#Trace attacked him with lipstick kisses

[occultradio]

He's so over this bullshit already

[kykyonthemoon]

Red Stains

You've got a new lipstick and can't wait to test out the color,

on his face.

✧ — Character x F!Reader ✧ — 16+, MDNI, suggestive themes, established relationships, soft fluff, touchy, marking ✧ — Requested by Wytchie Pie.

✿ Masterlist

✿ Request a fic

𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃

While Caleb was in the living room playing his video game, you walked in with a new lipstick. It was hard not to tease him more when you saw how committed he was to the game. Reaching him from behind the couch, you put your arms around his neck and raised his chin to meet your gaze. You leaned down to give his left cheek a kiss. Then you hurried out of the room.

Though a little taken aback, Caleb simply grinned to himself and carried on playing the game. Not even your scarlet lipstick on his cheek did he notice.

After a while, you returned to the room. You interrupted his match again like the first time and gave him another kiss, this time on the right cheek. With a scowl, Caleb warned you: "Don't be naughty."

But you did not listen. You went into the bathroom again to apply another layer of lipstick. When would he find out that his face was covered with your lip stains? He had such a cute and goofy expression. Should you not tell him, would people laugh at him when he got out at last?

Being laughed at was his punishment. For playing games all afternoon and paying no attention to you. You went back to the living room, sneakily behind the sofa again and encircled him with your arms...

All of a sudden, he grabbed your wrist, bending you over. He leaned his head back to touch your lips and locked it with a kiss. Surprised, you leaped back and attempted to flee. After hurling the console onto the chair, Caleb got up, circled the couch, and seized you.

His hands clamped around your waist, making you turn to face him. “I told you not to be naughty.”

As you looked at the screen with the large word DEFEATED displayed, you laughed. In response, you said:

“You lost because you're terrible at this game. It's not my fault.”

“You're still in the mood to tease me?”

Caleb made an angry face, but all you saw was a cute guy with two lipstick marks on his face. He still held you tightly in his arms to prevent you from escaping. He gently lifted you up so that your bare feet rested on his.

“You tried the lipstick marking thing on my face again, didn't you”

"How do you know that?"

“I can smell it.” Caleb smirked. He could position you against the couch with style in only one spin.

“Caleb?” You were a bit surprised. He still refused to let you go but pressed closer to you.

“Make amends.” Caleb said, his voice a bit coy, making you blush. Normally, it's you who wheedle.

"What kind of compensation do you want?..." You hesitated, but you had good reason to be concerned. Because as soon as you finished speaking, you felt a bit regretful when Caleb suddenly attacked you with a passionate kiss.

When he finally let go to let you catch your breath, he rubbed your head, causing your hair to go untidy. Your fingers still lingered on his shoulder, and your red lips seemed to be inviting for another kiss. Caleb could not let you win that quickly. He stepped back and said:

“Everything always goes your way. That's how it's been all along since childhood. I can't keep spoiling you forever.”

Feeling a little let down, you gazed into his eyes. Caleb's face had brilliant lipstick traces that your fingertips touched.

"Are you sure?" You inquired, and then you hurried to put both of your arms around his neck without waiting for him to respond. You raised your torso and enveloped his waist with your legs. All he could do was hold you, and then you would attack him with powerful, determined kisses.

Caleb laughed while you pulled your lips away long enough to take a breath. He was defeated, again and again. After all, he would always let you win.

𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓

You finished your makeup that day with a little red lipstick on the lips. Satisfied with the new lipstick and cosmetics Tara had just recommended, you glanced in the mirror. But when you turned to Xavier,you saw him dozing off on the edge of the bed. He was still seated, but his back was resting on a stack of pillows and his hand was gripping the plush bunny named Bunbun.

You intended to wake him up, but as you approached, his innocent face and soft snoring made you want to give him a little playful nudge. You placed yourself on the edge of the bed, as quietly as possible so as not to wake him up. Then you pressed your lips to his cheek, leaving a red lip stain.

Leaning back slightly, you waited for Xavier to stir, but he remained deep sleeping. You impatiently placed a kiss on his other cheek. Then one on the forehead, another on the chin... Just like that, soon light and dark lipstick smears were all over his face.

You gulped back a laugh. He was certain to become uneasy upon awakening. Unexpectedly, you were taken by surprise as well. His eyes were barely open when his fingers snatched your wrists and pushed you against the bed.

"Xavier?" You let out a startled exclamation. You felt his body pressing on yours, immobilizing you. He could easily lock both of your wrists together, forcing them above your head and holding them there with only one hand.

You raised your gaze to Xavier's face which was covered by lipsticks. Gradually, he opened his eyes. He was still drowsy, but he was fully aware of the damage you had just caused to his heavenly face.

“I can't believe you sneaked up on me while I was sleeping.”

You giggled, looking apologetic: “I'm sorry. Because… you look so cute when you sleep!”

Xavier pretended not to hear your apology. He tightened his hold on the area that was holding your wrist, and you let out a quiet cry. His other hand freely explored your face and his fingers paused at your lips.

"Your lip color has changed."

Xavier was always sensitive to even the tiniest changes in you. It gave you the impression that he was concerned about you and valued you. You gave a nod.

“And you brought my face out to test your new lipstick?” Xavier questioned. You became aware that his body was gradually dropping and encroaching onto yours.

"I've already... apologized," Your cheeks heated with his breath.

"That doesn't count." Xavier gave a sulky reply. "There will be an equal cost for you to pay."

"H-Huh?

Xavier leaned down and pressed his cool lips to your cheek, leaving a scorching, tingling trail.

“One here.” Xavier said, then he proceeded to kiss the other cheek. “Another here.”

“X-Xavier…” You made an effort to resist and came very close to escaping him. But your wrists were held even tighter. The other hand Xavier was holding around your neck tensed as well. 

"Be good!" Although his voice was still very gentle, you caught his impatience, almost like a command.

And you lied still, submitting to his authority as he inked your face with his own lip marks. On the forehead, nose, cheeks and chin. He planted a kiss on your face in precisely the same spot and sequence as you had just given him. You started to get a sense that Xavier wasn't actually asleep, and you were naive to fall right into the trap that was set up by his innocent expression.

At the same time, you relished the sensation of being beneath Xavier, his body heat enveloping you, and the sound of his breathing in your ear blended with every kiss.

The last kiss just ended. As you struggled to catch your breath, you said:

“A-Are you done? Can you…Can you let me go now?…”

The truth was, you never want him to let go. Xavier simply glanced at you and felt your emotions. He lifted your chin again so you could look into his eyes, while he gently parted your lips with this thumb.

“Did I say I would let you go?”

Your eyes seemed to be blurred by the heat between you both. You arched your head back a little, longing for his lips to meet yours once more. Xavier smiled triumphantly as his finger lightly slid across your lips, smearing a small amount of your lipstick out.

“You should have known there is a price for waking me up like that.”

𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍

That evening, while you were getting ready for the date, Rafayel showed up. He took a seat next to you and began fiddling with the makeup items on the table. His long fingers stroke the blush in the box, he waved it in the air, enjoying the color in his hand.

"Look at this. My hands are now the same color as your cheeks.”

You turned to look at Rafayel. He gave you a mischievous smile. With his other hand, he gently lifted your chin.

“Let me help you,” said Rafayel. You obediently sat still so he could apply the pink blush that was already on his hand to your cheeks, although you were certain that they were already pink even before applying makeup.

"Very lovely. The peach hue draws attention to your smile.” Rafayel exclaimed. "Even though you don't need makeup to look beautiful."

You smiled heartily. His lips were always so sweet, giving you more confidence. I had never seen yourself more beautiful than when you were next to him. Even without saying it out loud, the way he looked at you always made you feel like you were the most exquisite painting his eyes had ever laid upon.

“I'm almost done. All that's left is lipstick." You said while taking out a brand new lipstick from your purse. “Tara said this color would go very well with me.”

Rafayel took the lipstick from your hand and looked at its color through the transparent glass cover. Then he gave it back to you. “Go ahead and try it on.” He spoke excitedly, as if he was the one using this lipstick.

You twisted the cap open, applied a layer and pressed your lips together to spread the lipstick evenly. “Mmmh.” Before you could look closely, Rafayel anxiously put his palm on your cheek and drew you in.

“Let me see it...” Rafayel's fingertips playfully caressed across your face and ears while you held your breath. "Red. It truly does fit you perfectly.”

His thumb traced a line down the border of your lower lip, giving you a ticklish feeling. You could not focus because of how near his face was. You gently closed your eyes, then when he was too preoccupied staring at your lips, you leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

“You?!” Rafayel was startled. He withdrew his hand and touched the place you just kissed. A scarlet set of lips like a blossoming flower revealed itself on Rafayel's porcelain face.

"If you don't let me see my lipstick color in the mirror, I'll borrow your face to try it on." You laughed in response.

“What do you mean by that?”

As soon as he finished speaking, Rafayel was left with another lip mark on his cheek, just below the previous one. His eyebrows frowned slightly. His cheeks and ears were scarlet, he couldn't hide his embarrassment anymore.

“That is excessive.” Rafayel mumbled, yet behind that salty expression was a wry smirk. You applied another layer of lipstick on your lips to replace the first layer that had mostly faded. You commented:

“This lipstick tastes somewhat as sweet as candy.”

Hearing that, Rafayel immediately raised his face. He held your chin tightly in his hand and brought it very close.

“Really? I'd like to give it a shot as well.”

After saying so, he put his lips to yours. Before you could protest, you felt a slight pain in your bottom lip as you opened your eyes wide.

“R-Rafayel!” You gasped when he left your lips. Your lipstick was lightly on his lips as he licked it lightly.

“It does taste like candy!”

His mysterious expression confused you. You covered your mouth with both hands and reprimanded: "You just bit me!"

With a sly smile, Rafayel tipped his head and said, "I was only curious to taste your lipstick. Then, I realized something…”

Suddenly he came close to you again. His hand pulled yours down to reveal your red face and slightly swollen, color-smeared lips. He spoke again:

“You taste sweeter than any candy!”

Unsure of how to react, you observed Rafayel get back up. You followed him because you assumed he was going to head to the restaurant that you two had reserved. Just as you were getting up from the chair, Rafayel abruptly pulled you back and seated you entirely on the dressing table.

"Where are you going?" He asked while burying his face in your shoulder and hair.

“To our date?… We're already late…”

Rafayel's dissatisfaction was evident from his facial expression. He glanced back at you, his finger tracing across your lips as if he was painting a picture himself.

"The plan has changed."

He kissed you once more, and this time, the long kisses were broken up by little, painless bites that made you weak in the knees and found it hard to breathe. You pushed Rafayel back a little so he could slow down while leaning your back against the frigid mirror. However, the more you did so, the more he devoured your red lips.

“We can save that restaurant for another time… For now, let's stay here, okay?”

He said between rapid breaths. You nodded slightly. How could you refuse, when all your luscious lips wanted was him?

𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆

During Zayne's lunch break, you stayed in his office to make sure he ate enough and on time. It could also be said otherwise; it's him who made sure you're full and rest well before returning to the headquarters.

After lunch, Zayne sat reading a book on the sofa. You thought you would get out your new lipstick and give it a little play since you had nothing better to do. You barely learned the fundamental techniques and were too busy fighting Wanderers to wear makeup frequently. But the other day, Tara had just given you a new lipstick and said that this color would look good on you.

You put on a light layer. Since Zayne's workplace lacked a mirror, you turned to him and inquired, "How do I look?"

Zayne merely gave you a quick glance before turning back to the book.

"Alright."

"Alright?!" You said it again. By that, what did he mean? It was "okay" rather than beautiful? Yet, he couldn't even look at you for more than a second. You were a little hurt. You twisted the lipstick cap again and applied another layer.

"What about this?" You inquired with him once more. However, Zayne quickly responded with a "Mmhhh" to end the conversation. You turned your gaze from him to the book he was holding. It took away all of his attention, which he should be giving to you.

Refusing to give in to such an inanimate object, you turned completely to Zayne, pulled him back and pressed your lips to his cheek.

You released your grip, revealing your trophy — a vivid red lipstick mark — on his icy face. However, he continued to glare at you without saying anything. His hand turned the book to a new page and as if nothing had happened, he ignored you once again.

“You…” You let out a sigh. You knew he had his own concerns, but were angry at the thought that you were not important, not attractive enough for him, unlike a medical book. You gave it another go, kissing him very close to the lips this time.

Zayne breathed heavily. Although the expression on his face remained unchanged, you caught his hands holding the book trembling slightly.

“There is a medical appointment that I must attend in an hour. This kind of abuse on my face is unacceptable."

You felt like you had won when he closed the book and put it back on the table.

“Okay, let me tidy it up for you.” Grinning, you got up to grab the tissue box.  But you were drawn back by a strong force that very moment. Suddenly you found yourself sitting completely on Zayne's lap. His sinewy arms encircled your waist securely.

“If you want to leave marks on me…” You heard Zayne whispering so softly from behind. “You need to be a little more considerate.”

You sat still and let Zayne turn you around, facing him. Your heart was beating very fast. At this rate, before another patient came to see him, he would have to treat you first. You tried to stay calm in front of him and questioned:

“More considerate? Do you recommend any other spot then?” Your hand briefly touched Zayne's cheek before descending gently. You stared intently, lifting his chin. As you cuddled on his lap, little against the toned shoulders he covered beneath his shirt, Zayne shifted both of your legs so they were more comfortably positioned on the sofa.

Your fingertips paused at his neck, verging on his Adam's apple. You caught it moving slightly. “Or this spot?”

Zayne was clearly making every effort to maintain the residual calm on his face. His eyes were staring at you intensely from behind his glasses, as though he was granting you permission to do that.

And you leaned up to place a kiss there.

You heard a cough come from Zayne. He looked at you, extremely miserable. But you put your hand on the lipstick mark on his neck as if admiring another of your trophies. It did not stop there. You still wanted more, wanted to know what he would do if you went a little further...

Your index finger slid from his neck to his chest and stopped just above his heart.

“Doctor Zayne, your heart is racing.”

Your laughter was as crisp as sunshine in the room, increasing the temperature. Zayne took your hand, neatly holding it in his scarred one. He spoke, but you caught his trembling even though he was very discreet:

“Can you... cure me then?”

Your finger gently tapped on his chest. "Of course." You would always like it when Zayne let me be in charge, asking you to take care of him little by little. His hand loosened slightly, allowing you to freely find the buttons of his shirt and undo them.

Then, you put another crimson mark on his bare chest.

[astraystayyh]

Echoes of love

"to love someone is firstly to confess; i am prepared to be devastated by you."

Chapter ii. to remember

genre : memory loss trope. angst. slow burn. unrequited love except you were in a loving relationship and everything changes overnight.

pairing : minho x reader. (3racha cameo)

summary : if given the choice would you love minho again? yes, you would've once said in a heartbeat. but now, you aren't sure of your response anymore.

cw : depiction of a nightmare and anxiety attack. allusion to mc having a bad family history with alcohol. suggestive in the end (allusion to sex but no smut). reader had she/her pronouns.

word count : 11k words.

song recs : the night we met/terrible love/black friday/cover me/already gone/enough.

chapter i. skz quotes series masterlist.

A.N: PT. 2 IS HERE!!!! i hope you'll enjoy this one, she's my baby and i put so much work and thought into her, so feedback is highly highly appreciated!!! thank you to my @forlix for being with me every step of this journey, i love u the most<33

Day 33. 

With a gentle, absentminded sweep, your fingers trace the delicate contours of your wrist, a faint dance with the pulse beneath your skin– the cocoon of the soul you’re gradually growing accustomed to. It is a trying task, you've found out, to no longer yearn to flee from your body, leaving the weight of your worries for your bones and flesh alone to bear. 

A subtle fragrance floats in the air surrounding you- the familiar gardenia and honey tones of your sweet perfume. It is a scent you reserve for special occasions, such as this one- your first date, in three months according to the world, in more than a year for your memory. 

You swiftly retrieve a mirror from your pouch, checking your appearance for the tenth time in mere minutes. Your nude lipstick is still, unsurprisingly, in place, and you smile reassuringly at your reflection. She smiles back, though sometimes you half-expect her not to. In defiance, perhaps, maybe even repulse. 

The melodious chime of the café's bell captures your attention, and the man you've been awaiting finally enters. He confidently strides in, clad in a blue polo and black slacks, an evident effort poured into his appearance. 

Standing before you, his warm, gleaming eyes meet yours, effortlessly melting your lingering worries. You smile at him, he beams at you. 

“Did I keep you waiting?” Changbin, your date, asks as he pulls the chair adjacent to you. 

“No, just in time.”

Two weeks ago. 

Day 17. 

“Use me. Use me to remember,” Minho whispers, the distance between your lips resembling the thin edge of a blade. 

You close your eyes, the world narrowing down to the sound of your heartbeat, a rhythmic drum drowning out any attempt at coherent thoughts. Kiss him, your heart chants, kiss him and all your memories will flood back. But what if they don't? What if the abyss persists before the brightest beam of light?

A tender kiss lands on your forehead, gently interrupting your tumultuous thoughts. Minho’s lips are as warm, as soft as you remember them. They're now imprinted into your skin, no longer a hazy memory beyond your reach.

His hands cradle your hair, smoothing it down, making the ringing in your ears soften. You surrender to his gentle embrace, to the soft tide of emotions rippling from him to you, pulling your wounded soul to safe shores. 

“You need to forgive yourself,” he whispers, his words echoing against your skin, lips still pressed to your forehead. A rush of warmth overwhelms you, all your senses coming to life, ringing the alarm- he sees you, he sees through you.

“None of this is your fault,” he assures, a sudden cooling balm against your scorching wounds. These are the words you've been aching to hear. You didn't know, but Minho did, reading between the lines of your quivering lips and your reluctance to look into his eyes. 

He knows you better than you know yourself. 

“Don’t blame yourself, please.”

“But all I do is hurt people,” you confess, tears streaming down your face like a relentless downpour, soaking Minho's hands. 

You expect punishment to strike you, bolting lighting aiming straight for your heart as you finally admit to your biggest sin- the shadow of sorrow that trails your every step. It is the way it has always been since you were a child. It is what you fled from. 

What you don't expect is for tenderness to cradle you instead— in Minho's warm hand as he gently guides you to his chest, your ear resting above his steady heartbeat. Its rhythmic cadence akin to a lullaby- you shouldn't apologize for existing, you hear it sing to you. 

“If you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you. you’re forgiven, okay? I forgive you. Today and tomorrow. I'll forgive you until you'll forgive yourself.” 

“Okay,” you nod, muffled words against the fabric of his shirt.

“Now, will you please come back with me? The cats will miss you a lot if you don’t,” he suggests, pressing his cheek onto the crown of your head. 

“I don't want to leave them,” you reply in a small voice, dewdrops gathering in your eyes at the thought of running again. 

“You don’t have to. It’s your home too.”

“Okay,” you sigh in acceptance, relief, encircling his waist with your arms. He is all inviting, like an open book, and you're resting between his pages, scribbled with love confessions for you. 

The world stills, waves slowing their relentless crash against the shore, as you draw in a deep breath from the pits of your soul. You don't remember all you’ve once felt for Minho. But you know it must have been safe, like stumbling upon a haven and then learning it was specially carved for you. 

“I miss you, Minho.”

“I know, I miss you too.”

Day 19. 

“Minho, can you come to the kitchen please?” your voice reverberates through the house, weaving through the air and reaching the bedroom where Minho has been ensnared, his less-than-graceful complaints echoing loudly for the past hour. You had sealed him within without explanation, only making him promise not to leave the room until you told him to, much to his dismay, and deep down, amusement. 

He chuckles lowly to himself as he rises from the bed, before making his way to the kitchen. There, he finds you near the doorway, hands concealed behind your back, dusty flour adorning your cheek like an artist’s absentminded paint stroke.  

“So…,” you trail off and Minho smiles, crossing his arms before his chest.  

“So?”

“A situation may have happened.” 

“Which situation?” he inquires amusedly, attempting to peer past you into the kitchen. Your extended arms block his view.

“You know how I got a concussion from the car accident,” you ask. 

“I do.”

“I think it may have affected my cooking abilities.”

“But you didn't have any to begin with?” he muses, tilting his head to the side innocently. 

“Shut up,” you playfully admonish before clasping your hands in a silent plea. “Will you help me?” 

“Mm, what are you making?” he inquires, leaning against the doorway.

“Pudding.”

“Pudding?”

“For you.”

“Oh.” 

A blush creeps up Minho’s neck as he grapples to find a reply, his surprised gasp hanging into the air. You giggle faintly, entertained by his sudden speech impairment. 

In response, Minho takes a step forward, delicately brushing away the flour on your cheek, his thumb hovering near the corner of your mouth. “How did this get here?”

“Huh?” you sputter, pink splashing across your cheeks like spilled Rosé. 

Minho is testing your waters, dipping one toe in, hoping he’ll find your reassuring embrace lurking beneath the surface. Did you blush from the heat of the stove or his touch? Minho doesn’t know. Minho needs to find out. 

“And you also forgot this,” he lightly pouts, reaching over your head to the hanger behind you, caging you between his arms. 

He’s sacrificing his heart, placing it on the frontlines of hurt once again. Yet, when you look up at him, dewy eyes flickering to his lips, Minho feels a single match lighten up in his core, not enough to burn all his doubts. But enough to signal hope. 

Hope is a perilous possession, akin to cradling a fragile glass that threatens to shatter at the slightest tremor. Hope is the only thread Minho can now hang onto. 

“You forgot your apron,” he finally says, withdrawing two aprons from the hanger. He drapes one over your head before placing a hand on your shoulder, gently turning you around. He silently ties the strings into a ribbon, his fingers brushing against your spine. He can distinctly remember the feel of your bare skin beneath his fingertips, silky, smooth, intoxicating. 

“There, a pretty knot,” he whispers, not moving back an inch, waiting for you to swivel around. Yet, you remain silent, undoing your hair from its loose ponytail. Your hair cascades over your shoulders, resembling the unveiling of curtains, and Minho senses something unfurling in the depths of his stomach.

“Tie it for me?” you whisper, handing him the hair tie without looking back. Your fingertips brush against each other, and Minho inhales deeply.

“Sure,” he says, voice thick with emotion, he needs to drink water. He needs to drink you in. 

He gathers your hair strands in another low ponytail, trembling hands as they brush against the nape of your neck, akin to powerless leaves before the autumn breeze. He’s close, so close to you, so much his chest almost brushes against your back. 

As soon as he’s done, Minho swiftly steps back before doing something he’ll surely regret, like placing a tender kiss on your shoulder, or worse, confessing that he misses the simple act of brushing your hair at night. 

“So, pudding,” he clears his throat, rolling up the sleeves of his white hoodie. your eyes follow his movement, lingering on the veins protruding on his forearms. Minho feels a bit foolish for wanting to flex for you. 

“It’s really easy actually. bring me two eggs?” 

“Sure,” you grin, heading for the fridge as Minho retrieves sugar from the cupboard, throwing away the odd liquid mixture you managed to conjure. 

You stand beside Minho, eyebrows furrowed as he explains why the milk needs to be brought to a boil before adding the cornstarch, or how adding the vanilla at the very end will help preserve its flavor. You listen intently, nodding along, and the tension between you dispels, leaving place for something comforting, familiar– you’re erasing the remnants of his sobs, the sight of him crumbling over the green kitchen tiles. 

“Let's leave it to chill,” he finally says, closing the fridge’s door. 

“Okay,” you nod, packing away the butter. Minho leans against the countertop, an ember of curiosity ablaze at the tip of his tongue

“Why did you want to make pudding?” he asks and you freeze in place. 

“To see if I’m capable of not being a lost cause,” you respond playfully but the undertones of your voice indicate otherwise- laden, charged. One more match that you could light up? 

“Really?” he says softly, taking one step toward you. 

“No,” you giggle faintly and he nods, a gentle smile unfurling on his face, gradual as the eclipse of a moon.

“It was supposed to be your birthday gift. That's why I locked you in the room. I even bought little birthday hats for the cats, silly I know, and very late, but, turns out I’m a horrible-” 

“I wanna see the birthday hats,” he cuts you off.

“Really? They’re really ugly.” 

“It's my birthday gift, right?”

Five minutes later, you and Minho are seated on the floor, legs crisscrossed, three perplexed cats before you, and on their heads, obnoxiously neon green hats.

“They look so…” you tilt your head, assessing the view before you. 

“Stupid?” Minho suggests, eliciting a startled snort from you that swiftly transforms into an almost maniac cackle, which in turn, catches Minho off guard. He gazes at you bewilderedly before succumbing to a fit of giggles, which intensifies your laughter, as you punctuate his shoulder with light hits, tears streaming down your face in an attempt to regain composure.

One hundred matches light up in Minho’s heart at the sight, all at once.

“My God, they look so stupid, I’m so sorry,” you laugh harder, your body collapsing to the ground, hands tightly clutching your stomach. 

They can laugh again, the house sighs in relief, something other than sobs can still echo within my walls. 

Day 22. 

“I miss the sea,” you sigh softly, cradling a cup of chamomile tea between your hands. Minho, absorbed in his book, glances up to find a melancholic expression etched on your face—a poignant blend of sorrow and longing that he knows weighs heavy on your heart. 

“We saw it over at the bridge, no?” he ventures tentatively, setting the book aside on the living room table.

“Yes, but I miss the sand, and the waves lapping at my feet. I miss feeling the sea, not just seeing it.” 

“I’d take you, in a heartbeat,” he says assuredly, ready to bring you the moon if only you dare ask. “But it's far, and you can't get into a car.” 

“I can try.” 

“You can?” he questions, hope budding in his eyes.

“I mean- I want to, it's just… I don't know,” you retract, nails drumming anxiously against your cup, gaze lost into the amber liquid.  

“Talk to me, yeah?” he smiles softly, draping a reassuring hand on your arm. His thumb swipes across the slate of your shoulder, and an impossible knot in your throat untangles. 

“The accident took a lot from me. My health, my memories, a year of moving forward.” You quiet down, eyes meeting his in a barely veiled vulnerability. Silence speaks of your hardest loss— him. 

“Can you help me get the sea back?”

Minho’s radiant smile is louder than any spoken agreement.

…

Thread by thread, drop by drop, your fears unravel as Minho lowers all the car windows’ before gently guiding you into the car seat, dispelling any prospect of feeling confined within the vehicle. 

He remembers everything, even the panic that gripped your being when you went into his enclosed car, nearly a month ago. 

“Can I blindfold you? It might help, so you wouldn't see the car lights since it’s night,” he suggests.

“Yeah, that'd be nice,” you agree, your hand lightly gripping the car seat.

“Hey, hey,” he calls out gently, “I'm here, okay? The second you feel overwhelmed I'm stopping this car.”

“Will you drive safely?” 

“Of course. I promise you.” 

Your nod is met with the softening of Minho's eyes, as he delicately tucks a strand of your hair behind the curve of your ear. 

“I'm proud of you,” he whispers, tone laden with so much tenderness, love, that your throat becomes a garden, vocal cords bound not by thorns but the delicate blossoming of flowers. 

With a gentle touch, Minho wraps a tie around your eyes, cocooning you in a tranquil darkness. His hand seeks yours instinctively, fingers intertwining with yours akin to the wind weaving through the strands of your hair.

In this moment, every fracture within you is delicately filled by Minho.

He starts driving, a soothing piano instrumental playing out of the car’s speakers- his hand still in yours. “Breathe,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing a soothing path across your palm. 

“Follow my touch.” A gentle sweep to the right, an invitation to inhale slowly. “In,” his voice guides, and you draw in a deep breath.

Another caress to the left, a silent directive to release your confined breath. “Out,” he whispers, and you exhale, surrendering to the rhythm orchestrated by his thumb.

He raises the music’s volume, his touch becoming a maestro, speaking silently to you. You’re grateful for it, for the way in which he’s driving- avoiding curbs and speeding, safely, making the wheels float across the road. 

Your heart still constricts in your chest, anxiety squeezing your veins, bleeding them dry, but you focus on Minho’s thumb, you let it guide you, like a compass navigating the dark tunnels of your heart. 

“We're almost there,” he reassures as he stops by a red light. 

“I look silly, right?” you reply, giggling a bit. 

“What?” he asks, confused. 

“I can feel you looking,” you clarify. 

“How so?”

“My right cheek is tingling.” 

Minho snorts incredulously. “What does that even mean?”

“You have a piercing stare. You're like melting through my skin and vibrating my bones.”

“Idiot,” he chuckles. My my my idiot, Minho grieves to say once again. The human heart is peculiar, he learns day after day, mourning the loss of a myriad of minuscule things, even words. 

“And, you don't look silly,” he clears his throat minutes later, as he finally parks by the beach.  

“You look pretty,” he utters, unraveling your blindfold, and you blink, caught between the sudden light and the weight of his words. “You always do,” he concludes, a whispered confession that lingers like the afterglow of a sunset, painting your world in golden hues.

“Minho, I…” you trail off, eyes landing on the vast sea ahead, blending into the sky in an alluring shade of turquoise. “We're here!” you shout bewildered, a magnificent grin on your face. 

“We are,” Minho smiles, drinking in the delight in your expression. 

“Oh my god I missed the sea!” you giggle as you undo your seatbelt, quickly opening the car’s door and taking off running. 

Minho follows closely behind, captivated, as he watches you glide across the shore, the sand ricocheting off the soles of your shoes. You look like a fairy, bending the wind to your will, coaxing it into a choreography that mirrors the rhythm of your movements, your messy footprints marking your pathway to happiness once again. 

Upon the sand, you finally settle down, and Minho walks over, sitting beside you. Both of you quietly gaze ahead, entranced by the moon's silver glow caressing the water’s surface. Each shimmering wave resembles glistening diamonds, a celestial mirror reflecting the lights in the sky.

“Have I ever told you why I love the sea?” you speak after a while, tone softer, more content. 

“You did.” 

“Can I tell you again?” you say. Can I tell you what I still remember? He understands. 

“Of course.” 

"There was a beach near our home, back then," you reminisce, a nostalgic aura enveloping your words. “And whenever I felt lonely I used to go there and watch the waves, to calm me down. But, one time, I was really overwhelmed so I ended up crying. And then, coincidentally, it started raining too.” 

Your eyes widen slightly, a hint of amusement in your voice. “At that moment, I chuckled at the timing, how the sky was crying with me.”

“Ever since that day, I liked to believe that the sea is made up of the sky’s tears, the ones that fell in sync with those of humans, so it'd comfort us. And the tears grew from a pond to a river, to a vast ocean, as humans cried more and more. That's why sometimes the sea’s waters are gentle because those are tears of happiness falling somewhere. Sometimes they're stormy, since someone is crying out of anger. Sometimes they're melancholic, just relentlessly crashing against the shore, because someone is in pain. Like we are.”

A tranquil hush falls over the night as you quiet down, before turning around to meet Minho’s teary eyes, mirroring yours.

“And if the sea persists through tempests and tranquility, if it goes on despite the myriad of emotions it holds within, then so will we.”

Hope isn't fragile, as Minho once believed. Hope scrapes its bloody palms against the rough surface as it climbs defiantly to the pinnacle once again. Hope picks out rugged stones with weathered hands and builds a home out of them. Hope is strong, it clutches onto the thinnest threads so we’d endure and endure once more. As many times as we need to. 

“Well, the sky isn't crying right now,” Minho notes.

“I know,” you smile softly, “Because we're holding on to hope.” 

Day 26. 

Under the soft glow of the TV, Dori settles comfortably on your shoulders, nuzzling her tiny nose onto your face every now and then. Soonie and Doongie are a bit far away, playing with a piece of yarn, captivated by its vibrant red threads. 

It is an ordinary, comforting setting to watch a movie with Minho, on a Sunday night, a bowl of popcorn nestled on his lap while his cats lounge around. So familiar that the world around you blurs, like the vague brushes of an impressionist painting— a vivid déjà-vu sensation clinging to your body. You’ve lived this scene before. You want to live it again, now and in the future. More and more. 

However something is different— your skin tingles, a buzzing sensation that travels from thigh to knee to hand, as if your body knows that something’s amiss. Minho’s touch perhaps, his palm casually resting upon your skin. 

You don’t know where this urge is coming from— to lay your head on his shoulder, to have him run his fingers through your hair. Even more, to lose yourself in the nutmeg and peppermint notes of his cologne, to disintegrate your worries into his hold and rest. 

“Would you mind if some of my friends came over?” Minho speaks up suddenly, cutting off your trailing train of thought. 

“Hm?” you hum absentmindedly before clearing your throat. “I mean, no, I don't mind. Who are they?”

“Han and Chan. They’ve been asking about you for a while now.” 

“Sure, this is your home.”

“It is yours too,” he says, gaze locking onto yours. His eyes are like a dark tapestry woven with threads of stardust- you’d never tire of looking into them, into the universe they seem to cradle within. 

Do you know that there is a galaxy inside you? You almost slip out, words in an urgent race against your mind. You barely stop them at the tip of your tongue, before smiling and peeling your eyes away from his, painfully, like scratching a burn scab long before it heals. 

…

“They’re here,” Minho announces as someone knocks on the door. 

“Okay,” you smile, a tad nervous. You’re not even sure what for. 

“If they annoy you too much tell me, I’ll kick them out,” he reassures, raising his brows playfully at you. 

“That's mean,” you giggle, albeit soothed by his words.

“They already love you,” he grabs your wrist, his thumb gently swiping over your pulse. “No need to be worried.” 

He drops it, as though a countdown is ingrained into his brain— never to touch you for more than ten seconds. Wouldn't it be selfish, pathetic even, to ask him for more? 

As Minho heads to open the door, you linger in the living room, idly fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt. It is a weird circumstance to greet strangers who know you— you may have brushed against their shoulders in an alley and not known who they were. 

Your thoughts dissolve as two men saunter into the living room, stopping in their tracks once their eyes land on you. They’re both beautiful– that is the first thing you note, closely followed by how relieved they seem to see you. Simultaneous soft sighs escape them, gentle smiles blooming across their faces. Tentatively, you return the gesture.                          

Minho takes the initiative to introduce them. “Yn. This is Chan,” he points to the man on the right, clad in black from head to toe, his smile grows wider, his eyes disappearing into moon crescents, two dimples peeking gleefully on his cheeks. 

“And Han,” the younger man, sporting a Supreme t-shirt despite the cold, beams at you, highlighting his round cheeks, and an adam-apple that weirdly resembles a heart. 

“I want to hug you but Minho put us on a strict no-touch notice because of your ribs,” Han speaks first, a small pout tugging at his lips as he glances at Minho, who simply rolls his eyes at his words. 

“You can never keep something for yourself,” Minho sighs, rubbing the space between his eyebrows. You stifle an amused giggle. 

“And she technically doesn’t remember us so it’d be weird for her to hug a stranger,” Chan notes, offering you an understanding smile. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean it in a creepy way! more of ‘Oh my god I’m so happy you’re alive, thank you for still being here, I was so worried about you’.”

“But were you worried?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

“Of course, I-”

“Then why weren’t you at my bedside?” you question, an eyebrow raised, and Minho chuckles at your words. 

“W-what?” Han asks, glancing worriedly at the two men by his side. 

“Why weren’t you there sobbing when I woke up? It doesn’t look like you were worried,” you muse, throwing a wink to Minho who walks over to you.

“Right, you should’ve sent her a pic of you crying,” Minho adds, as you drape a hand on his shoulder. 

“A picture for every day you didn’t come see me,” you say solemnly as Han’s face grows paler by the second. 

“I-I didn’t, I really was worried, I swear, I kept asking Minho every day about you and…” he trails off as giddy smiles break out on your face and Minho’s before you both burst out laughing. 

“You guys are evil,” Han laments, as Chan pats his back in faux sympathy, a string of giggles falling from his full lips. 

“I’m sorry. we made you dinner to make up for it,” you grin and Minho looks at you pointedly. 

“He made you dinner,” you correct with a huff, and Minho smiles, satisfied, raising his brows smugly at his two friends. 

“Let’s choose a movie then!” Han claps, turning to the TV as Minho sidles by his side.

“I’ll set up the table,” Chan announces.

“I’ll help you,” you offer, and he nods, clearly grateful for your assistance.

You’re taking out four plates from the cupboard, Chan effortlessly bringing out the glasses, clearly familiar with the nooks and crannies of your home, when he suddenly speaks.

“How are you, Yn?” 

“Do you want the truth?” you ask back, and he grins. “Always.”

“I’m okay. Right now. I don’t know if I’ll still be tomorrow, you know? It all fluctuates so much.” 

“Mm, I understand,” he says, and something about his tone indicates that he isn’t saying this just to comfort you. “And that’s okay too. What you went through wasn’t easy, but good times will come again. They always do, you know, just like the sun always comes back after the rain.”

“The sun,” you repeat, as you glance out at the living room, where Minho is laughing at something Han just said, his head tipped back, bunny teeth peeking out. 

Perhaps the sun rays were by your side all along. 

“Thank you, Chan,” you beam at him. “Truly, for being worried about me too.”

“It's nothing to thank us for. We care about you, even though you don’t remember us,” he pouts, a hand on his heart in mock offense. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault I got amnesia!” you chuckle. 

"Excuses!" he drawls with a playful tone as he exits the kitchen, and you can't help but laugh quietly to yourself. You recognize what he's doing—making light of your accident to alleviate the weight on your heart.

The night blurs in your memory, but this time it is tinged with happiness and laughter. The three men recall fun stories of their time together, a seven-year bond rooted in love and care, albeit silently. You witnessed it in the details—Chan ensuring the food was on their plates first, Minho peeling shrimp for Han, the latter rubbing Chan’s arms when he complained of being cold.

Then you saw it directed towards you– how they put on the movie you wanted and watched in anticipation as you took the first bite of food, draped the fuzziest blanket around you, and rushed to your side simultaneously when you stumbled on your feet.

You were loved, although you didn’t know of it. The accident took away your memories but it didn’t plague theirs. 

“Thank you,” you beam at the two men as you walk them to the door. Opening your arms wide, you invite them in for a hug. Han embraces you first, a large smile on his face, and you gently beckon Chan in too. “Easy,” he whispers in Han's ears, careful not to put any pressure on your ribs. They both pat your back as you wrap an arm around their respective shoulders before leaning away.

“I’ll call you,” Minho bids them farewell, tipping his chin forward. They wave to him before finally leaving

You close the door, leaning against the auburn wood. Minho watches you, a soft smile playing on his face.

“Good?” he inquires, closing the distance between you.

“Mm, good,” you reply with a smile as he halts just an inch away. His intoxicating scent envelops you, permeating your bones and flowing through your veins like liquid warmth.

A torrent of memories floods your mind—images of you pressed against this same door. It is dark, a stark contrast from your first memory, a lone lunar beam of light slashing through the night. Minho’s hands grip your waist with a fevered urgency, while yours entwines around the nape of his neck, in passion, in hunger, almost as if you were deprived of him for so long.

You angle his mouth closer to yours, his lips pressing against your own repeatedly, a desperate attempt to brand the contours of his mouth into your soul. His hair, a cascade of midnight silk, tickles your fingers with an electric charge, like the crackling of the air before a storm. His tongue sweeps across your lower lip, seeking entrance, one you willingly surrender, white flag easily thrown to the ground. With every kiss, your bodies meld together, so much so that you could merge into the door, disappearing into the shadows as one.

“What's wrong?” Minho breaks your trance and you snap out of your reverie, a bright flush adorning your cheeks. 

“N-nothing,” you stammer. 

“You’re all red, do you have a fever?” he asks, coming closer, his hand pressed to your forehead. His woody scent envelops you once again– everything about him is enticing— his cologne, his lips on you, his fingertips dragging underneath your shirt, his eyes piercing yours, undressing you before his hands ever could.

“Yn?” he questions and you grab his jaw, angling his face away from you. 

“Stay like this, don’t look at me for a moment.”

“What?”

“Just… please,” you say and he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief, and yet he complies, his side profile now facing you.

How does he live with these memories each time he looks at you? 

You take in a deep breath, focusing on his silhouette. It might seem counterproductive to fixate on the same man consuming your thoughts, but how could you not when he was mere centimeters away, his eyes averted from yours?

You exhale softly as your gaze glides along the graceful curve of his neck, a solitary mole resting just beneath his sculpted jawline, leading the way to his plump lips, a cupid's bow delicately carved by the hands of the divine archer himself — crafted to be kissed, to be adored.

Your eyes trail up, tracing the high bridge of his nose, another mole perched at its pinnacle, sharp and smooth as if chiseled by a master sculptor, one who dedicated months to perfecting his artistry. His eyes are a mesmerizing brown, punctuated with long lashes that flutter like the delicate wings of an angel with each slow blink.

Minho sweeps aside strands of his hair, his fingertip delicately fluffing them upwards. It dawns on you, a sudden revelation of the necessity of art — to immortalize such beauty for generations to come.

You imagine admirers gazing upon Minho, sighing in sheer amazement, their hearts tightening with emotions that words struggle to encapsulate in the face of this epitome of beauty. Inside and out, you reflect, inside and out. 

“You told them not to drink around me, right?” you ask softly.

A blush grows from the base of Minho's neck to the tip of his ears, like roots expanding into the soil. He sighs before finally looking at you.

“I did. How’d you figure it out?” he wonders.

“I asked Han if he wanted a drink, but he refused so categorically that I assumed he didn't like alcohol. But most of his stories were of him drunk,” you chuckle quietly, and Minho shrugs sheepishly.

“We get loud when we drink. You don’t like that,” he says simply as if it’s a given, an absolute certainty that he’d do anything but make you uncomfortable.

He's beautiful, the light of his heart basking his face in a glow that even Michaelangelo's skillful hands wouldn’t be able to replicate.  

And he loves you. 

Till when? Your heart sounds out in alarm. Till when will he love you? What if the grains of sand slip away from the hourglass before you can reciprocate his love? Two stars colliding at disparate speeds, never converging into a singular entity, destined to erupt and scatter into cosmic dust.

How long do you have left? How many more days will he love you for? 

How many more days do you have to love him back? 

Day 30. 

Minho is sick. 

He tried his best to conceal it from you, as he came back from his dance studio, strands of his hair clinging to his forehead, a thin sheen of perspiration above his right eyebrow. Yet, his uncharacteristic silence betrayed him, as he quietly retreated into the shower, emerging with a solemn expression on his face. 

Seated on the bed, book long forgotten by your side, you bit your lip tentatively. “You're okay?” you inquired, perched on the edge, concern etched in your gaze.

“Mm, just tired,” Minho responded, his attempt at reassurance falling short as he laid down on the floor mattress. “Can you turn off the lights?” he softly requested. “Hurts my eyes.”

“Yeah, of course. Will you sleep now?”

“I think so.”

“Okay then. Good night, Minho,” you uttered gently, the veins in your heart tangled with worry. “Good night,” he whispered in return.

In the stillness of the night, you were roused by soft whimpers escaping Minho's lips. He writhed in apparent discomfort, his features contorted with an unseen anguish. His pupils moved furiously underneath the thin layer of his eyelids, betraying the tumultuous thoughts raging in his mind. 

You've never seen Minho so disrupted in his sleep, mouth slightly hung agape as if he struggled to breathe in the depths of his dreams. Your worry for him came back to haunt you ten times fold.

You lean over the bed, gently shaking his shoulders. “Minho, wake up.”

“No... no-no, don't-don't go,” he whispers, caught in the vines of a restless dream, seemingly wrapping around his mind, trapping him in. “Minho, come on wake up,” your pleas grow more insistent, but so do his. “Don't go, s-stay,” he implores, voice broken, prompting you to abandon your bed and join him on his mattress.

“Minho!” you call out, shaking him until his eyes finally flutter open. He gasps for air— as if inhaling his first breath on this earth, shooting upright, wide-eyed and disoriented. 

His gaze locks on yours and he instantly cradles your face in his sweaty hands, bringing you closer to him until your noses bump into one another. “You didn't go,” he whispers, and you shake your head. “I'm here.”

“Fuck,” he swears, releasing his hold on you and sinking back into the pillow. 

“Minho, what's wrong?” you ask softly, afraid you're treading on stormy waters.

“I… I don't know. I don't feel good,” He admits, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt, as if the fabric morphed into a vise around his throat. A flush creeps up his neck, red dots splashing across his ivory skin. A droplet of sweat traces a slow path down his temple, as the white fabric clings uncomfortably to his warm skin.

“Do you have a fever?”you ask, placing your hand on his forehead, sensing an unusual heat radiating beneath your touch. “Minho, where is your thermometer?”

“Bedside drawer,” he breathes out.

Fetching the thermometer, you gently tug at his chin, opening his mouth to check his temperature. “Stay still”" you instruct, watching anxiously as the numbers climb steadily.

“40°C, fuck Minho, you have a really high fever,” you exclaim as he shuts his eyes, an unmistakable weariness claiming him, rendering him malleable, akin to the silk pillow he's resting on. 

“I feel dizzy,” he admits, burying his face into the covers. 

“You need to take a cold shower now,” you urge a sudden lump materializes in your throat at the sight of his suffering. 

“It's okay, I'll just sleep.”

“No, no, it's far from okay!” you almost exclaim, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as if you were peeling an onion—your own emotional layers unraveling, exposing the depth of your concern for Minho.

“Minho, please, you have a really high fever,” you plead, feeling an unexpected surge of panic at his unwillingness to cooperate.

“Yn… are you worried about me?”

“I am.”

“It feels nice. Please be worried about me more,” he mumbles, eyes still closed, eliciting an incredulous laugh from you. 

“You are so unbelievable, my god,” you pull him up and he doesn't resist, nearly stumbling on his feet.

“Okay?” you ask, running your hand through the nape of his neck.

“Mm,” he hums, burying his head in your shoulder. “Sleepy.”

“I know, you'll sleep after the shower,” you reassure softly, guiding him to the bathroom, his entire body weight leaning onto yours. There, you turn on the light, your right hand holding Minho's waist tightly as you lead him to settle atop the toilet.

“Can I take off your shirt?”

“Are you planning to undress me?” he smiles lazily, hooded eyes locked onto yours.

“No, I just-” you stammer, but he’s quick to cut you off.

“Because I don't mind.”

“I can't believe you're flirting with me while you're sick.”

“I always am, I can't help it,” he says, raising his hands as a silent signal for you to remove his shirt.

“You're awfully candid tonight,” you observe, seizing the edges of his shirt and drawing it over his head. His tongue glides across his lips, his gaze drawing tantalizingly slow over your form, and you clench his shirt tighter in your hands. He's the one with the fever, yet it's you who feels ablaze, flames of longing licking at your every sense.

“Come here,” you beckon, the icy water now flowing as you turn the knob. He reaches his hand out to you, and you grasp it, guiding him under the frigid cascade, soaking you both.

“C-cold,” he stutters, and you nod, your breath escaping in short, visible puffs.

“I-I know, just a little longer,” you reassure.

2 a.m. is a peculiar time to shower, the water droplets echoing against the tiled floor is the only sound that can be heard. That, and your labored breaths in tandem with the chilly embrace of the water filling your bones. The quiet makes way for other unspoken sentiments to surge forth, electric and palpable, heightened by the way Minho gazes at you through the liquid curtain, his hands clinging tightly to your arms for stability.

Droplets of water weave seamlessly through his hair, and an unexpected pang of jealousy grips you— you envy the liberty of those water beads as they thread through his locks, tracing the contours of his broad shoulders, nestling in the enticing recesses of his collarbones, without fearing the consequences of such acts. You don't dare look further down, wary that the rivulets on his skin may lead to your own undoing. Instead, you close your eyes thanking the stars that you weren’t wearing a white shirt, which would have turned translucent by now. You don’t even want to contemplate the consequences of such a premise.

After a few minutes, you turn off the water, stepping out of the shower and swiftly enveloping Minho in a towel.

“Go change, I have some spare clothes in here. Oh, and don't wear a top,” you instruct.

Minho chuckles quietly and you roll your eyes. “Shh. Make sure to dry your hair too.”

Taking your time in getting dressed, you peel off each wet layer, depositing them into the washing machine, before donning a spare pajama from a cabinet. You stroll to the kitchen to pour Minho a glass of water and retrieve medicine from the drawer, lingering at the counter long enough to ensure he'd be dressed by the time you return to the room.

You knock softly before opening the door, and the sight of Minho freezes you in your tracks. The room basks in warm, orange hues from the lamp's glow, playing upon Minho's skin and casting enticing shadows on the contours of his muscles—a masterpiece created by the skilled hands of light. His toned arms rest between his legs, back against the headboard, and an inexplicable urge to flee washes over you, your heart sinking to your knees in the face of his long-avoided vision of beauty.

You swallow the tumultuous thoughts raging within you before handing him his medicine, which he drinks diligently. Pressing your palm to his forehead, you're relieved to find a slight reduction in his temperature. “It will go down more once the medicine takes effect,” you assure.

“One of my students had a nasty cold. I think I got it from him,” he explains, and you nod, your hand lingering near his. Your fingers twitch as his pinky brushes against yours—akin to birds fluttering their wings in anticipation, awaiting, aching for a release from their cage, at last.

“I'm tired,” Minho sighs, closing his eyes. “Lay down,” you gently instruct, and he complies, resting his head on the pillow.

“It's cold,” he whines, swaying like a child throwing a bedtime tantrum. He's endearing, melting the frost that had gathered in your heart.

“You have a fever, silly,” you chuckle, pushing strands of his hair from his forehead, twirling them around. “Your hair's gotten longer,” you muse as you braid a tiny section of his bangs, only to undo it again.

“Can you play with my hair some more?” he requests softly.

“Of course,” you reply, threading your fingers through his locks, jet black as if all the stars in the sky collided, leaving behind nothing but a dark abyss.

“Please stay healthy, Min. Take care of yourself too.”

“But I like it more when you take care of me,” he pouts, before sighing shortly after. “I'll probably regret a lot of my words tomorrow, right?”

“Why is that?” 

“Because you don’t feel the same for me,” he confesses, leaving you silent, grappling with the echoes of his words. What do you feel for Minho?

The question jolts the breath from your windpipe violently, an unyielding force crashing against your lungs till the answer finds its footing on your tongue.

“Can I ask you something?” you finally speak, cringing at the sound of your voice disrupting the fragile quiet. 

“Anything.” 

“Where did your scar come from?” you inquire, gesturing towards the mark just below his belly button.

“I got surgery a long time ago. I’m kind of self-conscious about it,” he confesses, a bit shyly. 

“Really? But it’s beautiful, it looks like a strike of lightning,” you sincerely remark, coaxing a tender smile from Minho, unfolding like the gradual sunrises of autumn.

“This is exactly what you told me months ago.”

“Did I?”

“Mm, and then you traced it with your fingertips,” he grabs your hand, hovering it over his stomach. You can easily slip out of his grasp; you choose not to. 

“Like this?” you murmur, tracing his scar gently, fingertips grazing his skin like a lit fire, subtly enough not to scorch. His flesh tenses beneath your caress, muscles constricting as you navigate from right to left—a trajectory of dusty stars akin to the Milky Way, his skin soft to the touch, rippling beneath you with thinly veiled goosebumps.

“Yes,” he breathes out, his gaze wide, running furiously over your face. Yet, your attention lingers on his skin, shadows dancing across its surface, its honeyed hue a shade you wish to sear behind your eyelids. Your hands ascend and descend, mapping his body which blushes in response, as if his very being memorized your touch, imprinting your fingerprints onto its memory. You slide down his forearms, pausing over his fragile veins, seemingly offering you his life.

Silence envelops you, punctuated only by the weighty exhales escaping you both, for there are feelings that words cannot encapsulate, no matter how much human languages strive to, ultimately succumbing to the profundity of silence— the one language only souls comprehend.

Your hands ascend to his neck, thumb grazing the tender skin cradling his pulse. It resonates throughout your bones, echoing from his being to yours as if you’re harboring two lives within you.

“You… you could've kissed me over at the bridge,” you whisper, bringing to light the question that’s been lingering at the back of your mind. “Why didn't you?”

“I wanted you to kiss me because you wanted to. Not because you longed for our past or our future. I wanted you to want me in the present,” Minho explains, vulnerability seeping into his words, like honey melting into a warm cup of tea. 

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice a fragile murmur, even as your head leans forward, hair cascading around Minho’s face, enclosing him in an intimate curtain. Minho gently grabs your hand and cradles it against his cheek, pressing a tender kiss to the center of your palm. 

“Right now. Do you want me?” he asks simply, offering himself openly to you. 

Do you want him?

After a momentary pause, you tentatively lean in, planting a gentle kiss upon his forehead. A resonant exhale escapes him, as your lips trace a path along his cheeks, leaving behind a trail of tiny kisses. Moving to the tender skin beneath his eyes— as easily bruised as your emotions—you bestow soft pecks to it as if seeking forgiveness for every tear he shed in your name.

His eyes remained closed, his trust evident in the surrender of his being to you. The answer to your internal query is written all over his features— the hushed exhale escaping his body, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the tranquility nestled between his eyebrows. 

Yes. Yes, you do.

Your lips finally meet Minho’s in a delicate union, unmoving like rose petals folding onto one another. A surge of warmth emanates from the depths of your heart, coursing through your entire being like sunrays, submerging your soul in a tranquil white glow.

Leaning away ever so slightly, you press a tender kiss on his lower lip, enclosing it between your own. Your hand cradles his jaw, running gently through his damp strands. Your lips move against his slowly in a saccharine kiss, parting, only to meet again, in the same tenderness, perhaps a growing one as you become accustomed to the contours of his lips, to the languid moves of his mouth, following your rhythm. You were leading the dance, his lips mere puppets to your heart’s wishes. He didn't rush you, only allowed you to kiss him, whichever way you wanted. 

A pause, a moment suspended in time, your hands trembling as they rest upon his cheeks, his palm hovering above your own, offering a comforting press. The gesture reassures you in your curiosity that won’t be satiated, urging you to seal your lips on his with a tentative fervor. The world outside dissolves into a distant murmur, the seconds blending into a timeless run, you slamming the door before your worries protesting at the entrance of your mind. Tomorrow, you’ll find the answers. Tonight, you are kissing Minho.

As you press a final, lingering kiss to his velvety mouth, visions of you at peace flood your being. You see yourself sinking into the warm pool of your aunt’s country club, you see yourself walking on the beach with sand molding to the contours of your feet, you see yourself laying on the grass while observing sunrays weaving through the trees. And then, amidst your most serene memories, the act of pressing your lips to Minho stands out, the warmth of his mouth against yours eclipsing all other sensations.

Leaning away, you rest your forehead on his shoulder, and Minho's hands cradle your hair.

"Which lip balm do you use,” you giggle against his bare skin, relishing in the sweet taste of his lips.

“Yours.”

Day 31.

Minho’s nose is buried in the crook of your neck, his arm draped across the expanse of your stomach. He sinks further into you, binding himself to your body, anchoring his hold on your being. You are warm, your skin is soft to the touch and Minho doesn’t want to wake up from this tender dream, akin to plummeting into a sea of silky pillows, falling into a blanket of clouds. 

Except, he's awake, Minho realizes with a jolt. He blinks repeatedly, allowing the sunrays to stream to his eyes, his pupils dilating once they settle on you— so much their obsidian depths swallows the brown of his irises whole. You stir beneath his touch, making your cheek press upon the crown of his head. He's fully awake now, snatched from the velvet threads of his dreams made up of you, thrown into your arms once again after thirty-three days. 

A soft gasp escapes Minho’s lips, the air stolen from his lungs as if it was yours to claim. Echoes of the night replay in his mind— a fever, you tending him to me, a cold cascade of water, you tracing his scar, and then, the kiss.

You kissed him. A long shiver runs down his spine at the memory, a subtle twitch that stirs you from slumber once again. 

What does one kiss mean? The question dances wildly in Minho’s mind. More importantly, what do you want it to mean? 

Minho whines softly, closing his eyes for a few seconds, relishing in the fragrance of your hair, in the serenity that floods his being each time he’s around you. This was his most restful slumber in weeks, because you were near, his mind recognizing you, relaxing underneath your touch, drifting to a mindless sleep. 

Reluctantly, he untangles himself from you, a bittersweet departure from your arms. Work was calling his name. 

He prayed you’d call his too soon. 

….

You wake up to an empty bed, the only lingering trace of the night you spent being the tingling of your lips, as if aching to be kissed once again. You sigh, running a hand through your face. It was much easier to succumb to your heart’s wishes when it was late at night, when minho laid bare beneath your touch, so enticing in the gentlest of ways. When you were cradled by the moon’s soft glow, blanketed by the night’s cloak of darkness.

But it was light now, the sun was glaring as it streamed through the windows, exposing all the flawed ways of your mind.

What does one kiss mean? 

Nothing, if it wasn’t minho who you had kissed. If it wasn’t as tender as the meeting of your lips. 

The tomorrow you believed far quickly came, and you still beheld no answers. A few hours drifted by and you still knew nothing. What does this kiss mean? It's late afternoon and you’re strolling through the park nearby and you can't find an answer. The question rings in your mind as you sit by a bench, and you still don’t know.

“You seem preoccupied,” a voice quips up nearby and you startle. You hadn’t even noticed the man sitting by your side. His arms crossed before his chest, making impressive muscles constrict beneath the snug fabric of his black shirt, a cascade of fluffy black curls sat at the top of his head, a slight smirk etched on his lips.

“Pardon?”

“I said you seem preoccupied.”

“No i heard that,” you roll your eyes subtly, “do i know you?”

“No. You just look worried, that's all.”

“You really don’t know me?” you ask, a tad apprehensive, unsure if this was someone else your memory faulted you of. 

“No? Are you a celebrity of some sorts?” he inquires, tone much more cheerful, angling his body towards you.

“No, i’m not,” you giggle, before quieting down, an exhausted sigh escaping your body. “Is it that obvious then?”

“Yeah. I’m afraid so,” he pouts sympathetically, tone almost desolate and you huff, burying your face in your hands.

“Do you need help with something?” he offers after a while, his concern evident in the frown of his brows. You are comforted by the anonymity of talking to a stranger, you were but a blank canvas to him. You wouldn't see him again, anyways. 

“I feel lost. I can't seem to find the answers I'm looking for.”

“Maybe you’re just not asking the right questions.”

Oh. 

The guy claps his hands suddenly, long before you could dwell on his words and their implications

“I actually have a question for you!” 

“Ask away.”

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“No?” you chuckle, amusement dripping from your voice. “I don't know you?” 

“That's the point of a date.”

“Are you this bored?” you smile, arching an eyebrow at him. 

“I'm not bored. I just need to take my mind off things,” he shrugs, a slight smirk on his face. but you somehow see beyond it, right into the dull twinkle of his eyes. Maybe he also couldn’t find the answers he was looking for.

“So you're using me?” you fake outrage and he giggles, a high pitched sound that reverberates through the playground, making some kids nearby stare at you. You stifle a surprised laugh. 

“I'm not using you if I tell you upfront why I asked you out.”

“You are right, but i decline your kind offer,” you say solemnly and he nods, shaking his head in defeat.  

“Here is my card, in case you change your mind. Or need a little escape, call me,” he smiles, handing you a sleek black card before getting up and dusting his pants. “See you,” he says, as if he was sure you'd call him back. you stare in disbelief at his retreating figure, before glancing down at the card. 

Mr. Seo Changbin, you read, CEO of Gold’s Gym— the largest gym branch in the country.

Oh wow.

The amused smile lingers on your lips as you gaze ahead, lost in thought, contemplating the words spoken by Changbin. Maybe he was right; perhaps you are afraid of asking the right questions. Sucking in a deep breath, you decide to take the longer route home, eventually finding yourself outside your favorite bakery; the one you discovered on one of your many walks with Minho.

You go to open its door when an unexpected tingling at the back of your neck freezes you in your tracks. Your heart tightens in your chest as you turn around slowly, greeted by the sharp eyes of two familiar faces—Lia and Mari, your coworkers from before your accident. A tentative smile graces your lips, but the alarms of warning in your mind intensify. 

“Hey, yn!” 

“Hey, guys,” you greet back, taking a step backwards from them. 

“How have you been since… You know, your accident,” Lia pouts, but the question lacks sincerity, as if they were wearing masks before you, concealing their true intentions. You wonder which one they'll put on next.  

“Good, i’ve been good,” you force a smile, as their eyes move up and down your body, judgment dripping from their gaze.

“We wanted to come see you but we didn’t know if you were still at your listed address. Since your boyfriend lives there.”

“Oh, um, yeah, I still live there.”

“But didn’t you forget about him?” Lia feigns ignorance and you feel anxiety picking at your skin like relentless protruding needles. You want to run. 

“Lia that’s rude. I think he's her ex-boyfriend now," Mari chuckles, mockery palpable in her tone.

“Poor Minho, he must suffer a lot. Say hey to him from me,"Lia smiles, a chilling feline grin, her eyes narrowing down like a hawk peering at his prey. 

“I will.”

“We’ll see you at work. If you’re still able to keep up with the tasks,” they leave, ugly laughs echoing after them, and an urge to throw up overtakes you, the scent of pastries furthering your nausea. You hasten your steps toward your building.

You’re almost safe, almost, keys trembling in your hand as you struggle to enter your apartment, when the door adjacent to you opens. Your neighbors smile at you, although it is a gesture tinged with pity. You painfully smile back before slamming the door.

Yeart hammering in your chest, you press your back against the door, hand clawing at your throat. 

“Did you know she got into a car accident, and apparently she forgot her boyfriend?”

“Really? They were so cute though.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame.”

Their words suffocate you, stepping atop your lungs, syllables choking you from within. Is this what everything thought of you? Did they all pity you for the accident? For forgetting your lover? Did they see you as a burden, a parasite plaguing his life? Is this what Han and Chan saw when their eyes lingered on you? Is this what the librarian and florist whispered to each other each time you passed by? 

You didn’t know these people and yet they had their minds set on you, fixated storylines you couldn’t change, no matter how much you tried to rewrite them.

Your thoughts spiral like the unloosened screws of a ticking clock. Minho, the unanswered questions, the expectations of others—everything converges in the base of your mind, making your ears ring cacophonically within your skull.

You slide down the door, fingers trembling as you take out your phone then Changbin’s card from your pocket. You dial his number with haste. You needed a breather, to talk to someone who knew nothing of you, of who you were, of who you could be. 

“Hello?” his voice booms clearly through the phone.

“Changbin,” you breathe out. “Let's go on a date tomorrow.”

You were asleep when minho came back from work, your back turned towards him, soft exhales escaping your body. He didn't want to disturb you, so, he made sure to come earlier the next day, a strawberry and cream pastry in his hand that he knew you loved. Perhaps, you’d both talk about your kiss today, what it meant for you both. 

But, he doesn’t find you home. The only indication that you had just left was the lingering scent of your perfume, tickling his nose as if to mock him. Poor minho— the gardenia and honey tones spelled out in the air; the one fragrance you strictly reserve for dates. The one you used to put for him.

It looked like you found your answer after all. 

Day 33. 

“Did I keep you waiting?” 

“No, just in time,” you smile as Changbin pulls the chair in front of you, settling down with ease, a pang of confidence coloring his movements.

“How are you, today?” 

“Better, i think,” you falter under his scrutinizing gaze, your facade cracking. “I don't know, it’s all complicated,” you sigh and he nods, signaling for the waiter to take your drinks order. Chai latte for you, hot chocolate for him. 

“Spill, what’s preoccupying you?” he leans forward, arms crossed on the table. 

“You don’t even know my name,” you giggle, looking around at the warm interior. Cozy, faint music playing in the background, taupe chairs and amber tables, the smell of cinnamon rolls wafting through the air. Minho would like it here. 

“What's your name?”

“Yn.”

“Okay, Yn,” he emphasizes, a slight smirk on his face. “Spill.”

You shake your head as the waiter places down your drinks, wrapping your fingers around the heated cup, hoping the warmth would seep into your being through your palm lines. 

“Did you want to become a therapist by any chance?” you muse, arching an eyebrow at him.

“No, it’s just fixing others' problems helps me forget my own,” he winks and you snort at his honesty. it was admirable, how frank he was to a complete stranger. 

“Fine, it’s a long story, but basically…” you lick your lips, wondering what’s the best way to go on about this. “I got into a car accident and I lost my memory of the past year and so.”

Changbin winces at your words and you sigh. “Yeah. Except I was in a relationship before…”

“And you totally forgot about it?”

“I did. It hurt him a lot.” 

Changbin nods in understanding, taking a sip of his drink. He places his chin on his palm, carefully eyeing you. 

“But how does that make you feel?” 

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You're the one who lost your memories after all.” 

“I feel guilty for forgetting such a relationship.” 

“Why is that?”

“Because everyday i can see why I fell in love with him.”

“And you don't love him now?” 

“No,” you quickly say before pausing, shoulders dropping under the weight of your questioning. “I don't know. It's complicated.”

Changbin absentmindedly tugs at the charms of his bracelet, gaze flicking down to his wrist for a couple seconds, before locking on yours intently.  

“Describe him to me in one sentence.”

“You sound like my annoying French teacher,” you roll your eyes and he huffs, not offended in the least. “Look, I just want to know my competition.”

“Do you have a retort for everything?”

“What can I say? I'm witty and all that,” he shrugs confidently and you giggle before quieting down, muling over his question. “In a sentence…” you muse, fingers drumming along your cup. You don't even realize that a fond smile has unfolded on your lips, but Changbin does.

“He's the light rain that falls during spring, that makes the flower bloom and the smell of earth waft through the air. He brings things back to life, in a way.” 

Changbin smiles softly, tilting his head to the side. “Can you really not see it, or are you hiding the truth because you're scared?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Yn, he brought you back to life.” 

“I… no.” you pause, voice faltering. “Did he?” 

You see Minho pushing you on a wheelchair to your home. Minho protecting you from your mind. Minho washing your hair. Minho making you tea. Minho baring his soul to you. Minho helping you cook. Minho bringing the sea to you. Minho holding your hand. Minho comforting you before comforting himself. Minho forgiving you so you'd forgive yourself. Minho devastating himself so you'd piece your heart together. Minho, minho, minho.  

“Fuck, he did,” you whisper in realization, as a grand feeling swells in your heart suddenly, pushing your heart against the confines of your ribs. Flowers bloom into your entire body, petals melding into the coursing blood in your veins, butterflies fluttering their delicate wings across your chest, an effulgent light flooding in like the sun was spilled inside your very core. 

“Aren’t I so smart,” Changbin grins, satisfied at the awestruck expression on your face.

“What should I do?” you ask anxiously, gripping the edges of the table. 

“Go talk to him. Don't waste any more time.”

“You are right, oh my god,” you grab your purse, standing up abruptly. “I have to go, I…”

“It's okay, don't worry about me, I'm always the side chick,” he sighs in faux sadness and you giggle, swatting his shoulder. 

“Thank you so much. I'll repay you for this, I promise!” you start walking before stopping and turning around. 

“Oh and Changbin?”

“Yes?”

“You know what to do too. They made you that bracelet right? You haven't taken your eyes off of it.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, “those are my lines.”

“They are mine now too,” Laughter dances from your lips as you flee the café, taking off running to your home. It was near, merely a five-minute walk, nestled beside the playground where you encountered Changbin. Yet, urgency propels your steps, a fervent need to reach Minho swiftly. You had wasted thirty-three days, three million seconds that could’ve been spent with Minho. You don’t know how many more breaths the universe might extend, what if the stars tire of your reluctance and blow the winds of his love to another soul? You couldn’t stomach it. 

You climb up the stairs, chest heaving, breaths escaping your being in an erratic rhythm. you didn't even know what to say, your words remained unscripted, unsure of what confessions will spill forth when your eyes will meet Minho's. Yet, you're not worried. You know that whatever surfaces would be surging from your heart. 

What you don’t anticipate is for an uncharacteristic silence to find you at home, the scent of your perfume faintly wafting into the air. Minho sat in the living room, a bag by his side, his head downcast. The cats watching you from the corner of the room. 

A desert- dry sensation clings to your mouth, your tongue heavy as if crafted from lead. Your once vibrant excitement extinguishes, much like a match blown out, leaving only a lingering stench behind. 

“Minho?” 

“Yn,” he responds, eyes actively avoiding yours. “I was waiting for you. I... I'll be gone for a few days, a week at most.”

“What? Where to?”

“I already told my parents to come pick up the cats so you don't have to worry about feeding them. The fridge is stacked, so you-” his voice falters, “so don't worry about that either.”

“Minho... what-what are you saying?”

“I need time away, alone. I'm sorry, I tried, I tried so hard, Yn, but there is only so much I can take,” he whispers, and your heart shatters, tiny million pieces blown away by the wind.

“Minho, look at me,” you crouch before him, your hands resting on his knees. He still avoids your gaze.

“Minho, please,” you plead, and his eyes finally lock on yours. They glisten with tears, reflecting light akin to a celestial mirror.

“My heart hurts so much, but it's not your fault. Loving me once doesn't mean you'll love me again, and it's okay if you want to see other people. I just... I need to go somewhere, for a little. I need to make room for the pain because it's overwhelming me,” he confesses, his words eating at your insides. Was it too late? Have you lost him?

Minho gently takes away your hands before standing up. Fear overwhelms you as you watch his shoulders drop, his eyes glazing over the walls one last time. He will come back, but not here, not to you. He's bidding goodbye to the home and you because you killed his hope. He would leave everything behind but echoes of him that you'd be sentenced to hear alone, every day, every night.

“Minho,” you seize his wrist, “Minho, don't go.”

"Why?" he asks in the smallest voice you've heard from him. He's like a river cut off by a dam, yearning to run back home, to flow the way it used to, back to you. His heart rings loudly in his ears, pain overwhelming him, yet your touch calms him down. You are the knife and the medicine, the scorch and the cooling balm; you are everything at once.

“I'll make room in your heart, I'll take out all the bad weeds and start again. Just don't go.”

“What do you mean?” He's breathless, hope inflating in his heart, clouds parting to reveal the sun.

“I know things won't go back to the way they used to. I don't think I'll ever remember everything, but I want you to tell me,” there is a lump growing in your throat, but you push it away. Your voice breaks and cracks, yet you still speak. You need him to know.

“I want you to take me to all the places we've visited and then tell me how we fell in love in them. I want you to show me how I loved you,” your hand trails down his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, pulling him closer. “I want to learn you, what you like, what you hate, what makes you angry and what makes your heart flutter.”

“And I want to love you, not because you love me, but because my heart chose you," your hand travels up his arm, settling right down at his cheek. Your thumb swipes across his tender skin. “I choose you over and over again. It's you, Minho, it's always been you.”

“You want me again?” he says tentatively, eyes wide, pouring onto yours—your galaxy to love, to admire, to peer into for the rest of your life.

“I want you. Please don't go.”

“Swear it, please.”

Instead of ephemeral words, you softly press your lips to his, as you did last night. “I swear,” you whisper against his mouth. “I'm falling in love with you,” you peck his lips, hand snaking up against his neck, moving his mouth closer to yours. “Not falling,” you say, pressing your forehead to his, nuzzling his nose against your own. “I'm coming back. I'm coming home.”

“You came back to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

“I'll always do,” you promise, a grin overtaking your mouth. “Can you kiss me, Minho?”

Minho blinks in amazement, his eyes darting all over your face, each blink resembling the capture of an image. He's stitching this moment into his mind, the hue of your cheeks and the gleam in your eyes. He missed the way you're looking at him, the slight shiver running through you as he brushes his lips against your own, slowly savoring the feel of you so near. His hands find your jaw, cradling it softly, and then he kisses you, just like how he dreamed of doing for the past month.

The kiss is dizzying, far different from your previous one. You’re no longer grasping at elusive cigarette smoke, fleeting through the gaps between your fingers. You are no longer awaiting a beacon of remembrance to shine upon your mind. You have minho, and he's delicately nibbling your lower lip, eliciting a soft gasp from you. His tongue glides across the tingling expanse, soothing down the pang of hurt, asking you for more. You willingly give it to him in a fervent, whirlwind kiss, his hands finding solace in the curve of your waist, while yours become poets, weaving tales in his hair, tugging at his strands the way you've always yearned to. 

It is muscle memory, to press your body against his, to gasp into his mouth, to match the rhythm of his tongue, the way it circles tantalizingly around yours, the way you groan against his mouth, as he briefly parts from you, his giggle a sweet prelude to meeting your lips once again with increased fervor. His tongue weaves words against the roof of your mouth— I missed you, I want you, I love you.

Minho snakes his hand around your lower back, guiding you back until his legs find the couch. He eases you down, fingers hooked through the loop of your jeans. You kiss him again, a cadence as natural as breathing. Time unravels, rewinding to mend the fractures in his heart, erasing thirty-three days of heartbreak in mere seconds. You kiss him, again and again, thirty three days of longing exploding in your touch.  

“Are you crying?” you whisper against his lips, your thumbs delicately swiping across his damp cheeks. Unaware of his flowing tears, he closes his eyes, embarrassment coursing through him. “I'm here,” you reassure, peppering his face with kisses – from his ear to his nose, cheeks to the corner of his mouth. “I'm here, honey. I want you.”

“Only me?” he questions, tone fragile.

“Only you,” you kiss him again, tenderly, inhaling life through his lips. “Let me show you how much, hm?”

Your lips trace a path down his neck as you draw his shirt over his head. An ivory canvas, he is meant for you to mark, to touch however you desire. Your lips graze the scar on his stomach, kissing it in the way you've ached to do since two nights before.

You're sinking to your knees before him and yet you’re the one in control, rippling shivers all over his skin. He’s impatient, needing you close, so he quickly pulls you up, before hovering over you, his hands drawing everywhere, running wild across your body. He missed the plush feel of your skin, the contours of your body that he yearned to explore once again. He's a prisoner deprived of the light for so long, sinking into the sun once again. 

Minho's eyes never leave yours, as he touches you, moves in you in ways your soul seems to remember. He's gentle, removing strands of your hair out of your eyes, smoothing down the side of your head. All encompassing, drinking in your moans and groans, burning you up and soothing you all at once. “Good?” he asks, again and again, waiting to hear your affirmation before picking up speed again. Your answer is yes each time he asks, as he seals the void in you, the one he's been carefully stitching up for the past weeks. You store his glazed eyes and scrunched eyebrows in the gallery of your mind, you make room for new memories with Minho. 

You're overwhelming him, in the most beautiful ways, contradicting feelings coursing through him like a rain flood. He's aching yet relieved to have you beneath him, lost in waves of pleasure so he grabs your hand to anchor himself, entwining his fingers with yours, before bringing it to his mouth, placing a tender smile on your palm. You beam at him, trust reflecting in your eyes as you bare your being to him. It is a rare fortune to be chosen by you not once, but twice, he can't believe how lucky he is to have you as his guiding star.  

Your eyes never leave Minho’s, a shimmering pool mirroring your emotions. You see everything you feel in him—your better reflection. You had missed him, you were home now. “Miss you,” he whispers as he buries his face in your neck, seemingly hearing your thoughts. “Missed you so much,” he mumbles as your hands tangle in his hair, tears descending gently upon your cheeks, as they are on his. “Please don't leave me again.”

“I won't- I won't,” you promise, as light floods your vision, reaching the pinnacle of your pleasure. Colors burst before your eyes in a kaleidoscope, resembling shades of Minho— the warm brown of his eyes, the honeyed hue of his skin, the pink tint of his ears whenever he's embarrassed, the red of his lips, swollen as they kiss you. Tonight and tomorrow and every day after this one. 

Day 1.

In the hushed aftermath, your head rests upon Minho’s bare chest, listening to the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat, calming down as the seconds trickle by. His arm curls around your body protectively, keeping you from slipping off the couch. Your knuckles trail up and down his shoulders, soothing the places where you had scratched too hard. His hand seeks yours, delivering a kiss as tender as the silence enveloping you—quiet and secure. The forgotten past doesn't matter; you will rewrite your story once more.

“Do you think our designated stars are sad somewhere far away?”

“Why would they be?” 

“I don't know. Don't you think it's bittersweet how they missed out on so many days of loving one another?”

“I don't know, did they?” he muses, planting a tender kiss on your shoulder. “I think mine loved you all the same.” 

[cherry-pop-elf]

Birthday Boys

It’s Fred and George’s birthday, and you wanted to give them something very special. It’s hard to give them something like that, but you are married to them for a reason. As if they would ever settle for someone boring, now would they?

Warnings: 18+, Double Penetration (A and V), teasing, breeding, overstimulation, dirty talk, birthday suits ((hehe)) lipstick kink(?) and of course Fred Lives. Because I said so ((George still missing an ear tho! Bleh-!))

“Well what’s this?” George would blink, as a paper airplane would land itself on his desk. Fred would raise a brow, as he set down the ink he had grabbed for his younger twin. It’s April First. The ever busiest day of the year, and their birthday as well. That meant they were swamped with work, and just trying to finish the day. The shop may be closed, now, but damn they were still drowning.

“Don’t just stare at it, open it up-!” Fred would bonk the younger twin, with his wand, making him fix at his hair. He would give a grumble, as he unfolded the neat little parchment. By the hand writing alone, he knew it was from you. What was written made him a bit flushed in the cheeks. Always was the more emotional of the two, so Fred was quick to look over his shoulder. Reading along.

To my special Birthday Boys. You two have been working so hard all day. Such a wonderful occasion deserves a present, doesn’t it? I better expect you to leave paper work for later, and hurry up to our bedroom. It gets rather chilly being all alone. I don’t want your present to get cold either. Not when I worked so hard to wrap it all up so nicely in purples and oranges. If you don’t want it, I’ll be more than happy to make use of it all myself. Sincerely yours~!

Never had they side alone aparated so fast in their life. Gave you quite the startle, to suddenly see them. You should have figured they wouldn’t waste time, but boy they move fast. Even after all these years together, it catches you by surprise. Though, this time they were the ones with wide eyes this time around.

There you were, in the middle of the bed, dressed to the nines. A array of orange, and purple, fabric against your skin. Stockings of lace. Done up so pretty to mimic that of a fire work, with little dots all around. The fingerless arm length gloves had to be, as to help bring focus to how bare the rest of you were. Nothing else to your skin, but your own birthday suit. Besides so heavy makeup, because you knew they loved it when it got all ruined. What really sold it was the bows all over you. Around your thighs, wrists, neck, just for the comical effect of a birthday present. Hey, it’s April Fools. Gotta get silly.

“H-“ Before you could get a single syllable out, they were on you. Like starving dogs. Clothes were flying, and your body was quick to be sandwiched between the two men. Your neck attacked in kisses, and their ever rough hands trailing your skin. Tracing all the invisible lines they had tracked on you.

“Guess you like the surprise-?” You joked, as you were leaning yourself against Fred. While George was enjoying your front. Sucking plenty of hickies on your skin, while Fred was enjoying playing with your nipples. Had you squeak, and flush, as he was enjoying the happily given toy.

“Taking that as a yes-“ You sighed, as you were just a meal for the wolves. Wolves that always had your flavor of flesh in mind. It just felt so good to be so desired. To be wanted so badly, it could hurt. Especially after such an exhausting day, they needed to get that pent up steam out.

“Been thinking about you all day long-“ George would sigh, as he stole your lips into his own. Happily allowing your lipstick to stain his own, while your hips rubbed onto the building hard on in Fred’s lap. Just a tangle of wild limbs, and you couldn’t have loved anything more.

“Come on, save some for me. Give em here-“ And you would be stolen by Fred next. Making sure he got his lips stained all the same. George didn’t complain, as he would let the lipstick residue trail over your exposured chest. Designing you, as Fred let his tongue do any talking he had left.

You enjoyed the sensual, and slow, pace. Made you fall into the mood far easier. But, you knew why they were being so gentle. Gentle starts always ended with you drooling and utterly delirious. They were going to destroy you, to your core, and that had you so hopeful.

“Just look at you.” They breathed, in unison, as you were just a doll in their hands. Your body leaning into Fred’s, with his legs spread to make sure you were comfortable. Meanwhile George was above you, on his knees, and taking in the sight. Just starving for you, while Fred was busy with the bedside table. Making sure to grab some lube, as you realized what you signed up for.

“Don’t say I never treat you.” That had them laugh, at your comment. Sweet little feathery kisses were given to your face, and neck, while the line was passed to each other. Slicking themselves up, before using the residue to make sure you were nice and comfortable. A thank you, for such a wonderful present.

“Wrapped up in such a pretty bow.” Fred sighed, as he stuck two fingers inside of you. That had you bite your lip, before the mimicking motion from George made it slip out. Fred was in your ass, and George was in your core. Able to copy each other’s movements in perfect unison. Some call it disturbing, you call it heaven.

“Damn, wet as hell. Don’t even need lube. We’re so excited to get to be our gift, weren’t you? Isn’t that sweet Fred-?” “Oh the ever sweetest George. We love it when you get excited. Gets us excited.” They echoed each other, while making sure to lather as much as they could. Knowing you would need it, and still remembering to put your needs first. Just gentle motions, as they made sure to cover as much as two fingers could. Teasing away at your sensitive spots, just to make you squirm.

“I can’t wait any more.” “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” And like that, the fingers were removed. You whined at it, which made them smirk. Now, you were feeling them pressed against you. They planned to go in, at the exact same time. It made your heart race. To imagine, being stuffed so quickly.

“How about we-“ But they broke through the tight barrier, and your mind was mush. Not so much from pain, just the over whelming sensation of being so full. To feel your insides grow so tight, as your muscles were being pulled yet pushed at the same time. Was a fluttery experience. Somehow so light, yet couldn’t be heavier.

“Fuck fuck fuck-“ You heard Fred whisper into your ear, while your blurry eyes could make out that George was hardly able to keep his own open. Biting into his stained lip, as to not whimper too early. To last, but damn. You knew he was fighting for his life.

Once they were both fully inside, the three of you just stayed that way. A mixture of wanting to make sure you were adjusted, and them not wanting to end the game so soon. How embarrassing that would be. Least that meant you were being pampered. With heavy breathing, and wet kisses on your skin. A means to help you relax, and it worked.

“Lucky me, I get to be the first one to pump you full. Isn’t that nice of Fred? To let me be the one to pump your little womb full?” That had your face burn. Yeah, you three were trying, but none of you exactly went into to much details on how such a thing would plan out. Given Magic was involved, with everything, isn’t a dumb guess to think these two will somehow knock you up at the same time. Just made you all the more flushed, as Fred would rub over your stomach.

“Don’t worry. When he’s done with you, we will switch. I can’t just waste it all in your ass. I love that cute thing, but I love you being full of out kids more.” Fred moaned, as he finally moved his hips. Just in time with George’s. The feeling of two at once, in different holes. Truly a fuzzy experience.

Your hands found George’s shoulders, while Fred grabbed your legs. Keeping you spread as wide as they could, as they rocked their hips into you. Such perfect calculations to make sure your mind stayed in that blissful fuzz. Was leaving you with your nails into Georges skin.

“Come on, love. You gotta moan louder for me. I’m missing an ear over here. Give me some noise-!” George cackled, as Fred took that as a que to pick up the pace. Your head was rolling itself back, and leaned on Fred’s shoulder. Giving George exactly what he wanted, after all. Louder moans, whimpers, gasps, and plenty of smacking flesh to fill in between.

“So cock drunk, and the night hardly started.” Fred teases, as he bit into your shoulder. Needing to steady himself, but the feeling was too much. George would have agreed, if it were vocal. They were getting sloppy with their movements, and you wouldn’t last long either. Especially since George was now planting sloppy kisses against your lips. Leaving you two a jumble mess of spit and moans.

Hearing their desperate breaths, and whimpers of trying to hold on, it was what brought you over the edge. By proxy, your tightening grip in your body had them gasp. Their hips stuttering, as they came inside of you. Throbbing, and having a shake in their system.

Riding it out was such a warm feeling. Felt like everything was on fire, in all the best ways. Already so exhausted, and ready to just sleep, but….They weren’t making any April fools joke with you. Just as your eyes closed, they moved.

You have a squeak, before a breathy moan, as they pulled out. Left such a mess between all your legs, before you were flipped around. Your hands now on Fred’s chest, and ass presented to George. Out right lining up again.

“Perk-A-Boo~!” Fred teases, as he poked your nose. Just as you wiggled it, they thrusted right back into you. The stimulation of being restuffed was mind melting. Right after your high, and with so much already running down your legs. The sounds of all made were so loud, and wet. Was utterly thrilling.

Fred was happy to drink in your moans, hogging as many kisses as he could. Meanwhile George was happily feeling over your hips. Letting those hard working hands trace the lipstick marks shared between them both.

“Don’t do poor Georgie like that, come on. You gotta moan a little louder. His hearing isn’t so good.” Fred would tease, as he forced your chin up. Trying to amplify your desperate sounds. It was all too much. You were going to reach your peak again, with tears running down your face. Smearing away the remains of your makeup.

“Just hang on a little more. I want to make sure I get nice and deep in there.” Fred comforted, as George planted kisses down your back. Making sure your skin was covered in whatever remained of their lips.

Everything was so blurry, but you knew this. You came again, and your insides were coated once more. The ringing in your ears were dancing with the shakey moans of your lovers. So happy, and satisfied, with wrecking you so much.

When you came back to reality, you realized the lingerie you wore was gone. Seems they made sure to give you a sponge bath, before they were knocked out. You between them, as they snuggled you.

Fred behind you, as he held your stomach. Ever a man that loved feeling your ass against him. Meanwhile George was infront of you, tangling your legs together, as he snuck his arms just above Fred’s. His face under your chin, so he could listen to your heart beat.

“Happy birthday, you two.” You whispered, as you made sure they both were kissed on their heads. Freckled smiles crossed their lips, as they snuggled closer. Fred, enjoying his nose in your neck, while George gave you a squeeze. Maybe you should gift wrap yourself more often.

[yu6mi]

TAKE MY BREATH AWAY!

₊˚⊹♡ Includes: Dazai Osamu.

sypnosis: being touched by you seems like a dream.

A/N: this is pure fluff but also suggestive??? so careful w that!! i think I CAN'T TELL IF THIS IS TOO SHORT OR NOT HELP im way too sleepy

Touch. It morphed into different feelings depending on the person who initiated it. 

If it was hard or rough, it would hurt. If it was soft and tender, it felt good. If someone you hated touched you, you hated it, too. But if someone you loved touched you, you loved it, too.

Touch was difficult to understand; some people hated being touched, while others loved being touched.

It was strange that someone so touchy felt this flustered just by a singular, gentle touch from someone who hated touching anyone.

Dazai didn't know if he could put the emotion he was currently experiencing into words. Because 'love' was a strong word for someone who had the reputation of a liar. He didn't even know if he was allowed to have such feelings for someone— or something. Well, it didn't matter to him right now. Too focused on his thoughts.

Why?

Well, because delicate, warm fingers were tracing the shape of his humanity, touching his body like it was some type of delicate work of art. Experimenting between firm touches and tender caresses from his jaw to his bandaged torso. Dazai's hands are placed on your hips as your legs are splayed across his lap. At this point, the air is barely clinging to his lungs, and he feels like the only thing he's breathing is your affection.

You kiss his cheek again and again. Lipstick stains showing your existence in his face.

"You're surprisingly touchy tonight..." He muses, drawing soothing thumbs on your thighs. You nodded with a smile before gently attacking his bandaged neck with tender kisses, pressing softly. Like he would break. 

"Am I really?" You muttered so delicately that it melted his heart. He released a small chuckle in reply. "I just missed you too much."

One of his hands went to her cheek, caressing it softly. Her head moved slightly to press a singular small kiss on his palm; he couldn't help but compare her to a puppy being caressed. "I can tell."

Dazai was sprawled over his futon with you on top of him, pampering him after a particularly long mission, kissing every place your lips would find, caressing every part of him just to feel him. Tattooing her kisses on his collarbones while getting rid of any fabric that separated their hearts.

"Are you comfortable?" She whispered closely, her back arched on his lap, her lips on his ear. He couldn't have been better.

"You're so pretty, 'Samu.." She sat back again on his lap, and whispered for only him to hear. Her index finger was drawing hearts over his stomach. Making Dazai shiver at the not-so-innocent action. "Though, you probably already know that."

How nice it seemed to be able to dote on someone. "I do, but I like it when you remind me."

A small laugh comes from her as Dazai sits straight. He gently kisses her nose and presses his forehead against hers. Like no amount of proximity seemed to be enough for them.

Their lips were only inches from touching, their warm breaths caressing each other like a soft wind. Her fingers meandered to the belt strap of his pants, causing him to blush and hide his face in the crock of her neck. Pressing a gentle kiss on it, trying to hide how nervous he actually felt. Because it was you.

A low groan came from him as soon as you touched his boxers. He couldn't help it, you felt so right against him. Dazai shallowed thickly, and with a smirk, he asked. "What are you doing, hm?"

Though, he stopped smirking when he saw the confused puppy expression that was on your face. Before a small, cute smile remplaced it. "Isn't it obvious?"

"I'm trying to wake you up."

The sunlight of his small apartment greeted him as soon as he opened his eyes. Little creases of confusion plastered themselves on his face as he tried to figure out what you meant. Though, he didn't need to.

His phone rang with the call of his partner, Kunikida. And he couldn't help but sigh as he gently slammed his heated face.

With rosy cheeks and a warm body, he groaned. He should've known, It was too good to be true.

With a pounding heart, he hugged his pillow. Trying to fall asleep again.

Maybe, if he tried hard enough, the dream will continue. He can endure a scolding from Kunikida, but only if dream-you gives him a sweet, lovely kiss.

[iovetecchou]

If I Can't Have You... ⧸ Jouno Saigiku

༞ Part 1.

༞ Contains...! angst, dark themes, detailed descriptions of anxiety and panic attacks, gaslighting, mind-breaking, slight!physical abuse, very toxic relationship, asshole!jouno, just absolute pain and suffering. use of pet names (darling, princess)

༞ GN Reader.

༞ 1,557 words.

Everything after that fateful encounter with Jouno was a blur. You have no idea how you even made it back to your shared apartment in one piece. His venom-laced words rang through your mind— over and over again.

You were in shock. This whole time you were nothing but an “Easy fuck.” to Jouno. The man you loved more than yourself. The man who took over your every thought, every action, every semblance of happiness.

You gave everything up for him, and for what? All you could focus on was the ringing of your heartbeat in your ears. Your fingertips going numb from all the anxiety coursing through your body.

“Ah… it’s six already? I need to start making dinner.”

You thought out loud. Your body moving on its own, as though you weren’t controlling your actions. Even now, Jouno held the strings. Present or not… he owned you.

Your brain couldn’t possibly comprehend that this was your reality. All that echoed in your mind was,

“If you so much as think of leaving me… I will know, and I will kill you.”

You knew you were screwed. Even if you began packing your things now, leaving and never looking back. Jouno would find you; and kill you. As promised.

Your mind played out constant scenarios of how you could escape and run away without a trace. But it was futile; Jouno would use everything in his arsenal to hunt you down.

Tears blinded your vision as you continued to prepare supper. Your shaky hands placing two plates atop the dining room table; an act that once brought a smile to your face now tainted.

Meals always brought you two together. You always valued those times spent with Jouno. Laughing over stories about his ‘idiotic’ colleagues from the day as his lips curled up into a soft smile. Complimenting you on your meal, telling you, “No one could compare.”

So all of that was a show? Just an act he maintained to keep you complacent? Did all of your cherished moments truly mean nothing?

The door swung open just as you finished up. Causing fear to course through your entire being. You froze as Jouno's words rang through your shared apartment.

“Princess, I’m home! I knew that divine smell from the hallway was coming from our place. Nothing compares to your cooking, darling.”

You physically could not speak. The words were trapped in your throat as you turned to face Jouno. He was smiling sweetly your way, walking over toward the table and taking his seat.

“Well? Aren’t you going to give me a kiss hello? I did just get home from a hard day of work, you know.”

Why was he acting as though nothing was wrong? You were more than certain that everything that went down today was real… right?

“O-Oh… right, I’m sorry.”

You managed to squeak out. Shaky legs made their way toward an awaiting Jouno. You placed your clammy hand atop the table for support. Leaning in closely toward him, even though every fiber of your being was screaming at you to pull away.

The second your lips captured his, you felt sick. No longer did his embrace feel safe; quite the opposite. Jouno smirked within the kiss at your physical reaction. Your heart was beating a mile a minute, your body trembling in place.

You pulled back as fast as you could. Noticing the lipstick stains on Jouno's collar as you stood upright. You felt nauseous, your stomach turning in knots from the sight alone.

"What's wrong, princess? You seem shaken up."

Jouno quirked a brow, reaching a hand out to soothe your hip. You took a quick step back, dodging his embrace completely. Jouno looked stunned for a split second before his expression twisted into something sinister.

His lips were curved into a nasty frown, eyebrows knitted where they lay. Jouno's whole expression became shaded, and his body became tense too. Your eyes widened as you watched his hands ball into fists from where they rested beside him.

"Oh… so there is a problem then, hm?"

His voice was razor sharp, not even a trace of Jouno's usual witty tone could be found. All you could do was shake your head in disagreement as you took a few more steps backward. Startling yourself as the cold countertop grazed your lower back.

Jouno rose to his feet slowly, making his way to stand before you. He towered over you, his hand grasped your chin firmly. Tugging your face up toward his own before he spoke up once more. "What… did you go mute? Use your fucking words."

"Yes..?"

His fingers dug into your cheeks as he forcefully shook your head in agreement. Pulling a small yelp from your lips.

Jouno smirked at your painful cry, making your heart ache even further. You scored your bottom lip with your teeth, not letting him get that gratification off your pain again today.

"Or no..?"

His grip got even harsher as he shook your head in disagreement this time. A shit-eating grin etched into his features, immensely enjoying the way you shook in his grasp.

To say you were fed up at this point was an understatement. Your fear subsided for a moment, being replaced by rage. You brought your hands up to grasp Jouno's hand. Yanking his digits away from your face and pushing him backward with everything you had in you.

"Of course— yes! There's a fucking problem. Why are you acting like nothing happened today? I walked in on you practically fucking another person— and you told me if I try to leave, you'll kill me. So of course there's a fucking problem, darling."

Jouno's smirk only grew wider at your words. His maniacal laughter filled the room, fueling your irritation even further.

"What? What's so fucking funny, Sai? Hm..? Tell me, was all of this— our whole relationship just a cruel joke to you? I gave up everything for you, everything. My family, friends— hell, I gave my whole life for you! And all you can do is fucking laugh in my face?"

His laughter only picked up the more you spoke. His hands grasped the edge of the dining table as he leaned back for support. Throwing his head back, reveling in his own amusement.

You couldn't think clearly. Your whole world was turned upside down in less than twenty-four hours. The person you loved more than anything was now nothing more than a stranger to you. But the worst part of it all; was that you still loved him— at least, a specific version of him. The one he showed to you, and you alone.

You reached out to him, balling the front of his uniform in your fists. You shook Jouno with all your might. Tears of frustration rolled down your cheeks as you cried out,

"Stop laughing— stop fucking laughing! I hate you, I fucking hate you…"

"No… you don't, princess. And we both know it. I bet the day I asked you to be mine was the greatest day of your life, hm? But to me… it was just another Friday. It meant nothing to me— you mean nothing to me. Accept that this is your life now, Y/N."

His words rattled through your whole being. Cutting you up from the inside out. Jouno was right… that was the happiest day of your life.

Was it so wrong of you to assume he felt the same way? That your relationship, the time you spent together, held any comprehensible significance to him?

You were too exhausted to fight with him further. Too shocked to even process that this was your life now. In that moment of realization, you didn't feel anything anymore. The tears still flowed freely, blurring your vision; but you couldn't care less.

"Accept that this is your life now, Y/N."

"This is your life now, Y/N."

Those words played through your mind like a record that endlessly skipped. You knew you couldn't escape; Jouno would kill you. Your family had no clue where you were and you didn't have friends anymore.

This was the end of the line for you. So were you going to accept it, or fight it?

Your body froze; your hands released the front of Jouno's uniform and went limp at your sides.

All of a sudden, your head snapped up. Jouno listened to your every move, trying to anticipate how you would react next.

"Darling, your dinner is getting cold. Why don't we eat before it all goes bad, hm?"

Your voice was eerily calm as you walked around the table. Making up his plate; as if nothing was awry. Jouno couldn't help the chuckle that slipped past his lips as he took his seat.

He didn't say a word, simply just honing in on your reactions. Sensing for anything out of place, he couldn't find such things. Your heartbeat was regular, body temperature was back to normal. And he couldn't hear any wavering in your voice.

He had broken you; completely. There was no fight, no drive left inside you. All that was left was a shell of the person you once were. An altered version of yourself, one that Jouno molded you to be.

"Same time tomorrow for dinner, Sai?"

"Indeed, same time tomorrow."

[haddonfieldwhore]

opposites attract - chad meeks-martin

chad meeks-martin x goth!reader

❤️🔪 no spoilers for scream 6 🔪❤️

warnings: nsfw at the end, i got carried away because i love chad so much

in high school:

* when you and chad had been paired up for a project in one of your classes, you expected the worst. not to judge a book by its cover, but in your experience most jocks were not the most friendly to people who dressed the way you did

* you instantly relaxed once you actually met chad however; his loveable goofball personality a welcome surprise

* your parents are shocked when you bring home a tall, handsome football player, but you assure them it’s just to work on a school project

* you realize you have a crush on him when you both get an a+ on the project, and he can’t help but hug you to celebrate. you tense up at first, but relax and hug him back

* golden retriever & black cat dynamic >>>

* chad is a romantic, and always buys you little gifts or brings you flowers. he brings you a black rose when he asks you out

* he’s the perfect amount of clingy. he loves holding your hand or walking with his arm around you. he walks you to all your classes always kisses you before he leaves

* his football teammates can’t believe it when you show up to school together with you wearing his letterman jacket (you’ll excuse the bright colours just this once)

* sitting with his friends at the football games. you and mindy bond over horror movies (assuming you’re into them)

* he gets (playfully) jealous when mindy steals you for movie nights. chad usually ends up third wheeling, holding you close on the couch while he pouts because he’s not getting all your attention

* martha loves you, and you cannot tell me that she wouldn’t buy you anything with a skull on it that she saw, because she thought you would like it 🥺

* some of your more popular classmate are insanely jealous btw (mainly the mean girls) but chad only has eyes for you.

* chad is super protective of you. if anyone says anything bad about you he will tell them off, pulling you close to him

* when the ghostface attacks start happening, he somehow becomes even more protective. some people at school are quick to (jokingly or not) accuse you of being the killer just for the way you dress / your interest in darker things, but chad is having none of it. (you’re not off the hook just for dating him, but he is no more suspicious of you than he is of anyone else)

* he tells you he loves you for the first time when you both make it through the attack at ambers house alive

in college / new york :

* when you both get into the same college together, he’s so excited. he couldn’t imagine you being anywhere far away from him after everything you both went through

* alternatively, if you don’t want to go to college, he asks you to come to new york with him anyway, and you move in with sam and tara

* if you have tattoos, he loves to trace them with his fingers, admiring the designs

* you were *this* close to convincing him to get a nose ring when he chickened out. maybe one day

* there’s a drawer of his clothes at your apartment / a pile of his clothes in your dorm because he sleeps over so often

* chad gives the best cuddles and you cannot convince me otherwise. he’s always warm and you fit so perfectly into his arms he never wants to let go of you

* you can disagree if you want but i think he would let you paint his nails at least once

* he loves watching you do your makeup; he thinks it’s very interesting. one time when you were both drunk, he let you put eyeliner on him. the way you straddled his lap and bit your lip to focus while delicately holding his face to apply the eyeliner drove him crazy

* he loves the way your dark lipstick stains the skin of his neck when you kiss him / leave hickeys there

* speaking of hickeys, he knows exactly where to place them so you can’t hide them :)

* chad is always gentle with you in bed, since he knows he strong and could potentially hurt you

* of you want him to be rough with you, you have to assure him like a million times that you’re okay / that you’re enjoying yourself

* as time goes on he grows more comfortable as he gets to know you better intimately, and he absolutely aims to please you every time (he 100% knows what he’s doing)

* he would be the best boyfriend ever and i stand by that

[senditcolton]

do i really have to tell you?

summary - do i really have to chart the constellations in his eyes? do i really have to tell you how he brought me back to life? (for  @smileysvech​​ : happy birthday!!)

word count - 6.7k (flashback in italics)

warnings - this is a cheating fic. a mutual cheating fic. brady is married in this story. the reader is engaged. they are having an affair. dead dove, do not eat. [but i did use a fictional name for Brady’s wife] (also vague smut at the very beginning and a toxic/emotionally abusive relationship)

Disclaimer: Reading/creating content for married players isn’t for everyone. Please don’t read if you don’t vibe with it, but don’t attack me or others!

Late March

The pair of wine glasses sit silently on the table in front of the fireplace.

A glimpse causes you to notice the small imprint of your lipstick on the rim of one of them. The thought that you would have to clean it off, make it disappear without a trace, crosses your mind only briefly before your eyes flutter close again, your head thrown back onto the plush pillow.

You can feel the sweat clinging to your skin as you blindly reach down, a hand running through Brady’s hair, his head buried between your thighs as he continues to slowly, painstakingly, take you apart with his tongue.

The fire was a good idea earlier in the night. It was unusually cold for March and the flames kept the two of you warm at first. There was also no denying that the flickering embers added an ambiance to the moment – made this feel safe. Like there was nothing to fear. And there wasn’t. Not right now at least.

The house was empty. Silent. Except for the bedroom in which the two of you currently reside. The crackling logs the only accompaniment to your soft moans.

A strangled gasp falls from your lips as Brady hits that spot that made you see stars, your back arching and a small whine emanating from your throat. From under your eyelashes, you see Brady’s deep brown eyes flicker up to you, before he repeats the motion, his strong hands holding your hips in place.

There is no choice but to let him continue which you gladly allow, your fingers tangling deeper in his locks. Your breaths come in short staccato gasps as Brady’s mouth moves against your core, drawing you closer and closer to the edge. It only takes one final stroke of his skilled tongue to make you fall apart, muscles tensing as you let the waves of your latest orgasm crash through you, the near silent moan escaping your lips.

Brady stays situated between your thighs, prolonging your release before removing himself from your center, trailing soft barely-there kisses up your hipbones… stomach… ribs… breasts… collarbones… until he finally comes to hover over you. There is a small pause as he waits for your eyes to open. Once you do, you can’t help but notice the scar on his chin, emphasized by the shadows of the firelight, before he is crashing his lips into yours.

Another muffled moan is drawn from you at the taste of your release lingering on his lips. The same lips that you chase when he pulls away, your actions causing a small chuckle to rumble from Brady’s chest. The hand that wasn’t supporting his weight comes to brush away the lingering strands of hair stuck to your face, his fingers trailing down before holding the side of your neck, his thumb tracing over your jawline.

You try not to shiver as the cold metal band on his ring finger touches the delicate skin of your throat. But it is impossible not to. And although Brady notices, he doesn’t say anything, just shoots a melancholy smile down to you.

There’s nothing that you can do but mirror his expression as you push away the graying strands of his hair from where they fell over his forehead. All the while pretending not to notice the diamond of your own engagement ring catching the dancing firelight, making it sparkle.

An incessant reminder that you shouldn’t be doing this. That this was wrong, in so many ways.

But you didn’t plan on this happening. You didn’t imagine anything like this would come out of that snowy day back in January, back when you first met Brady.

How were you to know?

January

You needed to get out of the house. You didn’t care if it was one of the coldest days on record. You couldn’t stand to be there for a second longer.

Something that you couldn’t explain to anyone, especially not your friends. Mostly because your friends were his. And they would never understand.

The house was beautiful; big, fancy, a worthy signpost of your fiancé’s wealth and your comfortable future of picket fences and tasteful parties. But it was empty. In more than one sense of the word.

Your fiancé was gone off on business, again. He seemed to be gone more often than he used to. But even when he did inhabit the same halls as you, you still felt lonely. The house was devoid of warmth… of love.

The change came on slowly. When you first met Cal, he was everything a woman could’ve wanted: rich and handsome. And he wanted you. He pursued you. He wooed you.

Flowers on your doorstep. Expensive dinners. Gifts of jewelry just because.

And when he got down on one knee six months ago, it was the happiest you ever felt. You thought saying yes was the easiest decision you would have to make.

Back then you didn’t know that that ring slipped onto your finger was a noose.

As soon as you agreed to be his, Cal stopped trying. It was as if now that he had you, he didn’t need to put any effort into keeping you. He relegated you. He expected you to be a wife, in the most archaic sense of the word.

And at first, you were willing to try. You welcomed him home with a clean house and good meals, tables laid with the finest dishes. You desperately wanted this to work, for you and him to work. You were head over heels in love with him. You thought he felt the same.

But now…

That was the reason why you had to leave, even if only for a little while. That was why you found yourself wandering around the local art museum, walking the empty hallways, staring at paintings and sculptures of old.

Looking at pieces of the past. All the while grieving your present and dreading your future.

“Do you know much about the artist?”

Your head turns away from the painting of the lone woman to see a man standing a short distance behind you. He’s handsome. That much you’re willing to admit. And that’s about as much as you can tell by looking at him; his salt and pepper hair, his hands shoved in the pockets of his peacoat. You also notice the fancy Rolex adorning his wrist, the months of being with your fiancé and the wealth of him and his friends making you adept at catching it on others.

Too rich for a museum employee, you think. But that thought doesn’t stop you from speaking the first thought in your head.

“No. Are you going to tell me about them?”

“I would,” the stranger continues, taking a few more steps towards you until he falls into place on your left side. “But if I did, everything out of my mouth would be a lie.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I have no idea who painted this.”

“So, you’re not a tour guide,” you laugh, his candor catching you off-guard even though the words did not.

“Not at all,” he says, turning to look at you and it’s now that you get a good look at his eyes; the brown irises pulling you in. “I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

“Oh really? Why?”

“I don’t think I have a reason.”

“Well, I’m not sure how much of an impression you’re making,” you reply, your voice light and airy to emphasize that you were teasing him. “You started out strong, attempting to start this conversation by talking about the art in front of me. But you sort of derailed it by admitting that you knew nothing. Most people would pretend just so the conversation had a way to continue.”

“So, I should’ve lied to you? Not a good way to build a relationship, don’t you think?”

You have to stop yourself from having such a visceral reaction to his words, words that were so accurate and relevant to your life. After your gather yourself again, you give a small nod towards him.

“True,” you hum, turning your gaze away from him and back towards the painting.

“My name is Brady, by the way,” the man speaks again, forcing your attention back to him to find his eyes still attached to your frame. You offer him a smile and your name in return before directing your gaze back to the painting in front of you. The silence lasts for a moment before Brady breaks it again.

“So, what brings you into the art museum today?”

“Are you sure you don’t work here? Because you really are sounding like an employee,” you laugh.

“I swear. My actual job is as far away from the arts world as you could possibly get.”

“So, why are you here?”

“Had a day off. Decided not to spend it cooped up in my apartment. You?”

“Needed to get out of the house,” you say, which was technically the truth even if the motivations might have been wildly different than the norm.

“Well then, it looks like we have a lot in common.”

“You know nothing about me.”

“And you don’t know anything about me. See? Another thing we have in common,” Brady quips back, his easy-going nature forcing another laugh to fall from your lips and you feel yourself start to relax for the first time in what felt like forever. Was it really this easy? Did you really forget how it easy it was supposed to be?

You ignore those nagging questions for right now, focusing back on the painting hanging on the wall in front of you. It wasn’t long until Brady spoke once again.

“She looks like you,” Brady says. His words make you shoot a questioning glance his way, your eyebrows furrowing as you turn back to examine the woman in the frame.

“You think so?”

“Maybe not the in the physical sense. But the look in her eyes. That faraway look. You had that same look when I first saw you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I guess, that was maybe my reason for coming over. You looked like you needed some company, other than your daydreams.”

His words once again catch you off-guard. This man, who you knew for less than 20 minutes, was somehow able to read you so clearly. He saw you, actually saw you. You hadn’t had that in a long time.

“Well,” you say, lightness in your voice never wavering, “my daydreams are usually better than my reality.”

“Am I that bad of company?” Brady jokes, causing a laugh to fall from your lips.

“No,” you reply. “You’re… refreshing. It’s nice.”

The soft smile that you send up to him is genuine and you are happy to get what you assume is an equally genuine smile from him.

“Could I buy you a coffee?”

“I’d like that.”

That was three months ago. You never expected it to grow into this.

But that one coffee led to another which led to spending the rest of the day together. And it was magical. You never wanted it to end.

So, when Brady walked you back home, who were you to not invite him in for a late-night glass of wine? And so what if that wine loosened some of the inhibitions that had been previously holding you back? While also heightening the attraction that had been building between the two of you?

And although it may come as a surprise for most people, when Brady put his hand over yours and you saw his wedding ring shine under the kitchen light… it made you want him more.

Because while your ring was a snare, his ring was security.

It meant that he had just as much to lose as you did.

Three months. Three months of safety, of warmth, of Brady being your escape from the cold indifference of the winter that surrounded you. Three months.

You wanted this to last, wanted to stay just like this. Let life move on around you two and ignore it all.

But the thaw was coming.

You sigh, turning away from Brady’s frame still lying next to you in your bed, the sheets tangling around you as the fear that had been slowly building started to creep into your heart.

It isn’t silenced until your feel Brady’s lips dance across your shoulder blades, his arm sneaking its way around your waist. You turn your head to look up at him, that silver hair falling into his face again, that gentle smile on his lips.

“We can’t keep doing this,” you whisper and hate the way your words cause his smile to fade, the look in his eyes growing distant.

“I know,” he replies. But you’ve heard those words before. You’ve both said them multiple times, as if the knowledge would prevent you from continuing.

It never did.  

“I’m serious Brady,” you say again, rolling over onto your back to look at him clearly. “You have a wife. I have a fiancé.”

“I know,” he repeats, his voice a little more forceful this time. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I know I don’t. But… this has to stop. I’m getting married. Soon.”

Brady scoffs, pulling away from you and removing himself from the bed. You sit up and watch as he moves about the room, picking up his discarded clothes and putting them back on, the fabric slowly covering his warm skin.

“I still can’t believe that you are going through with that,” he mutters under his breath, his words soft that if you were anywhere else, you might not have heard them. But you did and the indignation in his voice hits you square in the chest.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you challenge. You watch as his shoulders lift in a sigh, hearing the dare in your voice before his eyes dart back to your frame.

“It means that I just can’t believe that you are still actively planning to marry the man that you have been cheating on.”

His words ignite a spark of anger within you. Who was he to talk?

“Don’t throw that at me Brady. It’s not like you don’t go home to your wife and pretend that nothing has changed.”

“I’m not saying that,” he says, sighing again as he slips his shirt over his head but the words keep tumbling out of your mouth.

“Who are you to talk about what I should and shouldn’t do? You know that I don’t have a choice -”

“Yes, you do!” he snaps, cutting you off as he spins to face you. “Of course, you do. You can break-up with him. He doesn’t love you, you know that, you’ve told me as much. You have that choice.”

“So do you,” you whisper, holding his gaze.

It’s another dare. Another challenge held out between the two of you. The options were there, laid bare and crystal clear. You didn’t need to speak them aloud to know what they were.

You could either leave your partners. Grow up and come clean, no matter how uncomfortable that may be. Remove those commitments; from your lives, from your ring fingers, from the equation of you and Brady.

Or you could leave each other. Understand that this thing – relationship, tryst, affair, fling, what have you – had run its course. That it was time to end this, permanently. Avoid the potential for things to end badly if someone finds out.

Either choice was daunting. Frightening. There was no answer, no easy answer.

“What’s your decision?” you ask, breaking the silence, your eyes still locked to Brady’s. Both of you are still for a moment. Until Brady finally tears his eyes away, turning and collapsing on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

There isn’t much else to say and even if there was something more to be said, you wouldn’t know what that would be. So, you let the covers slip off your body, crawling to the end of the bed before settling yourself behind Brady. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, your chest coming to press against his warm back, your head resting in the nook of his neck.

It is a moment before your feel Brady’s hand sneak up and caress the skin of your forearm, his head moving to press a gentle kiss into your hair.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you mumble, not sure if you meant to say those words out loud but couldn’t take them back now that they were said.

Brady doesn’t respond. Doesn’t say anything. Instead, you feel his weight shift and you unwillingly relinquish your hold on him as he lifts himself off the bed before turning to you, looking down at you with those eyes that you loved so much.

You want him to tell you… well, you’re not sure what you want him to tell you.

Say that he doesn’t want to lose you either. Doesn’t want this to end.

Tell you to leave; to leave and never come back to him because it will end in flames no matter what.

But he doesn’t say anything.

He just leans down, cupping your jaw with his strong hand and lifting your head up to kiss you. It feels like he pours every emotion into that kiss. Perhaps because he was unsure if this was the last kiss you would share.

And before you could blink, Brady walked out of your bedroom. And a few moments later, you hear the echo of the front door closing, signaling the departure of him from your house – and potentially your life.

Early April

The scorching heat from the running water is a welcomed sensation as you clean the dinner dishes. You welcomed anything that would ground you, keep you in the present instead of letting yourself get lost in your thoughts.

Even if the present wasn’t all that pleasant.

You posture instinctively straightens as you hear Cal walk back into the kitchen. He doesn’t say a word to you, instead he slips another plate into the sink before turning away. You know he doesn’t exit the room completely. You could still feel his presence.

It was something you had grown keenly aware of, for multiple reasons. But that awareness felt heightened today because every time Cal was in the same room as you, it felt as if he brought this weight along with him. That pressure had been hanging over the two of you the entirety of the day and you wondered what it meant.

Wondered what it would mean when it finally came crashing down.

You focus on the task at hand in a feeble attempt to ignore that weight. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Cal settle himself in the kitchen, leaning his body against the cold marble island, the whiskey glass in his hand, the clinking of the ice within the only sound as you start to dry off the dishes.

“Are you going to accompany me tonight?” Cal asks, finally breaking the silence. He asked it as if you really had a choice. Usually, it was required of you to show up with him to formal events, like tonight’s gala which you knew nothing about, unless he explicitly said otherwise.

But since he phrased it as a question, you decided to press against what was ‘expected’ of you.

“I don’t know,” you reply, starting noncommittal before steeling yourself. “I thought I might just stay home. Spend some time alone.”

“Alone? Or with someone else?”

It takes all your willpower not to drop the glass in your hand. He hadn’t said anything to indicate who he was referring to; it was the way he said it… did he know? Brady and you had always been so careful. There was no possible way he could have realized it. He didn’t know it was happening for three months. What could have possibly changed?

“Like who?” you question, wary to press the issue but wanting to know for certain if you had been discovered.

“That man you have been inviting into our bed whenever I’ve been away on business.”

He knew about Brady. It wasn’t clear how much he knew. But he knew.

“I don’t know what you mean Cal,” you respond, choosing to go on the defensive.

“You know exactly what I mean,” he says, his voice hardening and you can hear his body lift off the countertop. You attempt to ignore him until his hand wraps around your bicep, forcing you to spin to face him. “You think I don’t know? You don’t think I noticed the bottles of missing wine? You don’t think people have seen him leaving the house? You don’t think people talk and that it would get back to me?”

He pauses, as if he expects you to respond; expects you to admit to the missteps that you have made, to fall on your knees and beg for his forgiveness.

But you don’t. The fire that Brady had lit within you, that fire and passion that he reignited, that he said he loved so much, burned brightly. You stood your ground, cooly staring at Cal and watched the realization wash over his face before his scowl deepens.

“You are never to act like that again. I forbid it.”  

Cal turns to exit, a sign that this conversation was over and he had the last word. But his retreat is stopped when he hears the scoff leave your mouth, the sound forcing him to look back towards you, standing next to the sink with your arms crossed.

“You forbid it?” you quip, the question in your tone a scathing sarcastic one. “I am not one of your employees that you can order around. I am your fiancée.”

“Yes,” Cal replies, stalking back towards you. “Yes, you are.  And that means that you belong to me.”

“I do not belong to you.”

“As long as you are wearing that diamond ring on your finger, yes you do. That means you are mine. It also means that you do not fuck someone else behind my back. It means that you do not disrespect me like that.”

“Me? Disrespect you? How about all the times you’ve done the same to me?”

“I have never fucked someone else.”

“I don’t mean that. You really think that because you’ve done the bare fucking minimum that give you fucking points or something? Even when you haven’t shown any affection towards me since the day you proposed?”

“Oh, now you’ve truly fucking lost it,” Cal huffs in exasperation, turning away from you.

“No,” you say, throwing down the towel still in your hands as you follow him across the kitchen tile. “I thought you loved me, Cal. I truly thought you did. But as soon as I agreed to be your wife, you stopped fucking trying. And I have done everything for you. I gave up everything for you!”

You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. You will not cry over the man standing in front of you, the disdain painted on his face.

“You’re never here, Cal. And I don’t mean it like ‘you travel so much and I never get to see you’. Even when you are physically here, you aren’t here emotionally. You’ve checked out of this relationship. And now-” you let out a small scornful laugh “-now you’re acting like I’ve wronged you when before this, it truly felt like you never cared about anything I did. No matter what it was, you didn’t fucking care. And now you are holding my discretions against me when you – you – you don’t care and – you’re just making me feel insane.”

“I’m not the one that’s making you feel crazy. I think you’re making yourself feel that way,” Cal retorts, moving towards you, invading your space and making you shrink back. “Because,” he continues, “you’d have to be crazy to think anything I’ve done could justify fucking another man in the bed you share with your fiancé.”

His words make your head spin. He was always good at that, making you doubt yourself. But you know better now – Brady showed you something better. You stand your ground, planting your feet firmly, and refuse to back down.

“Screw you. You can gaslight me all you want but you’re either an idiot or too fucking manipulative to see what you’re doing,” you say, drawing from that fire within you for the strength to continue. “Do you really want to know why? Why I decided to fuck him? Do I really have to spell it out for you?”

There is a silence and you know that you have him trapped. For the first time in this conversation, you have him beat.

Because he does want to know. If there was one thing you could count on, it was his ego, his selfishness. He wanted to know why you refused him when any other woman would worship the very ground he walked on.

“I did it because he made me feel like a person again. He wants me. He desires me. And if you think that you can take that away then you are sorely mistaken. Even if you drag me kicking and screaming down that aisle, I will still have that. Even if you lock me in the fucking attic for the rest of our lives, you cannot take away that knowledge from me. He loves me. More than you ever could.”

“Then where is he?” Cal asks, the coolness of his voice and words sending a shot of ice through your veins.

There it was. Somehow, like he always did, he managed to snatch any semblance of power away from you. Because he was right. You hadn’t heard from Brady since the night he left two weeks ago.

Cal sees that fact register on your face, sees you relinquish and retreat, giving him back control of the conversation – of this relationship.

“Now,” Cal states, standing up straight and adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves, “you are going to attend this gala with me. You are going to stay by my side the entire night. And while we’re there, you will act like the wife that you are meant to be, the perfect fucking wife. Because that is what I and everyone else around me expects from you. And I will not be made a fool of. Not now. Not ever. Are we clear?”

You don’t speak. Partly because you don’t want to give Cal the satisfaction but also because you realized that you didn’t need to speak. He knew that he won, knew that you didn’t have a choice. So, you stay silent, your eyes diverting away from Cal’s frame in… shame? Embarrassment?

Defeat.

“We leave in an hour.”

Those are the words he leaves you with before turning and finally exiting the kitchen. And as soon as he is gone, the first thing that you wish you could do is collapse to the floor in tears.

You had never felt a pain like this. You had always felt trapped in this relationship, even before things truly got bad. But now, when you knew there was something better out there, an escape, a promise of a better relationship, a better man, it made this defeat feel even worse.

Especially because you knew that you might be partly responsible for your chance at something better being taken away.

But you can’t dwell on these thoughts. Can’t let them infest your mind. Cal can try to break you down as much as possible but if you are permanently trapped in this house, in this marriage, you won’t let him win.

You take a few deep calming breaths before leaving the kitchen and ascending the grand staircase to your room. After entering, you go through the motions of preparing yourself for the gala; a nice dress, makeup, fancy hairstyle. And even though the hollow in your chest feels as large as it ever has been, you still think of how to rebel in small ways against your fiancé; the fiancé who never loved you for you.

Cal wanted your hair down – you pulled it up. Cal always wanted a full-face of makeup – you put on the bare minimum. Cal wanted you to dress somewhat conservatively – you chose one of your most risqué dresses with a high-slit and deep neckline.

And you take your time, pushing the boundaries of the deadline Cal set. Because you knew that he cared more about his image than you and punctuality was paramount.

So, when you descend the stairs a few minutes past the hour, you feel that fire leap in your chest when you see Cal’s jaw clench at your appearance. And that fire stays strong when you see him glance at his Rolex before heaving a sigh and extending his arm to you – a silent resignation.

One that you don’t take.

Instead, you walk into the connecting garage without him, slipping into the passenger seat of the car, and closing the door without a word.

Cal doesn’t say anything. Not when he enters the car, not when the two of you pull away from the house, not on the entire trip to the gala. It is only when you are about to pull up to the front of the valet line does he turn to you.

“I know what you are doing. Don’t think that I don’t notice,” he says, addressing you but not sparing a glance your direction, instead pulling forward for the valet. “But it’s pointless – as pathetic as a child’s tantrum. One that we are just going to have to weather. Now,” he says, finally directing his attention to you, his stare cold. “Behave.”

He disappears from the car, handing off the keys to the valet before walking around the car to your door. Despite the fact that there is nothing more that you would rather do, you take a beath and plaster a fake, demure, smile on your face before Cal swings the car door open. You take his arm and let him lead you into the gala.

The ballroom was already bustling with people, all dressed their best. It took you a moment to fully take in your surroundings but when you saw the stage, the banners and screens on it emblazoned with the Carolina Hurricanes logo, you felt your heart drop.

Out of all the goddamn events that your fiancé decided to attend and he chose this one. The Canes annual end-of-season charity gala.

You clench your hand around your clutch a little tighter as your fiancé pulls you through the crowd, stopping to say hello to a few people, occasionally introducing you. You don’t say a word though, refusing to play into this farce any more than you have to. Cal doesn’t seem to mind though.

Because that’s what he wanted. A beautiful, silent, wife.

Without even thinking, you snatch a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and take a quick gulp, ignoring the small look Cal shoots in your direction. If he thought you were going to be able to get through this night without the help of alcohol, he was sadly mistaken.

Your eyes continue to flit around the event space, eyeing the groups of people as they pass. Cal seemed to pull you towards the groups that had already drawn a big crowd, being able to sense the influence they had and wanting to get a taste of it himself.

But while Cal was looking for power, you were looking for Brady.

Well, mostly you were looking for him in the hopes that he wouldn’t be here.

Your luck runs out when you hear a laugh that sounds achingly familiar and you can’t stop yourself from turning your head in the direction of the sound. And your heart leaps at the sight of him, dressed in a tux, bowtie delightfully rumpled, the streaks of silver in his hair shining. You want to turn your gaze away, want to pretend he wasn’t here, want to make sure he didn’t know you were here. But your gaze stays glued to his frame until he must sense your eyes and his attention turns towards you.

As soon as those deep brown eyes are on you, the ache in your chest increases.

And it is only now do you truly understand what that ache meant.

Before, it was passion. The excitement, the risk. It was a desperate desire. But beneath all of that… it was love. You had thrown that word in Cal’s face during your argument, as a jab towards how he treated you. But you realized that your fire was fueled not just by Cal’s indifference, but also Brady’s love.

And you loved him back.

Your lips slightly twitch upward – an attempt at a smile when your eyes connect to Brady. However, his smile falters as his gaze trails down to your arm that was intwined with Cal’s. The smile completely drops when you feel Cal press a kiss into your hair.

Your gaze tears away from Brady to Cal, slightly shocked at his public display. Cal just smiles cooly down at you and the look behind his eyes has your stomach dropping.

He knew. Everything.

That’s why he brought you here.

To not only show the world, but also Brady, that you were his.

Big mistake.

You can feel the heat climb through your body, your chest heaving and jaw clenching. That fire that Brady started, that flicker that Cal had almost successfully doused returned with a vengeance, strong as a goddamn blaze. There were so many things that you could do. Slap him, throw your champagne on him, spit in his face.

You decided on… nothing.

Instead, you plastered a fake smile on your face and leaned into his shoulder. A sign of acceptance. One that Cal was too stupid or too proud to question. He puffed up like a peacock as he continued to lead you around the ballroom. This continues for a while, all while you bide your time, playing your role dutifully. Until your fiancé was deep in his drinks, talking it up at a table with some bigwigs who you couldn’t even bother learning the names of. That’s when you slip away.

As soon as you’re free, your eyes search for the familiar profile of Brady in the sea of people. It takes a moment before you spy him, standing a few feet away and a part of you is relived when you watch as his eyes dart over to the table where you once sat, still looking towards you.

You keep your eyes on him as his gaze travels around the room before finally landing on you, standing across the space from him. You stare at him for a moment, a silent plea, before you turn to the staircase, walking up towards the balcony that overlooked the entire gala.

When you reach the top, you lean against the smooth marble railings, looking out over the sea of people, praying that Brady was behind you. Praying that you didn’t make everything worse by playing along with Cal. Praying that Brady, your sweet beautiful Brady who was able to read you so easily before, could still truly see you now.

And you can’t stop the breath of relief that rushes through you when you hear a throat clear behind you. You spin and see Brady standing a few feet away from of you.

“So, you made your choice?” he asks, referencing the decision that you forced each other to make all those weeks ago.

“I did,” you reply. “Did you make yours?”

“Yes,” he replies, head dropping down to stare at his shoes.

A pause, heavy and pregnant with all the words that were still unsaid. Until you watch Brady’s shoulders lift with a deep breath before he glances up again, his eyes filled with a fierceness and conviction that you’ve only seen once.

The night the affair started. The night when you both committed to each other; a messy illicit commitment but one nonetheless.

“I ended things with Melissa,” Brady tells you, so calmly that it takes a moment for the words to register. “I told her everything. She was angry, of course. And sad as well. But I told her that I loved her and that part of me would always love her. But not as much as I love you.”

Brady takes a few steps towards you, closing the distance between you and your hands instinctively reach out towards him. An action which Brady reciprocates, his hands finding yours, fingers intertwining and you are startled to not feel the cool press a wedding band on his finger. Not because you doubted him. It was just a familiar sensation that had now vanished. Brady doesn’t take any time before continuing.

“I may have loved Melissa once, a long time ago, but I have never loved her as much as I love you. And maybe that’s insane to say and this choice might ruin so many things for me – other relationships, my career, my image, the public’s perception of me. But I don’t care. Because I love you. I want you. No one else,” he implores, his head dropping until those errant strands of hair flop over his forehead and barely brush the top of yours. “Just you.”

You can feel the tears prick at the corner of your eyes, a combination of his words, the relief rushing through you, and the desperation at having him this close again.

“Please say something,” he whispers and your blink, your eyes flicking up to stare into his.

“I love you too. I don’t think I realized it before but I love you, Brady. Tonight, I played along with Cal but you have to understand… it was you the entire time. You changed me, for the better. You made me realize how much fight I had left in me when I thought that it was all gone. You brought me back to life. And I love you but that also fucking terrifies me.”

As soon as those words escape, you see Brady’s brow furrow in confusion. But this was the truth and you needed him to hear it. So, you press on.

“You are the best thing that has happened to me and the best thing that could ever happen to me. And that’s what scares me. Because without you, I don’t know what I would do. What I would’ve done. Who I would have become. I need this to work. Despite the consequences, the scrutiny. I want so badly for this to work. Because if it doesn’t…”

“It will work,” Brady cuts you off, his hands departing from yours to tangle in your hair, forcing your head up to make your eyes stay connected with his. “It will. After all,” he says, that teasing lightness creeping into his voice as his thumb caresses your jawline, “we’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound slightly stuttered as it escapes through your tears, the tears that Brady so easily wipes away.

“I love you,” he repeats, just as earnest as before. “I want you. I want this. We can make this work. Just as long as you want this too.”

There are no words that you can string together that would accurately affirm Brady’s words. So, you don’t speak. The only response you can think to give is to finally, finally, surge forward, connecting your lips to his. You kiss him fiercely, hands tangling in his hair and pulling him impossibly closer – a silent vow that you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

Brady responds in kind, one hand staying in your hair while the other descends to the small of your back, pulling you closer, pressing your body impossibly tight against his. It is a moment before you feel Brady’s lips detach from yours, far enough to speak.

“He’ll see us,” he whispers, his forehead pressed against yours and you know he’s referring to Cal sitting somewhere down below.

“I don’t care,” you murmur against his lips. “I don’t care.”

Because you had Brady. There was nothing more you needed.

And you were never letting go again.

No more keeping score. Now I just keep you warm.

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[thatone-brightstar]

Some The Bear & The Fox behind the scenes!

(cause I had to make some executive decision but many of these deserve to see the light of day)

Amy’s notes: This is mostly pure fluff but MDNI just in case lol. Also let me know if you want to see more cuz i got a shit ton of these :)

~~~~

*This is the alternative ending to chapter 3 if Fox would have said yes from the start, but i love to make us all suffer so i took it out:

You could have been there for an eternity, both afraid to break the bubble you had so cautiously created around you, but knowing you had to. You had been gone far longer than to be justified by getting drinks and your phone hadn’t vibrated because it had been left inside your purse… along with the money you would need if you were going to get drinks.

“You’re gonna have to pay for drinks.” You whisper to Carmy, your lips brushing over his with every word.

“I’ll pay everyone’s tab, I don’t fuckin’ care right now.” He whispered back, catching your lips into another sweet long kiss.

“No, seriously. We gotta go.” You managed to say in between kisses and laughs. He planted his lips by your ear and inhaled your perfume, and you had to stop a gasp threatening to escape. “The faster we go,” You turned to whisper near his ear. ”The sooner you can get me out these clothes.”

His body tensed around you before a ‘fuck’ shaped breath left his lips, and when he raised his head, you could see his pupils had only left a thin ring of blue around them. You pretended not to notice how your words had affected both of you as you pecked him quickly on the nose then swiped your thumb over it to erase the trace of your lipstick.

“C’mon.” You smiled, then intertwined your fingers with his and reopened the door to go back inside as two completely different people than the ones who had walked out.

~~~~~

Chapter 5 instead of Carmy’s panic attack:

You had been the one to finally decide to go visit the beef family after days of absence and Carmy gladly agreed to pick you up around noon when he was running some errands, ‘Anything to get them off my back’ he had said, but he was secretly happy to see you again. Besides, he had already tried to explain on the first day that due to… personal priorities, you had decided to take some time from the restaurant.

Marcus had thrown a piece of sourdough he was kneading at Richie’s head, asking if he had scared you away.

“You know what, that’s a great question Marcus,” Carmy played along, crossing his arms and turning to his cousin. “Richie, did you? Scare her away?”

“Fuck you, I didn’t do shit to her.” He defended, taking the dough from his head and throwing it back at Marcus. “Plus, fuckin’ Carmy had already called dibs so it wouldn’t be fair”

“Richie, you asshole, you can’t call dibs on a person-” Syd yelled at him from across the counter, at the same time Carmy had called “No I fuckin’ didn’t, what am I, twelve?!”

They had begun arguing it the middle of the kitchen about what Richie had or hadn’t done to scare you off, then Tina broke it off when she asked loudly if anyone had taken the Paprika off her spice rack because it wasn’t there; only to be found under the table by the remnants of other spices scattered underneath. Carmy excused himself into his office as his ears flared up, similar to the way your cheeks did when he told you the story over the phone that same night.

~~~~

Also chapter 5 but at the beginning:

He celebrated the big achievement by stopping for dinner and driving to your house after closing on Thursday. You had snuck him in while your grandfather was asleep in the living room, under the glow of the TV and through soft pulls and giggle-filled kisses, he was shoved into your room. It was strange, how the boyish actions felt foreign to his strained soul, but didn’t stop the whispered laugh of excitement.

He had never been inside a girl’s room before, not counting his sister’s, and it was exactly how he assumed it would be. Cream colored walls were barely visible under the many framed artworks, pictures and various sized mirrors. Potted plants invaded a small corner near one of the windows while your bed took up most of the other. A pile of clothes laid discarded by your closet door and a nice lamp on your nightstand bathed the space in a soft blue glow. It felt intimate and beautifully lived in, like he was seeing a small part of your soul.

You had dinner on the fire escape by the window, enjoying the gentle breeze and the hum of music playing from inside your bedroom. He was worried things would be weird, not really knowing where you stood or what this even was. Then you joked about how Richie wanted to bribe you to go back because ‘fuckin’ Carmy can’t stop mopin’ around’ and that was confirmation enough that you two were fine.

‘Wait ‘till they find out you’re the one who fired me.’ You had said between sips of your drink and when he answered ‘Let’s just hope they don’t find out we fucked on Tina’s station’, your eyes doubled in size and a dark tint appeared on your face still visible in the low lighting.

He left around two in the morning, when the conversation had died down into a comfortable silence and your head rested in the valley of his neck, with one of his arms wrapped around you to protect you from the cold. As much as he enjoyed the soft sound of your breathing and the heat radiating from your joined bodies, he knew he shouldn’t stay. It would be too soon and the last thing he wanted was to scare you away for real this time. So before you fell asleep completely, he kissed the crown of your head and removed his arm from around you, softly whispering his parting.

You guided him quietly to the entrance of the apartment, still lazily rubbing your eyes, and thanked him for dinner and for the visit.

‘Maybe next time I can-uh cook you somethin’... instead of buyin’ it’ He whispered in the silent hallway as he scratched his head nervously, laced into his words was a tender promise that made the skin on your face heat up.

You nodded enthusiastically and raised on your sock covered feet to leave a sugary kiss upon his lips, sticky sweet honey trickled down his throat and kept him warm as he arrived home and settled on his couch to rest his eyes.

~~~~~

Thanks for reading, key byeee 🩷

[sheena-is-a-punk-rocker]

Rick and Harley only have eyes for each other, but unfortunately not everyone got the memo

Prompt was jealous quinnflag, sent in by @skyromaniac-05 and I 1000% used it as an excuse to write smutty quinnflag, because I missed it. This one is definitely getting shadowbanned (unless this hellsite surprises me) so I'ma post the link in a separate post so y'all can find it.

Rick’s minding his business on a couch at the former Black Mask club—sipping a beer and watching Harley having the time of her life on the dancefloor—when he’s approached by a random woman. She’s younger, blonde, and holding a glass of red wine. He ignores her at first when she plops down right next to him. She leans close and says, “Hey, I’ve never seen you here before.”

He snorts but doesn’t answer. He and Harley are actually here every Friday since it’s her favorite spot for dancing.

Instead of taking a hint, the lady doubles down on her efforts to engage him in conversation. “Oooh, I like your tattoos,” she comments—tracing her finger around the outline of the one on his right bicep.

He’s trying to think of the most polite way to tell her to back the fuck off and to stop touching him when he sees Harley stalking towards him—a scowl on her face that’s aimed at the woman who’s been trying to talk to him.

He internally breathes out a sigh of relief. Before he can greet her, she’s draping herself over his lap—crashing her lips into his.

He kisses back automatically—one hand going to her thigh and the other to the back of her neck to pull her closer. He vaguely registers whatshername (she may have told him her name, he wasn’t paying attention) storming off in a huff. He’s too busy to really give a shit.

They’re both breathing hard when they come up for air. “What was all that for?” he asks, once his brain is functioning again.

“She was all over you,” Harley pouts.

Oh. Oh! That… explained a lot.

He chuckles and slides his hand further up her thigh under her dress. He rasps in her ear, “Aww, Harls, you know you’re the only one I have eyes for, right?”

She bites her lip and nods. He grins and tells her, “Meet me behind the building in five minutes, darlin’.”

He watches her stand up and stumble towards the door on shaky legs. Oh, this is gonna be fun.

------------

Harley waits outside the club for what feels like an hour but is probably only a few minutes. She’s so horny she could cry and Rick’s taking his sweet ass time.

When he finally appears, she pounces on him immediately—legs going around his waist and lips crashing into his. She feels the rough brick wall on her back as he attacks her neck with nips and kisses—marking his territory.

“Fuck me!” she gasps.

He slides his hand up her inner thigh to her panties—which are soaked through. “Someone’s eager, huh?” he teases.

Oh god, she’s gonna bite his head off if he doesn’t fucking touch her already!

She’s cut off mid-thought when his fingers slip underneath her panties and drag through her wet heat up to her clit.

She moans loudly and encourages him to keep going. She’s so wound up that she comes embarrassingly fast on his fingers—but he’s not done with her.

She can feel his hands between their bodies as he fumbles with his belt buckle, and bites his neck—hard—to muffle her scream as he slams into her.

By the time they’re done, he’s as marked up as she is.

-------------

She’s giggling as they slip back inside the club. Rick’s hair is a post-fuck mess and she’s sure hers isn’t much better. She can’t help but smile smugly when she sees the bitch who was flirting with him earlier—scowling at the two of them while she sips her wine.

She makes a detour to the bathroom so she can straighten out her hair and has to bite her lip to suppress a moan when she sees just how marked up she is. God, she loves this man.

After reapplying her lipstick and putting her hair back up she heads over to the bar for another drink. She’s waiting for the bartender to notice her when she feels a hand grope her ass and a sleazy voice in her ear saying, “Hey baby, lemme buy you a drink.”

She tenses and grabs the hand that’s touching her. “I just want ya to know that my boyfriend is gonna kick your fuckin’ ass if you don’t back the fuck off.”

“She’s right, you know,” she hears, before Rick is shoving the guy away from her and then grabbing him by the collar.

Despite how dark it is in the club, she can see the guy’s face drain of color as he stammers out a half-assed apology.

Rick lets him go but watches him like a hawk until he sees him leave the club completely.

“You okay, Harls?”

“Yes and that was the second hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” she says as she yanks him down by the collar of his shirt. “Take me home, right the fuck now, Colonel.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responds with a smirk. “But first we gotta close out our tab.”

Harley shrieks in frustration and Rick laughs, pulling her close and caressing her hip. “Patience, sweetheart,” he whispers in her ear.

They manage to make it back to their apartment building in record time.

But they don’t make it out of the truck.

[lunaetis]

@unboundtravels asked :

a kiss that leaves lipstick stain. [Yelan & Goth pweeze]

↪     𝑲𝑰𝑺𝑺  ﹠ ᵀᴱᴸᴸ . || no longer accepting

─「夜兰」─  taking one of her IDENTITIES in order to sneak into another social gathering for some information had been one of the things the informant had gotten used to. it was fun whenever she gets to dress up in some fancy clothes she usually wouldn't wear, and could go a little overboard with the make up to hide her real features. her eyes were always striking, however, that much was one thing that was consistent throughout all her guises.

                a familiar POLICE BOX was seen parked at the garden of the jade palace. by now, the tianquan herself was used to seeing this otherworldly object there to pick up her best informant who had just returned from a mission. the guise was left on for now, as she was running a little late to their appointment. she could always get change in the TARDIS itself, after all.

                not many words were exchanged as the first thing she greeted the doctor with was to pull his shirt down for a full kiss on the lips. was she trying to override the need to get physical with some stranger with his touch ? maybe. she wasn't going to tell him that, however. fingers thrust through his dark locks as she had her LOVER pinned against the supporting pillar, stealing air from his lungs as those sapphire hues had this particular glow to them.

                " sorry — it's not quite enough, love. " was that a warning rather than an apology ? not that yelan allowed the other much time to breathe before clashing her lips against his own once more, harder, this time. while her make up was heavy, the lipstick she wore was of darker color than her usual palette, and with the kind of hunger she displayed in the way she took his lips ? the MARKS she left in smudge was almost inevitable. did she care ? ah, not really. not when her doctor was already panting from the sudden attack, and she wanted to hear more.

                a bite to his lower lip, as she traced her skillful tongue over it only to deepen the kiss, seeking his own wet appendage and robbing him of both thoughts and breath. did something happen during the mission that had her wanting his taste this badly ? maybe, maybe not. the caution and reasoning were thrown to the wind, anyway. the dark color of her lipstick were messily smeared over his lips when she pulled back, a string of saliva connected their tongues and breathless gasps. now, she was leaving the stains towards his jaw and neck. a giggle echoed in the air, seeing how contrasting the color was against his pale skin.

                teeth grazed over the sensitive skin of his neck, and she pressed a gentle kiss to leave a lipstick mark over his collarbone. one, two, before those full lips returned back to his mouth, and drifted towards his ear. a bite, hot breath exhaled, followed by a tender laugh.

                " should i stop here ... or would you like more ? "

[cat3ch1sm]

🍀| hello, everyone! im back like i said :') today i have some more headcanons! enjoy!

🐢| warnings: none!

💚| misa, light, l, near, mello (brief appearances from soichiro and matsuda:D)

death note cast kissing u bc im touch-starved

ʚ┈┈୨❁୧┈┈ɞ

light yagami

- kisses are not very often as he's almost always preoccupied with his own agenda

-they're usually at their most passionate after he has finally executed something properly or everything has gone according to plan

- takes your chin in his hand and forces your lips on his, won't let you go until he feels like it

-usually very passionate and not all that gentle

-kisses usually last 4-10 seconds, long enough to make you dizzy with euphoria but not enough to satisfy you (which he knows very well and uses to his advantage)

- does whatever he wants pretty much without much regard to you yourself, pins u against walls sometimes, smirks at you mockingly whenever u accidentally whine after he breaks a kiss

- mostly doesn't really pay attention to u otherwise lmao

near (or nate rivers)

- basically never initiates the kiss

- is literally always caught off guard when you kiss him even when it's right there

-will kiss u on forehead and lightly on lips when ur sleeping

- traces your cheek with his thumb while cradling your jawline

- lips and kisses r super gentle, isn't really into the making out and stuff

- stares at ur lips intently for a few seconds after you break apart

- really enjoys your kisses (although he never makes this clear), especially the more spontaneous ones

- blushes a little during and after

- is usually super quiet afterward bc he's awkward asf and not used to intimate contact from an s/o, fidgets with hair excessively

misa amane

- kisses r really quick and light bc she's always so bouncy

- mostly does it when she's excited or happy about something

- loves leaving red lipstick prints all over ur face

- lips are literally always soft

- also really loves more passionate kisses, cups ur cheeks in her hands and squeezes her eyes shut super tight like an excited little kid :'D

- very much enjoys when you dominate over her, prefers it actually

- is def into things like choking, pinning against walls, lip biting, tongue kissing, etc

- gives u a peck on the nose afterward and does that nose scrunch smile thing

mello (or mihael keehl)

- gentle? what's that?

- all of ur kisses turn into full-blown make-out sessions

- super sloppy

- tongue and tongue and did i mention tongue?

- BDSM ALL THE WAY

- doesn't kiss u in front of his gang but in private...

-if ur wearing a skimpy/tight outfit then once ur alone he will probably literally attack u💀😭😭

-is very soft and sweet with u afterward tho, rubs ur back and kisses u on forehead

l lawliet

- also pretty much doesn't initiate any kisses

- loves when u wrap ur arms around his neck

- also soft and gentle, kisses aren't long at all but they're very loving

- likes when u take his chin in ur hand and kiss him

-always tastes like candy or pastries, making him very pleasant to kiss

- smiles into the kiss a lot

- blushes way too much after, stares at ground like a socially awkward frog (oh wait...)

- when you smirk or give him one of those half-smiles after he totally melts but tries his best not to show it

i feel like these kinda sucked but it's ok:')

[anyoneseenadam]

Healing

pairing: Azriel x reader (acotar)

warnings: TW - sexual assault, rape, objectification and implications of abuse, smut, consensual sex, azriel is a sweetie and rhys is a good bestie

a/n: first of all PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS!!! i’m really proud of this fic but I don’t want to trigger or upset anyone, that being said it isn’t too graphic but still. Anyway I hope u enjoy, this took me three days lmao <333

based on: this and this

—————————————————————————-

You had your first less than savoury encounter with men when you had barely turned nine. Your body still hadn’t finished forming, but you were growing, and your body was gaining some semblance of shape as you did. It wasn’t much – just a whistle from across the street – but for a second your heart seized up with fear, and in the next you almost felt giddy. A man thought you were beautiful.

You felt like a princess that day – felt the way you had when the boy from your class had kissed your cheek, still too young to process the intentions behind that single whistle. But you didn’t care – someone wanted you.

When you got your first period at twelve – even more changed. Your body felt new, and you didn’t feel comfortable in the changes. Your old clothes didn’t fit and now your mother forced you into tighter corsets for those long, long dinners you had to attend. Your parents were respected Fae in the Hewn City – nobles who liked to drink and smoke and throw extravagant balls. And with your new body you could no longer simply hide in the corner or climb through secret passages with your friends – muddying your dresses.

Now you had to smile when men hugged you slightly too long, laugh when they commented on how much you had grown up, sit pretty and pristine with an old mans hand loitering to close to your rear for hours as you watched your parents drink away their troubles.

By the time you were fifteen you were used to the constant attention, your beauty not uncommon where you lived but still doted on often. Unaware of their desire for your youth, your naivety. The women never offering a helping hand but instead glaring down high skewed noses as their husbands slurred into your ears – still in shock that a pretty, young thing like you was all alone at this party.

When you were sixteen you decided to change that – kissing an alright looking boy at a party and telling him exactly what he wanted to hear so he would kiss you back. He stayed when you didn’t protest as he pulled you to the bathroom and pushed you to your knees. And for this small request, the greasy hands on your body at balls and dinners or any other social gathering halved – now only the truly self-righteous felt they could touch you still.

The only problem was you truly did love the boy you had chosen. He had faults yes, but he was kind – he brought you flowers and kissed your cheek. But he also spoke over you, forced you into silence and took what he wanted. And he always wanted the same thing.

If anything it was his father’s fault. The military commander never leaving room for debate when he argues with his wife – and sons only become what they see in their fathers.

Your father had left with a younger woman a few months after your fourteenth birthday, and you hadn’t seen him since – only heard stories of him galivanting around the autumn court from your classmates. You could see the distaste your mum held you in as she realised she would have to stick around to look after you, not yet old enough to be married. Then Amarantha had taken hold of the country and that possibility had been thrown out the window anyway.

Weirdly enough not that much changed in your life when she took power, the only major difference was that now you had to block out screams before going to sleep and even they had become like white noise. You still drank with your friends on Friday nights, went out with your boyfriend on Saturdays and slept the pain away on Sundays. Your weekdays consisted of school, dinners, balls and whatever more your mother could throw together to appease the high queen.

That and the high lord of the night court had started making appearances at the events your mother threw. He was a cruel man standing so proudly at the queen’s side – but you saw something flickering in his eyes whenever people spoke, complimenting his power and rule. You saw what you felt as you laughed at compliments and lingering touches – you saw pain, but more importantly you saw anger. And right now you could use anger.

During one ball you watched him leave, taking an odd route – not the one that would help him escape the loud music but instead a long winding corridor leading to a series of smaller rooms. Without thought you peeled away from your company, muttering excuses and went after him – grabbing a bottle of wine as you did.

You found him reclining in an empty room and knocked on the door gently. He cracked open an eye – slow like a cat – and beckoned you in. You moved to perch next to him, leaning back with a straight back and letting your head loll slightly as you took a swig of the dark red wine, before passing him the bottle.

“You looked like you could use a drink,” you smiled, eyes focused on his sharp jaw as he held the bottle to his mouth with a laugh.

“One way of putting it,” he smiled. The two of you sat in silence for several minutes as you took in his beauty, his looks plus mannerisms all made him seem like a wild cat - a panther trapped underground.

“Why are you here?” he finally asked, and you raised a hand to trace that sharp jaw. But instead of devouring you as any lesser man would’ve, he brushed your hand away and held it tightly in his larger one. “That’s not gonna happen, you’re what sixteen?”

“Almost seventeen,” you said, cheekily. He laughed but shook his head, squeezing your hand before releasing it.

“You’re still a child,” he said matter-of-factly, and you scoffed, stealing your wine back to drink again.

“Yeah well that’s usually a selling point,” your voice was sad, but you didn’t dare let your eyes stray from his – refusing to show fear, “And you’re so nice to me, I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

He laughed as you pouted, “You practice this in the mirror or something?”

“Usually works in three seconds,” you confess, and he whistles under his breath, “Men are rather easy to manipulate when they’ve been trying to get into your skirts since your first bleed.”

“And you wonder why I’m not about to take advantage of you,” he laughed, and you smiled – a real smile, or real enough. “Plus I don’t think your little boyfriend would be pleased.”

“Eh, he’s never pleased - I don’t think this could make him worse.” Rhysand took the wine back and frowned.

“Does he hurt you?” his voice was sincere but the laugh you let out was not.

“Don’t all men,” he swore, and you laughed again, “Yet you foil my plan to make you fall in love with me and whisk me away to the moon.”

He laughed, but his eyes darkened with deep sadness you were sure you would never understand, “I think we both no that even I could not do that, but I might be able to crush your fly.”

“Little boyfriend? Fly? You really don’t like him do you?” you laughed, head lighter already.

“I don’t like any man who thinks they can hurt women,” he said, frowning when he realised through your passing back and forth there was no wine left.

“Shit that took us like five minutes,” you complained, and he laughed, waving his hand lightly as several more bottles appeared before you – you grinned as you grabbed another.

“So any friends with weaker moral backbones that I could marry?” you asked with a laugh, and he smiled at you.

“I’m sure I could find someone,” he leaned back again. You smiled – finally happy that one night might pass in the company of a decent man.

Soon, you’d find it would be more than one night, a close friendship quickly blossoming between you and the high lord. All your friends were convinced you were sleeping together but true to his word he didn’t touch you, and by the time you surpassed the age of eighteen you didn’t want him to. But that didn’t stop other men.

After a particularly bad argument with your boyfriend that had left you with a handprint on your left cheek you had broken up with him – sending away his apologies and flowers, smart enough to see he didn’t hold the mental capacity to change.

Plus you were beautiful and young, you could certainly do better. And you soon did – rich men who liked to buy you jewellery, and fine clothes, men who enjoyed literature and art and spending time with you.

And at the start of each relationship, for a few blissful seconds you would believe in their pure intentions. But then a hand would drift from your lower back to your ass, or the gentle kiss that followed a necklace would shift from your mouth to your breasts. Not one of them wanted to wait until you were comfortable, so you made yourself comfortable.

You pictured pretty, strong men were holding you down and making you feel something, slipping your own hand between your legs and they penetrated you to try and replicate what you were sure a lover’s touch must feel like. And as always – after the first time- they stopped asking for permission, you were their toy, so you no longer had choice over that part of yourself.

But through nice guys and bad boys, for fifty years you had Rhysand who was a friend – who treated you with respect and finally let you talk, let you breathe.

In the end he was the one who found you, in the backroom of a party – drunk and undressed. You were weeping, curled in a ball with your attackers’ seed dripping out of you, bruises decorating your bare skin. When he turned you over with his comforting hands he found your nose dripping red and the vibrant lipstick you wore smudged.

He helped you sit up and redress, took you home and stood outside the bathroom while you scrubbed yourself clean in scalding water – still unsteady on your feet. You changed into a nightgown silently and neither of you said a word when you crawled into bed next to each other, crying in your best friends’ arms as he tried to console you.

When you woke up, he was gone with just a scribbled message about Amarantha and the name of a healer he trusted. But you just placed it back down, turning onto your back and staring at the ceiling as hot tears ran into your hairline.

You barely ate anything for the days following your assault – fighting with your mother more when you rarely saw her and subsequently breaking it off with your current boyfriend. You had thrown his hands off you when he tried to touch you and the screaming match that followed ended your relationship.

Your bond with Rhysand grew only closer however as you spent nights drinking in candlelight, talking about anything and everything until you were sure he knew every inch of your soul and you his.

“You know what I’m going to do as soon as she’s gone,” you whispered one night as you stared at the twinkling lights you had hung on your bedroom roof to imitate stars.

“What?” Rhys had asked, never letting his eyes leave the ‘stars’ which he had laughed at and then proceeded to rearrange to make them more accurate. To which you threw a pillow at his head.

“Find a hill, or a pier, or a large pit or anything and scream into it until my throat bleeds.” You said and he laughed, the bed beneath you rumbling.

“Consider me on board.” He joked as you sat up to perch at your vanity – smudging the sharp eyeliner you wore with a small brush and applying some red lipstick.

“Wanna go out?” you asked him, and he sat up to with a small, sad smile.

“Can’t.” you understood his implication and frowned.

“I’m honestly surprised she hasn’t gutted me yet,” you tried to lighten the mood, but his face darkened slightly when he joked back.

“Oh she wants to, I’m telling her any information you give me about citizens, so she doesn’t.” He said, ruffling your hair as he stood to leave.

“That’s fair, I’ll keep an ear out,” you smiled, squeezing his hand gently before he left.

Things changed when Feyre Archeron appeared, you saw the way your friend watched her and realised you might be competing for his attention soon, but you were happy for him. Until he brought her to that first party – drugged and barely dressed. You felt the bile rise in your throat as you pushed down memories of yourself in such a similar position, and while you knew he would never hurt her – he was still a man. And you were foolish to believe for all those years that he was a man who would realise this was wrong.

Making polite excuses you left the party, picking up the tails of your dress as you all but raced home – ditching the dress and closing the blinds tightly as you made yourself food in your underwear. The sick feeling in your throat spreading through your chest and stomach as you ate, abandoning your meal halfway for a book and large sweater. And when he knocked on your door that night, desperate to tell you all about her – all about the human girl who he was sure could be his mate, you pretended to be asleep.

You barely spoke to him the whole time she was there, unable to look him in the eyes when she was so clearly out of it – and the feeling only grew when the next morning she would have all eyes on her. You understood that feeling. You instead spent parties flirting with Tarquin, the young high lord who was only a few years your senior or warding off marriage invitations with laughs and carefully placed words.

Rhys would sometimes catch your eyes – furrowing his eyebrows at you when you avoided his gaze, the sick feeling never really leaving. But it wasn’t until you watched Tamlin slay Amarantha with a smile that he tried to speak to you again. Feyre was Fae and leaving with her betrothed and Rhysand had just confirmed they were mates – and never had he needed his best friend quiet like he did now.

You were sitting when he found you, head in your palms and blood dusting the skirts of your dress. You had been sitting near Amarantha when it happened. You looked up when he neared, smiling sadly as he sat next to you.

“Want to go home?” he asked you quietly and you scoffed, standing, and moving to leave quickly. He followed after you, grabbing your arm as you wrenched it out of his grip with more ferocity than he had ever seen from you.  

“Don’t touch me,” he held his hands up, backing away to give you space as you got your breathing under control.

“What did I do?” he asked – smart enough to not presume anything.

“How could you think it was okay, after what happened?” your voice was quiet again, and so sad.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he implored, stepping slightly closer again. You raised your eyes to meet his and he understood, the darkness you carried in your eyes shining through – the memories that resurfaced in those dark moments. “I’m sorry, let me explain please.”

You let him hold your arm softly as he winnowed the two of you to your house where you sat down heavy and tired.

“I did it because she needed out of that cell, but I saw what they did to you and you’re a fae woman, she’s… she was human. So it meant that no one else would touch her.” He tried to explain, “And she wouldn’t want to remember.”

“That’s a horrible thing to do Rhys.” You stated and he hung his head low, “How in anyway was that helping her, to get her out you could’ve snuck her here or just take her to a ball and let her dress normally.”

“I’m sorry, I just knew this would’ve been the safest option,” he grabbed your hand again and squeezed it like he did all those years ago, “It’s over, we can go home.”

“I am home,” you laughed bitterly, gesturing to your house.

“No, you’re coming out of this city – we’re putting it behind us.” He stood and held out a hand.

“I know you’re trying to be dramatic and all, but I have to pack – and think.” You said and he laughed.

“Take your time,” he said, sitting back to wait for you, “And I know it might take you a while to forgive me, but I’ll wait.”

You had left soon after, as he revealed his city to you. Winnowing to a house where two beautiful women stood at the door, strong winged men appearing next to them almost instantly – all sharing the same tear-eyed look. Well, all asides from a short, dark-haired woman who simply smiled.

The men you presumed were Azriel and Cassian barrelled towards Rhysand, attacking him in the most violent hug you had ever witnessed. Mor followed soon after and Amren simply offered him a curt nod, to which he bowed slightly with a cheeky smile.

Cassian turned to look at you and everyone followed suit, you straightened up – not wanting to cower under their gazes.

“And this, this is (y/n).” Rhysand said, placing a hand on your elbow, “She’s the only reason I survived under the mountain.”

You smiled at him, annoyed still – but you still held so much love for him in your heart. You looked away when Cassian approached and wrapped you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground slightly.

When he released you he looked you dead in the eye, “I am forever in your service.”

“Cassian let go of the poor girl,” Mor exclaimed behind him, and you giggled, looking to Rhys for support.

“Forgot to tell you he’s a hugger,” he shrugged, and you shoved his shoulder.

“Oh did you!”  you laughed.

“Gotta get used to it, you’re part of the team now,” Cassian slung an arm around your shoulder as he guided you inside, “which means lots of hugs and long talks about emotions.”

“Don’t steal my best friend Cassian,” Rhys jabbed at his brother as you all moved to sit inside around a long table.

“He already had I’m afraid, can’t reverse love like ours,” you joined in, patting Cassian’s hand as he punched the air in victory, Rhysand feigning pain as he dramatically collapsed into his chair – a hand over his heart.

When you were finally seated you caught Azriel’s gaze, his eyes locked on you – having watched you interact with his family for less than five minutes and already completely enamoured. You smiled softly when you caught his gaze and he grinned at you, no words passing.

Later that evening – after too many drinks, you found yourself alone on a balcony you found, drinking in the fresh air greedily after all those years underground. You didn’t realise he was there until he was next to you – silent on his feet, his shadows a cool chill passing over your shoulders.

You tilted your head to look at him, in awe of his beauty. Not even Rhysand had awed you as much as this man was, his beauty unparalleled by anyone you had met before. He turned his gaze down to you as well, fighting the urge to reach out and touch you as he watched you move with such elegant curiosity.

“We haven’t had the pleasure of being formally introduced,” you smiled, lifting your hand delicately, “I’m (y/n).”

He met your hand halfway, lifting it to his mouth with perfectly poised and trained grace. “Azriel,” his voice was deep, gruff – and sent chills through you quickly. But when he moved your hand from his mouth you held on, the sparks flowing through you telling you all you needed to know. He similarly made no move to let go.

“Are we? I don’t really know how any of this works,” you laughed nervously but he smiled so warmly and tugged you slightly closer to him with the hand you were still clutching.

“You’re my mate princess,” he said, voice rough from disuse. You smiled widely, eyes forming tears as your gaze never strayed from him – finally getting one person who would truly love you, not your body – but you. He tugged your hand gently and you followed him inside, smiling and love drunk.

“We should probably go to the house of wind,” his voice was quiet as you furrowed your eyebrows at him.

“Me and Cassian have to share a room here, the bed are singles.” You smiled and laughed – irrevocably happy.

“Yeah maybe not,” you said, and he held your hand softly as he walked you to the front door, passed his past out friends, Rhys cracking an eye open when you walked past him, and you turned when he tugged your skirt gently.

You okay? He asked in your mind, and you smiled at him.

I’m perfect, why? You replied as he closed his eyes again, clearly too tired to hold them open - Azriel moving to retrieve your coats.

Just don’t feel pressured into doing anything you’re not ready for, Azriel is understanding he won’t get angry. A sort of cold feeling settled on your shoulders when you realised why Azriel wanted that extra privacy.

Shit forgot I had to do that you joked but Rhysand felt the stress growing, however before he could reply Azriel was by your side again and you were waving him goodbye, your smile tight lipped.

Honestly, you trusted Rhysand when he said that Azriel would understand – but so far you had yet to meet a man who truly respected the boundaries you set, a man who would truly wait. Azriel met your eyes in silent questions before scooping you into his arms, flying high above the house as you squealed in his arms, clinging tightly to his neck, and shutting your eyes tightly as you soared above the vibrant city.

He felt you tense as you neared the house, swooping lower in order to land on the large balcony attached to his room. He placed you on shaky legs gently and looked down to smile at you again – heart so full of love and peace.

Not only was his brother returned to him in one piece, but along beside him came you. His mate. His mate.

You caught his gaze and gave him a tight-lipped smile, terrified for history to repeat itself. You wanted to talk to him and know him – you didn’t want him to learn to love your body instead of you. And you were truly afraid to be touched again, you hadn’t been with a man since you were raped – fear stopping you before they could get close and walls slamming up if they tried.

“Are you okay?” Azriel’s voice was dripping with concern – genuine concern, and the way he said it made tears well up in your eyes. His own instantly widened as he sensed the sadness and fear rolling of you in waves, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as you sobbed into his chest. “Oh sweetheart we don’t have to do anything, c’mon lets go sit down.”

He guided you through the glass doors and sat you down gently on the bed, holding you gently and coaxing you through your breakdown. Once your breathing had calmed slightly and you had pulled out of his embrace, wiping your tears harshly with the butt of your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered quietly, terrified to anger your mate when you’ve only just found him.

“It’s okay darling, what’s wrong – did I do something? You’re not terrified of heights are you?” he asked, and you laughed softly, a smile growing on his face as his worries eased slightly.

“No, that was fun,” he grabbed your hand in his scarred ones and you gripped it tightly.

“Then what was it?” you looked into those beautiful, worried eyes and let out an exhale – bottom lip quivering.

“I just don’t think I can – I can’t do that tonight.” You whispered the words lowly, afraid of his reaction as you clung like a child to his hand.

“Hey, that’s okay – we don’t have to do anything until you’re ready,” he smiled, worries easing. You still wanted to be with him, just not in that way yet – and he could wait. He would wait a million years if you asked.

“Even if I’m not ready for a while?” You asked, and he held your face in his hands gently – looking into your tear-filled, defeated eyes.

“I would wait forever and then some – I have already waited so long to meet you, I’m sure I can last longer, especially if you’re next to me.” Your smile was so sad when you met his eyes.

“I’ve been told that before,” Azriel just pulled you closer to him with a cheeky grin.

“And were any of them your mate?”

“No,” you smiled at him again and he thought his heart was going to combust.

“Well then, I love to prove people wrong.” You buried your head into his chest as his arms came around you once more, “Would you like to sleep here, or would you like your own room?”

“Here is fine, I like the way you make me feel,” you said quietly, tugging on the bond experimentally. Azriel just smiled and tugged back.

“That works for me, I’ll get you a change of clothes.” He moved to stand but you stopped him – tugging on the dress shirt he wore.

“I want this,” you grinned cheekily up at him, and he laughed, but undid the buttons and pulled it off anyway – turning around to let you change in peace. When he turned back around you were looking up at him with wide eyes – looking impossibly cute in his shirt.

“It has holes in the back,” you complained, and he laughed, sitting down to tug off his trousers before sliding under the covers as you scrambled to lay in his arms.

“Well I do have wings,” he cemented his point by letting one drape over your shoulders as you sighed in content.

“Really, I hadn’t noticed,” you deadpanned quietly, burrowed deep under his arms and the covers. His chest rumbled with the silent laugh as he pressed a kiss into your hairline.

The next morning he awoke to you laying on his chest, tracing the scars on the backs of his hands with a delicately pointed finger. He stared in wonder, and you must have felt his gaze because you turned your head to meet his eyes, face still puffy from sleep. As you whispered to him that morning, your chin resting on his chest as you gazed up at him until he rose to get your morning drinks. Barely daring to leave for more than a few seconds. And when he returned he was so glad he did – welcoming the sight of you curled up under his sheets with a shy smile and tired eyes.

“Do we have to do anything today?” you asked as you sipped your drink slowly, Azriel’s’ arm tight and secure around your waist.

“Nope,” he said, delighted at the prospect, “I just want to be with you and my family.”

“Sounds heavenly.”

True to his word, for the next few weeks that past, you and Azriel didn’t progress past slow, occasional kisses and lingering touches. But before either of those he was always searching your eyes – asking permission. And you truly fell in love with him during those weeks.

He was caring and consistent – never promising anything he couldn’t bring. And he cared for you, he cared for you past your body and looks. He wanted to be with you for an eternity.

One night, while you lay together, speaking lowly and listening to the rain fall outside your room – a glass door cracked open, you decided you were ready. You pressed closer to him, your lips meeting his own in a kiss more passionate than you had previously shared.

He followed your lead with just as much passion, but when you crawled into his lap he pulled away slightly.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to rush you,” he asked quietly, hands coming to rest on your hips.

“I’m sure, I love you and I want to be with you.” You told him sincerely, “But I haven’t been with anyone in a few years so I’m a little out of practice.”

You giggled nervously but he furrowed his eyebrows, “But you told me about your boyfriends?”

“Yeah but I – stopped dating about five years ago.” You tried to explain quickly, old nerves being brought up, but Azriel pulled you closer and as always his touch calmed you.

“Can I ask why?” he watched you drop your head a little as you breathed slowly – determined to not let your fear rise, you would probably end up telling him anyway so you might as well get it over with.

“I was raped.” You stated and his grip on your hips tightened slightly as he swore.

“Darling, I’m so sorry,” he started but you stopped him with a sharp glaze.

“You don’t need to apologise, it happened and it’s over now.” He could practically feel you pull away, so he loosened his grip on your hips and instead brought his arms up to hold you against his chest.

“Who did it?” he asked, voice dark and dangerous. You muttered a name lowly – under your breath – and he pocketed in the darkest corners of his mind for later. His shadows itching to tear the man apart.

“Look (y/n), if you’re ready I am more than happy to oblige but I need to know you’re really ready, I will wait as long as you need.” You pulled away from his chest and kissed him gently.

“I’m ready, I trust you,” he smiled up at you from where you perched on his lap and you giggled and he flipped you over, laying between your legs with a feral grin.

He made you cum three times with his mouth and those beautiful, beautiful hands alone – more than you had ever experienced with a man and he hadn’t even received any pleasure yet. Except from the pleasure of watching his perfect mate fall apart on his sheets, over and over.

And when he lay over you, your legs pushed up and wrapped around his waist, and his forearms on either side of your head – he would later swear he had never felt more complete.

“I’m here with you remember, will be the whole time.” He assured you, voice soft as he lined himself up and you smiled.

“I love you so much,” you whispered, and he pushed in slowly, filling every part of you and pushing against every spot you didn’t know you had. You swore under your breath when he bottomed out, the slight pain quickly being reduced to please as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good,” you felt shivers run through your body at his gruff voice and smiled, moaning when he began to move.

He pulled his head from where it hid in your neck and watched as you closed your eyes – head thrown back with a smile – and his hips bucked, desperately trying to control himself as he watched you arch your back.

“Shit Az, you’re so big,” you moaned loudly, unaware of the trance you had pulled your mate into.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered with a harsh thrust, a hand coming to stroke down your face as you opened your eyes to meet his, “So perfect.”

You felt as if your heart was going to burst from the love that filled it as you reached up to kiss him softly – conveying every word, every thought, through that kiss. When you pulled away you were nearing your end, the sensations building in you without the need of a fantasy or your own hand.

You moaned his name, gripping his shoulders tightly as one hand instinctively moved to stroke down his wing. He shuddered above you with a loud groan – his thrusts speeding up as he to neared release, yours hips surely bruising from the force of his own.

“C’mon baby, need to feel you, need to know you’re mine.” His words ignited something in your stomach, and you clung tighter to him, kissing his sharp jaw as you smiled.

“I’m yours Azriel, now and forever.” Your gentle words pushed him over the edge and his skilful fingers dipping between your thighs brought you down with him. The two of you crying out at the sensations you shared as a growing need to never let him go consumed you.

He collapsed on top of you soon after and he intertwined your fingers with his own as your breathing evened out. He slipped out of you, and you smiled up at him as he sat up, rolling off your body and laying to the side while you came to rest your head on his firm chest. He brought his spare hand upwards – twirling strands of your hair slightly as you rested in silence. After a few minutes, you clambered into his lap and kissed him firmly as he pulled you impossibly close.

“Thank you,” you whispered against his lips, and he felt his heart swell with gratitude to the world for giving him an angel that would willingly hold his hand and guide him out of the darkness.

“I am so in love with you,” he whispered back, and you giggled, a hand moving slowly to stroke him as you felt him harden beneath you again.

“Hmm, is that so?” you whispered.

Azriel, who had started pressing light kisses into your neck, nipped you gently, making you squeal, “What were you saying darling?”

“That I am also deeply, and unequivocally in love with you.” You replied and he rolled his eyes.

“Just putting me to shame with your big words.” He muttered and you giggled – crawling down his body.

“I’m sure I could make it up to you.”

[apocalypticgargoyle]

okay okay could i request some nsfw with professor!techno giving a little extra praise to one of his students and asking to see them after class (presumably a bad grade of sort, but thats most certainty not the case). I love your writing by the way !! could i be <3 anon?? thank you so muchhh !!!! :DD

˚⸙͎۪۫⋆ welcome <3 anon ˚⸙͎۪۫⋆

im going fucking feral for this idea, thank you for gifting it to me. i- my mind went to dark academia!techno and i lost it. if y'all know me irl, you don't after this. also this techno fanart by EtecteraArt, if you don't have clear skin yet.

𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒. ⚚ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫!𝐓𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐨

pairing: professor!technoblade x fm!reader

± warnings: nsfw (minors dni), pure filth, professor/student, slight degradation, domination, minimal dialogue

It started out as shameless flirting for you. You’d wear the most revealing thing your closet held, crossing your legs and leaning over to pick up a pencil just so you could show him the curvature of your body. You’d tie your hair up or pull it away from your neck when you answered one of his questions, basking in the slight smirk painting his face as his eyes surveyed your movements. You chewed on the ends of your pens and wore a shade of lipstick you knew would draw in his attention. You were positive your fellow lecture members cast their eyes downward at you, believing he was giving you special treatment just because you toyed with him. 

You made sure to show him you knew what you were talking about and actively studying his assignments and works published by him. You were, in a word, hopelessly obsessed with Techno. This obsession led to his appraisal in class when you could fully grasp a more advanced concept he had posed. You didn’t even care about the other girls’ glared burning into your shoulder from behind you as he favored you over them. 

One day in particular, you came to class a bit earlier with a coffee for him in your hand. You stopped before entering, pressing your back against the outside wall beside the door as you heard a feminine voice cooing to him. You smugly enjoyed the tone of his voice as he countered their attempts to hit on him with a grace only a man like him could muster. He thanked the woman for coming in and told her that his office hours were open if she needed actual help on an assignment. You swiped your thumb across your bottom lip before smearing the hue of your lipstick against the white plastic lid of the coffee cup. It was barely noticeable, something only he would take note of. 

The woman exited the room, brushing your shoulder as she went past you. The two of you shared a look that could equate to two territorial wolves in a dispute. The only leverage you had was that he never shot you down, in fact, you noticed he usually enjoyed your under-the-collar comments. As you turned into the room, you noticed him lean back in his chair, running his fingers into his short pink hair and shutting his eyes slightly with a sigh. 

You chewed the corner of your cheek as you approached the lecture desk, his eyes prying open with a small smile as he spotted you. “Good morning, Professor,” you hummed, setting the coffee in front of him. He sent you a hint of a grateful look as students began to file into the room. You turned on your heel and walked to find your seat, swaying your hips slightly, only because you knew he was staring after you. 

As you settled in, you watched Techno bring the cup towards his mouth before his eyes darted to the edge of the lid. With the ghost of a smirk swirling into his expression, he looked up to make direct eye contact with you before pressing his lips to the spot and drinking from the cup. Your breath hitched, heat pulsing through your body at the slight gesture from him. You studied him as he swallowed, letting his tongue dart out to wet his lips as if he were further savoring the mild taste of you from the lid; something an outsider wouldn’t have noticed. 

You clenched your thighs together as you thought about his rejection of other girl’s advances while now he was practically eye-fucking you from across the lecture hall. 

That lecture had been an hour and a half of agony. Your tongue wettened as he twisted a pen in his hand absent-mindedly as he lectured on Eros, his eyes surveying your reactions as he’d quietly roll the pen in his fingers. You weren’t sure how he could have such an effect on you without even touching you. You knew the other girls were squirming in their seats as he sat on the edge of his desk, leaning his elbows on his knees as he answered questions towards the end. 

All you wanted to do was get out of the lecture hall and do what you always did after his class: shower in cold water and plan your next phase of attack. 

Techno had other plans. 

He called out your name at the end of class, meeting your eyes as he instructed you to meet him for office hours. You hear someone whine next to you, nearly making you laugh as you agreed. 

And that’s how you found yourself, pulling the door shut to his office behind you. He dug into a folder on his desk, setting a copy of your latest essay in front of him. Your eyes raked down his arms as he pulled his gold-rimmed glasses on top of his head and leaned over his desk, muscle tightening against the rolled sleeves of his shirt. “Come take a look at this,” he stated. Your eyes darted to the red pen marks, his handwriting only scripting praise on the first page. You knew you aced that essay before you’d even turned it into him. 

You smirked to yourself, dropping your bag beside one of his client chairs and mimicking his stance, planting your hands in the space between his. The size of him dwarfed you, making your mind race vulgarly. This was always how it was, you invading his personal space and him teasing you to go further. “What am I looking at, Professor?” You quizzed sheepishly, feigning innocence. 

You leaned your weight on one of your hands, the fingers of the other tracing closer to his large hand. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you just barely close enough to him that you could feel his breath. Your cheeks flushed, goosebumps spreading over your body. “You think I can’t see what you’re doing?” He needled, voice dropping an octave to send heat straight to your core. 

You gulped, practically tasting him he was so close to you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Professor. But I could learn,” you avowed; your words barely above a whisper. For a moment, you truly believed he would kiss you, his breath cascading over your face with sweet hints of mint and the coffee you’d bought him. 

His lips barely brushed against yours before he pulled away, sending fire to burn in your chest and your knees to turn to jelly. He stood back, his eyes dancing with a mocking ego, knowing he had you on a leash. He lowered into his seat, pressing his back against the leather of his chair, fingers tugging at his collar to undo a few buttons as he looked at your shocked and submissive frame. He chuckled darkly as he eyed you. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. You’re just a child,” he teased. 

You had half a mind to dig into your bag and sign over your ID to prove you were the opposite of his beratement. Instead, you let your breathing shallow, slowly walking around his desk. He tilted his head at you, watching you intently as you placed your hand on the back of his chair, and pushing him away from his desk. As you lowered to your knees, you allowed that hand to travel the length of his body. As your knees settled against the cold linoleum in front of him, you raked your nails down his thighs, making him chuckle softly, a sardonic expression flickering across his face. 

You sharpened your eye contact, your fingers nearly hooking around his belt loops. “Teach me then, Professor. Use me,” you practically begged, making Techno smirk, his hand moving to rest in the crook of your neck while the other supported his head. 

His fingers felt coarse against your skin, the feeling of him finally touching you nearly was enough to send you over the edge. You turned your head, pressing your lips to the inside of his wrist. “So needy. Like a lost puppy vying for my attention,” he mocked, gaze dancing from your lips to your eyes. “What would your boyfriend think of you like this? On your knees in front of a grown man.” His voice dripped with lust and restraint, yet he was completely calm and utterly in control. 

His thumb brushed against your bottom lip, almost mimicking your gesture from earlier as if he’d pictured your actions with his coffee lid. “I don’t have a boyfriend, Professor. And if I did, I doubt he would taste as good as you,” you muttered, silently signing over your soul to him. 

You could practically see the gears turning in his head as he debated what to do with you first. He pressed his thumb into your mouth, flattening your tongue with his finger pad. Your lips instantly closed around him, looking up at him with doe eyes. “Stop talking, pet,” he grumbled, the rest of his fingers angling your face closer to him and he leaned towards you. “If you’re going to beg like a toy, I’ll treat you like a toy,” he promised, making your heart flutter. 

He pulled his thumb from your mouth, only to wrap his hands around your throat, bringing your lips against his roughly. You moaned at the taste of him, wanting to swim against his tongue and give him your dying breath. He groaned into your mouth, kneading your bottom lip with his teeth. 

Techno tugged you to your feet, wrapping his hands around your thighs before pushing you on top of his desk. His hand slipped into your shirt, palming your breast while his other gripped at the flesh of your ass, pulling you closer to him as he ground his hips against yours. You tugged your hands through his soft hair, tugging slightly and savoring the moans he poured into your mouth. You wrapped your legs around his waist, wanting to alleviate whatever distance there was between the two of you. 

Your fingers moved to skim down his toned body, unzipping his pants and palming his cock outside of his boxers. His lips moved to dig his teeth into your shoulder, muffling his groans of praise as he ground against your hand. You panted at the loss of his lips on yours, digging your nose into the crook of his neck and inhaling deeply as he moaned your name. You were convinced you were trapped in one of your many daydreams involving him, but with each nip of his teeth sending a flush of pleasure to your core, you were reminded that he was in fact, about to ruin you. 

Techno pulled you off the desk, spinning you in his hold and bending you over the hardwood. You bit back a smirk as you heard him undo the rest of his zipper and discard his belt behind you. The anticipation of him made your knees shake as your hot breath drew clouds of moisture on his desk. His fingers pushed your skirt further up your hips, blunt nails dragging along the skin of your legs before gripping your hips. You felt him grind himself against your entrance, your mind already blurring with pleasure. He kicked your feet further apart. “God, I've wanted to do this for so long," he nearly growled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade before pushing himself into you. 

You moan, your body adjusting around his length, begging him for more. His hands gripped your hips, driving himself deeper into you, beginning an animalistic pace. You groaned out his name, one of his hands holding tightly onto your side to give himself more leverage. Your mind blurred, mouth hanging open slightly as your cheek was pressed firmly against the wood of his desk. 

Each of his thrusts sent a wave of pleasure coursing through your veins, as his deep, breathy moans hissed into your ear like a sinful symphony. His hand moved to thread his fingers through yours, giving you some kind of anchor as his large frame wreaked havoc on your body. You whimpered out moans of arousal with each of his movements. 

His teeth grazed against your neck again, dragging himself deeper into you. You picked your head up, reaching out one of your hands to grip the edge of the desk, hearing him chuckle behind you. His hand snaked around you to wrap around your neck, bringing you up a bit further as he pressed his lips to one of your flushed cheeks, probably basking in the beads of sweat dotting your hairline from his campaign. 

"Mark me," you begged. "I'm yours," you moaned, rolling your hips back against him. The satisfied moan that slithered from his lips sent goosebumps spreading against your skin. 

He dug his teeth into you, finger tightening around your neck and you knew the brushes he left would be enough of a sultry reminder to keep you wet for a week. 

He pulled you upward, pulling out of you only to put you back on his desk, pushing himself into you as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. His lips melded against yours again, stealing your muttering of his name and replacing it with his hungry moans. 

You ground your hips into him, wrapping around him again as his lips moved to your neck, breath cold against the cold spots from his teeth previously and the thin sheen of sweat coating your skin. With the new angle and his hands digging into your back, your legs were beginning to shake, the tension he'd been binding was becoming too much to hold off. 

His hand tightened around your throat as if encouraging you to finish. He pulled your irritated lips towards him again, wanting to taste you as you went over the edge. 

After that day, you stopped dressing so provocatively. You could wear a turtleneck and padded jeans and you knew he'd still be looking. He knew what you looked like under those clothes: marked up from his teeth, quivering only for him. No longer was there shameless flirting, only glances that told you to wait for him after class. 

He was always hungry for you; whether it be in his car in a vacant lot, in his office to test his chair's range of movement, or in the bathroom of some random club you probably didn't have the qualifications to get into without him. It didn't matter, because he knew that you were his. 

You liked watching the other girls throw themselves at him like you had, mainly because he'd always praise you later with your lips around his cock. You were his favorite, his star student. In his eyes, you didn't hold a candle to the rest of them. 

[astridthevalkyrie]

you know what Astrid no I’m not letting you get away with this I’m making you lie in this bed you’ve made because you said some things and I haven’t been the same since

Levi who has a hyperfixation with your lips: it’s hard to pick up on at first, but Levi is anything but subtle — you always catch him staring at your face, so you assume it’s just because he likes you, or finds you pretty. which of course both things are true, but there’s just something about your lips in particular. how plush they are, how they glisten when your tongue slips between your pout to moisten them, how your bottom lip bounces back into place after your teeth graze along the flesh. Levi can barely contain himself the first time he gets to put his mouth on yours, kissing you for what feels like hours. biting, sucking, massaging your flesh, he gets lost in how wonderful that mouth of yours feels. he fantasizes about kissing you when he’s not doing so, and when he is, he’s fantasizing about all the things those lips can do. how they would feel trailing down his throat, wrapping around his fingers (amongst other places). definitely pictures how sweet they look gaped open, salvia sparkling between the plush and creases (from the perfect view between your legs of course). Levi traces your lips when you speak, immediately after you finish kissing (or, whatever you did with your pretty mouth), just touches them for no apparent reason at most times.

and someone call an ambulance if he catches you sucking on a lollipop or licking at ice cream. he won’t pay attention to a single other thing going on until you finish your treat. he watches every movement like a hawk, as if he’s never seen you move your lips before. please do him a favor and leave a mess behind so Levi has a valid reason to lick the sweet remnants from your mouth. he does a very thorough job :/ c’mon just let him clean you up he promises he’ll do a good job!!

i literally can't post anything. like. anything. because everything is met with some kind of direct attack like this.

warnings: oral (f. and m. receiving), lipstick kink (sigh)

this little fixation always has him biting a lot during these makeout sessions. your lower lip is just so soft and it feels so good trapped between his teeth and the way it bounces back in place is addictive to watch. and licking over it to soothe the pressure? one of his favorite pasttimes.

always wins the pocky game. speed eats his side and immediately claims your mouth. you barely get two bites in before this man is pushing the box aside to cup your cheek and push his tongue into your mouth. sir. calm down.

once when he was eating you out like he'd never drank anything in his life he noticed you had a hand over your mouth to muffle yourself. except you're covering his favorite thing to watch. does he say anything? no. he just throws your legs over his shoulders with a growl and goes to town on your poor pussy. sucking and slurping until you're removing the hand over your mouth to lock his hair into place and crying out his name. he plays smart, see.

but if you want to be quiet? when he's either pounding you into the mattress or even has his finger buried knuckle deep inside you? that's fine. that's fine, he'll just kiss you and you don't have to worry your pretty little head over it. and if you want to hold your arms around his neck and tangle your fingers in his hair that's on you, he won't stop you.

you really catch on when you're about to go down on him and he stops you, requesting you coat your lips with a layer of your favorite lipstick first. you quirk a brow—really?—but you do as he says and it's then you see him truly fall apart. one kiss to the head and levi is whining, head thrown back at how good it feels. he can't help himself, you look so good, and when you actually take his cock between your lips and suck softly? his mind goes blank. he can barely restrain himself for a couple of minutes before he's fucking into your mouth, the loudest you've ever seen him. groaning in praise about how good your mouth is, and turning a pleased red when he sees the marks you're leaving on the base of his dick. and afterwards, he kisses your swollen lips again, and again, and again, unable to get over how fucking sweet you taste.

[lesbianboyblog]

Attack on Titan characters with an alternative s/o

 Each characters s/o has a specific alternative style!! This idea came to me while I was doing my makeup today enjoy ☆.｡.:*

☆Modern au☆

Mikasa: 

plzplz, you two are a goth power couple 

goth Mikasa supremacy

The two of you met while looking at necklaces in a thrift store 

You both were reaching for this cross necklace 

She had insisted that you could take the necklace, and you insisted that she took it

Eventually, Mikasa ended up taking the necklace, but the two of you stayed together in the thrift shop to continue to browse the store together

Now the two of you regularly go on thrifting dates

Every other friday she takes you to the local goth club so you guys can enjoy some local music

Mikasa loveslovesloves when you paint her nails and she loves painting yours 

You guys get matching demonia boots <33 

For your sixth month anniversary Mikasa gifts you the necklace from the first day you guys met 

Horror nights!! One of your favourite chill date nights is watching horror movies and eating snacks while cuddled up under some blankets

Armin: 

The two of you look like polar opposites in the most adorable way

Armin, had a more casual style and your punk attire was more, in your face 

You two met in a bookstore 

Armin was looking for new books to read and he had bumped into you in the gothic literature section 

He was mesmerised by your fishnet covered legs and heavy  Dr. Martens 

You two talked about gothic literature and you even recommended him a couple of books 

 The two of you would go on coffee dates and talk about books, music tastes and much more 

You’ve tried to get him to listen to your music and he enjoyed some of it 

(He really likes the Ramones) 

Record shop dates!! 

Armin really likes Hozier, and got you really into him to

Buys you cool earrings and other jewellery if you have piercings anywhere else 

Hange:

okokok, hear me out.. Hange with a scene s/o

The first time they saw you they were completely starstruck

Hange immediately ran up to you and showered you with compliments. They just loved your style so much! 

Once you two start dating they sit down and watch you do your hair and makeup. 

Might even ask you to give them a scene makeover once  

Please make them a kandi cuff, they will literally melt (especially if they’re a matching pair for the two of you) 

Becomes a big fan of scene music, the energetic music is very entertaining

Will glare at anyone who gives you weird stares in public 

Picture this... walking around with Hange, you in some nice platform shoes end Hange in crocs... 

If you like posting on social media they are so down to be your personal photographer 

Shouts out corny compliments while taking your pictures 

If you have any piercings they will constantly stare at them 

Hange always offer to help dye your hair, might not be the best results but its just nice to spend time together 

Overall super supportive of your style, finds you so unique and cool 

They are your number one fan <33

Yelena: 

Yelena is OBSESSED with your style and your music taste 

Constantly asks you for music recommendations

Makes playlists of the songs you like so you can listen to them in the car with her

LOVES, going to concerts with you

She’d be great in a mosh pit

After begging and begging, Yelena finally lets you do her eyeliner

she looks so hot omgomgomg

Lets you paint her nails black so the two of you match <3

Starts to ask for you to do her eyeliner on occasion 

If you have any tattoos she’ll be obsessed with them 

When the two of you are cuddling in bed, she traces them with her fingers 

Yelena doesn’t know if shes wants any tattoos for herself(You’ve told her multiple times that she’d be hot with tattoos), but she admires yours a lot 

Goes with you to get piercings, and eventually pierces more parts of her ears

She just wants to be cool like you

Yelena brags about you so much, she thinks you’re the coolest person ever

Is probably very into the political aspect of alternative culture and wants to talk to you about that sort of stuff

If you ever want a undercut or to shave any part of your head she’ll be SO down to help you

Teases you for still being shorter then her, even if you’re wearing giant platforms 

LOVES LOVES LOVES, when you kiss her and leave a dark lipstick mark 

Levi:

Levi had a emo phase in highschool

So having a alternative s/o isn’t that weird to him 

Although he doesn’t listen to the music anymore, he feels somewhat nostalgic whenever he hears you play your music 

Also helps you dye your hair 

If you have piercings he’s going to make sure you are keeping them clean, piercings can get so gross 

Gets slightly annoyed if you wear tall shoes and tower over him 

Will jokingly complain about how tall you look in the shoes

But he actually really loves it <33

Good luck trying to get him to agree to let you do his eyeliner 

He will not give in, no matter how hard you try

Carries around a lint roller with him so if you ever need to get hair off your black clothing just find your boyfriend, he’s got your back

Will go to shows with you every once in a while, he’s not a big fan of crowded spaces so it’s not his go to date night 

Would much rather have you force him to watch cult classics with you instead 

Kinda likes all the weird movies you find for the two of you to rent

Will probably slowly start taking inspiration from you and start dressing like a slightly emo man in his 30s, its sexy