Forget Me Not | 5
It is your turn to experience guilt and regret, while Azriel takes some time to himself.
WC: 4.4k
Warnings: TW: SA, brief mentions of suicidal thoughts/ideations!!! Please do not read if this is triggering for you. Angst, feelings, we are all sad but we are taking a turn for the better!
a/n: All of the comments and responses to Part 4 were seriously incredible. I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday tomorrow if they celebrate!!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6
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Azriel's shadows surrounded him before he could command them to do anything else. Darkness swallowed his vision, his chest, his heart, gods, he was dying wasn't he? Was this what dying felt like?
He felt like he couldn't breathe. Pain was searing through his chest as if a fiery sword was sticking from his ribcage, and he barely felt his knees crashing to the ground underneath him.
He didn't know where he had subconsciously winnowed to until he heard his brother's voice, filled with shock and confusion.
"Az?"
Hands were pushing his shoulders back, trying to get him to unfold from himself, to stop grasping his chest. His chest, his chest, his chest, it burned-
"Feyre, get Madja."
Azriel tried to shake his head, but he was so dizzy he couldn't tell if he made the movement or not. He vaguely heard Feyre's movements shuffle to a halt. Rhys must have stopped her at his attempt to say no.
"What happened?" Rhys questioned, voice strong despite the panic slowly making its way in.
Azriel was sobbing. He didn't know when he had started, but he knew he had broken. His own chokes and cries echoed in Rhys' office, his tears falling onto the cold marble floor beneath their knees. Pain laced across his skin from his fingernails digging into his own flesh, and he felt Rhys trying to pry the grip away.
"Kill me," Azriel sobbed. "Please, kill me. Do something, just make it stop-"
Rhys dove for his brother at the words, pulling him into a tight hug. The embrace did little to help with the overwhelming torture raging within the shadowsinger. He was going to die, he wanted to die.
He had never hated himself more, hated how it felt like his body was going to eat him alive if he took one more breath.
The constant memories shooting behind his eyes like poison: his mother mistreated by the Illyrian men while his hands burned, Mor left naked and alone in that forest with a sign punctured to her womb and him not arriving until hours into her pain, Rhys walking into a trap because he hadn’t seen it and hadn’t stopped it, Gwyn violated and tortured because he hadn’t been aware enough to spoil the plot or get there soon enough, and then you — your bloody body being carried in Cassian’s arms, clothes torn off, having been forgotten by him.
"Don't you dare say that." The male trying to keep him together spoke with such command, but the shadowsinger's pain persisted.
"I can't do this, Rhys. She-"
He couldn't stop crying, he couldn't stop hurting, he felt like he was screaming...
"Feyre," he heard Rhys call distantly. Everything was blurry, everything was awful. His head was pounding, his body was giving up on him, and then he felt delicate hands on his cheeks, a soothing feminine voice, and then nothing.
As darkness swallowed him whole, he saw only the glinting gold swimming inside his chest, reaching like a rope into darkness.
It was quiet for a bit. Safe, surrounded by nothing but shadows so much like his own, and the small golden light flickering inside of him. He would be content to stay there forever. To no longer live as the monster he’d become, to be able to pretend he was nothing, no one, just a fluid existence stretched through space. Like the embodiment of flying through the skies of Velaris, wings splayed wide and air crisp and free all around.
Unfortunately though, Azriel’s peace was short lived. Before he could truly bask in the quiet, he was being pulled out of his mind and back into the present.
Bright light hit his face, shining through the window of his bedroom at the House of Wind. His shadows immediately swarmed the opening, pulling at the curtains until he was once again draped in darkness.
He sighed and sat up, running his hands down his face. He felt overly fatigued, his entire body weighed down with guilt, self-hatred, and the words you had spoken to him.
He did let everyone he knew down. He already knew that, reminded himself of that every single day, but that didn't make it hurt any less coming from your lips.
Rhys, one of the many people he had failed, had not stopped staring at him. Azriel knew his brother was waiting for him to break the silence.
His voice sounded broken to his own ears, weak and cracking even when spoken in a low volume. “I don’t know what to say.”
He truly didn’t. What should he have said? Hey Rhys, thanks for tucking me in after I had a complete breakdown, you can leave now.
“You can start by explaining why you came to my office and begged me to kill you.”
Yeah, Rhys was not happy.
Azriel sighed, feeling his chest pinch at the memories. He wasn't happy either.
You’re no hero. You’re a joke.
Your hands are the ones hurting me.
That’s all you're good for: inflicting damage.
“Azriel.” Rhys interrupted his thoughts.
He swallowed, feeling himself tear up again. He hadn’t cried this much since Rhys went under the mountain.
“She’s my mate,” he finally spoke, voice quiet and chest cracking open at the confession.
Rhys didn’t even blink. Azriel couldn’t meet his gaze though.
“Who?”
Rhys knew who. Based on Azriel’s reaction to the information alone, he knew.
Azriel didn’t answer the question, knowing it was unnecessary. Instead, he gazed at his scarred hands resting in his lap and said, “I went to train, and she was already in there. The bond snapped before she even turned around.”
“Does she know?”
He shook his head, focusing on the sting in his arm. “She wouldn’t have missed if she did.”
He felt Rhys eyeing the slash against his bicep, already weaving itself back together. Then his friend studied the rest of Azriel's body language. The way his shoulders were curved in on himself, the way his fingers traced over the scars on his hands, the ghostly look in the male's hazel eyes despite them glistening with tears.
"What did she say?" Rhys ended up asking after his silent observations.
"Enough."
His brother didn't let Azriel brush him off though. "Whatever she said, she didn't mean it, Az."
Azriel scoffed. "Look into my mind, see how she looked at me, and then you try to tell me she didn't mean it."
"She is angry and grieving, and you are the only person available that she can blame and take it out on. Her anger," Rhys suddenly grabbed Azriel's arm, positioning it so he could nod to the reddened gash, "that anger, is because she cares. She's hurt because she loves you."
Azriel shook his arm out of his friend's grip. "It doesn't matter. I fucked up, and I can't take that back. The damage has been done, Rhys."
"I used to think that too." Violet eyes met his. "Feyre hated me, in case you forgot."
Azriel didn't budge, so Rhys continued. "I know what you're feeling right now. That it'd be alright if she hated you, as long as she's safe. But it still hurts, knowing she thinks poorly of you, and that feeling builds up. But your journey with her is not over. She is a forgiving person, you just need to give her grace while she heals. And you need to give yourself grace, because you're in a painful position too."
He nodded, letting a few tears fall. His palm automatically reached for his chest, rubbing it in an effort to soothe the ache there.
“How did you do it? How did you live with it hurting this bad? After Feyre said…”
Rhys sighed, letting out a small breathy laugh — a genuine one. “It wasn’t easy. I left for those days before Starfall, ignored her letters, sorted out my thoughts. Came to the conclusion that even if Feyre never loved me, I would always love her and I’d be happy to do so. And I have a family who I love dearly, who also loves me.”
The pointed look he gave Azriel was obvious, reminding him that his family was there and worried about him too. They had seen the way he’d turned into a shell of himself, barely sleeping in case you had a nightmare and needed him, barely eating or training, his entire reserve of energy being put into monitoring your safety and wellbeing. And he knew they cared, he really did.
Cassian had been trying to get Azriel back into the swing of training again, wanting him to express some of his heavy emotions in the ring, or at least talk to his brother while sparring and practicing. Instead, Azriel was seclusive and pulled the punches he threw the Illyrian’s way.
Rhys had given Azriel time off from his missions, delegating the work to those under the spymaster to take some weight off of Azriel’s shoulders for a bit. Azriel had at first refused but had given in when Rhys had pointed out that time and attention needed to be focused at home anyway, what with the Illyrians’ growing mistrust of Cassian, Azriel, and himself, the threat of an uprising ever present.
But now with what you had said…
“I think it’d be best if I went away for a bit.” His voice was quiet, resigned, lifeless to his own ears.
“By yourself?” Rhys asked, clearly not liking the idea.
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Just — I think some space from her would be good. You even said you needed that when Feyre had hurt you.”
His brother’s violet eyes softened with understanding. “You’re right. I did. But I do think this is a bit more complex. What if you went with Amren or Mor to see Jurian and Lucien? See what they have been up to for a bit? You can leave some of the work to them, but have something to distract you should you need it.”
Azriel was quiet as he considered, but Rhys cut in before he could agree too soon. “But you come back. And you come back within the month.”
Azriel nodded. “Okay,” he relented.
“Okay,” Rhys repeated. His hand clasped Azriel’s shoulder in support, giving his brother a meaningful look. “I know I sound like an asshole, but it will work out. I know it. You two are too special, in general and to each other for this not to work out.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shut out the pain that came with his brother’s words.
He swallowed, composing himself before meeting his friend’s gaze with teary eyes of his own. “Tell Mor I’ll meet her on the border in an hour.”
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You skipped training the next night, too emotionally drained to make it out of your room. Cassian hadn't come to find you, either. Maybe he had even heard of your argument with Azriel.
Instead of going to the training ring, you tried to read your books (pushing away the reminder that Azriel had gotten them for you), took some long baths, tried to write, and listened to music.
Nothing kept your mind distracted from what you had said to Azriel, though.
The instant relief that had coursed through your veins when the anger had seeped into the air, draining from where it had hardened in your chest and allowing you to feel lighter, changed over the course of the day into something just as volatile.
You felt guilty. So, insanely guilty.
You kept remembering the look on his face when you had mentioned Mor, Rhys, Gwyn, his mother…
The way his hands clenched and fiddled with themselves when you had told him you see them hurting you in your dreams.
The tears that streaked down his cheeks silently as you just kept on coming and coming, attacking and attacking.
And he had let you. He had stood there possibly from shock, guilt, care, and just let you tear into him without any retaliation.
You had never uttered words so cruel to someone.
And you hadn’t even meant them.
Sure, you had been so angry at him. You had felt so hurt and demeaned, that you wanted to do the same to him. But did you actually blame him for what had happened to his friends? Did he hold the responsibility for the entire world in his scarred hands?
Of course not. But you knew that he thought so. And you had used that against him.
Azriel had never meant for you to get hurt. You, on the other hand, had intentionally hurt him.
Did that not make you so much worse?
You cried yourself to sleep that next night, your actions sending you into a downward spiral of shame. Despite taking the tonic Madja had provided you for sleeping, you found yourself at the mercy of your guilt, your mind tormenting you with Azriel’s hurt and your own mistakes.
If you had known this dream would have taken a turn for the worse, creating a scenario that would haunt you even more than the memories of that night, you never would have closed your eyes.
It had started the same as the others: the snow, the alleyway, the blonde-haired male licking up your neck and reaching for your middle. This time though, when you brought the dagger down into the male’s neck, a familiar choking sound echoed into your ear.
Azriel.
The same noise that had escaped his lips after your weaponized words stabbed into him.
Then his hazel eyes met yours, the snow falling from Velaris’ night sky dusting his black hair. And there was so much pain, hurt, and betrayal in his gold and green irises that you felt sick.
“No-” you panicked, reaching out for him as the bright red blood poured down his neck and over your hands.
No, no, no. Not him. How could you have done this? You were hurting him, you were killing him.
Your hands moved quickly, pushing against the wound as sobs loudly slipped past your lips. "Azriel-" you started to say.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. His eyes tried to get your attention, but he was already weak, slipping through your hands and falling onto the pavement below.
When the dagger fell from his neck, you saw the charcoal-colored aggressive waves adorning the top of the hilt and nearly collapsed.
You had killed Azriel with his own weapon. The weapon he had lent to help you, you had taken and stabbed him in return. His support, his offer to make amends, his kind-hearted generosity toward you, turned around to tear into his lifeline.
You killed him.
And hurting him did not feel as good as you had imagined in that training ring, both then and now, snow falling onto his tan skin in the alleyway.
As you stared into his empty eyes, somehow still sparkling with the stars of Velaris, you couldn’t help but scream.
Waking from the nightmare was nearly as difficult as wading through it in your sleep. Your ears were ringing, throat sore, and mouth dry. You were so nauseous, your stomach gurgled as if it was warning you its contents could come up at any time.
You didn’t go to the library to read or run yourself another bath in an attempt to relax. Instead, you found yourself throwing the blankets off of yourself, still trying to catch your breath, and making your way hastily to Azriel’s door.
It seemed so similar to that first week after the assault, when you had sought out Cassian before relying on Azriel for a night. Only this time, as you stumbled through the hall, your only thought was on passing Cassian’s door and finding yourself in front of Azriel’s.
You felt so scared, so anxious, and for the first time in months it wasn’t for your own safety.
Your heart pounded in your chest as your toes padded down the cold floor. But it completely stopped when you noticed the difference in the House of Wind.
Azriel’s door, always left cracked with the light on since your first nightmare after the incident, was now closed, with nothing but black on the other side.
You nearly caved into yourself.
Who could blame him? You had been a terrible person. And despite what he had done to you, it was understandable if he never wanted to see or talk to you again.
Just the thought of him being in pain because of you behind that door…
You hesitantly stepped closer, bringing your fist up to the wood.
“I’m sorry,” he had whispered in your dream.
You knocked softly, waiting a few moments before calling out his name. When no response came, you couldn’t help the anxiety that coursed through you, bringing scared tears to your eyes.
Shaking on your toes a bit, you knocked again. Blood flashed across your mind, his lifeless eyes, his look of betrayal.
"Please," you whispered, calling out to him gently.
But you couldn't wait any longer. Your hands slowly twisted the doorknob, your mind not even thinking of the consequences of entering a spymaster's room unsolicited.
You would just see that he was alright and safe, and then you would go back to your room. Plus, his shadows would let him know you were entering, they would warn him of your presence and could push you out if need be.
At this thought, you suddenly noticed the lone shadow that had trailed you for months was no longer at your side. The darkness behind his door swallowed you whole at the realization. He was gone, done, and you along with him.
You spiraled further, pushing into the room and daring to look around.
It was empty. Darkness shaded the clean room, but there was no shadowsinger, no living presence occupying the space.
Was he on a mission? Did he leave without telling anyone?
His choking noise permeated through your mind again, and you found yourself becoming dizzy with panic and anxiety, the guilt and regret spreading so far into your gut you were sure it was physically damaging you.
Stumbling over to his bed, you collapsed onto it, first sitting before bringing your knees up to your chest and allowing yourself to seek out his warmth and scent in the duvet and sheets. He was okay, you told yourself. He was always okay.
But the lack of your shadow friend spoke volumes. He was done with you. Done trying to prove himself, done trying to be your friend. And it hurt just as bad now when he actively decided to leave you compared to when he did it unintentionally.
Because despite it all, you did love him. You had just become so hurt and destructive that you ruined yourself further in the process, striking out at him as collateral.
You buried yourself deeper into his covers, not even caring when your tears soaked into his pillow. And maybe you imagined the footsteps you heard outside Azriel’s door, the way Cassian’s door had opened and closed and a presence had hesitated outside of the shadowsinger’s room as if they were listening and contemplating.
You surely imagined Azriel coming home and allowing you to speak with him, and in these hopes you understood how he felt this whole time. The silence, the darkness, the guilt and self-hatred. And the never-ending fear that you had done something you could never repair. That you weren’t good enough or redeemable enough to repair.
The last image that crossed through your mind before your swollen eyes succumbed to sleep was Azriel’s face when he had seen you that first day in the kitchen with Rhys. His nervous and devastated but hopeful expression.
You hated yourself.
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In the morning, Feyre paid you a visit.
She did not comment on you leaving Azriel’s room, but the look she gave you was observant.
The conversation had started out small with her asking how you were doing, checking in on your training progress, if you had been reading anything good lately, if you had tried the meal Cassian made last night for dinner.
Then it was silent, and she hesitated before steeling herself like the High Lady she was.
“Azriel left the other night. Whatever you had said to him, whatever had happened two nights ago, I’m not sure he deserved it.”
You didn’t want to ask about the state she had seen him in. You didn’t want to know how deep the damage you had dealt went, because if you pictured his hurt expression one more time, you thought you might actually shatter.
You stared down at your hands in disappointment and shame, gritting your teeth to stop yourself from crying. You weren’t the victim this time around; you didn’t deserve to cry. And your eyes hurt so bad from crying so much.
“I think you two should talk. Your relationship has become so destructive I’m not sure either of you will come out at the end. Talk.” She demanded, her voice firm.
You nodded in agreement, swallowing the lump in your throat down before asking what you had been wondering since last night. “Where did he go?”
“To the mortal lands with Mor. He needed some time.”
Of course. Of course he needed time, and you would give him that. But you needed him to know that you were at least sorry, because you had no idea when he would be ready to return.
“If I were to give you a letter for him, would you make sure he receives it?”
Feyre sighed, thinking about the consequences of the action, before finally softening and nodding. She understood the need to reach out after such an incident, and you noticed her eyes flicker as she doubtlessly thought back to when Rhys left for a bit before Starfall and ignored her own letters.
“Sure. But you must be kind.”
You nodded again, that pang of disappointment and shame flaring to life again in your chest, and you thought of all the things you needed and wanted to say to Azriel.
But when you actually went to put pen to paper later that night, you found yourself second-guessing everything.
You had gone too far in punishing him — for something he was not even completely to blame for — and he probably didn’t want to hear from you. You should let him breathe, give him time to think and unwind without your existence constantly ruining him.
But then you thought of him standing in the training ring, hurt, crying, alone, and your hands were moving.
Azriel, you started the letter. I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, but I think I would regret not sending this to you, not telling you everything you deserve to hear. And I don’t want to regret anything else.
First, I need to apologize. Profusely. You don’t need to forgive me or give me another second of your time, but I am begging you to know and understand that I did not mean a word I said the other night. I could name a thousand reasons why the words went past my lips, but they will never unspeak them. I will forever regret that night, more than any other night in my life.
Please know that even in the times when I am carried away by anger, when I am less than human, less than any of you deserve, I have always admired you. Sometimes I think that made the anger worse, twining together with the care I have for you until it became some kind of warped emotional weapon.
I do think you are a hero. And redeemable and brave and a savior. And I’m sorry for ever trying to put in your mind that you are anything but. You have saved me more times than I could mention in the size of this letter, just in the time I have known you. Please know that.
I have no right to ask, not after everything we have gone through the last few months, but when you are ready, I would really like to sit down and speak with you. About everything.
Maybe we can find a way forward. Or at least a way to exist together without any pain.
You don’t need to respond. I will be here, and I can wait as you’ve waited for me to be ready to talk.
Be safe. If not for me then for yourself and your family.
Then you stopped. Because how were you supposed to sign this off? You pictured his frown at reading the letter, at your words he no longer trusted or felt warmth from. You hated that frown, the sadness you had seen from him so much as of late.
In the meantime, you wrote, I will read the books you left me, continue to purchase those tart pastries from near the Rainbow, and find comfort in your bedroom light remaining on, if not just to remind me of your kindness.
I appreciate your help, even when you are not near. And then you signed your name.
You would wait for his response (or lack of) and for his return. And then you would have the chance to talk. You would be able to hear his own thoughts, emotions, apologies, and curses before letting out your own.
Strength was what you needed until then. The strength to self-reflect on the blame you had placed on him, the words you had thrown around so carelessly. Strength that would get you through the oncoming storm, the marching warriors coming for Cassian, Azriel, and Rhys. The Illyrians wishing to overthrow the high lord and his enforcers, coming to take them down in any way they could.
Their marching was coming, the stomps matching the pounding in your chest.
You’d be strong, and you would wait for him to return. You would hold your ground, dagger at your side and heart hesitantly ready to be displayed.
And maybe, if all went in your favor, you two could finally have that talk.
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ghost face ! minho
i was watching scream and i wish minho had me screaming.
-contains mature themes (a little blood, fear play kinda)
"caught you!"
you screamed in terror. the masked man, taking you by surprise from behind. the lights were off and all you could see was that horrendous mask. which kept appearing in your dreams.
you struggled to get up from where you were crouched behind a table. and he had shown up. knowing exactly where you hid.
because he was watching. he was always watching.
stumbling you grabbed a flowerpot, throwing it in his direction. he dodged it. letting out a hearty laugh. you felt your heart stop.
you were backed into a corner.
one side was a wall and the other was the steps that led to the second floor.
if you ran upstairs, then there was no way you could get back down.
"sometimes you make it so obvious" he said, playing with the knife in his hand. pressing it against his hand. you were scared. he pointed upstairs with the tip of the knife.
"go on. run."
and you did. tripping on the steps. it was so dark you couldn't make out where you were going. that was until you ran straight into a dark figure.
"oh honey, you can't escape from me" he said, voice dropping. you felt yourself being pushed against the ground.
hard.
feeling a little dizzy with how fast you hit the floor.
you gave up. if he was going to kill you. then so be it. maybe he'd be kind enough to spare you again.
"l-let me live" you mumbled, feeling a thick rope bind your wrists together behind your back. his black cape running against you as he fumbled about.
"you know, fun fact. i don't kill. i just have fun!" he exclaimed, his voice muffled behind the mask. at times you wished you knew how he looked. you wished you could see his face.
he had told you his name through a phone call. you had to admit. you were braver when you were on call. rather than in reality. because reality was reality.
"you don't seem to sound like you're having fun"
he knew what you meant. his voice sounded like he was faking the fun voice.
"shut the fuck up, will you."
you shivered, going pliant. this was him. his deep voice. his voice that could make you cream yourself.
.
"aaahh-" you cried out, desperately trying to tug your hands free. he giggled, staring right at you.
all you could see was the mask. maybe a little glimpse of his eyes. but that was all you got.
the knife running along the insides of your thighs. a warm liquid dripping down. which he wiped away with his gloved thumb.
"so tell me. you called back today"
your eyes widened. you weren't expecting him to show up inside your house. dressed up, ready to do whatever he liked. if you knew he was going to come back, you wouldn't have called.
"stop crying for god's sake" he shouted.
spanking you hard. you jerked forward with the force. embarassingly trying to close your legs.
his clothed thigh wedged between your legs. fabric rubbing against your cunt in the best way possible.
"humping my thigh, now? you seriously are a horny slut" he let out. his hand playing with your folds. coating you with your own wetness.
.
"look at the camera."
you couldn't. you didn't know what he'd do with those pics. you pressed your face to the cold floor, spit dripping out of your parted mouth.
his dick buried inside of you.
"i. said. look."
he said through gritted teeth, tugging your hair to make you look up. your eyes rolling back at how deep he was. cock rubbing against that spot that had you seeing stars. the flash went off and he let go. your head falling back down.
"such a whore"
a few more tears slipped out. his fingers digging into your waist as he pulled you back to meet his thrusts.
"hm" he hummed. a little curiousity in his tone.
"why aren't you saying anything."
you kept quiet. letting yourself get lost in a fuzzy space. it was dark anyways. all you knew about the man who had screwed you once before, was his name.
he flipped you over. taking you by surprise by how gently he pushed back in. staying absolutely still. and you did the same.
"p-please" you muttered. a faint light from the neighbour's backyard lighting up the room. you could vaguely see his eyes through the mesh. his breathing heavy, chest heaving. he rolled his hips against you. a low moan leaving him.
you couldn't do this. you wanted more. to be touched. to feel him. without the mask. to see him.
"please p-please please" you chanted, shaking your head as you began to sob harder.
"do you even know what you're begging for" he chuckled, pressing his hand against your neck. with enough pressure to make your vision hazy. your mouth opened and closed as you wondered whether to say it or not.
"k-kiss me p-please" you whispered. it wasn't loud but you were sure he heard you.
"kiss me m-minho i beg y-you"
you shook, wrists aching at how tight he knotted the rope. he seemed to understand. grabbing the knife he had thrown on the side as he cut it off.
"p-please m-minho plea-"
throwing your arms around his neck. his body pressed against yours as you tugged him closer. how did he even breathe with that on. you could feel his eyes on you. and you were sure he was thinking about it. whether to trust you. whether to do it.
"damn you really are....quite the thing"
you hadn't even realised he had pushed the mask up to his nose. just enough to kiss you.
"mmph-" his lips roughly pressed against yours. a slight tangy taste of blood. his tongue eager to explore your mouth. you kept your mouth opening, letting him lick into you.
"swallow."
he instructed after spitting into your mouth. you did as he said. a whimper leaving you as you kept your mouth open. he was smirking triumphantly.
but what you did next mustve have shocked him. you pulled the mask off completely. flinging it somewhere behind.
kissing him before he could react. legs wrapped tightly around his waist to prevent him from moving. you clenched down on him. slick coating his length.
"aah f-fuc mmhph" he groaned out, his gloved hand tangled in your hair to keep you away. for a split second, you opened your eyes.
you could see him.
the outline of his face.
the slope of his nose.
his cat-like eyes. lacking any emotion, only lust.
a few blood stains on his cheek.
his messy brownish red hair. he looked better than you had imagined.
like a god.
"you're really being real risky tonight, kitten" he panted out. you let out a content sound at the nickname.
"s-so pretty" you blabbered, holding his face. his eyes widening at the sudden compliment.
"..me?"
"yeah..gorgeous" you said more clearly. he let out a soft laugh.
sticking his tongue out and running it against your cheek. unconciously you giggled, trying to push him away.
it was ticklish.
"awww someone's ticklish" minho grumbled, you could see the smile threatening to show.
that was thrown out of the window as he thrusted in hard, kissing you like it was the last thing he'd do. his hand creeping around your neck. pressing down. to hold you in place.
.
.
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