#But it does pay for travel and shit so

[pondscummy]

the "also sick" comment isn't like "btw I'm SICK, how dare you not know" it's me saying I'm sick like how 2/3 of my roommates are

but like I'm so;;;; it feels so rich that L is like wtf do you want from me about me not replying for 45 minutes when I had to beg his gf over hours and hours of texts every so often to not force me to sit in unwiped shit after my surgery bc she had openly told me she just didn't rly feel like setting up the attachable bidet after telling me for weeks she would, and I never ever got a reply from her or L ever acknowledging that they were wide awake hanging out and laughing while I was like stuck in bed barely able to move begging for follow through on a commitment they made in advance and i eventually had to spend over $100 to hire someone to come out the next day and do it for me and I had to hold my shit for hours lmfao

like L is sooooo great at couching things in flawless tumblr wellness speak but only to talk about how valid they are for not showing up for you and how fucked up it is that you MIGHT ever have a moment where you can't be 100% there w them. like idk what to tell you I've been laying in bed with a sore throat and cough and fever passing out and waking up to roll over in buckets of sweat like the rest of the house. I do genuinely get being annoyed by a lack of response but it's also right back to this whole thing about Always assuming I'm mad at them which is legit one of the only things that actually makes me mad fjdkddhk like bro I do not THINK about you when you're not acting like I'm a bomb about to blow (also, as an aside -- we all take turns buying TP and it's usually me who does it like it's not out of pocket for me to say hey you are the One person who is out of the house already rn, can you get this on your way bc None of the bathrooms have back up rolls and one is totally out and I had to text our sickest roommate telling her to use the bidet and drip dry like.... "am I the first person you asked" yes bc you are the person who makes the most sense dumbfuck. I'm not being "overly needy" toward you or whatever jfc)

they literally told me at one point that the reason they're so scared of me is that my face is "triggering" for them when I'm angry or not feeling good and puts them "back in a really bad place" they have seen my face angry literally 3 times and each time it was on my way back to my room to decompress and each time I said nothing to them other than that I was in a bad mood and I was going to go to my room. I didn't yell either I just said it normal. like I genuinely feel gaslit here like I'm this horrifying monster of a man when it's like dude sometimes people are mad I don't know what YOU want from ME!! I do all my venting here where they can't ever see it even tho we've blocked each other, I censor their name like anyone even knows who they are, I isolate to chill out and it's literally been less than a handful of times like should I fling myself from the roof??????? would that fix it???

I literally know it's bc I'm a man too. none of this was like this until my facial hair came in more and it got crazy worse after I got top surgery and they're so so vocal about how much they despise men and think men should all fuck off and die and there's only a handful of acceptable men that they've personally vetted. despite them pretty clearly having a trans woman fetish bc they only date or look at porn of trans women and they do the whole step on me mommy thing about it even tho their gf has complained like. lmfao you're just a baby te//rf even tho you ID as trans masc yourself. like that's all this even is. I'm a big (5'3") scary (spent the whole weekend w my coworkers asking if I was 12) man who's obviously going to snap and kill you all bc sometimes I *checks writing on hand* get frustrated and go lay down about it

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[wellthatschaotic]

seven hours of work at too early o'clock

[stoicpanther]

everyday i am dissapointed by the fact that trains arent socialised yet

[undreaming-fanfiction]

The Corroded Coffin used to think they'd be the new Metallica or Judas Priest. But where their passion and hard work never lacked, their big break just never came.

What did come, however, was an unexpected change of their career path.

It started innocently enough - they went through yet another failed meeting with recording studios, they'd travelled pretty far and it was for nothing. Instead of going back to Hawkins and risking another one of Eddie's road rages, they decided to break into an abandoned house and drink their sorrows away.

That is, until their empty bottles started collecting themselves, something invisible touched Gareth's shoulder and the dusty floor started showing written messages.

Jeff wanted to flee. Gareth to faint. But Eddie and Freak just shrugged. Eddie gestured towards the approximate ghost location and said "by the power of I don't give a shit anymore, I compel you to sit down and stop it, we'll clean the bottles when we leave tomorrow."

The rattling stopped. There was a moment of silence when the Corroded Coffin actually thought it had worked, but then the ghost overcame its shock and physically threw Eddie, his bandmates and their things out.

They sat on the wet grass for a while and contemplated their whole exitence. Eddie was pretty shaken about the whole thing because he'd just managed to royally piss off a ghost and lived to tell the tale. But apart from absolutely terrifying...it was also fun?

And his friends seemed to think the same. Jeff patted his shoulder and said: "not bad for a first touch with the unknown, huh?"

They stayed in the area and tried again. They decided to tape over their promotional video - not so great, they had to admit after rewatching it - and started documenting their ghostly encounters. And maybe it was just the timing, maybe it was their interactions and personalities, but it worked. They showed some of their tapes to a local TV station and they got a cautious yes, more than they ever had with their music.

They got assigned a small crew, Fred with a camera and Chrissy for sound, wrote their own episodes and did plenty of research. And they got to try quite a lot of different approaches with their ghostly friends. Eddie was amazing at taunting the ghosts, making them appear if there were any present. Gareth had a wonderfully calming presence, managing to save the CC's ass several times. Jeff was the brains, he made sure they'd always know the history of the house and the probable identity of the ghost. And Freak decided to dabble in the occult sciences with a terrifying precision. There could never be enough salt in Eddie's van for all the circles he made.

It all went well until they learned of the Creel House in Hawkins. They went there, did their research and before entering the house, they ordered some pizza for dinner. They assumed it would be over by midnight, thinking it was just another sad story of an unresolved murder, but the ghost of Henry Creel was out for blood.

Oh, and he also controlled the spiders of the house. That was new.

To set the scene: The crew had fled the house about an hour ago. Eddie was crouching behind an old table, blocking Henry's barrage of kitchen knives, shouting "IS THIS THE BEST YOU'VE GOT?!". Gareth was behind the table with Eddie, but he went more into the wailing territory with "I DON'T THINK THIS WILL HELP YOU MOVE ON, HENRY!". Jeff had blocked himself in the pantry and kept trying to identify the triggering moment - "I think he's re-enacting the murder of his mother, guys! Does that help?!" (it doesn't). And Freak gave up on salt circles and was now tossing handfuls of salt around the house with a questionable technique but unwavering determination.

Suddenly, a car horn.

Then, a bitchy male voice: "Are you coming to get your pizza or what? I have other customers to get to!"

Eddie gritted his teeth as Henry added heavy pans to the mix and hit his shoulder. "We're a little busy surviving here! Ask Chrissy to pay you!"

There was a muffled and annoyed "ugh" from behind the door and then: "Is it Henry again?"

Eddie just blinked. Gareth was more ready to answer: "Sure is! He's not a fan of our exorcism!"

And the pizza guy didn't leave. He just huffed and said something that sounded suspiciously like "amateurs".

Eddie wanted to punch him.

But before he could do that, the front door opened. Gareth held his breath, half expecting a sound of knives hitting their target.

Instead, they heard a few more steps and then: "What the fuck, Henry?!"

A faint whispering reached their ears, but they couldn't decipher it. But the pizza guy could.

"I don't care they didn't get your permission, Henry. Yeah, it's annoying, but what are you going to do? If more people die in this house, it's going to get demolished. You know that. Yeah, I know the house is old, but it's great for your spiders, right? They'd be homeless. Do you want to make your spiders homeless, Henry?"

They dared to peek from behind the table, and Eddie had to pinch himself. Because in the middle of the dusty dining room stood one of the prettiest young men Eddie had ever seen, hands on hips and arguing with something invisible.

The man completely ignored them.

"That's what I thought. Now, apologize. No, they can't hear you, so get creative."

All four CC members stared as words formed in the spilled salt: "SORRY".

The pizza guy seemed to be pleased. "Good job, Henry. Now, let me get them out of here and I promise I'll get the Party to bring you some new spiders when they capture them outside, yeah? Three knocks, slide them in a glass behind the door. Got it. Take care, Henry."

Only then did he look at Eddie and the others and frowned. "That's your cue to leave. Get your stuff and go, now." And as they were quickly collecting their scattered notes and recording equipment, he added: "and say goodbye when leaving. Don't be rude."

Four rushed "Bye, Henry!" and "Sorry, Henry"s later, the Corroded Coffin was standing on the grass outside, feeling the setting sun on their skin and smelling fresh pizza. Gareth promptly paid for the delivery, and everyone proceeded to thank their mysterious savior.

"I'm Steve," he said after they'd all expressed their thanks, "and you're stupid. Do you really do this without anyone who sees and hears them? Do you just stumble blindly into haunted houses for a fun and stabby time?"

Eddie had to swallow down a very bitchy response of his own. "Sorry to stroke your ego even more, pretty boy, but a man of your talents is hard to come by."

And Steve, to Eddie's massive shock, just cocked his head and fluffed his hair, probably out of habit, but damn. "Well, consider yourself lucky because I'm open to job offers," he said with a wink that brought Eddie back into his teenage fantasies. "You need someone like me, and I assume you pay better than pizza delivery. Do you?"

Turns out, their producer was willing to get one more person on board, especially when they finished processing the leftover footage from the Creel house.

Steve was an amazing addition. He was snarky, self-confident, easy to look at and most of all, he was fun and compassionate. Watching him communicate with ghosts of kids and help them move on made Eddie's icy heart melt.

But one day they were on a site of an unfortunate teenage death, Steve was chatting with the ghost of a 17 year old girl like they'd known each other for ages, he was laughing, cracking jokes, and then:

"No, he hasn't kissed me yet."

Eddie turned around on his heel and stared at Steve, snickering to himself and talking to a misty figure next to him. And worst of all, they were both staring right at Eddie.

"Hasn't even asked me out, no. You'd think he'd be interested, but I guess I'm doing something wrong."

And Eddie's head short-circuited, and all the repressed fantasies from nights next to Steve in their trailer came back with vengeance. He howled and threw himself at Steve, kissing him right on that bitchy mouth. "Doing something wrong?! Steven Harrington, those shorts of yours are doing everything right, but how about you say something, huh?!"

Steve returned the kiss to the cheering of the CC guys, Chrissy's clapping and Fred's disgusted noise, and shrugged when they broke apart. "I knew you'd get it, eventually. Oh, and Heather?" he turned to the ghost. "You're the best wingwoman ever, in this life and after."

Four good things came from this ghostly encounter:

After the kiss, Gareth finally gathered enough courage to ask Chrissy out. She said yes.

The episode with Heather became the most watched episode of the CC's show.

Steve and Eddie remained in an equally blissful and teasing relationship for the rest of their lives.

And finally...

The TV station decided to design official merch for the CC's show: incredibly short shorts that said on the backside: "DOING EVERYTHING RIGHT".

[s-4pphics]

uhh yeah brainrot took over and i scribbled like i do not care…… MILF!ELLIE ORGASM ……….

this shit like 400 words who cares it’s literally ellie getting her shit beat in by her daughters babysitter….

“You like this, huh? Sneakin’ around like a whore?”

Ellie flinches when your aggression hits her cheek in gusts. She never would’ve expected that a nasty phone call with her psycho ex-fiancé would’ve ended with two — three, fuck three — of her babysitter’s fingers shoved inside her pussy. The night’s been such a blur: screaming contests, threats of lawsuits, hours of crying from a baby that she loves and would happily die for… and now she’s getting wrung out by someone half her age against the front door that she pays for.

The springtime is prurient…

“I-I love it.”

You grin like a doll. A cursed one with dried blood between every crochet. The white of your teeth get the hairs on her neck reaching for the ceiling. She does love it; loves how you treat her like nothing. Completely stripped of her only identity. A mere vessel for you to use for taunts.

Your thrusts are stealing her soul; fast and hot and determined to get her to break. “And I love this pussy. She deserves so much love.” Ellie’s cheeks heat when she catches herself chasing your mouth for a desperate kiss, but you pull away whenever her nose brushes yours. So close, yet not at all. “I bet she’d hate it if she knew.”

Her chest stings, “Don’t talk about her.”

Ellie’s teeth grit at your cackle, “What? You don’t think she’d be mad?”

She knows so. That’s why she doesn’t wanna fucking talk about it. Nothing ruins a nut like thinking about getting cheated on by your first and only love… at 7 months pregnant. The mention of her will always leave a fiery sting in her gut.

“Who could abandon such good pussy?” You coo against her throat. “She takes everything. Does exactly what she’s supposed to. Pushed out a whole fuckin’ person and still traps whatever goes in.”

Ellie whines when her pussy squeezes down on you in confirmation. Every punctured grind of your fingers is calculated and pushes her into oblivion against white painted hardwood. She can hardly hold herself up. A shaky hand lands on the doorway in attempts to steady herself, eyes capturing glimpses of her brain going into overdrive.

“Don’t stop, don’t sto — fuckyesyesyesbaby — !”

“Uh huuuh, there’s my pretty girl, gimme what I want… that’s it tha’s it—“

You’re pulled so close when her walls suck you in sporadic pulses, milking your fingers at an alarming rate. She’s screeching her little head off into your shoulder, wetness spreading all over your wrinkly digits and down to your palm. Stress leaves her body with every harsh jerk of her clit under your thumb. You’re guiding her through the pleasure that’s crackling beneath her bones and she swears she’s in love.

Time melts. She only gets seconds to recover before her brain turns to mush when you drop to your knees in front of her, head traveling under her oversized shirt in search of roses. When you locate it, you swallow her whole, and she goes cross eyed at the slick that dribbles down your chin.

She’d give you as many children as you want if you always treat her this well.

MEEEP

[celestie0]

I actually kinda like the accidental pregnancy trope idk just two characters learning to coparent and then eventually falling in love is kinda cute 🥹 I’d love to see what you write for gojo I feel like he’d be scared but end being such an amazing dad

gojo x reader | accidental pregnancy trope [drabble]

little miracle. a gojo x reader story

a/n. ok anon i basically started answering this ask very minimally but i couldn't stop myself from writing and it basically became an entire story so enjoy i guess?? LOL my bad <3 warnings/tags. domestic fluff, angst, mentions of sick parent, mentions of death, pregnancy symptoms. there is happy ending!! word count. 2.2k

gojo and you are in your mid twenties but you're both just barely getting by, you're a new writer living in a tiny apartment in a big city and gojo is the cute waiter at your favorite diner who's just saving up some money because he wants to go back to school and you're both kindaaa crushing on each other, flirting w one another. the restaurant gojo works at ends up starting meal delivery option, and you order some pizza to your apartment just so that you can see him on a weekday and he's soooo super cheeky with it leaning in the doorframe entryway of your apartment with the pizza in his hand like "it says here someone ordered a hot guy in some super sexy black jeans, well he's here now" and you're like "you're such a fuckin idiot" and you abandon said pizza to fuck him on your facebook marketplace couch.

fast forward the next day n you wake up, but he's not there anymore. he left you a little note that says he's going away for a month since his mom is sick and he needs to be w her. you're confused by the note, and you wish he left his phone number because you realize you have no way of contacting him. but that's ok, he'll be back soon, right?

in the couple weeks following the night you both hooked up, you're feeling like shit in the mornings, nauseous, you realize you've missed your period but you shrug it off because it was never really normal anyways. but one morning you throw up, confused as hell, wondering if you got food poisoning. but as you swing your legs back and forth in your paper gown, sitting high up on your primary care doctor's examination room bed, they tell you that you're pregnant and you act like you've never even heard the word before.

there's no doubt gojo is the father, you haven't slept w anyone except him in months. and a baby was just...you can barely afford to pay your bills, you're already living paycheck to paycheck since your book isn't even out yet and you're just surviving w the advance from your old job. what the hell were you going to do? and you can't even tell him that you're pregnant, because he's god knows where, stranding you with no phone number to contact him and you feel so left behind and alone.

the first person he comes to see when he gets back into the city is you. he looks tired, probably from his travels, or possibly from what he saw back home w his mom laying sick in bed. but he's still so happy to see you, and he kisses you and tells you he missed you and you stop him to tell him that you need to talk. for him, there was life before you told him you were pregnant, and then there was life after. and now he was living in the after. standing still in the tiny living room of your apartment when you tell him he's the father, and the words that leave your mouth afterwards are drowned out in his head because he can only focus on that one thought at once.

father. he's going to be a father? whatever heaviness he finds in his chest from the word is replaced with adoration when he looks at you.

keeping it, was what you had told him next.

it was tough at first, because of the morning sickness and the hormones and the yelling at him for not bringing you the kfc you craved so badly a minute before he did, and then the crying that follows suit when you realize you're being mean to him. but he does everything you want, everything he knows how, because he doesn't know how to be a dad, and he figures the least he can do right now is know what to do for you. and the thought scares him, to death every day. as he's driving you to your doctor's appointments, he's praying under his breath that you and baby are ok and healthy. while he's waiting tables at work, he puts on his best smile for an extra tip because it's extra money for the baby, because she isn't even here yet and he already wants to give her everything she's ever wanted.

yes, she. a baby girl. you were having a baby girl. you cried when your ob/gyn slipped and told you the gender, because you asked for it to be kept secret, but what hurt even more was that you told gojo he didn't need to come to this appointment. just a routine little check up, not a big deal. i'll just have my friend drop me off, you said. little did you know it was the one where you would find out you two were having a little girl.

oh, gojo knows nothing about girls. would it be different from raising a boy? can he play wrestle w her when she's a little older, or would he have to be gentle with her? would he learn how to make flower crowns for her with daisies from the field just to see a smile on her tiny face? how will he ever be able to deny her anything, especially if she looks just like you?

the second trimester, you two felt like a young married couple, and for once it felt like things were bright. like you two knew what you were doing. like it wasn't a mistake, but a blessing. you wanted him, desired him, and he'd never desired anything more than he desired you. it took you a while to come around to having sex again, it felt wrong, because that was what got you two into this mess in the first place. but those feelings melted away when you two moved into his little ranch together on the outskirts of town and you knew what it felt like to be hugged by him in the mornings, his sleepy voice drawling in your ear about how much more beautiful you look with every passing day. in those moments, all the regret melts away.

it all comes crashing down in third trimester. you're angry, he's tired, you're sad, he swears he's trying his best but he just can't seem to understand what you need from him. you say you wished this never happened, he says he didn't ask for any of this, and you're sobbing on the kitchen floor with your head in your hands because it all just feels like some cruel twisted joke. like a dream you should be waking up from any second from now. he sits down on the cold tile beside you, solemn in the face. he already looks so much older than the bright eyed boy he used to be, twirling a pizza box around on his finger in the doorframe of your apartment. his cheeks have sunk in, and he looks older. his hand reaches out to hold yours, and he kisses the back of it, and he says he'll never leave. not like how he left all those months ago, with nothing but a note. no matter what it comes to, one thing he can always promise you, is that he'll never leave like that ever again.

when your baby girl was born, nothing else mattered. it's like all the turmoil you faced in the past eight months was not even worth paying a moment's care towards when you cradle her in your arms. gojo had been fighting back tears the entire time, mostly provoked by how difficult childbirth had been for you as he watched feeling helpless, but the moment he held his little girl in his arms, he couldn't fight back the tears anymore. and he cried, and he cried, and he cried. few fathers could treasure their daughters as much as gojo did, and he knows it's a promise every parent makes to their child, but he vowed he'll never let anything hurt her. never let anyone upset her. for as long as he lives, he'll keep all the cruelty away from her, and keep her safe forever. you both named her yuki, for snow drifting outside of the hospital window when she opens her eyes for the first time.

you two make the tough decision that it's best for gojo to go back to school like he originally planned while you take care of the baby at home. it's hard having him away, and it's torture for him too, since he seems to breathe and live just to make yuki giggle and smile. but it's what made fiscal sense, since you knew what it was like to grow up in a household with little money to feed or fend, and the two of you wanted more than that for your daughter.

gojo's mother succumbed to the very illness that had been haunting her since he visited her for a month over a year ago, and he cried to sleep when he realized she only got to hold her granddaughter once before she passed away. and for the first time in his life, gojo learned what it really meant to be a parent, and it was only found in losing his own. there was no time to grieve in the capacity that he wanted to, because he needed to be there for you and his little girl. a year ago, he would've been broken, beaten, and bruised, but now he bleeds only in his dreams, then buries and braves the seasons for the sake of you two. as he slips his shoes off at the front door after a long day, then walks into the dark of the house, turning the corner into your shared room, he sees you humming peacefully while rocking his daughter to sleep. and he realizes his entire world is sitting in that chair.

gojo graduates from his two year engineering program, and lands a job in the city. the same city you left to go live with him when you were pregnant. it was tough to come back to the same city you fled, because all you remember of it now is morning sickness and fear of your career and falling in love with a boy that had a boyish charming smile you knew would ruin you one day. and now he's taken you back, moving the little family you've made together into a house. a house! he bought you a house. it was a little one, with no more than two bedrooms, but there was enough room in your hearts to raise your daughter with love, and that was all she'd ever need. she can walk now, mumble words. she said dada first, and gojo never stops teasing you about it. and when she finally says mama, you felt like your whole heart would burst.

he proposes to you on the waterline of the city's park, at the top of golden hour while the wind is subtle and tame but still ruffles the fabric of your dress. waiter boy, on one knee in front of you, years of waiting tables but he cannot even bare to wait one more second to hear your answer to the most important question he'll ever ask anyone in his entire life.

and you say yes. and he promises he'll love you for the rest of his life.

the wedding is small, because you two decided not to invite all of the family that had become estranged ever since you told them that you were pregnant with a man's child who you weren't even so much as dating. his family became yours after that, with his aunts and uncles congratulating you and yuki's cousins playing with her before she was to skip down the aisle as flower girl. it was sad to see your side of the church so empty, but you could never truly feel empty in this world anymore. not with what all that you've gained in the process.

there is fear in love, and in life. there was fear in gojo's heart when he learned he was going to be a father when he barely even knew right from wrong. there was fear in learning you were going to be a mother when you knew you cannot protect your child from the same hurt that has haunted you for a lifetime. but there was joy too. joy in seeing your baby bump for the first time, joy in holding your daughter in your arms for the first time, joy in seeing a sparkling stone in a tiny box presented to you on a sunday by the boy who still made your heart skip a beat just by looking at him, and there was so much joy in marrying him too.

but you find the real joy comes in the moments that you expect nothing from at all, but they happily surprise you with the feeling nonetheless. like now, as you sit on a picnic blanket at the park and you watch your husband running across fluttering grass in the wind, chasing after your daughter whose giggles and shrieks fill the summer air. he catches her, throwing her up into the air before spinning her around in his arms, and you tuck your hair behind your ear as you watch it happen. you expected nothing from anything life had given you in the past four years, and yet it gave you all the joy in the world. where you could've expected sorrow and sadness, it gave you something beautiful instead. you never would've thought that the boy you locked eyes with through a shy flutter of your lashes underneath warm restaurant lighting, the one that winked at you with no shame despite you being surrounded by all of your friends, you never could've imagined he'd be who he is to you today. but for certain, now, you believe in it. you believe in little miracles.

.

.

.

[the end]

a/n. what the flying fuck. i'm gonna go cry now lmfao.

[rileyslibrary]

You have a few questions about Ghost’s mask and he has some answers. (platonic, self-indulgent banter)

———————————————————————

You sit side by side outside the medic’s office, waiting for your physical exams. You’ve both just returned from a mission, and it’s standard procedure for all personnel to undergo routine checks upon returning to the base. ‘It’s the protocol’, they said. Boring shit.

Adjusting your shirt, you recline on the chair, glancing at Ghost’s back. He’s slouching, elbows on his knees, fingers interlocked together. He turns to his left, looking at something you’re not interested in paying attention to right now.

He’s fascinating.

“Did you make it yourself?” You ask, nodding towards him.

He doesn’t hear you. That, or he pretends he doesn’t do so. You gently nudge his knee with yours to get his attention. He turns over his shoulder, his eyes locking with yours.

“The mask,” you say, pointing at him, then gesturing to your face, “did you make it yourself?”

He keeps staring at you, but not in the same way when he first turned towards you. It’s more ominous now, like a sign in the middle of the road warning you that there’s been an accident ahead. You don’t know what that accident entails, or what you will face if you get closer. Is it a truck that spilt yellow dye all over the road? Is it a major crash with casualties? Do you want to find out?

Yes. Yes, you do.

“I just think it’s neat.” You say, shrugging.

His eyes linger on you for a few more seconds until they end up traveling from your head to your waist. He finally looks away.

You keep staring at the side of his face, studying it; there’s a faint outline of an ear, a barely visible jawline, the skull plate sewn on his painted balaclava.

“Does it get clammy in there?” You ask again, this time louder.

You know he heard you, but he doesn’t turn to look at you this time. He takes a deep breath, his chest rising, and so does his head. He closes his eyes, and with a long exhale, he lets it all out. He stretches his neck to the left and then to the right.

“What is it that you wanna know?” He asks.

“You never removed it during our mission, not one single time,” you explain. “Got me wondering if you ever take it off, that’s all.”

He lets out an almost inaudible chuckle; it’s so quiet that you can’t hear it, but you can see his shoulders rise and fall. He slowly shakes his head as he gazes down at the floor. Hopefully, it’s a genuine reaction and not just an attempt to release the tension building up.

He straightens himself, sliding back in his seat before reclining. His shoulders press against yours, and you make room for him as much as possible. It almost feels like he’s intentionally expanding his presence; otherwise, he might have been more considerate with his posture. On the other hand, so would you with all the drilling.

“I, too, wonder about you.” He says.

“About what?” You ask.

“Whether you ever stop talking.” He replies, turning to look at you.

“I have questions.” You explain as your eyes drift to his right ear.

“I can tell,” He says and gestures for you to go ahead. “Let’s hear ’em.”

You straighten up and twist your upper body towards him.

“Ok, so,” you begin and clasp your hands together. “How does the medic check your ears if you keep them covered?”

“My ears are just fine.” He responds almost too quickly.

“How do you know?”

“I keep listening to you, don’t I?” he replies. “It’s my nerves that need checking.”

“Why?”

“Cause I keep listening to you.” He repeats. “Anything else?”

“What about your mouth?” You ask. “What if they need to check that during the examination?”

“I’m sure you’d manage that for both of us,” he replies as he leans further back, resting his head on the wall. “Since yours rarely stays closed.”

“Is that so, Lt.?”

He shuts his eyes and slowly nods.

“Do you have an answer for everything?” You ask.

“Do you want to find out?”

“Do I?”

“Do you?” He says, opening his eyes and looking straight at you.

You open your mouth to say something but decide against it. You close it and twist your body to the front, yet you can feel his eyes burning through the back of your head.

“You forgot the nose.” He says.

“What?”

“The nostrils.” He explains. “You asked about almost every single orifice in the human body except the nostrils and the arsehole, for Christ’s sake.”

“Do they check those?”

“Only if you have allergies,” he replies. “Or an infection.”

“Allergies in the arse?” You joke. “Never heard of that.”

“No,” he says, pointing at you. “Pain in the arse.”

———————————————————————

[cheriladycl01]

Billion Dollar Baby - Grid x Billionare! Reader x Lewis Hamilton (Rom) Part 1

Plot: Girlie loves Formula One, but she also loved Chaos and Drama so she offers the FIA/ the F1 Teams 300 million to do a race … for her under her rules!

Credit to ladygagasource

As a billionaire with a net worth of over 90 billion pounds to your name and your name alone and having multiple stable corporations and investments in loads of different sectors and having donated overly generous amounts to charity, you couldn't help but start to find more interesting ways to invest your money.

You had 7 homes, all around the world completely paid off with about double the amount of cars, whether they were super cars, vintage cars or personalized cars. A private jet, 3 vacation homes and an island.

You lived a lavish life but you worked extremely hard for it, there wasn't really a moment you weren't working.

But you had your hobbies, the theatre (specifically WestEnd), travelling (when you had time away from work) you'd been really getting into sport.

Particularly F1 was an interest of yours. You'd put forward money into McLaren and given them upgrades from your various companies both tech wise and team wear wise.

But you were so intrigued with the sport and the difference from F2.

In F2, the cars were pretty much all the same and it was fully on driver capability. Whereas in F1 you could be a cracking driver but depending on the team you were in you were in a shit box car.

And that's why you were now currently stood in the paddock at Silverstone.

You'd proposed ... to the FIA a race, where you'd pay for driver - team switches that you could choose and run it as a charity event so any tickets sold went to charities chosen by the drivers.

And everyone loved it. I mean why wouldn't they. It wasn't like the teams were loosing out on money because you were paying them to build another car and for the drivers it was just a bit of fun to experience another car.

So here you were, in front of 20 drivers, 10 team principles, some CEO's of the teams, some FIA representatives and some media personal.

"Hello everyone!" you smile awkwardly. Even though you'd done presentations in front of many many people this felt really daunting to you.

A chorus of mumbles and hello's back to you occurred before you stand there awkwardly. Someone was supposed to introduce you, that's what you were told when you first got here but no-one was attempting to come up on stage to help you so you just laugh.

"So apparently no one is coming up to introduce me... so erm if you don't know who i am I'm Y/N Y/L/N and I've proposed money to each of your teams and the FIA to create a charity race where I switch drivers into different cars... Formula 1 really intrigues me to see how you all are naturally talented drivers and that the car really does matter... and i think it will be really interesting for the fans. It's a great opportunity for the teams and drivers to make special merch and special helmets and I just think as drivers it will be a really great experience for all of you!" you grin and there was mumbles questions thrown at you till you PR manager came up next to you to calm everyone down.

"One at a time please!" he says in his gruff masculine voice.

"Are you choosing which teams we go to?" Lando asks first, and you nodded.

"Are teams making a different car? Or?" he asks and you shake you head.

"Teams will rebuild the exact car that they have now. It will just be other drivers inside the car. Do you guys want to hear where you'll be?" you ask and a chorus of agreement flows through the room.

"Okay, so first up our two Red Bull Drivers. Current Champions of both Constructor and Drivers. Max Verstappen, you will be going to Williams. And Sergio Perez you will be going to Haas!" you start and gasps surround.

"So we aren't staying with our current team mate?" Lewis asks looking over to George.

"Okay, as for the current Ferrari Drivers, Charles you will be going to McLaren and Carlos after your announcement of joining Nico in Sauber for 2025 i thought it would be fun to give you a ... test run so you are going to Sauber!" you cheer and they both nod.

"Okay then for my McLaren boys I got Oscar to Ferrari and Lando to ... Red Bull!" you grin and Lando looks down with a laugh and shake of his head. Being a McLaren sponsor meant you spent a lot of time around the paddock with the pair of them.

"Next our Mercedes men, Lewis will be joining Max in Williams" you smirk making Lewis shake his head, you'd always liked teasing Lewis having had a relationship at one point and ending on good terms due to work stresses and struggles.

"And George will be in Aston Martin!" you smile and he nods.

"As for Aston Martin, Fernando you'll be driving alongside Carlos as a Spanish Duo in Sauber and Lance well your dad offered me money to put you in Red Bull but thought that wasn't the spirt of the charity event so Alpine for you!" you grin and you can tell some of the drivers, including Lance are trying not to laugh.

"Visa Cash App Racing Bulls, fuck me that's a mouthful erm Dani Ric you my friend are going to ... Aston Martin nice one and my favrioute driver ... sorry Lando and Oscar but he's literally my son ... Yuki my love you'll be in Red Bull with Lando!" you smile and he fits the air happily before nodding at you in thanks.

"Nico, Kevin Haas hasn't actually been all that bad for you guys this year. You've had great drivers however ... Kevin to Mercedes and Nico to RB!" you smile.

"Williams duo. You guys will be moving up. Logan i think you'll really really suit Ferrari red and Alex you better like Papaya coz you'll be joining Charles in McLaren!" you smile and Logan's face lights up being in a top team. This was really his opportunity to prove himself and that he was a great driver.

"Alpine ... not been an easy season for you guys unfortunately ... Pierre you'll be joining Mercedes and Esteban you'll drive for Haas"

"And finally our Stake Sauber whatever your team name is called will be moving ... Zhou to Alpine and Valtteri to Racing Bulls!"

"I hope this interests you all and you are all excited for the race in two months!" you say and you stay behind talking to some of the drivers until one is left.

"Hey baby" you smirk at Lewis as he leans against the door frame.

"I don't think I'll ever get over you calling me baby" he smiles softly and you smile back.

"Of course you wont ... baby" you grin.

"I'm excited for this race but I can't believe you .. put me in a Williams!" he exclaims and you just laugh before flattening out the lapels of his blazer before looking up at him.

"Cant make it easy for you, I wanna see you fight. You've lost your spark Lew!" you sigh looking over him.

Yours and Lewis relationship came to and end in 2021, just after he'd lost the championship. Said he needed to be more focused on his career. Baring in mind you'd been dating for 5 years before that.

"I-I know, it's not been the same since ..." he trails off and you nod.

"Since Max won... I know!" he smile at him, rubbing his shoulder, but after hearing you he takes a step back.

"No, since we ended things!" he sighs and you look over him in confusion.

"Lew..." you start and he shakes his head.

"I know it was mutual, but you were it for me. You ... you still are Y/N. I want you back and I know you aren't ready right now but you are the one thing i will and always will continue to fight for, fuck another championship ... fuck even another race win. I want you back though and I promise you i'll prove it!" he says looking over you, tears filling in your eyes as he pulls you into his chest, hugging you while stroking your hair.

"Ohhhh Lewis, what are you doing to me..." you laugh, because if you don't you'll cry.

"I'll see you in two months Lew!" you smile and walk out the door. He looks a little gutted your leaving but you need him to prove that he'll try.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[redr0sewrites]

SITTING ON ADAMS FACE HC’S? God I’m telling you that man eats pussy like it’s his last meal, HES GOOD AND HE KNOWS IT.

YESSSSS ANON UR LITERALLY ME I JUST KNOW HE EATS GOOD, TRUST

🥀Cw: smut, oral sex (reader recieving), facesitting, afab!reader

🥀minors dni

there is no way that adam has not tried every position under the sun, and he has absolutely tried facesitting before. there is not a doubt in my mind that this man eats puss good, and he would fucking LOVE the opportunity to have you sit on his face

absolutely brags about his oral skills to the point where you almost don't believe he's as good as he claims. so, of course, you tell adam to prove it. to your shock, its adam who offers for you to sit on his face

adam is a strong man, he wants you to SIT on your throne. he wants all of your weight on him, no matter your size he can take it. he has a firm hold on your thighs, he genuinely wants to be smothered by your aching cunt as he eats you out

i def hc that adam eats pussy very sloppily- not in the sense that it doesn't feel good, no, but in the sense that it feels too good. he wants you to squirt, by the end of the night he needs you to be whimpering as he wears your thighs like earmuffs

not even joking it's actually almost disgustingly hot how messy he is when he eats you out. cum will be covering his entire face and lips, he's actually so addicted to eating you out its insane and he loooves your taste. he doesn't need to breathe, he just needs to keep fucking you silly and holding you down against his face as his tongue works wonders against your aching clit

adam definitely gets hard from eating you out and has came untouched before while your sitting on his face. in his defense, you're just too undeniable to resist! honestly though, its the hottest thing in the world to watch his hips jerk upwards, humping up against nothing as he groans beneath you, absolutely drunk of your pussy

he adores 69'ing as well, the added stimulation of you sucking his cock while he eats you out? fuck, he's reached heaven again and absolutely cums in your mouth or sprays over your chest

his moans send vibrations against your cunt and only makes the entire situation 10x more pleasurable for you

honestly facesitting pretty much becomes a typical part of u and adams foreplay

"c'mon babes, i want ya t' sit," adam murmured, his large hands gripping into the soft flesh of your thigh. "none 'f that hovering shit, i can take ya," his hot breath fanned over your aching cunt as your knuckles gripped the headboard. "are you sure?" you ask shakily, his thumb running soothing circles on your thigh as you clit pulses with need. fuck, you wanted to just sit, but what if you hurt him? what if you were too heavy?

"course im sure," adam rasps, licking a stripe through your folds. "fuuuck baby, y'need to sit on my face, or i'm gonna pull you down myself." your face flushes at his warning, and you slowly lower yourself until your perched on his face. his tongue circles your clit, sucking and slurping with noises so lewd that your head begins to spin. it wasn't just the embarrassment of the entire situation that made your head fuzzy, no, it was the mind blowing pleasure you were receiving from adams skilled tongue.

a sudden jerk of adams' hips below you makes you shiver, and you realize he's grinding up into thin air. his cock is already hard, and a low groan vibrates against your cunt. adam does something especially sinful with his tongue and you let out a wanton moan, thighs shaking with pleasure. "c'mon hon, give it t'me" adam groans, his voice muffled by your needy cunt. your juices spill over his face, and precum pearls at the tip of his cock. his tongue swirls around your aching pearl before traveling back down to your slit, paying special attention to your folds and making you whimper.

your hips rock against his face as you start to chase your own orgasm. one of your hands travels down to grab a fistful of his hair, his firm hands assisting you in grinding against his face. the tip of his nose keeps brushing against your pulsing clit, and you can feel yourself reaching the edge. adam lets out a moan, and with one last roll of your hips, your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. adam helps you ride out your high as your cum spurts, coating his face. he doesn't hesitate to swallow it all as he milks you dry, you entire body shaking from the mind blowing orgasm.

"did you just squirt?" adam smirks, gasping for breath as you pull away to lay down beside him. "did you just come? i didn't even touch you~" you retort, your voice falsely sweet. adam scowls, and you giggle, moving to straddle him again. you grind your cunt against his aching cock, and he lets out a strained groan. "you up for round two, or has the original dick already given up?" large hands come to rest on your waist and adam smirks up at you with his usual gloating nature. "im just getting started sugar tits~"

this is not the fic that got deleted (that fic is some vox hcs im currently rewriting) but this is just some fun hcs ab one of my favs to make me feel better after the literal hell that was today 😭😭😭 anyways yall hope u enjoyed!!!! i actually need to write more for adam, especially smut this is not a drill.

[thechaoticdruid]

I don't know why whether Astarion does or doesn't want kids is such a hot debate. I feel like he could go either way to be honest. Imma be honest as someone who isn't eager to have kids irl I think some of y'all are projecting yourselves onto Astarion when you say he wouldn't want them.

If you pay attention to him carefully in game it's pretty clear he just pretends to hate kids. (Likely as an unhealthy coping mechanism to deal with the fact that he was forced to kidnap the gur children)

You know like how he pretends to hate Scratch, how he pretends to hate kind people, how he pretends he doesn't care about anyone, need I say more?

You know the man bullshits half the time right?

Man is legit concerned if Yenna is kidnapped by Orin, approves of giving her food or money, and approves of saving Vanra from Ethel before killing the hag.

My own personal headcanon is that if Tav (or whoever he's romanced by) wants kids, then Astarion will probably warm up to the idea and if Tav doesn't then Astarion is perfectly happy being child free.

Whether or not he'd be a good dad is a whole different ball game entirely. I personally think he would be far from perfect, (likely he would have no fucking idea what he was doing most of the time) but he'd care about his kid. I honestly get a little pissed off when people say he would be a deadbeat dad, because unless we're talking about the ascendant version of him that is so not true.

I can however definitely see him raising a spoiled rotten entitled brat who gets away with murder though. But him not being interested in his kid whatsoever does not feel right to me.

Basically I'm just saying let people enjoy their little dhampir baby fantasies godsdamnit.

If you don't want kids it's perfectly valid. You do you honey! Enjoy all that extra child-free cash you're gonna have! Take a vacation, travel, buy all shit you want! Enjoy your freedom!

I really don't like the idea of being responsible for children irl personally but the idea of having a sweet dhamphir daughter with long bouncy white curls just makes me feel all fuzzy inside.

[moonlinos]

Invisible string (pt. II)

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader

♡ Synopsis: Minho is even more determined to make you see the good in love after falling for you, while you’re too preoccupied with thinking you’re not good enough for him.

♡ Genre: A ‘lite version’ of a soulmate AU, fluff, smut, friends to lovers, pining

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), hand job, fingering, like two seconds of nipple play, slut shaming, swearing

♡ Word count: 13.2k

♡ A/N: I got such a great response on the first part 🥲 thank you to everyone who left feedback. It means a lot more than you realize. I researched what to do on a trip to Japan so extensively just to write this part that I got sad I’ve never traveled there 🫠

← part I ♡ part III →

The night after you and Minho watched the light show, you stayed awake until four in the morning with your roommates as Eunha cried about her ex-boyfriend. You’ve never been the type to hope for someone’s misery, but that guy is deserving of every terrible thing that could happen to him.

After she calmed down, you fell asleep together on the couch. You only managed to check your phone in the morning, finding it thrown on your bed along with your bag. Minho’s string of messages put a smile on your face. You could use the time away from everything, even if it was only for a weekend.

You agreed to his strange invitation without thinking twice. You did, however, insist on paying for your hotel room. Chan was already being far too generous in offering you his place on a trip he had paid for.

Soon enough, two weeks flew by and the Friday of your trip finally arrived.

You’re already waiting outside of your house when Minho’s car arrives. He greets you with a hug, taking your backpack from your hands and placing it on the backseat. He opens the passenger door for you, waits until you’re settled in your seat, and only then closes the door and walks around the car. It’s something he does every time you go out together and it always makes you smile, even though it’s such a minor detail.

“You know, you’re my first friend who can drive,” you comment as he enters the car. “You shot up a lot of spots on my favorite friends’ list just by saving me from taking the bus.”

Minho chuckles. “And here I foolishly thought you liked me for my personality,” he feigns offense, shaking his head. “I actually only know how to drive because of my mom. I was moving to the countryside, and she got really worried I was gonna be stranded there, so she gave me a car when I graduated.”

You raise your brows. “You lived in the countryside?”

“Yep, I moved to Gurye right after graduating high school,” he explains simply, starting the car.

You nod slowly. Truthfully, you wanted to ask more questions but didn’t want to seem intrusive. Minho had never told you a lot about his life before starting university — the only things you know are that he has three cats back home in Gimpo and started college late for some reason. You figure he’s a private person who will hopefully open up to you once he’s ready. You couldn’t blame him either; you also desperately pretended as if your life before university didn’t exist.

As you two sit in the car, moving slowly through the awful Friday night traffic, you feel the familiar thoughts of panic overflow your mind. This trip felt almost romantic; just you and Minho in Japan for an entire weekend. You should be running away from shit like this, should be shutting him out before anything more than friendship blossoms between the two of you.

Your fingers pick on the fabric of your sheer tights, pulling and pinching apprehensively as your mind races. Because, at the end of the day, Minho is still a guy. He’s still capable of breaking your heart in the same ways it was broken before, and maybe even in new ways. He could still cheat on you, fall in love with someone else, treat you like nothing more than an object or a nuisance in his life, wake up one day and simply decide he’s had enough of you.

But he’s also Minho.

Your heart quickly countered every single reason your brain came up with on why you should run away from the situation.

How could Minho, who believes that love doesn’t allow you to hurt the person you love because it feels like you’re hurting yourself, cheat on you?

How could Minho, who told you that love makes it so that you can only see the one you love, fall in love with someone else?

How could Minho, who does stupid romance movie shit like opening car doors and pulling out chairs for you, insisting that he should walk on the street side when you’re together, reading classic novels, learning how to cook so his mom doesn’t have to, all while having three fucking cats, possibly break your heart?

Part of you hates how you have to do mental gymnastics to even consider allowing yourself to feel something more for a guy, but a bigger part knows the hurt that inevitably comes with love isn’t worth it.

You hear a soft chuckle beside you, and you lift your gaze to find Minho smiling at you as you stop at a red light.

“Is that a style thing?” He asks, gesturing toward your thighs with a nod. You furrow your brows. The light turns green, and his attention is back on the road, a grin spread across his lips. “Ripping holes in your tights. Is that a style thing?”

You look down toward your legs and grimace as you realize you had mindlessly torn two holes in your tights while overthinking. You mentally curse yourself.

“I’m cold,” you lie with an awkward giggle. “Was trying to warm myself up.”

Minho hums, stepping on the brakes as you encounter another traffic jam. He unbuckles his seat belt, turns his body toward the back seat, and retrieves his jacket before draping it over your thighs. He shoots you a small smile and turns his attention back toward the road.

The side of your brain that was against Minho and anything romantic with him just a few moments ago is completely swallowed up, dissipating as you ultimately admit to yourself that you don’t hate the prospect of this being a romantic trip as long as it’s with him.

God, you really don’t hate it one bit.

You two finally arrive at the airport just in time to board your flight with no issues. You’re not big on flying, but the flight is just a little over two hours, and Minho is such a calming presence next to you. He quietly read you some harlequin romance he picked up at the airport bookstore, and you two laughed a bit too loudly at the over-the-top plot and theatrical writing. The two of you were taken aback as the book turned out to be erotica, but hearing Minho dramatically read to you in a whisper about the hunky love interest and his manhood made you laugh until tears formed in your eyes.

After that, you two somehow end up talking about your lives back home. Minho shares how he always cooks Christmas dinner for his family, and his favorite part of the night is always the praises his grandmother throws his way. He explains that although he started cooking simply to help his mother, he found that he genuinely enjoyed it. He said he missed doing it every day, having stopped because his roommates had begun treating him as nothing more than a personal cook. You listen to his every word with a smile on your face that you can’t hide. It feels like he’s slowly opening up more to you about his life outside of university, and even something as small as this detail about his home life makes you feel closer to him.

The flight is so pleasant that you only realize you’ve landed once you see Minho unbuckling his seat belt.

You two take an Uber to the hotel, arriving in thirty minutes — you insist on paying since you’re basically here for free. You stare out the car window in awe the entire ride, Minho fondly laughing at your amazement.

As you arrive, you struggle with your backpack, pulling it out of the backseat with such force you would have fallen backward had it not been for Minho’s hands holding your shoulders. He asks if you’re okay with a chuckle, and you groan about how heavy your backpack is. Packing light wasn’t your forte.

As you two walk toward the hotel entrance, the weight on your shoulders disappears suddenly. You furrow your brows and look behind you. Minho had nonchalantly picked your backpack up by the handle and lifted it off your shoulders, carrying all the weight in his arms. You bite back a smile, murmuring a thank you. He just nods, like he hasn’t just done yet another thing you thought only happened in books written by women.

You feel that damn pinwheel return to your chest, making you feel a kind of thrill that you haven’t felt in a while. A good kind.

The hotel is relatively small, clearly on the cheap side, although it’s still quite charming. Minho mutters an apology as he catches you looking around the place.

“It was the only place I could afford being a broke college student,” He explains with a sheepish chuckle, and you shake your head.

“It’s lovely. I’m so happy to be here, I think I wouldn’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

Minho is the one who checks you in, speaking in near-perfect Japanese to the front desk clerk. You focus on the wood chipping on the table and bite the inside of your cheek as you inwardly berate yourself for finding it so damn attractive. It was different from your classes or your small study sessions. You had never truly grasped just how good Minho was until right now. You didn’t understand a word he said. All you know is that he sounded too sexy for his own good while saying it.

Minho hands you the key and tells you the room number, and you finally make your way up the stairs. He walks beside you the whole way, and you wonder if his room is on the same floor as yours or if he’s just doing this so he can hold your backpack off your shoulders.

As you reach your room on the third floor, he stops you before you can insert the key into the door.

“Before you go inside…” He trails off, pursing his lips before letting out a sigh. “I — we could only afford to pay for one room, so this is actually our room.”

Your eyes widen for a second before you nod slowly. “Oh. It’s… okay,” you assure him, although there’s very little confidence in your voice. The prospect of sharing a bed with Minho makes you nervous, but not for the reasons you thought it would.

“There are two beds! Of course,” He assures you, and you mentally slap yourself on the forehead for feeling disappointed at this information.

It’s because you’ve exclusively been having sex with Hyunjin for so long, you reason with yourself. Your hormones must be making you stupid, making you want something more with someone else who isn’t him.

Yeah, that’s it.

Minho’s your friend, after all. It wouldn’t make sense for you to want anything more with him.

It’s just your stupid hormones.

You turn the key and open the door, stepping inside the tiny room with Minho. The two beds were so close together due to the room size that they might as well be just one. The only other piece of furniture is a bedside table, which basically connects the two beds.

It’s only once you slide your backpack straps off your shoulders that Minho lets go of the handle, and you toss it on the plain white sheets of the bed to your right by the bathroom door.

Feeling a chill run through your body, you let out a groan. The heater in your room is clearly not the best.

“Tights and a skirt weren’t the right choice for this weather. This shitty heater also isn’t helping,” you grumble.

Minho chuckles behind you, and you hear the sound of the bed springs as he all but throws himself onto the bed. “Poking holes in your tights probably didn’t help either,” he jokes, and you force out a chuckle.

It seems you chose today to act like a complete idiot.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom to change into your warm sleep clothes. The first thing you notice as you walk out into the room again is Minho’s bright orange sweater with a cat knitted on the front. He’s lying down, his back resting on the wall since the beds don’t have a headboard, and the color of his sweater might be a bit offensive to the eyes, but it’s quickly forgiven once you take in the kitten adorning the fabric.

You giggle, and he looks up from his phone, his eyes meeting yours.

“Your sweater is really cute,” you tell him as you sit down in your bed, crossing your legs in an attempt to warm yourself a bit more.

Minho grins. “I know,” He says smugly, “It reminds me of two of my cats because of the color.”

“You know,” you hummed, “You never showed me any pictures of your cats.”

You watch as his eyes light up at your words. He locks his phone before quickly turning it to face you, showing you his wallpaper. Your lips stretch into a fond smile as you analyze the picture: Minho holding an orange and white cat close to his face with a grin, a butterfly filter cutely adorning his nose.

“This is Soonie, he’s the first cat I got,” He explains, turning his head so he could look at the screen as well, “I was thirteen when I adopted him, and I remember begging my parents for almost three months until they agreed. In the end, they loved him so much they allowed me to adopt another one.”

Minho unlocks his phone and opens his gallery, flipping through his pictures like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You purse your lips. It feels like you’re intruding, even though he’s the one who hasn’t moved the screen an inch. You couldn’t think of one person you’d trust enough to so freely view every single picture you had on your phone like this. Minho really was something else.

Most of his gallery is composed of blurry food pictures mixed with pages and covers of books and computer screens filled with codes. Until he reaches a point — before he started university, you assume — where the only thing you can see is pictures of cats.

He stops scrolling and clicks a picture of the same orange cat, this time wearing glasses and a hat. You snort because, of course he dresses his cats in clothes.

“Soonie is adorable,” you beam. Minho furrows his brows and shakes his head, looking at you like he’s offended.

“This is Doongie,” he states like it’s obvious, “The second cat I adopted.”

Your brows furrow as well. “Minho, that’s the same cat.”

He clicks his tongue, closing the picture and scrolling before opening another one; two orange and white cats lay together on a cat tree. Your lips fall open.

“See? This one is Soonie, he has a white nose. And this one is Doongie, his nose is orange,” He explains, and you nod, knowing full well you’d be dead if your life depended on distinguishing these two cats. “Doongie is the middle child, so he’s more temperamental.”

You stifle a giggle at him talking about his cats like they’re his children, much like you do.

He closes the picture once again and scrolls down further. His fingers hover over a picture for a couple of seconds, like he’s hesitating before he ultimately opens it. The screen fills with the image of a younger Minho smiling while holding a gray cat. His wire-frame glasses were round, unlike his current ones, and his black hair used to be shorter. The picture has clearly been cropped, only half of the cat’s body still visible.

“This is Dori. He’s the last cat I got, and he’s actually the only one I call my son.” He lets out a breathy chuckle. “I adopted him with my ex-girlfriend. She wanted a dog, but I fell in love with Dori as soon as I laid eyes on him on the website, so she had no choice but to accept him.”

You watch as he smiles at the picture and the memory. You absentmindedly fiddle with your fingers on your lap, an all too familiar ugly feeling bubbling inside you. Jealousy. Not because Minho mentioned a girlfriend — you wish it was as simple as that. Jealousy consumed you when you were forced to face the reality that people have healthy relationships, where one partner sacrifices their own desires just to please their loved one. Where you make plans to adopt a kitten together just so you can call it your son. You know damn well you were never even close to having something even remotely similar to that.

You shake the feeling off, forcing out a smile. “He’s really cute,” you tell Minho, “And he’s my favorite, ‘cause at least I can tell him apart from the other two.”

Minho chuckles, scrunching his nose as he locks his phone and rests it on his thigh.

  You two settle into bed after Minho walked you through the day he and Chan had planned for tomorrow. He had organized everything neatly in a travel planning app — from where you would be going down to an estimate of how much you would be spending. You always preferred roughly planning things out mentally whenever you traveled, mostly enjoying going with the flow.

Among all your coincidentally similar little incidents, you finally found something in which you two are complete opposites.

That should, in theory, annoy you, but you can’t help but find his meticulousness endearing. You can just picture him searching tirelessly online, crunching numbers and jotting everything down. The image is too adorable for you to be mad.

“Guess we finally found somewhere we’re different,” you mention with a smile as you tuck yourself into your sheets. Minho remains sitting on his bed, putting his glasses on their case.

He hums. “Rather than different, maybe we just complement each other in this case? You hate organizing, and I fucking love to do it, as you just saw,” he chuckles, “We’d be a great team. I plan everything, and all you have to do is show up.”

You nod with a smile, going over the places he chose in your head. You were excited for all but one: the very first one on the list, Inokashira Park.

“You know,” you start with a sigh, Minho’s eyes finding yours in the dimly lit room. “I never talk about this, but I weirdly feel like I can tell you anything. Nobody from our friend group knows this but…” you trail off, gripping the scratchy fabric of the comforter. “One of my ex-boyfriends cheated on me during a family trip to Japan when I was seventeen. I found out ‘cause the girl he hooked up with tagged him in pictures on Instagram. They were together in Inokashira Park.”

Minho hums, his eyes studying your face. After a beat of silence, he shrugs.

“We can skip that if you want to. I just—” He purses his lips, shifting on the mattress. “I just don’t think you should deprive yourself of the experience just because of a bad memory. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

You nod, taking in his words. He was right. You were positive none of your exes ever deprived themselves of going back to places where they cheated on you, so why should you? They were the ones in the wrong, the ones who hurt and betrayed you, so why should you be the one to bear the trauma?

Minho rests his back against the wall, playing with the drawstrings of his sweatpants. “Is that why you don’t believe in love anymore? Don’t feel like you have to answer! I just… I wondered…” He faltered, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. “I wondered what could have happened to make you feel that way.”

“Well, that was just one of five times when love proved to kind of hate my guts,” you chuckle. You didn’t understand why, but the words you held back for so long were bubbling at your throat, ready to spill out. And you were willing to let them. Even if only to a certain extent, you were ready to talk about this pathetic side of your life. You would rationalize it all later. Right now, you simply wanted to talk.

“I’ve had five boyfriends in my life, and they were all terrible in some way. I know, it’s a lot of relationships considering my age.” You scrunch up your face, cringing when you voice out the number.

Minho chuckles, and you’re ready for him to agree.

“It’s really not. There’s no right or wrong number of people to date during your teenage years or your twenties.” You open your eyes to find him leaning on his side, looking at you dismissively. “Some people date more, some date less, some people don’t even date at all. Either way, it’s fine.”

Your lips open and close, then open again. You had always expected people’s reactions to be the same as the ones you heard during high school. From your classmates to your ex-boyfriends, even your friends at the time, they all seemed to be in unanimous agreement that you were at fault for having dated so much in such a brief period. You never thought that maybe people with different opinions existed. And that, maybe, those people would be the ones who you care the most about.

Thinking about it now, after hearing Minho’s words, you were certain neither Eunha nor Soojung — or any of your friends, for that matter — would ever think badly about you or shame you simply because you’ve had five boyfriends. It seemed silly even to think that way now.

It was sad how much your teenage traumas undeniably affected your perception of reality.

Minho is the one to break the silence, his soft voice pulling you away from your thoughts.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. I promise you, the memories we make on this trip will be good enough that they override this lousy one,” he vows with a small nod. “And, more than ever before, I truly hope I can change your view of love.”

You smile at his words. “I surprisingly feel my thoughts about many things changing. Love is one of them.”

“I’m glad,” he hums, finally slipping under his covers. “Y’know, love isn’t only romantic. You say you’re closed off to love, that’s really a lie,” he states matter-of-factly, a smug grin spreading across his lips. You bite back a smile and raise your eyebrows at him. He continues, “The love you feel for your family and your friends, platonic love, that’s also love. I’ve been around you long enough to know just how much you love your friends.”

To say you loved your friends almost didn’t seem sufficient. After graduating high school, you left behind all the judgmental and toxic friends you had. You are immensely grateful to have found such good people at university. Eunha and Soojung were the housemates of your dreams, the three of you so different that it truthfully shouldn’t work, but it simply did. Hyunjin becoming your best friend was also a surprise; he was younger than you, and you had never been friends with a guy before — in part thanks to your jealous boyfriends — but he carved out a space for himself in your life and refused to leave. And you were so thankful for that.

And then there was Minho, who had come out of the blue into your life and just as suddenly became such an important person to you. From the way you two first met to your little similarities and how well you got along in such a short time, it was as if fate pulled you toward him.

You smile.

“I do love them,” you tell him, fiddling with your fingers under the white comforter. “And I love you, too, Minho. You’re my friend, after all. In a way, you’re already succeeding in changing my view of love just by being you.”

Minho’s eyes blink rapidly as he looks at you, his parted lips making him look like a confused child before they close. He hums, nodding as a small smile spreads on his lips, which quickly grows bigger and bigger until he’s basically giggling. He hides his face behind his hand, clearing his throat. You feel warmth spread across your chest at the sight. You’re sure if the lights were brighter, you’d be able to see his ears turning red.

You shake your head with a chuckle. The mood has suddenly become a bit too emotional, and you still find yourself running away from these things. However, you were proud of your progress tonight. Talking about love and your past — especially regarding your ex-boyfriends — was already a huge step for you.

You hope Minho knows he’s part of the reason you’re able to take this step in the first place.

“Okay, your turn.” You sit up on the bed, the white comforter pooling on your lap. “I’m curious too, y’know. You’re such a love enthusiast,” you tease him with a grin, earning you a chuckle from Minho, who throws his head back. “Tell me about your romantic experiences.”

He mirrors you and sits up on his bed. “Experience. I’ve only had one girlfriend,” he corrects you, “We met on the first day of high school and began dating the year after that, when we were sixteen. We were together until I was just about to turn twenty-one, so…” he trails off with a deep sigh. “Yeah, it was quite the long first relationship.”

“My five relationships combined didn’t last as long as that.” You click your tongue, and Minho lets out a breathy laugh. “Why did you two break up after being together for so long?” You blurt out before you can process the words inside your head. Annoyed with your own self, you scrunch up your face. You really chose today to be an idiot. “If that’s okay for me to ask! Sorry for being nosy, I’m just— I guess I’m curious.”

Minho smiles at you, a fond smile he always shoots your way whenever you are word-vomiting. Much like your other friends, he had quickly adapted to your habit of spilling out words before thinking about them.

“It’s a bit of a long story. Basically, she wanted a quiet and simple life in the countryside, so I did that for her,” he explains, shrugging dismissively. So that was the reason he had moved to Gurye after finishing school. “I began saving up money at eighteen with my job at the convenience store while she gave piano lessons to the kids in our neighborhood, and we moved on her twentieth birthday. I figured I could just do programming jobs from home, anyway, so I completely gave up on my plans to attend university…” Minho trails off, his voice all but a whisper at the end of the sentence. He shakes his head, a bitter chuckle leaving his lips as he continues, “I kind of wanna kick myself in the face for that now. It fucking sucks to have started university so late, but it was my own decision. I guess you say stupid shit when you’re nervous, and I do stupid shit when I’m in love.”

You had never met someone who would abandon so much of themselves for the person they loved. It made Minho even more admirable to you. However, even though it was his own decision, he clearly came to regret it. People often say love is all about compromises, and you couldn’t help but feel like Minho had been the only one to give up anything in this scenario.

“Were your parents okay with you two making such a drastic move?” You question, your curiosity bubbling inside your chest.

Minho scoffs. “Of course they weren’t. Especially my dad. But we were nearing our twenties, so there wasn’t much they could do to stop us.”

He drums his fingers on his thighs, and you wonder if this subject brought back sour memories — or maybe even good ones he just didn’t like remembering because they had become part of the past. You want to tell him it’s okay if he doesn’t want to talk about it any longer, but he’s continuing his story before you can speak.

“We adopted Dori and left a week later. We were pretty much broke. All we could afford was a small cottage that hadn’t been renovated in over a decade, but we were happy,” Minho’s voice is soft as he speaks, a smile forming on his lips as he stares ahead, almost as if he’s reliving those moments in his head. “We talked about growing old together and raising our kids in that cottage. And we — god, looking back, this was so stupid it’s fucking funny,” He chuckled, shaking his head and raising his gaze to meet yours. “We were actually trying to get pregnant. We barely had money to feed Dori and ourselves, yet it still crushed us every time that test read negative.”

You feel your expression change, a blend of astonishment and admiration washing over you. They must’ve truly been in love. You felt a slight pang of hurt and envy run through your body; it truly was so easy for other people when it came to love.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” you lament, although you’re not sure if you’re talking about the pregnancy or the entire relationship.

Minho shakes his head, scrunching his nose. “Don’t feel bad, it was a blessing in disguise. I can’t imagine how the fuck we would ever manage to raise a baby at that time.”

“It seems like you two had the perfect relationship.” You force out a smile, waging war against your bitter jealousy.

“It was perfect, until it wasn’t,” Minho shrugs dismissively, “We began to fight a lot after a while. Haneul would always get upset at me for not doing things the way she thought I should do them, down to replying in a way that didn’t fit with what she had hoped I would say. And I was the same, always getting frustrated when she disagreed with me, even if it was about something silly like what to have for dinner. We used to be able to talk it out and come to an agreement in the past — it wasn’t for nothing that we were together for so long — but being in that little cottage, just us two all the time, it became suffocating.”

“Is that why you two broke up?”

Minho nods. “We realized we were merely playing house. Neither of us was happy anymore,” he explains, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “It was like we each had a script inside our heads of what the other should say or how they should act. It wasn’t healthy anymore, so we mutually decided to end things before they got worse.”

Your fingers fiddle with a loose thread on the white cover. You had always been envious of this type of relationship, but you never thought to think about the fact that they can also come to an end. It always seemed to you that your relationships never worked because they weren’t perfect, like the relationships you saw in books or movies — like the one Minho had described with his ex-girlfriend.

You never once rationalized that even perfect things can ebb away. That nothing lasts forever, even if it seems utterly ideal.

“I know how terrible breakups are,” you tell him. “I can only imagine how much worse it must’ve been to you two after so many years together.”

Minho shakes his head with a smile. “I never really felt hurt by it. It was such a perfect breakup she even let me keep Dori without going through a custody battle,” he jokes, raising his eyebrows at you.

“How can it not have hurt you?” You let out an incredulous laugh. “You were in love, planning to start a family, and you tell me it didn’t hurt when it ended? That’s bullshit, Minho.”

He looks up at the ceiling, like he’s trying to find the words to explain to you. He hums. “Well, I loved Haneul. I loved her so very much, with every fiber of my being. She was my first love. My mom once said we were probably a couple in another life as well, and I fucking loved that,” He chuckles, “The idea that someone was destined for me and I was destined for them, that we were fated to find each other and be together across lifetimes.”

“Like soulmates?” You ask.

He nods. “Soulmates, yes. That’s what we were. And, after we broke up, I realized maybe people’s understanding of soulmates is wrong. At least to me,” He shrugs.

You let out a chuckle. He really turned a terrible situation into a chance to reevaluate his beliefs. It was the most Minho thing you had ever heard.

“How are people understanding it wrong, then?” You question him, resting your chin on the palm of your hand and looking at him. Minho mirrors your actions, a grin etched onto his lips. 

“Well, for starters, you can have many soulmates in one lifetime.” You furrow your brows, opening your mouth to ask him more questions, but he quickly adds, “For example, Haneul was my soulmate and there’s no doubt about it in my mind. But it ended, because it was time for it to end. I learned everything I had to learn with her, and she did the same. We couldn’t grow together anymore, so there was no point in staying together.”

Biting your lip, you nod. “I never thought of it that way. You ask anyone and they’ll tell you that a soulmate is unique.”

“It may be so to some people, but I find that way of thinking a bit unfair,” he shrugs. “Haneul found someone new. Wouldn’t it be unfair for me to say her new relationship is inferior to ours simply because we were soulmates? We were soulmates, but our time to be together has passed and she’s with the soulmate she’s supposed to be right now.”

You hum, tapping your fingers against your cheek. “I guess it does make sense.”

He shrugs, feigning smugness. “I am quite the smart man.”

“What about you?” You question, smiling at him, “Have you ever found a new soulmate after that relationship?”

Minho clears his throat, his gaze shifting to look at where his sock-clad feet poked out from underneath the comforter. You could swear you see a tiny smile on his lips.

“I think I did,” He answers with a questioning lilt. “There were some signs, and a lot of things that aligned.” His gaze lifts once more to meet your eyes as he continues, “Makes me think maybe I’ve found her.”

As you take in his words, jealousy rears its ugly head, the feeling almost swallowing you whole. You gnaw on your bottom lip. The way Minho made you feel at times was questionable at best, but you chalk it all up to your jealous nature. You’d always gotten jealous when your friends found new friendships or when they started relationships.

However, that feeling was a bit different from the one currently making you want to bite your lip until it bled out of sheer and petty jealousy.

You let out a heavy sigh, pushing all those thoughts into a neat little box inside your head and locking them up.

“You’re really lucky,” you tell him, and Minho cocks an eyebrow. “That’s why you think love can only be good, because your only experience with it was long-lasting and good until the very end. I’d much rather have love fizzle out than have it end in a way that ended me as well. That’s how it’s always been with me, and I guess that’s why I came to hate love a little bit.”

Minho smiles at you, a genuine smile that reaches his brown eyes. “Well, sometimes love lasts forever,” he asserts, “So you shouldn’t think about how it’s going to end.”

You can feel the pinwheel inside your chest spinning, causing your heart to skip a beat and your cheeks to blush pink. Forcing out a chuckle, you lie on your bed and pull the covers up to your nose.

“You’re back to your hopeless romantic ways.”

“I never stopped,” He corrects you. He lies down as well, facing you, his hand reaching out to turn off the lamp that sat on the bedside table. “Even when I thought you had a boyfriend,” Minho continues, “I was still able to be a hopeless romantic.”

You feel your eyes widen at his words, thanking the darkness that covers you both as confusion and shock swim in your eyes. Did Minho subtly admit he liked you? Were you reading too much into things? Why did this not scare you? It should scare you, should make you terrified, as this is the very thing you’ve been running away from.

You were probably over-analyzing his words.

But why did you hope that wasn’t the case?

The two of you wake up early, hitting the streets of Tokyo immediately after getting dressed. Minho’s list definitely made things easier, with you two hopping from place to place before crossing them out one by one on his phone. Your favorite so far had been the cat café you two went to for breakfast, where you spent the entire hour watching Minho petting and playing with the kittens, the smile on your lips so fond that it probably made you look stupid.

But as you walk around Inokashira Park, that quickly drops to second place on your mental list. It was a beautiful place, especially in the late afternoon sun. As soon as you arrived, Minho took your hand in his without a word. It was unexpected, to say the least, but you were even more surprised to find yourself liking the gesture. You squeezed his hand, smiling at him, before lacing your fingers together.

Your heart was racing so fast you were certain that damn pinwheel brought along a friend today.

After walking around for a bit, Minho abruptly stopped, letting go of your hand and moving to stand behind you. You furrowed your brows as his hands came to cover your eyes. With his lips incredibly close to your ears, he whispered, “I have a surprise. It’s a place that wasn’t on the list. A museum I think you’ll like.”

You felt goosebumps rise all over your body at the sound of his low voice coupled with his breath tickling your skin. You silently thanked the cold weather — had you not been wearing long sleeves, Minho would have seen the effect he had on you, and you would’ve had no other choice but to throw yourself in front of a taxi on the way back to the hotel.

The two of you waddled awkwardly, Minho still standing behind you with his hands over your eyes. He giggled the whole way to your destination. You were too immersed in not focusing on how his body brushed up against yours with every step you took to even think about laughing.

His broad chest so warm against your back, his arms wrapped around you, his lips grazing your neck once as he bent down to whisper something about the museum being just around the corner, and his lower body continuously brushing and rubbing against your ass as you two walked. You had to fight the urge to push your body against his every time that happened, wondering if that would be enough to get him hard.

After Minho’s supposed confession last night, your mind had truly thrown every bit of worry and shame you felt about being attracted to him out the window.

It felt almost liberating, being able to say fuck it and simply feel.

So you were attracted to Minho; why should it be a big deal? You shouldn't deprive yourself of these silly experiences just because love scares you.

Maybe being scared was okay sometimes. Maybe it was worth it for the right people.

Just as your mind was running wild with thoughts of Minho’s body pressed up against yours, his voice whispered in your ear again. You had arrived, he announced, removing his hands from your eyes.

As your eyes adjusted to the light, you made out the words on a wooden sign before you. Minho had taken you to the Ghibli Museum. Before you could stop yourself, you were throwing your arms around his neck with a gasp.

You could just kiss him at that moment. That was how happy you were.

After walking around the museum with a smile engraved onto your lips, your cheeks hurt in the best way possible. Minho hurried you as you looked through the overly expensive gift shop, reminding you that the swan paddle boats would be closing soon. You whined but ultimately had no choice but to leave the shop as he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the exit. Mourning the loss of a Soot Sprite plush perfect for your collection, you grumbled to Minho about how he had no heart as you two ran across the park.

You made it just in time, being the last ones in line on the pier. Minho insisted on paying for your tickets, and you agreed only after he explained it would be your compensation for the loss of your precious plushie.

And now you sit beside him on a swan paddle boat, failing miserably at containing your giggles as Minho adjusts his life jacket.

“You know,” He starts with a dramatic sigh, “You’re not gonna be laughing if we crash and you drown.”

You poke his arm, making him look at you just as a smile spreads across his lips. “I’m only laughing ‘cause you look real cute.”

You begin to paddle, and it is surprisingly easy — especially because Minho is the one guiding the boat with a steering wheel. The scenery is quite dull because of the cold season, with most trees already bare of leaves and the sky a blend of pale blue and white.

“I wish it was spring,” Minho speaks beside you as if he’s read your thoughts. “The cherry blossoms are fucking gorgeous.”

You look over at him, his eyes fixed ahead as he steers the boat around the pond. His glasses reflect the pale sky and obscure his eyes, but you’re sure he’s blinking rapidly like he usually does whenever he’s focused.

“Did you come here with your ex-girlfriend in spring?” You blurt out.

Minho’s lips stretch into a grin as he turns to face you.

“No,” he answers simply. “But I want to come with you.”

It’s only then you realize he had been doing most of the work paddling, as he easily controls the speed at which the boat glides across the water, slowing down until you two are stopped at the edge of the pond.

Your mind races, but not as hard as your heart does.

“With me?”

“With you.”

His eyes are fixed on yours, and his left hand grips the steering wheel tightly. You part your lips, but only silence is stuck in your throat. Drawing yourself out of the impromptu staring contest the two of you had gotten into, your eyes shift down to stare at your purse which lay across your lap.

You softly utter the only two words your mind can conjure up. “Why me?”

“Because I like you,” Minho’s voice is also quiet. You hear him shuffling beside you, turning his body so he fully faces you. “I know you’re scared, and you feel like you’re protecting yourself, but I’m—” He cuts himself off abruptly, and your eyes shoot up to find him biting his lip, his brows furrowed. He lets out a sigh. “I like you so much I think I might implode if I do nothing about it.”

Your breath hitched audibly. There is still a part of you that’s screaming out run away, this is terrifying, you’re on your way to another heart-wrenching breakup — but that part has become so minuscule, so insignificant now, it feels like nothing but muffled background noise inside your head. Because a much bigger part of you is begging for you to just say, “Then do something about it.”

And he does.

Minho’s hand leaves the wheel and gingerly touches your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin before he closes the distance between you. It isn’t the first time you kiss Minho, but it is certainly the first time your entire being is fully enveloped in only him; from the way his slightly chapped lips still felt so soft against your own to how his strong hand finds your waist and pulls you closer to him.

And his taste. Minho coaxes your mouth open with his tongue and licks into it, your senses being taken over by the taste of the watermelon candy he’d been eating all day until you’re positively drunk on him. Your heart racing and your hands shaking like a teenager having their first kiss.

You go to grab his shirt, desperate to pull him even closer to you, but your hands collide with the damn life jacket he’s wearing. You whine into the kiss, annoyed, and Minho only chuckles against your lips. He bites your lower lip, pulling softly before releasing it and pressing another kiss to your pout.

“I take back what I said, the life jacket isn’t cute,” you mumble against his lips. His smile grows, and his lips crash against yours again, his hands tangling in your hair.

He groans into the kiss, barely pulling away before whispering, “Don’t wanna stop kissing you.”

You hum. “Well, you can kiss me anytime now.”

Minho’s lips spread into a grin, and he closes the small distance between you for one last kiss before he pulls away, your noses brushing. His eyes are dark yet soft, as if longing and affection had melted together.

“I want to be with you,” He says, “But I want you to think about it before you say anything because I know how scared you are of love. And if by the end of our trip I haven’t given you enough reasons to give me a chance, I’ll let you go and move on with my life. If you want to stay friends, I’ll happily do that. And if you never want to see me again, I’ll also respect that.”

Your heart swells with his words because Minho is the complete antithesis of everything your ex-boyfriends taught you that men were.

And, for the first time in so long, you feel the kind of nervousness that’s nothing but good. The kind that leaves you with trembling hands, a racing heart, and a dizzy head. The kind that only love can provide.

Despite his request, you’re eager to answer him right then and there, but just as you’re about to speak, the sky roars and dark clouds gather above. You jump in your seat at the sound, and Minho’s hands instinctively wrap around your shoulders and squeeze. You smile, simply nodding your head and giving his lips a small kiss.

Minho struggles a bit, but he’s eventually able to turn the paddle boat around, and you two begin to paddle back toward the pier. The light rain quickly becomes heavy raindrops drumming on the roof of the boat, and you dread the walk back to the hotel as neither of you thought to bring an umbrella.

“Y'know,” Minho starts. “There’s a myth here in Japan that says if you ride this boat with a girlfriend, then you’ll break up soon. I kinda always believed that.”

You let out a chuckle. “Really?”

He hums, nodding his head. “So I’m choosing to also believe that if you ride it with someone you like, they will become your girlfriend soon.”

Minho turns to look at you with a smile as you stop at the pier, removing his life jacket and exiting the boat without another word. You bite the inside of your cheek in a failed attempt at holding back a smile. Minho helps you out of the boat, his hand taking yours and pulling you toward him gently.

You two run back to the hotel, Minho holding you close to him with his hand around your waist. The streets are mostly empty as people squeeze under bus stops and shop awnings to shelter from the rain, and it almost feels like you and Minho are the only people in Tokyo that night.

You two giggle the whole way to the hotel. Even when you are struck with the realization that the power has shut off on the entire street upon arriving, you simply turn to each other and laugh even more.

You clumsily manage to take a brief shower in the darkness, changing into your sleep clothes as quickly as you can. You realize with a grimace that if your room was cold before, with the shitty hotel heater on, it’s basically turned into an icebox now.

Wrapping yourself up in your comforter, you shiver with a groan just as Minho walks out of the bathroom.

“Bet you miss that shitty heater now, huh?” He jokes, and you faintly make out his silhouette in the dim light of the moon coming from the window.

You let out another groan. “I'm gonna freeze to death tonight. I've made peace with that. Thaw me with a hairdryer in the morning, please.”

Minho chuckles, sitting on his bed as he checks his phone. You make out his features in the moonlight coming from the window, and he’s wearing another sweater, black with more cats printed on it.

Such a cozy, warm-looking sweater. You curse yourself inwardly for only packing t-shirts to sleep.

As he locks his phone, an idea hits you, and your words are faster than your thoughts — as they always seem to be whenever you’re around Minho.

“Can I lay with you for a bit?” You ask, “Just for a bit, until I get warm? My bed is right under this damn window, and I don’t have any sweaters I can sleep in, and I know I joked about making peace with freezing but—”

Minho cuts you off by calling out your name with a chuckle. “It's okay. You don’t need to make up a thousand excuses. I'm cold, too,” He says simply, scooting to the side to make room for you in his bed. “Come here.”

You smile, ripping the covers from your body quickly like a band-aid and all but jumping from your mattress to his. Minho instructs you to lie on the left side of the bed, facing the wall. You furrow your brows.

“Why?”

He shrugs. “It’s like the sidewalk thing. So I can protect you if a serial killer comes into our room.”

“Oh, so a serial killer’s gonna come into our room?” You ask, a teasing lilt in your voice as you scoot on the bed and slip under the comforter. 

“Well, I—” Minho stammers, pausing with a sigh. He removes his glasses and places them on the bedside table before he continues, “I don’t know, okay? I just… wanna take care of you in every way possible. Even in this weird scenario that my mind made up.”

His words slip out of his lips quickly, much like yours do when you’re nervous and can’t make yourself stop talking. You wonder if your habit is rubbing off on him, and you can’t help but smile.

As Minho settles into bed, you feel your body stiffen up. The two of you lay on your backs next to each other in the cramped bed, and you feel like you can’t move. Hyunjin was the first guy you ever slept next to, and even then, it was after you two had already had sex, so there was no room for feeling awkward. With Minho, everything feels so new. If kissing him had made your hands shake, laying next to him makes your whole body tremble.

You lay like that for a while, watching as the thunder lights up the ceiling until Minho turns to lie on his side.

“Wouldn’t we get warmer if we cuddled?” He trails off in a whisper, clearing his throat after his words leave his mouth. 

You open your mouth to answer but know you’ll only end up word-vomiting again with how nervous you feel, so you simply nod, turning so you’re facing Minho as well.

His arms quickly find your waist, pulling you closer to him until your noses are touching, and you feel his breath on your lips as he lets out a sigh. Before you can make sense of what’s happening, Minho presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your lips, making your mind go hazy. You two stare at each other for a beat, your lips agape and eyes wandering through each other’s features until he breaks the silence.

“You make me nervous,” he whispers, taking your hand and guiding it towards his chest. You feel his heart beating quickly through the thick fabric of his sweater. “In the best way possible.”

You smile, whispering back, “You make me nervous, too.”

Clutching at the fabric of his sweater, you pull him closer to you, slotting your lips together once more. Minho’s hands hesitate, his left hand barely touching your back before he changes his mind and grazes your shoulder with his touch, only to settle for cupping your cheek. You smile into the kiss, taking his hand and placing it firmly on your waist. He grips the fabric of your shirt just as you did and brings your body flush against his.

The kiss is hurried, as if you two will be forced apart tomorrow and this is your only chance to feel each other. Minho licks the seam of your lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth as you gasp. His firm grip on your waist, his body pressed against yours so tightly that you can feel his heartbeat thumping against your chest, and how with every stroke of his tongue, he devours you almost greedily — it’s downright impossible to keep the whine that forms in your throat from slipping out, Minho’s mouth swallowing the muffled sound.

And then he’s pulling away, and you’re left chasing his lips. He lets out a breathy chuckle at that.

“Let’s go to sleep, hm?” He suggests, his voice breathless. You can’t help but wonder if you practically moaning while simply kissing him had made him uncomfortable, and you inwardly berate yourself, mortification washing over you.

So you only nod, turning to face the wall so you can properly cuddle this time. Minho wraps an arm around your waist, and you wait for him to pull you closer, but he never does. You furrow your brows. Was it that bad? You can’t be faulted for reacting like you did, especially with how he kissed you. So you take it into your own hands to shift closer to his body. Your lips part as you feel his hard member pressing against your lower back.

Oh. 

So that’s what’s going on.

You bite back a grin, feeling Minho tense up behind you.

“And here I thought you were like a romantic lead in a PG-13 anime,” you joke, smiling as he chuckles, clearly more at ease. 

He uses the hand that had been resting against your stomach to pull you even closer to him, pressing his body against yours. “I am romantic,” He whispers, lips close to your ear. You only then realize he’s hovering over you. “But I’m still human.”

You fight back the urge to shudder at how his voice drops an octave, all low and soft, and, god, how his breath grazes your neck.

You search your brain for something to say but come up empty. Being nervous has rendered you speechless for the first time in your life.

“Let’s sleep now, okay?” Minho presses a quick kiss on your cheek. “I’ll lie far—”

“I can help you,” you blurt out, turning to face him. Going to sleep is the last thing you want right now. “If you want.”

His eyes wander across your face as he pulls on his bottom lip. “I don’t want to rush things.”

“There are ways to do this that aren’t… rushing.”

Minho hums, but his eyes are now fixed on your lips. You move to lie on your back, and he slowly climbs on top of you.

“As long as it’s okay with you, I don’t care what we do,” he whispers. You smile, pushing his black hair away from his face with your fingers.

“It’s more than okay with me,” You answer simply, using your hand on his hair to guide him down into yet another kiss. 

You can feel him still hesitating, so you grab a fistful of that silly sweater of his and pull him closer to you until your bodies are flush against each other.

“Can I touch you?” You ask, breaking the kiss. Minho nods hastily.

“Yes, please,” he groans, “I’m gonna die if you don’t.”

With a breathy chuckle, you move your hand between your two bodies, cupping him through his sweatpants; he’s even harder now, and you subconsciously bite your lip. He closes his eyes, his left hand resting on your waist before squeezing lightly as he hides his face in the crook of your neck with a shaky sigh. It might simply be because it’s your first time being intimate together, but Minho’s timidness is genuinely endearing to you.

Your palm grinds against him gingerly, and his body trembles under your touch. His hand travels from your waist toward your lower stomach, and you let out a quiet gasp as his fingers toy with the hem of your shirt. He lifts his head off your neck, his face so close to yours you can feel his unsteady breathing on your lips.

“Can I touch you, too?” He whispers, and you nod a bit too eagerly. 

“If you don’t, I think I’ll die too.”

Minho grins, his head dipping lower until his lips are pressed against yours, but he doesn’t kiss you. You’d be lying if you said finding Minho so hard after only kissing you hadn’t turned you on — kissing him alone also made you more aroused than you were willing to admit. But you were more than ready to go to sleep without doing anything about it after offering to help him, so the fact that he wants to do the same for you makes your head spin. This was not on your bingo card of things that could happen during this trip.

He pulls your shirt up slightly, only enough for him to slip his hand inside your sweatpants. He hesitates twice before cupping you through your underwear. His dark eyes meet yours, whispering against your lips, “You’re fucking soaking through your panties, and you weren’t gonna tell me?”

You gasp at his words, clenching around nothing. Wasn’t he shy just two minutes ago? Your mouth opens to answer him, but your brain is far too cloudy to form any coherent sentence, so you settle on a nod. He hums, pressing a kiss to your agape lips.

Once you feel his thumb tentatively brush against your clit through the thin fabric, you find the courage to slip your hand inside the waistband of his sweatpants, your fingers immediately brushing against his member. Minho shudders at the touch, his eyes still fixed on yours.

Your brows shoot up at the fact that he had foregone wearing boxers, and he chuckles lightly at your reaction.

“I never wear underwear to bed, so don’t think I was trying to seduce you,” he jokes.

“Too late,” you hum, “I was seduced the moment I saw your bright orange cat sweater.”

Minho grins, sucking your lower lip as he pushes your panties to the side painfully slowly, his middle finger gliding from your entrance toward your clit and spreading your arousal. With a sigh, you bring one leg to wrap around his waist, and he adjusts himself so he’s properly hovering over you. You take this opportunity to slide his sweatpants down his hips, his hard cock finally free from its confines. He groans low in his throat, his tongue suddenly licking into your open mouth as his right hand intertwines with your left, your fingers locking together. He presses your clasped hands onto the mattress beside your head.

Your hand now glides through his length, the palm of your hand beginning to rub at the head of his cock and Minho sucks in a breath, breaking the kiss, his eyes remaining closed. Pressing your thumb to the slit, you gather as much precum as you can and spread it through his member. You quickly find that it’s not enough, wanting it wetter and messier and—

Minho whines as you stop touching him, eyes shooting open. Bringing your hand to your lips, you lick a stripe on your palm and let a glob of spit fall on it before finding his cock again, wet both with your saliva and his precum as you begin to stroke him gingerly. With a quiet moan, Minho’s hips buck up at the touch and he kisses your lips again. You giggle into the kiss, inwardly thanking Hyunjin for teaching you that guys love sloppy shit like this and, in turn, making you realize you do too.

You avert your eyes from his intense gaze as his finger moves to find your entrance, pushing in slowly before moving at a steady pace.

He squeezes your hand. “Look at me,” his voice is all but a whisper, low and hurried. You turn to lock your eyes on his once more, immediately biting your lips to stop a moan from slipping out of your lips as his thumb begins to rub your clit in circular motions, and he slips another finger inside of your aching cunt. It was getting increasingly difficult to keep yourself from vocally begging him not to stop.

You focus on your own hand as you stroke his cock, your steady pace gradually quickening. Minho’s pace mirrors yours, and soon the small room fills with the noise of his finger swiftly pumping in and out of you mixed with the sound of your hand stroking him.

“What do you like?” Minho asks suddenly, his breath hitching as you tighten your fist around his cock. Your mind is far too clouded by desire and pleasure to fully comprehend, so you hum, your brows furrowing. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours with a quiet moan and curling his fingers inside you, causing your eyes to shut tightly and a whimper to escape your closed lips. “Look at me, baby,” he repeats himself, his voice firm and his shy demeanor having completely shifted. You slowly open your eyes. “What do you like? I — fuck,” He curses as your hand twists on the head of his cock. “Wanna make you feel good, tell me.”

You’re definitely not used to being vocal about what you want or like during sex; your ex-boyfriends always too selfish, and Hyunjin too confident for you to even have had the opportunity to do so. Coupled with just how good you felt, you know you won’t possibly be able to speak a word without moaning the way you’re trying so hard to avoid. You settle for guiding his hand, which was tangled in yours, under your shirt. Minho immediately massages your breast, his thumb caressing your nipple as his eyes find yours once more.

You feel as if his gaze is setting you ablaze, his eyes boring into you. It felt as if all his desire was accumulated in his dark eyes, clearly visible in how he watches you like he’s drinking in every last drop of you through his stare. You’ve never had someone look at you like this before; it makes you feel so wanted, so desired, as if the only thing Minho could ever need in this moment is you. That alone makes your body tremble, your left hand holding onto his shoulder for purchase as you feel you might float away at any second.

If you were told a couple of hours ago that something as simple as having Minho’s fingers inside you would have you so euphoric, you most definitely would have laughed.

Minho groans into your open mouth, his breathing heavy and his brows drawn together tightly. You force your lips shut once more as his thumb rubs your bundle of nerves more hastily. Your hand leaves his shoulder to tangle in his black hair, futilely attempting to tug him even closer to you before you kiss his agape lips that spill out groans and sighs like a mantra.

It’s almost all-consuming. His fingers inside of you, the warmth of his hand on your breast, his cock pulsating beneath your touch, his hot breaths that fill your lungs as he sighs into your kiss, and his eyes — his damn eyes that look at you as if he wants to eat you whole.

You finally allow yourself to moan as you feel your orgasm building up, whimpering his name against his lips as your strokes on his cock turn messy and desperate among the copious amounts of precum. Minho growls, pulling your hand from his hair — his grip on your wrist so firm it stings a little — before he pins you down to the mattress, fingers messily intertwining with yours again.

This time, you’re unable to restrain your whimper at his actions; Minho had always been gentle and sweet, something as simple as him pinning you down to the bed has you clenching around his fingers. This duality of his you just discovered is something that stirs up curiosity inside of you.

“I’m gonna come,” He announces with a sigh, his hand squeezing yours. You can only nod as you melt around his fingers, your whole body trembling. Minho soon follows, his cum spilling into your hand and your shirt, a low guttural sound leaving his throat.

His eyes only leave yours as he leans down to connect your lips again, giving you small kisses before a stifled laugh escapes him. You furrow your brows, and Minho grins.

“Sorry for getting your shirt dirty,” He mumbles against your lips, the two of you unwilling to move for the time being.

You shake your head with a chuckle. Although you cringe slightly as you feel the fabric of your shirt stick to your stomach.

“It’s okay.”

Minho shifts on top of you, and you only then realize his fingers remain inside of you. Your body jolts faintly at the stimulation, his name falling from your lips in the form of a whine. He grins at you again, all lopsided and handsome, before bringing his hand to his lips. You watch with agape lips as his tongue flicks out to lap at his fingers before sucking on them with a hum, his eyes locked onto yours once more.

Once again with this newfound duality of his. He’s pure romance and gentlemanly behavior, but seemingly so alluring and shameless in bed. The way he looks at you alone makes you clench around nothing as if you didn’t come mere minutes ago. And it’s such a simple act — you can’t count on one hand the number of times you watched as Hyunjin licked his fingers clean after being inside of you — but the contrast of his calm and endearing everyday personality and him suddenly pinning you to the bed or licking your cum off his fingers while looking into your eyes makes this entirely different.

You would’ve never expected this from Minho, and it makes your brain stir up with thoughts of what he would be like while eating you out or while fucking you. Would he pin you to the bed again or pull your hair, or maybe—

The sound of him clearing his throat interrupts you from your thoughts, and you only now realize you had been staring at the ceiling while fantasizing about Minho fucking you. Great.

Once your eyes meet, he’s quick to avert his gaze. “I will, uh, pay to wash your shirt when we — when we get back,” Minho stumbles over his words, his eyes now fixed on your shoulder. “If you want. But, like, I got it dirty, so…” He trails off, and you purse your lips to muffle the giggle that bubbled up your throat as it seems all the confidence he had only minutes ago had dissipated into dust and left his body.

He was back to his usual self. You can’t help but smile as you realize you adore any version of Minho.

He pushes himself off of you, muttering that he’ll be back before disappearing into the small bathroom. You remove your soiled shirt, wiping your hand on it, only to blanche at the sight of the logo printed on the fabric. It’s one of Hyunjin’s shirts that you had stolen ages ago. You mumble a string of apologies to him as you pull the covers off your body. After discarding it on your bed, you change into the first t-shirt you fish out of your backpack, worried Minho might come into the room and see your naked chest — as ludicrous as that was, seeing as he was knuckles deep inside of you less than twenty minutes ago.

Minho returns to the bedroom just as you’re closing the zipper on your bag. He silently takes your hand in his and wipes it with a towel, his head lowered as his eyes focus on his actions. You let out a breathy chuckle.

“There’s really nothing there anymore,” you inform him. “I wiped most of your cum on my shirt.” You nod toward the crumpled-up fabric thrown across the bed. Minho’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. He lets out a small noise, nodding his head slowly before ultimately pressing his lips together. Under the faint moonlight that lights up the room, you almost miss how his cheeks dust a shade of pink. You smile, pressing a kiss to his nose. Minho hums, smiling back at you and dropping the towel on top of your shirt.

Soon, you find yourself back in bed with him, Minho pulling you into his chest, his hands now offering you pleasure by gingerly massaging your scalp. You are almost asleep — listening to his heartbeat through his sweater, smiling at the soft snores that escape his parted lips — when it dawned on you.

You notice just how different being with Minho had been. How kissing him alone made your hands shake, how even without being fully intimate, the way you felt with him tonight was incomparable.

Minho’s words from months ago about how sex with someone you love eclipses the feeling of sex with any other person linger in your memory. You hum, a smile on your lips as your eyes flutter closed again.

Before they shoot open.

Because holy shit.

If it felt that way with Minho, it can only mean you’ve fallen for him.

Awakening to the sound of the heater’s soft hum, you feel Minho’s arm tightly around your waist, keeping your body pressed against his. His gentle breathing brushes against the nape of your neck, and you cautiously turn your head, careful not to wake him, only to be greeted by his tender eyes already gazing at you with a soft smile. Cuddling with Minho is another thing that feels different. You feel safe, adored from how he holds you to the way his eyes look at you.

As he realizes you’re also awake, he suddenly turns to lie on his back, staring at the ceiling as his ears slowly turn a light shade of red. You frown, chuckling a bit at his actions, before settling yourself across his chest.

“The power came back a while after you fell asleep,” he explains.

You giggle as you assume maybe he’s shy because of what happened last night. But your smile fades as your mind begins to overthink, your subconscious screaming that maybe you should feel shy, embarrassed. Weren’t you too easy? Letting him touch you like that after just a few kisses. Does Minho think you came into bed with him for that reason?

You think back to the last boyfriend you had, who berated you for how ‘whorish’ it had been when you asked to have sex with him instead of waiting for him to initiate it. And how your first boyfriend would tell you — every chance he got — that you acted like a slut, touching him as if you knew it would make him have sex with you. How, at the end of your relationship, he told you maybe you acted that way because you knew that sex was all you were good for. How another ex had laughed as he told you that even though you went through so many guys, you still managed to be a terrible fuck, and that was the reason he had to cheat on you.

There were also the murmurs around your school whenever you started a new relationship. Another one? She’s boy hopping so much she’s gonna get through our entire class in less than a year. Some girls just can’t stand to be alone, it’s kind of sad.

At some point, you had detangled yourself from Minho, now lying on your side and looking out the window. You never understood why so many people thought that way. You had five boyfriends from fifteen to eighteen, and in each of these relationships, you were either cheated on or broken up with in a less-than-pleasant way. But you did have the awful habit of jumping into relationships with little thought, often because you felt incomplete without a romantic partner — as romantic as high school relationships can be, anyway. Being single and content for almost four years now, you were proud to have worked on that.

But you still can’t shake off the feeling that maybe you were a bit too… forward. You were single, sure, but you were quick to jump at the opportunity to have Hyunjin as a fuck buddy. Perhaps people were right about that.

“Is everything okay?” Minho’s voice pulls you away from your racing thoughts. You offer him a tight-lipped smile, nodding.

“Yeah, I just zoned out.”

Sitting upright on the bed, you stretch with a sigh. Minho takes your hand before you can realize it, placing it on his chest and gently playing with your fingers, his eyes still glued to the ceiling. You gnaw on your bottom lip, pulling at the skin until it stings.

“I’m sorry if I was too forward last night,” you blurt out. Minho’s gaze shifts to focus on you, confusion swimming in his brown eyes and his hands halting around yours. Oh god, why did you say that?

“Forward?” The question trails off his lips, his eyebrows coming together in a frown.

With a sigh, you grimace at your own words. “Yeah, forward, like I was throwing myself at you. I’m sorry if it came off that way. I swear I’m not…”

“You’re not…?”

“You know what I mean, Minho,” you mumble, but his eyes remain swarmed with confusion. 

“I really don’t.”

You roll your eyes in exasperation, annoyed not at him but at yourself for having brought this up in the first place.

“You know, Minho,” you groan, “Forward, like, slutty. Like I asked to come to your bed just so you would fuck me.”

His expression softens, his eyes widening. He sits up as well, his hand still clutching yours.

“Why the fuck would I think that?” He asks matter-of-factly. “What happened last night was completely natural. We made out, we got horny, we took care of it together. You didn’t even ask me to touch you, I did it because I was dying to do it. You weren’t forward — you weren’t slutty.”

You feel the heavy veil of worry lift off your shoulders at his words. It was definitely going to take a while for you to work on that aspect of your trauma. This had never been an issue with Hyunjin since you were pursuing nothing more than a sexual relationship with him — things were different with Minho.

Minho was the complete opposite.

After countless moments of your heart racing and your hands trembling because of him, you finally confess to yourself that your affection for Minho extends well beyond platonic feelings.

With a small smile, you slowly nod your head. “Sorry for bringing this up, I just… didn’t want you to think badly of me.”

Minho smiles, placing a kiss on the back of your hand. “That wouldn’t have made me think badly of you. I’m not some Victorian man who thinks women should be burned at the stake for showing their ankles,” he chuckles, and you bite back a laugh. “Even if you had been slutty, so what? I’d like that just as much.”

You playfully hit his shin under the comforter as he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

Minho was unquestionably different.

“We gotta get to the airport soon,” he says with a sigh, stretching his arms over his head, carrying your hand along the way. “I had to book the earliest flight I could to save up some money.”

With a frown, you retrieve your phone from under your pillow and check for the time: seven-thirty a.m. You feel a pang of guilt as you recall how you are essentially on this trip for free.

“Why didn’t Chan help with the tickets?”

Minho bites the inside of his cheek before his lips stretch into a barely-there grin. “Chan was never coming to this trip,” he blurts out. You feel your lips fall agape.

“What?”

“I… planned this trip by myself. Only for you and me,” he explains. “I wanted to get far away from everything that distracted us so I could concentrate on showing you the good side of love like I’d been trying to do with all those fruitless attempts at taking you on dates.”

You take in his words and find yourself smiling at the gesture — the white lie Minho told pales in comparison to everything else he has done for you, both during this trip and since you met him. Truthfully, you didn’t even realize he had been taking you on dates. You mentally slap yourself in the head for that, believing he simply wanted to spend time with you as a friend.

“I’ll pay you back for my part of the trip as soon as—”

Minho’s voice interrupts you with a drawn-out ‘no.’ He smiles as you stare at him, puzzled.

“This entire trip must’ve been so expensive, Minho.”

But he’s unrelenting, shaking his head with a squeeze of your hand.

“I told you,” he says simply. “I do stupid shit when I’m in love.”

♡ taglist: @notevenheretbh1 @malunar28replies @jazziwritesthings @finchyyy @bloom-ings @linocz @minhochaos @lastgreatamericandynasty1

[f1byjessie]

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS ━━ LN4.

sometimes the right words are hard to come across, and sometimes everything you need to say can be captured in an image.

( lando norris x photographer!reader )

━━ part two.

Friday evenings are typically spent in the comfort of your flat. Normally, you’re half paying attention to reruns of whatever shitty reality TV happens to be on and half scrolling through social media to keep up with the ever-fluctuating trends of content as per your job requirements, all the while eating your body’s weight in takeaway. It’s not the dream, but it’s certainly a dream.

Tonight, you plan on amending things to include going through the pictures of Bali’s stunning beaches that Lando’s been spamming you with throughout the day, but beyond that, you have no intentions of deviating further from your norm.

You’re actually really looking forward to it. Though you’d rather cut off your own hand than admit it to his face and give him new ammunitions to tease you with, you miss Lando during the winter breaks. So much of your year is spent having him nearby━ a near-constant presence buzzing with the inability to slow down let alone stop━ and when he isn’t around, the silence seems louder. There’s no one else who manages to annoy you the way he does, and it’s just not the same without him.

To make matters worse, between your new job, Lando’s travels, and the scheduling conflicts that have arisen in turn, you haven’t had a chance to catch up with him beyond a few back-and-forth messages about his current escapades. So you really, genuinely, truly are looking forward to it.

Garrett Ward throws a wrench into things.

You have mixed opinions of Garrett. He can be very sweet, and he’s gone out of his way to make you feel incredibly welcome in your first week with the Manchester City team. He makes good conversation and seems genuinely interested in what it is you’re doing, often asking questions about your equipment and process, which is a nice change of pace from most other clients you’ve worked with in the past who rarely give two shits about anything beyond the final product. But his reputation is… concerning.

Garrett Ward is infamous in English tabloids for being a notorious womanizer.

There are several articles that come to mind, but the most damning of which is from 2019, before his trade to Manchester City, detailing with very incriminating photos how he’d been seen entering a club with two women and then leaving just a few hours later with a completely different pair. You don’t want to assume he’s the same man now as he was back then, nearly a full five years ago, but you’ve been working in the sports industry long enough to know that athletes can have anyone and if they want then they will have anyone━ there is no shortage of temptation.

And you are not arrogant enough to assume you would be the outlier.

Which makes his interest in you feel less like friendly curiosity and more like something you need to be wary of.

It’s also why━ as you make the trek through the Etihad Campus car park━ you feel dread begin to pool in your stomach as you answer your ringing phone. “Hi, Garrett.”

“Y/N!” He exclaims excitedly, sounding like he hadn’t just seen you barely ten minutes ago in the weight room. “I meant to catch you before you left, but you were outta there so fast I wasn’t able to.”

And there’s probably a reason for that, you want to say, but you hold your tongue. “Yeah, I usually try to be pretty quick about it.”

There’s an awkward pause left open as if he expects you to say more, and when you don’t he clears his throat. “Erm, well, I was actually just calling to see if, perhaps, you would like to grab dinner with me this evening.”

You don’t. At all. It’s one of the last things you would like to do. There are plenty of other hellish things you would willingly rather subject yourself to before sitting down and sharing a private meal with this man━ jumping into the Thames is one of them, and letting Lando drive you around on the autobahn in his Spider is another. Both could very easily result in death, permanent disfigurement, or any other number of horrible outcomes, but neither includes Garrett.

Your hesitating silence must be an answer enough for him, because he chuckles again and adds on quickly, “No strings attached, I promise. It’ll just be two friends getting dinner.”

All you want to do is get cozy on your couch in your pajamas with a kebab from the place down the street and watch pretty people deal with their pretty people problems on TV. You don’t think that’s too much to ask for, but apparently, some higher power does.

“I suppose that’d be alright then,” you agree tentatively, speeding through the stages of grief as you mourn the initial plans of your Friday evening━ the easy, simple, comfortable plans. “Shoot me a message with the time and place and I’ll meet you there.”

“Awesome!” Garrett cheers. “See you later then.”

The peaceful silence that awaits you after you hang up feels like it’s mocking you. Too bad you can’t flip off silence.

“Look, the truth is, City is looking at trading me at the end of the season if I can’t clean my act up.” Garrett’s voice is quiet as he admits the reality of his future to you, but it breaks the silence of the world around you like a gunshot. “And not just loaning me out━” he adds, a twinge of something akin to anger noting his tone, “━but fully trading me. They’re saying that my image makes things too hard for them and the only way they’ll consider re-signing me is if I can either keep my name out of the tabloids or try to clean myself up.”

In Garrett’s defense, he technically did hold true to his promise of just two friends getting dinner. Things were actually going quite well, too. The restaurant was a little more high profile than you would’ve expected for a casual meal, but that can easily be passed off as the luxurious lifestyle and expensive tastes of a pro athlete who can certainly afford it. Expenses of your meal aside, he’d been good company, asking after the ways of working in Formula One and then finding similarities in his football career that made it easy to chat about the struggles and stressors of professional sports.

But you can recognize that this is where it’s all beginning to go downhill.

He’s announced it completely out of the blue as you’re walking back to the garage where you’ve both parked your cars. On top of that, his pace slows and you’re forced to slow down as well to match it until you both eventually come to a halt in the middle of the pavement.

You feel for him, in all honesty. You understand the difficulties of contract negotiations and how easily they can fall apart. The fragility of Formula One contracts is its own special brand of tricky and you’ve seen many friends move on to other teams in the blink of an eye just as they’ve begun to settle down and make their mark where they are. You can’t say for certainty that you understand the mechanics of football contracts to the same degree, but you can imagine they have their own fragile fine print.

But the chill of a January night in Manchester is brutal, and you’ll be the first to admit that your outfit does not protect against it. You don’t really want to be having this conversation in general, because you’ve known Garrett for all of a week which makes you acquaintances at best, but you especially don’t want to be having it now, out here in the cold when all you want to do━ all you’ve wanted to do since this afternoon━ is curl up in something warm and comfortable and pretend the world outside your flat doesn’t exist for a few days.

“I’m not sure what this has to do with me if I’m being honest, Garrett.”

He shrugs. “I just thought you might be able to help.”

You shove your hands in your pockets in a desperate attempt to keep your fingers from going more numb than they already are and shake your head at him. “I don’t know how exactly you think I can help you with that. I’m a photographer, not a PR officer.”

“My agent thinks it would be a good idea if I showed the media that I could hold down a steady relationship. Prove to them that I’ve changed my ways, and have matured.” He shrugs again, nonchalant despite being the one to bring this up in the first place.

“Have you?”

He makes a face, something between a flirty smirk and a suggestive wink, “Well, I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Garrett.”

“Look,” he crosses his arms and levels you with a look that fills you simultaneously with more rage and annoyance than a single person has ever made you feel before. “It would just be for a couple of months, and then we could stage an amicable breakup and that would be that! It just has to be long enough to show everyone that I’m not the same as I used to be.”

You give him a look right back, hoping it conveys how appalled you are by his audacity. “Okay, but why me of all people? Christ knows you probably have a list of women in your contacts who would jump at the chance to pretend to date you for a few months.”

His face pinches up in disgust. “Yeah, but they’re all former hookups, and I mean, they’re kinda psycho about me to be fair. If I tried to end things, they’d probably go to the tabloids themselves and smear my name with the worst things they could come up with.” He shrugs again, and you’re starting to find that you hate it when he does so. “I need someone willing to just play along for the time being and who will be discreet when things are over.”

“And you think I’m that person?” You scoff. “You’ve known me for a week!”

Your voice echoes and it reminds you once again that you’re having this conversation in the middle of a random street in Manchester. It’s cold and dark, and you’ve been attempting to bite back your frustration since the moment Garrett called you. You’ve been as nice as you possibly can be for this man, shy of bending over backward to worship the very ground he walks on, and you’re so close to your limit that you think if he shrugs one more fucking time━

He shrugs. “Well, yeah, but you know how this industry works. So I know you can be trusted.”

You take a deep breath to try and retain what’s left of your quickly slipping composure, before you say, “Garrett, this goes beyond unprofessional. I could potentially get into a lot of trouble for this. You’re technically my co-worker, if not my client by proxy. It’s not a good look for me to be getting with the athletes I work with, considering my entire career is based on working with athletes.”

He makes a befuddled face as if asking what that has to do with anything. It occurs to you that he’s probably never had to worry about the ethics of hooking up with someone when most of the women who are interested in him would do everything in their power to spend a night by his side whether it’s morally just━ or legal, for that matter━ or not.

“That doesn’t seem to stop you from being all cozy with that Nor-whatever guy,” he grumbles.

“What?”

“That driver,” he repeats. “You post him all over your socials, like, all the time.”

You tear your hands from your pockets and throw them up in the air, “Because that’s my job?!” The stupidity of the man before you is genuinely baffling. He’s been asking about your job all week long but the way he’s talking now makes it seem like he didn’t catch onto the fact that your entire career is centered around media and the creation of content made with the explicit intention of being shared.

“I am quite literally paid to take and post pictures of him per my contract with McLaren,” you continue. “And even if I wasn’t, he’s my best friend?! I’ve been working and traveling and spending the majority of my time with Lando since 2019 so of course I’m going to be close with him. Do you not post your mates every once in a while?”

“Yeah, but it’s different. All my mates are guys, so nobody thinks I’m dating any of them when I do it.”

You scoff in disbelief. “I cannot believe this right now. You know, for a moment, I briefly considered helping you. But you’re actually exactly the type of prick the tabloids say you are.”

He takes an intimidating step closer, and his voice drops an octave lower. “I would reconsider if I was you.” You’re not short, but Garrett isn’t either. He’s one of the tallest players on the Manchester City team, and the way you feel now with him staring you down makes you wonder if this is what it feels like to be his opponent on the pitch.

It’s fucking terrifying.

But you’re fucking livid, too.

Your jaw clenches and you bite out sharply, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“What it means,” he starts, “is that if you don’t help me, maybe I slip a word about something or other to my boss who slips a word to his boss who is, also, your boss, and suddenly, whoops!” He gives you a cocky smirk, so sure of himself that it makes you feel like your blood is literally boiling. “He’s not your boss anymore. In fact, nobody is your boss anymore, because your ‘slip in conduct’ was very inappropriate and made several players uncomfortable, which doesn’t look very good when trying to get jobs elsewhere in the industry.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Well,” he fucking shrugs. “When you say it like that, yeah. I guess I am.”

You cross your arms, your hands clenched into fists so tightly that you can feel your nails digging painfully into the flesh of your palms. “You’re a real bastard, you know.”

“You’re not the first person to tell me that, love.”

If only it were legal to kill a man━ Garrett Ward would be six feet under and picking worms from between his teeth.

You weigh your options, though. You’re not sure how much weight his word actually carries. For all you know, he could tell his boss, they could bring you in to discuss things, and then you could explain it all from your point of view. Garrett is a notorious flirt and you doubt it’s the first time he’s tried to pursue someone who isn’t interested in him. You doubt it happens very often, but it has to have happened at some point. Not to mention, his reputation regarding women is bad enough that Manchester City is already giving him an ultimatum, so you probably have a chance, and the worst-case scenario is that you amicably part ways with the team and that’s that.

But realistically there is a worse worst-case scenario, and it’s pretty damn close to what Garrett is threatening. Losing this side gig wouldn’t really be too much trouble. It would put a dent in your savings, and you’d have to be a bit better about how you ration out your groceries and other necessities around the flat, but losing your job at McLaren? Being blacklisted from the industry entirely? That’s life-destroying. You would lose everything━ all the blood, sweat, and tears you shed to get where you are would be for nothing.

All because of a prick in sky blue.

“Fine,” you utter from between gritted teeth. “I’ll help you. But I won’t post you on my account. I won’t bring you home to my parents. I won’t go round to your flat and I certainly will not have you round to mind. You get one kiss to make it official to the paps, and then nothing more.” You take your own threatening step toward him, and a vindictive part inside you shines with malicious glee when he shifts ever so slightly backward. “If you try anything else, I will run to the papers and drag you through the mud worse than any of your little psycho groupies ever could.”

He scoffs, “You’d ruin your career.”

“But I’d tear you down with me,” you reply.

He takes a moment to think, staring into your eyes and weighing how serious you are. Whatever he sees staring back at him must be convincing enough because he sniffs, nods, and smirks.

“Deal.” He leans down, “I think I’ll be taking that kiss now. Make sure to really sell it, yeah?”

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @leclercsluv @f1luvur @formulaal @a-disturbing-self-reflection @starlightpierre

━━ a/n: i feel like i say this every time, but i am seriously blown away by how well the first part of this was received! like, seriously, thank you so much for the kind words everyone said about it! hopefully this second part lives up to the hype of the first, it's a little denser, but the events are important to establish for the rest of the story so it needed to happen!

[wordsbyrian]

Polyglot: The Early Days - Barca Femeni x Reader

Summary: Another Polyglot fic. Spanish is in italics.

A/N: This was supposed to be done like almost 2 weeks ago but I got sick and started it over a ton of times. Enjoy.

There’s a chance that this could go down as the beginning to the end of your career as a professional footballer. And the sad thing is that you haven’t even played a single game yet.

You’ll end up as just another rising star who faded into obscurity like Freddy Adu or Kleberson.

And if you quit, or god forbid completely fail, you have nothing to return to, having been told in no uncertain terms by your parents to not bother coming back.

You’re basically on your own.

Even more so today because while the rest of the B team is traveling to play their next match against Athletic, you’ve been chosen to stay behind and train with the full team.

That’s obviously a great thing but you had just gotten used to being around your teammates basically 24 hours a day and to be the only one called to train with the first team this time is a little nerve-wrecking.

But you do your best to push it all the way down as you walk into the building and towards the locker room. On your way there you run into Patri who is just as full of energy as every other time you’ve seen her.

“Buenas tardes, Y/N,” she practically shouts in your ear as she slings an arm over your shoulder. “I have a good feeling about training today, so let's get to it, si?”

You barely get a chance to greet her back or nod your agreement before the midfielder is practically dragging you through the halls and into the locker room.

Since you’re walking in with one of the human embodiments of a hurricane there’s no way for you to enter silently and unnoticed. In fact, your entrance is the exact opposite of that with the way the door all but slams open and Patri announces both of your presences as additions to the chaos.

Shaking your head, you move away from the slightly older player and to the corner where you normally get changed, mumbling polite greetings to everyone as you pass them.

Like always you make quick work of getting changed and head out to the field, not wanting to get caught up in the shenanigans you can see forming on the other side of the room.

That ends up being your best decision of the day because seconds before Lluis starts going over the training plan for the day Mapi, Leila and Jenni come rushing out of the locker room with lots of faux innocence plastered on their faces.

For the most part, training goes well. You do struggle at times with the pace you're being expected to move at but as time passes you adapt to it.

There’s also the slight issue of whatever is going on with the older defenders arguing over you in a mix of Spanish and Catalin when they think you aren’t paying attention (impossible when you hear your name like 6 times) but Melanie solves that quickly by whisper shouting something about English-speaking abilities and Lluis already having told Ana-Maria to do something yesterday.

A mystery to be solved later, or not at all if you get your way.

Your big misstep comes at the end of practice during the full-sided scrimmage.

You had let yourself get pulled out of position by Caro one too many times while your team was attacking and it comes back to bite you in the ass when a loose ball comes rolling towards the both of you. You manage to get there before the Norwegian but you make it at the same time as Patri who basically trucks you straight into the earth.

“Holy shit,” you groan as you get back to your feet and sprint to get back into position.

Your quick recovery works out in your favor, you get back fast enough to provide help defense to Pere who has Kheira caught in the corner. 

Kheira does her best to try and get around the two of you but a lucky toe poke from Pere frees the ball just enough for you to clear it downfield. You get it far enough that Lluis seems to decide that there’s no point in continuing play and chooses to end training for the day.

After a quick huddle, you head back into the locker room with the rest of the team. And despite the exhaustion that everyone seems to be facing, the noise level is almost identical to the way it was before practice.

You still don’t allow yourself to get sucked into the chaos rushing through your shower and getting changed but just as you go to leave, you’re stopped by Ana-Maria.

“Hey,” she says in English, “team bonding tonight at Paños’ house.”

“I can’t, I have homework.”

The Swiss woman just shakes her at you, “Bring it with you, Mapi and I will pick you up in a few hours.”

“You can try but I’m not gonna come with you.”

Spoiler alert: you do end up at the goalkeeper's house, sitting in a corner with your laptop and textbooks while the others are spread out across the living room.

You’re currently bent over your laptop and like 8 books on Stanley Kubrick trying to explain how Full Metal Jacket is the perfect example of his greatness as a director.

For most of the night, you’ve been very successfully using your headphones to ignore whatever is going on around you. Something that’s very hard to do when you’re being pelted in the back of the head by paper balls.

“Fucking hell,” you shout, ripping them off your head and turning around, “Can you cut that out?”

You’re greeted by the sight of Leila and Patri pointing guilty at each other.

Sighing deeply you turn back to your laptop only to find it being held hostage by Lieke, who’s standing across from you.

“Come eat.”

“I’m not finished,” you say, reaching across the table in an attempt to grab it back.

“You can take a break for 30 minutes to eat something,” she says, “It won’t kill you. There’s pizza in the living room.”

“It will kill me, give me back my laptop.”

“Go eat.”

“No.”

A hard stare, “Go eat.”

“No,” you say again,” And if you’re not gonna give my laptop back, that’s fine. I’ll just do my math homework instead.”

“Oh no you don’t. Ana, come get  your kid!” 

“Woah, firstly, I’m not her kid," you tell her, "I’m no one’s kid. And secondly, I didn’t want to come anyway so just let me do my work in argh!”

You find yourself thrown over someone’s shoulder and based on how high up you are, it can only be Ana-Maria.

“This isn’t fair.”

You don’t get a response as Ana carries you through Paños’ apartment and drops you on a couch next to Alexia.

“Stay,” she says before dropping a plate into your lap. “Eat.”

“I’m not a dog.”

“Most dogs don’t need to be told to eat, you do.” You stare blankly at her. “Eat.”

You open your mouth to continue protesting but as you do a slice of pizza is shoved into your mouth.

The glare doesn’t leave your face as you slowly chew, much to the amusement of the older women.

“Pobrecita, being forced to sit and eat free food that isn’t cooked en masse like it is at la Masia,” Alexia says to the team in Spanish as she throws an arm over your shoulder.

“She’s probably just hangry, it happens to my little sister sometimes,” Patri suggests, “but she’s 11 not 16 like grumpy over there.”

“La nene is only 16,” Vicky asks.

“Si.”

“No wonder she’s so grouchy,” Leila says, “It’s probably past her bedtime.”

You let the team continue talking about you as you eat your pizza (because you might’ve actually been hangry, not that you would admit it). It’s also a conversation mostly about nothing so you don’t feel the need to say anything.

Until you hear someone ask Ana to ask you something.

“Y/N, Jenni wants to know if,” you cut her off.

“Chicas, sabéis que hablo español, si? Like pretty fluently.”

The room goes silent.

“I’ll take that as a no,” you say before turning to Lieke, “Can I have my laptop back now?”

Maybe you’re not as on your own as you thought.

[anticanonsposts]

Random Fluff Headcanons-König

Completely SFW

If your bed has a bunch of pillows and blankets he falls asleep so fast and will be dead asleep until he wakes up. It gets to the point where he just needs to be in your bed smelling you to fall asleep. 

Like this man will become dead weight on you if he falls asleep on top of you, to the point that you end up squeezing out from under him just to get some of his body heat off of you, and so you can breathe easier. 

Speaking of sleeping on you he can fall asleep on any part of your body as long as his head is resting there. Chest, butt, thighs, shoulders, back, ANYWHERE 

You’re pretty big but he has stressed so many times that that’s what he loves. And since dude is built the way he is he lifts you like you’re nothing. He consistently tells you that you are physically perfect for him and that he loves a woman with curves and rolls.

(I've seen a few relationship counselors on tik tok talk about how gym rats sometimes love bigger women, and König is so strong why wouldn't he want to do a few extra sets at home with you, using you)

This mountain of a man will kick his feet and cover his face whenever you text that you are coming over or you invite him over. 

When you two travel together you usually opt to drive since its cheaper and planes are very uncomfortable for him. In the car you can stop whenever you want to get out and stretch your legs, once you taught him the term ‘passenger princess’ he is obsessed with it and puts your name on the glove box on the passenger side of his car (probably truck let's be honest). Thankfully you like to talk a lot so that keeps him occupied when his mind wanders and he gets antsy while driving 

The few times that you do fly he is the brawns and you are the brains, you keep track of the boarding passes and gate changes and he is in charge of the bags, he usually needs to have something in his hand to fidget with whether it be a fidget toy or your hand, he gets more nervous on planes since once he enters a plan all eyes usually go to him. And he is cramped the entire time.

This obviously doesn’t help with his body dysmorphia issues and you usually try to distract him once you find your seats with little quips and how excited you are to reach your destination.

It does help that you two always get at least 3 seats (sometimes 4) to share between the two of you, so that you both are more comfortable and so you don't have to deal with any other people.  

Concerning love languages this man is the king of parallel play, he doesn’t care what each of you are doing as long as you are in the same room together, just your presence is comforting to him. 

One of your love languages is principally touch and he at first had no problem with you touching anywhere below his neck, it took awhile for him to get accustomed to someone touching his face and head so gently. 

But at this point in your relationship he loves nothing more than a hand on his cheek. 

Loves loves loves that you treat him like your guard dog, but especially when you go out and bring your friends with. At first you thought this might make you nervous but come one at the end of the day he is a man, and a man surrounded by (and protecting) women is gonna be happy.

If any man is dumb enough to approach or harass you....

They shit themselves once they see the man you have with you.

When you guys go to a club he often gets mistaken for a bouncer by other patrons walking up asking him questions, or other bouncers and bartenders come up to him, asking him to deal with rowdy people, at first he doesn’t understand why this keeps happening, and you just give him a sly smile and he understands. 

Speaking of clubs, he loves to get drunk but it usually takes him double what it takes you to get buzzed, which can get pretty expensive so he always insists on paying when you go out

Why would  you pay if I eat and drink double?

This x2 when you guys go out to eat or if he goes with you grocery shopping, (I cannot imagine the caloric intake a man that big takes in in a day)

Like many people, once you are both drunk, many of your insecurities and mental health issues diminish (obviously just for the short term) and he is no longer as conscious of his size and is able to better tune out the world and just enjoy himself without much encouragement.

Next part only pertains if you take edibles/smoke and if he does it with you..

When he’s high

The way that when girls cuddle and they want to be IN the other person’s skin, this is how he is when he’s high, his face is just glued to the nape of your neck, loving the smell of you and how close he can be to you.

When it comes to cuddling he just loves to be held by you, his favorite is when he's nestled on your chest. 

LOVES having your fingers in his hair.

If you have fake nails on and he loves the way scratches with those feel on any part of his body but especially on his scalp

When spooning he can go either big or little he likes things about both, he loves feeling you wrapped in his arms just getting to gaze at your pretty face, and the likes the security of having your arms wrapped around him.

The meme about dick on the butt and hands on the titties while cuddling is in full swing when you are the big spoon, your hands just rest on his pecs as it's laced with his.

Speaking of your nails, he loves everything to do with them, loves watching you do them, try new designs, and whenever you get a fresh set he admires them and tells you what he likes about them. 

As mentioned before he loves quality time even if you are doing two separate things, so when it takes hours to do your nails, he loves it.

When you are out in public, especially likes fidgeting with your nails, particularly when they have charms on them.

He also tends to fidget with your hands while you are in public and/or if he gets nervous.

He actually does let you paint his nails once he gets comfortable with you, but to your surprise he doesn't want them to be black bc he thinks its ‘too basic’  (you have no idea what content he was consuming to come to this conclusion) he ended up picking a pale iridescent almost opal color with a green tint, it's a lot more subtle which makes him more comfortable to show them off.

[mt-oe]

You're definitely my top fav Mizu writer I love all your fanfics 😭😭😭‼️‼️‼️

Could you do one of Mizu and reader already being a married couple, but Mizu still is deeply in love with reader despite the years, could be smut or not I just want Mizu to be super affectionate wodkendkend

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dear!

Thank you so much for requesting and saying something so sweet <3 I really try my best to do well in writing and compliments like these make me so weak ///

I haven't done a fanfic about Mizu in their current time period for a long time so I'll try to do it now.

Hope you enjoy! Mwa mwa :*

warning/s: not proofread, wound cleaning, injuries, both feminine and masculine pronouns for mizu, implied afab reader

Your eyebrow twitched in irritation, hands hidden inside your kimono as you balled them into fists. 'No, no. Let's stay polite. Let's stay polite,' you thought to yourself, keeping a small faux smile. "Are you sure we can't get this for less?" you asked the straight-faced vendor who looked just as irritated at your constant haggling.

The middle-aged man in front of you grunted in annoyance, in his hand was a bundle of herbs you needed to make an antiseptic paste for Mizu. "No, 5 ryo and that's final," he replied, raising an eyebrow.

Holy shit. 5 ryo for a bundle of herbs that was already wilting? What a scam. You could buy a travel pass for that already!

"Please sir. My husband really needs it now. How about 2?" you asked, giving him the best doe eyes you could without letting your irritation show. "And what do I care about your husband? The best I can do is 4," he replied in a snarky manner.

"2?"

"5."

"2 and some mushrooms?"

"I said 4 is the best I can do."

"Oh c'mon please! 3?"

"No."

"3 and some mushrooms?"

"I don't care about your stupid mushrooms!" the man snapped, lifting himself off of his seat to loom over you. "4 ryo. That's it. If you can't pay, then get the hell out!" His hand raised the bundle of herbs, seemingly about to smack you with it until a firm bandaged hand gripped his wrists almost painfully.

Looking up to curse at the offender, the vendor suddenly reeled back upon seeing your husband's orange-tinted glasses. "And who the hell are you?" the vendor asked, trying to sound intimidating.

Mizu's blue eyes narrowed at him behind her glasses, scanning his figure before letting the vendor's wrist go. She opened her mouth to respond but was immediately cut off by the feeling of your body pressing against her arm. "Mizu? Aren't you injured?" you asked in pretend innocence, glancing back at the vendor whose eyebrows furrowed in both confusion and nervousness.

Your husband grunted slightly and nodded. "You were taking a long time," she replied before looking at the vendor. A bit of slyness mixed with the polite smile you've been keeping up for the past hour. "I was about to go back but.." You looked at the vendor who was now glaring at both of you, eyes squinting as your smile widened mischievously. "This man was about to hit me all because I asked if he could sell those herbs for 3 ryo."

Upon hearing your words, her eyebrows immediately knitted together. Her hands gently pushed you behind her, approaching the vendor with a terrifyingly thick aura of anger. She glanced at the bundle of herbs in the vendors hand, tongue clicking. "These herbs look like they might as well be feed for the pigs and you threaten my wife over them?" she scowled, glare hardening. Her hand reached towards her sword, using her thumb to push the katana slightly out of its scabbard.

The vendor glared at the ronin in front of him, thinking carefully before conceding. "Fine I'll hand it over for 3. Just leave before you scare the other customers away," he grumbled, tossing the bundle over to you haphazardly. Mizu was about to have another talk with him but you decided to pull her away, grinning at the vendor.

"Thank you sir. My husband and I will surely come back," you said with a mischievous hint in your voice. "Isn't that right, love?" Your head turned towards your husband who was still looking over at the vendor menacingly. "Sure."

With that, the two of you left. A soft yet cheerful hum emanated from your throat as the two of you walked out of the busy marketplace and back to the old run down inn the two of you checked in.

Sure, it was old. The floorboards would creek with every step and the decorative textiles looked dull and worn down. The futons they provided were very flattened out from years of use and washing. But the two of you were fine with it, a cheap inn was better than having an injured person out in the wild.

Upon arriving, you immediately set down the herbs on a nearby stove, getting a flint to light it up. A satisfied hum left your lips as the sparks from the stones finally ignited a fire, fanning it out to increase the flames. The cute little sound made your wife chuckle softly as she untied her scarf and obi.

It was during times like these where Mizu was truly able to be at peace, savor her time with you. The two of you met years ago, when she had finally returned to Japan, now on a new path to try and reconnect with herself. The self she hated so much. You were the apprentice of an apothecary owner, skilled in foraging and identifying herbs. Although you could not call yourself a physician, the title only belonging to men of that time, you were greatly skilled in treating wounds and injuries.

She entered your master's apothecary in search for a treatment after accidentally making contact with a poisonous plant while she was training. The rash traveled up her arm, blisters forming, making it unbearably itchy and painful for days until she could no longer bear it. However, upon entering the shop, you were the only person there, sweeping the floors as you hummed a cheerful tune. You looked up at her, hands pausing as your eyes observed her.

A soft smile graced your lips and the moment she heard your sweet laughter—shit, she knew she was smitten. It was like time stopped for her. Despite the place being lined up with various medicines and trinkets, all she could see was you. The slight flush of your cheeks from the cold, the way your eyelashes fluttered, the slight dilation of your pupils as you stared at her (more like her rash but ok), and the curve of your pretty lips. Maybe the god of affection decided that she was capable of admiring someone again.

"Poison ivy," you chimed, pulling her out of her trance. Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion then suddenly raising one up as you approached her. You lifted her arm up gently, inspecting the rashes and blisters before setting it down. "You must've been from the mountains."

She watched as you looked over the shelves, hands on your hips. A small 'aha!' left your lips as you picked a jar from the shelf. "Here." You placed the jar on the table and gesturing her to come over. "My master is away, and I don't know how much these cost, so I'll give you a discount. Okay?"

You were so beautiful she probably ended up paying more than how much the medicine actually costed.

A soft smile tugged at her lips as she watched you grind the herbs and some sort of boiled concoction into a paste using your mortar and pestle. She loves the way your eyebrows scrunched together in focus, the way you licked your lips subconsciously, and the little huffs of breath you let every time you brought your pestle down onto the herbs in the mortar.

"Here," you mumbled, setting the mortar down next to her. Carefully, you helped Mizu out of her haori, eyes inspecting the expanse of the injury.

It was nothing serious. Just some abrasions she obtained from an accident while training in the morning. Her foot slipped, sending her sliding down the hill. However, the moment you saw her blood trail, the scream you let out was so loud it woke the birds up. Probably woke the whole world up while at it.

Another chuckle slipped out of Mizu's throat at the memory. It was another thing she loves about you. You're always so concerned about her, even more than she was to her own body. 'Mizu! Holy shit! Your skin is peeling!' she remembered you shout at her, looking like you were about to cry.

God, you're so cute.

"What's so funny, love?" you asked, tilting your head at her. Warm water ran down her wounds as you cleaned them. Mizu shook her head, eyes fluttering shut, lips curling up. "Nothing," she replied.

Suddenly, she wrapped her arms around you, making you whine. "W-Wait! Your scabs will reopen if you keep moving, dummy!" you whined, trying your best to continue washing her wounds. She hummed in content, resting her forehead against your womb. "Just remembering my wife."

You rolled your eyes at her, washing your hands on the basin before drying it. "I'm your wife," you huffed at her. She once again hummed, agreeing with you. "My wife," she mumbled against the cloth of your kimono, pressing your womb closer to her.

A small huff came from you as you picked up the mortar from the side, scooping out the paste with your fingers. "Yeah, me." Mizu nodded, the feeling of her head moving made you giggle. Gently, you applied the medicine onto her wounds, even to those that scabbed over, giving her a blissful feeling. The cold paste on her stinging wounds felt calming. A slight menthol after-effect adding to the relief. You could feel her pressing herself closer to you, her cheek now resting over your womb.

"My wife," she repeated absentmindedly

"What is it love?"

"My wife."

"You're being silly."

Her blue eyes looked up at you with a content eye smile, admiring how hard you were working on her wounds. "And you're beautiful," she sighed out. A chuckle made it past your lips, your head shaking in amusement. "Oh please, time already passed me by. I don't look as young as I used to," you replied with a fond smile.

You could see her eyebrows knitting together in disagreement through your kimono. "As if," she huffed, almost in a growl. "You're still as beautiful as the day I met you. Maybe even more." Her hands gripped your forearms firmly but with a sense of caring. She gently pulled you down, medicinal paste smudging across her shoulder as you tried to balance yourself. Before you could protest, rough, calloused, yet gentle hands cupped your face, tracing every line and every spot.

The words in your mouth died at how fondly she was staring at you. Her eyes were filled with love and affection, heavily contrasting the intimidating stare she usually had. Your big bad husband was just a pile of goo, melting and gushing at your beauty.

"I'm starting to have wrinkles over my face, aren't I?" you joked, holding a bit of truth. Mizu hummed in agreement, a soft smile still on her face as she traced over the said wrinkles. "Especially here," she replied, tracing your smile lines.

A playful huff escaped your lips, fingers smudging a bit of medicine onto her forehead. "That's your fault. I can't help it if you keep making me smile, love."

She buried her face against your shoulder, allowing herself to take in your scent. A mix of something earthy, medicinal, and a bit of rain. "It's your fault," she mumbled against your neck in a low yet content voice. "You're too pretty when you smile."

"Oh hush, dear husband," you teased, a laugh leaving your lips upon hearing her grunt at the word 'husband'. "Flattery won't get you anywhere."

"Flattery makes my wife smile," she replied with a cheeky grin. "That's more than enough." You stuck your tongue out at her, making her laugh at the playful gesture.

Silence took over the room as you continued to apply the medicine over her wounds, fanning it with your hand to allow it to dry faster. "Love?" you heard her call out. With a small hum, you craned your neck to look at her. "I'm sorry we couldn't get a better inn," she sighed.

You laughed at her words before setting the mortar down, wiping your hands over a washcloth. "It's fine. We don't need to go anywhere special," you replied, trying to get the medicine out from under your nails.

"Besides," you started, cupping her face, squishing her cheeks up a bit. "Anywhere is fine as long as we're together."

Her smile only continued to grow brighter at your words. "Maybe someday, we'll have a place of our own. With place to build a forge..and lots of shelves for my things," you added, the warm feeling in your husband's chest growing and growing with every word.

Gently, she cupped your cheeks back and placed small kisses on your face, pressing her lips on every feature she loves—which was everything. "And if we can't find one, we'll build it," she concluded.

A soft giggle of content could be heard from you as you wrapped your arms around her, making sure you weren't touching her wounds, and sinking into her warmth. "I wish we could get married," you sighed out against her chest. "Like with witnesses and all that."

Mizu could feel her heart pounding at your words, her love and affection overflowing. "I'd love a life like that. Maybe in our next."

"And what if we still can't get married in our next life?" you asked, closing your eyes as you relaxed against her skin. "Then, I'd find you and love you the same," she chuckled, eyes warming up at the sight of your body against her's. "Even if we can't get married in that one?"

"Mhm..I'll find you in every life," she started, tracing her fingers up your back. "Every purgatory." Her hands gently and tenderly caressing your face.

"And love you the same."