thing your mother seemed to despise in you.

Throughout your childhood, you were like soft clay in your mother's hands- pliable, and easy to mold. And she indented you, everywhere, carved in edges and dips where they should not have been ones. Handled you roughly when you should have been treated with care. And as the years went by, you hardened- much like clay, but her touch remained imprinted upon you. It was difficult at times to discern who you were and who she made you to be.

You tried to start anew when you went away to university; to rewire your brain into believing that you were enough- you exist and you shouldn't prove to anyone that you deserved to be alive. But her words haunted you, they were like skeletons in your closet- but the closet was you. You could never part from them.

So, you fell back into the same pattern of seeking good grades and congratulatory words from your professors. Every A+ you got infused you with a momentary sense of worthiness.

But unlike in high school, you weren't always the best. Your competition came in the form of a single man named Minho, who seemed to excel in every class you shared.

Minho was mostly quiet, but whenever he spoke, you found that his words carried weight. Your professors consistently agreed with his points, and you envied the confidence he exuded. You wondered what it must feel like to be so sure of oneself.

It wasn't until a month into the year that you had your first interaction with Minho. You were in your Constitutional Law class when your professor Kim brought up the notion of ‘Separation of Powers’. You were arguing that judges shouldn’t be included in the writings of law when you heard a scoff from the row behind you. You turned around, raising a brow at the culprit, "Is there something you’d like to say?" you asked.

And in response, Minho smiled lazily, an air of smugness surrounding him, "I just don’t agree." The professor urged him to explain himself, so he leaned back into his chair, eyeing you. "Judges are the ones who practice the law every day, and sometimes they find that none of the written texts fit their case. If they get involved in lawmaking, they can help address those gaps or uncertainties."

"Who's to say that those judges aren’t biased or politically motivated? They’ll end up writing laws to fit their own preferences," you pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him. "We elect judges to interpret and apply laws, not make them. If they start writing laws too, we'll be violating the separation of powers between the legislative and judicial branches. That's what keeps our entire system from crumbling."

Minho rested his chin on his hand, tapping his cheek thoughtfully with his index finger. "Aren’t legislators prone to biases too? Your point doesn’t stand then," he challenged, tilting his head to the side, "and judges can participate without going overboard. They can provide input on proposed laws without actually drafting them. That way, we ensure that the laws are crafted with a clear understanding of how they'll be put into practice."

"If your main concern is to ensure that the laws are impartial, we have people who work as consulting experts whose job is exactly that," you flashed him an innocent smile, firing back. "Also, wouldn’t these overstepping branches put the judges in a position to be perceived in a bad light? Is that what you want?"

Before Minho could respond, Mr. Kim intervened, putting an end to your debate, "Let's save this energy for your essays and see who can convince me more."

You gave a quick nod, swiveling in your seat without a backward glance. However, you could sense Minho’s gaze penetrating through your back- as if he was trying to read your most intimate thoughts.

That was the first thing you noticed about Minho when he walked over to you. His eyes were brown, not a special color by any means. But they held a certain depth to them that seemed to draw you in like a black hole. You weren't sure what you would find on the other side, nor did you have any desire to find out.

He outstretched his hands towards you, stopping you in your tracks. "Minho," he introduced and your hand met his in a firm grip. The second thing you noticed about him was the coldness of his hand, as it wrapped tightly around your palm.

Suddenly you were taken back to when you built a snowman for the first and last time. You were just seven and the ice was freezing, numbing your fingers as you worked. Your mother never told you that you should’ve worn mittens, or a thick jacket to fight off the cold when she saw you walking out of the house. The memory of your cold hands and the horrible illness that followed still left a bitter taste in your mouth, like an unripe fruit. With a jolt you dropped his hand, forcefully pulling yourself away from that memory.

"Yn," you said back, and he smiled to himself, repeating your name slowly, each syllable dripping from his tongue.

"We'll see who'll write the best essay, right?" he asked, clearly challenging you. There was a gleam of excitement in his eyes that reminded you of a child gazing up at cotton candy.

That was the third thing you noticed about Minho; how expressive his eyes were. They moved with his every word, punctuating them.

He was infuriating but also amusing. You've never had a clear competitor in your life. Or maybe you had, but you didn't notice them. You were always so reclined on yourself, trying to survive the day, you didn't pay enough attention to your surroundings.

"You want to compete with me?" You asked, and he smirked, leaning against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. "What? Scared you’d lose?"

"Please." You rolled your eyes at his taunting, "Don’t come crying when I win."

"We’ll see about that!" He shouted after you as you walked ahead, leaving him behind.

This essay was insignificant. A simple way for your professor to assess your knowledge and work approach. And yet, you found yourself staying up all night to complete it. There was no way you were going to let Minho take this one thing from you.

Who were you if not the best in your studies? You were deathly afraid to find out.

Later on that week, the professor handed you your grade back, 98%. You turned around to show Minho your mark, and so did he. You surpassed him, only by mere percents. "I told you so," you smiled cheekily and he pouted, holding a hand to his heart as if your grade wounded him.

"I'll beat you next time", he mouthed and you chuckled, "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

✹✹✹

The first time you studied with Minho was in a cat café near campus, called Limbo, about two weeks after your initial interaction. You stumbled upon it serendipitously while strolling through your university town. You couldn’t study at home, since you were easily distracted in there, and the eerie silence of libraries often left you unsettled.

Limbo, however, offered the perfect middle-ground: it was calm, not overly crowded, and the buzzing of the coffee machine blended harmoniously with the occasional mewls of cats, which helped you concentrate better.

You were sitting in a secluded corner table at the café's back, a sleeping black cat comfortably nestled in your lap when you sensed a shadow loom over you. You glanced up quickly to find Minho. He was clad in a grey hoodie sporting a bunny holding up its middle finger. You had to bite your cheek to suppress a grin at his clothing attire.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"You know for someone smart you sure ask stupid questions," you remarked, already looking down at the papers scattered in front of you.

He huffed, taking a seat at the table right next to yours, "I can’t believe that of all places you’ve found this café to study in."

"My apologies, am I disturbing you, your highness?" You asked sarcastically, and in retort, Minho mimicked your words in a high-pitched tone. You threw the pillow right next to you at his head, and Minho swiftly ducked, easily avoiding it. He chuckled loudly while you glared at his laughing figure. That was the end of your conversation that day.

From that moment forward, it became a routine for the two of you to study at Limbo, every Saturday, without fault. You didn’t explicitly plan on it, but it seemed that both of you found it comforting to work there. And you could also tell that, unlike you, it wasn’t Minho’s first time coming to Limbo. He was friends with the owner, a sweet middle-aged man who offered you pastries whenever you stayed there until closing. The cats seemed to know him too, they mewled at his feet whenever he entered and he always greeted them with a soft smile on his face.

You didn’t talk much in those unofficial study sessions, the both of you were consumed by your own work. But you’d steal quick glances at him every now and then, the sight of him so concentrated only fueled you to work harder.

Admittedly, your competition left you feeling anxious for days on end at first. Each time Minho came out on top, you’d found yourself losing your grip. Your studies have been the one anchor keeping you afloat your entire life, and now, Minho was ripping it carelessly away from you. So, you resented him- you were human after all.

But then, you realized that Minho’s taunting wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t competing with you to hurt you, he was doing it for amusement only.

You've slowly started to learn that despite his relentless teasing, Minho had a gentle aura surrounding him. Glimpses of which occasionally emerged like rays of sunshine piercing through a thick cloud cover.

True, he chuckled when you accidentally bumped your head on the table while retrieving a fallen pen. Yet, you also noticed how he began to cover the table's corners with his hand whenever you bent down. He swiftly retracted his hand, seemingly believing you didn't notice, but you did.

During class presentations, he deliberately prepared challenging questions for you, urging you to study twice as hard to ensure no stone was left unturned. Yet, whenever the professor praised your performance, Minho offered a subtle thumbs-up as a gesture of support. He winked at you each time he got the right answer and you didn’t. However, when he noticed you struggling with a particular subject, he scooted closer and patiently explained it to you. He got up before you could thank him, swatting his arm in the air as if he didn’t do anything of significance.

To show your appreciation, you bought him a drink that day he helped you—a simple gesture that sparked an ongoing game of "win a bet, get free food". You bet on who would receive the first mark on an assignment or who would finish an essay first- anything to further deepen the competition between you.

That's how you came to know that he loved puddings, among other things.

Curiously, as the months went by, your mind began to retain these little details about him. How his eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings when he blinked repeatedly during your conversations. How he glanced at the ceiling when lost in deep thought as if he was waiting for the answers to descend from the sky. Or how his lips take on the shape of an "o" while thinking of his response during one of your many debates. But you supposed that it was natural to take notice of such things when you spend countless Saturday afternoons with the same person.

You were still studying for someone else, in the sense that each time you stayed up working, it was solely to prove your worth to Minho. But at least unlike your mother, Minho's words never haunted you at night.

✹✹✹

Just like that, four months have gone by since you joined your university as a law major. It was nearing finals week and you were preparing it at Limbo. Minho was naturally present too, at his usual table right next to yours.

On the last weekend before the beginning of your finals, you were head-deep into your Criminal Law documents when Minho abruptly got up from his seat and settled in the chair in front of you.

"Yn," he whispers and you glance at him, "What?"

"I have an idea."

"Keep it to yourself," you grin sarcastically, only for him to pick up your spoon and move it around in a threatening manner.

"Are you trying to scare me with a spoon?" you chuckle in disbelief.

"Anything can be a weapon if you use enough force."

"Okay… that was creepy. What do you want?"

"The end of the first term is coming up. So, to celebrate our little rivalry-"

"It's not a rivalry if I’m always winning," you cut him off.

"Yeah, that’s why I have a fridge full of pudding."

"But-"

"Anyways, how about the top of the class takes the other out for dinner? A fancy one." He suggests, his gaze fixed on you.

"No, thank you. I already see you enough in classes."

"Didn’t think you wouldn’t up for a bet. Guess I was wrong," he remarks, a cheeky smile drawn on his lips. He knows you couldn’t possibly say no now.

"Fine," you roll your eyes at his proud expression. "Prepare your wallet."

"Mm, sure," he responds, before rising from his seat once more.

That day, you both lost track of time as you studied in Limbo until it closed down. When you finally stepped outside, stretching your tired limbs, you were met with the sight of falling snowflakes.

"Nooo, go away. I don't want to watch the first snow with you," Minho whines, referring to the superstition that watching the first snowfall with someone could spark love between the two of you.

"As if I could ever love you," you laugh at the ridiculous idea, "that’d just be signing a death warrant."

You resume walking towards your apartment when suddenly something freezing and hard hits your back with enough force to make you stagger. Turning around slowly, you find Minho erupting in laughter, his body filled with uncontainable joy. He’s jumping and clapping excitedly, and for a fleeting moment, you can’t decide if your shock was from the impact or from how beautiful happiness looks on him.

Snapping out of your daze, you swiftly retaliate by scooping up a handful of snow and hurling it at him. "Now you are cold too!" you shout, while he’s still laughing uncontrollably.

Thus begins an impromptu snowball fight between the two of you. Unsurprisingly, you’re being competitive in this too, trying your best to strike each other before the other could recover. But Minho draws nearer to you, and in your desperation to win, you fall to the ground when he throws a snowball at your chest, gasping as if you’re in pain.

"Shit, did I hurt you?" Minho quickly kneels in front of you, concern evident in his voice. It surprises you for a moment- how worried he seems at the prospect of causing you pain.

But you shake that thought off and push him down to the ground, a proud smile on your face. In his fall, Minho instinctively reaches for you to steady himself, which ends up with you landing on top of him. Your faces are mere inches apart, and a soft gasp escapes your mouth at your sudden proximity.

Minho has a mole on his nose. You’ve never noticed that before.

You quickly push yourself off of him, not enjoying being this close to somebody. "Why did you drag me down with you?" you grumble, shaking off the snow from your hair.

"Play stupid games, win stupid prizes," he cheekily stuck out his tongue, and you respond with the same childlike gesture before the both of you burst into loud laughter. The sound reverberates through your entire being, and it echoes in your mind long after the two of you go your separate ways.

As you lay in bed that night, ready to drift off to sleep, a quiet realization dawns on you. This was the first time you've touched snow in since your childhood incident.

That unpleasant memory didn't cross your mind once. Instead, all you thought about was Minho’s infectious laughter, and the surprising warmth it stirred within you.

✹✹✹

You came first in your grade this semester.

True to his words, Minho texted you the name of the restaurant where you’d both meet to celebrate your win. As you got ready for your outing, you couldn’t help the nerves creeping up on you. Studying in silence next to Minho was something, going to a friendly dinner with him was another. You feared it would be too awkward and Minho would regret ever proposing such a thing.

So, as you sit in the refined BBQ restaurant waiting for him, you fidget with your hands, counting down to three in your head in an attempt to steady your breathing.

You were clearly not accustomed to existing with Minho outside of the confines of your studies.

"Did you wait long?" Minho asks as he finally pulls the chair in front of you and you shake your head no.

"Are you nervous?" he chuckles at your lack of words, and you frown, suddenly feeling defensive. "Why would I be nervous? This isn't a date."

"Who said anything about a date?" he smirks and you grab your fork threateningly, pointing it at him, "Don't say anything stupid or I will walk out."

"And stand me up on our first date? That's too mean.” He pouts, a hand on his heart and you can’t help but giggle at his antics. You were ridiculous for being nervous. This was Minho, the one person you’ve talked to the most since the start of this year.

"What will you have?" he asks and you smile mischievously.

"Most expensive thing on the menu."

"So you are only here for the food."

"Well, it's certainly not for your company," you wink and he chuckles, his bunny teeth on full display.

"And here I thought we were going to be civil with each other."

"When are we ever not?" you gasp dramatically and Minho swats your hand with the menu. "Just order whatever," you finally answer," I trust your food judgment."

"I could poison you, you know?" He smiles proudly and you roll your eyes at him, "Can’t you be normal, for once?"

Minho calls over the waiter and places your orders. The food is quick to arrive and Minho starts to grill up the meat, while you cut the Kimchi into smaller pieces.

"Here," he puts the perfectly cooked rib onto your plate first and you smile at him, "Thank you."

"Eat up, don’t wait for me," he tells you and you nod, tasting the flavorful meat.

"Wow this is really good," you compliment and he smirks proudly at your words, "I know."

Minho places four other ribs for you, without eating one himself. You start to feel bad, so you grab his chopsticks, pick up the meat, and move it toward his mouth, "Open up."

"What?" He asks confused and you wave the food in front of his face, "Come on, you haven’t eaten anything."

Minho parts his lips slowly, and you feed the tender meat to him, before eating one yourself. You notice how his cheeks are slightly tinted pink now, and you account it to the intense heat of the grill.

"Oh, let's not talk about studies, my brain can't take another debate with you," you tell Minho in between bites and he grins at you, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. "If you were to dispose of a body, how would you do it?"

"I think our next celebration will be in an asylum." you smile too sweetly at him and he stares at you pointedly, "Please, I know you've already thought about it."

"Fine. Probably in a deserted land. What about you?"

"I'd cut their bodies and then bury each part in a different forest. In a different city."

His answer came too quickly, and you pause in your tracks, "Should I be worried?"

"You are too cute to kill." His tone is sarcastic and you make a show of gushing at his compliment, clasping both of your hands in front of your heart, "Growing soft on me, Minho?"

"Yeah, I’m basically sooo in love with you," he replies with a smirk and you roll your eyes at him, an amused smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"What's your favorite color?" you finally ask, changing the subject.

"Purple."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You'll buy me purple flowers?" He coos at you and you shake your head as you grab the utensil from his hand, to grill the meat your turn.

"No. I'll paint your tombstone purple," you grin and he laughs loudly, eyes squinted close, and you can't find it in you to care that the people next to you are staring.

"What's yours?" he asks when he calms down and you shrug, "Navy blue, I think."

"You do remind me of navy blue."

"And why is that?"

"When you look at it, at first glance, it looks like black. But the more you stare at it, the more layers you uncover. Just like you. There’s more to you than what meets the eye."

You grab your glass of water, gulping it down to hide the way your eyes just glossed over. You suddenly felt bare in front of Minho. How did he know?

You clear your throat, racking your brain for a way to move on from that question. "If you were to describe colors to a blind person, how would you do it?"

"Mm," he looks up at the ceiling as he mulls over your question, "I’d say that yellow is the feeling of eating ice cream on a sunny day, in an amusement park. Your fingers are sticky but your cheeks ache from how much you smiled that day."

"Yellow is carefree and happy."

"Exact. Now your turn, red."

"I’d say that... Red is the thrill that rushes through your veins when you do something you are passionate about, you know? It’s what makes our blood boil and our heart race. The very essence of our humanity."

Minho smiles softly at your words, seemingly agreeing with your description. "Don’t you think it would be easier if we simply asked, what color are you feeling today, instead of a 'How are you'?" He questions and you tilt your head to the side, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you could say, I feel like that moss green that no one seems to pay attention to. Or, I feel bright yellow as if the world's energy is stored inside me."

"And right now, how do you feel?"

"I feel orange, not the ugly orange." He precises and you chuckle, "the orange that paints the sky when the sun is about to dip into the ocean."

"A bittersweet orange, an ending that instantly strings along a new beginning. And you don't have time to rest."

Minho places his chin on his palm, eyeing you curiously, "Is that what you want? To rest?"

"Yeah." You admit quietly, "Don't you sometimes wish that the world would just stop, for a few seconds? Just like in a song, right before the beat drops. That silence, I wish I could live inside of it."

"I do too."

You both hold each other’s gaze for a while after that. You felt as if he was keeping you captive with his brown eyes, and he was slowly peeling each of your layers, in silence, as you were peeling his. For the first time, you think that you and he are similar, more than on a studies level. There was a part of his soul that understood yours perfectly. And it felt good, to be understood, for once.

"If you lived in this silence, what would you be doing?" he asks, breaking the serene quiet that surrounded you.

"I’d open a café that had books. And there'd be a little space, where people could paint. Or do pottery. And I’d have cats in there too." You reply excitedly, hands moving around in the air, you end up missing the way Minho gazes fondly at you before his smile morphs into a smirk.

"Please tell me you won't be cooking."

"Shut up. What about you?"

"I’d be a dancer."

"You dance?!" you whisper-shout and he frowns at the surprised look on your face.

"Yeah. Why are you looking at me like this?"

"I just never expected it. Can I-"

"No." he cuts you off immediately and you pout.

"I didn't even finish."

"I knew what you were going to say."

"Please, I won't make a sound I’d just watch. Pinky promise.” He grabs your now outstretched pinky with the tip of his index and thumb, lowering it down.

"I’d only grant you this wish when you’re on your deathbed."

"Bold of you to assume you'd still be around."

"Death might be around the corner."

"Stop it."

"Close your door tonight."

"You are deranged."

Minho chuckles at the crestfallen look on your face, "I’ll think about it."

Just like that, three hours of talking have gone by, the conversation flowing easily between the two of you. And when you finally leave the restaurant, Minho grabs you a cab and you wave him off with a smile. You couldn't lie to yourself, you had a really good time with him. You liked to think that Minho was no longer just a rival, but a possible friend.

But now that you were laying in your bed, you couldn’t help but curse Minho in your brain. His repetitive talk about murder made you paranoid, and now every creak in your apartment made you feel as if death was really right around the corner.

You decide to text him, figuring that if you couldn’t sleep because of him, you could at least disturb him for a bit.

Yn : I hate you I'm paranoid from your murder talk

Minho : Poor baby

Yn : Is that you at my door?

Suddenly your phone rings, the shrill sound echoing around your apartment. It was a Facetime call from Minho. You panic for a few seconds, before remembering that you just spent your entire night with him. A call can’t be more daunting than a real-life meeting.

"See, I’m in my home," he tells you as soon as you pick up and you laugh.

"It's pitch black, I can't see."

"Just say you miss my face." You can’t see him but you can clearly hear the proud grin in his voice.

"What's there to miss?"

"Are you actually scared?" Minho asks gently and you clear your throat, feeling ridiculous all of the sudden.

"There is a tree right outside my window and it keeps rustling from the wind," you grumble and Minho laughs at you.

"Trees can't hurt you."

"No shit Sherlock."

"Close your eyes.” He instructs and you frown at his words.

"Why?"

"I’ll tell you a story."

"Fine.” You close your eyes tentatively. It’s quiet for a few seconds and you feel yourself relax slightly.

"So, I bought a sous-vide machine and-"

"Is your bedtime story going to be about meat?"

"Yes?” He replies as if it’s an evidence, “Now be quiet." You pretend to zip your mouth and Minho faintly giggles, before resuming his story. "So, I was saying. I bought one and I wanted to experience different kinds of meats. So, I bought a 30-day aged one and a 58-day aged one and I cooked them both."

"What did you use?" you ask quietly.

"Just garlic, and thyme, I didn't want to overpower the taste of meat. Anyways I cooked them, but I didn't have plastic bags so I had to go out and buy them."

"Mm," you hum in acknowledgment. You could feel your nerves slowly dissipate with Minho's every word. His story might be ridiculous but his honey-coated voice compensated for it, wrapping around you like a protective cocoon.

"And I found pudding there so I had to buy it."

"Obviously," you whisper. Sleep was knocking on your door, but paradoxically you tried to fight it off. You wanted to hear the rest of Minho’s story.

"And I went back home and I cooked it, then I plated it nicely with vegetables that I sauteed with butter and garlic. Just mushrooms and potatoes, nothing too fancy. Again, my main focus was the meat. But there wasn't a difference between the two. They tasted the same for me, for some reason. And I didn't like this because the aged one was very expensive. Maybe I was scammed. Honestly, that butcher looked kind of suspicio..."

Your quiet snores make Minho pause in his tracks, and he laughs quietly. You did end up falling asleep. He can't see your face clearly, but he can see its outline and he stares at you for a while. You look peaceful.

He goes to hang up but his finger hovers over the 'end call' button. You aren't talking, but your hums are quiet enough that they fill up the space around him. It calms him down, and he lets his head fall on the pillow, his phone lying beside him.

He closes his eyes, thinking that maybe he just found the silence you talked about earlier on.

You just made his world stop.

✹✹✹

The second semester had just started and with it the return of frat parties. You were excited at the prospect of going to one with your new friend Mina. You met her in the library when you both went to grab the same book. You quickly apologized but she waved you off, handing you the book with a huge smile on her face. She was bubbly, like a human serotonin boost, and she started gushing about how much she loved the author. You saw her again in the campus cafeteria, and she skipped towards you as if you've both known each other your entire life. That was the start of your friendship.

You walk into the frat house, both your arms encircling each other. The flashing lights of the party blind you for a moment, and it takes you a while to adjust to the loud music bouncing off of the walls. But you like it, it was like a shield from the outside world and its problems.

You feel yourself letting loose in the crowd, swaying your hips to the music. Mina spins you around and you laugh, dancing with no care in the world. It was just the both of you in that instant.

Mina spots Jeongin in the crowd, a friend of hers that she had an immense crush on. You couldn’t blame her- he was very attractive; his easy smirk and his blonde tousled hair earned him lots of appreciative looks from the people around him. But when his eyes locked with Mina’s, you found that his face morphed into a beautiful smile, that made his dimples look on full display, as if it was only reserved for her.

“Go get your man!” You shout in her ears, so she’d be able to hear you.

“What are you talking about?” She yells back, but you could see the nervous smile on her face.

“He likes you! Go talk to him!”

“I don’t want to leave you alone. We came together!” She clasps your hand in hers and you smile touched by her kind spirit.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll go to the kitchen to get some drinks. Go have fun!”

“You are sure?” She asks, her eyes darting between you and Jeongin, who was still looking at her, and her only.

“Yes! Go!” You say, gently pushing her away. Mina jogs up to Jeongin who greets her with a side hug. He quickly glances at you and you shoot him a thumbs-up, to which he grins. You loved playing Cupid.

With that, you decide to head to the kitchen to grab a drink. You pick a beer from the fridge, double-checking if the can is closed before opening it.

You lean on the countertop, sipping on your drink while you watch the crowd, humming along each time a song you knew played. You enjoyed watching people dance freely from afar, with no apparent care in the world.

You feel someone stand next to you and you brace yourself, getting ready to tell the person off if they decide to bother you. You didn’t have the energy for mindless flirting. But then, you smell the cologne that has lingered around you for the past term- Minho. You haven't seen him since your dinner. That was a month ago.

"Fancy seeing you here," he greets as he leans on the counter right next to you, his eyes fixated on the mingling bodies.

You turn around to face him, faking an outraged gasp, "Are you following me?"

"Mmm. You look nice", he compliments and you smile cheekily, "I know."

"Won't tell me I look nice too?" he smirks, leaning closer to your face. "Someone didn’t get enough compliments tonight?" You pout, placing a hand on your heart in mock concern.

"I did, but I want to hear it from you. You’re the only sensible person in this room."

"You look nice. Now leave me alone."

"Come on, I know you can do better than that", he jokes and you roll your eyes, muttering “You’re annoying”, under your breath.

Still, you comply, placing your arms on top of the counter and leaning your head on them to get a better look at him. He does the same, smiling, and you both stare at each other for a while after that.

The strobing lights dance on Minho’s face, casting enticing shadows on him. You've always known he was a beautiful man; you've looked into his eyes far too many times in your heated conversations. But this time was different, there was no cheeky smirk on his face nor a furrow in his eyebrows. He was simply looking at you, and it made a pool of warmth huddle in your belly. You feel yourself relax under his gaze, everything around you seemingly melts away.

You weren’t wrong when you thought that his eyes were like a black hole, pulling you in. But this time, you realize that you didn’t mind knowing what was on the other side. On the contrary, you longed for it.

"I like your eyes right now. They remind me of the night sky. Black, with tiny little stars littered in them," you finally say.

Minho is taken aback by your words, he wasn't expecting you to compliment him, let alone to tell him something so special. He can feel his cheeks burn red at your words, feel his heart hammering in his chest. He's afraid you can hear it too.

He doesn't know what to say, so instead he clears his throat, plastering a smirk on his face, "I heard better." He hasn't. This is the first genuine compliment he's ever gotten.

"Oh, fuck off," you laugh and he joins you. The music was loud and yet the only sound his ear seemed to pick up was your laugh.

"Are you here alone?" He asks, and you shake your head no, "Came with my friend Mina."

"Did she leave you by yourself?" He frowns and you feel yourself warm up at his worried tone. "I told her to go talk to Jeongin."

"Next time, don’t stay alone."

“Fine, Dad.” You chastise and he stares pointedly at you, "I’m serious, yn."

You take another swing of the beer before turning your body fully towards Minho. After a few beats of silence, you finally ask a question that has been on your mind for a while. "Why do you say my name this way?"

"What way?" He questions and you shrug, "Slowly. People used to always rush it but you don’t."

"Well, it’s a pretty name. It deserves to be pronounced as a whole."

You beam at his words; you smile so brightly it makes his heart skip a beat. This is the first time you’ve grinned this widely at him, no hand in front of your mouth as if to hide it. He did notice how you were a reserved person outside of class, as if you were afraid of taking up too much place. But he could tell you were slowly unraveling, growing bolder with each passing month. He wanted to tell you that if people like you spoke more, the world would be a far better place.

But he couldn't bring himself to say all of this, so he forced those bubbling words down his throat. "I’m hungry," he whines instead and you laugh at his pout. "I'm kind of craving a greasy pizza."

"Should we go buy it? You can tell Mina to come so we can walk her back."

"I’ll ask her."

You shoot Mina a text, asking her where she was and telling her about your plan. She replies that she’s with Jeongin who just offered to take her home, so you could leave without her.

"We can go." You tell him and he nods. Minho shrugs his leather jacket off, gently placing it on your shoulders. His warmth engulfs you and you sink further into it. His arm hovers around your shoulder not touching you as he leads you out of the party. He has never touched your body, you note, it's like he was everywhere and nowhere at once.

You both walk to an open parlor near the frat house, and you order a Margarita pizza to share. You sit down on a nearby bench to eat it- the night breeze too liberating to pass up on.

As you both finish eating, a cat with white and orange stripes all over her body approaches the both of you cautiously, and you pat her head softly. "Aren't you the cutest thing ever?" you coo and Minho chuckles as he scratches the cat’s chin. She purrs at his touch appreciatively, and you smile at the soft look on his face.

"Never knew you to be this gentle", you giggle and Minho shushes you, "Let's not do this in front of the cat."

"Why are you acting as if we are a divorced couple and she’s our child."

"Easy, yn. You make it sound as if you want me to marry you."

"Now you're just projecting," you chastise and he laughs, eliciting giggles from you. He had a melodic laugh, you noticed, and you always felt a surge of pride whenever you made him close his eyes and tip his head from laughter. You felt as if it's a sight only you can see.

"I have three cats", he says softly and you gasp, "Really? We spent all of our Sundays in a cat café and this is when you tell me?"

"I only tell my friends."

"So we're friends now?" You gush and he rolls his eyes at you, "I take it back."

"What’s their names?" You ask curiously and his eyes soften at your question- you could easily tell he loved them dearly.

"Soongie, Doongie, and Dori. They are rescues."

"That’s very sweet of you Minho."

"Most of my scars come from them though," he chuckles but you sober up at his words, quietly scratching the cat's ears.

"What’s on your mind?" He asks and you glance at him. It was scary how well he’s starting to know you. But it was also nice; to be known is to exist, after all.

"I just... Sometimes I wish that memories would leave physical scars on you. Because at least then, you could treat them, put a band-aid on, and watch them fade away day by day. Because when the scars are emotional, you can’t treat them, you know? And someday someone brings up a name or a place, or you smell a certain scent, and suddenly they reopen as if no time has gone by at all.”

Minho stays silent for a while, mulling over your words. You don't mind, you weren't expecting him to comfort you. You just needed to free those words from the mental prison you've held them in for so long.

"Do you know Kintsugi?" he finally asks and you shake your head no.

"It's a Japanese art. They put back together broken vases with molten gold. It represents strength despite our flaws."

"That sounds nice," you sigh wistfully and he nods.

"It is. When you look at that vase, you know that it was once broken, but it doesn't take away from its beauty, on the contrary, it adds to it. Scars, whether they are emotional or physical are there for a reason. They remind us of how we pushed through whatever life threw at us."

"Am I supposed to be grateful I survived this?" You chuckle lowly, as your hand scratches the cat’s ear. Your fingers brush against Minho’s and you hesitate for a few seconds before moving them away.

"I wouldn't say grateful for what you went through," he speaks once again, "but grateful to yourself. At the end of the day, the reason why you're still here is you. You put yourself back together," he then bumps his elbow into your side softly, "and hey, even if your scars reopen there will come a time when they wouldn’t anymore. Sometimes, it takes a while to be okay again."

This was Minho’s way of telling you that someday it wouldn’t hurt anymore. That someday you’d be okay. And you needed to hear that. You needed to hear someone else other than yourself tell you that.

"Thank you, Minho, I needed that", you smile at him and he grins back at you before his smile turns to a smirk. "I charge 15 dollars for the hour by the way."

"Oh, come on! You didn't even say something revolutionary." You are lying. Minho's words will echo in your mind long after this night- a beacon of light to hold onto.

"Oh, so now it’s no longer ‘I needed that’. Tsk," he jokes a smirk still plastered on his face.

"Okay, Mr. Therapist. I’ll pay for your coffee tomorrow, sounds good?"

"I should have you as my client more often," he winks and you laugh, head tipped back. You were grateful more than ever for his teasing, loving how it wasn’t awkward between you after your discussion.

"You are a good listener." You tell him as you stand up, dusting your pants.

"I’m good at everything," he grins cheekily at you and you roll your eyes playfully, "And here I thought we were having a moment."

You both start walking side by side toward your home when Minho speaks again. His tone is quiet as if he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear him. "About earlier, your compliment, I mean. I suppose I didn't thank you. So, thank you," he scratches the tip of his ears and you shrug nonchalantly. "It's the truth. You might get on my ass but that doesn't change the fact you are a pretty man."

He doesn’t respond and you tug at the sleeve of his shirt playfully, "You won't tell me I’m pretty too?"

"But then I’d be lying."

"Asshole."

"Pretty," he replies without missing a beat.

You laugh loudly, hand tightly clutching your stomach and he joins you. There is a newfound lightness in your steps now. Unbeknownst to him, Minho just managed to lift a small weight off your shoulders, allowing you a brief moment of respite.

"This is me," you say when you arrive in front of your apartment block, "Thank you for walking me home."

"Of course. Don't dream of me."

"Idiot," you laugh waving him off and he does the same. "Oh, and text me when you get home safely!" you shout before heading inside.

For the second time this night, Minho is blushing profusely at your words. He sighs to himself, waiting patiently until a light turns on in your place to leave.

✹✹✹

It’s been two months since the start of the new term. You still went to Limbo, every Saturday with Minho- even when you didn’t need to study.

Sometimes you’d just grab a book and you’d both read, a cat lazily lounging at your feet. You started sitting at the same table too; you figured it was easier since one of you always pays for the other. When you have a bet, but also randomly, when you notice that the other person is feeling down and you want to cheer them up without saying anything.

That's why you bought three bubble teas for Minho in a row. He was quieter these days, you noticed. He didn’t talk to you nor did he retort back in class. It was the first time you’ve seen him this way. As if he was a simple shell of the person he usually is.

You were walking out of your Communications Strategies class, which Minho weirdly didn’t come to when you realized that it was pouring rain. You smile lightly to yourself, grateful since you thought about picking up an umbrella this morning.

As you walk through campus, everyone around you running to take shelter, you spot someone sitting on a bench, completely drenched from the rain. Their head is hung low and you frown to yourself. They would surely get a cold if they stay there.

But then the person raises their head and you quickly realize it's Minho. You jog up to him instinctively, standing in front of him and shielding him from the rain with your umbrella.

He looks up at you and you feel your heart clench. His eyes are void of emotion and he stares blankly at you. "Are you okay?" you ask and he blinks at your words, as if his brain hadn't yet registered that you were there.

"Yeah."

"You don't look like it", you tilt your head to the side and he looks down again. You have to strain to hear his next words, muffled by the rain and his mumbling, "I don't want to talk, yn."

You decide to put away your umbrella and sit down next to him on the bench. The rain falls rapidly on both of you, and you feel yourself grow cold from it.

"What are you doing?" He questions, turning to the side to look at you.

"Enjoying the rain. It is kind of stupid that we have umbrellas, right?"

"You'll catch a cold."

"I mean we always complain about the drought and then when it rains, we hide from it. But it's really beautiful."

"Stop, I don't want you to get sick."

"Well, neither do I. Let's go eat some soup. My treat."

"Yn, I don’t-"

"I thought you were smart enough to know I won't take no for an answer."

"But I-" you cut him off again. "Also, I’m doing this for me because when you order for two, they give you a lot of side dishes. Now come on."

You stand up and he looks doubtfully at you, before following suit. You open up the umbrella again and hold it over both of your heads. He has to huddle close to you, and your shoulders brush against each other. Once, twice. Not that you're keeping count. But your body is always hyper-aware of Minho’s proximity. You also notice how he silently moves from your right to your left, this way he's the one walking right next to the speeding cars. Your hold on the umbrella tightens. You were still not used to those small attentions of his.

You arrive in front of your apartment block and he hesitates. "Come up, I won't murder you I promise." You joke and he smiles lightly back at your words. Progress.

He enters your dorm and you can see him eying his surroundings. You know that if it was another time, he would have teased you about something- anything. But he stays quiet, and you find yourself missing the sound of his voice.

"Would you like to shower?" You offer and he nods, "Please."

You lead him to your bathroom and show him where the washing machine is. "Put your clothes in there for a quick wash and dry. You can shower meanwhile."

He nods again as you hand him a towel. "I'll be outside."

You quickly leave the bathroom to place the soup orders, and Minho discards his wet clothes, walking into your shower. The water is piping hot, and he leans his forehead on the cold tiles. He doesn’t move for the first ten minutes, too tired at the prospect of lifting his limbs.

Nothing particular happened. But he’d go through days when he’d quiet down because everything around him was too much. The feel of his clothes against his skin, and the sun streaming through his curtains. But it always passes. Minho was a realistic man and he knew that his emotions would regulate themselves. That’s why he didn’t like appearing vulnerable in front of other people.

But for some reason, he didn’t mind lowering his guard with you. He knew you wouldn’t judge.

He sighs, grabbing your cherry-scented shampoo and pouring it into his hands. He can clearly smell you now. The scent of your hair that always tickles his nose, whenever you are sitting close to him. Your body wash is next and he wonders if this is how your skin smells, like vanilla and jasmine, and something entirely you.

Forty minutes later, Minho finally steps out of the shower. His clothes are clean and he quickly puts them on. He dries his hair with the towel as he walks out of your bathroom towards the living room.

He finds you sitting on the ground, in front of a heater that looks close to giving up. He makes a mental note of giving you the one he has since he doesn't really use it. You changed out of your clothes too, and you are now wearing a pair of pajamas with little bunnies sewn into it. The sight almost manages to make him smile.

"Still cold?" you question when you notice him standing behind you, unmoving, and he shakes his head no.

"Good, the soup is here." You say cheerfully, pointing at the steaming bowls sitting on your table. Minho hums in reply and you stand up, grabbing the towel from his hands to place it on the drying rack.

You come back, a soft green blanket in your hands. You sit on the couch and pat the spot beside you. Minho sits next to you, and you lay the blanket on both of your laps, before handing him his soup.

You start the show you’ve been last watching, as you both eat in silence, your legs crisscrossed. You make some comments throughout the episodes. You figured that it was a safe territory, to talk about something as mundane as this. He didn't reply but you didn't mind. You weren't here to have a conversation with him. You just wanted to distract him.

You realize at that moment that Minho always looked so put together to you. But he had problems of his own too. That much was obvious. It made you feel closer to him, in a sense. You were both just trying to make it through the day.

Two hours later, you get up to grab a book, handing Minho the remote to put on a show of his own. You curl in a ball in the corner, reading where you left off last night.

"Can you... Can you read out loud?" Minho speaks for the first time in a while and you look at him. His eyes are closed, his head resting against your couch.

"Sure."

You start to read, and Minho further sinks into the couch. He feels at home here. Because the blanket is soft and the light is dim enough to not hurt his eyes. Or it could be that he smells like you, a scent so comforting he wants to bury himself in it. Or maybe it's your voice that floats through the air, slowly clouding Minho’s every sense. He feels as if he could see the words you were pronouncing dancing in front of his eyes. You enunciated each syllable clearly, making sure that no sound was forgotten.

As Minho gently drifted to sleep, he felt as if he was part of the words you read out loud. He felt as if you were treating him with the same care, making sure that he knew he wasn't invisible. At least not to you.

When you wake up the next morning, Minho is gone. And his place beside you on the couch is empty. He made you breakfast, scrambled eggs, and freshly pressed orange juice. And right next to it you find a note, "Thank you for reading to me."

✹✹✹

Minho didn't believe in having a lot of friends. He was content with the two people he had, Chan and Changbin. The latter was his high school friend, he skipped a year and ended up being in the same class as Minho. They didn't talk at first until the day Changbin dropped a book on Minho's foot. The brooding man started apologizing profusely, and that was the start of their friendship. They've kept in touch since.

Chan was his roommate at university. It's not that he particularly wanted to befriend him, but Chan was a social butterfly and he quickly managed to pull Minho into his friendly trap. He annoys Minho the most, but in an endearing way. And although Chan is older, Minho still strangely developed a soft spot for him.

And he supposes he has you too now. At first, you weren’t friends, rivals at most. He enjoyed reeling you up and having you frown at his words in your heated debates. He also liked talking to you, because your ideas were interesting and you always gave him a new fresh perceptive to see things.

That’s how he strictly saw you as, an intelligent human who he liked to debate with.

But then he started to look forward to meeting up with you at Limbo. He no longer minded the fact that you took his self-assigned table, from his high school days. And he laughed more freely with you, enjoying how you always had a witty retort sitting at the tip of your tongue.

That’s how he started to notice things that friends most definitely notice. How you have a charm bracelet you always fidget with whenever you are nervous. How you stray away from physical touch. How you scratch your eyebrow when you are deep in thought.

But also, how you seem to have an obsession with cherries. Your cherry pendant, your cherry-scented shampoo, and your cherry-tainted lips. A friend would most certainly think that your lips are like red wine-stained glass.

He remembers one of the many times when you were at Limbo, and he saw you reapply your lip tint, or so you called it. You caught him looking and he swiftly averted his gaze, but it wasn't quick enough. Suddenly you were in front of him, a tiny red bottle in hand.

"Let me apply it to you," you smiled and he pushed your head away with his pointer finger. "No."

"Please," you pouted and he couldn't help but find you adorable. You sometimes reminded him of a small kitten. But he didn’t dare to call you by that nickname.

"Never."

"If I score more than you in our environmental assignment then I will do it."

"Fine." he huffed so that you'd leave him alone.

Minho didn't study for that assignment. He blamed it on a headache, not that it's ever stopped him before. And two weeks later you were in front of him, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. You applied the lip tint gently on his plump lips, carefully tracing over his cupid bow.

Your face was mere inches away from his and he noticed how you were wearing a gloss today, for change. It was shimmering under the lights and he usually didn't like glittery things, but he couldn't take his eyes off your lips.

"All done!" you clapped excitedly, snapping him out of his haze. You then shove your phone camera into his face so he'd look at the results.

"You should be a model. Your face is perfectly sculpted," you comment nonchalantly, before sitting back in your seat.

“I know.” He replies confidently, but his hand kept fiddling with the tip of his now pink ears. He couldn't concentrate for the rest of the night.

You were his friend because he always worried if you were eating enough. That’s why he urged you to grab a bite in the convenience store near Limbo, whenever you finished up your studying late.

This was one of the many times you sat on the minuscule table outside, hot ramen bowls in front of the both of you. Minho huffed in annoyance between each bite, his bangs were getting longer, disturbing him when he leaned down to slurp his noodles.

“Here,” you stand up from your place, a hair tie in your hands.

“What are you doing?” He questions as you stand behind him. You don’t reply, silently grabbing his hair and putting it up in a tiny ponytail, this way it wouldn’t get in his eyes anymore.

“Voila,” you sit back down, resuming your eating. Minho was grateful for the dimly lit street because his entire face was burning up. Your fingers in his hair were gentle and he wondered how it would feel if you ran your fingers through it.

This was something friends think about, right?

"I’ll cut my hair tomorrow," he clears his throat. He didn't know why he told you. You certainly weren't interested in his hair endeavors.

"What?!" you yell, "Don't. Your hair is beautiful why would you cut it?"

"Because it's getting longer."

"But it suits you."

Minho also noticed how you always threw compliments his way. Not in a flirtatious way, but in a genuine one. He couldn't help but wonder what made you this way. Did you so freely give love to others because you knew how it felt to not receive it?

"I’ll still cut it."

Minho returned home; his hair still clipped back in a ponytail. Chan eyed him weirdly but he shut him off with a glare. The elastic remained at his bedside since.

He didn't cut his hair.

The moment Minho started to consider you a close friend, was when you invited him over to watch your show. You didn’t force him to open up that night, and he appreciated it, more than he let on.

That's how a week later, he finds himself walking towards your dorm again. The thoughts in his head got too much, and Chan was immersed in his makeshift studio, which meant he won't be free for the next four hours, minimum.

He didn't plan on going to you. It was late at night and you were probably asleep, but his feet naturally led him to the direction of your place.

He knocks softly on your door. He wasn't even sure if he wanted you to open. What would you think of him showing up at eleven pm? He should have thought this thro-

"Minho?" you call out, and he startles a bit, his feet already inching away from the door.

"This was a bad idea, I'm sorry," he starts to retract back but you grab the hem of his jacket to stop him. "Do you... Do you want to watch my show with me?" you ask, a soft smile on your face and he nods tentatively.

"Okay, come in," you open the door wider and Minho follows you inside. The look in his eyes reminds you of the day you found him sitting under the rain. You didn't like it, you wanted him to find his spark back, his usual demeanor. He wasn't deserving of anything but happiness.

"I’ve started a new show, this one's a bit more romantic, so don't go around imagining me as the main character," you tease and he scoffs at your words, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He doesn't reply, but you don't mind. There was this secret agreement between the two of you, you would talk and he would listen. He needed the distraction, and you needed the company. Sometimes the line between alone and lonely blurs, and on days like these, Minho’s presence fills the void inside.

You comment on the scenes and Minho hums in reply, you watch three episodes in a row, and your eyes are getting drowsy, so you close them.

"Minho," you call out gently and he turns his head towards you.

"Yeah?"

"What color are you feeling tonight?" You ask, referencing to what he told you on your dinner celebration. That felt like an eternity ago.

"Black." You stay silent and Minho fidgets with his hands before speaking once again. "I feel a lot at the same time, too much of every color. That's why- that's why I said black."

"How can I help you feel yellow?"

"You already do." His admission came softly and it made your breath hitch in your throat. You wanted to open your eyes and look at him, but you figured it will only make him close off even more.

“Okay. Will you stay for breakfast?”, you whisper. You were very sleepy, the soft chatter of the TV and your hushed conversation were like a lullaby to you.

"You want me to?" he asks, and he sounds so vulnerable you can't find it in you to say anything but the truth.

"I do," you admit, and that's the last thing you remember before sleeping.

Your head falls near Minho’s lap on the couch, your hair tickling his exposed thigh. Minho shouldn’t feel this way, he thinks. He’s sitting on the leather couch and his feet are touching the cold floor and yet all he can feel is three strands of your hair tickling him.

He glances at you, at your now parted lips and your relaxed eyebrows. His hand hovers over your hair, but then he curls it into a tight fist. What is he doing? He thinks to himself as he drags an angry hand through his face. He sighs, before standing up and grabbing the blanket you had on the opposing chair. He gently lays it on your body before sitting next to you once again.

You told him to stay for breakfast. He’ll stay.

✹✹✹

2 months later

"Yn!" Minho shouts in your ear as he plops down next to you. You startle, dropping the book you were reading.

"I hate you," you grumble, picking up your book and he smiles cheekily at you, "No you don't."

You were laying on the grass of your campus garden, in between two classes, trying to kill the time. It was April so the weather was perfect for lying under the warm sunrays. You loved spring, it always held within it the promise of a better time.

"What are you doing?"

"I was reading before you got here and started to annoy me."

"Don't mind me. Do your thing."

"And what are you doing?"

"Enjoying the sun."

"You couldn't find any other place to do so?"

"Nope."

"You're annoying" You try to sound mad but the smile on your face betrays you. You started looking forward to any moment Minho randomly shows up throughout your day. Sometimes it's late at night when he's suddenly craving sushi and he drags you with him because if he's not studying then you shouldn't be too.

Sometimes it's during the day, when he takes you to a new garden where he found the quote "cutest cats in existence". Not as cute as his cats, of course.

Sometimes it's late afternoon when he just knocks on your door, and he's there with Chan-his roommate who sometimes joins your study sessions- snacks in their hands. You've learned that what Minho doesn't say in words, he compensates by spending time with you. And you didn't tell him but waiting for these moments has been the joy of your life for the past few weeks.

It made you feel excited- like a child waiting up for Christmas morning to discover what gifts they are receiving.

So, you resume reading, as Minho is lying next to you. You could smell his pinewood cologne and you wished you could pour his essence into a bottle and carry it with you everywhere.

You notice how the sun is hitting Minho’s eyes directly, and how his eyebrows are scrunched up at the aggression. So, you grab your book with your left hand, and hover your right one over his eyes, shielding him from the sun. Minho's breath tickles your hand and you can feel goosebumps rising through your skin.

It's as if every physical proximity with Minho made you feel hyperaware of every part of your body, and how he can lighten it with a simple breath from his part. It made you wonder what it would feel to have his hands on your skin.

As if Minho heard your thoughts, he gently wraps his thumb and index finger around your wrist, steadying your hand in place so it wouldn't strain your arm. You suddenly don't know what page you are in, too overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands on you.

His touch is very featherlight and you are afraid to move, to break the bubble you are suddenly pulled into.

"Read to me," he tells you and you gulp. You never understood why Minho enjoyed it when you read to him.

"Like my voice that much?" you tease, in an attempt to hide how affected you are. You were so close to him; it would be easy to slide down and lay your head on his chest. You wondered how his heartbeat would sound. Was it steady, or racing just like your own?

"Yeah, it's calming," he replies sincerely, catching you off guard. You didn't expect him to compliment you, and now you are racking your brain for a retort, anything to make you breathe again.

"Growing soft on me Minho?" you say, the same question you asked on your first dinner out. The first time you truly saw him, the first time you felt as if you were two pieces of the same puzzle, just waiting for someone to connect the both of you.

He doesn't reply. And you sit there, patiently waiting. His first answer came so easily, so naturally, because he was being sarcastic, "I’m basically in love with you", he told you back then. So why can't he say it again?

"Yes, I am." He finally replies and you feel your breath catch in your throat. You try to account it for your brain misguiding you. It wasn't Minho speaking, it was the rustling of the leaves and the singing of the birds that you just heard. But it was him, and now his eyes are open and he's looking at you. Your hand is still shielding his eyes and his fingers are still wrapped around your wrist. And you are suddenly feeling. You are feeling too much. You don't know what to do with those feelings cursing through your veins and you can't face them. Because they are scaring you.

"I'll just... Yeah, I’ll just read," you say quietly, too flustered by his intense gaze. You were already on the other side, you realize. His eyes pulled you in and you were stuck in there, swimming in a pool of honey.

"Out loud," he says and you chuckle, "Fine, Min." The nickname slips out of your tongue naturally and you quickly snap your head towards Minho to see if he noticed.

His eyes are closed, and there is a slight smile on his face, and you can swear that he just repeated the nickname to himself softly.

✹✹✹

You've been so sick these past days, you barely managed to go to class. Your head throbbed with pain and your entire body felt as if someone thoroughly boxed it.

You were grateful that Minho reeled down his teasing because you had no energy to retort back. He may have noticed how sick you felt and truthfully it would be hard not to. You stayed silent throughout the day, and you looked so pale, you avoided looking at the mirror altogether.

Though Minho didn't talk to you, he still silently placed water bottles and some of your favorite snacks on your desk. You'd down the water, grateful for the relief it brought your sore throat. And when you didn't touch the food, he'd immediately text you 'Eat up', followed by a simple 'Please'. Having someone else care for your well-being felt weird, but it warmed your heart beyond what words could describe.

You only came today to pass your Criminal Law mid-term, but your head hurt so badly that you weren't even sure what you wrote on your paper. The words blurred in front of your eyes and you almost slept in the middle of your exam, exhaustion threatening to take over your body.

You fucked up, badly. You haven't screwed up this much in years.

You thought that you were slowly getting better since Minho surpassing you no longer sparked an unworthy feeling within you. But apparently, you were wrong to believe so. Self-doubt crept up within you once again, and the ugly feelings it stirred slowly clawed at your throat, making it hard for you to breathe.

It was one test, and yet it reeled you back ages ago.

Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes as you hurriedly walk out of your class. You make a beeline for the library, figuring that it will be mostly empty by now.

You pull out a chair and sit on it, lowering your head down so no one will see you. Your tears are falling rapidly and you hit your thigh repeatedly. You hated how weak you felt in that instant.

"Yn?", someone calls out and you curse internally. You don't have to look up to see who it is, Minho's voice has become a part of you- you could easily recognize it between a thousand mingling sounds.

You don't want him to see you, especially not like this, weak and vulnerable and on the verge of breaking down. So you quickly slip a pair of sunglasses on your eyes, before raising your head to look at him. "Hm?"

"Are you okay?" he asks, his tone so soft it makes you want to cry ten times fold. You hated it, hated how attentive he was to you. You didn't deserve it.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just here to pick a book," you lie, abruptly standing up and heading toward the rows behind you. You desperately needed to get away from him.

You pause in front of a random shelf and then you feel Minho standing behind you. You grab a random book and he peeks above your shoulder to see it, "Economics? You hate this subject."

"Why are you following me?" you turn around attempting your best to sound mad. When in reality, your heart was brimming with hurt. You wished you could get away from your body and seep into someone's soul to feel what it's like to love yourself.

"You aren't okay," he asserts and you hate it. You hate that he sounds so sure of himself. Was it that noticeable? Were you not fooling anyone?

"I am," your voice is shaking but you are adamant about contradicting him. You couldn't let him see you. What if he runs?

"Then..." he steps forward and you take a step back until your back is against the shelf. His left arm cages your body, but his right one stays by his side. He is leaving you an opening, you realize, an outing in case you feel uncomfortable. Against all odds, you don't.

"Why are you hiding from me?" he asks, gently taking your sunglasses off your face, and placing them on the top of your head.

You don't look up at him, and he hooks his finger underneath your chin, gently raising your head. When your tear-stained eyes meet his, he frowns deeply, "Why are you crying?"

"it's nothing."

"Yn..."

"I fucked up, okay?! That was the worst test I’ve ever given in years." The tears start to flow at your words and you wipe them away aggressively. You despised crying in front of people.

Minho raises his hand to wipe the tears away for you but he quickly retracts it- you probably wouldn't want him to touch your face. It was enough that he had grabbed your wrist a couple of weeks before this. He quickly racks his brain for something to do, because the sight of your tears is making his heart ache in a way he hasn't felt before. It's as if he's feeling your emotions deep within him.

In desperation, Minho pinches your arm and you yelp, startled. "What was that for?" you whisper-shout and he raises his hands in defense, "I didn't know what else to do."

"So, you thought about pinching me?" you chuckle in bewilderment and he scratches the top of his hair sheepishly.

"I mean, it worked. Look, you stopped crying," he points out raising his brows at you proudly and you shake your head at him.

"Remind me to never cry in front of you again."

Minho grins at you before his face turns serious once again. "Look, you are the smartest person I know," he pauses, adding with a cheeky smirk, "After me of course." Which makes you giggle against your will.

"Shut up", you lightly punch his chest and he smiles. "One test doesn't define you. You always work very hard. I wouldn't lie to you."

"Mm," you hum and he frowns at your lack of enthusiasm, but still, he doesn't comment.

"No more crying," he wiggles his finger in front of your face and you roll your eyes, wiping the rest of your tears away. "Fine. Pretend as if this never happened."

"What are you talking about?" he asks as if confused, and you can't help the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. It's as if Minho knows exactly what to say to cheer you up.

"Come with me," he tells you, gently pulling you by the sleeve of your hoodie.

"Where to?"

"I’m craving ice cream."

"And why do you need me?"

"You're craving ice cream too," he says in a matter-of-a-fact tone.

"Only if you're paying," you add with a giggle and he whines loudly, "I feel so so used around you."

True to his words, Minho takes you to the nearest ice cream parlor. It's a 20 minutes walk away and you are grateful for the distance because it helps you clear your head a bit.

Minho lets you pick whatever flavors you want, and when you hesitate between two of them, he tells the cashier to put them both into your cup. This is how you end up with a container of 5 scoops of ice cream. You insisted you'd share, and Minho begrudgingly agreed when you threatened to walk out and leave him.

You then walk to a deserted alley and sit on the sidewalk. You didn't want to be around people right now, and thankfully, Minho understood without you having to say a word.

You munch silently on your ice cream and Minho does the same, the both of you lost in your thoughts. You naturally take turns holding the freezing container, so it wouldn't numb the fingers of one of you.

When you're done, Minho stands up to throw it away in a nearby trashcan before sitting back again next to you.

Suddenly you feel him gently tapping your hand. You look down to find that you've curled your fingers into a tight fist, so much that there are crescent indents visible on your palm now.

"Let's play thumb war," he tells you and you giggle at his words. You never knew what to expect from him.

Still, as your fingers hold each other, and your thumb circles one another, you feel yourself calm down slightly. You play a couple of rounds, and you know he's going easy on you, allowing you to quickly trap his thumb down.

No one has gone to such lengths to cheer you up, and you suddenly feel so grateful for Minho’s presence in your life. You didn't care in what shape he was in, you just needed him to be in it. Which in turn makes you think how bad it'd hurt if he ever leaves.

You don't want Minho to leave. You've gotten so attached to him that the thought of not talking to him again makes your heart race in panic.

Minho notices the change in your expression, suddenly melancholic once again. Your hand has gone limp in his, the thumb war long forgotten by you.

He curses under his breath, before looking at you. "If I dance for you, will you quit being so sad?"

"Dance for me?" you repeat incredulously and he nods, "Yes. I’ll show you an upcoming choreography just... Please smile?"

"Okay," you giggle, plastering a wide grin on your face.

"Not like that you look scary."

"Get to dancing!" you clap excitedly and he rolls his eyes, standing up and looking through his phone for a particular music.

"Oh and no comment!" he looks pointedly at you, and you nod, pretending to zip your mouth and throwing away the key.

'Finesse' by Bruno Mars starts playing and you are left mesmerized by the way Minho dances. It's short but it leaves you yearning to see more. His body moves smoothly, hitting each beat effortlessly. He made it look as if dancing was second nature to him, that it came as easily to him as breathing.

You were speechless, rightfully so. You wished you could build a world where all Minho did was dance.

"That was-" you start when he stops the music but he cuts you off instantly, "I said no comment."

"But--" Minho places his finger on your mouth to silence you, seemingly not thinking too much of it. But the feel of his finger on your lips makes you dizzy. Minho quickly takes off his hand, a blush evidently creeping up his neck.

"Let's just go home," he sighs in defeat and you laugh despite the intense feelings cursing through you.

You don't know if you are imagining it but you swear that your pinkies brush against each other on your walk back. As if there was this magnetic force pulling them together. You wondered what would happen if you just linked your pinky with his. Would he grab you by the hand or will he let go of you entirely?

You were too much of a coward to find out. You were scared of messing up anything with him. So, you'd settle for this. Stolen glances and random outings. You just need him in your life.

"Thank you for today," you tell Minho once you arrive and he shrugs, as what he did wasn't a big deal.

"No, I mean it. Thank you," you repeat, trying your best to convey how sincere you were being. You take in a deep breath, before grabbing his hand and squeezing it, for a fleeting second, before dropping it again.

Minho is sure that your hand will now be imprinted into his, that the lines tracing over your palm will merge with his as one. Your touch was barely there but it had electrocuted him. He wondered to himself if his body would be able to handle more from you. But he'd gladly burn in your fires for the sake of holding you. And he'd wait, unwaveringly, as time stretches alongside the two of you. He'd wait as long as it takes for you.

"Yn, I..." he stammers, taking a step closer to you. His scent engulfs you and you shamefully close your eyes, inhaling it. When you open them again, you find Minho glancing down at your lips. You gulp, dazzled by his proximity.

"You have a mole on your nose," you suddenly speak up and his eyes snap back to yours, an adorable confusion drawn on his features.

"I like that mole," you continue and you wish you could dig yourself a hole and bury yourself in it.

"Thank you," he chuckles and you nod vigorously, "You're welcome."

"Can I ask you something?" he says and your breath hitches in your throat. "Sure."

"You don't like it when people touch you, right?"

"Yeah."

"Can I ask why?"

You want to confide in him, to tell him that it’s because you long for it, you crave it so badly. That this need has woven itself into the very fabric of your being. An ache so raw that it scares you at times. You’ve never known what it feels like to be held- it was uncharted territory to you.

"Isn't everyone scared of the unknown?" you settle on saying, and he nods in understanding. Of course, he understood. No one knows you as well as him.

"It's okay. I just wanted to know if I ever overstepped my boundaries."

"You didn't," you reply instantly.

"Good. You'll tell me if I ever do, right?"

"I will."

"Okay."

"Um. I'll get going," you point behind you and Minho smiles at you, waving you off.

You walk for a few steps before coming back again quickly. You then grab Minho’s hand, gently squeezing it like before, "You are an amazing dancer."

And then you drop it, running back towards your apartment block without waiting for a reply.

Minho stays frozen in his place. You think he's an amazing dancer. And you held his hand for five seconds.

That's four seconds more than the first time.

Progress.

✹✹✹

You haven't gotten out of your house for the past three days.

Everything crashed around you rapidly, it made you realize that the ground you once stood on was only an illusion, elusive and fleeting.

You were doing well; you were getting better. But then Monday came and you went out for a walk in the park near you. As you sat there, you saw a little girl playing on the swings, delightful joy dancing across her features. But then she fell to the ground and you instinctively stood up to help her, only to notice her mother running to her.

The world stilled around you as you clearly saw it- how the little girl clung to her mother's embrace, her embodiment of hope and love. You never had that. You don’t even know what perfume your mother used because she never allowed you to get that close to her.

You stood up abruptly, quickly heading back to your apartment block. As you ran up the stairs, you ended up bumping into one of your neighbors. You were quick to apologize but they ignored you, and the feeling of being invisible came back to haunt you ten times fold.

You knew you shouldn’t have done it, you knew you should have deleted your mother’s number when she sent you away to university without a backward glance, relieved at the thought of you getting a full-ride scholarship and not needing her anymore. But you didn’t, you kept her number in the hopes that she’d call. On your birthday, on holidays, on a random Thursday to tell you that she did remember who you are.

With trembling hands, tears welling in your eyes, you dialed your mother’s number for the first time in a year. You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe she regrets it. Maybe she misses you. Maybe she didn’t find the courage to mend her wrongdoings and that's why she never called.

"Hello?" her voice rang through your apartment. Goosebumps erupted on your arms and your hold on the phone tightened. Her voice took you back to memories you thought you had buried. How you spent countless nights yearning to hear the sound of her voice, how you regretted it once she spoke to attack you.

You hate her. You miss her. You want to hang up. You need to ask if she's doing okay.

“Who is this?” Her voice was devoid of recognition, freezing you in your tracks. You felt as if a bucket of ice was thrown over your head, dousing the flame of hope that flickered in your heart.

She deleted your number.

You quickly hung up, placing your phone down on the table. The tears refused to fall. It was as if your body had long anticipated this outcome, leaving only your wounded soul to bear the pain.

Healing isn't linear, you've read about it in books and heard it in shows and movies. One step back doesn't mean that your entire progress is gone. You know this, you've memorized those sentences. So why do you not believe them? Why does it feel as if you can never be free from the past? Why does it feel as if you’ll always seek something out of her?

Those questions roamed your mind for the past three days, making you too tired at the prospect of lifting your limbs, let alone leaving your apartment. You sent your two friends a text, telling them that you're sick so they wouldn't worry. Not that you believed they would. Nothing made sense to you anymore.

You laid on your bed in utter silence- a tense quiet that was disrupted on the third day by someone knocking on your door. You didn't know who was there; you just hoped that they'd leave you alone.

To your surprise, you open the door to find Minho, some notes in his right hand and a coffee in his left. He sends an easy smile your way. You don't smile back.

"What do you want?" your voice is cold, but Minho doesn't bristle. A cheeky smile settles on his lips as he leans on your doorway.

"You didn't come to class for the past three days, so I brought you the notes. So, you wouldn't think our competition is unfair."

"Competition," you chuckle coldly, heading inside your apartment, and he follows suit. You start to pace around furiously, and Minho looks at you worriedly. "Competition?" you repeat, the word dripping off your tongue like venom. You turn around, marching towards Minho and standing a few inches from him. "You know what? Fuck you and your competition!"

"Yn-"

"Did it ever occur to you that I never wanted a part in this competition? That all I wanted was to be left alone?" you say, growing louder as you jab your finger into his chest repeatedly. "I never wanted any of this! Do you understand? I never wanted to be this way," you shout angrily in his face.

The worried look in Minho’s eyes snaps you out of your haze. You realize that you are being utterly ridiculous lashing out at Minho, when the one person you are mad at is yourself.

Your anger quickly deflates, leaving in its trail an agonizing sadness. It's so sudden that it knocks the breath out of you, and you clutch your chest as if it could soothe the burn in your heart. Suddenly you are twelve years old again, crying in your room because you feel like no one has ever loved you.

But this time you aren't alone. Minho is in front of you, and his eyebrows are so furrowed you want to lean forward to ease the tension between them. His eyebrows, you liked his eyebrows, they were arched, and they framed his eyes nicely, and his eyes are brown and so big, and they always look at you softly and why is it getting so hard to breathe-

"Did I do something to you? Whatever it is I’m sorry," Minho panics, cutting off your frantic train of thought. But now, the weight of guilt adds to your overwhelming emotions. You shouldn't have lashed out at him, he brought you coffee and you yelled at him. Maybe your mom was right after all.

You shake your head left and right furiously, your words coming out in hiccups. Since when did you start crying? "It isn't- it isn't you."

"Then let me help you-", he steps forward, hand outstretched, but you take three hurried steps back and wrap your hands around yourself protectively. "Don’t. Please, don't."

"Why are you pushing me away?" his tone isn't accusatory. You've learned time and time again that Minho wouldn't do anything that made you feel uncomfortable.

"You won't understand."

"Then make me."

"Because I’m afraid!" the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. "I’m afraid if you ever hug me, I wouldn't be able to go back to hugging myself. I'd need you and I can't afford to need someone else."

You regret the words as soon as they fleet away from your mouth. He would look at you differently, he would find you pathetic and then he’d leave. And you wanted him to leave. But you also wanted him to stay. It was all so confusing.

You felt as if your being was torn between two great forces, each one of them trying to win the war raging inside you. You wished someone else would make the decisions in your place, for once.

Minho places the coffee and notes on the ground before approaching you, his palms facing up in a gesture of surrender. "I won't leave you," he says softly. "I’ll be by your side for as long as you'll have me."

"Minho..." your voice catches in your throat as you utter his name- like a broken prayer. He stands before you, his eyes shimmering like the reflection of a river on a sunny day.

"Please, let me make it better."

You nod tentatively and Minho comes even closer to you. He was treating you like one would with a wounded animal, giving you a chance to ultimately back out. But for once, you listen to what your heart has been yearning for. Your bones are aching to be held, to feel the warmth of a body against your own, to feel safe and secure.

Minho embraces you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and bringing you to him. You slowly bring your arms up and lace them around his waist. You are afraid, deathly afraid. His grip is loose, and you almost can't feel him around you, but when you lay your head on his chest, he tightens his hold on you and you instinctively let out a sob.

He's hugging adult you, the woman whose heart was once again broken by her mom. But he's also hugging little you, the girl who was craving affection from everyone around her. In that instant, Minho is hugging every single version of you that ever needed a hug.

You were right to be scared because you don't want to let go, you want to stay in his arms because they feel safe, like a shield protecting you. You can't go back to not hugging Minho.

The sensation is overwhelming and your knees buckle underneath you. But instead of holding you up, Minho falls to the ground with you, as if you are two inseparable pieces of one puzzle. He isn’t here to fix you, he’s here to break down with you and help you pick up the scattered pieces.

You think back to that night in the park when Minho told you about Japanese vases. At this moment, it dawns on you that Minho has found a way to become a part of you. He was the molten gold binding your broken parts together. He was the invisible thread stitching your wounds back together.

Who were you fooling? It was him; it was him all along.

Minho rocks you gently as you cry and cry and cry. His hand finds your hair and he plays with it as you sob. He tells you you'll be okay, you'll feel better and you try to believe him, his words wrap around your bruises like a healing balm.

"There, there, love. You are okay", he murmurs, tenderly patting your head. A fresh set of tears wells up in your eyes. Love.

"I’m sorry. I'm so sorry," you apologize as you pull away from his embrace.

"Why are you apologizing? Is it because you wet my shirt? I don't mind," he reassures you with a smile and you shake your head.

"I was mean to you and you didn’t deserve it," you explain through hiccups.

"It's okay, you weren't mad at me, were you?" he asks, wiping your tears away so gently with his thumbs, careful not to irritate the sensitive skin.

"No. Still, it isn't okay and I’m sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Shh, don't apologize. It's okay." you look at him doubtfully and he rolls his eyes playfully, "Here I’ll even do your silly pinky promise, okay?" he laces his pinky with yours, but then he suddenly leans forward and places a chaste kiss on your thumb pad. "There, sealed forever."

You giggle faintly as a blush dusts your cheeks, "That's not how it works."

"I know."

Your giggle was far different from the ones Minho was accustomed to. It was small, and it didn't brighten up your face like usual. But he was grateful for it nonetheless. He realized how much he missed your laugh, and how all the other sounds in the world pale in comparison to it.

In that moment Minho thinks to himself that he'd do anything to make you smile again. He'd make a fool out of himself if it meant making you happy. He'd settle for a simple tug at the corners of your mouth, anything but the sadness that seemed etched in your face, as if it was blended into the colors that drew you.

You tentatively move around, before laying your head on his lap. Minho's hand instinctively finds your hair and he starts to gently play with it. It feels as if you've done this a million times before, when in fact it was the first.

There was something wildly intimate about laying on the floor with the man who just comforted you. It made you want to spill all your secrets to him, one by one, and have him hug you through them.

"Did you mean it? When you said you'll stay?" you felt so vulnerable in his hold, as if he could twist you whoever he liked. But you trusted him. You trusted yourself with Minho.

"I did. Your walls are always up. It's hard to peek behind them. But I don't want to tear them down. I want you to slowly unbuild them. I want you to do it for yourself."

To do it for yourself, it's hard to even know who you are anymore.

"I want to tell you."

"You don't need to."

"I know, but I want to."

"Okay. Take your time, kitten." he pats your head gently, and you try to sync your breathing to the rhythm of his touch. You were grateful that you were lying on his lap since you couldn't see his face. It made talking feel a little less daunting.

"On my 9th birthday... I was very excited. I'd been on my best behavior that month, trying to please my mom in the hope that, for once, we'd celebrate my birthday. Like a normal little family," you smile sadly, you were so hopeful back then.

"My birthday came, I woke up, excited. My mom was still asleep, nothing out of the ordinary. So, I made my breakfast and walked to my school. I wore my prettiest dress and put on pigtails with hair clips. It was my birthday after all," Minho smiles softly at your words, his hand now resting on your own.

"I got back home and waited for my mom to come back. She remembered my birthday, I thought. And then, she came but she didn't talk to me. So, I thought, oh a surprise party!" you chuckle, but this time the smile on Minho’s face is gone.

"It was then 11 pm, and the hope had slowly died in me. So, in my stupid innocent self, I went to my mom, and asked her "Did you forget my birthday?". And I remember... I remember the way she laughed. Cruelly. Like I had told her the funniest joke in the world. And then. Then she looked me dead in the eye and said 'I hate the fact that you are born. Why would I celebrate that?'"

Minho sucks in a deep breath at your words, and you exhale one right out. It felt comforting, to have someone else stomach the hurt for you. To take the weight off your shoulders, allowing you a few moments to breathe.

"I confronted her about it one day, but she said she doesn't remember saying that. It's funny how it was a random Thursday for her, but for me, it shaped my life." you smile bitterly, "I remember how jealous I was of the way the other kids talked about their mothers. They said the word so lightly. It must have reminded them of sunshine and ice cream and rainbows. But for me, it held an uncharacteristic heaviness to it. I grew to hate the word."

"I drove myself crazy, Min", you whisper and he brings you closer to his body, "was it me or was it her? When did it start? Was it because I was too loud as a child or maybe too quiet? Did I not cater to her fantasies of a kid? I wanted to remember every single thing that happened throughout my childhood, thread through every single memory. I tried to pinpoint the exact moment my mom stopped loving me."

Minho squeezes your hand tightly in his, and you feel as if he was pulling you away from the memory that had long trapped you. You were now watching it unfold from outside of the window, your hand in his, safe from the hurt it had inflicted on you.

"It's not you. It could never be you. Some people are simply not fit to be parents. It's never their kid's fault."

Minho tries his best to keep his touch soothing, to make his voice sound as soft as possible. But he was angry, he was so angry at the world for not taking care of you when you were younger. His heart broke, thinking of 9-year-old you being told such cruel words.

He wanted to turn back time and tell you that you were enough. He wanted to make the pain that seemed so anchored in you float back to the surface, and dissipate like sea foam meeting the shore.

But he couldn't do that. All he could do is comfort present you.

Minho gently pulls you up from his lap, making you sit upright. He crisscrosses his legs and you do the same. Your knees brush against each other and you feel a shiver run down your spine. You didn't know that even knees could emanate such warmth.

"Yn, look at me. The world wouldn't be the same without you in it," he cradles your face between his hands, "You hear me yn? I’m so thankful you exist."

His doe brown eyes are sincere, and it made you want to believe him badly. That's a good start, right?

"I’ll be back," he tells you, letting go of your face and standing up.

You hear Minho rummaging through the kitchen and you take the time to calm yourself down. Sharing those parts of you with Minho felt therapeutic. As if you were healing parts of your inner child. You have never talked about this with anyone before, maybe this is why it still hurt as badly.

Minho comes back five minutes later, his hands behind his back. You raise a brow at him inquisitively and he just smiles secretly at you. "Close your eyes," he tells you and you giggle, doing as he says. He crouches in front of you, and you hear him shuffle in his place for a bit.

Then, "Open your eyes yn," and you find him, in front of you, a cupcake you had stored in your fridge in his hands, and a makeshift candle lit up. "Happy 9th birthday, love. You did well."

You stare at him in utter bewilderment. You couldn't believe your eyes. How could this man be so thoughtful? He was wishing you a belated birthday, to compensate for the 9th birthday you didn't celebrate.

You panic, at the look in his eyes. You've never seen it, never dared to dream of it, of someone caring for you unconditionally. So, you try to scare him, to push him away. You didn't want him to regret knowing you.

"There are things I need you to know um", you chuckle nervously, "When I... When I throw up, I hold my hair, and when I’m sick I nurse myself back to health, and when I have a nightmare I- I hold my hand in the dark. It will be hard for me to hold yours instead."

"We'll start a finger at a time, yeah?"

"It will take time."

"I have time," he speaks easily, as if loving you was effortless and not a strenuous task. You couldn't fathom it.

"You are too busy-", he cuts you off instantly, "Not for you."

"The world doesn't stop because we need it to." Your voice is quiet; this is your very last try. You are tired of fighting. You are putting down your armor and waving a white flag.

"We'll make it stop. Here, the two of us. On this floor. We'll take as long as we need to."

"I never deemed you as an optimist", you smile a little, a hint of teasing in your tone.

"I’m not," he pauses, gazing down at the cupcake between his hands and then at you. "But I feel that we deserve a bit of happiness together, don't we?"

"We do."

"Then make a wish."

You close your eyes for a few seconds, before blowing on the candle.

"What did you wish for?" he asks a fond smile on his face.

The answer came naturally to you, you didn't even need to think about it. "I wished for you."

Minho's lips come crashing down on yours, and you imagine that this is what it feels like to see colors for the first time. To discover a new world beyond the one you've always known.

The kiss isn't urgent nor feverish, it is one of comfort. Your lips spilling the words you have not yet said to each other. "I love you," he kisses you, "I love you too," you kiss him back. "I need you to stay," you swipe your tongue across his bottom lip, "I’m never leaving you," he opens his mouth allowing you entrance.

As you kiss him, you remember a fact you once learned in high school. The human body possesses seven trillion nerves. And for the first time in your life, you feel as if each of these nerves is alive. You feel that even the smallest atom is electrocuted with Minho’s love and it’s all you know within you.

You feel as if the pain, the hurt, and the ache you've been through are slowly unraveled, and in their place, a timid happiness is starting to bloom. You imagine that when Minho’s lips met your own, the seven trillion nerves inside you exhaled in relief 'We've made it', they said, 'we'll finally be okay.'

Epilogue

You've always thought that epilogues were useless. How can you resume the rest of your life in one sentence, boil down the rest of your existence in mere pages? Because life doesn't stop at the epilogue, and a new book can start once again, right where you left it off.

But with Minho, you didn't mind an epilogue. On the contrary, you longed for a soft one. You wanted to rest on this last page, you wanted to lay your worries on the words and tuck them into the syllables. And you wanted to wake up anew.

And this wasn't the end of your story with Minho. A lot happened after it. But it didn't worry you, because epilogues are about the one thing that doesn't change throughout the long march of time. And luckily for you, that constant was Minho’s love for you. From that day he held you, he has never let go.

It took time, for his warmth to seep through your bones. It took time, for your heart to forget the cold. But you wanted to do it. With him. You wanted to love and be loved.

The sound of cats mewling fills your apartment, pudding can always be found in your fridge and you haven't felt invisible in years.

6K notes · View notes

norrussell · 6 months

Text

Silver Springs | Lando Norris⁴

Pairings: Lando Norris x ex!fem!reader

Requested: yes

Warnings: angsty with a hopeful ending

A/N: This is my first request ever and I hope I managed to fulfill the expectations. I took a little liberty and played with the style and format and just listening and studying the song made me want to write it this way. I'm sorry if this isn't what anon had in mind when requesting this so with that make sure to leave as much details as possible when requesting things if you want something specific. Feedback on this would be very much appreciated. 🥺🧡

You’ve found yourself thinking about Lando more regularly as of late. It has been ten months since your break up and you don’t remember feeling like this at the time. You guess you were in a state of denial, trying to convince yourself that the relationship was worth saving despite knowing that it wasn’t.

Of course, in the beginning everything was like a fairy tale. At first it was so wonderful that every ounce of you was convinced that it couldn't possibly get any better. And then, slowly, inevitably, the house of cards collapsed. Maybe that should've been your first clue, but every time you would stick your rose colored glasses further up your nose and focus harder on all those positive aspects of the relationship.

Time spent with Lando was the best time of your life. He always gave you the best he could offer. Taking you out on dates, vacations, accompanying him to races across the world... He truly gave you that only-girl-in-the-world experience. He was always there, present. Until he wasn't.

You knew what you were getting yourself into when you started dating Lando Norris. But there was no way you could've prepared yourself for how it would all end up.

He was a Formula One driver and his life was always going to be busy. The paparazzi, the rumors, the constant pressure of being in the public eye. It all took a toll on your relationship.

But what you didn't anticipate was how much time he would start spending away from you. It started off with a few missed calls and texts, but soon he was gone for days at a time without a word.

You tried to be understanding, knowing how demanding his job was, but it was hard not to feel neglected and unimportant. You tried to talk to him about it, but he always seemed to have an excuse or an apology that would temporarily ease your worry.

As the months went on, you began to realize that the relationship was becoming more and more one-sided. You were always the one making compromises, always the one putting in the effort to make things work.

One night, as Lando was getting ready to leave for yet another race, you finally confronted him about it. You told him how you felt and how you needed more from him. But instead of trying to work things out, he simply brushed you off and left without a second thought.

For the first time, you began to wonder if maybe it was time to let go. Maybe it was time to walk away from a relationship that was causing you more pain than happiness.

It wasn't an easy call. You were still in love with him and a part of you wanted to believed that he loved you too. But you couldn't keep living like that when you knew you deserved more. So, after a lot of tears and internal conflict, you made the decision to end things with him.

He took it calmly. “Maybe it’s for the best. We’re at different stages in life-”

But you weren’t interested in reasoning. You were done.

Few days later as you sat alone in your room thinking about him, you couldn't help but wonder if it could all be different. Maybe if you had just tried harder, fought for the relationship a little more, things could've ended up differently. Maybe you could've been the one he came home to every night, instead of just another girl in his life. But relationships were a two way street and you couldn’t do it just on your own.

Months went by and slowly but surely, you started to heal. You threw yourself into work and hobbies, spending time with friends and family. You had to reduce your social media and tv time, fearing you’d accidentally see something about him, or maybe even search up his name on your own that would ruin all the progress you just made. Mutual friends had to be cut off too. Everything that even had a slightest relation to him had to be eliminated from your life so you wouldn't crumble back into old habits.

Finally, you were ready to try dating again. It felt strange to be putting yourself out there again, going out on dates here and there. And although nothing ever really clicked, it was working to distract and make you forget. Up until now.

He just crept into your thoughts on a random Tuesday. You scoffed, shaking them away. Then little (in)significant things started to happen. Like seeing number 4 everywhere in various combinations. You would turn on the radio and first thing you’d hear would be the song you two proclaimed to be yours one drunk night in a bar.

“Are you kidding me?!” you spat, turning the radio off. It wasn’t even a love song.

Dreams began next and they were so life-like that it was almost as if you had gone back in time. They would be so vivid, reminding you of his touch and sound of his voice. In one of them, you would be back together and he would be holding you in his arms. You’d feel safe and loved, just like you used to. One of those nights you woke up to the sound of his laughter echoing in your ears, but when you turned over it was just you and the void of the bedside he used to fill. Your eyes shifted to a digital clock on the nightstand. In hauntingly bold red it read 04:44 am.

And you really should’ve known better than to turn the tv on on weekends. Not every weekend, you reminded yourself, but really, what were the odds that you would catch him racing that Sunday?

You tried your best to ignore it all. Tried to push Lando back to the farthest corners of your mind. But every time you tried, he came back stronger, like a boomerang you couldn't escape from. It was like he was haunting you, his memory a ghost that refused to be exorcised.

It was frustrating. It was maddening. You didn't want to think about him anymore. You didn't want to care. You didn't want to love him.

When it all became too much, you decided to go for a walk to clear your head. You grabbed your coat and headed out the door, the cold afternoon air hitting you as you stepped outside. As you walked down the street, you realized that you were headed in the direction of the park where you and Lando used to go on picnics and take walks together. There was no point in avoiding going there now. Every part of the town was marked with the two of you in one way or the other.

As you walked through the park, you couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia wash over you. You remembered how happy you used to be with Lando by your side, how the two of you laughed and talked for hours on end. You wondered if he ever thought about those moments, if he ever missed you. If he ever thought about you just in general. Your heart felt heavy as you thought about how things could have been different if only he had been willing to put in more effort into your relationship.

A sudden movement caught your eye and you turned to see a man walking towards you, his eyes locked onto yours. Your heart leaped out of your chest and you found yourself frozen in place. But the man who passed you wasn’t him. He might’ve had his hair or his eyes, but it wasn’t him. You closed your eyes and sighed a sigh of relief.

I’m starting to see things now, you thought to yourself, shaking the image away. You weren’t sure if you were ready for that type of encounter just yet anyway.

After a few minutes, you continued on your way and eventually found yourself in front of a cozy cafe. You looked up at the simple yet inviting storefront and decided this was as good a place as any to take a break. You opened the door and stepped inside, the warm atmosphere immediately embracing you like an old friend.

The cafe was quite busy with customers, but despite the crowd it still had an intimate feel to it. The smell of fresh coffee accompanied by the sound of jazz music created a relaxed atmosphere that made you forget all about your worries for a while. You walked up to the counter and ordered a cup of your favorite coffee blend before sitting down at one of the tables in the far corner.

He had thought about you a lot that summer. It wasn't just the memory of you that lingered in his mind; it was the way you made him feel. He missed the way your hand fit perfectly in his, and the sound of your laughter that could light up a room. He missed the long conversations you used to have over the phone when he was away, and the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about something you were passionate about.

He had missed you, more than he was willing to admit to himself. He had tried to ignore his feelings, to push them down and pretend that he was perfectly okay without you. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the memories of your time together.

Sometimes the air would smell like your hair, the wind would caress his cheeks like you used to. He remembered the picnics in the park, the late night conversations, the lazy Sunday mornings spent cuddled up in bed on his weekends off before he would have to pack for another race week. He remembered how happy he used to be with you by his side, and he cursed himself for not realizing how much he needed you until it was too late.

Being without you on tracks was the worst. He didn’t know it would be like that when he had you calling before and after every session, giving him a false sense of security. He was racing for himself, building his career, but he couldn't focus on anything else. The roar of the engines and the adrenaline rush of it all losing their appeal without you there to share it with him. He had to force himself to keep going, to keep racing, but every achievement felt hollow without you to celebrate with him.

But he never reached out to you. He never tried to make things right, even when he knew he was wrong. He was too prideful, too scared of rejection, too afraid of admitting that he had made a mistake. So he stayed away, hoping that time and distance would heal the wounds.

It was late autumn now and after yet another decent weekend, he decided to fly home for his week off and recharge. Maybe time spent with family and friends would help and stop you from creeping in his thoughts.

As he settled into his seat on the plane, he couldn't help but feel a sense of emptiness. His career progressed drastically since your split, but what did it matter? He only had himself to share his success with.

The flight was uneventful, and before he knew it, he was back in his hometown. He stepped off the plane and was greeted by the familiar faces of his family. Their hugs and laughter made him realize he was making yet another mistake. He missed you more than ever, and being home without you will only make it worse.

Lando tried to keep busy by spending time with his loved ones and focusing on his training. But it was like trying to hold back the tide with a broom, he couldn't escape the memories of you. The sound of your voice, the touch of your hand, the warmth of your embrace. It was all too vivid in his mind, haunting him day and night.

When he couldn’t take it anymore, he drove out in his car, desperate to find a way to move on. He had no destination in mind, and maybe driving to clear his head wasn’t ideal, but it was the only other thing he loved that he had left. And it was like universe was having a laugh at him, when he turned on the radio it was your song that was playing. He thought of changing the station, but his fingers lingered too long in the air over the button that he ended up listening to the whole thing.

As the last notes of the song faded away, Lando let out a heavy sigh and pulled over to the side of the road. He found himself parked in front of a cozy cafe that he had never noticed before. It looked warm and inviting, the smell of coffee wafting out to greet him. He found himself drawn to it, like a moth to a flame.

Without much thought, he opened the door and stepped inside. The sound of jazz music greeted him, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of calm wash over him as he took in the warm atmosphere. He walked up to the counter and ordered a cup of coffee before finding a seat at one of the tables.

Looking around, he spotted you purely accidentally, sipping coffee and reading a book. His heart skipped a beat as he watched you sit alone in the far corner. You looked beautiful, just as he remembered, with your hair falling in loose waves around your face. He couldn't believe it was you. The one person he had been thinking about for months was sitting just a few tables away from him.

He couldn't take his eyes off you, his heart racing with emotions he thought he had buried deep within. He tried to catch your eye, but you didn't look up from the book. He felt his heart sink as he realized that you didn't even know he was there.

Lando hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Part of him wanted to approach you and try to start a conversation, while the other part of him couldn't bear the thought of seeing you again after all this time. He had hurt you deeply, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to face the consequences of his actions.

But as he sat there, lost in thought, he suddenly realized that he couldn't just sit idly by and watch you from a distance. He had to do something, even if it meant facing his fears head-on. It was now or never.

He got up from his seat and slowly walked over to your table, his heart beating faster with every step. You finally looked up from your book as he approached, your eyes widening in surprise as you saw who was standing in front of you.

“What are you doing here?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. Quickly you made a mental check on what day it was. Early Friday evening.

Lando sighed, nerves getting the best of him as he stood before you. “I’m… I came home for my week off.” he said, his voice sounding small and unsure.

“You have a week off,” you weren’t sure if you were asking him, accusing him, laughing at your own stupidity or a secret fourth thing.

He shifted awkwardly on his feet, his eyes unable to meet yours. “You’re saying it like it’s a crime,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I just didn’t expect to see you here on a weekend.” you defended, realizing you were setting yourself for a trap. Not every weekend.

“Were you hoping I was out of the country?” he asked, his tone laced with sarcasm. He knew he was being defensive, but he couldn't help it. Being around you made him feel vulnerable, exposed.

Lando's question hung heavily in the air, his eyes still fixed on you. You felt a pang of guilt, knowing full well that you had been hoping to avoid him for a little while longer. But now that he was standing in front of you, you couldn't deny the pull you still felt towards him.

"I don't know what I was hoping for," you admitted, your eyes finally meeting his. "I just know I didn't expect to see you here."

"Neither did I," he said softly, taking a step closer to you. "But now that I am, can we talk?"

You looked at him for a moment, taking in the sight of him. He looked good, but different somehow. He seemed more vulnerable, more open than you remembered. It made your heart ache for him, but you tried to push the feeling away.

"Okay," you said, nodding your head. "Let's talk."

Lando let out a sigh of relief, his tense shoulders relaxing as he took a seat opposite of you.

“So, how have you been?” he asked, shuffling his feet slightly.

“I’ve been okay,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just trying to keep busy.”

There was a moment of awkward silence between you as you both tried to gather your thoughts. You couldn't help but notice how much he had changed since the last time you saw him. His hair was shorter, and he looked like he had put on some muscle. But it was his eyes that caught your attention the most. They looked tired and distant, like he had been carrying a heavy burden for a long time.

“How are-How are things with you?” you choked out.

Lando let out a small laugh, but it sounded hollow to your ears. "Things have been good, I guess," he said, his eyes flickering towards yours for a moment before darting away. "Work has been keeping me busy."

You nodded, not sure what to say. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the thought of him thriving without you. It didn't seem fair that he could move on so easily while you were still struggling in a way.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence. "For everything. For how I treated you, for how I acted. I was a fool, and I should have never let you go."

“It’s okay-”

“It’s not.” he cut you off harshly. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve set my priorities straight.”

“But you did.” you smiled to hide the pain as you said that, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

“I was wrong. I was so wrong.” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lando could see the confusion and hurt written all over your face, and he knew that he had a lot to answer for. He took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts before he spoke again.

“I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry.” he said. “I should have fought for you, instead of letting my pride get in the way. I missed you more than I could ever say, and being away from you only made me realize how much I need you in my life.”

You looked at him skeptically, unsure if you could believe him after all the pain he had caused you. But as you looked into his eyes, you could see the sincerity and regret that shone through.

“I don't know if you're ready to forgive me, and I don't expect you to right away,” he continued. “But I had to come and tell you how I feel and to try to make things right. If you’ll let me.”

He looked down as he finished his speech. You sat a few moments in silence, letting it all sink in before leaning over and reaching for his hand.

As soon as your fingers interlocked with his, you felt a jolt of electricity run through your body. It had been so long since you had touched him, and it felt like coming home.

“Lando,” you called, wanting him to look at you. You only continued when he did. “I already forgave you. But as for the rest… I will need some time.” you said softly, not wanting to give him false hope. “But I appreciate your apology.”

"I understand," he said, squeezing your hand gently. "I'll give you all the time you need. Just know that I'm here whenever you're ready."

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. It wasn't a complete resolution, but it was a start. You sat in silence for a few more minutes, just holding each other's hands, before you finally pulled away.

"I should get going," you said, grabbing your book and standing up.

“Let me drive you home.” Lando said, standing up as well.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you were ready to spend more time alone with him. But as you looked into his earnest and apologetic gaze, you couldn't help but nod in agreement.

"Okay," you said, a small smile creeping onto your face. "Let's go."

Lando walked you to his car, opening the door for you and then walking around to the driver's side. As he started the engine, you couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia wash over you. This was the same car he had driven you around in when you were together, and it felt strange to be sitting in it again.

The ride was mostly silent, with both of you lost in your own thoughts. But as you pulled up in front of your apartment building, Lando turned to you with a serious expression on his face.

"I know I have a lot to make up for," he said, his voice low and intense. “But I promise you, I'll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I'm serious about this. I want us to be together again, if you'll have me."

You took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of emotions swirling inside you. It was true that you still had feelings for Lando, but you weren't sure if it was enough to give him another chance. You needed time to think, to process everything that had happened between you two.

"I appreciate your sincerity, Lando," you said finally, meeting his gaze. "But I need some time alone to figure things out. Can you give me that?"

"Of course," he said, nodding his head. "I'll respect your wishes. Just let me know if you need anything, okay?"

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief and gratitude towards him. Despite everything that had happened between you two, he still cared about your well-being. It was a comforting thought, and it made you realize that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for the two of you.

"Thank you, Lando," you said, giving him a small smile. "I'll talk to you soon."

With that, you got out of the car and walked towards your building, feeling a strange mixture of emotions. Part of you was relieved to have some space to think, while another part of you was still hopeful for a future with Lando.

As you walked up the stairs to your apartment, you couldn't help but wonder what the future held. Would you be able to start anew, or would you remain apart forever? Only time would tell, but for now, all you could do was take things one day at a time.

459 notes · View notes

rennsugrpop · 10 months

Text

i never, never want to go home

MINGI X READER

Summary: he was there one second, then he wasn’t. he was sweet like caramel coffee on cold nights but the next time you see him, he was the cold night, freezing and unforgiving. was he serious about you? or were you just another college fling?

Bags. Boxes. packaging tape. flight tickets.

Bags. what’s for dinner? packaging tape. Bubble wraps.

Boxes. I think I need more boxes.

One more exam then i finish college and go back home next week.

One more paper…. Then boxes, bags, packaging tape…

That’s all you could think about all month. Brain fogged up with worries and responsibilities, anxiety and melancholy at the same time. Your three years worth of university life is going to be over soon. You can’t wait. Can’t wait to finish this degree and start a new chapter. but of course there’s the part of melancholy. The part where you think you’re going to miss this so much. The amazing friends, the parties, the fun, the drama, the late night adventures, the unlimited booze on weekends, all of it. This was the big city experience you always wanted. This was the unreachable sky you once dreamed of as a kid from a small town. “oh I’ll definitely find my first love in college and I’d marry him! You’ll see!” you were 8 back then. Childhood was so precious. You crave for the youth they show on the TV having you wish for the same, until it actually comes and passes by in a blink. But you don’t have time to think about that. You still have one exams left. Finals, sadness, and moving out, these thoughts were practically plaguing your brain.

And then there was him.

He was there one second, then he wasn’t. he was sweet like caramel coffee on cold nights but the next time you see him, he was the cold night, freezing and unforgiving. As hard as it was to understand him, he was never as hard on you as he was on others. No really, when you had first met him along with a group of art major students in the middle of your second year, he had seemed pretty chill. They all had a English history class with your professor who had been your course supervisor. You still remember how your supervisor had asked you to “please help these art kids out with the history” as she promised you help with your research paper in return, how could you say no? as a literature student, basic English history was easy for you, of course you go ahead with it. and you were later glad that you did. Because since that day, you had never once been separated from this group of art students who knew exactly how to live life. they had adopted you basically, and you had loved every second of it. Wooyoung was the one with the sudden late night plans, San being the one who made these plans legal and safe. Seonghwa always got the booze, Hongjoong always brought at least 3 orders of coffee to class, Yunho was the designated one with a car and daddy’s money. Jongho and Yeosang were the ones who joined only when they needed free booze, or a fun time at the end of every semester.

And then there was him. Song Mingi.

He had been the one who knew Yunho the longest. So for you to have been good friends with Yunho only meant he would always be around. And he was. Whether it’s the tutoring, the parties, the usual hangouts at the philosophy building’s terrace, coffee runs. As far back as you try to think about your time with all of them, he had been in even the farthest memories. When San first suggested you should hangout with them, he had agreed with everyone. When Wooyoung invited you to the party at his and San’s place he had been the one who offered to pick you up along with Yunho. When you had to do a grocery run at 9pm and you were worried the shops would be closed, he had been the one to tag along so you wouldn’t be alone. So when you had been stuck alone at the library studying for mid semesters while it was raining heavily outside, you pretended not to care about the loud thundering that came with it. Every flash of thunder had you nearing to tears, but you denied to show it. what’s worse is that you had left your earphones with Yunho the other day, so ignoring the loud sounds was your only way out. Out of all the things you had expected to happen, a mingi struggling with an almost broken umbrella at the library door was not one. He had acted like he just happened to need a book this late from the library. And he just happened to bring his headphones with him.

“but it’s raining so hard. No way they’re waterproof?”

“maybe they are? You wanna check if they’re still working?”

At that moment, he had looked so dreamy. Short wet dirty blond hair sticking up as he runs his hand through it in hopes of fixing it, half wet jacket that he took off and placed on the back of his chair to let it dry, now leaving him in a black tee, looking down at you with the softest eyes, holding up the headphones.

Another loud flash.

You body jerked at the sound and he had immediately grabbed your hand. You hate thunder. You hate it so much. you’re holding onto something. Oh shit it’s mingi. But he doesn’t seem to mind? He’s now making you wear the headphones, plugging them to his own phone. The Smiths started playing. He’s a Smiths fan? Your brain is now fogging up with thoughts of him and only him, the man in front of you giving you the softest smile you’ve ever seen.

As the rain slows down and eventually turns to a low drizzle, you two decide to share the umbrella as he drops you off to your building.

“mingi, what about the book you needed at the library?” it had completely slipped your mind that his real motive to be there was this book he said he needed. “oh don’t worry, I’ll get it later” he still has that stupid smile.

“but you said-“ “do me a favor y/n, keep the headphones with you in case it rains again tonight.”

Oh he looks so beautiful. This moment. This exact moment when you look up at him, he feels safer than a warm blanket. But wait, how does he know that. You may have stared at him for a good minute cause as soon as you open your mouth to ask what he meant, he hits you with the “I’ll see you later, yeah?” and jogs off.

One new message

Yunho: shit I just found your earphones in my bag.

Yunho: U alright? It rained pretty bad..

The next day as Yunho walks up to you right before to return your earphones, he stares at the headphones on your neck.

“hey where’d you get those from? Mingi has the same pair! That’s weird because I saw him run off outside with them last night in the rain and he didn’t even tell me where he’s going…..” he tilts his head now as if he’s arranging all this info in his brain because the pieces aren’t fitting together.

“oh yeah he came to the library last night for something, let me borrow them. Dude where’d he get em from cause it’s noise cancelling, I need a pair hello??”

You joke around but Yunho has a full question mark on his face. Then it looks like a light bulb went off over his head.

“SO THAT’S WHY HE RAN OFF LAST NIGHT!”

“what?”

“y/n. hear me out. When it started thundering, I remember myself saying, “oh it’s pretty bad today. Hope y/n will be fine” he asked me what I meant by that and I mentioned you not liking thunder and it looked like his brain went static for 2 seconds and then he immediately bolted with an umbrella and these headphones in his hands.”

He ran in the rain for you.

It hadn’t even occurred to you yet. He had ran in the rain for you all the way to the library.

You had thought it would be awkward now. But it wasn’t. because he never implied anything. You had returned his headphones and you went back to being friends. But he was always extra attentive of you. a little more noticing, little more caring that he is to others. And by the end of the year he would be the one you hung out with the most. Now it was you and mingi who were the pair. If they looked for mingi they knew they had to call you. if you’re invited at a party, of course mingi’s the one picking you up. he’s doing a coffee run? you’re right behind him. Though as friendly and platonic as it seemed, it was never just that. There had always been something more. Him holding your hand while walking you back to your place. Laying your head on his shoulder during your movie marathons with everyone, wearing each others clothes to classes or outside without a care in the world because it doesn’t matter who thinks what. You didn’t care. He was just always …. there. Unmoving. unwavering. It was just around halfway through the last (third) year where you had wanted a little more.

You had been acting like a couple, in public and in private. You had been sitting on his lap at parties, holding hands in campus, if anyone had dared to ask mingi the dreaded question, “are you guys dating?”, you could feel him grow cold again. He never said anything. He would just give them a smile that would make them run off like little kids. He never said anything.

So when you were cuddling on the couch while watching a random Netflix show, you had looked up at him, memorizing his face, his features, everything because you know in six more months, you might never see him again. He had noticed you staring.

“I can hear you thinking y/n”

“no I’m not. I’m just looking”

“you’re staring”

“okay and what if I am?”

He now stares right back at you. you don’t even move. You could see some sort of restraint in his eyes. Like he was trying to hold back. But he can’t anymore. Fuck it, it’s been long enough.

He dived right in and took your lips by surprise. It was soft at first. Testing the waters, going as slow as possible. And it was so so sweet. And passionate. His hand holding the back of your neck and other hand gripping your waist. Your own fingers playing with his hair. You had wanted this for so long you don’t even pause for air. And because you wanted him like this for so long, you don’t stop.

Things didn’t change much. you were now a couple but you were never the type to say much of your relationship. He was so on and off, cold and hot at times it confused you. but it didn’t affect you all that much. he had always been like that. He will be the sweetest boyfriend for a week, helping you cook, posting pictures of you on his social media, holding your hand in his pocket when its cold outside. But he will also disappear the next week, only texting you to tell you where he is so you don’t worry. He had always been like this. caring but cold. Distant but so close. He never opened up, never said anything sweet, no ‘I love you’s, or “hey you look beautiful today”. He would just smile so wide and give you a kiss so you would know exactly what he meant. He was in no ways a terrible boyfriend. You just wished he would talk to you more. Like “hey I love you. what are your plans after the year ends” or “hey I love you, please stay in the city for me” or even “hey, if you’re wondering, I won’t leave you after university ends”. What you had was enough for you now, but you wished for him to be with you in the future too. Would you be too clingy if you asked? Is this relationship just something casual? It won’t be that big of a deal if we break up before I leave right? hell, does he even know I’ll have to leave? You were gonna have to go back to your hometown with all of your things. Before you could start looking for a job, your family needed you back for a few months. You weren’t even sure where you would go next, but before that, you will have to go home. And you’re not even sure if he knows that.

You had accepted that he did like you enough to be around you all the time. You knew he was not fooling around, he was only yours. You knew his friends from the art department knew you as ‘his girl’. You knew and everyone knew too. So you didn’t ask for more. So now as you were running around trying to find a pair of jeans and a shirt to run to the campus for your last final, it had been 2 weeks since he had spoken to you properly. It had always been like that during exams. He would go completely MIA to study and rarely ever meet or speak to you. you didn’t mind it as you needed your time and space too. He would still text you good morning and good night and the usual “did you eat?” or “eat well ok”. It was only that this time that you wanted him here with you. you would be leaving next week and he doesn’t even know the amount of things you have to do and arrange all by yourself. You had been panicking all week with the packing foam, bubble wraps, moving boxes, trolley bags, along with managing to study for finals altogether. You had felt like crying. You had been so okay with everything but you wanted him to be serious now. Why wasn’t he serious about you? you really need him right now. You don’t even know if he would just break up with you when you leave. You had mentioned having to go visit your parents after finals but does he not realize what that meant? All the reaction you got from him was just a nod. You were still in denial, still trying your best to not think about it and just giving your last exam. So you rushed to the venue as fast as you could and didn’t bother asking if your friends or even mingi had reached yet. You just went to your assigned room exactly as the bell rang and after 3 long hours, it was over. Finals were over. Your university life was finally over. As much as you wanted to be relieved, you could feel tears threatening to spill. You had been so frustrated the whole week it was insane, so as you walked out of your classroom you find mingi waiting for you right outside.

Don’t cry y/n

Don’t cry

You can’t cry. Not right now. Not in front of the entire campus.

“how did it go?” he asked.

“pretty good. And yours?”

“same as you.”

That same beautiful smile, his fingers slowly intertwining with yours, and him guiding you outside as if you were now entranced by him, not even being able to think for yourself, let alone walk. You soon realize he’s taking you to the philosophy building’s terrace, the usual hangout spot. Everyone’s there. Hongjoong and Wooyoung with cigarettes in their hand, the others just chatting. They greet you warmly, ask you how did the exams go, the conversation was smooth. But mingi was not beside you. as soon as he brought you through the terrace door he went off the smoke with Wooyoung and hasn’t even looked at you since. Seonghwa now asks you about your plans while he and Yunho sit around you. you say how you’ll have to be back home for a few months and that nothing’s really decided yet after that. You mention your flight being next week and Yunho immediately asks, “does he know?”.

You fall silent for a second. You know what he means. He means that mingi can be distant and off the grid and he can be painfully cold at times, but he does love you. he does care for you. he always has. So Yunho means to say that his best friend could be an absolute dumbass but he deserves to know. You say how you haven’t really talked to him about it. he knows about you moving out, and he knows about all the stress from it. but he never reacted. You doubt he knows your flight is next week but you know he won’t be surprised to know.

You say you’re going to head back because you had some errands to run and mingi doesn’t say anything, again. He just nods. Okay maybe it is casual for him. again, you ignore it. you leave. You walk down the stairs. You’re just about reach the bottom floor as a notification sound breaks your attention.

One new message

WOOYOUNG’S BITCHES:

Mingi: 10 cardboard boxes. 4 rolls of packaging tape, 10m bubble wrap roll, Thursday 4pm train for sending luggage, Sunday 11am flight. NOBODY be late. Jongho and yeosang will help with the furniture btw. Some 5m rope as well. Who’s bringing dinner?

San: ME ME ME

Mingi: done. y/n’s place. Just us, bring booze.

Hwa: ay ay captain

He knows everything. He planned everything. You wanted to hit him in the head for being like this, but now you’re just smiling like an idiot. He does love me. he’s such an idiot. There’s footsteps from the staircase and then there’s a 6 foot man crashing onto you from behind, hugging you tight.

(first person pov)

Turning around I crash into him, I crash into him like I had never before. I hold him tight and sob into his shirt, hard. He’s holding me tight, stroking my hair gently. I feel him kiss the top of my head before I look up to him. “why didn’t you speak to me properly?”

“I’m so sorry baby”

“I’m leaving, mingi”

“don’t leave.”

“……”

“please don’t leave. Or do leave but come back to me. I do love you. I’m aware I don’t show it like others do. Why do you think I’m not serious about you? I’m consumed 80% by you and everything about you. I know your flight details. i know the grocery items on your list, I know it when your favourite moisturizer runs out. I know the perfume you wear, yes all three of them. I know when your wifi goes out and I know all of your period cravings. You say I don’t communicate, but why do you never ask?”

“…..”

“because you’re scared of love. But y/n I love you and I’m not scared to show it. no matter where you go I’ll still love you. I’ll run to you baby. If I can’t run, I’ll walk. If I can’t walk, I’ll crawl. But I’ll always make it back to you. that’s why I don’t care that you’re leaving for a few months. Because it’s either you coming back to this city or I go wherever you go. It’s simple.”

I’ve never been this silent. He’s never spoken so much. I feel the burn on my chest like someone’s ripping my heart out. I’m so in love with this man and it never hit me as hard as it does now. He’s still holding me, arms around my back and waist. He waits for an answer. I think he knows I was fully prepared for a breakup today. I don’t know if he hurt me or I hurt him anymore. But what I do know, is that I’m not going anywhere. Or that I’ll go but I’ll come back to him.

“you never said you love me before”

“is it too late?”

“it’s not, mingi”

It’s not too late. It’s perfect timing.

551 notes · View notes

eoieopda · 10 months

Text

meet me at the bar (ksj)

You're supposed to be staring down the barrel of the last — and most important — examination of your life, but you only have eyes for your study buddy.

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x AFAB!Reader Type: One Shot | Fluff w/ Smut | 18+ — Minors DNI Word Count: 7.5k AU: Law school, study-buddies, best friends to lovers, highly educated idiots in love CW: Bad jokes, Latin, fingering (v), unprotected sex (p in v), Seokjinnie hits it from the back. A/N: My inaugural Seokjin smut is dedicated to my donsaeng-in-law (see what I did there?) @yoongiphoria, who is now embarking on this stupid, stupid gatekeeping journey IRL. Best of luck, my lil love. I'll be waiting for you on the other side of the war! MJ FIGHTING ~ Big ups to my other lil love, M, for beta reading 💕 I posted an epilogue drabble on 7/26/23. Also: This is written based on my experience in the American legal (educational) system. I was, frankly, too lazy to study up on South Korean law for a fanfic, lol. ⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ minors will be blocked, on sight. my content is not for you. i do not want to interact with you. please respect my boundaries.

You are not spiraling.

You are a paragon of health and wellness, you tell yourself as you gulp down a mug of coffee that is still far too hot, like you’ll die without it.

More bitter than the taste on your tongue is the realization that you might die with it — your third cup in fewer hours. As far as you can tell, though, it’s a win-win situation: You’ll either generate enough anxious energy to finalize your property law flashcards, or you’ll drop dead before you have to review them.

And you won’t have to take that exam…

And you won’t have to pay off your student debt…

Besides, you figure, the stomach ulcer you’re likely inflicting on yourself will be infinitely less painful than dragging your under-caffeinated corpse through yet another day of studying. Another eight, consecutive hours spent forcing forgotten subjects back into your maxed-out brain.

It’s worth it, you repeat to yourself, though this gauntlet has turned out to be a full-time job that steals, rather than pays. You can faint on top of the finish line, so long as some part of you crosses it.

You should be used to it by now, running a marathon at a dead sprint. That’s all you’ve ever done — push yourself. You attended your first day of preschool and never stopped, never took a breath. Through elementary, middle, and high school; then for four years of university. Going, going, going.

Stumbling through that eighteenth lap around the track, you kept going because — well, being a student was all you’d ever been. That’s your toxic trait, you’ve since discovered. Your concept of self is rooted exclusively within the context of a classroom.

You didn’t know it at the time, but your decision to take the Law School Admission Test — or the HellSAT, as you’ve come to call it — might have been the start of a quarter-life crisis. But you didn’t stop there. No, you took that score and ran with it. Slapped it onto every application as a desperate plea for acceptance.

When you received your admission letter, you were a bright-eyed twenty-two-year-old with a bachelor’s degree and a vaguely defined dream.

Call it naïveté or call it gravitas, there wasn’t a doubt in your smooth little brain that law school was the logical next step to take. That being intelligent and hard-working made you well-equipped for the challenge that came with pursuing a Juris Doctor. After all, you’d spent nineteen years delaying gratification — what difference would three more make?

Within the first hour of your orientation, you — a professional student — had already learned something new: You were a masochist and, frankly, somewhat of an idiot.

Thankfully, you weren’t alone.

Sitting — dissociating, more like — at a nearby table was a lanky boy you’d first noticed on your tour of the law building. His glassy-eyed stare was aimed somewhere in the middle-distance, and even though his slightly agape mouth said nothing, it communicated everything. He was the only other person in that atrium who looked the way you felt: scared shitless and riddled with buyer’s remorse. A can crushed under the boot of self-doubt.

It was the first time you and your wobbly knees went running in his direction, but it wouldn’t be the last.

He was so deep in a daze at that moment that he didn’t notice the way you threw yourself into the open chair next to him, didn’t look up at the scrape of wooden legs against the granite floor beneath them. He nearly jumped out of his skin when you announced your presence with words, however.

It was less of an introduction — the way people in a society tend to greet each other for the first time, ever — and more of a twister. Words whipped through the air at a dangerously high velocity, no syllable ending before you started on the next. Just one breath, a few consonants, and a pair of dark eyebrows shooting up to cower behind his bangs.

“Was — was that Korean?” He asked when you finally ran out of wind.

Judging by the way his wide eyes softened, you knew he wasn’t making fun of you. You’d simply scrambled his brain so thoroughly that you’d transcended the known limits of language.

More of a question than an answer, you peeped, “I think so. Maybe?” You wavered with a sigh. “I’m no longer confident that I know any of the things I thought I knew, though. So, um, don’t quote me on that.”

“You’re giving me too much credit. I didn’t catch enough of whatever that was —” He gestured vaguely. “— To even attempt to quote you.”

Within seconds and without knowing, he’d disarmed the bomb ticking away in your gut. He must’ve sensed it, too, because his face lit up so completely that you had to look away. One glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows confirmed that the sun hadn’t reappeared at that time of night.

That rush of warmth you felt then — that absolutely insane brightness — was powered exclusively by the grin taking up the entirety of his face. If that megawatt smile alone hadn’t rerouted your oncoming anxiety attack, the distinct, squeaking laugh that erupted out of his chest would’ve done the job.

You doubled over, either under the weight of your own giggling or with the relief you felt in finding someone equally lost. Eyes swimming with mirth, you wiped wetness from your cheekbone and snorted. “Was that a windshield wiper?”

“No, that was embarrassing.”

The tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks went some dizzy shade of pink.

He rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck with one hand and held the other out to shake yours.

“And I’m Kim Seokjin.”

Now, when the door of your apartment flies open without warning, it’s that same savior standing on your threshold. That designation may be melodramatic, but if that brown paper bag contains what you suspect it does, it’s deserved.

Seokjin, patron saint of breakfast sandwiches, flops down on the couch that stretches along the opposite side of your coffee table. From where you sit on the floor — hunched over your notes like a hobgoblin — you reach out your expectant arms and make grabby hands in the space between you.

You see mischief flash in his eyes, but only for a second. In the next, he’s pretending like he doesn’t see you; doesn’t hear your petulant little whines. He extends long legs out over the cushions, clutches the bag to his chest, and lets his head roll back to rest on the couch’s arm.

“Wanna know what I did today instead of practice essays?” He asks, eyes unfocused on the ceiling above.

All you actually want is whatever that smell is. You can’t stop staring at the bag of food in his hands. If you try hard enough, maybe you can summon some sort of psychic energy, make it levitate towards you.

He doesn’t wait for your response. “The math.”

“Huh?”

You frown; and as you do, you reluctantly shift your gaze from Seokjin’s hands to his face. He isn’t looking your way, but you can tell he’s grimacing based solely on the way his jaw twitches. It’s a miracle he hasn’t ground his teeth to dust over the past three years, given how often he makes that face.

In an attempt to ease the tension in his posture, you tease, “Didn’t we go to law school because we can’t do math?”

He cracks an unwilling smile. A tiny one, but a smile nonetheless. Without turning his head, he extends his arm out in your direction. In the split second it takes for yours to spring forward like a snake, that blessed bag dangles; the scent of sausage, egg, and cheese wafts through the air and restores your will to live. Clutching your prize, halfway to feral, you tear into it without hesitation.

As you bite off more than you can chew, Seokjin prepares his rant with a sigh, “So, consider this.”

“Mmphf,” you advise through a mouthful of greasy bliss.

“Bar exam prep takes eight weeks, right? If we’re only counting business days, that’s forty — forty days, for a minimum of eight hours each.”

He becomes more restless, the more he talks. Heated, he sits bolt upright and turns wild-eyed to you.

Oh, he’s gone full-tilt insane.

“Three-hundred-and-twenty hours, then. And if you think about that in terms of our clerk wages —” He slaps his hands down on his thighs for emphasis. “— at 2,625 won per hour —”

Then, he points to you, as if the increasing volume of his voice wasn’t already holding you hostage.

“— we’ve sacrificed nearly two million won in income, just by studying for this fucking test.”

You swallow down the last bite of your sandwich, which you downright hoovered while Seokjin took the path of most resistance. After clearing your throat, your interjection overlaps with his next point:

“Seokjinnie, why didn’t you just double our monthly —”

“That’s after we paid ninety million in tuition, hundreds of thousands on study materials and registration fees —”

You cut him off. “Is this your way of asking me to Venmo you for breakfast?”

He freezes, caught fully off-guard. Shocked eyes widen like you’re the ridiculous one. “Of course not!”

He waves you off like his thoughtful gesture is no big deal. Then, like he’s tired himself out, he sinks back onto your couch. From his back, he grumbles with crossed arms, “‘M just sayin’ that I’m tired of this shit.”

You can’t help but giggle at the pathetic pout working down the corners of his mouth. “Felt,” you agree, though it feels a little bit like a lie.

Truth be told, you feel more awake now than you did ten minutes ago, and you can’t attribute it to the coffee — not when the evidence so clearly indicates otherwise.

Over the course of three years, you’ve built up quite the case against yourself. You’ve made the following findings of fact:

Whenever he pops up, Seokjin brings your mood up with him. Even now, as he marinates in anguish on your couch, his presence gives you a reason not to beat yourself unconscious with the four-kilogram prep book that sits beside you on the rug. Makes you hate your circumstances a little less, if only because you share them with him.

And, for a rapidly deflating balloon, you have to concede that Seokjin looks stunning this morning.

Unlike you and your day-three hair, he somehow had the energy to wash his. The mid-sections of some strands are still damp; the parts that aren’t frame his face in fluffy waves. His shampoo is something fruity mixed with something crisp — grapefruit and mint, maybe? — and it floods your senses, causing question marks to replace any coherent thoughts you might otherwise have. You’d be lying again if you said you didn’t want to find out for sure how soft those tresses really are.

The verdict?

Well, the jury’s still out, but you know you’re guilty.

If being down this bad for your best friend isn’t a criminal offense, it should be.

You shake your head to clear it. To smother the flame licking up the inside of your belly, you grab the certified mood killer off the coffee table and hold it up in front of you. Surely, the cure for a sexual tension headache is an eight-centimeter stack of color-coded, neon index cards covered in information you shouldn’t need to memorize in the first place.

“Exam’s in one week,” you say with a shiver.

Seokjin rolls onto his side to look forlornly at you. You are not looking at his bare hip bone, which appears where the hem of his shirt shifts from the waistband of his joggers. Nope.

You continue the search for the point you’re trying to make. “I can barely spell mortgage, let alone explain what the fuck to do with one.”

“Don’t think I know what land even is at this point,” he sighs. Dejected, he lets his arm go limp. It spills off the edge of the cushion and dangles until his knuckles brush against the rug. “What is this property you speak of?”

Biting back a grin is impossible, so you press your lips together instead. Just like that — just by Seokjin being Seokjin — the hellscape you willingly walked into gets a little brighter. Maybe, you think, you can do this.

You look down for a moment to shuffle up the cards you spent the better part of two days preparing. As you stare down at the staggering amount of knowledge you might be tested on, you can feel the crease returning between your eyebrows. Your grimace is back, too, like a reflex.

If you make it through this experience without premature wrinkles, you’ll be shocked.

There’s shifting on the couch ahead, but you don’t look up until Seokjin breezes, “From this angle, it almost looks like you’re smiling.”

His arm is no longer dangling off the edge of the couch. His entire upper body is. Knees now hinged over the backrest for balance, he’s upside-down and smirking impishly at you.

He has to know you’re in love with him, right? How could he expect you not to be?

You clear your throat and arch a single eyebrow as a challenge. “What is the rule against perpetuities, Seokjinnie?”

Like you, he can recite it in full at a machine-gun rate of fire. It’s been beaten so far into your heads that you might utter it on your deathbeds, with your last gasping breaths.

“No interest in land is good unless it must vest, if at all, not later than twenty-one years after some life in being at the creation of the interest,” he responds with a smug smile. “Easy.”

It’s your turn to smirk.

“Great. Now, what does any of that mean?”

Without missing a beat, he fires back, “Does anyone know?”

“Absolutely not. Next question!”

Having had the same day, every day, for seven weeks straight, Seokjin is struggling. He’s spent hundreds of hours on the same routine, feeling beaten down and burnt out, all the while. It goes like this:

Every morning, he wakes up and goes for a run in a feeble attempt to feel something other than dread. After that, he eats a lackluster breakfast, and then he promptly chains himself to his desk. When he finally gives himself permission to get up again, it’s dark out; and he’s too brain dead to check the hundred or so notifications that amassed on his phone during his fugue state.

Scratch that. There’s one person he responds to, no matter what. As far as everyone else is concerned, though, he’s a ghost.

Today is the first day out of the last fifty-five where Seokjin doesn’t feel like his brain is being hydraulically pressed. For the first time in too long, he fell into an old routine; one he’s missed. It started with a shower — and honestly, that was overdue — then, he swung by the café he’s frequented over the past three years. There, he made his usual order.

One iced americano, and one sausage-egg-and-cheese croissant with extra hot sauce.

Before he walked back up the block, he downed the former, but he didn’t touch the latter. The latter wasn’t for him, anyways. None of the breakfast sandwiches he ever stops for are.

The subsequent hours looked semi-similar to the three-hundred-and-twenty he’s already devoted to studying. Well, sort of. To be clear, the subject matter still sucks, and he’s still angry that he has to touch it at all, but he isn’t waiting for the sweet release of death in the same way he has been all summer.

This might have something to do with the fact that, for the first time in nearly sixty days, he’s not on his own.

More than that, he’s with you.

Having switched away from covenants, easements, and servitudes, he feels a slightly less stupid. Contract law is a little more straightforward and a little less caked in colonialism. Unfortunately, after six hours of burning all his brain cells on shit like liens, Seokjin has begun his descent into madness.

The worms are digging in, he can’t focus, and neither of you can stop — fucking — laughing.

“I’ll give you a hint,” you giggle, shifting in your spot on the neighboring cushion. You give his knee a pat that feels a tiny bit patronizing, but that makes his pulse race, nonetheless. “It’s a Latin term.”

He snorts so loudly that you do a double-take, just to make sure it wasn’t a sneeze. You both stare at one another for a beat, then comes the eruption.

“It’s all Latin!” He roars.

To muffle the way he’s wheezing, Seokjin slaps his hands over his face. It’s already tear-stained from his abject failure to keep his shit together. At least he can attempt to hide how red he knows it is.

Your laugh comes straight from your belly. You double over completely when his comes out in squeaks, hand reaching out to squeeze his forearm. It used to bother him, the sound he made when he truly loses it, but it doesn’t any more.

How could it, when it makes you cling to him like that?

Wiping at your cheeks, you take a deep breath, then sigh, “Does it help if I give you the translation?”

He doubts it because you just pinched your bottom lip between your teeth, and now, his mind is blank.

Really, it’s a fucking miracle he graduated at all with you around. You and that face you make when you concentrate have always made it impossible for him to do so. It’s why he wasn’t paying attention in class when this shit was taught in the first place, he realizes now.

To cool himself down, Seokjin grabs the Camelbak bottle off the coffee table, realizes too late it’s yours and not his — oh, well — and shoves the straw into his mouth. He nods once, firmly, and sucks in as much water as he can.

It all sprays back out of his mouth when you say:

“Naked promise.”

He had always wondered what his life would look like if it ever flashed before his eyes. Now, he knows. It’s not a montage of his finest moments, the most recent of which would not have made the cut. All he sees is you, wide-eyed, glancing between him and the wet spot that’s now soaking through your sweatshirt.

You press your lips together, probably to keep from laughing in his face. It’s a valiant effort on your part and a kind gesture, but honestly, he doesn’t deserve it. His fingers twitch as he clutches the bottle, wanting nothing more than to dump the remaining water on his face. He embarrasses himself more often than not, but this stings his cheeks like a sunburn.

“I am —” he raises his hands, flustered, “So sorry. I don’t remember waking up in a sitcom this morning, but I, uhhh, clearly did.”

When you stand up, you’re grinning. And not in that scary way you do when you’re about to retaliate for some prank he’s pulled. No, that look on your face is genuine amusement.

Thank god.

You shrug as you cross your arms over your torso and grip the hem of your sweatshirt with both hands. “All good, Seokjinnie,” you laugh. “This needed to be washed, anyway. You see that coffee stain?”

No.

No, he does not see that coffee stain because the tank top underneath your sweatshirt is clinging to the wet spot as you tug the top layer up your stomach. He feels bad for staring — really, he does — but fuck, your skin looks soft. Like, so soft that he has to grip his water bottle to keep a grip on himself.

Eventually, your tank top separates from your sweatshirt. It falls back down to where it belongs, to Seokjin’s dismay, and the sweatshirt keeps going.

“Nudum pactum,” you remind him as you pull the drenched hoodie over your head. Playfully, you toss it at him. It smacks against his chest, splays out over his lap.

Once more with feeling: thank god.

You sink back down beside him on the couch, and he can’t help but notice that you’re the tiniest bit closer than you were before. It’s innocent, just your bare knee bumping his shin as you re-cross your legs. Still, it leaves his tingling through the fabric of his joggers when you don’t move away.

The silence surges as it settles, crinkling like static in his ears. He almost doesn’t hear you when you ask him again: “What’s it mean?”

Uhhhh.

“It means —”

Unfortunately for him, the water he just forcibly ejected from his mouth didn’t help him. His throat is dry now, and he sounds strangled, he’s sure. The way you’re watching him so intently doesn’t help one fucking bit, either.

Are you doing that on purpose?

You nudge him physically this time, knuckles connecting gently and playfully with his leg. He wonders if you can hear his heart hammering against the wall of his chest in all of this quiet. You might, he figures, especially when you tuck your hair behind your ear.

Instinctively, his eyes flick down to the length of your neck. Without a curtain of hair in the way, it’s even more exposed skin that he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with. Making matters worse for him, you tilt your head to the side expectantly. His breath catches when he tears his gaze away, back up, and sees the way you’re looking at him now.

You are absolutely — without a goddamn doubt — doing this on purpose.

If that’s the game you want to play, Seokjin can play it, too. He turns away from you to set the bottle back down on the coaster he took it from. As he does, he finally answers your question — the nonchalance he’s faking even sounds convincing.

“It’s an unenforceable promise,” he replies casually. “One with insufficient consideration.”

He rights himself in his seat, stretches a bit further backwards until he’s resting comfortably against the arm of the couch. You hide it well, but there’s a hint of a pout on your lips when you clock the newfound distance.

Check, he smirks to himself, your move.

A flash of pink slips out. Your tongue wetting those lips before you prompt him more quietly than before, “And consideration is…?”

He slips up, makes the mistake of noticing the rise and fall of your chest as you take measured breaths. So, he sees, you’re buzzing with anticipation, too. He wonders if it’s him that’s having that effect on you, or the circumstances.

For all he knows, it could be pent up steam that you need to release. Stress weighing down your body that you want to get off.

Fuck, he wants to get you off.

He swallows thickly. “Can’t get something for nothing. There has to be an exchange, otherwise it’s meaningless.”

You say nothing, so he keeps talking.

“Quid pro quo, essentially,” Seokjin adds. He chuckles slightly when he realizes. “See? Told you. It’s all fucking Latin.”

The corner of your mouth twitches at his joke, but you don’t make a sound. The hand that previously pushed against his leg inches closer, just barely. It’s such a small shift that you don’t seem to realize that you’re moving it.

Maybe you feel that pull, too; the one he’s been fighting since you barged into his life without warning.

Maybe the consideration has been there from the start; a promise for a promise. I’ll jump if you do. Because it’s always been that way, hasn’t it? Since orientation.

Pulling all-nighters in the library, developing matching caffeine dependencies, getting sick too often from the strain of it all.

You and him.

Laughing quietly in the back of lectures, cold sweats through cold calls, bitching about unpaid internships while you spend indisposable income at the bar down the block without acknowledging the irony.

There are only two real differences between this night and that first one, he notes.

Now, Seokjin isn’t questioning every decision he’s ever made that led him to this point. He’s not scared shitless, not really. Not when you’re around.

You cut through the silence with a sigh that’s barely more than an exhale, so breathy that your voice dissipates as soon as it hits the air.

“Seokjin.”

He could probably hear a pin if you dropped one — can hear everything you don’t say. It’s all packed tight inside that utterance of his name like gunpowder, locked and loaded.

So, who shoots first?

You shift again. Now, when you speak, it’s deliberate and in a language he can parse.

“Tell me you want me, too.”

Bang!

His body answers for him, pushes off from where he leans until he can get his knees underneath him. He’s waited three years to kiss you, but he can delay gratification for the brief time it takes to overtake you. Pinned with his palms bearing weight on either side of your head, you wind up caged in and breathless beneath him. His right knee occupies the space between your spread thighs.

Again, it’s a miracle he’s made it this far with you around.

He hums, beyond pleased with the position he finds himself in. “Maybe. Tell me if I got the answer right.”

“Oh my god.” You toss your head back to the extent that you can, which admittedly isn’t far. Your frustration rolls off you in waves, heat palpable. “I’ll kill you, I swear.”

“Sounds admissible to me,” he teases further. He flexes an eyebrow. “Isn’t that an exception to the prohibition of hearsay evidence? Speaks to motive, I think.”

Seokjin has no idea why he’s riling himself up like this. If he could shut up — just this once — he could be kissing you by now. You seem to be aware of that fact, too, because you grip his shirt so desperately, one right move might tear it.

You huff out a laugh despite the circumstances, “This friendship is over, by the way, in case that’s not clear.”

That tiny smile on your face spreads to his. Not over, he knows, just modified. Amplified, finally. Knowing that, he continues to push his luck.

“Can I make one more joke?”

“So over!” You emphasize with a wail.

He takes a second to center himself before hitting you with award-winning drama, sincerity dipped in the kind of humor he never misses out on with you:

“You have adversely possessed my heart.”

Your jaw drops at how stupid that line was, but you reign it in just in time for his lips to crash into yours.

It almost knocks the wind out of him, the way the pieces fall with force into place. They slot together easily, just like you do. With fingers clinging, the weight of his body molding overtop of yours.

You kiss him until he forgets what life tasted like without your tongue licking into him, your little moans melting in his mouth — until you break apart, gasping for air. Panting, you ask, “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting on you?”

He doesn’t, no, not at all. Thankfully, you take his stunned silence for what it’s worth. After relinquishing your grip on his shirt, you bring your hands up to cup his face gently in your palms.

With you touching him like this, he has no option but to stare down at you. Bit redundant, he thinks, since his focus has always been locked right here, right on you, by choice. Given that, it’s a little funny that he managed to miss every signal you’ve apparently sent him. But really, it doesn’t necessarily surprise him to hear that he’s even dumber than he thought.

You kiss him slowly this time, briefly, before nipping affectionately at his bottom lip. It drives him exactly as crazy as you want it to; makes his cock twitch inside his joggers, makes his brain foggy with a potent combination of fondness and filth.

Do you have any idea how many times he’s thought about this? He’s genuinely wondering because even he doesn’t know. He’s lost count of all the times he’s watched you nibble on your own lip and wished it was his instead. A million or more, if he has to guess.

Seeming to sense the way you've scrambled his brain, you nudge the tip of his nose with yours and giggle.

Seokjin can’t help but grin. “What’s so funny?”

“Thought of a good one,” you answer. Your smirk does his head in. The contrasting, goofy wiggle of your eyebrows squeezes his heart. “Better than yours, I think.”

He kisses you quick and hums, “Oh?”

You nod.

The suspense is killing him. So is the way your clothed cunt grinds ever so slightly against his thigh.

Fuck.

He wants you, he wants you, he wants you.

“You gonna make me come, Seokjin, or do I have to wait for you to file a subpoena?”

You may have to seek a refund for the prep course you paid for.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve learned best through application. You could read the same chapter, over and over, and not absorb a word. The same was true with lectures, even more so when they’re pre-recorded rambles by the weirdest adjunct professors known to man. Sure, you may eventually memorize concepts this way, but they don’t sink in deeply enough to stay. You can’t use them in any way that helps you.

To no one’s surprise, no part of your civil procedure lecture sticks until it falls into your lap.

Strike that.

Until Seokjin loses his balance in trying to take his pants off, and falls onto your floor with a yelp.

A moment or two passes while you stare at each other in shock, but that dissolves quickly. And so do both of you, right into another fit of laughter that makes your shoulders shake. Then, you jump to your feet and hold your hands out to him.

Seokjin accepts them, though he doesn’t rely on them at all when he stands back up. He seems more than content just to hold onto you, whether or not he needs you to keep him steady. You have no complaints, for once in your life.

Shaking his head, he chuckles, “Venue change?”

“I think —” You hum and kiss the column of his throat. He swallows hard enough that you feel his Adam’s apple bob against your lips. So sensitive. “This is what they call forum non conveniens.”

He’s having none of that, and you don’t necessarily blame him. As it turns out, the shoe isn’t terribly comfortable when it’s on the other foot.

You’re lifted without warning, bent over his shoulder, and hauled off in the direction of your bedroom before you can even squeak in protest. You drop like a bag of dirt — albeit a beloved bag of dirt — onto your mattress once he reaches it; his lips are on yours to swallow the gasp before it can leave your mouth.

As eager as his mouth are his hands, roaming down the curve of your waist and over your hips. With fistfuls of the pajama shorts you hadn’t bothered to change out of, his head dips down under your jaw. The warmth of his breath is quickly replaced by that of his tongue, flicking a short, languid line along your neck.

“Want you so fucking bad,” he breathes. A shiver shoots straight down your spine and you keen, head crashing gracelessly back against the pillows. “Just like this.”

And he means it — you can feel how true it is with him settled between your spread legs. He presses his hips forward to meet your clothed cunt, cock teasing you through four goddamn layers’ worth of fabric.

His lips flutter against your earlobe just seconds before his teeth graze your flesh. He continues, voice vibrating through his chest to yours, “All the time.”

You outright whimper when he grinds against you a second time. Halfway to crazy, you knot your fingers in his hair and wrap your legs around his back in a silent plea for friction. So hungry for him that it aches.

“Seokjin, need — oh, god.”

You lose your train of thought the second his hand slides into the gap between your bodies. Long fingers slip below the waistband of your shorts and panties, too. He doesn’t stop there. Not with fingertips whispering over the mound of your cunt, not until he finds you wet and wanting.

So wet that you can hear it when the pad of his index finger runs along your slit.

His mouth curves against your neck, prompting you to shift your head on the pillow. You tilt your neck just enough to meet his eyes.

To your surprise, he’s not smirking. Not even close. If anything, he looks awestruck. Like he’s finally realizing what he does to you, how your body reacts to him. From the looks of it, that discovery is flipping his whole damn world upside down.

For once, Seokjin doesn’t crack a joke and neither do you. It’s quiet, save for your tiny gasping breaths and the ripple of his fingertip swirling over your clit. Even the moan building in your chest gets the memo. It disappears somewhere in your throat when — fucking finally — that middle finger penetrates you.

And god, he sounds so wrecked when he finally speaks.

“Tried to imagine it a thousand times, you know,” he murmurs.

You clench around his finger as it curls upwards, shiver when he starts to stroke the sensitive spot along your front wall. His thumb picks up where his middle finger left off, pressing against your clit in a way that makes you mewl.

Seokjin only stops talking to kiss you deep and leave you dizzy. It’s too brief. If asked, you’d never be able to quantify what amount of time is enough, but you know that wasn’t, so you pout.

Ignoring your little whines, he continues with a hum, “How perfect you’d feel, if I ever got this lucky.”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

You laugh as you say it, but you’re dead serious: “If you keep talking to me like that, you’ll never be able to get rid of me.”

Marry me, why don’t you? Beautiful bastard.

“Threat or promise?”

He adds a second finger; and suddenly, you’re not laughing anymore. No, the strangled sound you make while you grind against his palm isn’t funny at all, but you can’t care about that now. Your focus is stuck on remembering how to breathe. In, out. On the stars blinking behind your eyelids when they give up and flutter shut.

He works you open for him like he’s already attuned, like it’s the fiftieth time he’s finger-fucked you and not the very first. And, quite frankly, it’s embarrassing how little time it takes for him to pull you apart at the seams.

No one has ever made you cum with such little effort. You’re scared to learn what it’s like when he tries.

You catch the triumphant gleam in his eye in the split second before you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He’s earned it, you suppose, so you’ll let him relish the personal record he’s managed to set on his first time out. You might even let him brag about it, so long as he continues to make you tremble like this.

“Shit,” he chuckles low near your ear.

If he sounds muffled, it’s because you’re still waiting for your system to reboot. He knows this, knows how fucking sensitive you are, and slides his fingers out of you as slowly as possible. Still, those aftershocks throttle you; the unintentional stimulation makes you jolt.

“Yes,” you nod helplessly, squeezing your eyes and jaw shut simultaneously. “Shit is right. Perfect analysis, no notes.”

A chaste kiss is placed on your temple. It’s petal soft and subak sweet, but it functions like a defibrillator. Within a split second, he’s revived you. Eyes now open again, you exhume your face from where you buried it and blink up at him. Warm brown eyes light up when you reappear.

He’s so fucking beautiful that you almost want to avert your eyes. Key word: almost. You’ll drink in the sight of him until you drown, you think.

Seokjin looks concerned. With a shy smile, he checks in: “You okay? We can stop right now if you’re not.”

You don’t know who they are, but you know that they don’t make them like him anymore. Which is a fucking bummer for the rest of the world — just not for you. This one is all yours.

“You quitting on me, Kim?” You let your knee fall inwards to nudge his side, and you pretend not to notice how boneless you still feel. “Didn’t wait all this time to tap out early, did you?”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning, nonetheless. His warm palm massages the outside of your thigh affectionately, if only for a moment. Then, he pats his fingertips against the same spot. “Shorts off, champ.”

You follow his instructions and move to shimmy out of them, but not before snorting, “Champ?”

“Fine. Old sport?” He offers with a shit-eating grin. Your shirt smacks him in the face once you peel it off and chuck it at him. He pouts. “Hey!”

“Thanks, I hate it.”

He tugs his shirt over his head, launches it over his shoulder without looking. Your unabashed stare immediately clocks the slight hint of his abdominal muscles. Lean, but not sharply contoured in a way that looks painful to touch. Soft. Perfect, even.

What lab were you engineered in?

“For someone with so many opinions, you don’t offer many suggestions.” He shoots you a pointed look while he unties the knot at his waistband drawstring. “What’s your proposal?”

You’d love to bite back at him. Really, you would, but he pulls his boxers down alongside his joggers, and every meaningful thought you’ve ever had goes flying out the fucking window. All that’s left is I want you, I want you, I want you.

Automatically, you reach out with a tentative hand, craving nothing more than to feel his velvet length in your hand. To your surprise, he stops you. He catches your hand in his, lifts it to his lips, and brushes a kiss over your knuckles.

“Rain check, baby,” Seokjin smiles against your skin. There it is. That’s the one. “Need to fuck you, posthaste, or I’ll simply pass away.”

You open your mouth to comment; he breezes right past you. He points to the mattress, then to the wall to your left. “On your side, love.”

That works, too.

“Face away from me.”

Never in your life have you moved so fast, all but throwing yourself down where he told you to. As you land with a slight bounce, you mouth to yourself, Posthaste? Nerd.

A second slips by, then Seokjin slips into the space behind you. His lips tickle the back of your neck when he kisses the base of it, causing you to gasp yet again. Maybe that’s just how you breathe when he’s around — like you don’t know how.

His hand drifts down the length of your side, passing over the doughy flesh of your ass. He gives it a squeeze for good measure — because of course he does — but he doesn’t linger, not now.

That hand continues until you feel his fingertips scratch affectionately at the back of your right thigh. He doesn’t need to ask; you lift your leg, allowing your knee to hinge overtop of his hand. Now that his hands are occupied, you offer yours to assist.

This time, he doesn’t stop you when you wrap your fingers around his length. And fuck, there’s so much of it. Part of you wants to ask where the hell he thinks he’s going to fit all of it, but you’re not a quitter, so you keep your mouth shut.

Seokjin shivers under your touch, breath catching in his throat so blatantly that you can hear it right behind your ear.

“Hmmm,” you tease, squeezing the crown gently as you circle your wrist. “Does that work for you, champ?”

His forehead drops against your shoulder. The groan you force out of him is twice as long as necessary, followed by an unwilling laugh. “You’re right, okay? You’re fucking right. It’s awful. Just so fucking bad.”

Your thumb swipes over his leaking tip, smearing the bead of pre-cum waiting for you there. You’re relentless. “Sure you don’t like old sport better? Huh, buddy?”

“Baby,” he warns. There isn’t much heat to it, but it burns white hot in your core anyway.

The stretch of his cock does, too, when you finally stop fucking with him and start letting him fuck you. The breath he holds as he enters you slowly is let out in a shuddered groan when he bottoms out. Perfectly full and fully incapable of teasing him further, you simply melt back against his chest.

He’s careful to start, testing the waters and refusing to push you too far, too fast. You want more, though, you always have. Greedy, you rock your hips back against him to force him deeper into your weeping hole. He takes the hint, fingertips pressing bruises into the underside of your knee as he picks up his pace — and you’re far too blissed to care.

He pistons into you eagerly, deliberate. His hips clap against the flesh of your ass, but the sting of it all can’t compete with the way he splits you open. Makes you reach back to cling to any part of him you can get your hands on, claim whatever you find for keeps. Buried to the hilt, and somehow, he’s still not close enough.

You’re close, if your fluttering walls have anything to say about it. You’re babbling, too, so lost in pleasure that you can only repeat — over and over — how fucking perfect he is. How perfect for you he is.

Seokjin peppers kisses down the curve of your shoulder as he thrusts. It’s the only real indication you have that he’s at a loss for words, too; that he’s compensating for the quiet. He kisses you with an open mouth, teeth grazing the space he finds, leaves a mess on your sweat-slicked skin.

“Fuck,” he grunts. You mewl. “Can’t stop thinking about —”

“Just like that, please.”

“— how many times I could’ve —”

You wail, “Shit, Seokjin, don’t stop. I’m so close.”

The staccato strokes will be the death of you, you’re sure of it. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop. Not when he kisses the back of your neck again, and not when he murmurs directly in your ear, “— had you like this, if I’d said something years ago.”

Please, please, please.

It’s all you can say, again and again, as if he isn’t already giving you everything you want before you even ask for it. Responding to every movement you make, fucking into you with precision so that each vein of his cock brings friction where you crave it. Fucking you through your orgasm when it catches you in a riptide and sends you reeling.

“That’s it, baby.” His voice is soothing despite the recklessness of his thrusts. “So good for me. So fucking good.”

You’re still gushing when he snaps his hips forward and stills, cock twitching as he lets himself go inside of you. Still trembling when his head droops forward to nuzzle against your shoulder blade, and when you feel his breathing begin to slow in tandem with yours.

Once he pulls himself out of you, a few moments pass in fucked-out silence. It’s comfortable, if you ignore the mess between your thighs — and you do, for now. Your brain is too busy to waste time on that.

You’re exhausted and bordering on delirious when you say it, but that doesn’t make it any less true:

“I might love you, probably.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. He doesn’t move either, which makes you wonder if he’s fallen asleep with his face smushed into your bare back. But you feel the tiniest exhale through his nose; the kind of laugh you get from him when he’s too tired to be any louder.

His reply is muffled, lips still pressed against your skin, but you hear it perfectly.

For the record, he probably loves you, too.

Epilogue, posted 7/26/23.

final a/n: i have a follow-up drabble planned for these two! stay tuned 🥰

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lancermylove · 4 months

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MC is a What!? (HC)

Fandom: Obey Me

Pairing: DB with gn!Reader

Warning: None

Requested by: @smut-simp

Prompt: Guess What? I'm back. Ok, so i love mythical creatures (and you). But i wanted to ask for MC who is like a secret god/goddess. Lemme give you a description. MC had a terrible, no-good, very bad day. And they were in their room crying, so now they have a headache and its even worse bc the horns are hidden and straining against their head. so MC lets them out along with the wings bc their back hurts from being curled up for so many hours in a corner.) NOTE: Sorry if this is a long ask, i'm just so freaking eager. *Cries in simp* Also, i have like 3 more suggestions that i'm still thinking about, soooooo yeah I Love You SM <3 Hope You Have The Best Day Ever! :)

A/N: Soooo this was supposed to be a quick ask, and it turned into an HC. 😋 Awww thank you! 💖 I love mythical creatures too! I added the description you gave for the god/goddess appearance in the prologue. :3 Thank you! I hope you have a great day and HNY! I hope 2024 is the BESTEST year ever for you. 🤗

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Prologue:

This was your worst day in Devildom, and your breakdown was taking a toll on your mental health as well as your physical form. Not the form you showed others, but your true form - that of a god/goddess. You never told anyone this secret as you feared being seen as a fish out of water in Devildom.

When others looked at you, they saw a 'normal' human, but what exactly did you see when you looked at yourself in the mirror? Four large white wings with golden outlines; slightly glowing eyes the color of gold; two golden horns that curved from just above your ears and stood six inches above your head; a shiny white and gold striped halo balancing atop the horns; a third eye on your forehead with massive, long eyelashes that was white and glowed; a huge deep gold tattoo on your stomach in the shape of a person sitting crisscrossed, using magic, and the three realms.

You were able to hide all of this from the others, but the bad day had drawn tears to your eyes. In turn, you had a headache, which kept getting worse due to the strain of the horns on your head. However, the amount of magic it was taking you to hide your form took the highest toll on you. For a while, you stared at your tears that were made of gold (literally). Was it worth it to continue tormenting yourself to hide your true form? Shaking your head, you shattered the magic around you, and instantly, your deity form was on display.

Unfortunately for you, he had learned you were having a bad day and entered your room. He generally knocked, but today, he assumed you would tell him to leave you alone.

----

Lucifer froze. The amount of divine energy flowing from you made it difficult for him to breathe.

A while back, he had suspected that you were hiding something from them but wasn't expecting you to be a god/goddess. Regardless, Lucifer remained unfazed by your appearance and was more concerned with your sadness.

He forced himself to come closer to you, even though his body told him not to. Wordlessly, the first brother sat on the edge of your bed and gently stroked your head, avoiding touching your horns.

"It hurts. My horns hurt!"

Lucifer knew from personal experience how annoying horns could be and how heavy wings could feel at times. The Avatar of Pride didn't ask you questions, nor was in interested in learning anything about you at that moment. His energy was forced on trying to calm you down and provide you with a soothing touch.

However, one question nagged Lucifer's mind: why was a deity in Devildom? If Lucifer didn't trust you, he would have thought you were there on a mission to study the demons as the heavens were planning a war against Devildom.

His jaw dropped. Where was (y/n), and who was this creature? Why was there such a strong divine aura flowing from it? Wait, was that creature you? You were a god/goddess?

Mammon's head spun, but hearing your anguished sobs tore at his heart. He wanted to bombard you with questions but knew this was not the right time.

It took him a little struggle to get closer to you as your divinity was too dizzying for him. However, Mammon wanted nothing more than to help you calm down.

When he saw your gold tears, the Avatar of Greed's eyes widened. He had a moment of weakness where he considered taking your tears and selling them to make A LOT of dough but had to remind himself that this was neither the place nor the time to think about money. That didn't mean he wasn't planning to take your 'tears' afterward with your permission, of course.

Mammon sat by your side and held onto your hand as he gently patted your shoulders. His eyes wandered around to take in your majestic form.

Maybe you had your reasons to hide the truth from them. However, he hoped you would tell him the truth once you calmed down.

Eh? EHHHH? You were a god/goddess all along? Why didn't you tell them? He thought you were a normie human all along. If he knew you were a deity that looked like they were straight out of an anime, Levi wouldn't have given you such a hard time.

He was lost in thoughts until he heard your whimpers. His shoulders slumped. Though, he was a little uncomfortable as he didn't know how to make you feel better. Regardless, Levi still pushed past the invisible barrier around you that attempted to push him away.

Levi hesitated to touch you because he didn't know if your light would have a negative effect on him. After a while of thinking, he sighed and gently stroked your cheeks. That was when he saw your gold tears. Talk about your tears being priceless.

Since he didn't know what to say, Levi stayed silent, gently stroking your cheek, head, and arm and even taking a chance at caressing your wings. They were even softer than Lucifer's wings in the Celestial Realm.

Unlike some of his brothers, Levi didn't consider you would be there to spy on them or have any ill-intention toward them. You were still (y/n) to him - a friend, crush, and sweet normie, not a force of divinity.

Satan wondered if he was in the presence of a god/goddess and took a moment to analyze your aura. Once he confirmed, the Avatar of Wrath felt breathless. He knew being around your divine form for a prolonged period would have a negative effect on him. However, he couldn't bring himself to walk away and leave you in tears.

The Avatar of Wrath took a deep breath and forced himself to get closer to you. His eyes scanned each and every detail on your body, but he was most fascinated with the tattoos of the three realms. Why would a deity have a tattoo of all three realms? Did you have a special power, or were you an overseer of all three realms? Someone who transgressed ordinary gods/goddesses.

He had to force himself to swallow his curiosity as your well-being and happiness came before. So, Satan made a mental note of all his questions and sat down beside you. His touch was gentle but still hesitant.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Those were the only words he said. If you chose to tell him, Satan paid close attention to your words; if you chose to remain silent, he didn't force you to say anything.

Once you were in a better state of mind, Satan planned to get answers to his questions and hoped you would tell him the entire truth.

As someone who admired beauty above all, Asmo was speechless. He never thought he would see a being more beautiful than him, but you proved him wrong.

Asmo was so enamored by your appearance that, for a while, he zoned out and didn't hear your sobs or see your tears. His only focus was on taking in every inch of your beautiful appearance. He only snapped out when you let out a small cry of pain.

At first, he didn't want to come closer, knowing his dark aura would not mix well with your light one, but he couldn't bear to see you in pain.

Little by little, he eventually came closer to you and tried to talk to you. Asmo wanted to know why you were in pain and crying, among many other things. The Avatar of Lust knew he couldn't stay in your presence for long without being affected, so he tried his best to learn the reason for your sadness and find a solution.

Seeing your appearance brought back memories of the Celestial Realm, which made him realize something. How had he not heard about a being like you before? Had Michael and, maybe, Lucifer known of your existence and hid it from others, or did they not know about you?

Beel was surprised by your appearance, but unlike his brothers, he didn't think about who you were or why you hid your appearance or divine aura.

His focus was only on your tears. Why were you crying, and what could he do to make you feel better? Beel tanked his way closer to you without worrying about the effects of your divinity on his body or mind.

"What's wrong, (y/n)? Did someone do something to hurt you?" He patiently waited for your answer. His eyes wandered to your wings, and had you not been sad, Beel would have smiled slightly. Your wings slightly reminded him of Lilith and her wish to have beautiful wings. He couldn't help but think that if she was alive, she would have loved this form of yours.

Once you gathered enough strength to tell Beel you were having a bad day, he tried his best to help you by talking to you, giving you hugs, and sharing his food. If you tell him someone caused that sadness, Beel will 'take care' of the person for you right in front of you so that you can smile. Whatever it takes, he will do.

Belphie had to force himself to stay grounded as his first instinct was to run out of your room. Compared to his brothers, your aura had a crushing effect on him. He wanted to walk away, but seeing the way you looked at him, tugged at his heart.

The Avatar of Sloth wondered just how much magic you had to be able to constantly conceal your presence from everyone. He understood you were a god/goddess, but even deities have limits. Belphie slowly got closer to you but didn't dare to touch you. Once you concealed your divinity, he planned to make it up to you by hugging you and not letting go.

"What's wrong, (y/n)?" It was evident he was concerned about you.

"Bad day...my wings...and horns feel...heavy..."

He could completely understand your problem, as his horns were the heaviest out of his brothers. At times, he purposely avoided his demon form just so he didn't have to deal with the burdens of the heavy horns.

Knowing he couldn't help you much, Belphie considered calling Solomon over to try to alleviate your pain. But would the sorcerer be able to help? Moreover, would he attempt to use you for his own benefit or to help humanity?

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#obey me #obey me swd #obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me hcs

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celtic-crossbow · 6 months

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Chapter 4

Warnings: Sexual situations

When Rick noticed Daryl lagging behind after a couple more hours, he made the call to set up camp. You had expected tents and at least blankets but what you got were bedrolls and jackets. Daryl had told you to “sit tight” while he went hunting and Rick was setting up a perimeter.

You watched the other man with naked curiosity. You had no experiences with the dead, having been taken by Big Jazz just before the outbreak. You hadn’t even seen a “walker” in person. It was easy to decipher what the string and cans were supposed to accomplish. Perhaps if you studied these men enough, you’d be able to defend yourself should the need arise.

For now, you supposed, you’d just stay perched on that log and wait for Daryl to return. You could use the time to psych yourself up for alone time with the archer. You weren’t as good as the other girls at interpreting what customers wanted, but you usually came pretty close with a few adjustments.

Daryl was quiet and attentive. He probably liked a loud lover. One that would let him know he was making them feel good. He wouldn’t want to be called ‘daddy’ if he disliked ‘sir’ so vehemently. He liked being in control. He had taken the initiative to purchase you, ignoring Rick’s hesitance but you just had a gut feeling that he wouldn’t mind relinquishing that control on occasion, if for nothing more than a reprieve.

Tonight, you’d just present yourself to him and let him do as he pleased. He probably wanted to reprimand you for all your earlier misconduct and providing the full canvas would possibly save him from explaining himself to Rick, as long as you could keep the bruises hidden.

Thinking of being naked in front of him made your stomach flip. Men had been disappointed with your body before. Hopefully, you could convince him that you were worth keeping based on your performance alone.

You flinched when there came movement to your right, Daryl stalking in from the shadows with a few squirrels held by the tails. You’d never had squirrel before. There were a lot of things you’d never had but especially now when most depended on hunting or scavenging to survive, you had missed out. You had been fed instant oatmeal, protein bars, and sometimes dog food for the past however long it had been.

Daryl borrowed Rick’s knife, having offered his own up in trade for you. The guilt you felt hit you like a ton of bricks but you forced it down in favor of watching him work to prepare the meal. Each slice, each pull was done with a practiced precision. It was morbidly hypnotic, but soon there sticks through the rodents and they were being roasted over the fire on a makeshift spit.

Daryl was sitting across from you with Rick at his side. Each of them was engrossed in something: Rick with a map and Daryl with the bolts from his crossbow. Focused as he was, you would look up to see him staring at you over the flames. You were quick to avert your gaze so as not to offend him any more than you already had that day.

The silence continued until the food was ready to eat, Rick smiling and patting the archer on the shoulder in thanks. Then Daryl stood and made his way over to you, offering you one of the skewers.

“Thank you, Sir.” You said quietly, keeping your eyes downcast while accepting the meat. He didn’t go back to where he had been, actually choosing to sit a little closer to you on your right. The food didn’t really have a smell other than just…meat. Still, your mouth watered. Holding the skewer over your lap, you waited for Daryl to finish eating, which didn’t take long. Had the situation been different, you might have laughed at his lack of decorum.

“Ya jus’ gonna stare at it or wha’?” He finally said around a mouthful. You blinked at him, hoping he’d get the message without you needing to remind him. You hadn’t openly told him earlier. He had told you to eat and drink without explanation.

“She’s waitin’ for you to say it’s okay.” Rick offered, placing his own empty skewer on the ground next to his leg.

Daryl’s lip curled, his brows drawn inward. “Gave it to ya, didn’ I? Wha’ else would I wan’ ya ta do with it?”

Though you were skeptical of that being actual consent, you eagerly picked off a piece of meat and popped it into your mouth. It was bland but not in a horrible way. So much better than dog food. With a quiet hum of approval, you dug in, raising the skewer to your mouth to rip bites right off the source.

“I think she likes it.” Rick chuckled, watching you with a gentle smile.

When you noticed both men looking at you, the stick was lowered and you wiped your mouth on the back of your hand with a mumbled apology.

“S’fine. Jus’ eat, would ya? No one here gives a shit how ya do it.” Daryl tossed his empty skewer and wiped his palms on his thighs, no longer interested in you at all. “I got firs’ watch.” He said, leaning back against the tree behind him. Rick nodded and rolled the top of his bedroll down in a makeshift pillow before stretching out on it.

“Wake me when you get tired.” He yawned and shifted until his back faced you.

That left just you and Daryl, and suddenly the squirrel meat wasn’t at all appetizing. After staring at it for probably much too long, you held it out to him.

“Ya barely touched it.” He commented with a look that eerily resembled concern.

“I, um… I don’t need much. It was really good though. Thank you, Sir.” It was hard to suppress a flinch when he stood but he bypassed you and crouched in front of his bag.

“Give it ‘ere.” You placed the food onto his palm and watched with grand amounts of confusion as he pulled out a cloth and shook bread crumbs from it before he hastily pulled the skewer from the meat and wrapped it. “Ya can have it tomorrow if’n ya want. Or one’a us’ll eat it.”

You nodded, pulling your feet up onto the log and wrapping your arms around your shins.

“Ya tired?”

Was it a trick question? “No, Sir.” I’m exhausted.

Daryl closed his eyes, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Ya sure?”

“Yes, Sir.” No.

His blue eyes, warmed by the soft glow of the flames, narrowed and gave you a once over. “Fine. Ya can sleep on tha’ when ya wan’.” He pointed to his own bedroll as he stood, going back to his tree in two long strides.

You were so utterly confused. Did he not want to fuck you? You risked a glance at him to find him staring off into the darkness over where Rick lay sleeping. You didn’t understand what he meant for you to do. Maybe you had it all wrong and he needed you to take control? The thought terrified you. You had done it before when customers asked but to initiate it without express permission seemed dangerous.

So, you waited.

Just as before, you would find him watching you when you chanced a look in his direction. His expression was unreadable. And so it continued like that well into the night, until you were fighting to keep your eyes open.

That’s when he stood.

Your back straightened, your body reacting, ready and as willing as you could be to do what he wanted.

“Gonna take a piss. Won’ be but a minute.” He said lowly, watching you for another moment before he disappeared into the darkness.

You stared at the spot where the shadows had swallowed him and waited, still nervous and unsure. True to his word, he emerged only a moment later, fastening his belt as he walked. He stepped over the perimeter line and headed straight for the tree to assume the same position as before, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles with his back against the tree.

Surely, he was waiting for you. Things might even turn out worse for you if you withheld from him much longer.

With a sigh, you stood, taking small steps over to him and lowering to your knees next to his legs. He watched you with a curious expression but said nothing. Steeling your nerves to calm the nausea that attempted to bring up the squirrel, you threw one leg over his thighs to straddle him and began to unbutton the shirt he had given you.

“Whoa, hey! Wha’ the fuck ya doin’?” He pressed himself impossibly closer to the tree, his hands up as if in surrender. When you were finally brave enough to meet his eyes, you found them wide and full of panic. Not kindness, but panic.

“I thought…” You blinked at him, your small fingers frozen on the buttons of the shirt. “Don’t you want to fuck me now?”

If his eyes got any wider, they would pop out of his skull. “Wha’?! Tha’… tha’ ain’t wha’ this is!” He had yet to move, same as you. For a few more uncomfortable moments, you simply stared at one another before he cleared his throat. “Could ya get offa me?”

You did move then, scrambling back to your log in clumsy motions. “Did I…do something wrong, Sir?” He was purposefully keeping his eyes off of you.

“Ya should get some sleep.” He stood quickly and grabbed his crossbow, stopping to speak over his shoulder. “Gon’ check the perimeter.”

You opened your mouth but closed it just as quickly while he walked away. Once he was out of sight, you turned back to the fire, buttoning the shirt back up. What had just happened?

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farfromstrange · 28 days

Text

‘I Love You In Every Universe’

Chapter One: I Bet On Losing Dogs

Masterlist | List Of Installments

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Mutant!Reader

Summary: The day you lost Matt, you lost everything. There is no moving on from what Spider-Man put you through, and you plan to execute your revenge.

Warnings: ANGST, Major Character Death, blood, suicidal thoughts, mutant!Reader, evil Peter Parker, 18+ because of darker themes, multiverse (No Way Home Era), slight AU

Word Count: 5.8k

A/n: FINALLY! This took me way too long to edit. Today, we’re setting the scene for future installments, but you’re not getting all the details, even if the first 3000 words of this are somewhat a flashback. So, if you think that there is too little dialogue for a Prologue, that’s probably why. This chapter is integral to the future installments.

Read Me On AO3!

The world was silent when he died—an endless pit of nothingness, and above a sky full of stars.

You don’t remember if it was raining. The moon was hiding behind a thick cloud, and the stars were burning, but you can’t remember if you were drowning in a river of tears or if it was the sky that broke that night. Everything else about that night, you remember quite vividly.

Hell’s Kitchen had become a battleground. The city lay at your feet in shambles; Wilson Fisk had become mayor after you tried hard to stop him, and the world fell apart. But it was his second in command, Peter Parker, who gave new meaning to the word ‘notorious’. Spider-Man infested your home like a parasite, slipping through your finger like dry sand. He knew what he was doing. He and Fisk held the city in the palms of their dirty hands, slowly crushing it like mealy little ants.

When you met Matt Murdock, it was years back when things were still better, yet they were never perfect. He found you broken at the side of the road—or that was what it felt like, anyway.

From the start, you have always been different. In a world where everyone wanted to be someone, your uniqueness painted a target on your back. Your nature was misunderstood by most; they either wanted to be you, or they were vying for your inevitable downfall.

You stood out of every crowd. The target on your back remained no matter how hard you tried to turn yourself into a shrouded mystery. Eventually, you had to start running. You operated out of the dark like a criminal—a vigilante, and a mind-reader who could set the world on fire if she only tried hard enough.

For most of your life, you were hunted. Scientists wanted to run experiments on you, tie you to a gurney, and study your brain until they understood how your abilities worked. Freaks wanted to sell you for millions to equally disturbed individuals.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You were merely a scared child who grew into a terrified teenager who didn’t know any better: dead parents, dead everything, and a mind built to read those of others.

Back then, your only instinct was blatant survival, so you ran. You ran fast and you ran far, an orphan so many would have rather seen dead than operating in the dark, but oh, you had to become something to feel like you were worth something.

When you landed in New York, beaten and alone with a bone-crushing fear of the future, the Devil found you, taking you home with him. He saved you. He picked up your pieces, glued you back together, and wrapped you in a protective glaze. All the heartbreak you’d endured, and the trauma you’d suffered getting there seemed worth it whenever he held you in his arms.

You were Matt Murdock’s world, and he was yours. He showed you heaven and hell; he saved you from the purgatory you pushed yourself into and got you settled with a one-way ticket to paradise. After all these years, you finally found your salvation in a person.

He was your broken Catholic boy with a heart made out of gold. The universe didn’t deserve him, and yet he gave the world everything he had. He sacrificed his soul to God and his city. He prayed, he begged, and he fought hard for what he believed right at the time.

Matt saw himself as the Devil; embodied him, too. Though in your eyes, he was an angel with an invisible halo only you could feel in every fiber of your being. His thoughts, his heart, and his soul; he gave it all to you.

You cherished him with all you could give him. It wasn’t much, but he loved you more than anyone had ever before. You were more than a mutant, more than a broken girl at the side of the road, and more than a potential test subject. With him, you finally learned what living was like—what it was supposed to feel like to be human.

The world tried to clip your wings. They took away your voice and your ability to breathe. Matt brought you back to life. He was not the love of your life; Matt Murdock was your soulmate. You lived for him. You existed for him. He was your heart, your soul, and the reason for your survival.

It wasn’t healthy, how dependent you were on him. He made you see colors you couldn’t see with anyone else. You loved him fiercely. You loved him in a way that was pure agony. And you loved him in a way that you knew would screw you up forever.

It didn’t cross your mind that you could ever lose him. To you, Matt Murdock was immortal. He was the man you could see yourself growing old with.

You got married in a small ceremony at the courthouse—it wasn’t just for love, it was also convenient, but he forever tied himself to you as you tied yourself to him with a golden wedding band—and you talked about maybe having children one day. A mini-you and a mini-him in your little farmhouse in the suburbs. For that, he would have left Hell’s Kitchen once it was safe enough to do so.

It was a foolish dream now that you think about it; you were foolish to think that happiness would ever be in the cards for you, but then he kissed you again, good morning and good night and in between, and all you could see was a sea of roses.

He walked through fire (sometimes literally) for you and came back on the other side, hardly always unscathed but always alive, and always with a smile on his chapped lips. He crawled home to you even when he was broken. He crawled home to you when he was full of adrenaline. And he crawled home to you when he thought he couldn’t or wouldn’t anymore, both mentally and physically. He knew he could always come home to you, his best friend, his lover, his confidant, and soon enough, his wife.

You stitched his wounds and kissed his scars to breathe new life into him. You brought him back from the edge. You gave him something to live for. He told you that you saved him, and hearing that after getting on your knees every night, thanking him for the same thing, did something to you. It healed you from the inside out.

You kept him alive the same way he did you. You stood strong together against your enemies every night, fighting as a team. He taught you how to fight, and you taught him how to connect. Matt didn’t know what it was like not to push someone he loved away, but you made sure he understood. He connected to himself; he connected to his past, present, and future with you, and that made him a better man.

You lost and you won, but at least you had each other to fall back on. You did it together. You did everything together. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Husband and wife. Lady Red and Daredevil.

The fragile little yet oh-so-big thing you had was raw, vulnerable, yet the most tragically beautiful love affair you could have possibly had the pleasure of calling yours. And pleasure, you had plenty. Love, you had plenty. You had everything until everything was ripped from your bare hands—until the very thing sustaining you shattered on a white cloth, spilling crimson blood everywhere, and what you swore could only be pried from your cold, dead hands slipped away in a moment in time.

You both died, in a way, but it was Matt’s body you held as he took his last breaths in the dead of a hot summer’s night. You can’t remember if it rained, but he was certainly drowning in your tears.

“He’s going to kill you,” you warned him. “Parker and Fisk are out to destroy you. If Spider-Man sees you with your guard down, he won’t hesitate.”

Matt slid his skilled fingers into his pair of leather gloves. They were worn down, but they smelled like him. You could feel the unease sizzling in the pit of your stomach—a parasite.

“I have to do this,” he told you, his voice laden. “The bastard is ruining innocent lives in my city. I can’t stand idly by and let it happen.”

You weren’t fighting, but the statement still hung deafeningly loud in the room, hanging itself from the ceiling with a noose that was threatening to take you down with it.

“He challenged you because he knows you’d do anything—”

He cut you off, “He’s underestimating me.”

You stared into his eyes. It hurt. It hurt so much. The dark cloud was heading straight for you, but he couldn’t sense it. “You almost died the last time you came face-to-face with him,” you tried again.

“So did you,” he said. “Fisk is nothing without Spider-Man behind him, and those two have done enough damage already.”

“Matt, please—”

“I have to, sweetheart. This is the only way.”

“There is always another way.”

He shook his head. “Not this time. The city is about to fall. If I let them win, there is no coming back from this. You know that.”

“At least let me come with you then,” you said. You begged him to listen, but he wouldn’t see how worried you were. “We’ve been through hell together. We can fight this war together, too.”

“No,” Matt insisted. “He will see an easy target. You mean too much to me. Spider-Man is gonna use you to get through to me. I can do this. You just have to trust me.”

“I trust you. It’s him I don’t.”

“I’m gonna talk to him, and if I have to fight him again for the whole fucking world to see, so be it.”

The words slipped you before you could stop them, cutting through the air like a sharp-edged sword. “What if you die trying?”

He stopped dead in his tracks.

“I don’t want to lose you!” you cried.

You had not cried in front of him often before that night, but your walls cracked, and you broke.

Matt cradled your face as he whispered, begging you to listen, “You won’t. I promise. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

The invisible string pulled you tighter together. Fear, anger, and desperation; he felt so many things—so many things running deeper than the ocean—but you swallowed them.

“I’m not okay with this,” you murmured.

“I know. Here–” he guided your hands to his face, “Feel me,” he said.

You remember gasping when the floodgates opened. “I always feel you.”

You stroked his delicate cheeks. He was here, home with you; why couldn’t he stay like that forever? Why did you have to let him go? Past, present, and future began to blur.

I love you. He tuned out all other thoughts so you could hear him.

He was praying. He was hoping. Only a handful of times had he felt this way. You were so tightly interlaced that you could feel all of him without even trying, but that night, you tried. That night, he tuned out all of his self-deprecating thoughts. He allowed the silence of your connection to engulf him—for the city to disappear, and he allowed you in.

I love you so much. Do you hear me? You’re everything to me. I love you.

Those three words weighed heavy like bricks on your heart.

“Remember, three knocks,” he said aloud. “Don’t open for anyone else.”

“Three knocks,” you whispered in agreement.

Three knocks like three words: I love you.

You read his mind, swallowing the words, but a big part of you wanted to spit them back out. You didn’t want to hear it. The universe was sending you a warning sign.

Matt exhaled. He cupped your hands in his. The connection deepened, the string pulled tighter, and you became one. That night was the first night you saw glimpses of the future, and you didn’t want to accept it. You were such a fool to think everything could ever be fucking alright, both for you and for this magnificent force of a man you chose to call home—because home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling, and often enough, it’s a person.

He nuzzled his nose against yours. He kissed you. Softly, gently, passionately. You kissed him like you knew it would be the last time.

“I love you,” he repeated.

The red flags waved, but you looked away. “I don’t want to say it back because you have to come back to me,” you confessed, “and this feels too much like a goodbye.”

He forced you to look at him instead. “Say it back, baby.”

“I love you,” you caved.

You shouldn’t have. You should have put up more of a fight.

I will always come back to you. Cross my heart. He crossed his heart, but he hoped too much to die. Perhaps in not saying it out loud, he thought the truth would hurt less.

You refused to believe it until time had run out. You refused to cave until it happened. And when it happened, the city, for the first time since you’d arrived there, went completely quiet.

You followed him. Of course, you did. After a few hours of pacing the floor, you followed him. He was still in your head. You heard him from across the city, his thoughts loud and clear, and you could feel his pain like an inferno lighting up the night sky.

When you arrived on that godforsaken rooftop though, you could only watch in horror as Spider-Man lifted the love of your life toward the sky. He wouldn’t accept your bargain. You offered yourself instead of him, but no; Peter Parker was not in the mood for bargaining.

He lifted Matt toward the sky, and he drilled the dagger right through his chest.

“No!” you screamed again.

Silence.

His blood ran through your fingers like quicksand, and sitting there, cradling Matt’s chest to yours as his heartbeat slowly faded into oblivion, you knew the end was near. The world could be so fucking unfair. You both died, but it was only his heart that stopped. You lost him that night, and your entire world stopped in an instant.

You liked it better when he was angry with you. When he was loud, when he was laughing, even when he was just being sarcastic. You liked him better when he was alive. He turned into a ghost in your arms, forever and all eternity, and you fell face-first into the abyss.

Maybe it was raining that night. Maybe you were being buried under the weight of your guilt and the never-ending flow of your tears.

“I can’t…” you sobbed, tracing his cold cheek as the rain fell around you. “I can’t feel you.”

His heart stopped beating, and the invisible string pulverized. You watched it as it went with the wind. Without him. Without you.

You screamed until your lungs gave out. Then, silence settled in.

The night was quiet when he died; nothing but a sky full of stars and the endless black pit of death above and below you.

The blood and his missing pulse weren’t the worst part, by far; the worst part was that you could no longer feel him, and that thought won’t ever not haunt you.

You were certain that night. When you lost him, and you screamed your heart out, praying to a God you’ve never believed in, you swore to yourself that you would avenge him.

You were going to kill Peter Parker, and nothing in this world could ever stop you from watching this miserable motherfucker bleed to death.

The bed shakes violently as you awaken. Dreams, so many dreams. Your nights are far from peaceful. They haven’t been for weeks. Months. What day is it? You don’t remember.

Nightmares follow you like hunters after a fox. Your pajamas stick to your skin, and you’re sweating even though it is spring, and spring doesn’t have hot enough temperatures for you to be sweating quite like this. When you pull the comforter away in a sudden panic, the wetness seeping into your skin, there is nothing but white. No blood, no tears, just gaping emptiness in the farmhouse.

You pant heavily, dragging your nails across your skin. Your fingernails are tinted a charcoal black. In your heart, there had once been a bright red glow—like a ruby crystal sustaining your soul. You used it to channel other people’s thoughts. You could read them, you could hear them, and you could feel them. That Ruby has gone out now though; it has turned into a black smoke threatening to overtake anything it comes in contact with.

The sun isn’t strong enough to break through the gray clouds. As you step out into the garden that stretches around your home, a gentle wind brushes through the bare branches of the dead trees. The wood is starting to splinter, turning hollow as sickness after sickness runs rampant through nature.

You trace a finger over the poison ivy that has grown over the tombstone. The green fades, turning into a rotten brown. It dries out, and it dies right before your eyes, as do the roses you have been keeping in a vase ever since you laid a finger on the last bouquet.

He liked the smell of roses, but you hated the look of it until Matt died, and suddenly, everything looked and smelled like a field of roses, reminding you of him. He was your daisy, your sunflower, setting fire to your freezing soul. He was sunshine, you were midnight rain. He liked to claim differently, but you wouldn’t let him. You may have been his sunshine, but out of the both of you, he shone the brightest.

The poison ivy dies, and if you even manage to kill a plant with the word ‘poison’ in its name, what does that say about you? What has become of you; plotting a stranger’s death and killing the nature around you as you dive into books about mind-reading and dark magic to understand who you truly are? Dark magic sounds like a story out of a piece of fiction, but it’s far from that.

You’ve known of your ability to manipulate the human mind ever since you discovered the creature hidden within you, the one who could touch another human being and see their thoughts so clearly. The one time you tried to manipulate someone, you caused them indescribably agony. You ruined their life. You broke them. You made them complicit and took all they were away from them, turning their fragile mind into ashes. That day, your fingers turned charcoal for the first time.

If you try hard enough, you can kill him—Peter Parker. He took your husband and your city, now sitting in his ivory tower, overlooking the damage he’s done. He killed everyone and everything, even Wilson Fisk. He has taken the people of Hell’s Kitchen hostage, but no one has dared to make a move just yet, not since their beloved Daredevil disappeared off the face of the earth. With him, his Lady Red went as fast as she had come.

You don’t want to fix what Spider-Man destroyed; you can’t get back what he took, nor do you want to, and the city doesn’t mean anything without Matt in it.

You have to be the monster to kill another monster, only then you can join your husband in his tomb. Didn’t you vow to stay together, even in death?

The city can burn, for all you care, but first, Peter Parker has to die.

You scratch at the dirt in the engraving of his name. Matthew Michael Murdock. 1982 — 2023. Beloved husband and hero.

You hate this. You hate that his grave is in your backyard, but this was the only place you knew his corpse would be safest. No one can touch him here, and you can talk to him, pretending you can still feel him. If you focus hard enough, you can still hear his voice in your head, telling you to move on.

How could you though? How could you abandon all you’ve been through? You can fight, you can win or lose, but nothing will ever be the same again. And it is far from worth it to stay alive when he isn’t. You’ve made your decision; whether or not you’ve come to peace with it, that’s another story entirely.

“Tonight is the night,” you murmur to the gravestone. Of course, you don’t receive an answer.

Lately, you have been swearing to yourself you wouldn’t cry anymore, that there are no more tears left to shed, but every day, you end up crying anyway. It’s an endless cycle of despair.

You wipe your cheeks, untangling the chain that holds your golden wedding band close to your chest from around your neck. Gently, you guide it to your lips and press a kiss against the ring.

“I love you,” you whisper.

For when you meet again in another life.

You dig a small hole into the dry dirt where, six feet under, Matt is resting now. He always told you he would end up in hell when he died. You were never particularly religious before you met him, and when he struggled with his faith while you were together, you believed even less in an all-merciful God. Now though, with Matt gone and the world on the verge of falling apart and crushing you under its weight as you approach the biggest challenge of your life, the thought of ending up in an eternal life of nothingness after death—the thought of there being nothing but mindless darkness, no body, soul—scares you too much. Imagining the pits of hell or paradise with the love of your life, and reuniting with him, is a prospect you would rather see when you close your eyes than a world on fire.

The necklace lands in the hole, and you cover it up. You couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of your ring before, but you won’t risk carrying it when you do what you are about to do.

Tonight, Peter Parker is going to show himself to all of New York City as the new mayor in all of his Spider-Man glory. He begged for you to come out, and he told the city he would be merciful in prosecuting you for the crimes you committed in the past alongside Daredevil. When you come out tonight though, you won’t surrender yourself. You will use the platform he is giving you and you will fight as you reveal him to Hell’s Kitchen and show the world who he is. You will tell Matt’s story, even if it’s the last thing you do.

You have been burning for him for the longest time, and the flame is about to go out with a bang.

That night, you put on the red suit Melvin made for you years ago before he lost his mind for what might be the last time. It has holes from where the moths dug their teeth into. The piece around the waist is starting to fade in color, and the leather is worn out, but it reminds you of simpler times. Better times. The black of your fingertips matches the lining of your outfit, and that’s all you need to feel the power sizzle deep within you.

You don’t have to remember the weather report because you can feel the rain soaking your skin through the fabric. The air smells salty, and it tastes the same on your cracked lips. Tonight, you will be Lady Red for the last time. Until the bitter end, you have sworn yourself. Matt did the same thing. You have to do him proud.

You make your way from that little farmhouse—your broken red castle—to the familiar streets of Hell’s Kitchen. Destruction surrounds you. The news didn’t do justice to what Peter has done to the city you once loved. But no one loved it more than Matt Murdock.

Your fists clench at your sides. Oh, you want to tear this man limb by limb and feed him to the dogs.

It starts with a low rumbling beneath your boots. You don’t pay much mind to it at first. You hide out on a rooftop across the courthouse. The spotlights are on, and he’s standing there at the podium, looking as though he is so proud of himself for ruining so many lives. You don’t usually experience joy when hurting people, but you will savor watching the life drain from Peter’s lifeless eyes.

Your hands clench around Matt’s batons. The metal is heavy but flexible. You click your nails against them. Every move needs to be meticulously calculated, but tonight, the barons will remain in the holsters on your thighs. You won’t need them. You won’t need anything but your bare hands.

You’re going back to your roots tonight.

The ground moves slightly, only a few inches. You could have missed it if you weren’t crouching to get a better look at the world below you. You catch yourself on the ledge, a frown finding its way on your face.

“What the f–” you shake your head. Since when does thunder shake the ground?

You seem to be the only one who notices, or Peter Parker is better at brainwashing his decibels than you expected. He was born to be a dictator. His presence turned your fairytale into a dystopian tragedy.

“Tonight,” he says into his microphone, “is the last chance for Lady Red to reveal herself for a lesser sentence. A new era is on the horizon. I am your mayor, and I am Spider-Man. Without me, you would be nothing. Daredevil couldn’t save you. Wilson Fisk couldn’t save you. But I can, and after tonight, we will start anew. For this is the era of real heroes as we rebuild this city from the ground up, and we turn the City of New York, including Hell’s Kitchen, into its own world. Starting with the arrest of the criminal who is Daredevil’s accomplice Lady Red. I hope for her sake she will show herself tonight. If not, we will find her, and she will suffer the full extent of the consequences of her actions. That includes the Death Penalty.”

You land gracefully, catching yourself with your hand on the asphalt. The crowd parts with a gasp, and you finally stare into his eyes.

After he drilled that dagger through Matt’s heart, he told you, “You will always be a monster, never a God.”

You deserve nothing, he thought. It has stuck with you since that night. Growing up, it was the only thing you heard. You were nothing but trash. A disgrace. A monster. What will they say when they see that you have finally become what they feared so much?

You will burn down whatever is left of the world, including him. God knows you want to.

Magic pulsates in the atmosphere like a growing spell in a small shoe box. The air vibrates, and the ground shakes again. This isn’t your doing, but the sudden charge that fills your veins as adrenaline sustains you. Your eyes glow red. This is who you were born to be.

“I heard you were looking for me,” you declare.

He doesn’t look surprised to see you. “Ah, just like clockwork,” he murmurs. “Are you going to make this hard on all of us or are you here to finally surrender yourself?”

You purse your lips, playing with the energy between your fingers. “I came to destroy you.” Each step toward him on the big marble steps feels like a mile, and the crowd starts to move further back, dispersing in an attempt to save themselves. Most of them are eager to watch though. What has he done to them?

“Destroy me?” Peter laughs, addressing the crowd again, “You see who you’ve been calling a hero all this time? This mutant? Look at her!”

All eyes are on you. They’re whispering. They’re speculating. Their thoughts overlap in disarray, and you’re drowning in a sea of judgment. They are trying to tear you down like sharks. You’re leaking blood, and God, they are angry. But it’s not you they’re angry at.

“You call me a mutant,” you say, “but wasn’t it you who was bit by a radioactive spider?”

His smile fades.

“You are Spider-Man, no?”

“You are a wannabe hero with unregulated powers,” he snaps. His voice roars through the speakers, and the mood in the crowd starts to shift.

The ground vibrates again, stronger this time. You can’t be the only one feeling the quakes, but everyone else seems unmoved. They’re too focused on both of you to notice anything else, and you should do the same. However, the energy doubles and you are closer to bursting than ever. Something is happening, and you have no control over it.

Peter sneers. “You’re a failure,” he calls your name, “just like your husband!”

You stop dead in your tracks. Your eyes darken. “If you want to enforce the death penalty on me, Parker,” you growl, “why don’t you do it yourself?”

Peter taps his chest, and his suit transforms into shades of black and spider webs. At that moment, panic erupts. People start running, but you tune them out.

The air begins to smell sour. Burnt. It is so high the pain consumes you whole. He doesn’t have to touch you to bring you to your knees, but looking up, you realize that it wasn’t Spider-Man who infused your ears with such a high frequency.

Someone is uttering a powerful spell, you can hear his voice in your head as he thinks of several names all over the place. Time passes by in a flash. Hours, days, weeks, and months. The universe falls out of control. The beeping picks up and you sink deeper into the ground.

You swear then and there that the sky starts to rip in two. The sky resembles a nasty cut on your forehead, a pair of hands ripping the cut further apart, causing the blood to pour out in rivers.

One of the cuts swallows you. With a scream, you fall through several rollercoasters passing by violet stars.

The cut is a portal; one moment, you are flying through the sky at the highest possible speed, and the next, you hit the ground hard.

It’s not raining anymore. The sun shines down on you, and the heat creeps up your skin like tiny ants. The pain finally releases, but your head is still spinning. So many feelings, so many voices, and so many thoughts threaten to overwhelm you.

Not even an LSD trip hits that bad. You lazily open your heavy eyes to find not the courthouse but the New York skyline right before you.

You look down at your shaky hands. The charcoal is gone. The power in your veins feels different, all-consuming, but in no way bad. You take a deep breath. Even the oxygen tastes different.

The world stops spinning, and you finally take a look around. A car honks, an SUV heading straight for your wobbly frame.

You’re in the middle of a road. What is it? A freeway.

Oh, shit!

You jump aside, hitting the sidewalk with a loud thud.

“Watch out, bitch!” the driver shouts out of his window.

Where once used to be the courthouse, you are met with a street in the middle of downtown Hell’s Kitchen, New York. Stores line the side of the street. Tourists, foreigners, and those who are native to the city pass by you, and their gasps and whispers sound so different from the automatic voices Peter Parker raised them to be.

“Oh, no,” you breathe out. “Oh, no, no, no!” The air is getting thinner.

“What are you thinking about, hm?” he asked into the darkness of the room.

His heartbeat aligned with yours. His calloused fingertips traced your bare skin. You were in heaven. Beautiful, sinful heaven.

His jawline appeared even sharper in the colorful lights from the billboard outside. His skin glowed white—paler than usual, even. You could stare into his eyes forever, such a beautiful hazel with hints of forest green. Perfect eyebrows, perfect lips. They bowed at the top, so kissable.

He pressed them to your bare shoulder blade, down your spine. The butterflies danced crazy in your tummy.

“You’re distracted,” he hummed again.

You chuckled, looking over your shoulder at the beautiful man in bed with you.

“Can’t help it when I’m with you,” you remember saying.

Matt offered you his signature smirk. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I quite like the view.”

“And when I do this?” He trailed another finger down your sensitive spine.

You shuddered. “That, too.”

He did it again. “Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

“Thinking,” you said.

“About what?” he asked.

“A book I read.” You paused to turn on your back. “About the multiverse.”

It was a surprising change in subject, and he raised his eyebrows in a rather amused way. “The multiverse?”

You nodded. “We know way too little about it. There could be more of me and more of you out there, and we don’t even know it,” you told him. “The multiverse… there is a chance it could be real. And that alone is terrifying because if it opens and we’re not prepared, chaos might ensue.”

He propped himself up on his elbow next to you, listening to the calming sound of your voice. It was always his favorite thing to do.

Matt used your voice as his podcast; it was his favorite, too.

“Can we jump universes?” he wondered.

You shrugged. You didn’t know, at least not at the time. “Maybe,” you said. “But I’m not a scientist, let alone good at physics, so… let’s just go back to kissing. I’m much better at that.”

He laughed, but he did not object. At least with kissing, you both knew what you were doing. So, he brought his lips to yours, and the multiverse disappeared in a Bermuda Triangle of pleasure in your mind. Lost but not forgotten.

Maybe.

But as you sit there, sliding back against the brick wall in the closest alley, you realize that you downplayed the probability.

You were going to kill a man, but instead of blood on your hands, you are now cursed with the knowledge that the ‘maybe’ of your once-thought-silly pillow talk has always been very fucking real, and you have nowhere to run in this strange world you have fallen into that is New York City, Earth-616.

Where do you run when you can go anywhere, just not home?

Tagging: @nk1023 @sarahskywalker-amidala @ignore-mp3 @imonabitchparade @familyvideowithsteve @eyelessdemon

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #angst no happy ending #daredevil #daredevil x reader #mutant reader #i love you in every universe #charlie cox

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freneticphoneticfanatic · 10 months

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Hearing other women talk vaguely about how things “used to be bad for women” saddens me. Things were really bad for women in [INSERT TIME PERIOD HERE]. (Not now though.) There’s always a sense of distance and indifference. An impersonality, an underlying sigh of relief, “Not that bad, could be worse.” I think this is a result of disconnection from each other and our histories. And I don’t think it’s totally our faults.

In my experience going to school in the USAmerican Midwest, I was taught the barest bones of women’s history. It was totally impersonal, cold, not engaging for me at all. We pretty much solely focused on legislature, and that did not thrill me. (Did you know Jane Addams had intimate relationships with women?) But then I started doing “independent study” (reading lesbian feminist writing) once I graduated high school and it was like my brain was exploding. I’m reading The Dialectic of Sex and I still feel that way. I just can’t get enough.

As a result of reading what I’ve read, I feel a stronger connection with women who are different from me because it turns out we have a lot in common. I feel less inclined to say things like “Women had it bad back in the day, but things are better now,” because I know not that much has actually changed, and the concrete changes that have been made are new and fragile. (Women in America only had a constitutional right to abortion for fifty years.)

I think if more women read books like Backlash by Susan Faludi, Loving to Survive by Dee LR Graham, and A Passion for Friends by Janice Raymond, we will have a wider perspective and a better shared understanding of our situation and position in our societies. I also think a lot of women would feel less crazy and alone upon reading women’s accounts of our own lives, what we synthesize from our experiences and observations, and how we can do things differently. That’s the effect feminist work had (and continues to have) on me.

You likely won’t find these books at a bookstore—at least that’s the case where I live—but you can find them online. I use ThriftBooks and Better World Books, and I’ve never received a damaged or illegible copy of a single book I’ve ever ordered, even though they’re super cheap, usually under $10 for a book. (They sometimes have highlighter marks or notes written in the margins, but I like seeing what the previous owner had to say, and I like to write in them too.) Finding and reading these books is well worth the effort. Talking about them and sharing them with other women is well worth the effort, too. I’d like to encourage every woman to get in touch with her intellectual legacy.

#mine #feminism #feminist #radical feminism #lesbian feminism #shulamith firestone #dee lr graham #janice raymond #susan faludi #booklr #bookblr

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meadowscarlet · 2 years

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swimming pools ━━━ steve harrington.

pairings: steve harrington x fem!reader.

summary: being alone in the swimming pool with steve harrington in the serene, dark night brought up intense feelings that blossomed into a steamy and passionate night.

warnings: nsfw, vaginal fingering, nipple play, praise kink, cursing, brief teasing, dirty talk if you squint, innocence kink, heavy making out, pet names like “baby” and “angel”, no specific timeline in st, mentions of sex, drinking and smoking.

author’s note: don’t judge me, this is my first time writing these kinds of fics and honestly it was a scary experience 😭 do not copy, post on another site, translate or claim any of my works as your own or you will be reported! nav.

With the exception of the moonlight reflected off the pool, the night was peaceful and tranquil and wholly empty. Teenagers were partying, drinking, making out, and swimming in the pool only a moment ago, creating a wild and amusing atmosphere that smelled of booze, smoke, and sex and setting the scene for a fierce night that went very smoothly.

Steve was currently having a euphoric high. The taste of alcohol still lingered on his tongue, reminding him of the ecstasy he had only a moment earlier, and he felt elated and fucking wasted from all the beers he had recently consumed. It had been awhile since he had great times with everything going on. He thought the crazy party was worth it, but he had a bleary feeling that the night hadn't ended yet.

When he turned around and looked, he found that you were the only person left in the area. Steve's mouth started to become dry. He remembered not letting his attention stray from you and your body while he was drinking and having a good time at the party because you were so distracting: your dress was tight, perfectly fitting to your curves as you moved your hips to the music with your friends. It would be an understatement to say that Steve was drooling at that.

You had always been the beloved and well-known pretty girl in Hawkins who was popular among the guys. There was one rumor where you were vindictive and spoiled and all the nasty shit people would throw at a girl living her teenage life but Steve knew it was all nonsense. Despite your notoriety as being popular, rich, and attractive, you were truly an actual angel and something sweet that made Steve eager to devour you. You were the one dream girl that everyone desired.

One thing he was pleased with, was that while you two were not close, you were also not complete strangers. Steve would reminisce how you'd pass by him in the school hallway with a delicate and divine grin that made him weak in the knees. Since you were always with your friends, your conversations together were short and simple. If not by your friends, Steve would observe how guys would approach you and ask you out on dates. To his greatest surprise, but mostly amusement, you never went out with any of them.

Steve had it bad, to put it mildly, with those ephemeral interactions and his eyes following you everywhere. Like everyone else, Steve Harrington was attracted to you, but he also felt a rush of feelings when your eyes, not for the first time in the night, locked with his. The night suddenly felt overbearingly dark, but when you smiled at him, fuck, he knew he was done for.

“Hi, Steve,” you giggled as you saw him openly staring at you.

Your eyes were bright and wide as you watched him. Steve knew he didn’t have to hide it anymore; so he let his gaze wandered around you, from your goddess of a face to your breathtaking body which was barely covered with the hot two piece you wore; your body completely exposed and Steve realized that it was only then you removed your cover up, when there was many people, you wore that dress and didn’t swim but now, you and him just alone, his gaze trailing every inch of you and you just let him.

You were studying him with bright, wide eyes. Steve realized he didn't need to hide it anymore, so he let his gaze observe you as it moved from your goddess-like face to your stunning body, which was barely covered by the two-piece bikini you were wearing. Steve realised that it was only then that you took off your cover-up dress; earlier, when there were many people present, you wore the dress and resisted to swim, but now, with just the two of you, he let his gaze follow every inch of you and you just let him.

Steve was going insane.

“Hey, angel,” he replied, voice husky. Then he suddenly frowned. “You’re not going home yet?” not that he wanted you to leave, it was just odd how all your friends went home and you were here.

Your eyes glinted with amusement. “You're not gonna let me join you?”

When Steve looked down, water was there to greet him. He didn't realize how long he had been in the pool until he was going on about you and staring at you. The words coming from your mouth were seductive and sweet, luring him. Before he could ponder how he managed to forget that he was actually in a pool, he instead concentrated on what you said. The night was cold and perhaps you could provide him some warmth.

After feeling a desire emerge within him, Steve didn't hesitate. “C’mere then,”

As you approached him, you sat on the edge of the pool and dipped your flawlessly gorgeous legs into the water rather than joining him in the pool as he had anticipated. Steve approached you when you were playing in the water with your legs, swimming so close that his chest was only an inch over your knees and he looked hypnotized. His pulse began to race as soon as he heard you take a tense breath since this was the closest he had ever been near you and you smelt like something he never wanted to forget.

“I thought you’re gonna join me,” Steve said almost breathlessly.

“Is it deep?”

“Wait, what?“

You laughed shakily. “The water. Is it deep?”

Steve placed a wet hand on your leg without thinking about it, and he nearly groaned as he felt you shiver, either from the water or his hand, but your chest was rising quickly, which can be very distracting.

“No, no, it’s not deep,” he responded, trailing his fingers along your legs, and you shuddered even more. Steve could see how your eyes were clouded by a phantom of want and he has no doubt his eyes darkened it too. “Enjoyed the party, did we, angel?”

When Steve's fingertips traced the insides of your thighs, you whimpered quietly, but your response was breathy and heavenly. “Kinda… my friends ditched me for their boyfriends.”

“People who would ditch you are out of their minds,” Steve muttered. “I can’t even imagine doing that.”

“Well, it’s just us,” you said quietly.

“Us,” Steve said, tasting the word in his mouth and it felt good saying it. “What do you think your friends and their boyfriends are doing now?”

You suddenly looked bashful; god you were adorable. “Having their own… fun.”

“And you’re not?” Steve murmured, now fiddling with the straps of your bikini underwear. “Seems unfair, doesn’t it, angel?”

You stuttered, “S–steve,”

“You like that, yeah?” Steve fought the impulse to totally grasp you and bring you close to him in the water. “Calling you angel?”

“I do,” you gasped.

“Well, what about, baby?” Steve’s eyes darkened with lust once he saw how you clamped your thighs together.

“God, Steve,” you breathed, Steve could practically hear your heart racing, mirroring his own.

Steve has both of his hands on your supple thighs at this point. “I haven’t even touched you properly, baby,” he whispered, he adored the way you shuddered with the name he called you. “A fun you deserve.”

You’re breathing hard now. “Then touch me, Steve.”

“Are you sure?”

You only nodded.

“Words, angel.” he whispered.

“Yes.” you replied breathlessly and that was all it took for Steve to finally taste you.

He kisses your lips hungrily, and his cock hardens hearing your muffled moan in his mouth. This was it; your taste was more divine than anything else, your lips were soft, and you fulfilled all of his fantasies. Your lower lip was bit by his teeth as he enjoyed how your chest crushed against his, sending both of your hearts racing.

Steve wanted to taste your lips more but your neck was beckoning for him so he moved to kiss your neck, placing his hands on your waist, pulling you to him as you automatically wrapped your legs around his waist. His tongue was licking your earlobe, whispering praises and assurances in your ear while you grow suddenly needy, moving against him, pressing your body impossibly closer together.

You clenched your teeth and whimpered softly as he bit and sucked the sweet spot on your neck. He pulled you deeper into the water, making you tighten your legs around his waist. “Steve!” you cried. “I'm wet.”

“Are you really?” he teased and suddenly his hand was cupping your clothed pussy, trailing his fingers on the clothed slit, his eyes never left your closed eyes and your pretty face.

“God, Steve,” you moaned, wanting him to end his teasing already.

“God’s not here, baby,” When his fingers finally made it to your clit, Steve sighed, pushing your bikini underwear down onto your thighs while still his finger trailed the slit, loving the way you moaned heavenly. “It’s just you and me, remember?”

“Have you ever done this?” he then asked as he paused before inserting a finger into your cunt.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, holding onto him tightly. “Not t—to anyone.”

“So, this hasn't been touched yet?” Steve groaned and swirled his finger deeper into your clit. You began to follow the insert of his finger and grind against it.

You moaned as he inserted another finger. “I have,”

Steve gave you a vociferous kiss on the neck and throat, leaving lovebites on your immaculate skin as the moonlight shone on you, leaving him speechless at your beauty. “Fuck, baby,” he said breathlessly. “I’m the first and I will be the last.”

Steve didn't even realize as his other hand, which wasn't inside you, moved to your back to untie your bra, which promptly fell into the water and left you now bare before him. Fuck, you were so exquisite. You grinded on his fingers in desperation, whimpering when he added a third one, and his back was scratched by your nails.

His lips moved to kiss your chest right away, then he licked his way to your right nipple; sucking and licking before doing the same with your left nipple. He was having a wonderful time with you as his fingers worked inside of you, and he was loving the way you were clenching against him.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Steve said, gently biting your nipple as his pace with his fingers inside your pussy was moving quick. “So good baby… you feel so good.”

As your climax approached, Steve paced his finger in and out of your pussy while you began to whine from your lovely lips, that tasted incredibly wonderful. Steve imagined how his dick would be instead of his fingers inside you, imagining it made him scorchingly desire you, but this isn't about pleasing him; it's about you, and he wasn't going to rush you. He felt like he was on cloud nine as he felt you tighten and clench all around his finger, urging you to come with just his fingers.

As soon as you came on his fingers, you shuddered, but the moan you let out was smothered when Steve gave you a full mouth kiss while his other finger pinched and stroked your nipples. You pulled him in closer with your arms around his neck and a passionate kiss that ignited your combined passion.

Steve slightly pivoted and gave you a look that was filled with admiration as he kissed you again on the forehead, the nose, and then the lips then moved the stray wet hairs away from your face. “Did you have fun, angel?” he whispered against your lips.

You responded, panting and beaming, “I did,” and when you added, “Only with I'm with you,” Steve's heart flipped.

#♡ — ani’s works.#steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fic

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taintedtort · 1 year

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prompt ✧ them as your campus crush

characters ✧ kazuha, xiao, scaramouche, childe, albedo

warnings ✧ gn!reader, college!au

a/n ✧ i should probably work on the 3 requests sitting in my drafts, but i will procrastinate instead

KAZUHA

✧ hes the mr nice guy type, always helping people around campus whenever he can. he’s mostly found in the cafe near the university, no matter what time of day it is. when you first saw him sitting at the corner table all alone, his coffee and pastry in front of him, you couldn’t help but stare. he looked so gorgeous sitting there looking at his phone, honestly you were jealous he was able to be so effortlessly good looking. ever since then, you made a point to visit said cafe whenever you could. you might be so lucky as to be invited to his table one day!

XIAO

✧ xiao is the guy who keeps to himself. no one really notices him, unless they find him attractive, but then they loose interest when they figure out he doesn’t even want to have a simple conversation with them. he’s mostly found in his dorm, much to your dismay, but you’ve graciously been given the chance to have some classes with him. you try to sit next to or behind him as much as possible without looking weird. you pray he‘ll have a shrivel of interest when you finally get the guts to talk to him.

SCARAMOUCHE

✧ he doesn’t bother with making friends. no one’s good enough to his standards anyway, and that mindset is also the reason why no one approaches him. he shoots girls down left and right, he honestly thinks his good looks are a curse sometimes. he’s mostly found in class, he rarely skips— which is sort of surprising. his 'too good’ attitude is usually a turn off for most girls, but not you. all you wanted to do was peel off that tough exterior he puts on. when you first starting sitting next to him in the classes you two shared, he instantly noticed. he didn’t say anything though, so maybe you have a chance!

CHILDE

✧ everyone loves him. he’s always going to parties and staying out late, he really doesn’t want to miss that "college experience". so if you wanna catch him, you’ll have to go to a dorm party at some random persons place. it’ll take a while to find him through the crowd, but once you do it made it all worth it. he has the biggest smile and a lively energy surrounding him. he just looked so in place, while you did not. maybe that’s what made him notice you. when his eyes met yours and his smile widened even bigger, you knew you made the right choice in going.

ALBEDO

✧ albedo is always on top with his assignments. everyone hounds him for answers because he’s so approachable. a lot of girls tend to crush on him, but he never gives them a chance, he’s too focused on his studies. he‘s usually found in the campus library, multiple books stacked on his table. when you sat across from him the first time, he didn’t even glance up, he was way too engrossed with reading. however, it gave you a chance to admire his features a little closer up. but when you saw his lip twitch slightly into a grin and his eyes drift up to meet yours, you felt your face heating.

#reader insert #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #x reader #fanfic #gender netural #gn reader #scaramouche x reader #xiao x reader #kazuha x reader #childe x reader #albedo x reader #genshin headcannons #college!au #genshin impact #taintedtort

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bookworm551 · 9 months

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Take the Edge Off | Part 5 | Comfort

After a devastating loss, Miguel seeks comfort in you

Sorry this took so long!! Life hit and I had to put this on the back burner. The next chapter might take a while too but I promise, it will definitely be worth the wait ;) Also, I’m slowly adding more fluff to these chapters, so if you don’t like it, too bad. Anyways, enjoy <3

Warnings: p in v, oral (m-receiving), fingering

Word count: 6k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

"That anomaly is going to wreak havoc on the multiverse."

Nobody could have guessed just how right Miguel was. The anomaly that had escaped before had eluded the Spider-Society better than any of you had expected, setting off several chain reactions throughout various universes, little fires that you all had to scramble to put out. All of it was manageable until Earth-2319.

The anomaly had caused a canon-event disruption so large that nobody could stabilize the dimension, and it all collapsed on itself, destroying everything and everyone in it. You hadn't been on the mission since you were forced to adhere to Miguel's rule of not going on missions with him. In hind sight, you were grateful that you had stayed back. Watching a universe collapse wasn't something you wished to experience.

The loss of Earth-2319 shook everyone. Since Miguel had established the Spider-Society, there had only been a handful of losses like this. The compound on Earth-928 was unusually empty since everyone had gone back to their own dimensions just for the sake of appreciating that it was still there.

That's what you were doing, too. You sat next to your apartment window staring out at the city beyond it. It was all so mundane, so normal, and yet, the beauty of it made your throat tighten with emotion. You couldn't imagine the horror of losing an entire dimension, and the thought of losing your own made tears well in your eyes.

Suddenly, there was a knock at your door to pull you out of your melancholy. You whipped your head around in surprise. You hardly ever had visitors, but you pushed yourself away from your window and cracked the door open.

To your great surprise, Miguel's tall figure was there standing in the doorway. What was even more surprising was the fact that he wasn't in his spider suit. You stared dumbfounded for a second as you processed the sight of Miguel in a tight black t-shirt under a dark jacket and a pair of jeans.

"Hey," you said as you opened the door wider, surprise evident in your voice. His dark eyes lifted from the floor to meet yours. His lips parted like he was going to say something but then closed again with an uncomfortable sigh.

He didn't need to say anything. You could see the emotion in his eyes from the loss of Earth-2319–grief, anger, defeat. You looked up at him sympathetically and leaned your head against your door. "I know," you told him softly. "I heard." He sighed again, his eyes glancing away your face with a subtle nod.

"Are you alone?" He asked finally. Lifting your head off the door, you answered, "Yeah. Do you want to come in?" He hesitated before giving you a barely-perceptible nod of his head.

Moving aside, you opened the door wider so that he could enter your apartment. Closing the door, you turned back to face him and noticed how out of place he seemed in your home. He was so tall and muscular that it made your already small space feel even more cramped, not to mention how uncomfortable he seemed by being there.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You asked. He looked back at you for a moment before replying quietly, "No." You studied him for a quiet second without reply. His jaw clenched as he closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. "I want to forget about it," he said finally.

You knew what that meant. While you didn't mind in the slightest helping him take his mind off of things and providing him with some physical comfort, you hesitated and wondered if it was the best thing for him at the moment.

Miguel was waiting for a response, and he looked down at you expectantly. You placed a hand on his chest and looked up at him sympathetically. He wasn't good at being vulnerable, but for the first time since you met him, you could see he was trying.

You pushed him back gently with your hand on his chest, and he took several steps backwards until his the back of his legs hit your bed. He slowly sat down at the edge of your bed, his eyes fixed on your face. You moved your hands under his jacket and helped him remove it from his shoulders. With it being tossed on the floor, you crawled forward onto his lap, his hands tracing up the sides of your legs as his eyes fixed on your lips.

However, instead of kissing him like he was expecting, your arms slid around his neck, and you pulled him into a tight embrace. Miguel tensed for just a second before he hesitatingly wrapped his arms around your torso, and after a moment, he was fully hugging you back with his face buried in your neck.

You stayed there like that for quite a while. You could feel his heart beating steadily against his chest, and his hot breath fanned against your neck. The weight of his grief was reflected in the strength of his grip around your body. He seemed tired, completely and truly tired. It made your chest ache rather unexpectedly.

"This won't make it go away," you whispered finally. "You know that, right?" He didn't reply for a heartbeat, but then he sighed deeply. "I know," he whispered back.

You rubbed a hand down his back slowly for a little while until you turned your face into the crook of his neck. You pressed your lips to his skin, making him sigh again. Miguel tilted his head to give you better access to his neck, and your kisses slowly trailed up to his jaw.

As you kissed him, you started rocking your hips against his. A very quiet moan escaped from his lips, and his fingers gripped at your torso reactively. You increased your movements against him, and it made Miguel's breathing grow louder and deeper.

You placed another kiss on his jaw before pressing your lips against his. His hands wandered under your shirt as he kissed you before slowly lifting it up your body. You raised your arms to allow him to pull your shirt over your head, and you reached behind your back to unclasp your bra. As it fell away, Miguel pressed his kisses slowly across your collarbones.

The silence between you was unusual. Typically, you were shooting witticisms back and forth as you explored each other's bodies, but not this time. This time, it was quiet and slow with only the sounds of heavy breathing to fill the silence.

You sighed at his touch before pulling at his shirt from behind his back. He lifted his arms to help you pull the material over his head. As you tossed his shirt on the floor, you ran your hands over the tight muscles of his body. You still couldn't get over just how good he looked, and you stared at his chiseled abdomen before pressing kisses to his tanned skin.

Your lips leisurely moved down his torso, and Miguel leaned back on his hands as he sighed loudly at the trail of kisses you left on his body. You had never quite taken the time to properly shower him with physical affection like this, and Miguel closed his eyes at the sensation of your lips scattering kisses across his body.

When you reached the top of his jeans, you had slid off his lap and were now kneeling on the floor in front of him. You glanced up at him and could see the restless look on his face. You didn't look away as your hands undid the button and zipper of his jeans, the bulge in his pants becoming more evident.

"I like undressing you," you said with a smirk, breaking the silence around you. Miguel let out a little huff before replying, "It's easier with my suit." You hummed as you hooked your fingers under the waistline of his jeans. "Maybe so," you conceded, "but this is more fun."

He didn't say anything in response, he just lifted his hips to allow you to pull his jeans over his ass. He had already kicked off his shoes, and with his pants discarded, he was left in only a pair of black briefs with the print of his cock pressing through. With one hand, you rubbed his length over his briefs, causing him to clench his jaw and grunt at the sensation.

"I won't make you say please this time," you told him with a smirk. "But you have to promise me something." His chest was already heaving in anticipation, and his dark eyes were staring down at you attentively.

"Promise me you won't hold back all those sounds I like to hear," you said, looking up at him through your lashes. "I want to hear just how good I make you feel." You could see Miguel's face turn a little red at your demand. You had long noticed that the extent of noises he made when fucking were limited to sighs, grunts, and the occasional groan. You knew he was withholding the sounds that you enjoyed so much for the sake of his own ego, but if he wanted you to make him feel good, he'd better let you know he was feeling good.

You waited expectantly for his answer, still rubbing him slowly over the material of his briefs. His abs tightened, and you could feel him twitching under your palm. You looked up at his face as you waited patiently for his response.

Miguel seemed hesitant to answer you, but with how badly he wanted you to touch him, he eventually nodded and mumbled, "Okay." You smirked up at him and pressed your hand down on him with more pressure, causing him to grunt softly. "That's what I like to hear," you whispered as you tugged his briefs down his hips.

You grabbed his length firmly in your hand, and Miguel closed his eyes with a sharp breath. Tilting your head, you ran your tongue up one side of his dick and then the other, earning a soft sigh from him. There was precum already leaking from the end of his cock, and Miguel brought a hand up to grip at your head as your tongue continued teasing him.

"Fuck," he muttered quietly, his body tensing as you traced your tongue along the underside of his dick. His breathing was growing louder and less steady, and you could tell he was aching for you to do more to him.

Your lips twisted into a smirk while your hands began moving up and down lazily. You lowered your mouth down onto him slowly, taking as much of him as possible. As his cock hit the back of your throat, Miguel let out a quiet moan. It sounded like music to your ears, and you started moving your head up and down to encourage more sounds from him.

Miguel's head fell backward with another groan. He continued making quiet sounds as you moved your head and hands in tandem with each other. His fingers gripped the sheets of your bed, and his chest was heaving with every loud breath he took.

"Mierda," he gasped. "Don't stop, babygirl, don't stop."

His words drove you crazy. You could feel the hot throbbing between your legs, and the pace and eagerness with which you moved your mouth and hands increased, causing more groans to spill from his lips.

Glancing up at him, you wanted to memorize this image of him forever. The muscles of his torso were flexing with pleasure as he leaned back on one hand, the other one still holding your head though not pushing you down further than you could go. His eyes were closed, and his lips were parted with soft grunts emerging from them. The anger and dismay from earlier had disappeared from his expression, and you knew he was absorbed in the feeling of your mouth around him.

You trained your focus on taking as much of his dick in your mouth as possible. He hissed sharply as your tongue continued moving smoothly around him. His grunts and groans grew louder and more frequent until there was no silence. Your name was falling from his lips between his ragged breaths, and eventually, he was hardly able to talk at all.

When his thighs started to flex, you knew he was growing closer to finishing. His panting breaths were becoming shakier, and his groans were growing louder. You raised your mouth off of him but still kept your hands moving at the same steady pace.

"On me or in me?" You asked.

Miguel struggled to reply as your hands continued sliding up and down his cock fervently. "What?" He managed grunt out, opening his eyes to look down at you.

"Do you want to cum on me or in me?" You asked sweetly, your lips turned upwards in a devious smile. Miguel cursed under his breath and sat up to grab your wrists. Moving your hands away from his dick, he yanked you up from your kneeling position, his hands grasping desperately at your body as he pulled you up to his face.

"In you," he answered breathlessly. "In you every time."

You smirked at his response and began pulling your shorts and underwear down and kicked them off. Being completely exposed, you crawled up into his lap. His eyes were glossed over with lust, and his whole body moved restlessly in search of yours. You kissed him, and he shoved his tongue eagerly in your mouth and moaned at the sensation. Reaching a hand down, you aligned yourself to him before lowering yourself slowly onto his cock.

Feeling him stretch you out so perfectly caused a satisfied groan to emerge from your throat. Miguel sucked in a sharp breath as you moved down his length until your hips were resting in his lap. He released the breath in a long sigh as you moved your hips upwards again.

Miguel's hands didn't know how to stay still. They roamed your body eagerly, sliding across your back, grabbing at your ass, moving down your thighs. As you continued rising and falling on his dick, he settled them onto your hips and held your waist. His head was tilted back as he stared at your face through half-lidded eyes while soft grunts sounded from his parted lips.

Your body moved at a steady pace as he gripped your torso and held you tightly against his body. The feeling of his massive size moving in you sent ripples of pleasure throughout your body with every rise and fall of your hips. You would never get used to how good he could make you feel, and with the sounds of your heavy breathing and his quiet sounds between you, you found that every little moan and sigh fueled your passion.

He had been on the cusp of his release before, and now, he was chasing after it again. His arms snaked around your waist, and he rested his head against your collarbone while raising your body up and slamming it back down on his cock faster and harder. Your hands pulled his head closer while your fingers threaded through his hair, loud groans tearing from your throat as he pounded into you.

Miguel was keeping his promise as well. He let go of any apprehension he may have had about moaning and was now so engulfed in his pleasure he was receiving from you that the neighbors could undoubtedly hear him through the walls. His grunts and gasps filled the air around you as he lifted you up and down with fervor. His own lust-crazed desperation had rendered you speechless, and you held onto him while letting out soft whines and and groans.

Words were pouring from his lips, mumbled and slurred in a drunken-like stupor. They were mostly in Spanish, but he spoke so quietly and moaned so often that it was difficult to hear him. You caught the occasional word or phrase that he murmured against your hot skin— tan bonita, preciosa, qué rica. He seemed to be saying them more for himself that for you, but hearing him whisper in your ear like that made you press sloppy kisses all over his neck and shoulder.

With a long, gasping moan, his movements stopped suddenly as his arms squeezed around you tightly, and he came inside you. You held him tightly while he released every bit of tension from his body into you. After a quiet moment, his whole body seemed to sag with relief, and his tight embrace of your body loosened. With only your heavy breathing to fill the silence, his posture made it seem like he was hugging you, his arms still wrapped around your torso while his face rested in the crook of your neck.

Finally, he raised his head up and placed a gentle kiss to your throat. "I fucking love the way you feel around me," he murmured softly against your skin. You hummed with a smirked. "That's why you always come back," you replied smugly. He raised his head up to look at your face through half-lidded eyes, your noses touching and lips brushing softly against each other.

"I don't think I can stay away from you," he admitted under his breath, sounding almost perplexed at his confession. You studied his face for a second, taking in the sight of his sharp angles and dark features that made him so handsome. There was a glimmer of sweat that covered his skin, and his hair was messy from your fingers running through it. He looked so good, it hurt.

"Then don't," you whispered softly, pressing a kiss to his lips. You slipped your tongue into his mouth, and he moaned quietly as you moved it lazily against his own. Breaking away from his lips, you lifted yourself off of him, and Miguel closed his eyes with a soft sigh. You rolled off his lap and lay down on the bed.

He was still sitting up on the edge of your bed with his eyes closed, his breathing starting to slow finally. When he opened them again, his gaze began searching the floor for his discarded clothes. Your heart dropped a little when you realized he was getting ready to leave, and you couldn't stop yourself from whispering, "Stay."

His eyes shifted over to your face, and he didn't say anything. "You should stay," you repeated before adding softly, "if you want to, of course." He waited a moment as he stared down at your naked body lying next to him, and he ran a hand slowly up your leg. On his face, you could see him debating your plea, and for a disappointing second, you thought he was going to turn you down.

"Okay."

Your eyebrows quirked up in pleasant surprise, and you couldn't resist the soft smile that grew on your face. You shifted to allow him space next to you on your bed. With a grunt, he lay down next to you. His weight caused the bed sag, and you chuckled at how your body was pulled in toward his.

As Miguel adjusted next to you, he turned his head toward you, eyes raking across your form in contemplation. "Hmm?" You hummed questioningly, noting his unabashed stare. His eyes moved back up to your face after a second, and he replied, "I was selfish."

Your eyebrows drew together in confusion. "What do you mean?" You asked softly.

He ran a hand up the tender inside of your thigh, sending chills across your skin. "I didn't take care of you first," he said in a low voice. The corner of your lip pulled upward. You hadn't been planning on saying anything to him about not finishing. You knew he was in need of a distraction, and you didn't mind setting aside your own pleasure to give it to him.

"This was for you," you told him. "And it doesn't mean I didn't have fun." He hummed as his fingers traced up your leg ever so slowly, and your breath hitched at his feather-light touch. "Perhaps," he conceded, "but it's more fun when I get to see the pretty faces you make when you cum."

As he spoke, Miguel rolled onto his side, propping himself up by his elbow, and ran his fingers through the wet folds of your pussy. Your eyes closed as you took in a sharp breath, and your head pressed back into the mattress with a soft whimper. "There's one," he noted in a satisfied tone. "I want to see you make more."

The bass of his voice reverberated in your ear as he pushed two fingers into you. You gasped softly and parted your legs for him. You were already so wet both from your arousal as well as his cum, so his fingers were immediately slick as he pushed into you, and it wasn't difficult for him to pick up where he had left off.

"Did you think I wouldn't take care of you?" He whispered, his lips pressed close to your ear. You groaned as his thumb traced over your clit with intentional slowness. "I want to make you cum as much as I want it myself," he continued in his low voice. "I get high off of it."

You groaned again as he kissed you under your jaw and pushed a third finger into you. His fingers moved expertly inside you, curling exactly right against your G-spot while his thumb move against your clit faster. Obscene noises were falling from your mouth as you raised one hand to grip the back of his head by his hair while the other clawed at the bedding under you.

Miguel was able to read every moan and every twitch of your thigh to navigate his way to your climax. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to one of your breasts, his tongue tracing over your nipple. "Fuck, Miguel," you whispered under your breath at all of the powerful sensations you were feeling.

He pulled his lips away for a moment with a smirk. "You know I love it when you say my name like that," he murmured and increased the pace of his fingers. You wanted to say his name again, but when he took your breast back in his mouth, all that came out was, "Mmmm."

He continued sucking at you while fucking you with his fingers. His tongue teased at your nipple before his teeth grazed across it, forcing a stuttering gasp from your mouth. Miguel seemed to like that reaction because he did it one more time before taking your nipple between his teeth. Your body jerked as you whimpered at the sensation of his teeth around you, and you tugged roughly at his hair.

Your thighs started twitching and your breathing grew ragged as he continued pumping his fingers in and out of you. Every inch of your body was burning with passion, and you were entirely engulfed in the pleasure that his fingers and mouth were bringing you. Your eyes were squeezed shut while long whines fell from your mouth from his thumb's rhythmic circles around your clit, and your stomach started tensing.

Miguel knew the signs of your impending orgasm, and he raised his mouth off of your body. "I know you're close," he whispered, interrupting the wet sounds of his fingers inside you. "Open your eyes for me." It was hard to listen to him, but with effort, you blinked your eyes open to look at him. His lips were curled in a subtle smirk as he admired your face.

"There you are," he purred. You struggled hard not to close your eyes again, but his fingers were fucking you so well that it took every ounce of your concentration to keep looking at him. He brought his face close to yours, and with a smug look, he whispered, "Now, cum for me."

That's all it took for you to fall over the edge, and your whole body began shaking with your orgasm. You squeezed tightly onto his hair and the sheets as your back arched off the mattress, and loud cries of pleasure tore from your throat. All thoughts of keeping your eyes open were swept away, and you squeezed them shut as your body was set ablaze with bliss.

When it became too much for you, your thighs clenched around his hand, forcing him to stop. Your body was still twitching and trembling as you recovered, but after a couple of seconds, you relaxed enough for Miguel to pull his fingers out of you, earning a soft whimper from you. When you opened your eyes again, his face was alight with triumph.

"Such a pretty face," he said, running his wet fingers over your body. "You always listen so well." Your chest still heaved in unsettled gasps as his hand trailed up you body. "Holy shit," you breathed quietly when you were able to speak. Miguel wore a smug expression as he watched you recover from his touch.

"I told you," he muttered. "I get high off on seeing you like this." You closed your eyes with a few deep breaths and replied in a wry tone, "Well, by all means, take as many hits as you'd like."

You were amazed to hear a deep chuckle in response to your comment. You opened your eyes and looked at him in surprise. He was gazing down at you with an amused smile that adorned his whole face, making him appear almost...happy.

"Was that a laugh I just heard, O'Hara?" You asked with only slightly exaggerated astonishment. He raised an eyebrow while still smiling at you and said, "Maybe. I guess you finally said something funny." You sat up on your elbows and scoffed playfully at his words. "I've always been funny," you maintained. "I just think you're finally learning what humor is."

He hummed in response as he gazed softly at you. "I told you before that I can be funny," he told you, making you roll your eyes dramatically. "Well, I have yet to see it," you shot back with a smile. He didn't say anything back, but he seemed amused by your banter. You could see that his eyes were studying your features intently, and the warm look on his face as he stared at you quietly made your stomach flutter.

To escape his tender gaze that was beginning to fluster you, you closed your eyes with a deep sigh and stretched before rolling off the bed to go to the bathroom. "Are you still gonna be here when I come back?" You asked, trying to sound indifferent.

His eyes wandered over your body as you stood before glancing up at your face again. "We'll have to see," he responded. You huffed in reply before bending down to scoop his shirt off the floor and walking to your bathroom. "That's mine," he stated flatly as he watched you go.

"Oh, really?" You called over your shoulder. "That's too bad."

Without looking back at him, you closed the door of the bathroom with a smirk. You took a quick shower just to clean the sweat and cum off your body, not wanting to take too long in case Miguel decided to leave while you were gone. After drying yourself off, you took his shirt and threw it on. The black material that hugged his body so nicely hung like a dress on your form. It still smelled like him, and you decided he wasn't getting this back without a fight.

Coming out of the bathroom, you saw that Miguel was still in bed and had now slipped under the covers. His muscular body was still mostly exposed for you to admire, and he had one arm resting beneath his head as he looked around. His eyes were studying your apartment, and you suddenly felt conscious of how small your home was.

"It's not much, but it's mine," you told him as you walked to the kitchen to grab some water. He turned his attention to you, and a smile tugged at his lips at the sight of you in his shirt. "It's nice," he replied, looking back at your decorations adorning the walls.

You snorted. "Well, you don't have to lie," you said, walking back over to him with a water bottle in hand. "I'm not lying," he asserted as he sat up. "It's very... you."

You raised an eyebrow at him with a skeptical smile. "What does that mean?" You asked playfully, handing him the water bottle and sitting next to him on the mattress.

"It means," he said deliberately, "it's nice.”

There was a pause as he took a drink, and you smiled softly at him. You could almost be convinced he was complimenting you. Almost.

"I can't stay the whole night," he said after taking a drink. You rolled your eyes with a small smile. "I know," you responded. "You're married to your work, and I'm just the mistress who offers a little distraction."

Miguel didn't seem to find that as funny as you did because his eyebrows furrowed just a little bit. "I told you before that I don't have time for relationships," he muttered quietly. You sighed with a shake of your head. "I know, Miguel. It was a joke," you told him.

He gave a quick hum before twisting to lay on his stomach and shut his eyes. You lay down next him and slipped your legs under the covers. With his eyes closed, you took time to study his face unabashedly. It was nice seeing him like this, calm and relaxed, not tense and angered by whatever mishap screwed up his day at work. It gave you satisfaction knowing he could be like this with you.

His relaxed expression disappeared when his gently resting eyes squeezed tightly, and his eyebrows drew together in agitation. Before, it used to be nearly impossible to read his thoughts on his face, but this time, you were sure you knew what was bothering him.

"It wasn't your fault what happened today," you whispered. "None of it was."

He said nothing in reply, but you knew he didn't believe your statement. After a moment, Miguel heaved a large sigh. "I thought we weren't supposed to talk about work in bed?" He reminded quietly. A corner of your lips quirked upwards before quickly melting away again. "Today was bad," you told him. "I don't mind if you want to talk about it."

There was a short pause before he shook his head, still not opening his eyes. "Okay," you agreed softly. His expression was still drawn in agitation. You scooched in closer to him and ran your hand down his back.

Miguel's muscles jumped at your touch, causing your hand to freeze reactively. "Sorry," you said quietly. Miguel's eyebrows furrowed, his eyes still closed, and he shook his head. "No, it's...it's okay," he muttered softly. After studying his face for a quiet second, you asked, "Do you want me to keep going?" He didn't reply for a few heartbeats before faintly nodding his head.

You slowly rubbed your hand up his back again, and he breathed in a large sigh. His muscles flexed at your touch, and he seemed to press into your palm almost like a cat. You continued slowly moving your hand up and down his toned muscles, occasionally curling your fingers to scratch his skin lightly. When you did, he pushed into your hand even more.

You stared at the sight before you in amazement. Miguel was someone who was so guarded. His cold demeanor always set people on edge. He never joked or laughed with anyone, never opened up or offered support, and yet, here he was with you, falling asleep in your bed under the slow movements of your hand.

As his muscles started relaxing, his breathing slowed until you were sure he was asleep. His face looked so peaceful, so beautiful, that for a moment, you wished he would spend every night with you. You had made a joke about being the mistress, but deep down, you realized that it wasn't entirely false. You were his release, but in the end, he'd always return to the multiverse.

You hadn't even realized you were falling asleep until you woke up again. A dim memory echoed through your mind of a hand brushing across your face and words whispered softly in your ear in Spanish. It had been a very realistic dream, or had it been a dream-like reality? You reached a hand out across the bed and found it was empty. You had expected it to be, but that didn't stop you from hoping you'd be wrong.

Opening your eyes, you found that it was still dark out, and the clock on your nightstand read 4:43. You sat up slowly and turned on your lamp. Miguel's clothes were gone as well, though you realized your were still wearing his large black shirt.

Even in your sleepiness, you huffed out a quiet laugh at the thought of Miguel returning to his dimension shirtless. In truth, he probably just zipped his jacket up over his torso, but you still enjoyed the mental picture of him trying not to be seen shirtless in the compound.

You sluggishly pulled yourself out of bed to use the bathroom, but something caught your eye that made you pause. There on the nightstand was a little black box that certainly hadn't been there before. There was a note on top that you lifted close to your face to read.

Miguel had the handwriting of a doctor, and you had to study his messy scrawl for a moment before you could make out what it said.

It's called unstable molecule fabric.

And I want my shirt back.

The second line made you smile, but the first one confused you. You had never heard of unstable molecule fabric, and it made you curious to see what was in the box.

Opening the lid, you were surprised and confused to find a set of two web shooters that looked almost identical to your own. You lifted them out of the box to inspect them, and without finding anything unusual about them, you placed them on your wrists.

For a couple of seconds, nothing happened. You were about to take them off when you gasped in alarm as something started crawling up your arms. Your body was being enveloped by something, but you didn't know what it was until it covered every inch of you.

Looking down at yourself, you gaped in awe at the sight of your body in a suit—your suit. It dawned on you that you were wearing the same type of technology that Miguel wore, his 'cooler-than-nanotech' suit. It almost felt alive with its intuitive ability, and though it covered your body, you could barely feel it, almost like a holographic projection, but still a tangible material. It really was cooler than nanotech.

The material withdrew from around your face with just a thought, and you stared at yourself in your floor length mirror. You never took Miguel for the gift-giving type. This was beyond what you would have expected from him, it almost felt like too much.

With another thought, the material receded all the way back into your web shooters, leaving you standing in just an oversized black shirt and a shocked expression. You removed the web shooters from your wrists before glancing at the spot that you hid your old suit. You had made it yourself, and you had a sentimental attachment to it. Still, it would certainly be nice not to have to sew up every tear, and being able to wear a retractable suit definitely had several advantages.

Looking back down at the note Miguel had written, you smirked, figuring that these new web shooters were a fair enough trade for his shirt.

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an-otterly-adorable-being · 7 months

Text

It's been awhile...: Stolas x M!GoetiaPrince! Reader Headcanons.

God, this one was so much fun to write, and I very well may turn it into a fic for my ao3 when I get back to posting there. I hope y'all enjoy!

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• Growing up as a goetic demon was an...odd experience.

• You were the son of a duke, and while there were plenty of problems, it wasn't as bad as it was for others.

• You were given the title of prince from a young age, due to a mix of your own natural charm and circumstance.

• This wasn't supposed to happen, as your title should've gone to your older brother, Astratoth.

• However, your father had disappeared and no one knew what happened to him, leaving Astratoth to take on the title of duke and you to take up the title of prince.

• There were a lot of things that your father made you do a lot of things from a young age.

• Magical studies, finance and business courses, even sword fighting and martial arts training.

• You were actually rather good combat wise, even competing in competitions and tournaments.

• It was actually at one of these tournaments that you met a boy that changed your life.

• Satan wanted the chance to show off his, and his protégés' skills, so he called royal demons from across the rings to come watch, and even face them, if any dared.

• You were only a teenager at the time, but you had a fighting spirit and a need to prove yourself, so you, along with your brother made the trip down, only a week after he became a duke, and you a prince.

• It was why you needed to fight, or atleast that's how you felt about it.

• There's a million demons that are sharper than a razor or have silver tounges, but not many would even dare to face off against Satan's finest pupils.

• Before the fighting began, a grand party was held, and you got the first chance to mingle with other goetias as a prince.

• One stood out to you, though.

• Prince Stolas, son of King Paimon, stood on the balcony of the manor the party was held.

• He was alone, staring off into the night sky.

• So, you made your way over to him.

• You desperately needed a break, especially after having to deal with Zagan and Queen Beleth.

• Stolas didn't say anything when you walked outside and stood next to him, he just glanced over at you.

• The only sound that broke the silence was the muffled sounds of schmoozing inside.

• Eventually, you tried to talk to him, and apparently he needed it.

• This boy, probably no more than a year younger than you, broke down in tears.

• You tried to comfort him, and it somewhat succeeded.

• The two of you ended up sitting down and talking and he opened up about everything.

• His arranged marriage to a woman he hated, the problems with his father, and just...everything.

• So, you did the only thing you knew how to; you offered to sneak out of the party with him.

• Stolas was hesitant, but ultimately decided to go with you.

• You ended up just going into a small, family owned diner, and ate together.

• Now with all his problems off his chest, you got to know him really well, and you could already tell you were catching feelings.

• Stolas ended up resting his hand on the table, and you, ever the charmer, moved to rest yours on top of his.

• It took him a second to realize what you had done, but when he did, Stolas turned bright red.

• Stolas mentioned that he thought you were somewhat cute, and that night ended up becoming a date.

• You were his knight in shining armor now, and you were absolutely going to prove it the next day.

• You were going to fight a guy named Tsizoro.

• He wasn't Satan's top student, but he was definitely up there.

• Before the fight, Stolas found you, and gave you a gift. It was a handkerchief with his seal on it.

• You couldn't help but give Stolas a quick kiss. It was worth it to see him blush.

• You didn't win the fight, but you got damn close. You actually did well enough to get the respect of Satan himself.

• You didn't take his offer to learn from him though. You had to go see someone.

• Stolas and you ended up going back to Pride together, you using the excuse of teaching him how to fight. That was an excuse Paimon graciously accepted.

• You were together for a week, and you ended up becoming crazy for eachother.

• Well, until Paimon and Stolas' betrothed, Stella, caught you two.

• You got kicked out really damn fast, and Paimon made sure there was no way you could contact Stolas.

• Defeated and heartbroken, you tried to move on, and finally took Satan's offer.

• It didn't work though, as evidence by the fact that decades later, now with you and Stolas both as adults, you kept up with the story surrounding him.

• Divorce, affair, and who knows how much heartbreak.

• Eventually you decided to go see him.

• You wanted to do it right, so you made sure to get his favorite flowers, hand-picked by yourself.

• Stolas' eyes lit up when he saw you, and you thought he was going to cry.

• The two of you embraced, and even shared a kiss or two.

• Things were so different now, and you weren't sure how things would go.

• But you had eachother, and that was enough for you.

#headcanon #helluva boss headcanon #helluva boss x reader #stolas x reader #helluva boss stolas #really happy with this one

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figgrrr0 · 1 year

Note

Hiii!! I love your writing, especially with Tighnari. He’s one of my favorites, and I love that you write for a dominant reader.

Can you please do a fic (plot) with Tighnari and a female reader who comes to the forest to study fungi, and they bond over being forest nerds? And then, he’s kind of pining for her, and when he confesses he admits he wants her to take charge, because he loves seeing her like that—and she uses a fungus to make him more sensitive when she does?

Want to skip the lead up? Look for the NSFW sign that marks the smut!

Cordyceps mishaps

Character: Sub!Tighnari // Reader: Dom!Afab

Genre: Smut // CW: Handjob, aphrodisiacs, slight teasing, brief masturbation, implied vaginal sex, slight power imbalance (he's your mentor)

Plot: Yes // Word count: 5.5k

When you'd made plans to come to Sumeru, this wasn't how you'd planned your first day to go.

With the climate being much hotter and humid than you were used to, it was understandably hard for you to acclimate to the differences fast enough to be totally comfortable. However, it all would be worth it for the new plant species that you'd get the see, the forests of Sumeru providing a scale of plant life larger than in any of the other nations.

Sure, you had read books about the trees, the flowers, the fungi; but words on paper were never a match for real-world experience. For years, you'd wanted to see them first-hand, to find them in the wild and study them to find your own consensuses. And now, you finally had the chance to do so. The only downside was that, since you didn't know anyone in Sumeru, you'd had no idea what to expect. Or where to go.

Which is how you got yourself lost within the first two hours of finally making it across the border of Liyue.

"Follow the paths." They'd said.

"Follow the paths." You'd repeated to yourself.

But, of course, through the gap between the trees, you'd seen an interesting flash of colour. Perhaps a new plant you'd never seen before? Maybe one from the sketches you'd seen in the books?

You didn't stay on the path.

And, now, half an hour later, you were lost, distressed and disappointed, because there was no flower at all. And from what you could tell, there was no one else around that could help. The silence in the air felt unnatural and precise, as though the forest itself was watching you, waiting on your every move, every thought, every breath. And with dusk not far from falling, you really didn't want to spend your first night here cold, alone and frightened of your surroundings, let alone lost.

... But there was nothing else for you to do. You'd tried turning back the way you'd came, but you still couldn't find the path. Plus, you didn't want to accidentally stay further into the forest. If you had any hope of being found by someone who could help, you had to stay at least close to the paths. Your common sense told you you'd be better off just staying exactly where you were.

Until you got distracted again.

Out of the corner of your eye, half hidden by the shadows cast down upon them by the surrounding trees, lay a patch of small orange mushrooms, all intertwined and reaching outwards in awkward angles. To you, they looked quite familiar... where had you seen them before?

Moving closer, completely focused on trying to identify these strange mushrooms, you pay no mind to the shadow shifting behind you.

From what you'd read in the books, there were no known species of fungi that were dangerous to touch, only causing problems when ingested. Taking mental notes of your findings, you examine them: the unusual slim and long form of the mushrooms set them apart from the common crowd of fungi, looking suspiciously similar to the cattail reeds which grew to the side of rivers and ponds. Putting on some spare gloves to prevent harmful juices or powders getting on your hands, you remove a small mushroom from the cluster, bringing it to your face while maintaining a safe distance and inhaling the scent that it emitted.

Cocoa.

... Well then. These were rare, that much you knew. And they weren't poisonous, either, from what you can remember – though you're hardly going to trust your memory when it comes to a plant you can't remember the name of. But you did remember the properties and effects. They were... interesting, to say the least.

"Cordyceps militaris."

"Agh-?!" You let out a shrill scream, whirling around on your feet and coming face to face with the man who had snuck up on you, an amused smile plastered on his face. Upon realising that he wasn't making any threatening advances towards you, you rest your hand on your chest as you calm down, your panicked breathing evening out.

Even though he clearly felt no shame in sneaking up on you like that and scaring you half to death, he was at least gentlemanly enough to allow you time to recover before he started talking again.

"This fungus is Cordyceps militaris. You should be careful interacting with it if you don't know what you're doing." He then proceeded to lean against a tree to the side, glancing down at the said fungus as if in thought.

"Excuse me? I know perfectly well what I'm doing!" You huffed, crossing your arms. Who was he, anyway? He finds a random girl in the middle of the forest who is obviously not from here, barely any daylight left, and instead of offering to take her somewhere safe, he wants to criticise your mushroom handling skills?!

"Oh, my apologies." He looked back up at you, tail flicking as though he were agitated with you, "I'd assumed that if you knew what you were doing, you would've worn appropriate gloves." He gestured to your hands, a humorous glint in his mischievous eyes.

Confused, you turn your own hands over to inspect them, only to be met with a glaringly obvious hole directly across the palm of the glove. Huh... must've snagged them on a branch at some point.

Embarrassed and left with little argument, you settle for staying silent, admitting defeat before you were further humiliated. It wasn't that bad, really. You just got caught out being a bit careless.

"...Anyway, mind handing that over?" He points to the small mushroom still held between your fingers, holding out a small pouch for you to place it into. Wordlessly, you drop it into the bag, stepping back upon doing so to create some more distance between you. "For a newcomer, you sure do know how to pick a good sample instead of just breaking it off at the base."

"I studied in some of the other nations, but Sumeru's variety was much more appealing. I thought I'd learn faster if there was more to see and do."

"I see. If I may, I think you made a good choice. Sumeru has lots to offer for both academics and plant life." He reaches out to take your hand, his gaze softening to be more friendly. "I'm Tighnari, Forest Watcher."

You hesitate slightly before placing your hand in his. "Y/N."

"Well then, Y/N, seeing as it's getting dark and you've been stumbling around the forest for the better half of an hour, what would you say to me taking you back to our main outpost? It's not much warmer, but the people there are friendlier than anything you'll come across in the wild late at night."

"...I'd say that I'd appreciate that very much, Forest Watcher Tighnari."

And so, without another word, you follow him to Gandharva Ville, where you stay for the night.

...

Tighnari couldn't believe how far you'd come in such short time. When you'd told him about your previous meticulous studies on wildlife –particularly plants and fungi – of course he'd believed you. He'd seen your proficiency that very same night that you met, discarding the... incident... with the gloves. Though he did still bring it up every now and then, just to keep you on your toes. He loved to see how flustered you'd get when he mentioned it, the little pout accompanied by the scowl you'd shoot him before the full sentence had even left his smiling lips making all of your sneaky little revenge plots well worth it.

However, that thought process had brought to mind the very serious problem that had been plaguing his mind as of late – or, really, since he had met you.

His feelings for you.

How passionate you were about learning the ways of the forest. How determined you were to improve at the job and impress the people around you (himself included). Even the way you held the other Rangers accountable for their mistakes, scolding them with no remorse, only to soften as you carefully explain the correct conduct, guiding them through with a gentle yet stern voice. He loved to see it.

He'd never say it out loud, except to himself, that your harsh words and strict voice had caused him to grow hot under the collar on quite a few instances. Even if he was just barely in earshot, he'd have to scurry away before you rounded the corner to see his blushing face, heading straight to his own quarters to... ahem... "make himself presentable."

At least, that was what he'd always said upon being asked, but it never made sense to you. He looked the exact same every time he came back! What could he possibly be doing in there that was so important?!

He hoped you wouldn't find out... not before he revealed the truth – well- half of it – tonight, resigning himself to whatever fate you had in store for his highly strung heart.

It had to be tonight. He couldn't drag this out for any longer.

...

One book; two books; three books; four. All stacked relatively neatly atop each other, placed next to a quill pen and subsequent pot of black ink.

Once a week, you meet up with Tighnari to go over all of your recent notes: mainly focused on any incidents or warning signs you find out in the field and comparing your new notes on the fauna with previous ones. This helped to tell if any differences were arising with the locale, and it made clear the progress you were making when it came to your studies on the plants.

Considering you were usually a bit later than agreed upon, Tighnari knew that he'd have a spare few minutes to prepare himself for your arrival. Perfect. His nerves had been catching up to him all day since he'd decided to finally talk to you about his feelings tonight. His hands were shaking, his tail stiff between his legs and his breath was hard to catch. Tighnari paced back and forth through the room, rethinking his plans as he straightened out his hair, which had gotten ruffled from his continuous gripping and pulling.

This wasn't like him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this affected by someone. But... he was officially your mentor... was it wrong for him to have feelings for you of this nature? He'd rifled through his thoughts too many times to count, arguing with himself about how inappropriate it was for him to act like this around you, to think of you in this way, but all he could ever come away with was hardly comforting to his confused mind.

You were mostly on par with his own knowledge on the ecosystem, having almost completely caught up with him due to how eager you were and how often you insisted on having these meetings. It wasn't as if he were at much of a higher level than you, nor were your ages out of balance. Really, you were both the same. It was just the job title itself that separated the two of you and made him cast some doubt on himself.

However, the situation wasn't as big a deal as Tighnari's mind made it out to be. He knew it wasn't.

The other Forest Rangers and Watchers murmured and gossiped about the two of you near daily, that much he knew. They weren't very subtle, and they did know of his heightened hearing, so surely they didn't care if he heard or not? But... what if...-

Tighnari stood stock still in the middle of the floor.

What if they were all letting him hear on purpose to push him into confessing?

His face reddened slightly as he overthought every little interaction he could remember between the two of you, where the other Rangers had been able to see. Had he been too obvious all along?! Did you already know and by confessing tonight he would just make a fool of himself?!

*Knock, knock*

Tighnari sighed, his ears falling flat to the sides of his head as he tried to push the tension from his shoulders and creased brow.

He couldn't tell you.

...

Already, it was half way through the night. The candles he had set through the room had slowly dwindled until barely three remained alight: the first, on a shelf behind you, giving the perfect backdrop of warmth for him to see you in from his seat across the table. The second, on a counter to the side, directly between both of you, illuminating the profiles of his and your faces. The third, on the table you're both sitting at, on the far end at a safe distance from all the vulnerable paper, but close enough that it prevents your shadow from obscuring your vision of the paper in front of you.

When the final candle melted down to the last of the wick, you took it as your que to leave. It symbolised the night coming to an end, and really, by the time the candles had burned all the way down, you were too tired to continue. What Tighnari had hoped you didn't notice, was that throughout his year with you, he had been slowly introducing new candles to his home, until now, there were almost double the amount he'd started with.

You had noticed.

Currently, only a few note sheets remained to check through. You carded through them, rearranging the ones you'd already read into a neater pile, before picking up your quill and sprawling some more notes onto the paper on the table in front of you.

Tighnari watched as you wrote, your handwriting had slowly descended over time as you got more and more tired through the evening. At this point, I was messy and scratchy, and half of the page didn't match the other half. From where he was sitting, he couldn't read what you were writing. He knew for a fact that you wouldn't have a clue in the morning, either. But he didn't tell you, because you always came to see him again for further clarification. That, and he thought it was cute.

Just as he was getting lost in his thoughts, gaze caught on the movements of your pen, a flicker behind you caught his eye. When he looked up, his eyes finding the candle at the back of the room, the flame drew its last breath, dying out not even two seconds later.

His eyes catch on the scene, watching as the final drops of wax drip down the side of the candle –or what is left of it, at least. The room behind you has been swallowed by shadows, only a faint glow from the remaining two reaching across the floor. But when he drags his eyes back to you, you haven't even noticed, completely transfixed by your notes.

The quiet scratching of the quill against parchment lulls the both of you into a serene silence, feeling no need for conversation, just enjoying each other's presence. Even though he'd started the evening feeling more anxious than he felt he'd ever been, by now, Tighnari was completely comfortable and content to share his space with you. He's glad you feel safe in his company, too.

Waiting, in case you need any help with the papers, Tighnari gazes upon your candle-lit face. Your hair falls around you messily from the night of work, your mindless movements and adjustments making you look ruffled in the best possible way. The shadows of the room lay across your face, contrasting with the low glow of the candle light. It makes you look ethereal in his eyes, as if you would disappear should he close his eyes for too long... or maybe that's just the exhaustion from the day leaving its impression on his eyes. Either way, it left you looking nothing less than gorgeous in that very moment.

Off to the side, the candle on the counter slowly extinguishes itself, though neither you nor him take any notice. The candle left on the table casts enough light for you to still see your paper. Tighnari, so mesmerised by your peaceful countenance, takes no notice because of the sudden lack of warmth colouring your cheek, but instead because of how the waning in competition between the two flames allowed the one that won to reflect brighter in your eyes.

The spark glints and glitters in the shadows around your eyes, like a field of fireflies against the backdrop of the midnight sky. Tighnari leans forward in his seat, the play of the light inviting him to get a closer look. The rustling of his clothing against his seat disrupts the stream of your focus, and you look up to see what he's doing.

Finally looking into your eyes, having your focus entirely on him...

He has to tell you.

...

(Not the actual smut yet but there's a little bit here. Idk... be warned)

Tighnari's back meets the table, his hands coming behind himself to steady his balance. Your body is slotted against his own, keeping him tight to the wooden surface with no option to move away. His tongue eagerly meets yours, lips opening wider upon your prompting. With his eyes closed, it's so much easier for him to take in everything about you; to just feel the effects you have on him.

His sensitive ears pick up on every noise in the room around you. Your breaths, mixing in the short space between your intertwined lips, the slight creaking of the wood beneath his body weight... it all sends a shiver down his back, an itch being scratched by the tingling just within his ears, the odd sensation making his head fuzzy and clouding his senses further.

His heightened sense of smell relishes in the newfound closeness of your body, his careful and unsure hands coming to rest against your waist. His uncertainty is reassured when your own hands, smaller than his own, though surer in their actions, come to press his tighter to your body, his nails digging in at the display of your want for him. Like this, your scent swirls around him, giving him no choice but to get drunk of the essence of you that sticks to his clothes. Suddenly, his cheeks heat a deep shade of red – deeper than they'd already been just from the warmth of your body against his – knowing that the smell of you will cling even to the pages of paper that you'd held between your fingers just minutes before for days to come.

Lost in his thoughts, Tighnari separates from your kiss with a gasp, his eyes rolling back when your leg presses into the bulge between his thighs, already hard and twitching against you. A drop of spit slips from the corner of his mouth, glinting in the remaining candle light as his thighs clench around the one you pressed against him. Grinding insistently and slow, you draw low groans from his open mouth. You quickly take place with your head in the crook of his neck, nosing and kissing along the surface that becomes available to you when Tighnari stretches his head to the side, giving you complete access to his most vulnerable points. You take advantage of the opportunity presented before you, taking the skin between your teeth and nipping until he whines and presses himself further into your hold on his neck.

He wants the pain. Wants to be bitten, to be marked. He wants everyone to look at him and know that he's been claimed by you.

But you won't give it to him. Not yet.

While his tongue flicks over his bottom lip to collect the mess of your combined spit, he looks into your eyes, the difference between each other immediately apparent:

Tighnari, eyes wide and dark, pupils dilated while he tried to commit the way you're looking at him to memory.

You, leaning over him as you push him down against the table, lidded eyes boring into his own with a passion that would make him fold to your every command.

You're leaning forward then, intending to continue exploring and taking the moment further, when–

The last candle flickers out, and darkness falls upon the room – encasing you both within.

It feels as though someone had walked in on the both of you, rudely unannounced and uncaring of the moment they'd ruined. You both stood stock still, completely frozen as you took in the sudden contrast (as little as it was, considering it was only one candle). It brings the both of you back to the present, clearing the haze that had befallen your minds as you take in the compromising position you'd gotten yourselves into. Panting and flushed, rumpled clothing and tangled limbs, crumpled paper and ink knocked over; how had your study session, professional and calm, turned to this?

Hesitantly, being careful not to bump into anything, you take a step back. You look away, despite the fact that it would take another few minutes for your eyes to adjust enough to see the other, and clear your throat, clearly feeling awkward.

Tighnari straightens himself out too, no longer leaning on the desk as he allows himself to wait for your next move. His ears point forward, zeroing-in on your spiking heart rate.

"...Well then... I suppose I'd best get going. Long day of work ahead tomorrow, right?" You're cut off before you can continue, a yawn pushing through your lips before you can stifle it. Despite his disappointment, Tighnari can't help but look at you endearingly. "Or today, I guess?"

"...That seems more like it, yes."

You let out what seems to be a content sigh, turning to head towards the door, still in complete darkness. Tighnari moves with you, going to your side to prevent you from walking into anything. He even opens the door for you and allows you to pass through.

"Thank you for tonight, mentor Tighnari~ I really learned a lot!" Just from the tone of your voice, he can tell that you're purposefully trying to make him embarrassed. After all, you must've noticed his discomfort every time you called him that through the past year, and you'd definitely put the pieces together after his confession. "I'll meet you here again tomorrow night."

And then, the door shuts behind her before he can even start to think of a response. He stands in the darkness of his own doorway for a few long minutes, going over the events of the night. Eventually, he lights another candle, deciding to leave the mess on the table for tomorrow... or later today, he guesses.

The enticing scent of you dances on the air in his room, smothering him and pulling him further into his growing need for you.

That night, Tighnari goes to bed later than usual; his hand fisted tight around the base of his swollen cock, and the other pressing painfully into the mark you'd left on his neck, already bruised and aching. His mind retraces the silhouette that you left imprinted in the shadows of his room, playing the scene over and over again behind his dilated eyes, wondering what would have happened if your time together hadn't been cut short.

At least, now, he can rest easy, knowing that his time truly being yours was soon to begin.

...

That day, work just seemed to drag on and on and on...

The job that usually captivated Tighnari's attention only kept him from you for longer. The co-workers and lower-ranking rangers, whose presence he didn't mind so much as others, even they couldn't stop him from wanting to get away from it all. Tighnari grinded his teeth, looking out at the sky, just waiting for the sun to hurry up and make way for the moon to rise.

It didn't help that every time he'd see you, you'd shoot him a teasing wink accompanied by a sly smirk, only to leave without a word... At this rate, with how you were both acting around each other, it wouldn't be long until gossip starts to spread through the camp.

That's why, when Tighnari finally gets you into his room later that night, he couldn't possibly be more relieved, shutting out the rest of the world behind that door and instantly forgetting about everything but you.

No words are exchanged as you direct him over to his own bed with just a look, following close behind and pushing him to sit down upon arrival. Tighnari faces you, then, feeling the urge to shrink in on himself when he sees you towering over him, the light from freshly-lit candles flashing in his peripheral like the stars that he knows are just outside. Only, this time, the candles will last much longer than usual, and even if they do go out, there's no way either of you will be stopping. Not tonight – and probably not any other night after this.

From behind your back, you reveal a small bowl cupped perfectly in the palm of your hand, part of the mortar and pestle kit he'd gifted you early on into your partnership. Inside lays a fine paste, brown in colour, with that distinct scent that always reminds him of your first fateful encounter:

Cocoa.

Tighnari gulps. His tail gives away his excitement, thumping erratically against the bed behind him, and you have to stifle a laugh at the display, as well as the embarrassed smile that tugs at his lips.

"And you..." His head tilts inquisitively as he once again inhales the sweet scent, "You're sure you know what this is? You're absolutely certain you remember?"

You show a mischievous smirk. "Cordyceps militaris."

Damn... using his own words against him... that's just plain cruel! Though that is a large part of what drew him towards you... But Cordyceps are a natural stamina enhancer! Why would you need to use them this late at night? You'd already made it very obvious that you wouldn't be studying tonight. And he's a fox! He has plenty of energy to do... that... without the added aid of an energy booster–

Ohhh...

Tighnari's eyes darken upon realising your plan.

They're also a natural aphrodisiac...

You sidle closer, moving to straddle him upon the bed, your thighs on either side of his own. Tighnari shuffles further onto the bed to make space for you, silently welcoming your presence. Distantly, he notices you putting the mortar bowl off to his side, but he's much more interested in whatever you're reaching into the pouch you set beside it for.

He doesn't have to wait long, your hand displaying an orange mushroom, long and thin, before you take it between your fingers and cup his cheeks with both hands. Your thumb slides against his bottom lip, and Tighnari automatically lets his mouth fall open without a second thought. You share eye contact, dilated pupils showing the love and respect you have for each other, among other things, while you slowly push the small piece of raw mushroom onto his waiting tongue.

He bites down instantly. It's un-needed, really. He'd feel the effects of the Cordyceps after ingestion, regardless of how it was done; but he wanted the full experience of being with you. He wanted to know everything that you had in store for him.

That doesn't mean he enjoys the burst of salt that assaults his taste buds, or the nutty after taste, but he knows that what will come after is worth it.

He must've made a disgusted face, the twinkle in your eyes and amused expression showing that you'd expected his reaction. "How is it? As good as you'd imagined?" You ask, a laugh on the cusp of your lips.

He swallows down, the saltiness drying up his mouth and making his salivary glands overcompensate. "Bitter."

You move on, pulling him into a kiss as your hands tugged at his clothes, slowly removing them and letting them fall haphazardly onto the floor. You pull away briefly to breathe out, "Effects should start in about 10 minutes," before you take his tongue into your mouth once more, hands running over his skin as more of his body is revealed to you. Suddenly, you quickly move away, reaching for the mortar. "Think you can wait that long?"

Tighnari huffs, looking annoyed that you keep depriving him of your kiss to speak more – even if he did previously encourage your teasing. "Seems to me that you're the one that has to worry about waiting. I wonder how long you've been planning this?" You ignore him, removing the last layers of his clothing until his cock, already half hard, is revealed to your hungry gaze. You take him into your hand, stroking him as he hardens further under your touch. "Look at you, you can't even keep your hands off me~" The Cordyceps must've been starting to work, beads of sweat beginning to form on his flushed skin proving that he was not as unaffected as he showed.

At this, you look up, an unimpressed expression on your face. "When this kicks in you'll be desperate for my touch. You'll be begging and writhing in the sheets of your own bed, all with the risk of me leaving you alone to try and deal with it yourself."

That manages to shut him up, his eyes widening with the threat in your tone. The expectant silence urges you to move, scooping a dollop of the brown Cordyceps paste from the bowl and lathering it over your palms.

Tighnari's breath hitches when you take his dick in your hand again, the coating feeling odd against the sensitive skin. Already being room temperature, the mixture warms quickly between your fingers, soon becoming pleasurable and aiding the slide of your hand. Meanwhile, your other hand spreads the paste across his inner thighs, working it into the skin.

Soon, Tighnari is showing more and more symptoms brought on by the mushroom, his eyes clouding and breaths coming shorter and more laboured. His eyes clench shut and he flinches when you nip the soft plush of his thighs, the pain blurring into bliss by the time the shocks make it to his brain. He's too overcome to make much noise, only small hums breaking through the silence, except for the slick noises coming from below.

He's starting to feel unusually hot where the mixture touches him, the sensation gradually growing as you continue your ministrations, but he doesn't speak up, doesn't complain. Because, the longer he puts up with this... the better it feels. The warmth on his cock, on his thighs, and even the occasional drop that had splattered up to his navel on the downward 'slap' of your hand, it all multiplied the pleasure he was feeling. It kept building and building, overwhelming him the longer it lasted.

Every time Tighnari thought he was going to cum, thought that it couldn't possibly get any more intense, the constricting heat in his loins would double, his muscles getting impossibly tighter, until–

He came, suddenly and without warning, pushing into your hand. His cum spouted from the slit, dribbling over to meet the brown paste, leaving a sticky mix of brown and white to pool at the base of his cock, like paint dripping down a fresh canvas. The picture he paints is lewd to the very meaning of the word.

Having to focus all of his energy into collecting his ragged breaths, he holds onto you with an arm thrown over your shoulder, relying on you to keep him up. Of course, it wouldn't be a problem were he to fall, the welcoming and familiar pillows obviously being cushioned enough to break the landing. But it's so... cute, so endearing, to see Tighnari, the Head Forest Watcher, completely reliant on you to take care of him during the most vulnerable moment you've witnessed him in to date.

Broken from his reverie, Tighnari stirs in your hold, his eyes lighting excitedly at the rejuvenated energy he feels running through his veins. His cock, still messy and lewd from his orgasm, hasn't gone down, only growing harder as the Cordyceps that he'd eaten finally takes its full hold on his mind.

He thrusts up into your hand that still encases his cock, whimpering when you lift yourself up and line him up with your hole, already wet from the high of seeing what a needy heap you'd reduced him to. Looking down at the sight with lust-fueled awe, he's only pulled away when your hand grips his chin, making him look up at you. His tail starts wagging again when he sees the dangerous look in your eyes and the hint of your teeth when your lips pull back into a mocking sneer.

"You're not gonna stop cumming until I've milked you dry... we've gotta get that aphrodisiac out of your system, right, mentor?"

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