#as if he doesn’t curse every other sentence

[madaqueue]

Lost Cherry

pairing: yuta okkotsu x f!reader

themes/content: dark content. yandere/stalking. non-curse modern college au. language, smut. scent kink (?), alcohol consumption, drugging (no nsfw during), oral (f receiving), semi-public sex. 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.8k

a/n: "i love this guy and whatever undiagnosed anxiety disorder he has" is my fav yuta quote i've ever heard and honestly...me too (and yeah this is based off the tom ford perfume what about it)

Yuta noticed everything about you. How could he not, when the essence of perfection, an angel reincarnate, was here before him?

He truly saw you, his dark eyes boring into your soul as he soaked in your every move, every reaction, every thought.

When you met him your freshman year of college you thought he was sweet, albeit a little strange, his intense gaze putting you slightly on edge for a reason you couldn’t quite pin down. But nevertheless he was always the perfect gentleman, holding every door for you, driving you to class when it rained, bringing you your favorite foods when you were sick. He did it without question, as though caring about you came second nature to him, like it was his one true state of being.

The two of you continued growing closer over the years, sleeping on each other’s couches when study nights ran long, going to concerts of a band you loved together, cooking your favorite foods. It was almost uncanny how similar you two were, sharing the same taste in everything, Yuta’s smile never faltering as you gawked at him in disbelief when he recognized the obscure reference you made or when he happened to guess your coffee order. “I guess it’s just fate,” he’d grin as you laughed in awe.

But it’s not fate, he thinks. Fate would never be so careless as to risk letting you slip from his grasp; no, it was him. Time and time again he outsmarted the universe, foiling its plans to separate you. He knows you because he sees you, understands you, in a way no one else ever will (he’ll make sure of that). It wasn’t hard, really - he was always naturally observant, calculated, patient. All he needed to get close to you was a few chance meetings, accidental run-ins, where he could show you just how much he cares about you. And you, being as sweet and kind as you are, fell right into his open arms.

He loves you because he sees you.

He sees the way your lips curl into a smile as you sip your drink from across a crowded bar, a slight frown forming across your features as some pathetic excuse for a man tries to speak to you, making an idiotic joke you politely laugh at; he sees how you fidget with your hands, pulling at the chipping nail polish during class, a tell-tale sign you weren’t understanding the material (and an opportunity for him to explain it to you later while you studied); he sees the way you move when you’re alone, when you think no one’s watching, when you finally let your guard down and ease into the truest form of yourself.

It’s almost like you wanted him to see you, presenting yourself to him like a book with the pages peeled open and the cover ripped off, making it impossible for him to look away. It was only natural for his eyes to wander the words of your soul, mastering the lines and sentences of what makes you you.

So it’s no surprise when he gifts you a perfume that perfectly encapsulates your energy, your essence. After months of searching he finally found one that met his standards, living up to his mental representation of who you are. He knows you’ll love it, and you do - you begin wearing it everyday, the sweet scent of your skin filling his senses whenever you step into a room. The warm, amber notes become equivalent to you, a signal of your presence, a smile gracing his lips every time it wafts by him.

The one thing he doesn’t tell you is that he bought a second bottle, just for him, his best kept secret, the cherished liquid that evokes vivid memories of your laugh, your eyes, your skin, your voice, your everything when he smells it.

It’s harmless, really, when he sprays it on his pillow to help him fall asleep, calmness immediately washing over him as he pictures you there, holding him. He could practically feel the warmth of your body in his empty room, imagining how your soft hands would trace his body.

And when he wakes up, the scent of you still lingering, a smile graces his face as he nuzzles into the cool pillow.

It’s not his fault when he grows dependent on it, spraying the liquid into the air as he screws his eyes shut, picturing you. The way you’d kiss him, how smooth your skin would be, how soft your lips are, how your hands would feel wrapped around his cock, how warm and tight your cunt would feel around him. As he slides his fist around his length, he can’t help but moan your name, the idea of you filling his mind.

You.

One word, all-consuming. You occupy his thoughts, cloud his mind in bliss, every waking second. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

So when he sees you at a house party, wrapping your arms around his neck as you go in for a hug, why the fuck do you smell different?

“New perfume?” he asks, trying to hide how visibly taken aback he is as he pulls away from you.

Nodding, you take a sip of the drink in your hand. “Mhm,” you hum over the music. “Friend got it f’me. Y’like it?” you slur slightly, swaying in his grasp.

“I-it’s nice,” he stutters, his fingers beginning to dig into your arms.

How could you?

Glancing down, he notices the nearly empty cup you cling to, mind racing as he formulates a plan. “Want me to get you another drink?” he asks, steadying his thoughts and tilting his head innocently, hiding the rage he feels behind his dark irises.

A soft smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, lip gloss glowing under the LEDs, as your eyes lazily make their way up to his. Reaching out a hand you ruffle his hair, placing a sticky kiss to his cheek. “You’re s’sweet Yuta,” you murmur against his skin, holding your glass out for him to take.

This would be sweet, if it wasn’t for the vile, traitorous perfume that suddenly overwhelms his senses. It’s too floral, too dry, too not you.

“Be right back,” he purrs, placing a kiss to the top of your head before stepping away, afraid that if he stayed any longer he would do something he regrets.

Besides, he can’t pass up this opportunity: he gets to show you he can take care of you, how much he adores you, and get rid of the chance that anyone thinks they know you like he does.

When he returns, you don’t even notice the weird taste in your drink; why would you? You trust him, like you should. When your body starts to feel too heavy, legs struggling to keep you up, you lean on him, like you should. When your head begins pounding and you just want to lay down, you let him take you home, like you should.

In the comfort of your apartment, one all too familiar to him, he helps you change into pajamas before bundling you up under the blankets of your bed. You look so sweet, so innocent, as your head rests against the pillow, eyelashes fluttering as you ease into sleep.

Your mind is cloudy as you rest, body still pulsing with each beat of your heart, suddenly sensing his weight shifting from where he sits at the end of your bed. “Yuta?” you whisper weakly.

He could melt just hearing you call his name, your voice like honey. “Yes?” he responds, turning his head over his shoulder to face you.

“Stay,” you murmur, reaching a hand out to him.

God, he could die happy right here. He could afford a few hours of sleeping next to you, right? It’s not like there’s any urgency now, he’s already lined everything up, now he just has to knock it down.

“Okay,” he breathes, getting under the covers next to you.

The warmth of your body envelops him as you lazily wrap your arms around his torso, uncoordinated motions to keep him, your one source of stability, close to you. Your thoughts are fuzzy as you fade into Yuta’s softness, letting him overtake your mind. Shifting his weight he leans into you, head resting on yours as you bury your face into his chest. He holds you against him, the scent of your shampoo lingering on your hair, a familiar one, a kind one.

He waits until your breathing slows, soft snores leaving your throat as you rest peacefully against him. Gingerly untangling his body from yours he rises, making his way to your bathroom. Sitting atop your counter is the target of his task: the sacrilegious bottle of perfume. It takes so little for him to knock it off the ledge, glass shattering as it hits the tile, the strong smell suddenly overwhelming the confined space, making his stomach turn as he pictures you in it. Never again.

He softly pads back to your bed, careful not to wake you as he rejoins your shared warmth under the comforter. Overwhelmingly pleased, his heart races as a contented grin spreads across his face.

When you question him about it the next morning, it’s easy to brush off.

“Yuta?” you question sleepily after you return from the bathroom, “Do you know what happened to my perfume?”

Normally the frown across your face would haunt him, tugging at his heartstrings to see you unhappy, but now it takes everything in him to not show his excitement. “Dunno,” he shrugs, “maybe you knocked it over last night?”

“Mmm, probably,” you hum, settling back in next to him as your head rests on his chest, hoping you don’t notice how his heart races at the contact, your mind still too foggy to realize you never even told him that the bottle broke. “Thanks for taking care of me last night. Sorry I got so drunk, I don’t know what happened.”

“Nothin’ to apologize for,” he reassures, his arms reaching around you, “I like taking care of you.”

“Thanks, Yu,” you murmur, nuzzling your head further into the softness of his t-shirt.

It’s so easy, he thinks. Everything with you is just that, easy: it’s easy to make you trust him, easy to look after you, easy to love you.

So when he sees you a few days later, eating lunch outside between classes, it’s easy for him to go over and sit next to you, the grass tickling his shins as he crosses his legs.

“Hi, Yuta,” you smile, your cheeks slightly rosy in the sun as you lean your head onto his shoulder.

Before he can respond, a familiar scent hits his nose, the one that is so, undeniably, you. “You smell good,” he blurts out, unable to contain his excitement.

A giggle escapes your lips at the sudden compliment, the sound soft and sweet. “Thanks,” you laugh, “it’s the perfume you got me, so I’m glad you still like it.”

“O-of course I do,” he stammers, “I picked it because it’s perfect for you.”

Looking up at him, you don’t miss the slight redness covering his face as his adoration for you begins to slip through the cracks of his resolve. All you can do is continue giggling, the most angelic sound in the world echoing in his mind, as he melts before you. “You’re too sweet, y’know that?” you ask.

Popping one of the cherries you brought for lunch into your mouth, a comfortable silence falls between you as Yuta continues staring at you in awe - how could you be so perfect? He has to stop himself from nearly drooling as he watches your tongue work the pit from the flesh of the fruit, the way your lips move absolutely tantalizing. He has to have you.

Sensing his gaze, you turn to face him. “Want one?” you ask politely, holding the bag out to him.

As you shift the richness of your perfume again wafts towards him in the breeze, tearing down any remaining walls of shame or embarrassment left encasing his feelings for you. Suddenly he leans forward, one hand going to the back of your neck as his lips crash into yours.

The kiss is messy, needy, as his tongue slides into your mouth. His body presses against yours, desperate for more of you, as you fall into the grass. His hands are everywhere, finally able to feel the one thing he’s been thinking about for years, as they roam your body.

Pulling away slightly, you breathlessly try to get his attention with a call of his name, but he doesn’t stop, only shifting his weight to kiss down your neck. Everything about you overwhelms his senses as he sucks against your skin, leaving a trail of bruises behind. His.

Your back arches off the ground as he moves lower, lips trailing kisses down your abdomen over your clothes as his palms grasp at your tits, your stomach, your ass, any part of you he can find, his touch hot. When he begins undoing the button to your shorts, a wave of panic overtakes you as you process what he wants.

“Y-Yuta,” you stutter, your hand reaching down to tilt his chin up, forcing him to face you. As he does, your face flushes at just how feral he looks, his pupils blown wide and lips parted as he pants expectantly.

“Please,” he whispers, “need to taste you,” his eyes moving back between your legs as he continues removing your shorts.

“B-but-” you begin, worried about the chance of being seen if someone were to walk past the small field you sat in, your gaze moving across the open space.

“There’s no one here,” he explains without looking up, sensing your nervousness. “I’ll make you feel s’good, I promise.”

Glancing around, you confirm the absence of any other students or professors, biting your lower lip nervously as you acquiesce.

Frankly, Yuta didn’t care if there was anyone around - once he started, he couldn’t stop.

He tugs your pants off, pausing only momentarily to admire the wet spot in your panties before pulling the flimsy material out of the way, his mouth attaching to your cunt. He moans as his tongue meets your folds, so much better than he could’ve imagined. The sound vibrating against your skin elicits a sharp gasp from you, your hands instinctively reaching down to his hair.

“Yuta,” you whine as his tongue glides up you.

God, he loves the way you say his name; he needs to hear it again.

His palms trace down your body to hold onto your thighs tightly, nearly leaving more bruises against your skin as he pulls you impossibly closer to him. Swirling around your clit he whines as your hips move up, desperate for more friction, his heart swelling at the idea that you need him just as badly as he needs you.

After years of loving you he knows just what to do, exactly how to move to make you feel good, his compendium of your body finally paying off. Slipping his tongue into you, another whimper escapes his throat as you moan his name. Bringing one hand down he roughly circles your clit with his thumb, using the exact pattern he’s seen you do more times than he could count, one he knows is guaranteed to bring you closer and closer and closer.

As your grip on his hair tightens, he knows it’s working.

His mind is flooded with you, your smell, your taste, your sounds, your everything. He loves it, he wants to crawl inside you and live in your heart forever, just like you’ve done with his. He wants to make a home in the corner of your mind, getting to see the most private and intimate thoughts you have that not even he could be privy to.

The only thing tethering him to reality is your soft voice calling his name, the most soothing rhythm in the world as your body begins to shake, heat building as you approach your release.

“Yuta,” you whimper, “m’close.”

Warmth spreads across his body, knowing he’s the one making you feel good, taking care of you, loving you, like nobody else ever could. His motions pick up, messily grinding his tongue against your cunt as you pull him into you. Everywhere he presses feels like flames, heat pricking over every inch of your body.

His name leaves your lips like a prayer as you come undone on his tongue, a series of whines reverberating against you from Yuta as he continues messily lapping you up, desperate for anything more you’re willing to give him.

When he finally pulls his face away from between your legs he’s immediately back on top of you, his lips pressing into yours with the same feral desire. His breath is hot against yours as you taste yourself on him, the entire thing overwhelming your mind as your body comes down from its high.

Pausing for only a moment, his eyes flutter open as he looks down at you, a gentle sheen of sweat across your features, grass surrounding your hair, cheeks a soft pink. Everything about you so, absolutely, undeniably perfect.

“Mine,” he whispers to himself, so quietly you nearly don’t catch it, before his lips are on yours again.

[literaila]

How would gojo propose? Would he be serious or would he lock in and ask 👁️👁️

there is not one single proposal. oh no.

it’s starts off fairly simple—

“you have to fold it at an angle so that it doesn’t bunch up when you—“ you glance at satoru out of the side of your eye, sighing. “are you even listening to me, satoru?”

“marry me.”

and you drop the sheet in your hands. you turn to him, eyes as wide as can be. “excuse me?”

“marry me?” he’s smiling at you, leaning down so that you’re eye to eye. “please?”

you blink at him. staring for just a moment. the laugh that falls out of your mouth next is nothing short of bewildered, disbelieving. “i can’t—“ you scoff, returning to your sheet which satoru is supposed to be learning how to fold. “no, thank you.”

he pouts. “no? why not?”

you laugh again, kissing his cheek. “nice try, baby.”

and then he stands there with his arms crossed, just staring at you for almost an hour.

or maybe it’s date night and you’re just walking down the street, and satoru points out a lantern that’s bouncing colors off of the wall, a rainbow of light on both of your faces.

and you’re walking arm in arm, just looking at each other.

“marry me,” satoru whispers, his voice lithe and warm, something tangible.

you’re already smiling at him, so you don’t stop. “are you flirting with me?”

“c’mon, just one little marriage. i’ll even buy you a cake. and a ring.”

“wow. that’s a temping offer.”

“marry me?” he repeats, stopping you so that you’re just looking at him.

looking at the light in his eyes, and the colors on his face, turning his skin all sorts of magic.

“i’m think i’m going to pass.”

he groans, almost falling into you. “why not?”

“that’s just too easy, satoru,” you say, kissing his cheek, and then you drag him along as you resume your walk.

the colors fade, and so does satoru’s dejection. your smile is too contagious for him to keep up the act for long.

but then it molds into something else—far more desperate.

you’ll just be opening the fridge, looking inside.

“did tsumiki already pack her lunch?” you’ll ask him.

and satoru will nod. “yes. marry me.”

you just roll your eyes, shutting the door.

or you’ll be in the shower and satoru knocks on the door, peeking a head in. “what time will you be ready?” he asks.

“half an hour?”

“okay…” there’s a pause.

“satoru?” you ask, when you don’t hear the door shut.

“marry me?”

you scoff. “go check on megumi.”

or you’ll be in the store and satoru will put another carton of ice cream in the cart, which you scold him for.

“put it back.”

“only if you marry me.”

“i want you to redact that sentence in the next three seconds—“

or you’ll be exorcising a curse, just finishing up, still panting when you get a phone call. “satoru?”

“marry me.”

“do you actually need something? i’m kind of busy.”

“yes. marry me.”

“i’m hanging up.”

and this goes on for months. it will spread into a year, and at some point you stop feeling guilty for rejecting him every time, and satoru stops looking sad each time you do.

it’s like a habit, some weird tradition the two of you have. you come to anticipate it. appreciate it for what it is—easy, something ridiculous.

megumi personally hates it. “she already said no,” he’ll grunt at satoru, passing him through the door. “just get over it.”

tsumiki just sits there, waiting expectantly every time like the answer will be different. but it never is.

and then there’s one day. you’re both at jujutsu high, both working, and satoru just happens to be sitting on the steps of the entrance.

it’s been a long day for him. maybe something happened with one of his students, or maybe yaga said something just to get under his skin.

or maybe it’s just one of those days—the ones where memories cling to his skin like dirt.

it’s hard being here, sometimes.

and you’ve been looking for him for twenty minutes (because you always have lunch together) when you finally find him.

“hey,” you say, hand going to his shoulder as you approach. satoru doesn’t flinch because he heard you coming. “not hungry?”

he just shakes his head.

and there’s something about him, sitting there with his legs spread out, chin resting on a hand, staring off into the distance like he’ll never be able to see far enough.

he looks like a boy, for just a moment. a boy you used to know well—a boy you fell in love with, almost a decade ago, now.

and you smile, but only a little. because it’s always been easy to be here with him, even when he’s this quiet, and even when his eyes are this haunted shade.

so you’ll sit there, sipping on some tea you brought out—a soda you brought satoru sitting between the two of you.

your thighs are just barely touching, hands inches away from each other. you could cozy up to him, remind him that everything is okay—somehow. but you won’t.

sometimes you just have to sit with it.

but eventually, you’ll start to get goosebumps for sitting outside for too long, and you can hear satoru sniffing as his nose runs.

so you sigh, looking to him. “satoru,” you whisper, voice lilted like you have a secret to share.

he looks over, face mercifully blank. “hmm?”

“will you marry me?”

and then satoru’s face stills. the air is calm, the wind shifting, and he turns right towards you.

it takes a couple of seconds, but his face is like the flash of a camera, sullen one moment, and lively the next.

his incoming smile is almost intoxicating.

“really?” he asks, almost breathless.

you laugh, moving over to him, finally wrapping your arms around his torso, burying your cold face into his neck. “next time you ask,” you tell him, “you better make it count.”

and satoru only smiles, wrapping an arm around you.

“okay,” he says.

[tonycries]

Whiskey, Neat, With a Side of You - T.F.

Synopsis. When your date stands you up, you’re lucky that the hot bartender is more than happy to keep you company! 

Pairing. Bartender! Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, strangers to lovers, unprotected, pússydrunk Toji, cúmplay, oral (female + male receiving), créampie, some heinous things with pantíes, dirty talk, spitting, whískey, neither are drunk, absolutely filthy, pet names (doll), swearing.

Word count. 4.6k

A/N. Was originally gonna be Nanami but Toji mmmm

“So, that date of yours is late, huh?”

You don’t know what shocks you more - the question, or the voice from behind the counter - so very deep, tinged with just a bit of amusement.

Tearing your eyes away from the clock at the other end of the bar, it takes a second - and one look around the almost-empty room - for you to realize that shit the hot bartender was talking to you. Sputtering out a quick, “Oh, yes, um-” quickly reading that faded nametag, “-Toji. He’s a bit late.”

The man in front of you raises a brow, dark green eyes locked on the way you shift in your seat. He seemed a bit older, and - you gulp, eyeing the way his arms flex as he fumbles with the shaker - so undeniably attractive. Plowing on obliviously, “Boyfriend?”  

You sigh, pinching your nose, “No, some guy from a dating app. It’s supposed to be our first date.” 

“First date?” Toji lets out a low whistle. “Way to make an impression, dunno what type of asshat would keep a pretty lil’ thing like you waiting.”

Cheeks flaring, you don’t know what it is about him that makes you want to defend yourself, but it doesn’t matter anyway - because whatever rambled excuse gets stuck in your throat at the sharp scrape of glass against the counter. Large hands gently placing a pretty pink daiquiri in front of you, Toji gives you a reassuring nod. “S’on the house till that dumbass shows up. Until then, you can keep me company, doll.”

Playing with the straw between your fingers, your eyes flit to the clock again - 8:10pm.

Well, there was still time. Right? 

Nonsense, maybe.

Because it’s around 10:21pm when you conclude that no, there really wasn’t still time, and your date seemed well and fully intent on completely embarrassing you. And now, him still nowhere in sight, lips a bit looser, you were having the time of your life complaining all about it to Toji.

“-no, I swear.” you groan over his low chuckle. “He really gave me the ‘sorry, my dog ate my keys’ gem. And you know the best part?” Beckoning him over to whisper conspiratorially in his ear - heart stuttering at the heat of his proximity, “The man doesn’t even own a dog.”

Shaking his head, Toji seemed like he was drinking in your every word. “Classic. If yer gonna be late, at least make it interesting. Like, ‘I accidentally joined the circus on the way here.’”

“Mhm, I’ll have to keep that in mind for my next no-show date.” you grin, suddenly feeling a lot lighter than you were a few hours ago. Nowhere near tipsy, but definitely high off the conversation and the addictive scent of his cologne - the expensive kind that left you wondering whether all of him smelled this delicious. 

“Or better yet, you could spend your time with someone who actually knows how to keep you entertained rather than some scrub.”

Snapping out of your little reverie, lifting your head just fast enough to catch the little smirk tugging Toji’s lips. Managing to grit out, “Smooth, huh?”

“Just sayin’.” he hums, before turning his back to organize the glasses on the shelf. And you can’t help but traitorously admire his broad shoulders, cursing that t-shirt for being so goddamn tight that you could see the way his muscles ripple with each movement. 

“Besides-” Catching the tail-end of Toji’s question, “-neat whiskey for all the failed dates?”

You chuckle, “Ah, I really shouldn’t, the other customers will probably-” your sentence dies in your throat as a quick glance at the empty room showed that everyone else had eventually left - leaving just you. And Toji. Damn. Slow day, huh?

“Well, doll?”

Heaving out a shaky breath, you nod. Eyes zoning in on the way he expertly handles the glasses, so dizzyingly inviting. It makes a sheepish smile play at your lips, letting out a quiet little, “Despite all the shitty dates, I’ve actually never had whiskey neat before.”

Oh? That made him pause. Eyes widening ever-so-slightly as he sets down the glasses and leans in a little closer, breath hot against your face. “Never?”

“Never.”

“Well.” Toji muses. “This overpriced shit can’t be your first intro to neat whiskey. If you’re up for it, I’ve got a special 1926 Macallan stashed away in the back n’ can get it for us?”

Oh. Maybe it was that slow, silent grin that curls his lips, that sinful little scar moving as he does. Or maybe it was the way he places a hand on the counter to stare down so heavily at you. Probably it was just him - because you find yourself batting your lashes so deceivingly innocently, “Or I could just go with you?”

And shit if there was ever a time where Toji was sure he met his match then it might just be right now. Because that sultry lil’ smirk on your lips was killing him, making such a carnal little part of him twitch so dangerously. With a heavy nod, you’re following him through the dimly lit bar.

The back room is more of a VIP room than anything - cozy, lined with shelves of alcohol and leather furniture. Heady with the liquor and something so so Toji. 

You’re halfway through reading the title of a wine you could barely pronounce before he’s letting out a grunt of satisfaction from behind you, “Excuse me, doll.” It’s all that’s said before Toji’s pressing up against you. His muscular arm just inches from your head, reaching for something from the very top shelf. And oh you could feel his abs rubbing up against your back, so warm and- 

And then he’s pulling away. 

It was quite hard to stomp down the disappointed whine that almost leaves your throat, and if you didn’t know any better you’d have said something about the amused little glint in his eyes. Smug bastard knew what he was doing. 

Instead focusing on the way he turns to show off a bottle with a deceivingly innocent reverence. “This is going to be a real treat.”

Well. Two can play that game.

“Is that so?” you tilt your head, reaching out to grab the bottle neck, with not as much care of concern as you should have considering this was a million dollar whiskey. Swiftly unclasping the lid, focused only on the way Toji’s breath hitches as you fist his t-shirt in your other hand to pull him close to you - so close.

Close enough that you could count every shade of green in those half-lidded eyes, long lashes fluttering as your breath fans his face. “Such a shame we didn’t bring our glasses, huh?”

Oh the devilish grin that splits across his face sends such delicious shivers down your spine - Toji gets your drift. Of course, he does. Because he’s squishing your cheeks together in an almost-embarrassing pout, fingers searing on your skin, lips ghosting yours, “Yeah, real shame.” 

Immediately bringing the bottle to his mouth, letting the burning liquid pool on his tongue, he spits into your mouth, once. Twice. 

A steady stream of whiskey, and spit. It tasted just like the acrid alcohol and sin. And Toji. 

And it was so messy, smearing across your lips and trickling down your chin. Tilting your head back, you let it flow down your throat obscenely. Locked in his greedy gaze as you loll your tongue out to show off the way you’d swallowed everything he gave. 

“Maybe I do like neat whiskey.”

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him because fuck Toji was intoxicating and just there. That little scar rubbing against your lips as he devours you so sloppily, all hard muscles and heated skin underneath your fingertips. 

“Fuck.” he hisses into your open mouth. Setting down the whiskey God-knows-where near the couch to pick you up like a ragdoll. Drinking in the cute lil’ gasp that leaves you as you wrap your legs around his slutty waist. Groping and kneading every inch of skin he could reach. “How ya likin’ the Macallan, doll?”

“A ‘real treat’.” you mimic his earlier words, voice slightly broken as you feel his rock-hard cock through your wet panties, throbbing angrily against your cunt. Fuck, would you even be able to take him all?

“Oh yeah?”

And before you can react you’re being pushed against the hard wall. Toji’s lips dizzying on yours, fiddling with that godforsaken clasp on the back of your tight dress. 

“Shit.” he groans impatiently, wedging a knee between your legs, grinding against your wet pussy. “Such a delicious meal all f’me but I’ve gotta get through this- fuckin-” rip! “-dress”

Well, you expected your dress to end up on the floor somewhere, just not like this - tattered and hitting the ground of this back room behind the bar, faster than your jaw. And so do Toji’s - pupils blown, eyes hooded as he takes in the heavenly view in front of him. 

Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, licking like he couldn’t stay away. “Shit, doll. You were gonna wear this pretty lil’ number for that loser?” he sounds genuinely confused. Immediately tweaking and rolling your swollen nipples through the sheer fabric. “M’so fucking glad that bastard doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.”

“T-Toji- ngh-” you mewl, as he lets your bra fall to the ground. Taking in one tit in his mouth, swirling his hot tongue around your areola. “Wan- wan’ more-”

“Now now,” he tuts mockingly, delicate strings of spit connecting him to your breasts. “S’rude to be the only one drinking. Unless…” Toji looks up at you through his thick lashes, “You wan’ me to drink in that pretty lil’ cunt of yours?”

And shit that sounded like everything you ever wanted right now. All you can let out is a delirious little nod before Toji’s dropping to his knees. So hard you wonder if it hurts - and maybe it’s the liquor, probably it’s the way he’s drunk off you - but he doesn’t give a fuck. 

“Yeah, atta girl.”

Pulling down your panties in one, fluid motion, he tugs them underneath your legs, disappearing between his own, fumbling with his waistband. And if you angled your head just right you could see the slightest glimpse of Toji fisting his cock. Soaking your already-wet panties with his precum.

“Aw, look at the way she’s so wet f’me already.” he coos at your dripping cunt. Absolutely obsessed with the way you’re so drenched for him already. Slick beading through the flimsy fabric at each hot breath, oh Toji has half the mind to just take you right here, right now. But no, he wanted- needed a taste. Doesn’t think he could live without it. “Wonder if she tastes just as sweet as she looks.”

Whatever retort on the tip of your tongue is cut off by Toji burying himself face-first in your pussy. Licking a long, languid stripe up your swollen folds, pooling your slick on his tongue. 

But it wasn’t enough - it might never be. Because one taste of your pretty cunt and Toji is hooked. 

With a low groan, he’s spitting a steady stream of spit onto your quivering pussy. Spreading it with his thumb before he’s diving back in nose-deep. Snaking a hand down to draw frenzied little circles on your swollen clit, letting your juices glisten all down his wrist.

“Taste s’fuckin’ good. Fucking sweet.” So hot and maybe you should’ve gotten an inkling with how sloppy he was with the whiskey - but Toji was so fucking filthy. Your slick glossing his face so prettily, smearing right up to his nose and dribbling down his chin. Lewd little squelches deafening in your ears. 

“Ngh- Sh-shut up-”

“Shut up? Can’t shut up, doll, m’drunk on this sweet cunt more than I am on whiskey.” he mutters into your folds. “My favorite taste. Got me addicted, huh?”

He huffs out a dark laugh into your pussy, taking in that cute lil’ embarrassed expression on your face. Throwing one of your legs over his sculpted shoulder, Toji bullies his soft tongue into your snug cunt, past that delicious little ring of resistance. 

Making out with your pussy deeper. And his tongue was so long - perfectly hitting your sweet spots, licking all over your plushy walls. Thrusting in time with his thumb drawing on your clit, in and out in and out in and-

“Fuck, I could get used to this. Have you for breakfast, lunch, n’ dinner.”

His words were so dirty, but Toji looked so pretty stuffing his face in your cunt. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, dark strands of his hair sticking to his forehead. Tilting his head just so that your sweet sweet juices slide down his throat. 

It’s what has you tugging in his hair to angle him just right, using him like your favorite toy. Such cute lil’ whines of his name leaving you each time his tongue grazes that one spot that has you keening and bucking into his mouth for more more more-

“Fuck fuck fuck jus’ like that- Ah!” you let out such pretty whines, words slurring together. Delirious little ones that go straight to Toji’s achingly hard cock, angry and twitching in his fist. So needy and glistening with precum in the dim lighting.

Shit, Toji thinks he could cum at just that, which is why he’s lapping at your cunt even greedier, drinking you in like a madman. Fingers so deftly toying with your pretty clit, making you putty in his hands. He has to make you cum. Now. Or else he’s gonna fuckin’ embarrass himself in front of such a goddess. 

“Oh? So drunk on m’tongue, already, doll?” he chuckles. “Can’t speak?” Vibrations sending white-hot jolts of pleasure up your spine. It has you dragging your cunt so sloppily all over Toji’s face - and he likes it. Loves it even, only speeding up his movements. Even when his jaw is aching, walls sucking him up so desperately that it was almost difficult to eat out your pretty lil’ cunt. Even when your sweet juices are dripping down to the hardwood floor in a sinful little drip! drip! drip! 

“I- ngh- m’gonna-”

“Gonna what? You can handle whiskey, you can handle using your words, doll.”

“Cum!” you yelp, “M’gonna cum Toji- ah- feels t’good.” 

And that’s exactly what he liked to hear because Toji only gets sloppier. Alternating between stretching you out on his tongue, sucking on your clit, licking everywhere. Over and over-

“Then cum f’me, doll.”

And you are - fast and hard. So hard that you don’t even realize when you’re rocking your hips all over Toji’s face. Cunt fluttering around his tongue as if you were trying to suck him up - and he lets you. 

“Fuck. Sweeter than I imagined.” he’s slurring into your cunt. “Jus’ like that- yeah, ride out that pretty lil’ cunt on m’face.” Words muffled as he tonguefucks you through your high, stars behind your lids every time he flicks at your pussy. 

Distantly, you hear such embarrassing little whimpers of his name in time with the sinfully wet groans from below - ones you realize are yours only when you’re blinking back your vision. Heart thundering, pathetically trying to catch your breath.

The first thing you hear is Toji’s little chuckle, followed closely by a lewd pop! that has you whirling to look at him down below.

“Wh-wha-” and all you can let out is a strangled little oh! at the sight before you - Toji licking his fingers clean, sucking all your sweet juices like he couldn’t get enough. Even when he’s flashing you a devilish grin around his fingers, rising from his position on the ground to cage you against the wall.

“Told ya m’addicted, doll.”

Your back hits the soft leather before you even realize what’s happening. Bouncing at the sheer force of the throw, you gasp in both shock and at the audacity of this man.

“Toji…” you warn as he looms over you on the couch, yet it comes out more breathless than you intended. But looking at him there - straddling your hips, pants pulled just below his heavy balls, tugging and teasing his rock-hard cock like he was trying to fuck something delicious out of it - how could you be blamed, really?

He was so big. Pulsing wildly in his fist and just soaked in precum - all the way from his pretty pink tip to the tufts of black at his base. Not quite wild, not quite tamed. You cunt clenches in- anticipation? Fear of not being able to walk for the next week?

And in the haze of your orgasm it takes you a second to register the flimsy panties wrapped around his hand. Rubbing against those prominent veins on the side as Toji fucks his fist. So wet and ruined that you almost didn’t recognize it. 

“Jus’ think of it as repayment.” he grins, following your line of sight. 

You scoff, eyes still traitorously stuck on his throbbing cock. So massive and mouth-watering that it makes you wish he used you instead of those panties. “Those were expensive y’know.”

“I’ll buy you new ones. Four. In the color of my eyes.”

“How about…” you flash him a sultry smirk, urging his hips to shift higher. And by the amused quirk of his brow, you knew Toji liked where this was going.  “I can repay you another way.”

And before you knew it, his pants are thrown to God-knows-where, and you had two, muscled thighs straddling your face. Toji slaps his swollen cock on your face once. Twice. “Think that loser was this big?” Thumbing your mouth open as he grazes his weeping tip across your lips, glossing them so prettily. Precum salty on your tongue, all filthy and dripping down to your chin. 

“Open wide- Fuck. Tha’s it-” he hisses, brows furrowing as he stuffs his fat head into your hot mouth. Eyes rolling to the back of his head at the way your lips bulge around him, flicking at the sensitive tip. And it was so delicious, Toji couldn’t decide whether he liked eating you out or this more. 

“Shit, doll.” he grunts, hips fucking into your plushy tongue in shallow, quick little thrusts. “Taking me so well, huh?”

You didn’t know if you were - lips stretching obscenely around his thick cock, tears clinging to your lashes. Choking and gagging around his length in a way that made Toji twitch inside you. Shit, he liked this - liked seeing you like this. And as soon as the realization hits you, you’re moaning around his cock, making Toji’s hips stutter above you. 

Toji has to fight off that part of himself that just wants to paint your mouth a sinful white. Fuck his cum into your till it’s all you can taste - all you can feel. 

“Shit. You little minx. Ah- s’heavenly around me ngh-” pressing your head down till all the way till your nose is flush against his pelvis, balls twitching against your chin. Finally bottoming out and fucking your mouth in harsh, long strokes. “Fuck- Wonder if that pretty lil’ cunt of yours is gonna take me t-this well, huh?”

Oh does he love your smart mouth - but he loves it even more when all he gets in response is wet gurgle around his cock. Looking up at him so tearily and shit he could get used to this sight. “M’gonna take that as a yes.”

And then he’s speeding up, balls squeezing so painfully. God it’s so fucking hard to look at you too - precum and spit bubbling sloppily at the corners of your mouth, makeup so messy and fucking gorgeous to him. 

“Can feel m’self riiight-” Reaching out a hand to wrap around your throat, feeling his dick bulging in and out in and- “here.”

Moving faster so he can ruin your pretty face. It’s so sloppy the way your spit glistens down his length, using your swollen mouth as he pleases. And you’re so eager to make him lose his mind too that it has been fucking into you like a toy.

“Ya like this? Like me using your pretty lil’ mouth like oh- it’s a fucktoy? Oh fuck, doll.” he groans, running his mouth like he’s drunk off yours wrapped around him. “Gonna paint that pretty mouth of yours white if y’don’t stop now.” 

And shit if he knew those words would have you eagerly bobbing your head to meet his hips a little slut then he’d have said them a lot sooner. Trying to get just a taste of him. Mascara runny now, swirling your tongue around his leaking tip every time he hits the back of your throat, so hard that it’s probably sore and bruised. Toji almost feels bad. 

…

Nahhh

Pulling your mouth off him, muttering low and dangerous. “Told ya to stop now, didn’t I?”

And oh he hates to cut off that cute lil’ whine spilling from your kiss-bitten lips, but shit Toji’s losing his patience and his sanity with each passing second that he isn’t stuffing his cock in your pretty cunt. 

Toji backs up, swiping a thumb under your lip, sucking off the remnants of his precum before capturing your lips in a searing, searing kiss. Tasting you and himself and you- 

“Liked the Macallan, huh?” Reaching blindly for the bottle of whiskey, taking a deep swing. Spitting it back into your mouth because shit you looked so pretty swallowing it all up. Rutting his hips into yours, sliding his throbbing erection in between your swollen folds. Collecting your sweet juices on his head, drinking in your adorable gasps.

“T-Toji.” you whimper, hips bucking up wildly. “Just fuck me already, goddamnit.”

And then he is - pressing his fat tip into your sloppy hole. Inch by fucking inch. Not even thinking of easing into it because fuck he needs it. He needs it-

“-s’bad. Ah-” Toji drawls against your lips. “Wan’ed this ever since y’walked in through that damn door.” A mess of spit and alcohol and precum - it made you feel so dirty, dirtier than the pressure between your legs as he bullies his heavy cock into your snug pussy. And all you can do is fucking take it because Toji was so unrelenting.

Thrusting in shallow, mindless little thrusts to just fit himself inside you - and you already feel like you’re being stretched to your limits. Whimpering out a tearily little, “Are you at least ngh- halfway in yet? Oh-”

If Toji was any lesser man he’d just have split you apart on his cock right now, but no. Instead settling for a smug little, “Nope”, popping the p.

But that doesn’t stop him from wrapping two arms around your waist, sitting up on the couch with you splayed out so prettily on his cock. Pulling you, squeezing his dick into your soft cunt, sliding down, down, down.

“Ah! Ah- shit shit shit s’too deep, ngh-”

“No such thing as ‘too deep’, doll.” he clenches his jaw. Hands pushing your thighs apart even further as you’re split apart on his cock. “You jus’ hafta sit there all pretty n’ take- it-” Each word is punctuated by a harsh thrust. 

And Toji’s manhandling you around while bouncing you on his dick. Drawing unhurried little circles on your clit while trying to find that one spot he knows you’d love more than any whiskey or drink. Looping a strong arm to arch you into his body and-

“Fuck!” you keen, hips grinding sloppily to milk his cock as much as you could. Walls clenching so sinfully and shit-

“Found it.”

And then it was like something snapped - because all of a sudden Toji’s no more playful teasing and letting you have your little fun. No, he’s fucking you like a man possessed - thrusting his cock up into you. All the way from his weeping tip, till his balls smack your ass. So hard he’s sure they leave such a shameful mark for tomorrow. Hitting that spot over and over-

“Aren’t ya glad you chose to ah- s-stay with me?” he hisses, throwing his head back. One hand rocking your hips deeper the other becoming faster and faster on your poor, ravaged clit. Driving you crazy. “Fuck that date ditcher, y’look all pretty like this for me.”

“Yes yes yes- s’glad.” you manage to sob out. Voice shaky and hitching at the way he was bouncing you on his cock with reckless abandon. The lewd squelches and skin-on-skin filling the heady room, making your head spin so much that you barely hear Toji’s words. 

“I’d make a much better date. Hngh-” he lets out a guttural groan as your nails rake his back. Fingers on your clit becoming more and more frantic. “Would buy ya flowers n’ a-all that shit. Show up on time, all dressed up.” Drinking in your lewd little ah! ah! ah! every time he milks himself on your sloppy pussy. But oh maybe Toji was a talker when he was drunk because he wasn’t done yet. 

“Make all those other scrubs fuck- jealous. And then-” Hips stuttering and so so sloppy. “Hah- at night- m’gonna fuck you dumb just like this.” he gasps, sounding like he was at the end of his sanity. Losing it bit by bit every time his veins rub so deliciously against all the right spots that make you see stars. 

Losing his sanity especially when you whine out such a cute lil’ noise of agreement. “Fuck m’close. Wanted this too, huh? I saw the way you’d been eyeing me all night.”

You can’t even be embarrassed about being caught red-handed, only looking up at his pretty face with delirious heart-eyes. Too cockdrunk and delirious at this point. And, well, maybe it’s the alcohol in your veins because you’re grabbing at the shiny bottle on the seat, bringing it to your lips. The bitter taste barely hitting your lips before you’re meeting his. Making out as sloppily as he was ravaging you below - all teeth and whiskey and pure filth. 

And that answers his question. 

Messy and desperate. 

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same - clamping down so sinfully on his aching cock. And shit it’s so heavenly that it sends him over the edge as well. 

Toji cums, and keeps cumming so hard that he can see the way his seed was gushing out of your poor, overfilled pussy. Especially not when his thrusts get sloppy, thick cum spilling all over your pretty cunt. Purposely not pulling out like the mean bastard he is to paint your walls a sinful white

Over and over, forming a wet little patch on the couch that he knows he’ll have to worry about later. But right now he doesn’t give a fuck because your bloated and so prettily all covered in his seed. 

Leisurely, he pools the cum trickling out of your cunt on his fingertips, not even wasting a second before stuffing them in your mouth, pushing through your swollen lips. And you don’t complain - not at all. In fact, you’re sucking it all up eagerly. Looking Toji straight in the eyes while you swallow it all. 

“Hmm, not as good as the whiskey.” you tease. Letting yourself be yanked into his body, as he grins against your lips.

“For that, m’keeping the panties.” 

--- 

“Toji…” a low voice rings through the closed bar. Shiu sounding like he’s absolutely at his wit’s end as he continues, “Where the fuck is our 1926 Macallan?”

The man in question was staring suspiciously giddily at his phone - either having not heard what Shiu said, or he just couldn’t give a fuck anyway. And knowing Toji, it was probably the latter. 

A warning. “Toji I’m serious, that shit costs over a million dollars.”

“Yeah yeah, congratulations or my condolences but hey, do you know any great flower shops?”

A/N. I don’t even like whiskey so much, it’s just the thought of bartender! Toji that has me feral.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[yueebby]

indulge me? — gojo satoru

synopsis you and gojo go on an overnight mission and it goes wrong in every way

contents so. much. pining. (2.8k words of it!?), one bed trope, whipped!gojo, ooc gojo, completely self indulgent, a lot of cardiovascular talk, they’re first years in this!

notes first time i’ve written in AGES. sorry :3 ps this is a little snippet from a satosugu x reader series im thinking about starting. thoughts?

(edit: i wrote a part ii)

Gojo Satoru was born blessed. From birth and to death he will always be honored. It wasn't his fault that the Heavens delighted in him. So when Yaga had announced that he and you would be sharing an overnight mission to Kyushu, he nearly leapt in joy (lucky him)!

You, on the other hand, were less than thrilled to find out that you were going to be traveling alone with Gojo Satoru. For two whole days. It was a death sentence.

“Make sure to text me, so I know you're not dead.” Shoko looks between you and Gojo. Either your head will implode as a result of Gojo, or he is gonna be on the receiving end of your wrath. Shoko can’t wait to see which.

“Do take pictures, I heard the onsens there are incredible.” Suguru slyly adds. Satoru perks up at his comment. The two of them share a knowing look before Gojo speaks up.

“Wanna take a dip with me once we get there, [Name]?” He looks into your eyes, his lips are quirked upwards like he’s up to no good (which he is). “I promise I won’t take a peek!” He winks.

“Keep fantasizing, Gojo.”

“Oh I will.” He hums happily. The smile on his lips is kind of cute, you decide. Just a little.

— — — — — — — 

Kurokawa, you come to find out is a very small town in Kyushu. So when people start to go missing, the entire town falls into shambles. Before your trip, Yaga had made it known the enemy you’d be facing. 

“A common denominator of the missing persons is that they were all young women.” He had warned you and Gojo. “It’s an unidentified curse, but I trust that the two of you will be able to handle it.”

Three missing girls. All under the age of 25. Two of which were locals, one being a tourist. 

The moment you arrive on the island of Kyushu, your guard is higher than ever. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Gojo.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of some horny curse,” He looks down at you as the two of you make your way down a small street to your ryokan. Kurokawa was a traditional town, its pride resting on the old culture causing it to be untouched by modern architecture.

Unamused by his nonchalant attitude, you decide to ignore his vulgar comment, “What grade curse do you think we’re up against?”

He makes a noise to show that he’s thinking. “Does it really matter? It’ll be no match for me either way.”

You roll your eyes, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, we still have to figure out what happened to the victims.”

“I don’t see why that’s necessary, but okay.” Your snow haired peer dismisses. It makes you a bit envious that he doesn’t have to ever feel fear for his life. Must be nice.

The two of you arrived at your designated ryokan soon enough, it was a small town after all. Gojo leads the way with you following right after. You can’t discern any cursed energy in the building, but you still make a mental note to ask Gojo about it after you both are situated. 

An elderly lady in an orange kimono stood behind the desk, smiling at you and you returned it back happily.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a young couple here.” She says. That’s right, with the recent disappearance of young girls, there would be a sudden decrease of tourism around this part of town. “You certainly are a beautiful match!”

You gratefully accept her compliment, “Thank you, but we’re not–”

“Thanks granny!” Gojo wraps a strong arm around your shoulder. “I don’t know how I even managed to win her over!” There’s a wide grin on his face that makes your eye twitch. Leave it to him to tell people the two of you were together. Not only that but he totally disrespected the old lady with his informal talk!

“Unhand me, you!” You forcefully whisper at him, while trying to unwrap yourself from his hold. His arm does not budge even as you try to push it off. What the hell is this boy eating? Gojo chuckles with the old lady while you struggle.

“My, the two of you remind me so much of my husband and I in the days of our youth,” She sighs dreamily. Her age must be interfering with her memory because there was nothing inherently romantic going on between you and Gojo. “How long will you be staying here?”

“Only one night,” Gojo decides that he has tormented you enough and lets you go. He slides her his card and she pulls out something from the old wooden counter she stands behind. 

A single key.

Your eyes bug out. Gojo’s eyebrows raise. You laugh nervously, face feeling warmer than it was thirty seconds ago.

“There must have been a misunderstanding. We need two rooms, ma’am.” You hold up two fingers to emphasize your point. 

The smile on the old woman’s face falls, “I’m afraid I cannot do that.” Your jaw drops.

“Huh? Why not?” You press on further. Surely they could not have been booked out of all of their rooms. Tourism is at an all time low after the strange disappearances.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the strange disappearances in the area. It’s a miracle the two of you have even decided to stay here, which I am very grateful for. That is why I must repay you back by ensuring your safety. Otherwise I must ask you to leave and stay in the next town because I will not allow you to endanger yourself so carelessly.” 

You blink. Neighboring town? That was hours away. The curse was here in Kurokawa. You can’t afford to jeopardize a mission just because of your own feelings.

Gojo’s hand is halfway to the key, but he waits for your approval. You sigh.

“It’s fine, we can do one. Thank you.” You bow your head. She smiled apologetically as she handed Gojo the key. Gojo, unbothered by the revelation, whistles happily as the lady leads the way to your suite.

— — — — — — — 

operation satoru x [name]!!!!

Gojosatowu added getosugu, shoko.ieiri

Gojosatowu You wont believe it!!! shoko.ieiri What the hell is this gc And what the hell is Operation satoru x [name]?  getosugu  how come [name] isn’t in this? Gojosatowu Ladies, ladies, one question at a time please getosugu  Expect a forehead flick for that comment shoko.ieiri  Stfu and just answer the questions Gojosatowu alright alright [name] and i are sharing a room in kyushu!! i may come out of this mission a changed man. shoko.ieiri  someone make sure [name] is still alive and well Gojosatowu I dont appreciate your lack of faith in me >:( shoko.ieiri  Keep a six feet distance from her at all times perv Gojosatowu I might have to for my own sanity. What do you think she wears to bed? shoko.ieiri  You disgust me sometimes getosugu  Only sometimes? shoko.ieiri  Let me correct myself. You disgust me. Gojosatowu Im feeling the love :(

“What are you giggling to yourself about?” You place a hand on your hips as you watch Gojo smile at his flip phone.

“Oh don’t you worry about it,” He closes it. Weird. “What’s the living situation?”

You sigh. “Despite its traditional arrangement, there is a bed.”

Gojo perks up. “Yeesh I’m glad! If I had to sleep on the floor my back would be all sore right on a mission. Y'know how annoying that is?”

You suck your teeth. “Allow me to rephrase myself. There is only one bed.” 

There is an awful silence in the room, save for your erratically beating heart. Of course the old woman decided to place you in a couple’s suite.  

“Heh.” Gojo chortles happily. “Wow, this must be a divine sign from God Himself. I mean, who are we to ignore this?”

“Don’t start,” You hold out an accusatory finger at him. “I’m gonna go request an extra futon.”

He pouts, “Don’t be like that, sharing a bed with me can’t be that bad.”

“I’m willing to bet otherwise.” You walk past him. The white haired boy watches you go like a sad puppy.

— — — — — — — 

You took your time getting an extra futon, using it as an excuse to get all of the nervousness out of your system of sharing the same room as Gojo Satoru. Sharing a room with a boy was already bad enough, but Gojo? Your heart skipped a beat (out of nervousness, you insist!).

By the time you make it back to the room, the lights are out. You assume that Gojo decided to go to sleep early. You don’t blame him. Tomorrow is gonna be a long day of hunting for the curse rampaging Kurokawa. 

The only light source in the room is coming from the bathroom. You sigh. The idiot must’ve forgotten to turn it off. Nonetheless, you were gonna go get unready either way so you make your way to the half open door.

On the sink is a complimentary toothbrush that you help yourself to. You apply some paste and–

There is a sound of something sliding shut from behind you. You look up at the mirror. Standing behind you was Gojo. Wet. And naked. 

“Oh my gosh!” You spit out your toothpaste and ran out of the room. How did you fail to see that Gojo was in the restroom? You blame it on the sliding doors separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom. Oh my gosh. Your face feels like it’s on fire. He has a six pack. And why does his stupid hair look like that when it's wet? Your heart was beating at an abnormal rate. This is so inappropriate.

Shortly after your freakout, Gojo steps out of the bathroom. There was no way you could face him now.

“Aw, don't be so shy now. It’s not like this will be the last time you’ll see me like this.” Gojo stands in the doorway. There is a towel wrapped around his waist, still leaving him indecent in your eyes.

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating Gojo! And lock the door when you’re in the restroom you creep!” You look anywhere but him.

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault, was it? You were taking so long I thought you left me here alone.” You can practically hear him pouting. “Either way, you were the one checking me out.”

Your eyes widen, “I was not checking you out! Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Don’t feel ashamed, this can all be yours,” He gestures down to his body.

“You freak.” you blanch.

He winks at you.

This was going to be a long night.

— — — — — — — 

It takes you about half an hour to calm down from the bathroom catastrophe. By now, you’re situated in your futon while Gojo is tucked on the bed. If you had to guess, it’d be nearing midnight around now. You just need to close your eyes and get some sleep before your mission tomorrow.

Except you can’t sleep.

Every time you close your eyes, your mind betrays you and an image of Gojo post shower illustrates itself in your mind. And it doesn’t help that he sleeps shirtless. You seriously need your mind cleansed.

That wasn’t your only issue. The room was sub zero. Who knew traditional ryokans had such advanced air conditioning systems? All you could hear was the air conditioning machine overworking itself. You could even argue that it was colder than Shoko’s morgue. And your sleep shirt and shorts were doing little to help insulate you. 

“Wanna come cuddle with me?” The last person you wanted to hear from breaks the silence. You pretend to be asleep. “I know you’re not asleep! My six eyes tell me that you’re shivering.” Busted.

“I am not cuddling with you.” You stare at the ceiling above you, arms crossed. How could he even propose such an idea? Has he no shame?

“Well I can’t face the old granny here if my girlfriend ends up dead by freezing!”

“I am not your girlfriend, Gojo. Nor will I die.”

“That’s not what she thinks. Plus we have a mission tomorrow, so I can’t have you getting sick on me now.”

“I’ll be fine, Gojo. Now go to sleep.”

“I run hot when I sleep, y’know. Let me be your personal heater.” You don’t have to see his face to know that he’s grinning.

“I refuse.”

“Well I refuse your refusal.”

You blink.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Now c'mon,” He pats the spot next to him. “I’ll even make a wall in between us.”

You hear the bedsheets shuffle and you have to sit up to see that Gojo was stacking two pillows in the middle of the bed to prove his point. You’re nearly certain that the only thing you’ll be catching soon is a headache if you keep up with his antics. It was a tempting offer, one that you would surely accept if it wasn’t Gojo Satoru.

“Gojo, I—”

“...Please?” His voice is softer than you have ever heard it. It was unfair how Gojo was making it harder and harder to reject his offer.

A silent moment passes by.

“...Fine,” You reluctantly get up from your pathetic excuse of a futon. “But no funny business!” You warn him. 

You see Gojo perk up from the bed. He looks at you with expectant eyes, “You got it!” He gives you a thumbs up. 

Whatever. If Gojo knew what was best for him, he wouldn’t try anything. You take in a deep breath before turning to face the opposite direction of where Gojo laid. 

“Good night [Name],” You hear Gojo whisper. You sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, goodnight Gojo.”

Eyes closed, you pray a silent prayer that everything will be fine for the remainder of the mission.

— — — — — — — 

Ever since Gojo was young, his body has been used to getting little amounts of sleep. Unsurprisingly, that caused him to have a natural alarm. It was always annoying whenever he woke up at the crack of dawn on a day when he didn't need to, but luckily for him, today it proved to be a blessing. There was an unfamiliar warmth radiating onto his body. Satoru opens his eyes.

He thinks he feels all of his six eyes widen when he feels himself wrapped around another body.

There you were, in all your beauty, lying fast asleep. In his embrace. Soft snores were escaping your mouth and there were stray hairs in your face. Did he mention how beautiful you looked sleeping? He might have to ask Shoko about heart disease because of how fast his heart was beating.

Unfortunately for him, you also seemed to be drifting away from dreamland and back to reality. Your eyes flutter and your eyebrows furrow. Gojo takes this to his advantage and does the worst thing he can think of; pretend to be asleep.

When you wake up, your mind is still hazy from the good night’s rest you had gotten, but not hazy enough to realize that your body was tangled with another’s. And you’re pretty sure the pillow you had been laying on last night was not this hard. You try to delude yourself into believing that this is all a dream, but the effects of your sleep were fading.

It takes all the strength in you to summon the courage to open your eyes. To your horror, you were firmly wrapped in Gojo’s arms and your legs were intertwined.

“What the hell?” You pull yourself away from him. On the floor below the bed laid the two pillows that Gojo had set up as a makeshift wall. You stare at them utter shock.

“No, don’t go, I’ll freeze to death,” Gojo whines, miraculously waking up. You glare at him.

“Explain to me what just happened or I swear Gojo, I’m going to–” You try to threaten him, but you can’t seem to formulate anything.

Unlike you, Gojo looked unbothered by the sudden turn of events. He even looked pleased. There was a lopsided smile on his face as he sighed, “What can I say, I guess you subconsciously want me after all.” 

"I do not—"

“But if I had to guess, I’d say the room got too cold and we most likely cuddled for warmth unconsciously.” He shrugs it off like it was no big deal. You note that his hair is tousled from the night before.

You leave the warm bed you and Gojo had made. His theory was probably true, meaning it was neither of your faults. You purse your lips.

“I suppose that makes sense. I apologize for overreacting, I guess I was under the impression that we had done something lewd last night.” With that comment, you make your way to the bathroom to freshen up both your mind and body.

You don’t end up seeing how red Gojo’s face got. It was foreign to feel all the blood rising to his cheeks. He takes one of his hands to slap it over his eyes before chuckling to himself. Yeah, he definitely knows why he likes you. 

All of a sudden Gojo feels like he’s on top of the world. For you, it was just a moment of weakness.

┊⋆｡˚. ੈ ┊

Extra notes:

gojo wished he and you got to go to the onsen together. 

gojo also regretted not taking a photo of you sleeping soundly in his arms. it would’ve been his new wallpaper. 

for the remainder of the trip, gojo was at an all time high, successfully locating and exorcising the curse in less than an hour.

[empresskylo]

can you do something with the cod men when you're mad at them? like how they would react to that?

includes: simon, könig, johnny, price, & alejandro. afab!reader; referred to in feminine terminology. nsfw content! a/n: i got a little carried away with ghost's so his is quite a bit longer than the others. my bad.

Ghost 

♡ he doesn’t like when you’re mad at him, but he also doesn’t let it bother him too much. he’s glad you care enough to actually get mad at him. it’s a weird way of him knowing you care deeply about him. but it only infuriates you more when you’re cursing him out and he’s just standing there smiling at you.

♡ ghost likes to think that sex is the answer to everything with you. and i mean…. i wouldn’t complain.

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐖

♡ you were sitting down on simon’s bed, annoyed and pouting. you had rehearsed what you were going to say to him over and over in your head as you waited, pissed.  the anger inside you skyrocketed the second ghost appeared at his door. he sauntered over to you, clearly seeing the ire spreading over your features. “what’s wrong, pet?” he asked you, his hand reaching out and skimming your chin softly. he tilted your head up with one bent finger so you were looking at him. “you mad at me?” you could hear the playfulness in his tone. god, his voice was so attractive when he spoke lowly like that. you momentarily forgot the entire reason you were sitting here waiting for him.  “I think that’s quite obvious.” you scoffed, shaking your head out of his grip.  “mmm. want to get it out of your system then, yeah?” he asked. you knew he didn’t mean letting you curse him out while he sat there and took the beating. he meant fucking you. you clenched your fists as ghost stroked his fingers through your hair, twirling the end of a strand absentmindedly.  “simon,” you began, ready to chew him out. before you could finish your sentence, simon was hunched over, his hands on his knees, level with you, placing a kiss on your jaw, his hand somehow grabbing your rising wrist without looking as you reached up to push him away. then he kissed your neck, and back up to your jaw. he saw the goosebumps rise on your flesh. he hovered his lips above yours. you could feel them ever so slightly as you spoke. His hand still clutching your wrist in his.  “we can’t just fuck every time we’re mad at each other,” your voice was much less confident now compared to mere moments ago.  ghosts eyes darted between your own, kissing just below your lips then hovering above them again. “sure we can." you gulped as simon pushed you back on his bed. you gave such little resistance that you wanted to scold yourself for being so weak. You saw ghost smile, knowing you were succumbing to him, barely able to even put up a fight. It was so fucking easy for him. You wanted this as much as he did. his hands teased the hem of your shirt as he finally connected your lips together. his tongue entered your mouth as his hands moved south, slowly unbuttoning your pants.  you groaned into the kiss, ghost’s fingers teasing your slit over your underwear. He pulled away and yanked your jeans the rest of the way off.  he left kisses along the inside of your thigh, stopping at your clothed core. he hooked his fingers along the hem of your panties and pulled them down painfully slow. he settled himself back between your legs, his hands sliding up to your waist and yanking you closer to the edge of the bed making you gasp. “m’sorry, pet,” he cooed, his voice laced with lust. you whimpered as he attached his lips to you, and began sucking and licking. your hands gripped the bed sheets as you felt one of his fingers slide inside of you, his mouth working your clit simultaneously. “m’sorry,” he mumbled against you.  you could barely hear him as you let him pump his fingers inside you, his mouth making obscene noises as he devoured you.  right before you were about to come, he paused. you whined as a now shirtless simon hovered above you. He pried the shirt from your body and leaned his head down to place kisses on your neck as he mumbled apologizes. “m’sorry. m’sorry. m’sorry. ” he whispered against your skin. he kissed your nipple then sucked it into his mouth. you groaned when he released it with a pop. “do you forgive me, pet?”  his hands came up to knead your breasts. you tried to clear your head as you spoke but it was hard when simon was sending waves of pleasure through you, making you arch your back into him.  “you don’t even know why i’m mad,” you said breathlessly.  you cried when ghost pulled away from you, a fist on either side of your head holding himself up. he looked you up and down before he spoke. “do you forgive me?” he asked again, ignoring your previous comment. god, why did he have to be so difficult sometimes? 

you sighed, most of your anger washed away the second he started kissing you anyways.  “yes. i forgive you.”  he smiled, “that’s my sweet girl,” he cooed before entering you without warning. you gasped, your hands immediately reaching up to hold on to him, nails digging into his back. “that’s right, pet. show me how angry you are.” he began to ram into you, your nails scratching and clawing at him, drawing blood, your head lulling in pleasure. ghost kissed your collarbone, then up your neck, then your lips. He groaned at the pleasure mixed with the pain from your claw-like fingers on his back. “Jesus. fuck—simon,” you mewled. his hips rocked against yours at a steady pace.  “tell me why you were mad at me.” you noted how he used the past tense and mentally rolled your eyes. “what?! now?” he didn’t slow his movements, giving you a serious look. he always wanted you to soften and forgive him before he even found out what it was you were pissed off about. He had a backwards way of looking at things. you told him through moans and gasps why you were mad. it sounded silly now that he was balls deep inside you. he didn’t stop rutting against you the entire time you talked. he laughed as you struggled to get the words out in coherent sentences, losing your place multiple times as he ground his hips rather harshly. “m’sorry,” he said again, but for an actual reason this time. he placed a soft kiss on your lips. “forgive me?” he asked, his eyes looking between your own, his hands pulling your hips up so he could hit you deeper. you basically screamed “yes! yes, i forgive you.”  simon groaned loudly, your walls fluttering around him, both of you orgasming in sync. he spilled inside you, his seed overflowing as he continued to pump lazily into you, every move making him growl before collapsing on top of your body. he rolled over so you lay on top of him now, his hand stroking your hair as he held you, a large, self-satisfied smile on his face as he looked down at you.

König 

♡ he hates when you’re mad at him. he can read it so easily on your features. it hurts to know he somehow hurt you. “what did i do?” he’d ask the moment he saw your brows furrowed and nose scrunched.

♡ he makes up for it by apologizing and promising to do better. promising to fix whatever it is you’re upset with him about.

♡ and he likes to drown you in sweet gestures. he’ll give you your favorite flowers, make you dinner, swoop in to lift something heavy that you were trying to life on your own, offer to carry you if you look even the slightest bit tired. and that’s not to say he doesn’t do that kind of stuff already, but he goes overboard when he knows you’re mad. he does it to the point that you finally break, usually laughing. 

♡ “i got that,” könig mumbles as he takes the heavy box out of your hands and sets it on the table. you scowl at him but say nothing. he watched you as you tried to grab another box from up high. he beats you to it, “got it,” he says. you turn to stare at him. “i can do this myself,” you mumble like a child. “i know,” he says softly. you roll your eyes.  later that day, he’s already stolen the dirty dishes from your hands and washed them, tied your shoe you when you started to reach down, grabbed a mug from a high cabinet and handed it to you. you were slowly breaking. when you began pulling off your hoodie, hot from all the running around, you felt two large hands slide over yours, stealing the hem from you and pulling it off. you couldn’t contain your giggle. “jesus, könig.” he smiled at you once the material was shed and began folding it in his arms.  he nudged you and you rolled your eyes playfully, letting him wrap his arm around you and kiss the top of your head.

Price 

♡ doesn’t like when you’re mad but also never thinks he’s wrong. however, my guy is smart enough to never admit that. he’s happy to admit to any fault, it’s almost infuriating how much of the blame he’s willing to accept. you even tried tricking him once: pretending to be mad at something you knew he didn’t do. he apologize immediately, pulling you into him and kissing the top of your head. you didn’t have the heart to tell him this was all a trap.

♡ he thinks it’s funny when you’re mad. even though he’ll take the brunt of your anger, he can’t help but chuckle. “what’s so funny?!” you asked in the midst of ripping him a new one. “just like the way your face gets all scrunched up when you’re mad,” he said before booping the top of your nose. “can we focus here, please?!”  “right, sorry, love. back to it then,” he said waving his hand in the air, encouraging you to continue your scolding.

♡ it makes it hard to stay mad at him for long. you always fold. he just accepts his wrongs to easily when it comes to you. “i’m still mad,” you mumble after letting your anger go as price took your words to heart, saying he was sorry, and promising to not hold back secrets from you.“yeah?” he asked a bit cheekily. he sauntered over to where you stood and wrapped his arms around you so your back was pressed to his front. he leaned down and kissed your cheek before talking softly. “and what could i do that would make you less mad?” his hands slid across your abdomen and down to your waistband. your instinctively fell back into his touch making him chuckle in his chest. “let me take care of you then, love.”

Soap

♡ johnny hates when you’re mad at him, especially if he knows its something he did really wrong. He gets so stressed out when he knows he did something to piss you off. And of course, the guys–knowing how much it bothers him–like to tease him about it. 

♡ “uh oh,” gaz snickers. “She looks fucking pissed,” price remarks, crossing his arms, enjoying the panic that is rising on soap’s face. “Good luck, amigo,” alejando pats soap on the back as you approach.

♡ he’s such a soft himbo, i imagine it’s hard to stay mad at him anyways.

♡ soap runs his hand through his hair as he gazes down at you. “Shit, baby. I didn’t think that’d piss you off so much.” you scowl up at him. “I’m sorry, lass.” he dips his head to try and kiss you but you turn your head to the side. Pain fills johnny’s eyes as he sighs. He scratches the back of his neck, hating that you won’t even look at him. He falls to his knees, grabbing your attention. He grabs your hands, “i really am sorry, love,” he pleads.  You look at him with slight panic on your face. “Johnny!” you hiss. “People are looking! Get up! Please!” you plead, trying to pull at his hands to get him to stand.  “No. I deserve this. I have to pay for my sins,” you can hear the teasing tone in his voice. You roll your eyes, subduing a smile.  “You’re such an idiot,” you say laughing, still yanking at his hands. Soap takes that as his moment to stand up and bury his head in your neck before you have the chance to switch back to angry mode. He pulls you into him, kissing your neck and up towards your lips making you giggle with a hand on his chest.

Alejandro

♡ kinda likes it when you’re mad at him??? He likes arguing with you, its fun getting you all riled up. He thinks its hot when you know what you’re talking about and you’re telling him whats what. And he loves the heat that sparks between the two of you were you’re both fuming and yelling at one another.

♡ “You got to be fucking kidding me, Alejandro.” “¿ahora que?” what now? he whined. He spun to face you, raising his brows and crossing his arms as if he had better things to do than put up with this right now. You were fuming with rage as he looked at you so expectantly. If your skin could turn the shade of a cherry tomato, it would have by now. You cussed Alejandro out, your hands raising and moving in the air as you yelled. Alejandro cursed back at you in Spanish, looking down at you with fire in his eyes. Finally, you both took a breath, your faces inches apart from one another having moved into each other’s space the more you argued, both of you having scowls plastered across your faces. You could practically feel the steam pooling out of your ears. “You have never been hotter to me than you are right now, mi amor,” he rasped out, his breath fanning across your lips. “God, you’re so infuriating!” He leaned into you, his hand snaking up and fisting your hair, pulling your head back so you had to look up at him. He gave you a devilish grin, “te encanta, bebe” you love it, baby. You let out a frustrated puff of air before your hands went up and grabbed the lapels of his shirt aggressively, yanking him down with all your strength to crash your lips together. He pushed you back so you slammed up against the wall, biting your bottom lip, drawing blood. You moaned, he grunted. You tore at his shirt and he slid his hand up to rest on your neck, putting just enough pressure to make you wet between your thighs. By the time this was all over, you would both be littered with bruises and scratch marks.

[yxami]

I think I said I would do no nut November as a joke bc I didn’t do October so 😭😭😭 here u go

desc: yandere nerd x gn willing reader, mentions of stalking, obsession, creep habits, the usual, was gonna make nsfw but it got long so maybe part 2 will actually be the no nut part

The bookworm of your class has trouble not looking at you, not focusing in on how beautiful you presented yourself today, jesus, is that a new body mist? It’s almost like you knew he loves sweet scents.

He stares at the back of your head lovingly until you turn around and catch his stare on accident after you were about to speak to your friend. He freezes in the wooden chair he sits in and sees you slowly speaking to your friend while knitting your brows in a confused expression as you stare back.

Fuck fuck fuck. He manages to look away with red cheeks, ears burning a scorching temperature in embarrassment. He didn’t expect you to turn to your friend!! You had never done that so why now?

God, he hopes he didn’t look like a creep, he can’t even follow along to the lesson since his hands are too shaky and his mind can’t settle on one thing to think about other than you.

This is the only occasions his brain is fried and jumbled, he feels so dumb when you plague his mind to the point where he’s unable to think or speak.

The lesson passes thankfully, or so he thought until he sees you walking up to his desk, he hesitated to even look up, just staring straight ahead until you speak, if you listened closely you could these his teeth grinding in pure anxiousness.

“Hey, do you mind?” Your voice is in a regular tone, no anger, no disgust, nothing, this being the first time you’ve ever spoken to him, but he doesn’t pick up on that fact.

“Nono! Go ah- ahead” He mentally curses at himself for being such a mess up when his throat fails to smoothly deliver his words. He gets up, collecting his books and allowing you to get a better look at him.

“I was just wondering if you wanted to study together after school, you seemed to be a little lost during class so I wanted to offer my help” You grin, hoping it was friendly like you imagined it to be.

“Oh— um, yeah! I mean yes, thank you, sorry” He rambled, stupidly continuing his sentence even though it was just a yes or no question. He couldn’t imagine that his dream would come true by the hands of you.

All the stalking he’s done, passing in the same route you go after managing to log into your school account to find out what your schedule was, going to every party you went to just to hide in a corner for the entire duration to make sure nobody would try to take you home, he’d do anything to make sure you were safe and happy.

It’s humorous to him that he has you in his room now, looking around with your curiosity peaked at how he’s decorated his room, games and such, a few posters here and there.

He just hopes the last minute decorating suits him because the hundereds of photos he had to tear off his wall had him wincing every time, he’s never dared to take them off until now, nor even hide the plushies he’s bought that look like you, but he assured himself it was for the sake of you, so he managed to do it.

“So, can you remember what this mixture does? When the 5th and 8th are swished together?” You point your pencil, circling around the ones you were mentioning, wondering if he would get this one right.

This poor little nerd is shaking on whether to pretend he doesn’t know or impress you with his knowledge, he’s the top of the class but you thought he didn’t get the subject.

So he decided to pretend.

“Um… it makes this one right?” He weakly says, hoping his confused voice sounded realistic, he doesn’t like the taste of lying on his tongue, but he’s doing it for you so it’s okay in his mind.

You shake your head with a disapproving hum but make sure not to embarrass him by pointing at the right answer. “It’s this one, I created a rhyme to remember since it’s kinda hard to remember it” You wrote down your own creation of a rhyme on his notes, making sure it was right by whispering it to yourself.

Honestly too cute, his heart is pounding out of his chest while he gushes over how adorable you looked, you’re a drug that he can’t stay away from, and he loves every second of this high he gets.

As you scribble the lines down he hopes you write more so he can treasure how your handwriting and add it to his growing collection. The growth is spreading like wildfire just from you being in his room and doing normal things.

“Sorry if it’s out of the blue but I haven’t ate all day, can I get some snacks or something?” You could feel your stomach growl, hoping it wasn’t as loud as you imagined it to be.

“Huh- yeah sure! Of course!” He jumps up, quickly scrambling to get out from under the table the two of you worked on. “I’ll get you something, don’t worry!” He happily says, quickly zigzagging out his own room to get you something to eat.

You thought he was an interesting classmate, that’s for sure. You wondered what type of personality he had, was he always this shy and desperate to please?

You placed your pencil down, forgetting to set it down on something sturdy, it rolls down under his bed into the darkness, before you could even realize what specific area it rolled into. You make sightless grabs and manage to get ahold of something.

You bring it out to find out it’s nothing like a pencil and in fact a plushie, a cute one, but it looks a little familiar, it sort of resembles you? Maybe it’s just a coincidence? You pat it’s plush little head and place it down on the side, making another grab to find one plushie after another.

Seriously! How many plushies did he need? And why did they all look like you?

You only piece together that you’ve discovered a part of his shrine when you pull out a collage of pictures that all contain you.

You talking with your friend who was angrily scribbled out, another of you eating at lunch, one of you just tired during a lecture, and the most intimate ones being of you sleeping and in your house. You can tell one of them is more recent by how the picture was of you in your pajamas cooking yesterdays dinner.

Your eyes quickly dart to observe each photo, pondering about when or how he could’ve taken these.

Speak of the devil he enters with a plate of your favorite food, something you’ve never told him and you’re sure that it’s not another coincidence.

His jaw drops as he sees you surrounded by his plushie collection and most terrifying of all, his collage of his favorite pictures of you.

“That’s— um- I can explain! It’s just—“ He hastily shoves the plate onto his studying table, trying to reason with unfinished rambles of whatever, you honestly blocked it out.

“What is all this?” Your face contorts into blatant confusion and he can’t read the glint in your eyes, something he‘s never failed to do.

“I’m sorry, im s—sorry” He hiccups, already into a crying mess without any actual words of rejection, he’s on his knees, hands clasping onto your pants as he begs for who knows what.

“I-I promise I won’t stalk you anymore, please? I know it’s creepy and wrong but I like you I really do“ He cries, hoping you wouldn’t kick him to the side and yell at him like he’d assume you would do.

He knew he was a creep but he couldn’t stop himself, it all started with you helping him grab his things after he dropped it in a busy hallway and then the obsession never stopped, it was like a parasite that he couldn’t stop feeding and he loved every second of it, of you.

“It’s fine” You pat his head, brushing some hair out his face.

“It’s fine..?” He repeats, wondering if he’s heard you correctly, he sniffles and melts into your soft touch, even though he feels undeserving of it right now.

“Well I kinda had an idea that there was something up with you. By how many times I’ve seen you throughout my week, I’ve noticed that you’re always in the background watching me” You bring him up to stand, his legs are so shaky he’s almost leaning on you.

“You’re n..not mad right?” He hiccups again, now getting embarrassed at how pathetic he sounded, his glassy eyes scanned your expression, praying this wasn’t a cruel joke and that you genuinely didn’t mind.

“Not really, just.. don’t take pictures inside my house” You’re tempted to joke with him by whacking his arm with a plushie of his but you don’t. You just continue to tuck his hair behind his ears so they no longer stick to his wet cheeks.

“Ookay! I won’t” He quickly nods, eager to please you, especially since you seemed to have accepted him even with his creepy habits and flaws.

“And if you want a picture just ask, you don’t have to take them far away without my permission” You grab his phone, wiping his tears away with your sleeve and blowing his bangs out his face, he’s practically crimson red by how he closed his eyes thinking you were going to kiss his forehead.

“Here, look” You sit next to him, backs pressed against the wall of his bed as you take a photo, you tell him to smile after seeing the blank expression on his face.

“Sorry, I’m just nervous” He mumbles, wiping his damp face to make sure he didn’t look that bad in the photo, he’s only closed his eyes for one moment before he feels pressure on top of his lap, oh my god you’re in his lap why are you in his lap?

Before he can sputter out those questions you take a picture, making a kissy face as he looks flustered and confused in the photo, you turn his phone to show the picture you took.

“Why not put that one in your collage?” You turn to see how he looks and there’s not a single thought behind his eyes, looks like you broke him and the teasing has barely even started.

[vlrspace]

inumaki never cared for girls in such way like crushes.

he never had the chance to, being a jujutsu sorcerer took up most of his time and he didn’t think that his vocabulary was all that appealing, talking only with onigiri ingredients is anything but attractive.

yet, he couldn’t stop his heart from beating out of his chest, when you joined the first years. sure, inumaki seen pretty girls before, but you are utterly beautiful, an angel sent from heaven in his opinion. your eyes are bright with glee and your whole body glows from happiness.

it doesn’t help that from the second inumaki was introduced to you, you’ve been giving him a hard time with the way you’re always look for him first during gatherings and call him ‘inumaki-senpai’ in every conversation. you never seem bothered by his lack of talking in real life, but always make sure to get his responses across correctly. you often tell him how much of a chatterbox he is in messages and it makes you happy that you can get to know him more, even if it isn’t with spoken words.

inumaki, however, longs to talk to you, the way you speak with others and have an actual conversation with you, instead of just writing out his thoughts.

“toge, are you okay?” panda’s voice drags him back to training, where all of his friends and gojo look at him curiously. it’s unusual for inumaki to be so quiet during training, he usually cheers on the others or declares winners.

out of habit, his violet eyes find yours and he freezes when he makes eye contact with him, a small grin grazing your lips as you tip your head to the side. inumaki feels his body going stiff, body growing hot from all the attention he’s getting, mainly from you.

“shake” he quietly mumbles, tearing his gaze away from you and instead, he wishes for the ground to swallow him.

panda and maki exchange knowing looks, the two have been aware of inumaki’s crush on you for quite some time now, often teasing the platinum haired male about it. they just don’t understand why inumaki hasn’t confessed to you yet, it’s obvious that you got something for the boy.

training continues on like nothing happened, if gojo picked up on why inumaki spaced out, thankfully he hasn’t voiced it out loud.

inumaki is itching to get away from you the second gojo let’s you guys go, feeling his heart break when you call out his name, as he runs back to his dorm room to get some closure. inumaki wants to be with you so badly, but the thoughts of being unable to properly communicate with you because of his stupid inherited curse technique makes him feel so self conscious.

he would rather suffer in silence with his possibly unrequited feelings, than have you suffer because of him.

inumaki can’t to keep his sniffles at bay, his destructive thoughts taking over, leaving him a miserable mess on his bed.

sleep brings him little peace, when all of his dreams are about you.

the next morning, it’s easy to pretend like nothing happened last night for inumaki. everyone greets him like usual at breakfast, but as he looks around, he quickly notes that neither you or nobara are present at the table.

“they’ve been sent out on an early mission last night, but they should be back by noon” maki responds to her friends unsaid question nonchalantly, but side eyes inumaki for his reaction. his shoulders visibly relax and only nods before grabbing a few sandwiches to eat.

true to maki’s word, you and nobara do return around noon, all exhausted and a little beaten up, though it’s nothing major. your friends are waiting for you at the entrance of jujutsu tech and inumaki feels his heart going wild in his chest, when you approach him with a huge grin on your face.

“i got this for you on our way back” your voice is filled with excitement as you hold a white plastic bag towards him and only him. “you seemed a little sad last night, i thought some tuna mayo onigiri might cheer you up” the last bit of your sentence is a little quieter and you don’t look at him anymore, instead your gaze is on the ground.

inumaki feels his whole body is lit on fire and takes your little gift, making the butterflies in his stomach doing flips from your sweet little gesture.

“sujiko” his tone is soft as he speaks to you and you lift your head to meet his eyes, looking at you with such tenderness, you think you could literally melt into a puddle. “shake” he nods with a gentle smile and you give him a toothy grin, both of your cheeks reddened.

the rest of your friends just stand around watching the two of you in vain, wishing upon all gods for the two of you to just confess already. though it seems like neither you or inumaki are bothered by their presence, as he he lifts a hand to cup your cheek with care, a little bruised and a cut slicing through your soft skin.

“takana?” inumaki asks quietly, his thumb swiping across the cut in a feather light touch and it makes your brain stop working for a second. unable to answer his question, you only shake your head while leaning into his warm touch.

inumaki’s lips make contact with your skin before neither of you can process it and your little bubble is nearly popped by the loud squealing noise of nobara and yuuji, but they are dragged away by panda and maki, megumi following quietly behind.

now that the two of you are alone, inumaki looks at you for any sign of discomfort because with that peck, he might’ve overstepped some boundaries, but when you step closer to him, he’s not sure how to feel.

“you ran away from me last night” your minty breath is on his lips as you look up at him with a pout. inumaki doesn’t have the chance to react because you continue on speaking. “i really like you inumaki, so tell me if you don’t feel the same because i feel like i’m going crazy” you whisper, need dripping off of your words and inumaki thinks your confession is a dream before smashing his lips against yours, the plastic dropping from his hand as he grabs your waist, pulling you closer to him.

your own hands sneak into his hair and you step on your tiptoes to return his kiss, which makes inumaki groan in turn. he’s been waiting to kiss you, to feel you this close for so long now and the thoughts he had last night immediately disappear from his mind as you pull away from him for a second before your plump lips find his again, this time your hands are on his face, pulling him closer to deepen your kiss.

you’re the first one to pull away finally to breathe and inumaki chases after your lips before pressing his forehead against yours, violet eyes finding yours filled with adoration.

“i like you” he lowly mumbles against your lips and your eyes widen at his words before you close them and tuck your face in the crook of his neck shyly, pressing a soft kiss there. “i like you” toge mumbles again, pressing a kiss into the crown of your hair as he hugged you closer to his chest.

@/vlrspace, 2023

[oliver-quick-ens-my-pulse]

I'm begging for some HC of Ominis and Sebastian masturbating over the female player 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻Like where they prefer to do it, how often, how much noise do they make, how much do they cum? Please describe them 😩

Ominis x f!reader; Sebsatian x f!reader

Warnings - 18+ smut content, all characters over the age of 18, masturbation

A/N - This really got to to me after all the Sebastian audio clips that have been floating around 😩

Ominis

- he prefers his privacy in the Undercroft, usually off in a dark part of it somewhere

- he always listens intently somewhat hoping you might stumble in and find him

- he fights his urges and only masurbates to completion in his favorite spot once a week

- other times he’ll mostly edge himself while showering, but he likes to build it up to make it better

- he doesn’t like it about himself, but he can be very noisy. He goes at a time when he knees Seb won’t walk in, if anyone does it’ll be you

- he makes gasps and groans as he thinks about your mouth, your fingers, your breasts

- with all sense but his eyes being so sensitive he just imagine the different textures and temperatures it would all of

- he picture soft breasts that give way to his cock, rough fingers wrapped him, a silky, hot mouth for him to fuck contrasted with your wet pussy clenched around him and feeling impossibly tight

- he loves thinking about you massaging his balls or his sensitive taint and teasing him about how much it makes him whimper

- he takes his time and it often means speeding up and slowing down to the point of his cock weeping, his own stick pre-cum all over his hand and probably his thighs or trousers too

- when he’s finally ready to let go he shouts quite loud, strangled moans of your name and curse words tumbling out of him

- he tries to contain his mess to his hand, but it all just oozes out because he’s usually got so much fun built up

- he’s messy, loud, and likes to maximize the orgasm to the fullest by trying to hold out until he’s so worked up he can’t take it

Sebastian

- his favorite spot is to get comfortable in his bed

- he uses a silencio charm after closing up all of the curtains

- he does it quite often, maybe almost daily with how desperate he is

- he’ll come back from having hang out with you and be ripping his tie off, pulling at all of his clothes because he can’t get naked fast enough

- he’s thinking about every flash of skin he’s seen from you, a day where you had a particular shirt skirt and you were all thighs

-a day your shirt was big and he got a glimpse at your shoulder, a broader peek at your chest

- Sebastian is really an ass man and heart and just thinks about how lovely it would be for you to be suffocating him with both of your holes just exposed to him

- he flushes but differently than Ominis in that it’s his whole body

- his freckles are peppered over his whole body and the fever from his arousal hair makes his face, neck, shoulders, chest, all of it red

- he’s desperately rutting into his own hand, spit included as he rushes towards the relief that he knows isn’t going to be enough

- he’s murmuring fuck over and over, maybe even little sentences he wish were real “fuck y/n ride me harder” “go faster” “be a good girl for me”

- when he finally cums his facial expression is everything and his whole body spasms, his mouth hanging up, him breathing heavily and tugging at his own sweaty hair

- he’s rougher with himself, he’s full of desperation 24/7 with how much he’s thinking about you, and he wants to take you right in his bed loving the idea of being naked around you when you’re not

[popponn]

from the outsider's view. [itoshi sae x reader]

notes: admittedly, no braincell here only "sae unconditionally lovey dovey" thought (ft. kaiser). i miss sae. and i want him to be happy for a bit. this guy seems like when he is committed he will become the commitment itself despite everything. cute in the way the sort of type who will put in the effort and worth the effort when he is the right person. also, happy cny ❤ warnings: cursings (it's kaiser). fluff. kaiser's pov aka outsider's pov, sae & you being lovey dovey, established relationship, reader's gender unspecified, post canon au, heavy hc that sae & kaiser doesn't get along (outside of the field esp). please don't look to closely into this. @doobea thank u for betaing beloved ♡❀

By any means, it is not as if Kaiser actively tries to murder Sae every time they meet.

But it also doesn’t mean he is buddy-buddy with him either. Honestly, Kaiser hates a lot of people’s guts—Yoichi and Noa currently contending for the #1 spot, sure, but Sae is pretty close up there if he has to list them down. The reason is not particularly complicated for this one, as anyone who has met Sae would agree he is a natural at making enemies. That mid-fielder is one of those people who will do better as a human being if they shut up and not pick up a fight with each breath they take.

So, imagine his surprise to meet the redhead—with you by his side, hand in hand—during a casual outing for some convenience store snack in broad daylight.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Kaiser doesn’t waste a second to ask the moment their eyes meet each other. Kaiser really doesn’t want to have a jerk greeting him the moment he tries to get into an aisle yet here he is.

Sae squints at him in a more offensive manner than usual and then subtly—but very obvious to Kaiser’s eye—pushes you slightly behind his back as if Kaiser might do something to you. Which is wrong—even if Kaiser is very aware he is not the shining beacon of goodness. “Shopping, clearly. What else?”

“Someone you know, Sae?” your voice asks from behind your assumed-boyfriend. Kaiser glances slightly at the blatantly color-coordinated casual clothes. Disgusting. Definitely a boyfriend then. “Oh! Is that Michael Kaiser?”

Kaiser raises an eyebrow as he meets your gleaming eyes. He certainly didn’t expect Itoshi Fucking Sae’s partner to acknowledge him with such enthusiasm. He expected someone who is more or less as bitchy as bitchy as the guy. A smile that has been trained for PR events forms itself on Kaiser’s face, “Why, hello—”

“It’s not,” Sae quickly cuts in. “Just some bugs. Let’s just get the drink and go.”

Fucking Sae.

“Now, now,” Kaiser sneers, his grin widening into an irritated smirk as he approaches closer towards Sae. Said dickhead responds by tugging you closer to him. Sae better be one of those types of unreasonably cutesy protective boyfriends or Kaiser might actually start taking offenses and maim him for real. “Is that a way to greet ‘a friend’, Sae? And—” Kaiser moves on to you, “—hello there.”

The quotation mark hangs heavily in the air. Sae scoffs while you finally get the chance to address Kaiser’s existence politely and introduce yourself, “Hello! Nice to meet you!”

How the fuck did someone who knows basic manners end up with Sae? Kaiser genuinely wants to know if you got paid for this or something. He will ask if it’s not for the fact Sae seems to be itching to claw the hell out of his face. Kaiser really doesn’t want to get lectured for a public incident if he actually gives in to the urge to sock Sae’s resting bitch face. So, instead, he keeps his focus on you even while keeping his sentence directed to you both, “I didn’t expect to see you here. Thought Sae is allergic to store-bought products.”

You laugh at that, whilst Sae sends you a sharp glare—that has a hint of besotted lovesick gaze in it what the fuck—that you promptly ignore in favor of answering Kaiser instead. “Yeah, he is a bit nosy sometimes, huh?” you muse fondly, “But he is open to some products, thankfully.”

Sae pipes in, “Hey.”

“Come on, it’s true,” you reply shortly. As your eyes meet Sae, the besotted lovesick gaze returns, this time reciprocated by your equally lovelorn affectionate one. Kaiser really doesn’t want to see this.

“Hmph,” Sae breathes out like some grumpy mangy cat. Then, as if he truly is some kitty raising up its fur and tail, Sae returns his glare to Kaiser. The way one of Sae’s hand wrap around your shoulder to press you close doesn’t escape Kaiser’s eyes. And the most annoying thing is perhaps the way that it evidently isn’t like Sae deliberately shows it to him like some territorial jealous dickhead. It’s like watching someone taking in a breath and that breath is some lovey-dovey fuckery. “We are going. Let’s go.”

As much as Kaiser wants to make Sae suffer a little bit more via playfully flirting with you or something, being a third wheel to the elder Itoshi sounds so awful it’s not even worth trying. Next time the two Itoshis duke it out by being on the opposite team, Kaiser genuinely considers rooting for the younger one just so he can see Sae fail. And also out of some twisted camaraderie because imagining being a witness to this frequently—one really either builds up some immunity or turns insane.

The sort of guy who casually must touch his lover all the time is unbearable to watch.

So, good fucking riddance.

“Shoo,” Kaiser waves Sae away. And the way you look at Sae like the redhead is the most wonderful man alive lowers Kaiser’s opinion of you enough for that wave to be directed at you too. Get a better taste.

You laugh nervously at their brief exchange as Sae drags you away. Kaiser too shifts his attention away from you. Unfortunately, turns out—fuck him—it isn’t enough to escape the barely audible whispers Sae shares with you as the two of you walk away from the aisle.

“You should be nicer. He is still someone you know.”

“He touched Isagi’s chin on their first meeting to fuck around—I’m not taking chances with that shithole.”

“Aw. I don’t think he will—he seems very aware I’m with you.”

“That guy is insane and it’s better to be ready to kick his dick when you have to. Don’t be too friendly with him next time.”

God. Kaiser wishes for a match with Sae soon just so he can duke it out with him without any repercussions.

[sapphiremusings]

bride {vampire!aemond targaryen}

WARNINGS: explicit smut, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), dubcon, loss of virginity, breeding kink, blood drinking

Only the light from the full moon shines down between branches and leaves, illuminating her way as she walks through the forest rarely traveled. She doesn’t know how she got here, still in her shift and robe that has been thrown over her shoulders half-heartedly, the forest floor crunching underneath her slippers, yet an unknown force seemingly presses her forward. Her mind is in a daze, heart thrumming against her chest sporadically and her ears feeling as if they are under water, and through her vision is a fog that refuses to leave, no matter how many times she rubs her eyes. Up ahead, through the heavy brush, sits the abandoned castle that was once called Harrenhal, an accursed place in history. Steadily, she makes her way towards it.

Harrenhal is a mighty fortress, once home to many great houses of Westeros, all in which were struck down by unforeseen tragedies. Whispers of its twisting halls being cursed, haunted by those that died within, scattered throughout the Riverlands, and all along Westeros, until the castle was abandoned. Now, it sits alone, stone burned dark from the days when dragons ruled the skies and their riders sat on the old Iron Throne.

Centuries have passed since then, yet Harrenhal remains the same, merely overgrown in its shrubbery and the vines that trail up its walls. The steady rhythm of her heart begins to speed up as she walks through the courtyard, eyes averting away from the blood stained ground, up towards a window at the very top of the castle, where a single light shines. Like a moth to a flame, she gravitates towards it.

Inside, it’s dark, and she finds herself walking through cobwebs, past open windows that let the cold air in, and up a large number of stairs, until finally, the lit room sits at the end of the hallway. Slowly, her footsteps creek along the floor, her spine tingling at the whisper that enters her ears and swells within her head; “Come to me.”

Her fingers reach out to touch the ancient wood of the door, which sits open just a crack, its hinges squeaking as it opens fully beneath her push. The room is lit by what seems to be a hundred candles, scattered around and perched on almost every surface, including the floor. A large window draws her attention, and standing in front of it, a tall figure, as still as a statue.

He towers over her, even from her spot by the door, lean and strong in his posture. A sheath of silver hair gleams down his back, so beautiful and shiny that it looks like silk, and her hands itch to reach out and run their fingers through the long strands. Slowly, he cocks his head to the side, and her breath hitches as his side profile comes into view among the shadows.

“You’ve finally made it,” he muses, all strong nose and smirking lips, stained the color of roses. Suddenly, he turns, facing her stunned figure. He hums, head tilted. “Come now, bride.”

She thinks he is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen. Even with a scar that runs down the left side of his face, a glimmering sapphire within his missing eye’s socket. His other eye is an alluring shade of violet, though when he turns slightly, it looks almost red. He has a strong jaw and chin, skin porcelain and without color. He looks like a god.

He seems amused by her tied tongue, watching patiently as she tries to form a sentence. When she does, it comes out in a whisper. “Who are you?”

Quickly, so much so that her head spins and she stumbles back, he stands before her, close enough that she can touch him if she merely lifts her hand. He hums, his own hand coming up to run a finger down her cheek, the sharpened nail leaving a small streak of red on the flushed skin. His single eye studies her features, thumb resting under her chin as he tilts her head back, her lips agape. He smiles.

“My name…” he pauses, dipping his head lower, his cold breath fanning across her face, “is Aemond, and I have waited a millenia for you, ābrazȳrys.” (Wife).

The strange word echoed around in her head, and she knew it for High Valyrian, the old language of the dragonlords that once ruled over Westeros with fire and blood, hailed from the kingdom of Old Valyria. Her father is a scholar, one with an interest in history, and she had grown up learning about the years before, from before there were even the Seven Kingdoms. Tales of forest children and the First Men, of the Andals and the ice creatures, were all stories she was told at bedtime.

And then there is his name. Aemond. Another Valyrian name, one she had only heard once. Centuries ago, the ruling House Targaryen was torn to shreds when kin began to fight kin, and their dragons danced among a burning sky. There had been a particular prince that had caught her eye, a one-eyed kinslayer who rode the largest dragon in the world. When the war ended, the cruel Targaryen prince had vanished, and rumors swirled in his wake. Most believe he had succumbed to his uncle, a rogue prince who had a fiery vengeance. Some wonder about his paramour, a so-called witch that had lived in the same abandoned castle she was standing in now.

Her mind reeled over the possibilities. Could he be the long lost prince? After all this time? She knows it is not possible, for too much time has passed, yet he stands before her all the same. Cautiously, she reaches her hand out, resting it against his chest, breath catching within her throat at the stillness beneath his ribs.

He isn't breathing. His heart isn’t beating. It is as if he is a statue, carved from stone.

He gazes down at her, curious. Her voice comes out in a stutter. “H-how…? I don’t understand.”

His other hand encircles her own, pressing it tighter against him, eye fluttering closed as he begins to trace it up his chest, bringing it to his nose. He inhales, nose pressed to her wrist, pulse pounding under a web of blue veins. Her own eyes threaten to close, overwhelmed at the feeling of warmth that overcomes her, traveling from her head to the pit of her stomach, where it goes to rest between her quivering thighs.

He presses his lips to the same spot, opening his eye to peer up at her flushed expression. “You smell so sweet, my love.”

Her head spins, and she sucks in a sharp breath as he begins to kiss down the length of her arm, the silk sleeve of her robe lifting to rest in the crook of her elbow. When his lips reach the fabric, he moves to her shoulder, which the robe has fallen down from, leaving the bare skin exposed. At the nape of her neck, his tongue, surprisingly hot, darts out to lick at her pulse.

“Please,” she murmurs, head tilting to the side and her hands reaching out to grab at his tunic, pulling him closer.

“I am never letting you go, dōna riña,” Aemond muses, moving to press his lips against her jaw. “No, you were born to be my bride, and I shall take what belongs to me.” (Sweet girl).

Cold hands ruck up the skirt of her nightgown, caressing the soft skin of her thighs, which are covered in goosebumps as they shiver in desire. Some part of her is ringing an alarm bell, for she doesn’t yet know how she got here nor why she is here, or even how it is possible for this man… this being, to be before her. He has no beating heart, no working lungs, and though she knows it’s unfathomable, he is a Targaryen prince. With long silver hair and a single purple eye, she believes this in her heart.

Her thoughts come to a halt as long fingers curl under her soaked garment, touching her in a way no man has. A quiet gasp escapes from between her lips, mind at a stand still as his finger dips down to circle at her slick hole, pressing slightly but not yet entering. Instead, he moves to gather more of her arousal between his digits, thumb going to a spot that makes her jump, heart pounding against her heaving chest.

Aemond shushes her, a sweet coo leaving his smirking lips as he watches her with a hooded eye. His thumb rubs circles against that same spot, and a tight coil begins to turn within her stomach, nipples hardened to sharp peaks as she pants.

He brings his face down, forehead resting against her own. “Do you taste as sweet as you smell, ābrazȳrys?”

When she lets out a whimper, knees buckling from beneath her, he lets out a deep groan. Suddenly, with a force and speed that makes her dizzy, he is laying her down on the large bed that is against the wall, the velvet blankets smooth against her hot skin. Her nightgown is bunched up around her hips, robe long forgotten on the stone floor, along with her slippers. He kneels before her, fingers under the band of her undergarments, which he practically rips off her, tearing them down her legs.

“A-Aemond,” she whines, wanton as she writhes atop a sea of red velvet.

His nose nuzzles between her thatch of curls, tongue darting out to lick up her essence, which coats her entirely. Her back arches, hips wiggling away as a broken moan leaves her lips, but he merely throws an arm over her stomach, pressing down and locking her in place. Another moan is ripped from her throat, hands reaching down to nestle in his long strands, fingers curling around them and tugging. A deep rumble is heard within his chest, vibrating against her cunt, which pulses in return.

His tongue is ravenous as he laps up her arousal, swirling around that sensitive spot that makes her toes curl, before moving down to dip into her clenching hole. She leaks even more there, thighs shaking around his head as he pushes his tongue in deeper, until his face is pressed fully onto her weeping cunt. He groans, thrusting the muscle in and out, before retracting and bringing his fingers up to take its place. When his tongue lays flat against her and his finger eases its way through her tight entrance, she nearly screams as her head seems to explode, body vibrating in pleasure as the tightly wound coil in her stomach snaps.

Another finger joins the first, pumping into her steadily as she comes, feeling as if she is floating above her own body. Aemond starts to speak, but the words don’t process as her head buzzes, dazed in a pleasure she has never felt before. Whatever he says, her body clenches at, moving on its own accord with no way of her stopping it and regaining control. When she finally comes down, he doesn’t stop, continuing to lap at her quivering cunt, fingers beginning to curl upwards inside her, searching for a spot that they find almost immediately.

“My sweet, sweet bride,” he grins, resting his head against her thigh, mouth covered in her slick. “I want to lick this pretty cunt every day now. You’ll let me, won’t you?”

She whimpers and moans, tears prickling the corners of her eyes as another wave of pleasure begins to wash over her. He seems pleased by this, eye wide as it flickers between his fingers that are buried deep inside her and her flushed face. “Sȳz riña.” (Good girl).

He finally removes his fingers after her second peak, digits coated in her juices, which he brings up to her lips. Without a word, she opens her mouth, tongue swirling around them as she sucks, the taste of herself causing her blood to heat.

Aemond seems dazed as he stares down at her, member straining against his leathers. The sight both frightens and arouses her, her own mind still in the clouds and seemingly not coming down anytime soon. Slowly, cautiously, she reaches a hand out towards him. He grabs it, laying a kiss on her wrist once more, before moving to grab at her shift. She doesn’t stop him as he pulls it off her, leaving her naked under him. The drafty air of the old room brushes against her skin, and she shivers, nipples hardened and body covered in goosebumps.

His head bends and he wraps his lips around her right bud, hand grabbing at her left breast and squeezing. He’s heavy against her naked frame, the cold leather of his clothing feeling pleasant pressed along her flushed skin. She feels sticky all over, so unbearably hot that she presses herself closer to his odd coldness. He hushes her softly, lifting his head from her bosom and capturing her lips with his own. It’s messy, a clashing of tongues and teeth, and his rigid member feels like a hot iron against her thigh. Dazedly, she runs the tip of her tongue against his front teeth, gasping when a dull pain throbs throughout the wet muscle.

Aemond pulls back sharply, purple eye now a deep red, matching the crimson blood that stains his plush lips. Two sharp canines protrude from the top of his mouth, glimmering under the candlelight. His eye is focused on her lips, which hide her bleeding tongue from his view, and with a groan, he presses back against her, his own tongue forcing its way into her mouth. He caresses the small cut, licking up the blood that seeps from the wound, hands grabbing ahold of her tightly.

With a sigh that almost sounds like a growl, he pulls away so suddenly, and in a blink of an eye, he stands before her naked. Her eyes trail over his figure, porcelain in color and seemingly carved from stone. The light from the moon and the scattered candles create daunting shadows along his form, and through the fog of her mind, she realizes that she wants nothing more than to touch him. She sits up, reaching her hands out towards him, and he complies with her silent request, leaning down to allow her to explore. He watches with a curious eye, still red in color, as her fingers dance along his shoulders and down his chest, brushing over his pink nipples and his lean muscles.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmurs, bringing her lips to kiss the spot where his heart should rest, holding her breath when no heartbeat is felt.

As if reading her thoughts, he pushes her back down against the bed, and her eyes are immediately drawn to between his thighs. A twinge of fear rushes through her at the sight of his hardened cock, its head flushed pink with thick veins that curl up its side. She has never seen one before, still a maiden, waiting for her father to betroth her to whichever man he deems worthy. But she feels as if Aemond’s is too large.

His lips curl into a smirk at her wide eyed gaze, bringing himself forward to lean over her, his silver hair falling around them like a curtain. His body, still cold and heavy against her, like a stone wall. She tenses as his hand goes between them, grasping his member in his palm and lining himself up against her entrance. Once again, his gaze is dark, brows furrowed and jaw tense as he runs the tip up and down her leaking seam, nudging that special spot that makes her spine jolt.

“You are mine, riñītsos. Mine to claim, mine to fuck,” he hisses as his tip begins to press into her tight hole, arms straining to hold himself above her shaking frame. “Mine to breed. Kesan dōrī ivestragī jā.” (Little one), (I will never let you go).

A broken sob leaves her lips as he pushes forward, a sharp pain settling deep between her legs, which only grows the farther he goes inside her. She begins to shake her head, pushing her palms against his shoulders with a moan. “It’s too big… it won’t fit!”

“Shhh,” he hushes her sweetly, lips coming to kiss along her ruddy cheeks. “Don’t worry, dōna riña. I’ll make it fit. You were made for this… for me.”

Her vision is clouded as she nuzzles her face in the crook of his neck, wrapping herself around him and clinging onto him as the pain slowly ebbs away, turning into something entirely different. When he’s sat completely inside her, a wanton moan leaves her lips at the fullness, her head vibrating as she gasps up at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath among the surging pleasure that begins to make its way through every nerve. Her hips begin to cant upwards, the slickness of her arousal helping her to slide against his cock, her fingers gripping tightly to strands of his hair.

“Please…” she whines, nearly sobbing.

He hums, lifting himself up as he begins to move his hips, creating a steady rhythm as his hands grab ahold of her waist. She is tiny below him, so much so that he can see the outline of his cock in her stomach, a sight that makes him groan and speed up, balls tightening in pleasure as her wet heat squeezes him. He eyes her thundering pulse at the base of her neck, his fangs beginning to ache and his throat going dry. His thrusts grow harsher, fingers digging into her flesh as she cries out beneath him.

“Kostagon nyke angogon ao, ābrazȳrys? Kessa ao ivestragī aōha valzȳrys mōzugon hen ao?” (Can I bite you, wife? Will you let your husband drink from you?)

His words come out in a mix between whiny and growling, teeth gritting as he leans down towards her open neck. Though she doesn’t quite understand what he said, only knowing a few words in Valyrian, the neediness in his tone has her back arching, and she greedily pulls him closer. Some submissive part of her wants nothing more than to please him, to give him all he desires and more. She gasps out a small “please.”

He nuzzles his nose under her jaw, rubbing against her pulse as his hips slow down, his thirst growing immensely. He brushes the tips of his fangs against her vein, thrusting his cock deep inside her, before biting down, eye rolling to the back of his head as warm blood spills down into his mouth. He moans, hips stuttering, pulling her as close as he can until they are flushed against each other, listening to her whimpers. She scratches her nails down his back, her cunt pulsing around his heavy cock as her blood flows from her vein, dizzy in her pleasure and loss of blood.

She tastes of the finest ambrosia, rich against his tongue and tingling his tastebuds, and his cock seems to swell in size as he cradles her in his arms, fangs imbedded into her neck. Her vision blurs, the rising wave of her arousal coming to a peak, and she nearly screams out as his hand slides between their stuck bodies, fingers circling at the throbbing bud at the apex of her cunt. His cockhead pounds steadily against a rough patch within in, and he doesn’t let up on his assault as the wave crashes over her, drowning her. She gasps for air, everything silent except for the beating of her heart and the slurping of Aemond’s tongue lapping at her lifesource.

“Sȳz riña,” his own peak begins to wash over him, lips murmuring against her neck and between sips of blood. “Iksā vok. Ñuha vok ābrazȳrys.” (You are perfect. My perfect wife).

With one last groan, he fills her with his seed, taking one last gulp of her before ripping himself away, mouth open against her wound as he pants. His tongue begins to lick at the two points, saliva coating them and slowly healing the marred skin. She is barely awake beneath him, exhausted from her pleasure, yet the sound of his voice and the feeling of his seed hot against her womb makes her throb all over again. She leaves wet kisses along his shoulders and chest, relishing in the feeling of him pressed against her, sweaty in the aftermath of their love making.

Slowly, he pulls out of her, cock only slightly soft, ready for another round. He feels as if he could spend an eternity between her legs, pounding into her tight, wet cunt and breeding her over and over again. For a moment, he has a thought to chain her to this very bed, his obedient little bride. He wants to lap at her sweet blood and lick up the essence of her, until every part of her is claimed. When his seed begins to seep out of her used hole, he brings two fingers to plug into her, refusing to let any of himself leave her. He smiles at her adoring expression.

“Will you marry me now, my lord?”

Aemond brings his coated fingers to her lips for the second time that night, humming in delight when she sucks on them, tongue swirling around and licking up every last drop of their combined arousal.

“Yes, my love. And when the time is right, I will turn you into my eternal bride.”

[izurou]

last night, you had your very first sleepover with katsuki.

it was perfect. no snoring or sleep walking, no blanket hogging, and most importantly—no pro hero work pulling him away in the morning. the only thing that would’ve made it better, is some clarity.

you’re dating katsuki, but it’s not official—he’s not your boyfriend. you wonder if maybe, he’s just not that into you, or perhaps, he just doesn’t have the time. time—something he’s never had enough of, that has to be it, right?

your very first date, it was a two parter, because he was needed elsewhere mid mapo tofu. a few other dates after that were also cut short—maybe he thinks you just don’t know each other well enough yet? is it even possible for someone like him to think that way? whatever the reason, you need to know.

“morning katsuki,” you murmur, shuffling into the kitchen as you pull your sleeves up over your fists. you have a clear goal in mind—but he’s cooking, without a shirt, and suddenly your mission is ten times more difficult. is this what being a pro hero feels like?

“morning,” he mumbles back, glancing up briefly as you lean against the counter.

“what am i to you?” shit, how did that slip out? you could’ve sworn you asked how he slept.

“a fuckin’ headache,” he replies, sliding two glasses out of the cupboard and onto the counter. he opens the fridge, grabbing the carton of apple juice, and the carton of orange juice.

date three, part one—you had a heated debate over which is better, apple or orange. katsuki told you he doesn’t like to chew his damn beverages, and you told him that, believe it or not, they make orange juice without pulp. still, he went on about the bitterness, the acidity, and the horrid oj and toothpaste combo—yet here he is having both in his refrigerator—how odd.

“c’mon, i’m serious,” you urge, watching the liquids cascade into their respective cups.

“so ‘m i.” he nudges your glass towards you, bringing his own up to his lips and chugging it.

“but, i’m in your apartment,” you pause, noticing the way his face contorts into a full on sentence—one that reads yeah, no shit. “i slept in your bed with you, i’m wearing your shirt,” you continue, gesturing to the long sleeve currently swallowing you whole.

“you’re talkin’ my damn ear off too,” he breathes, wiping an arm over his mouth.

by date five, it was obvious that katsuki’s actions spoke louder than his words—which is impressive considering just how loud his words are. puddles lined the streets that evening, courtesy of the afternoon downpour. it was busy, drivers lost in their own little worlds as they drove past—and each and every time, katsuki would angle his body to the right just a bit. he cursed every last one of them who sped by, and he was absolutely miserable by the time you made it off the main roads but, at least you were dry.

“nevermind,” you say, sliding into a chair at the dining table. you’ve decided that, whatever this is—it’s good enough for you.

but it was on date one part two that katsuki knew you were it for him. after running out on you just three nights prior, he was glad you even showed up—but you went one step further. you sat there with that pretty smile on your face. no eye rolls, no guilt trips, and not a single snide remark or complaint. you even offered to pay for the meal—as if he would ever let you do such a thing, but he found it cute nonetheless. so, he owes you this.

“hey,” he barks, causing your head to snap up. the two plates he had set on the counter are full now, he must be done. “you’re mine.”

the look on your face must’ve said it all, because he’s choking back a laugh as he carries your plates over. you’re his? why did he blurt it out so casually? are you missing something?

“oh c’mon,” he huffs, plopping down in the seat next to you. he turns, trailing his eyes up and down your figure. “you slept on my damn side of the bed, in my fuckin’ shirt.”

he gave you this shirt—right before he told you to go wait in bed while he tidied up—how the hell were you supposed to know he has a specific side?

“don’t play dumb,” he pauses, scowl growing as he watches you reach for a piece of food with your bare hands. he grabs your wrist, ushering for you to let him roll your sleeves up—like hell he’s gonna sit back and watch you get his shirt dirty.

he folds the fabric with precision, biting the inside of his cheek in an attempt to hide his smile—but he just can’t.

“y’already know you’re mine.”

[lewisvinga]

yes to heaven | george russell x fem! reader

summary; 3 important times during y/n’s and george’s relationship where she says yes to heaven

warnings; cursing i think

word count; 2k

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1

notes; rahhh

‘born to die’ series masterlist.

masterlist !

2016

“Y/n!” A familiar British accent calls out. Y/n turns around and is met with a familiar set of blue eyes and long lashes. She lets out a soft gasp at the sight of him.

“George! You’re back!” She exclaimed, wrapping her arms tightly around him. It had been weeks since she had seen her best friend and she had no idea he was coming a week earlier than expected.

“Came to surprise you.” He said with a smile. He had been gone for weeks due to racing, and he thought about her every day. She was on his mind every week, every day, every hour. He was as in love with her as any other teen boy, he was completely infatuated.

How she smiled at him and immediately started to ramble about her week caused him to gain a bit of courage. “Y/n, actually,” he interrupted her.

Y/n pauses mid-sentence, her complete and utter attention on George and his crystal blue eyes that she slowly fell in love with. The Brit cleared his throat out of nervousness before finally blurting out, “Will you go on a date with me?”

His eyebrows immediately furrowed up as her lips parted in shock. The Brit in front of her quickly started panicking and took a step back. “Forget I-“

“Yes.”

“Wait, what-“

“Yes, I’ll go on a date with you, Georgie.” Y/n softly says with a smile on her lips. “Been waiting forever for you to say that.” She added, letting out a quiet giggle.

His anxiousness and nervousness immediately washed away and he felt a sense of relief. “Thank God. I’ll let you know the details, yeah?”

“Sounds perfect to me.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

2022

“Mate, you look like you’re going to shit yourself,” Alex says in between snickers at the look George wore on his face as they entered a jewelry store. “Relax a bit, yeah? I’m sure the ring is perfect.”

The Mercedes driver had gotten a custom-made ring to propose to his girlfriend of 6 years. He had placed the order months ago, thinking it’d be ready by at least a month before the proposal. Unfortunately, there was a delay which meant that he was going to the jewelry store the day before the proposal.

He was nervous, scared even that the ring would look horrible. Alex had to hold back on joking even more when George asked him to accompany him to see the ring.

“I’m proposing to her tomorrow.” The Mercedes driver took a deep breath, looking around for the sales associate he talked to over the phone, “What if the ring looks horrible? Or what if she doesn’t like it? What if it doesn’t fit her? What if-“

“George!” Alex loudly exclaims, ignoring the stares of other customers. “You’ll be fine. Besides, Lils and I are helping, remember? We’re gonna get it all set up and all you’re gonna need to do is get down on one knee and ask. Besides, I’m sure the ring is perfect.”

His words only calmed George down so much as he made his way to the sales associate. He zoned out as he waited for the sales associate to bring out the ring. Moments later, a black box was shown to him.

George let out a large sigh of relief as the box was slowly opened. Inside rested the ring he had been waiting months for. The diamond resting in the center was as big as the wide eyes Alex had as he stared at it. On the band right under the diamond, there was a bow shape lined with smaller diamonds.

It was perfect and George finally felt a bit of relaxation. However, the feeling of relaxation went away minutes after walking out of the store at the realization he was going to propose to Y/n.

Alex was right, he and Lily made sure the setup was perfect. For a private proposal, the couple decided to decorate the backyard of George’s and Y/n’s home. White roses and pink peonies led a path through the house and towards the backyard. A light-up sign saying ‘Marry me’ stood in the backyard surrounded by more white roses and pink peonies.

A few other drivers and their girlfriends along with Alex and Lily were waiting at George’s and Y/n’s home, waiting for the couple to come back from dinner. They made sure to hide just enough so Y/n couldn’t see them but they could still get all the good angles to record.

“George? What’s this?” Y/n loudly asks, signaling the others that the couple has arrived. She furrowed up her eyebrows at the sight of roses on the wooden floors.

“Why don’t we follow it?” George says with a smile to cover up the shakiness of his voice. She slowly nods and hooks her arm with his, still confused about why there were flowers.

She still hadn’t put two and two together as he led her through the living room and towards the door leading to the backyard. She saw a faint light through the blind and glanced up at her boyfriend.

A loud gasp escaped from Y/n’s lips once he opened the door and she saw the light-up sign. “Yes!” She shouts while jumping and turning to George who lets out a loud laugh. “Oh my, George! Yes!” She continued to shout from excitement as he led her down the path and stopped right in front of the sign.

“You didn’t even let me give you my speech.” He joked, grasping her hand.

“Shit! Pretend I haven’t said anything yet.” She quickly replied as she ignored the way her eyes filled up with tears. She quickly smooths down the red dress she wore as she tightly grabs onto his hand.He couldn’t help but smile as he reached into his back pocket to pull out the black velvet box.

“Y/n,” George breathed out with a smile so wide his cheeks began to hurt. “I’ve been in love with you since the day I met you at the playground when we were just 12. You’ve been by my side ever since. You’ve seen me at my best and you’ve seen me at my worst. I can’t be apart from you ever. If you dance, i’ll dance. If you fight, i’ll fight No matter what, I’ll stay with you. I honestly can’t imagine someone else I’d rather spend my life with. You are truly everything to me.”

“So, Y/n L/n,” He continued. He slowly gets down on one knee and she finally lets the tears stream down her face at the sudden realization of what’s happening. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes! Yes! A million times yes.” Y/n exclaimed with a shaky voice. With one hand, she wiped away the flood of tears trailing down her cheeks as George slipped the ring onto her ring finger, trying to blink away his own tears.

He stood up and was quick to grab her by her waist to pull her close. He lets out a laugh of relief as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. She closes the small gap between their lips and finally kisses him, ignoring how some of the other drivers and their girlfriends randomly appeared and started cheering.

Y/n couldn’t help but also laugh as she finally pulled away, resting her forehead against George’s forehead. “I love you so much, George Russell.” She whispered.

He places a kiss on her forehead before whispering back, “And I love you, Y/n L/n.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

2024

“Y/n!” Francisca exclaims, slowly opening the door to the bridal room. “Are you ready? Mentally and physically? Because we’re gonna have to walk down the aisle soon.”

“What if I trip and fall? The train is very long.” Y/n began to panic, gesturing to the long lace train of her white gown.

It was her special day and everything was perfect. Her dress and the diamonds adorning her neck and wrists were something out of a dream. Her hair was curled to perfection and not a single strand was out of place. Her makeup was perfect and timeless. She knew the decorations and the venue were magnificent.

Everything was perfect but she was still overthinking.

The Portuguese model lets out a breathy chuckle as she walks over to the nervous bride. “You’re not going to fall, I promise. Besides, we all know George would do something 10 times more embarrassing.” She says, rubbing her shoulder in a comforting way.

“That’s true.” The bride mumbles, glancing at herself through the mirror.

The door to the bridal room opened again; this time, Lily was peeking inside. “The most beautiful bride, it’s time!” She exclaims with a smile.

Y/n takes a deep breath while smiling at herself through the mirror. “I got this. I got this.” She mumbled to herself as she stood up. Kika and Lily led her out of the room and by the end of the aisle.

The two girls quickly got into place since as bridesmaids, they also had to walk down the aisle before Y/n. She stood off by the side so no guests could see her through the wide open doors as the bridesmaids walked down the aisle.

When it was time for her, she glanced up and saw her father waiting for her. The doors were closed before they stood right in front. They share a smile as she hooks her arm with his.

“You know,” Her father spoke up, making her glance up at him, “I always knew you and George would get married. Ever since you two became friends. And now, you actually are.” He leans down, pressing a kiss on the top of his daughter's head.

“I can’t believe it to be honest.” She nervously laughs, taking a deep breath as the wedding coordinator signals to her that they’re seconds away from opening the door.

“You better believe it because he’s waiting for you at the end of the aisle.” Her father whispers right as the doors open.

A soft melodic song began to play as the two made their way down the aisle. George’s mouth hung open the moment he saw his future wife. For a second he thought he was in heaven and was seeing an angel.

Immediately, he began to get emotional as he watched her slowly make her way to him. His eyes filled with tears which he couldn’t hold back.

At the sight of her soon-to-be spouse crying, Y/n couldn’t help but feel emotional as well as she stood in front of him. She gave her father a kiss on the cheek before he left to take his seat.

She turns to George who is wiping away his tears while laughing. “You look magnificent, Y/n. Thought I was in heaven!” He quietly exclaims causing her to let out a laugh.

“And you look handsome as always.” She quickly whispered back, holding back the urge to kiss him as the ceremony began.

Before either knew it, it was time to exchange the rings. The officiant first turned to George. “Do you, George Russell, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, to comfort her, to honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” He replied with a smile, keeping his eyes on her as he slipped the diamond band onto her ring finger.

The officiant turned to Y/n, repeating the same words, “Do you, Y/n L/n, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, to comfort him, to honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?”

“Yes.” She quickly replied. “I do.” Her smile matched his as she slipped his ring onto his finger.

“By the power invested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride!”

George didn’t hesitate to grab Y/n by the waist and pull her close, tilting her back a bit. She wrapped her arms around him as she finally locked their lips together, kissing for the first time as a married couple. Cheers erupted around them from their closest family and friends.

They both pulled away with giddy smiles and laughter. “You’re all mine now, Y/n Russell. My wife.”

“I’m always going to say yes to heaven, yes to you, my husband.”

[soobnny]

labyrinth — lee minho.

trope. best friends to lovers. college au. slow burn. angst. fluff. a story on second loves.

synopsis. sometimes, the path towards healing involves not only mending your heart but trusting in the love of those who have been there all along, or alternatively, in which lee minho teaches you to love again

word count. 20k words

warnings. drinking, mentions of vomiting, curse words, intoxication, the aftermaths of heartbreak, not feeling good enough

note. hello it’s me again! have this semi self-indulgent lee know fic i wrote

one.

When Mark breaks your heart in the first weeks of summer, Minho doesn’t say “I told you so”. Instead, he becomes your gentle refuge, sitting still and letting you cry on his shoulder. 

He’s careful to touch you, doesn’t want to shake you out of the pretense of composure you’ve built for yourself. Though, it only takes a brush of his hand before the inevitable scrunch of your face that follows into a sob. His hands pull your waist closer, running soothing circles down your back.

You bruise yourself for your naivety. 

In the tapestry of first loves, it’s easy to be bound to the intoxicating notion that he will be all you’ll ever know. When you fall, you think it’ll last forever. The memory of him emerges from around you, slipping in like sand through your feet. Most of it passes quickly, but some moments sink on your skin, desperately pulling you down and forcing everything down your throat—–the sound of ocean waves bathing the seashore when he held your hand, barefoot and laughing, the birds singing from outside the window as you spend the morning in, the scent of coffee in the morning, the sound of laughter in grocery stores, and the feeling of rain dripping down your clothes as you run for the night train where you tell each other everything. 

How are you supposed to forget pieces of him you’ve cemented in your heart? 

Loss is too terrible to grasp at once, especially when unexpected. Especially when you had thought the world of him only to have your heart shattered. 

Pain only stems from the comfort of memories. It snags on you, clinging onto you and reminding you that they will just be memories now. You will only remember him now, remember falling in love over and over again, remember your first kiss and every single one after. You will only remember how he looked at you, with so much love in his eyes, you thought you would last an eternity. 

“I’m going to kill him.” Minho’s voice is soft despite the connotation behind his words. He has his arms firm around you, bringing one hand to pat your hair down. 

“You don’t even know what he did.” You mumble, voice coming out shaky and incoherent from sobbing the past few hours. There’s snot running down your nose and staining his shirt, and your prickling tears still haven’t stopped. His favorite shirt is soaked, but he couldn’t be less bothered.

“He—,” Your best friend pauses, taking a deep breath in. It’s something he does when he tries to recompose himself. “He made you cry.” He breathes out, taking the back of your head and pushing it further into his chest. He doesn’t think he can bear the sight of your tear-stained eyes, doesn’t think he can handle the quiver in your lips. 

“Maybe I just wasn’t good enough. If I was prettier–” 

The words sound practiced in your lips, slipping far too easily that it breaks Minho’s heart to think it must’ve been something weighing in your mind for a while now. He shakes his head rather fervently, carefully peeling your head back from the crook of his neck so your eyes meet.

“I don’t want you to finish that sentence.” His thumb swipes at the tears falling from your eyes, and while Minho hadn’t had the time to switch on the living room lights when you had knocked on his door at close to midnight, you can still see anger swimming in his eyes. You know it isn’t directed to you, know that he’s trying his best to subdue his rage and not drive and crash into Mark’s house right now. 

“He’s going to hell for even letting that thought run through that little head of yours. There’s already barely anything in there, and he dares plant something so painfully untrue?” You notice his lips are twitching in effort of a teasing smile.

Despite the unbearable pain, you can’t help but laugh at your best friend’s words, even though it comes out sounding more like a sob. “My head has a few things in there.” You manage to croak out, and Minho pockets the accomplishment of making you laugh to think about later. 

“Of course, of course. Definitely not differential calculus, but there are a few things in there.” His eyes are soft when he speaks. “One of them is that you’re enough, and it’s that fucker’s loss for letting you go. Want to hear you say it.”

He follows along with you, accompanying you with every word. “I’m good enough.” He nods his head, urging you to continue speaking. “And?” 

“And it’s that fucker’s loss for letting me go.” You almost cry when you say it.

“There you go.” 

Minho pulls you back in his arms, wrapping you in his scent and the entirety of his comfort. He says nothing, only listens to your heavy inhale and exhale. You’ve never been here before, never felt this pain before so he lets you feel your emotions. It’s an ache that doesn’t need to be taught, but is inevitable to learn. 

“Thank you, Min.” Your voice wavers, sucking in a deep breath. “I’m…” An apology sits on your tongue, but you know your best friend won’t let you. He’s picked you up multiple times before–failed tests, college admissions, family arguments, and never once has he let you apologize for crying. “Thank you.” You say through the clatter of your teeth. 

He doesn’t say anything, only squeezes you in his arms. It’s two in the morning now, and Minho can hear your quiet snoring. It’s prominent, sitting louder than the few honks of cars outside. You must’ve barely gotten any rest these past few days. 

Your face is still wet when he lays you down on his bed, pulling his covers over you and letting it fall just by your chin. Minho falls asleep on his small, run-down couch. 

two.

The process of disentangling Mark from you is a lot harder than you thought it would be. The first time you cross off his favorite candy and brand of milk from your shopping list, you sobbed for two straight hours. At one point, when Minho was accompanying you, you had started crying in front of the sweets section and he’d had to whisk you away embarrassingly and calm you down in his car. 

Since the break up three weeks ago, you’ve refrained from doing anything that remotely reminded you of him. For one, you’ve stopped wearing his favorite hoodie, the one tucked away at the back of your closet. You don’t know how to return it to him yet. It’d be too hard to face him when you can barely hold yourself together even by just the sight of it. You stopped viewing his Instagram stories, after making the same mistake a week ago. Minho has told you to block him, but it’s too big of a step to take right away. 

Though, you think the most painful was seeing Juyeon on your way to class. You don’t know whether to greet him or not. He was Mark’s friend over yours, but you’d like to think you’d gotten along quite well to consider him a friend. Though, it seems too much of an overstep towards the boundaries created when Mark had called it quits. His friends will take his side on the breakup, and your friends will take yours. It’s no longer a shared “our” friends. It's just yours or his now. 

The realization stings so badly that it physically hurts you, and what starts as stabs of pain evolves to a dull ache. You crave for the time to come where days without him would feel far, especially when you can’t sit still at this stupid restaurant without recalling your second date and how you’d spent everyday thinking forever of him.

“(Name)? You okay?” Felix’s voice is piercing, reverberating through your thoughts. 

“Hm? Yeah, yeah, sorry.” You swallow, propping your elbows on the table and leaning forward to seem more present. 

“You spaced out a little bit.” He laughs, taking a sip out of his service water. “Is it cause you miss Mark? I know you had one of your dates here.” His voice is teasing, and you shiver a little at the mention of your ex-boyfriend. 

Minho shifts in his seat, scooting a little closer and ghosting a hand behind your chair. He’s looking at you now, unrecognizable expression on his face as he waits for your response. He hadn’t told any of your friends, kept his promise when you had asked him, but he doesn’t like the way you’re cornered into a response. 

“Oh…” You blink, eyes scanning each person from the table before dropping down to your glass of water. “We— we broke up actually.” You swallow again, taking the glass but not quite bringing it up to your lips. 

There’s a recollection of Mark sitting adjacent to you, his voice sodden and repeating. And you don’t like all the eyes frozen on you as you share the pathetic end of a relationship you thought would be everlasting. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Felix feels guilty, voice growing smaller and smaller with every word. You’re quick to reassure. 

“It’s okay. It happens.” You shrug, even though it’s not okay. Even though it wasn’t supposed to happen to you. You were supposed to be an exception to fate's horrible hands. 

Everyone’s eyes buzz, and you know they’re thinking of it. You bite your lip, eyes searching for Minho’s in desperation. For a barrier. For someone to break the pity dripping from everyone’s features. It makes you feel small. 

Minho’s head peps up, smile pulling on his lips as he suddenly claps his hands. “Hyunjin-ah, do you remember the last time we were here?” 

“Why are we suddenly having this conversation?” His friend groans in embarrassment, but rides on the conversation anyway.

Hyunjin pretends not to remember even though he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the shame of mispronouncing the names of the dishes while you, Minho, and Jisung were stifling in your laughter. You’d almost forgotten the way you laughed until your stomachs hurt when the waitress finally walked away after a cruel 15 minutes of asking Hyunjin to repeat himself. 

“The one I ordered was pretty good though. I have a pretty good eye for food.” Jisung joins in on the conversation, heart clenching at the way you quietly retreat in your seat. He’s always had a soft spot for you. 

“Yeah, sure, you have eyes, I guess.” Minho replies without hesitation, which has Jisung dropping his mouth and staring at the boy in disbelief. “Excuse me?” 

Laughter falls in laughter as everyone stares between the two, who are bickering back and forth. You turn to them with a smile on your face, grateful to break away from the impending conversation about Mark. The attention is elsewhere now, and you feel like you can finally breathe properly.

“As if you didn’t order something horrendous too. It was a silly time.” Minho leans towards you with challenging eyes at your input in the conversation. It’s abrupt, the way he suddenly twists his body so he’s facing you, and so Minho-like.  

“You had fun.” He points at you. “You had so much fun. You had fun.” 

“Okay, okay, damn. You’re being really aggressive right now.” You laugh a little, falling back in your seat and pushing his pointing hand away.

“We enjoyed ourselves.” He says one more time as a matter-of-fact, just as the food arrives. The conversation takes a short pause as hunger hits, long arms reaching out to grab as much food as they can on their plates. 

Jisung stares at the variety of dishes, mouth watering as he holds a critical stare–as if he’s about to make life-altering decisions with the food he chooses. There’s everything you could name, variants of chicken and beef and noodles and seafood all plastered on the table. You quietly take a few portions when it looks like no one’s going for the same serving spoon. 

“Oh, oh, yes, try that (Name). I tried it a while back, and it’s so good.” He waves his spoon around, eyes lighting up at your choice and you laugh at the way everyone moves away from the table to avoid getting hit by the splattering sauce. 

Jisung only stops holding you hostage when Chan moves to distract him.

By the time you fill up your plate, Minho is already digging into his food, chewing diligently with furrowed eyebrows. The steak he ordered for himself looks good, and a smirk forms when he senses your prying eyes. He plays dumb, like he always does, slicing the meat in an annoyingly slow pace before sticking his fork into it. 

“Your order looks good.” Your smile is nothing but innocent as you stare at his fork without shame. He mirrors your grin, sly as he picks up his fork. 

“I thought you said the food I ordered was horrendous.” He interrupts, lifting up the slice of meat and waving it around cartoonishly. He is so annoying with his rolled up sleeves and his hooded eyes. 

“That was before. I’ve changed!” 

“No.”

You pout, stuffing a piece of fish in your mouth at failing to coax Minho into sharing his food. All efforts against Minho always end in vain, but you’ve always held pride in the way he takes a second longer to reject you. You’re just about to twist some noodles in your chopsticks, terribly hunched over posture, when a fork is shoved in front of your face.

Minho doesn’t say a word as he waits for you to eat the slice of steak, free hand hovering just under your chin in case the food falls. Your eyes fall on his, horribly failing to hide the smile on your face as you lean forward to bite the meat off. 

“Oh, it’s so good.” You huff, chewing carefully with widened eyes. It’s a close second to the steak Seungmin and Minho cooked for you on your birthday last year.

Though, it’s only taking the Number 1 spot because the criterion was solely based on who made it, and how they took time out of their day to cook one of your favorite meals for you. The taste of the steak in this restaurant wins by a landslide, but you don’t think they can replicate the love put into your birthday steak. 

Minho makes that face exclusive to his friends when he wants to put up mock annoyance at being forced to do something out of his will, like sharing his food, yet everyone’s accustomed to his cold exterior. 

“Have you ever—” Jisung starts after your table becomes a victim of silence, stuffing his mouth with a few chips. He doesn’t finish his thought, though, reaching out for Hyunjin’s glass of water after having finished his before the food was even served.

“What?” Changbin asks the question brewing on everyone’s throats.

“Nevermind. I’m gonna keep it to myself because you guys are gonna say it’s gross.” 

The ongoing conversation falls deaf in your ears. You hate to admit you were too busy weighing your options on whether you should have shrimp or not. It takes you a feverishly long time to peel them, and everyone might as well have finished their meals before you can make it to five shrimps. But the sight makes your mouth water, and you’re stuck at a crossroad. Maybe Jisung was onto something when he had stared at the food earlier, as if it was the most important decision in his life.

“Woah, woah, woah. I peed on a tree recently if that makes you feel any better.” Jeongin says without a stutter in his sentence, and everyone pauses from their meals. “Now, what was that gross thing you wanted to talk about?” He nudges Jisung’s shoulder.

“....Have you ever wondered if there’s snot flavored chips?” 

“Jisung!” Chan chastises as everyone else shares judging stares. Hyunjin is having a hard time holding his laughter, and Changbin almost spits his water out. Minho is too busy peeling his shrimps to give the conversation the time of day.

“We shouldn’t have allowed you to talk in the first place.” Seungmin grimaces.

You’re too immersed in still deciding whether you should eat shrimps or not to notice Minho transferring the seafood he had peeled on your plate. He doesn’t say anything when he reaches for your plate, doesn’t even look at you when you glance at him. Instead, he resumes eating and listens quietly to the ridiculous conversation from his friends. 

“This is why I didn’t wanna say it!” 

“Yeah, you definitely should’ve kept that to yourself.”

The breach of silence from Jisung doesn’t last long as the noise quiets down into chewing and Minho’s quiet yet persistent “eat more” when he sees small portions on your plate. He knows you haven’t been having the appetite to eat lately, but he still makes sure you’re at least intaking a healthy amount to sustain your body. 

An hour and a half later, you find yourself in the passenger seat of Minho’s car as he drives you home. He lets you connect to the Bluetooth, lets you control the music despite preferring to drive in silence. Though, he’s ill-prepared for you to actually start singing.

“You are an expert at sorry and keeping lines blurry, never impressed by me acing your tests—”

Minho groans, briefly gazing in your direction before keeping his eyes on the road. A half second is enough to see you moping with your head leaned against his window. 

“All the girls that you’ve run dry have tired lifeless eyes cause you burned them out.”

“When I gave you control over the music, I didn’t expect you to start playing Taylor Swift.” He shoots you another glance, one hand on the steering wheel and the other just behind your headrest. He’s giving you a judging look, as if he hadn’t blasted Adele when he had his first heartbreak years ago. 

“Deal with it.” You stick your tongue out childishly before turning to your mini karaoke session. “Don't you think I was too young to be messed with? The girl in the dress, cried the whole way home—”

It takes four more songs from your Spotify playlist titled Taylor Swift but you’re heartbroken before Minho’s finally pulling up to the front of your dorm building. You know he’s so fucking done with you, with his eyes closed and head rolled back as he waits for you to finish sulking. He doesn’t kick you out of his car, though. He only crosses his arms with his lips pressed into a bored line until you’ve decided you’re done singing for the night. 

You don’t think you can take the quiet. Without music blasting in your ears, you’re confronted by a suffocating silence. There is no relief when you see how the night sky looks so peaceful outside his car window because why can the night sky bask in calmness while you have to sit there in this excruciating hurt? 

So, you stay there for another two songs. You are too fragile to be nudged right now, and Minho doesn’t think it’s an appropriate time to confront you about the band-aid you’ve stuck to temporarily keep your heart together. 

three.

Time doesn’t stop for your grieving. Everyday, the same sun will mockingly look down at you, reminding you that days would go on without you. That despite the squeezing pain in your sternum, time will not stop for your hurt. People will go on about their days unknowing of your suffering. 

Ironically, while time stops for no one, it does move excruciatingly slow. When you’re in love, time passes by you so quickly that you don’t know it’s the last time. You’re never given a warning. Endings are always so sudden that it makes no sense. When love unclasps its grip from you, days and nights drag on longer, stretching out the pain. There is nothing to do but rot over your break. 

The past two months have felt like a year. It’s strange how one moment you could be in the middle of clinging onto your lover’s hand, and the next it all feels like a very long time ago, and none of it is ever coming back. How are you supposed to cope with the loss of someone you know too much about as life continues to progress around you?

You don’t understand how you’re supposed to endure this. There is nothing to do but to stare at your ceiling until you feel horrible about yourself. 

You’re curled up on your bed like the day before, and the day before that, when the sound of your door opening jolts you awake. Though, Minho’s voice is quick to reassure that a stranger hadn’t broken into your dorm. You didn’t know he was back from his parent’s house. He had even invited you, a few days ago, telling you a change of scenery might do you good but you were pretty adamant on crying through your hurt in your dorm room alone.

“I’m walking into your bedroom. You better not be naked.” Your best friend announces before his familiar silhouette emerges from the dark of your make-do living room. He has his arms folded across his chest as he leans against your doorframe. 

“What do you want?” 

“You’re coming with me to do groceries.” He speaks with vindication, pacing inside your room in search of something for you to wear in your closet. 

“I don’t want to.”

He throws a hoodie to your face, standing by the edge of your bed expectantly. You thrash around for a few seconds, mostly for dramatism, before stubbornly sitting up to wear the hoodie he had thrown at you. “What do I even get out of this? Just let me suffer in peace.”

“Vitamin D.” He’s still hovering. “Your bones are gonna break if you don’t see the sun, and we promised we’d race each other when we’re eighty.”

Your heart rises to your throat at the recollection of when you were seventeen and unaware of what the future would hold for the both of you. It had been some stupid agreement you’d come up with when you had snuck a bottle of soju into Minho’s parent’s house. Perhaps it was the excitement from drinking for the first time or the numbness from losing your grandparent just a few weeks ago, but the alcohol had made you cry. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing anyone else, not your parents, not your friends, not Minho. The introduction to loss was so overwhelming, and you hated how permanent it was. In an attempt to make you smile again, Minho had promised to buy you a house if you could outrace him when you’re both eighty and frail. Prideful and under the influence, you accepted.

“I’m getting that house.” You say with a lazy grit, unmoving from your spot. He laughs, shaking his head as he grabs your hands, dragging you out of your bed. 

“I’m not gonna go easy on you even if you’re old and wrinkly. Now, hurry up. I’ll cook for you if we get back before 4pm.”

“Seafood pasta and steak?” Your eyes light up for the first time today, and Minho lets out a long sigh at your request. 

“Yeah, whatever.” He scrunches his face. 

“And you’ll make it spicy?”

“Hurry up before I take it back and let you starve.” Minho takes his leave, turning his back around heading for your front door as you make it out of your bed in record time. You hate to admit that it’s the first time you’re leaving your house in days. And while you were planning to spend the rest of the break like this, Minho’s temporary accompaniment and the meal awaiting you is very much appreciated. Otherwise, you would’ve let your limited supply of cup noodles suffice and seafood pasta outweighs instant noodles by a mile. 

The trip to the grocery store is short, but it’s enough to play a song and a half. When you arrive, Minho makes a beeline to the frozen section to restock on his pudding. You sigh, bowing your head faintly and following the bunny boy. 

You have to admit, the lighting from the lined up refrigerators does well in making Minho look adorable with his pink nose and a smile that frames his two front teeth. It’s a shame he only ever directs this look to his cats and oddly enough, pudding. 

He throws a few cups in his shopping cart before moving along to another aisle. You match your footsteps with his, walking next to him as he pushes the cart along. The grocery store is dangerous. There are ways to find Mark everywhere. So, you look anywhere but aisles–the ground, Minho’s back, his cart. Anything but his favorite candy and the brand of milk he uses. 

“Want anything?” You look up at your best friend, and he looks at you with pointed eyes before gesturing towards the bags of junk food lining up. 

“I thought you said this was unhealthy for me?” It’s with incredulousness that you look at him. 

“Do you want me to take back my offer?” 

Smiling sheepishly, you reach out to grab a few bags of popcorn and some honey butter chips before adding it to the pile you hadn’t even noticed. It seems he’s gone through half of his grocery list as you stared aimlessly at the ground. 

He tells you to stay there and have a look around if you want anything else, and by the time he comes back, he has two cartons of milk in his arms that he places in his cart. 

You skip past the dairy and sweets section as Minho finishes up. 

“I’m gonna have a piece of chocolate as a treat. Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it.” 

“You’re giving yourself a piece of chocolate?” Minho asks, pulling you back by your wrist to stop you from wandering around. 

“Yeah, I think I earned it for leaving my dorm today. I think I earned it.”

“No, you can’t do that.”

“Why not?” You ask defensively. “I don’t understand.” 

“Not good enough reasoning.”

“Oh, but I worked so hard today. I feel like I really earned it.”

Betrayal seeps through your features as you head towards the cashier, and your shoulders sag in defeat as you begrudgingly help place the contents of your cart on the counter so it’s easier for the cashier to scan. Though, as Minho runs to grab an ingredient he’d forgotten for the meal he had promised you, you notice a box of chocolates tucked under his other arm as he returns. The price of the chocolate is added to his total bill, and he doesn’t look at you as he puts it in the shopping bag with your chips and popcorn.

Minho drives you back to your dorm, and you busy yourself with putting his frozen goods in your refrigerator so it doesn’t melt while he cooks. He can take it out later when he goes back to his dorm. 

You admit to being a little useless in the kitchen, so you sit still as Minho shuffles through the ingredients. He looks mesmerizing, save for the Hello Kitty apron too small for him that he had borrowed from you. It does add to his charm though as he moves around like he takes up the whole space of the kitchen. You can tell he’s used to this by the way he moves and the way he uses a knife. He looks focused, radiating. He always has this look on his face when he’s concentrated, plush mouth parted a little with furrowed eyebrows. You’d teased him about it once. 

It’s habit the way he cooks, the way his hand shapes around the knife, the way he chops vegetables and measures in a heartbeat. And it’s pattern that he checks on you once in a while, eyes traveling from the boiling pasta towards where you’re seated on the kitchen counter. From time to time, he walks towards you with a wooden spoon, hand habitually falling under your chin so the sauce doesn’t drip. 

Minho hums in satisfaction when you make a noise of approval, eyes widening as you nod your head with fervor. He turns away, licking his lips as he returns to finishing up his cooking. The sizzling of the pan, the bowl of the water, and your quiet humming is the sound of his heart right now, and he smiles to himself at the visible peace of being in the kitchen. He doesn’t have much time to cook these days. 

It takes almost an hour for him to finish, but it doesn’t feel that way. Unlike the past two months, time moved at a hare’s pace just in this moment, with Minho presently on your heels as he sets the plates down on your dining table. 

“Min, this is so good.” You note at how good the sauce tastes, and how the spice ties everything in. The way Minho prepares food is nothing like the ones you eat at restaurants. It’s better.

“I know. I’m the one who made it.” His response almost makes you scoff if not for the fact that he’s feeding you right now. So, you stay silent as you eat. Piece by piece, bite by bite, that you almost forget the last time you’ve sat on your dining table. 

You prefer to eat your meals anywhere but—the couch, your bedroom, the kitchen floor. The last memory leaves a bitter recollection on your throat. Dinner used to almost always be with Mark. He’d bring takeout and you’d spend the rest of the night updating each other on your days. Then, those nights became sparse and you were left with Facetime calls until they were nothing at all. There’s still a space for his shoes by your doorway, and you have yet to throw away the spare toothbrush he kept in your bathroom. There’s fragments of him in your dorm, and you hate it. 

The past hangs a heavy air around you that you don’t realize the gutted look of heartbreak on your face and the tears slipping past your eyes until you move to wipe them on instinct. You don’t know if it’s the chili oil on your fingertips or the sudden trip down memory lane, but you start to cry even more as you stuff your face with seafood pasta. 

“Is it too spicy?” Minho gently leaves his spot adjacent to you, puts his utensils down in favor of standing by your side. “You okay?” 

He laughs when a choked ‘yes’ leaves your lips before you’re stuffing even more pasta down, chewing animatedly as you try to blink the tears away. Though, when you make a move to rub your eyes, Minho is quick to grab them, pushing your arms away from your face. 

“Be careful. It’s gonna sting even more.” Pulling down the sleeves of his hoodie, he carefully uses the fabric to wipe the tears off your cheeks. He’s gentle with his movements, consciously mirroring your gutted, frowning look in his usual teasing. It makes you laugh, dropping your hands to your sides before suddenly letting out another sob. 

It’s a funny sight, seeing you laugh and cry at the same time and Minho can’t stop the periodic chuckles that escape his lips as you whine out for him to stop laughing at you. It only makes him laugh harder, patting down his sleeves on your eyes. 

“Do you want to keep eating?” His tone is significantly softer when your tears finally subside. “Do you want to finish it later?”

“Keep eating.” You mumble.

“Keep eating? Okay.” Disappearing to the kitchen, he hands you the glass of water, and takes your hand in his to start wiping away the chili sauce from your fingers with a tissue. It’s only when you finish gulping down the water does he return to the seat across from you.

“You’re babying me.” You sniffle, staring down at your food before twirling some noodles into your fork. 

“Because you’re a baby. Stop pouting.” His lips curve into a smirk. “Want some more steak?”

You grumble, and Minho rolls his eyes as he takes the steak he had sliced for himself and transfers it on your plate. “Come on, eat up. I didn’t waste my time cooking for you not to finish my food.” 

“Thank you.” He brushes you off, though, it’s with a small smile on his face. 

“Do you think you can stay here tonight?” You ask in small. Under normal circumstances, he would have called you clingy. It’s the answer you’re waiting to hear when the question slips out of your mouth. You don’t expect him to just hum, answering, “okay”. 

There’s a short pause after his response.

“But only because I know you’ll spend the night crying if I’m not here, and you look stupid when you cry.” It’s his own way of telling you to stop crying. Though, you still sigh for show.

“What?”

“It’s nothing.”

“What, what?” He acts oblivious, and when his eyes blinks, it’s almost caricature. 

“I just love this.” Sarcasm drips heavy, but your heart flutters anyways. You don’t remember the last time you’ve smiled like this, so much that your cheeks start to hurt even if you’d just finished crying. 

“Right!” He grins.

Minho cares in ways that others don’t recognize. You can only see it when you pay attention, can only hear the quiet and gentle underlie in his words. He’s loud with his teasing, but he doesn’t need words for you to know he cares. 

It’s nice to be cared for.

four.

Autumn sends a harsh breeze as it takes over Summer without much of a warning. It marks a shed of the things that had transpired over the previous season, almost a big red button labeled restart. You have every intention to use it well, to usher in change alongside the changing color of the leaves. 

But what kind of heart doesn’t look back?

You wonder, do the leaves hang on tightly to not fall? Do they beg the trees not to let them go, to stay a little longer?

You sigh. The cycle is neverending, and you’ll have to spend the next seasons without Mark. 

“Are you even listening to me?” You’re tugged back to your body at the sudden breach.

Minho’s voice is whiny, plush lips pulled in a pout at having caught you spacing out while he was mid-story. He had made an effort to be especially animate with his story, after numerous previous complaints from you that he was a boring storyteller, only for you not to listen.

“I am, I am!” You’re nowhere near convincing as you defend yourself, trying to recall the last words you had heard from him before you had lost yourself to your thoughts. Something about Jisung and fruit punch? You’re not quite sure. 

It was a horrible idea to try and balance your best friend’s stories with your own thoughts, letting the former slip so easily. Now you’re being called out for it.

“Then what did I just say?” 

“That… you want to buy me coffee?” You ask with a sheepish smile, head tilted slightly to mimic a feigned innocence. 

Minho’s lips press into a line in response.

“I’m sorry!” You apologize almost immediately.

It’s funny the way you give up your act right away, pressing your palms together as if begging the boy to forgive you for your inability to listen to him. You were technically listening, synching your movements with his and staring at the way the words rolled out of his mouth. It wasn’t your fault they had fallen short before reaching your ears. 

“You just lost a point on my friend tier list.” He walks a little ahead of you now, refusing to match your pace in the name of dramatism. 

“You have a friend tier list?” You snort. “That’s kind of lame.” 

“Did you just call it lame? At this point, you’re at bottom place with Kim Seungmin.” 

Your reaction is funny despite shitting on his tier list: mouth dropping, eyes boring on his back as you struggle to keep up with his long limbs, hurrying to catch up to him. 

“Okay, now you’re taking it too far. First of all, I do not bite you so that should nudge me up a spot.”

“If you say it nicely, maybe I will.” 

You know he’s messing around when he starts to slow down his pace, waiting for you to reappear beside him before resuming his walk. 

“No, but seriously, what were you saying?” There’s laughter laced in your voice, elbowing Minho gently to coax him into repeating what he had said earlier.

“I asked if you were going to Jisung’s party later.” 

Minho notes the way your face visibly scrunches at the thought. As if it wasn’t enough, you pair it with a shake of your head. 

“Absolutely not. I hate the taste of alcohol.” You pause, head snapping towards him before adding, “Why? Are you going?” 

His eyes don’t hide his disinterest, narrowing in judgment as you ask him. 

“No. We have a 9am class tomorrow.” He mutters. 

You begin to laugh, always amused by the way your best friend expresses himself, but then you stop. It wasn’t immediately made clear to Minho why your demeanor had suddenly shifted so hastily, as if someone had forcefully switched it, and why your eyes were suddenly glazed. The cogs only stop when he follows your line of sight after having noticed it was drawn somewhere behind him. 

Mark’s butterfly tattoo isn’t hard to miss. It’s so potently his that you vaguely register his hand holding someone else’s. Someone that wasn’t you.

She looks beautiful, so radiant that it almost blinds you. She looks like she has him wrapped around your finger, and you don’t feel that horrible for hoping she’d break his heart the way he did yours. Though, anger is temporary when pain starts to sift through—especially when Mark is looking at her with the same sparkle in his eyes when he used to look at you. 

You try to make the hurt look calculated, the way you will your eyes to draw away, the way you purse your lips. Perhaps you were trying to convince yourself that you were over it, that you were emotionally mature. And while it is half true, there is still pain. No one teaches you how to deal with this. There is no guidebook to tell you what to do when you see your ex with someone else only months after he had called it quits. 

It is difficult to look at them without breaking.

A haunting silence settles, before Minho’s scrambling to break it.

“Ah, let’s go. I’m suddenly hungry.” 

Minho watches as your shoulders slump in relief when he speaks, turning away from Mark in favor of looking at him. “And my legs are getting tired from standing around. Come on.” 

It’s meant to be teasing, but you do not miss the anger in his eyes. It’s always painstakingly obvious when Minho is angry. He didn’t say painful words, never did anything hastily, but his eyes would always tell you he’s angry. They have a look to them, and when they were glassy, you’d know he was angry. 

There’s a tap on the back of your hand before he takes it in his, pulling you away from the scene of the crime. It makes your whole face look up at him, and your heart softens when he offers a small smile. It does something inside of you. 

“Have you eaten anything since lunch?”

You only shake your head in response.

Minho doesn’t say anything at the sudden drop of your mood, though he doesn’t find any pleasure in seeing your attitude change so quickly. He just squeezes your hand in his. And you’re sure you’re imagining the way he intertwines your fingers because your best friend hates skinship. Lee Minho is always so repulsed when you attempt to take his hand, so why is his hand on yours? 

“Don’t think I care about you or anything, but let’s get something to eat first? You know, before we meet up with the guys.” 

You hum in compliance, and also because you know he’s teasing you. His hand feels warm. 

It’s silent for a while, save for distant honks and the echo of your footsteps. Soft, blinking eyes look down at you when you finally make it to the small food stall, tugging on your hand to get your full attention. 

“Come on, get whatever you want.” You lean forward, tilting your head to look at your options.  “I’m not doing this again, by the way.” He jokes, looking down at you. 

Minho doesn’t eat despite being the one who had said he was hungry. Instead, he hovers next to you, hands in his pockets as you quietly eat your food.

“Are you full?” His voice softens when he speaks. 

“A little.” You mumble.

“Okay, now go pay for what you got.” There’s a smug smile on his face when you glare at him, and he only laughs at you when you pull out your wallet from your bag.

“You dragged me to eat here because you’re hungry, and you’re letting me pay.” Your feet hold your ground, flipping through the compartments on your wallet before pulling out a bill—for your pride, more than anything else. 

“Of course! What kind of best friend would I be if I paid? I need to teach you independence.” 

You scoff. “A good best friend.”

Minho is looking at you up and down as you stretch your hand towards the man to pay for your food, mapping out how he can remember this moment. 

“Ah, miss. Your boyfriend already paid.” 

“Huh?”

There’s laughter from behind you, and you humiliatingly turn back around and shove your wallet in your bag before slapping Minho’s arm. He flinches, but his laughter doesn’t stop. 

“Thanks for paying, I guess.” You mumble, heavy footsteps walking ahead of him the way he did with you earlier. It’s touching, really, and there was a nudge in your heart when the man had told you Minho had already paid. Your best friend’s laugh is too maniacal to ignore, though, so your slap is well deserved.

Kim Seungmin’s face is nothing but irritated when you and Minho finally show up to your meeting spot, hand lifting and pointing an accusing finger at the pair of you for being late. The rest of the boys except Jisung and Jeongin are all sprawled on the empty parking lot’s concrete floor, and you can hear a faint mumble from Minho–something about how the ground was dirty for them to be sitting on it. You sort of agree, already cringing at the thought of rubble sticking to your clothes and the prospect of dusting them away. 

“They’re finally here!” Seungmin puts an emphasis on the word ‘finally’, and he’s about to berate you even more when he spots the skewer in your hand. “You guys ate without us?” 

It’s so loud and relenting, but Seungmin’s by your side in a second and opening his mouth for you to feed him the remaining of the food Minho had bought you earlier. You suppose you owe him this much for delaying their wait. You know Seungmin’s not very known for his patience. 

“We’re all going to Jisung’s party, right?” Chan finds himself asking, head perked up as he plays with his car keys between his fingers. 

Seungmin mumbles something incoherent, still glued to your side and still stealing your food. When he moves to grab the stick from you, Minho slaps his hand and tells the boy to leave you and your food alone. It’s like a scene straight out of a sitcom, and all you have to do is stare at the non-existent camera directed at the three of you.

“I don’t think (name) and Minho are?” You hum in confirmation at Felix’s response, spotting him get up from his place on the ground. He asks Hyunjin to dust off the specs of concrete sticking to the fabric of his pants. 

“What?” Changbin’s voice is loud, in contrast to the sooth of Felix’s, and he looks his squinted eyes with yours—as if you had wronged him for not going to the party. “Why not?”

Though, the thought of drinking doesn’t seem all that horrible to you anymore. You refuse to acknowledge it might be because of what you had bore witness to earlier, but it is one-hundred percent the reason why. A drink wouldn’t hurt, would it?

“Actually… I think I might.” Your eyes are still on Seungmin as he finally finishes the skewer you’ve been holding, though, your gaze shifts in a split second towards a shrieking Changbin who has jumped from his spot on the ground at your change of mind.

“Really? Let’s get it!” He cheers, hands clapping temporarily in a way that is so fitting for him. His smile is etched, pulling you towards where the others are. The exaggeration makes you laugh a little, at how something as simple as you suddenly agreeing to drink has Changbin giggling and smiling. You know he’s always loved when you guys hang out together.

Similarly, Felix and Hyunjin are cheering alike.

“So, you’re coming too then?” In the span of time it took to confirm your attendance, Chan has dragged his feet towards where Minho is standing, nudging his side and looking at the boy expectantly. 

Minho sighs. “I guess I’m coming too.”

“I don’t think we’ll all fit in Chan’s car, though?”

Chan’s fancy 6-seater car would have sufficed for them. However, with the sudden addition of you and Minho, there’s a need to adjust the seating arrangement. It seems Seungmin’s realized the problem right away when he hovers by the front seat, basically denying entrance from anyone that isn’t him. 

“Let’s just eliminate people instead. Kim Seungmin, start walking.” Minho is too quick with his response, as if he had already been thinking about it. Seungmin stays unbothered, though, still at his post at being Chan’s passenger princess for the afternoon.

“I can sit on Changbin’s lap.” Felix proposes as Chan unlocks his car. It triggers a sinister smile on Seungmin’s face, and you can tell that whatever he’s about to say next will not benefit Minho in any way after your best friend’s comment earlier. 

“And (name) can sit on Minho’s lap. Okay, that’s settled, let’s go.” As predicted, Seungmin is already seated at the front, tugging at the seatbelt to solidify his position before Minho can stomp on his newly bought pair of converse for revenge at the proposition. That boy and Jeongin really need to cut down on their shoe purchases. 

“Is that fine for you, (name)?” Chan asks, opening the backseat door for you. You nod, not missing the way Minho’s eyes travel to yours in confirmation of your comfort. 

“Is no one going to ask how I feel about this?” Minho asks as the boys start to hunch over and take their seats in the back. Seungmin simply says a ludicrous ‘no’ as he twists his body so he can see the way everyone struggles while he has the front seat all to himself. 

Minho pulls you and seats you on his lap, as Changbin does with Felix. The position is extremely uncomfortable, with your back slouched and your cheek pressed against the headrest of the driver’s seat, but it isn’t something you haven’t done before. In fact, you remember a time when even Jisung and Jeongin were present in this same car. Although, you don’t recall much of what happened, just that your neck hurt so much from being craned the whole ride. 

“I’m not holding you by the way, so if Chan breaks suddenly then you’re on your own.” Your best friend feels the need to inform you, his arms pressed to his sides to offer you no support while Changbin has his arms wrapped around Felix’s torso. 

You know what happens to kids that don’t wear seatbelts. 

“Hyunjin, can I sit on your lap instead?” 

Hyunjin laughs, staring at the two of you before jokingly offering his hand to hold onto. You doubt it’ll be much help. 

The rest of the ride is spent engulfed in Minho’s warmth and the joint scent of everyone’s perfumes which is a little suffocating. And untrue to his words, when Chan does make a sudden break, you find Minho’s arms suddenly wrapped around your waist and tightening around you so you don’t stumble forward. 

Chan mutters something with a smug smile as he looks into the front view mirror, though you can’t hear anything over the loud beating of your heart.

five.

The music echoing around Jisung’s house thrums loudly in your ears. It’s the type of volume that solicits yelling just to hear each other, and you’re unsure if you’re prepared for the amount of screaming you’ll be doing tonight just to be heard by your friends. 

Jisung is the first to greet the seven of you, a bottle of beer in hand and loud laughing as he tugs all of you in for a hug. You can feel his insobriety, can smell it off of him, but he looks so adorable with excitement basically leaping out of him at seeing his best friends. 

Though, his eyes do narrow with a curious brow at the sight of you and Minho who had texted him earlier that you couldn’t make it.

“You made it!” It’s endearing the way his smile grows even more, cheeks protruded as he leans in to hug you. He does the same for Minho, and you can see him whisper something to the boy which earns him a harsh push. You can’t hear it though, and you doubt it’s anything serious when Jisung simply laughs in response. 

“Come on, let’s get you guys something to drink.” He yells over the music. 

The base from the speakers offers a steady rhythm as you navigate your way across sweaty and drunk college students, and it allows you the time to give the space a good gaze. It’s amiable, as expected from Jisung, and he doesn’t seem to have any form of fear at the lack of supervision of his things during a party. Though, you suppose he must’ve locked up anything important down in his basement. 

“Here we go.” He grabs a few bottles for those who ask for a beer, and offers cups to those who want to venture into the unknown mixture of alcohol in the fruit punch bowl. Jisung also apparently has a shot glass, and tells you where he hid the bottle of vodka in case the seven of you want any. He doesn’t want anyone else touching his precious stash of alcohol. Jisung’s lips wrap around the rim of his bottle, chugging down a few gulps, and then he’s pumping his fist up into the air to tell you guys to start drinking. 

Chan and Changbin start to take swigs, popping the cap from Minho’s bottle. It’s second nature to them that they don’t even bat an eyelash. You wonder how many times they’ve done this before. Meanwhile, you, Hyunjin, Felix, and Seungmin take a chance at the mysterious concoction. 

Chan scolds Felix for smelling it, immediately discouraged by the familiar scent of alcohol.

With a cup in hand and a countdown falling from Changbin’s mouth, you bring it to your lips and take a big gulp. The taste is strong, scorching down your throat as you swallow it down immediately the way you’re taught. There’s a tinge of spice, and the disgusting bite on your tongue solicits a scrunch on your face. 

“Oh my god, I actually hate alcohol. Why am I doing this to myself?” You exhale, pushing the cup away from your lips and squinting your eyes in disgust. It’s a mixture of vodka and some type of juice, but it seems they half-assed the ratio of juice so it’s majorly the hit of hard alcohol. You’d kill to have a Cola in hand as chaser.

Felix mutters the same remarks, and you laugh at the way he puts the cup down. At most, Felix is a sweet boy, and he could never swallow down anything as vile as alcohol so he goes to find some more juice to dump into his mixture while you, Hyunjin, and Seungmin force yourselves to empty the contents of your solo cups. 

It doesn’t really take long for the tipsiness to kick in, especially with whatever the hell they put in that bowl because before you know it, everything looks a little hazy and the simple scrunch on Felix’s face has you doubling in laughter. Everything is always funnier when you’re tipsy. 

“I’m definitely hit.” You bite down at your lips, teeth gliding and chewing. You feel nothing but numbness, and that’s how you know you’ve taken more than you can handle. “Min, you should be drinking more.”

“Min, you should be drinking more.” Minho repeats your words, almost mocking. In his grip is his second bottle of beer, and he stands by your side unperturbed by your swaying and your yelling over the music so your friends can hear you better. 

“Are you mocking me?” You’re on your toes, poorly trying to match his height to confirm whether he had repeated your words in mocking or because he can’t hear you properly. You know it’s the former. “Are you serious? You guys heard that, right?”

“Yo, that was so disrespectful. Personally, I wouldn’t stand for that.” Of course, Seungmin is the first to respond. He’s always the one instigating arguments, though, he can’t do it to the best of his ability when Felix is resting his head on his shoulder, grumbling about how awful the alcohol tastes even after he had dumped every juice he could find in Jisung’s refrigerator. 

You almost stumble when you bring yourself back to your original height, and Minho’s arms are around you in reflex. Though, they’re quick to let go so he can laugh at you. “Are you really already drunk off of, like, three cups?”

“Where’s Jeongin anyway? He should be suffering with us.” Felix peels his head from Seungmin’s shoulder, breath intertwined with alcohol before dropping his forehead back, eyes half-lidded.

“Crying over his minor subjects.” 

Your small circle falls into laughter at Seungmin’s response. Minor subjects were hell, especially when your professor treated them as if they were a major one. You could still recall barging into Minho’s dorm to cry over a project. Thinking back, you really could’ve half-assed it and still passed the class.

“Oh, that poor boy. I remember crying over Foreign Languages.” Changbin’s laugh doubles in volume at the memory of Jisung crying while mumbling some Russian gibberish. 

“No, because why would you think to take Russian of all the languages offered? You were setting yourself up.” The way Changbin’s voice cracks at laughing too much is contagious and has everyone clutching their stomachs in laughter. 

“I took German with Hyunjin. What did you guys take?”

“Spanish. I’m actually really good.” You boast, laughter slowing down into broken chuckles as you guys try to recollect your breaths. 

Seungmin passes you your newly refilled cup. “Okay. Tell us something in Spanish then.”

“Si Papi!” 

There’s a pause before all of you laugh your loudest for the night. It’s the type that makes your ribs hurt, bending over with aching cheeks from smiling too much. It even has Minho almost spitting out the beer he had just sipped from his bottle, taken aback by your response to Seungmin’s question. He had spent the night nursing a beer bottle in hand and listening in to your conversations, almost looking bored, though, you always find ways to solicit pure amusement from the boy.

Only you would ever say anything like that. 

Minho has to bite down on the back of his hand to stop him from choking over his own laughter and the beer he had almost spat out. 

“Yeah! That sounds… yeah! You nailed it!” Felix interrupts with more laughter. 

You’d give anything to stop time at this moment. Perhaps it’s because you don’t want to have anything in your mind but the happiness that you feel right now. You allow yourself the time to enjoy yourself, to take away the scorching image of Mark in your head and replace it with the overwhelming volume of the music. 

Hyunjin, who has grown more extroverted after chugging down his cup, pulls you, Jisung, and Felix to where everyone else is dancing. Chan’s gone to look for another bottle of beer while Changbin is singing along to the music at the top of his lungs, your personal karaoke as he sways from side to side just right next to the three of you dancing. Minho is the only one sitting up straight from your group, and while the look on his face can be deceiving, you know he’s having fun watching over everyone. 

When you turn to look at him, he’s already looking at you, unblinking. He throws you a thumbs up with an arched eyebrow and you nod your head before returning your attention to the music and the way you’re jumping around and singing along to 2000s pop hits with your best friends.

Exhaustion hits pretty fast. You can smell the fatigue on yourself after having jumped around for almost an hour. You stumble your way to where Minho’s seated, and he brings your chair closer to you so you don’t drop yourself on the floor. The way you attempt to sit straight is a pretentious act that you aren’t out of it, but you are, and your stomach’s starting to not feel so good. Your blurry vision and the overwhelming lights and music doesn’t really help your case either.

“Minnie.” You hiccup, putting away your cup on the table and bowing your head faintly. “I don’t feel so good.” 

Now the alcohol doesn’t seem that much of a great idea because the after effects are hitting you, and you know tomorrow will be much, much worse for you. At least you were offered a short getaway to stop thinking for a while. The temporary accompaniment was good until it wasn’t.

Minho frowns, having already made his way next to you and helping you up. “Come on, I’m taking you to Jisung’s room. Is that okay? Are you done having fun?” 

It’s endearing the way he asks if you’re done, though you can’t fathom any other form of response except for a grumble and the way you almost collapse into his arms from your wobbly legs. You don’t really remember how you end up on his back, but when you peel your eyes open, you’re moving past the crowd with your cheek pressed against the top of his head. 

“What’s wrong?” Jisung hiccups, making his way to the two of you and helping move people aside so the path towards his room is easier on Minho.

“I think she’s had too much to drink. I’m taking her up to your room, is that fine?” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

Minho is strong in the way he carries you with his hands on your thighs, crouching down and hoisting you up when you feel like you’re about to fall. When he successfully makes his way to Jisung’s room, Minho makes sure to knock loudly on the door, ear pressed against the door. “Nobody better be making out in here!” And it’s only when silence greets him does he allow himself to twist the doorknob open. 

“Sit down for a moment.” You burp when he places you down, body swaying alarmingly as you move to lay on the ground instead. Minho bends down to sit you back up so you don’t accidentally choke on your own vomit. It’s happened before with Chan, and he is not about to have a repeat. 

“Just let me get a few of Jisung’s clothes for you to change into. And I should probably get you water. It’ll help you sober up, kay?” 

“No, Min… wait!” The sudden movement has you clutching your head and forgetting what you were going to say to the boy. “Ugh.” 

“Are you okay?” He takes a look at your heavy eyelids and your disheveled hair, and the way you hold your head in the palm of your hands. Minho moves from his place by Jisung’s closet to crouch down next to you instead. “Why did you drink so much?”

“Stop scolding me.” You hiccup. The music is more drowned out hidden in the four walls of Jisung’s room, and you know Minho’s teasing you by the tone of his voice.

“I’m not scolding you.” His eyes hold yours, and he speaks softly. 

Your faces are a few inches apart, and even in the hazy way you’re seeing things, you can still admit that Lee Minho is beautiful. His hair is a little sweaty from the warmth of the overcrowded house, and his cheeks are dusted pink from the alcohol, but you know he’s not hit. 

“I think I’m gonna throw up.” You clear your throat before he can say anything else.

“No, you’re not. I am not cleaning anyone’s vomit. Not today.”

Minho lifts you up from the ground, taking you to the bathroom so you’re seated directly in front of the toilet. He pulls the hair tie around your wrist, taking it from you so he can tie your hair up in case you do end up vomiting.

Tears prick in your eyes in your attempt to puke, though nothing but choked coughs come out. It makes you feel pathetic, so much so that you swat away Minho’s hand that’s rubbing your back. You don’t want anyone to look at you like this, teary eyes and hunched over so you bury your face in your hands where no one can see you. 

“I’m so miserable and so unlovable.” You mumble incoherently, banging your head again and again on the wall before it meets contact with Minho’s palm instead. His free hand guides itself across your face, peeling away your fingers so he can see you better.

“Don’t be stupid. You’re not.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m misera—”

“Unlovable. You’re not unlovable.” There’s a pause as he exhales. 

“How would you know?” 

There’s an unreadable expression on Minho’s face when you ask. He looks like someone you’ve never met with the way he stares at you, although familiar. It’s clear that he’s thinking, but of what, you have no idea. He looks so concentrated.

“I just do.” 

He’s so soft-spoken that you can’t bring yourself to rebut. And he doesn’t seem to wait for your response when he bends down to scoop you back up in his arms after making sure you showed no more signs of vomiting. 

“I’m gonna get water. It’ll help you sober up.” He repeats, placing you down on Jisung’s bed and you immediately roll over to get yourself comfortable. Minho notes to change the sheets for the boy after classes tomorrow. 

When he comes back, you’ve already fallen asleep.

six.

“Wake up.” 

Minho’s shaking is unforgiving, peeling the comforter away from you despite your protests. He cringes at the way you grab the pillow, gripping it over your face so his whining would come out filtered and a little mumbly. Though, you fail to consider the way the pillow can easily be yanked away from you, especially from someone like Lee Minho.

His shaking are full-blown shoves now, and his voice is growing louder and louder despite the grumbling from Seungmin who had apparently also stumbled into Jisung’s room and fallen asleep on the floor some time in the night.

“Wake up, or we’re going to be late.” 

The mention of class causes you to abruptly sit up, and Minho is about to drag you away from the bed when you fall back down, hands clutching your head and eyes squinted. “Oh my fucking god, my head.”

Too much is happening for your liking. The trance of sleep is still lingering in the way you blink slowly, and the headache you’re suckling under is hard to ignore. This is what you get for drinking on a weekday when you have 9am classes the next day.

The sight of your disheveled hair and the terribly grumpy look you’re sporting almost makes Minho snort, but he focuses on the mission at hand, and it’s to get you out of your bed so you don’t miss the only class you have for the day.  And, as much as you want to be pissed off at Minho, you know he has your best interest at heart.

“Drink this and go take a shower.” 

You rub your eyes, resentfully sitting up once again with Minho’s helping hand on your back. It’s only now you notice his damp hair, and the way he’s standing there with a plain black shirt and the gray joggers he wears almost everyday–you swear he owns ten pairs. He’s holding a whole pitcher of water too, shoving it in your direction as you blink away the restlessness.  

You drink straight out of it even though the water seems to want to expel out of your body. You’ve had a few drunken nights to learn this, and it’s best that you finish it so you aren’t dehydrated for the rest of the day. Something about alcohol and the way it causes excessive urination which makes you lose more fluids than you should.

There’s barely any time to adjust to real-time when your best friend starts shoving you to the direction of the bathroom, throwing you a pair of Jisung’s joggers when he was in high school and an oversized hoodie that the boy had stolen from Minho. You don’t process how you manage to take a shower with your headache and the lack of sleep, only remembering the way the cold water felt and how relieving it was to brush your teeth to try and rid the scent of alcohol.

“You ready?” Minho runs a hand through his hair before pressing it down, eyes meeting yours just as you stumble out of the bathroom. He already has Chan’s car keys in hand. 

You follow him tiredly, keeping your head hung to try and remedy the aching, all while Minho is gently shaking Chan’s passed out shoulder on the couch. “Channie, I’m taking your car.” The older boy just stirs, hand lifting in approval before it falls limp on his chest. 

“Alright, in you go.” Minho reaches over, grabbing your seatbelt for you so he can fasten it. The position is a little compromising, and he’s inches away from you that you get a waft of his scent. He smells like Jisung’s soap, the same one you had used on yourself. Though, you don’t want to obsess about how close he is. 

When he’s sure you won’t topple over in the case that he breaks, he stumbles out of your space and positions himself in the driver’s seat. 

He doesn’t need to make much adjustments to anything considering he and Chan are nearly the same height. So, he takes the handbrake off and pulls on the gearshift before he’s guiding you out of Jisung’s parkway and towards the direction of the university. 

Lee Minho is attractive as he drives steadily down the highway, eyes never leaving the road. His posture is sharp, fingers wrapped around the steering wheel and turning it in perfect control when he needs to. It’s a little addicting to look at, and you’re sure you would’ve spent the entire duration staring at him if not for the lingering headache that causes you to veer away from your staring and close your eyes instead. It makes you grumble, head falling back into the space between the car window and your headrest.

“You sound like a dying mouse being suffocated by a small knife.” It slips out of his mouth, and even without looking at him, you know he’s wearing a small smirk on his face. 

“...You need to go to a psych ward.” 

You spend majority of the ride trying to recall what had happened last night, not that you remember much. You vaguely register laughing over Jeongin’s demise, dancing a lot, and Minho’s voice while you tried to retch out what you had for dinner over Jisung’s toilet. “What the hell even happened last night?”

“Do you really want me to tell you?” 

“Why? Was I that embarrassing?” You open your eyes for a second to glance at your best friend, though his eyes remain glued on the road. It only makes you whine even more when he nods, shutting your eyes back closed after feeling dizzy over the strain of lights on your vision. “This is why I should never drink ever again.”

“You really don’t remember anything?” Minho tries asking. 

“I remember pieces and chunks of it. I… uh, remember dancing and eating ice cream? Dude, I don’t even know. I think I tried to pick a fight with someone at one point.” You start. “And in the bathroom, when… oh.” You smack your lips together at the sudden memory, a pit in your stomach suddenly forming at the recollection. 

You’re not unlovable. His words ring in your ears, hovering over the honking of cars and the bustle of business outside as people start their days. Did he really mean it when he said that or had he taken pity over your self-wallowing? Was he only saying it to comfort you? He didn’t feel cold when he said it though. While you don’t remember much, you can feel the faint warmth and the gentle lull in his voice when he spoke to you. 

“What?” He eggs you to keep going, but your mouth suddenly feels bitter, pressed together in trial of sealing the words in your mouth. 

It was embarrassing enough to yap about it drunk to Minho last night, you don’t need to repeat it this morning. Clenching your fists, you bring them to shield your eyes, shaking your head. “Nothing.”

“If you don’t tell me, I’m leaving you on the side of the road.” 

You sigh. 

“DoyoureallythinkI’mnotunlovable?” You shuffle out the words as per his request, head tilted away from him so you’re facing the window instead. 

“I literally cannot understand you, please learn how to speak.” He deadpans.

“Do you really think I’m not unlovable? Do you actually mean it?” You repeat, slowly this time, like he’s asking of you. You don’t see the way his grip tightens around the steering wheel. 

There’s a pause, and he’s silent for a moment. You almost regret bringing it up again had you not remembered that this was a usual thing for your best friend. There’s something about him–in the way he presses his lips together, front lip tutting out, and the way he blows his hair away from his eyes and peeks at you for a second before leading them back on the road. It’s indicative of when he thinks, when he ponders over teasing or being genuine. 

“Of course I do.” If you listen close enough, you would’ve heard the way his voice cracks a little at the latter part of his sentence, though it’s well hidden beneath an exhale. “A lot of people love you, (name). The boys love you, your family. I— Soonie, Doongie, Dori too. You aren’t a reflection of what one stupid fucker thinks of you.”

You can’t help the quiet, airy laugh at the way his voice significantly grows softer, free hand patting your thigh for a second before returning on the gearshift. There’s something about the way he says it that makes you feel something inside, a small silver lining piercing through your heart. 

“Wow. I didn’t think you would actually… that you had it in you to tell me that.” Your eyes meet his side profile, and you can tell he’s taking quick glances at you before he heaves a heavy sigh.

“Don’t act like I don’t care about you.” He mumbles, and there’s a little hoarseness in the way he said it. You think you might be imagining it.

“You don’t care about me.” You say as a joke, and almost out of impulse at the way Minho is making your bones rattle right now. Maybe if you moved the course of your conversation somewhere lighter, the rattling would stop.

“I don’t care?” He scoffs, but you can tell he’s chaffing by the way his voice increases in volume. “I… don’t… care?” It’s incredulous the way he says it, mouth dropping as if you had dropped the biggest, wrongful accusation his way. 

“Okay, okay, okay, maybe you care a little. It’s touching that you give me coffee.” 

He hums. “Because for coffee, there’s a minimum order amount.”

You merely laugh.

“That’s right. I guess I’m just a means to match the minimum order amount.” 

“Okay, but seriously, you aren’t unlovable, okay? You’re just sad and a little bit angry. Let’s have some coffee after class, hm?” The pace of the car slows down as he puts Chan’s car on hazard. You recognize the building to be his dorm. His words make you look down at the sleeves of the oversized jacket you’re wearing, stomach tying in knots. “Now, wait here. I just need to get my homework.” 

That surely makes your head spring up. 

“Homework?” 

“The one Miss Kim assigned us last time? You know, when she left class early and had us do a few equations.” 

“Oh my god.” When your exasperation meets his gaze, he laughs. 

“You didn’t do it?”

“I didn’t do it!” You say in panic, eyes widening as he hurriedly jogs into his dorm room to grab the paper hanging on his desk before he shoves his answered worksheet to you. You catch it, immediately rummaging your backpack from the day before for a pen and paper so you can start copying off of Minho.

You don’t finish by the time you make it to your building, and Minho has to push from behind you as you look nowhere but your paper. You don’t even realize you’ve made it to your seats until your best friend pushes you down to sit while he mindlessly scrolls on his phone.

“Minho, Minho, Minho.” You don’t look at him as you call his name, still scribbling down numbers and equations you don’t understand. “If she comes in, please distract her. I’m only halfway done, please, please, please.”

“What do I get in return?” He cracks a vexatious grin, one you want to wipe off his face so bad because of course he’d find a way to profit off of your suffering. He puts down his phone, fixing his gaze on your hunched over figure with the same stupid smirk. You almost want to stab the pen in his eye.

“Please, I would take back every insult I’ve ever said to yo— Actually wait, you’re the one that insults me. I’ll forget every insult you've ever said to me if you do this, please.”

He sighs, body falling limp on his chair in defiance. He’s acting like a three-year-old when their parents don’t get the toy they’re begging for in the mall. “You’re taking me to that cat cafe that just opened.” 

“Fine, just do it.” You respond harshly. 

It’s with perfect timing that Minho arrives at the entrance to your classroom, just as Ms. Kim walks in and the students start going back to their seats from having gossiped with their friends. This prompts you to look over at your best friend, seeing him pull out his phone and shove it in your professor’s face. You would have laughed if not for the homework that’s staring at you maniacally. You try not to fuck up your numbers. 

Minho glances up at you from time to time, and when you’re still bent over the table, he knows he has to keep scrolling through his photo album appropriately labeled Soondoongdori. You better be paying for his coffee later in exchange for the stupid things he does for you on a daily basis.

“Don’t you have a cat too, Ms. Kim?” He asks, tone sickeningly sweet as he forces her to look at another video of Doongie meowing in front of his door. In the first minute, it’s actually kind of cute and sweet for him to show her endearing photos of her favorite animal. That is, until six more minutes pass and he’s still showing her photos when she’s supposed to have started class by now. 

“Oh, wait. But look at Soonie and the hat he’s wearing.”

“Lee Minho. I appreciate you showing me photos of your own cats, but please go back to your seat so I can start the class.” She tries to keep an even tone, and Minho all but smiles in faux innocence as he finally returns to his seat next to you just as you finish. “I’ll send you a Google Drive if you’d like!”

She dismisses his offer.

“Alright. Pass your homework.” Ms. Kim announces, and you let out the sigh you didn’t know you’ve been holding as Minho takes both of your papers from you so he can put it on your professor’s table as instructed.

“You’re paying for my coffee.” He whispers threateningly, chucking his phone back into the pocket of his sweatpants before crossing his arms and relaxing in his seat in preparation for your 2-hour lecture. 

You would’ve thrown him a gentle punch in retaliation for attempting to steal money off of you, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Lee Minho is your lifeline, and you’re sure you would’ve dropped out of college if not for his constant nagging and the way he saves your ass every single time you need it. In fact, you were fully convinced you would’ve fallen prisoner to your breakup if not for the way he forces you out of your dorm to do something as simple as grocery shopping or eating dinner with him. 

“Alright, fine.” You say, turning your attention to your professor as she begins her powerpoint presentation. 

You risk one last glance at your best friend, lips jutted out the way they do when he’s concentrated and bored eyes directed to the front. It’s awkward timing to be grateful for him while your teacher rants about something, but it can’t be helped. 

It’s uncommon to come across a Minho in your life. Perhaps all the reincarnations of you before had suffered tremendously for the lack of luck on having Lee Minho, so you suppose the price of coffee will suffice in hinting at your appreciation for the boy for the lengths and hoops he goes through for you. 

If you’re lucky enough, maybe you’ll get him again in your next life.

seven.

The Cat Playground is a cafe that recently opened a month ago just outside your campus. You’ve been meaning to head there for quite some time, however, the initial buzz of a newly opened establishment is terrifying. Whenever you and Minho had passed by it, a truck load of people were filling up the space, and you really didn’t want to stress out the kittens. 

Though, it’s a little more bearable now that people have gotten over that fizzle. As promised, you take him to the coffee shop for the “embarrassment” you had put him through earlier this morning. Plus, coffee will do the light dizziness you’re still nursing. 

The inside of the small building is cold, though the sun does a wonderful job reflecting through the huge glass windows to perfectly balance the temperature. You coo instantly at the sight of the cats, pacing around and jumping to sleep in their little wooden cat houses. There’s a sort of friendliness the place houses that’s striking to you. The paintings lined up give the place a character of its own, pillows on the floor and tables surprisingly stout. You suppose it’s so that it’s easier to play with the cats, though, there is space in the back with normal-sized furniture. You don’t pay it mind. You know exactly where you and Minho will be seated. 

You continue to walk a few meters as Minho lines up for the both of you, instructing you to find a seat. The closer you got to where the cats stayed, the more you could distinguish their scent, and there are a few toys sticking out that only look familiar to you because Minho has them back at home for his own cats. 

Though, a sharp squeeze turns in your sternum when you spot an empty space only for a huge butterfly painting to decorate its wall. Your throat dries up at the sight.

Oh.

You contemplate whether or not you should just suck it up and sit here, eyes unmoving from the painting that you don’t notice your best friend until he places a hand on your shoulder and pushes you past the painting towards an empty space not far away. 

He drops on a beanie bag right away, hand outstretched to start calling the attention of the cats. They come stumbling in, purring loudly and situating themselves by your feet. You wonder if they can sense cat owners, almost convinced they can by the way they comfortably sit by Minho. 

One of them jumps on his lap, patting down on his stomach before flopping down to lay down. On instinct, Minho reaches out to rub its head, moving down to its chin and neck. “What are you doing on my belly, hm?” He mumbles, leaning down to bump his nose with the cat’s. 

The sight you’re subjected to makes your heart soften significantly. 

“Your order is horrible, by the way. How the hell do you drink that?” Minho laughs, face scrunching in faux disgust when you start sipping on your drink. It has way too much cream and sugar for your best friend’s liking. You simply roll your eyes. 

“You literally drink straight black coffee. I don’t know who thought that was good for human consumption. Ahh—” You’re immediately distracted by the cats passing by you, trying to coax them to come to you but they don’t. You pout, holding both your arms out to the little group settled around Minho. “They don’t like me very much.” 

“They don’t?” Minho coos, eyes full of mirth as he reaches down to one of the cats. A british shorthair. “Can you go to her and make her feel better, hm? She’s being a little sulky right now.” 

On command, the little kitten paces towards where you’re seated, hovering around you before you finally scoop the little boy in your arms and place him on your belly, mimicking Minho. Your eyes fall towards the cat before making contact with your best friend’s, big smile on your face so much so that the apple of your cheeks are visible. 

“See, they just needed some time, but they like you too.” 

The softness in Minho’s gaze takes great effect in whatever the hell you’re feeling inside that you have to avert your eyes back to the small cat lounging on your stomach. This cat, and Minho, and the hot coffee waiting for you on your table makes you so overwhelmingly happy, as little things often do. It’s new, this feeling of contentment. 

It’s quiet and nice to just be with your best friend, and the cats, and your coffee. They make you feel like everything will only get better from here on out, make you realize that sometimes happiness is this simple.

“Mark didn’t like cats very much.” Your voice softens, hand scratching the kitten’s head. “So… this is nice.” You mumble the rest of your words, but it’s at the right amount of silence that Minho still hears you. 

“Hmm… should’ve ended things right then and there.” He murmurs.

You laugh at his response. “I should’ve. I hate that I can’t— like some things will never be the same.”

Minho scoots his seat closer to where you are.

“Like what?” He asks.

“Like—” You sigh, biting your lips and staring down on your lap. “You’re gonna say it’s stupid.” 

Minho raises his eyebrows, not diverting his gaze anywhere but on you. “Only if it is.” 

“Like butterflies.” Your shoulders slump, and there’s a dejection in your voice. “We were gonna sit there, but then it reminded me of his stupid tattoo and I just… He took away something beautiful from me— I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” He places his hand over yours, stopping you from fiddling with your fingers. The contact makes your heart jump. “Do you think it’s something you can regain?” 

You look down at his hand on yours, carefully taking it to play with the ring he wears, pulling it out and pushing it back in. When you look up at him once again, you’re met with his softening stare. 

“I want to… I hope to. It doesn’t hurt as much when I buy milk.” 

“That’s good. Hopefully, you’ll be able to feel that more than you feel haunted by it.” 

You swallow, nodding your head. “I’m trying.” 

Minho doesn’t say anything else, taking your order from the table and handing it to you so you can satiate your thoughts temporarily with the taste of coffee. Then, he positions himself next to you so you can rest your head on his shoulder the way he knows you want to. It’s quiet, aside from the gentle chatter of those around you and the purring of the cats walking around. Minho still has a cat in his arms, his knee would nudge yours from time to time just to check on you. 

Then his phone rings. It doesn’t look like he wants to make a move to pick it up, groaning at the sudden breach of his peace. Sighing, he finally picks up the call and presses it to his ear just as the cat hops off of his lap. 

“What? Don’t call me if you don’t need anything.” He hangs up just as quickly as he picks up the phone and you laugh a little at the abruptness and his urge to return to the moment with you.

“Min?” 

“Hm?” He hums, pocketing his phone and turning to look at you. The sound of his name falling from your lips always makes him perk up like this. 

The irritation on his face has dissipated, and he looks at you with nothing but gentleness. You treasure these moments with Minho. He might not look like it, but really does care about the people around him. You’re lucky he let you into his circle.

“Thank you.”

You don’t need to specify for what. He already knows. 

eight.

Finals season for the semester marks the arrival of winter, sweeping in mounds of snow. 

Your university is blanketed in white, frosted windows as students hurry towards their next exam wearing layers upon layers of coats. The winter’s breeze settles heavy, harsh winds nipping at your dorm window. Though, you can’t quite hear the frigid weather over Minho’s unabashed laughter, meshing with the chilling winds outside. It’s so infectious, that if you hadn’t ensnared yourself into this situation, you would’ve been laughing with him.

“Will you stop laughing?!” The perplexity etched upon your face only seems to make Minho laugh harder, one hand clutching at his stomach while the other grips tightly around your notebook. “Minho, I am going to fail!”

You drop on the ground, piles of papers and notes surrounding you. You suppose this was on you for mistakenly thinking your Calculus exam would take place after your winter break, only realizing it was actually in three hours when Chaeryeong had texted you with a picture of her notes, asking you if it was included in the coverage for the exam later.

You called Minho in a panic, knowing he had taken this class a year before. However, when you had told him of your predicament, he had fallen into a fit of laughter. He knows your distress is genuine, yet he can’t help but find it funny. This would only happen to you. 

With your face buried in your hands, you kick your feet around messily, akin to a child denied of things they wanted their parents to buy. 

“Get up. Come on.” He interrupts himself with more laughter, kneeling down next to you and slapping your legs so you can get his message. “Get up, we can do this! We still have three hours!” 

“I didn’t know the exam was later. I thought it was after the break.” Your muffled cries are punctuated by Minho's choked laughter. He’s still shoving your legs, persistence heavy until you actually sit up from your place on the ground. 

“Focus!” Minho’s laughter finally subsides, eyes scanning over the pages of your notes. “Okay, you know how to write polar equations in parametric form right?” 

“Dude, I don’t know.” 

“Oh my god, you’re actually so fucked.” 

“Minho, please!” There is no way in hell you can scold the boy. You need his help. Otherwise, you’d have to fail your exam without so much as an effort to even get a passing grade. And you were not about to retake this class next semester. 

He’s laughing again. “You can use the standard transformation from Cartesian coordinates to polar coordinates. Come here, look at this.” 

He finishes up writing out the equations and formulas on your notebook, propping it up for you to see better. “You just have to memorize these, and you’ll pass. I swear.” 

“This is so ridiculous.” You whine, grabbing the notebook from his hand and staring at it as if your life depends on it. You’re desperately wishing you had just checked on your schedule again, clarified with a classmate, absolutely anything that could’ve gotten you out of the hell of cramming formulas you don’t understand in three hours.

“You’re a lost cause.” 

Minho flinches when you attempt to hit him with your notebook. 

“I know I am, but one of us has to be optimistic and as my best friend, you’re going to be playing that role.” You drop your head back down on the floor, although the collision isn’t as harsh when your head makes contact with Minho’s head. 

“Why are you trying to hit your head? You’ll lose everything you have left in there.” His eyes are mirthful, and you know there’s laughter brewing at the tip of his tongue. 

“Minhooooooo!” You whine.

“Look, I’m going to be honest with you. You’re probably going to fail this test. It’s not that I don’t have faith in you, but there’s just nothing we can do about it now. Besides, you still have that final project, right?” You feel a section in your brain twitch and Minho lifts his hands up when you direct a chilling glare at him. 

“Maybe Seungmin can be my new best friend.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Minho!”

“Okay, okay! Memorize the formulas and you’ll at least pass.” 

You do better than you expect, and it’s all thanks to Minho’s stupid list of formulas.

nine.

You hate that it hits you randomly. 

It had been 2 months since you last saw Mark, back when you had gotten so drunk at Jisung’s party. The pain isn’t so much over him, but the powerlessness that you feel. You’re sure you’re over him, but insecurities are so hard to banish when the breakup acts as a fuel to send everything in flames. 

When you feel this way, something as easy as your bracelet snapping can set you off. It’s a silly thing to be worked up over, but you are. 

It’s how you find yourself in front of Minho’s dorm, nose red from the nipping snow and snowflakes littering your eyelashes and your hair. There’s visible puffs when you breathe, and you’re sure your tears have frozen over from the harsh winds, though the tug of the breeze does nothing to hide how swollen your eyes are.

Snow pollutes your vision, and it’s a little difficult to trek through the heavy snow, but you make it to his dorm building. He doesn’t expect to find you crying in front of him at eleven in the evening.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” His voice wavers, gently tugging you into the warmth of his dorm room. He positions you by the heater, grabbing the blanket he had been using and wrapping it around your shoulders.

“Min…” You try to speak, but your face almost breaks.

He sucks in a deep breath at the sight. “Don’t cryyy. It’s okay, come here.” 

Minho dusts away the snowflakes on your hair, tugging you to sit on the couch. He’s careful with his steps, guiding you forward as he walks back. 

“Be careful, the floor’s slippery. I just mopped it.” He brings his palms together, rubbing them and blowing into them before resting them on your cold cheeks when you’re finally seated on the couch. There’s a prominent furrow to his eyebrows, but his eyes are soft. 

“It’s broken.” Your face twitches, staring down at your clenched fingers. 

“What’s broken?” He murmurs, hand wrapping around your wrist to bring your fist closer to him. 

“My bracelet. It’s…” You have to bite back the sob that bursts from your throat, opening your hand to reveal the broken string and a few beads that had fallen off when it had snapped earlier. You’re feeling so much—embarrassment, frustration, everything. 

“Okay, it’s okay.” He draws himself closer to where you’re seated, wrapping the string around your wrist. “I’ll fix it, okay?”

“Okay.”

Your vision is distorted as Minho ties the string around your wrist, head hung inches away from yours as you stare down at his hands. His elbow nudges your chest gently as he works on your broken bracelet, and you can feel a few strands of his hair tickle your cheeks at the proximity. 

“Is that better?” It’s temporarily fixed, string tied in knots just enough so it’s clinging onto your wrist but it’s enough. “See, all fixed now. Nothing to worry about.” 

At his words, you start to break into another silent sob, face scrunching as you bow your head so he can’t see you properly. Your free hand goes to fiddle with your temporarily fixed bracelet, sniffling as you feel a few tears dripping down and sinking into the skin of your arm.

“Hey, look at me.” Minho coos, but it only makes you cry harder when you finally lift your head to meet his gaze. You wipe your eyes with your sleeves, taking in a deep breath as you struggle to keep eye contact. 

“Have you eaten dinner?” 

You shake your head.

“Do you want to eat now? I can cook you something really fast.” He whispers.

You sniffle, blinking back your tears until you can see him enough. “Okay.”

Minho rushes to the kitchen, leaving you with the rabbit stuffed animal you had given him in your senior year of high school. He says it’s to keep you company while he cooks, and that you should take in slow deep breaths with Leebit.

He does return fast, bowl of hot food in hand that he blows into before handing it to you. “Careful, it’s hot.” He blinks at you, voice as soft as you had heard it that time you had cried over his spicy steak and pasta. 

“Good?” You nod, chewing into the food slowly. There are still tears bunched up in your eyes, but they don’t fall anymore. 

“Of course it is.” There’s a teasing edge to his voice as he leans forward to brush your hair out of your face, soothing it down, and it makes you laugh a little like it did before. 

The boy reaches forward, decides to wipe a stray tear away as he sits cross-legged beside you on his couch, eyes staying on you as you continue to quietly eat the food he had made for you. There’s still a lingering feeling in the pit of your stomach, but Minho makes you forget about that.

“Thank you.” Your voice comes out shaky. “I don’t— I don’t know why I was crying.”

“Oh, this poor baby.” There’s an intonation in the way he speaks, setting down your empty bowl on the table as he pulls your head to rest on his shoulder. His heart clenches at the way you instantly succumb, eyes dropping from exhaustion as you nuzzle your head on his shoulder.

“Stop babying me.” You whine. “You always baby me when I cry.”

“You make it so easy, though.” He murmurs.

A warm hand comes up to your chin, stroking it like he would a cat. And you don’t understand in the slightest, but it lifts a pressure off your chest just being here with him. It feels familiar here with him, so comfortable. You’ve always been made to think that crying makes you weak, but it’s never been a problem with Minho. 

You’re thankful for exactly who he is, and for offering a type of relationship you would have only dreamed of when you were a child. He makes you feel easy to love, that you don’t have to try and make yourself digestible so people will love you more. 

You’ll do what makes you happy, and that’s all he’ll ever ask from you. 

ten.

You spend the night before New Years at Minho’s dorm room. 

He’s out buying a few things for dinner, and he comes home to you staring outside the window. Your lips are parted, like you want to ask him something, but no words come out. He lets you be, feet waddling to stand next to you as he tries to see what’s outside that has so much of your interest.

“What’re you looking at?” Minho stirs, piping down to try and see things clearer, but all he sees is snow. 

“Why? Are you so interested in the things that catch my eye?” He looks down at you with a judging eye, lips drawn together into a line. 

“I’m going to stick my fingers in your eye.” 

“I wanna go out and play in the snow.” He knows the question hanging in your statement, knows you want him to come out with you. But he also knows that you know he’s not the biggest fan of winter, and the heavy snow, and how it’s prone to make someone sick. 

“No.” Minho responds, moving away from the window to start arranging his groceries in the kitchen. You drag your feet to follow him, pouting up at him. It’s manipulative, you’re trying to manipulate him with your stupid pout, but it isn’t working. 

“Please! I wanna go outside, and it’ll be boring to play in the snow alone!” 

“I know a really nice place where we can go.” He suddenly grins, the kind that meets his eyes in a haunting manner, but you know him better than that. You know exactly what he’s going to say.

“You’re gonna say this dorm, aren’t you?” You mumble. “Okay, fine. I’ll just go outside alone.”

“Really? Great thinking!” Minho laughs directly in your face, and it only makes your pout grow. Even reserve psychology isn’t working on him. 

“Minhoooooo.” You whine, tugging at the ends of his shirt and smiling bright at him—almost as if a politician begging for his vote. 

He finishes putting away his groceries, head hung back as he lets out a sigh. “You are such an old woman. Fine, let’s go.” 

“That’s the spirit! You know, I think this should be your year of yes.”

“I say yes to everything though.” 

“Yeah, but like begrudgingly.”

“And that’s the best I can do. Now hurry up, you’re taking too long.” He’s already waiting for you by the door, arms crossed as you struggle to put on your coat and your boots. 

When you attempt to run outside, he tugs you back before grabbing an extra pair of gloves for you to wear. You smile at him thankfully before running outside and instantly dropping to start playing with the snow. Minho stands by your side, watching as your eyes stay focused on the falling snow. It’s an endearing sight, the way you crouch down and gather as much snow you can in your gloved hands. 

He’s not too eager for the season as much as everyone is, doesn’t find the appeal in freezing your ass off, doesn’t have the time to scoop away the snow just to get his car out of the driveway. He’s almost everything that you aren’t. Though, he thinks he can make an exception by the way you excitedly show him the snowball in your hands. You look like an example of pure, unadulterated happiness brought by the season, and in the moment, Minho sees why people enjoy the snow so much. 

“Alright, come on, let’s build a snowman.” Your head snaps in his direction, smile so bright that you have to bite down at your lips to hold the giggle that’s trying to escape your mouth. A winter ago, you had complained to him about how Mark never wanted to build a snowman with you. He had taken his side at the time, having hated the snow himself.

“Actually?” Your eyes are wide as you ask him. 

He thinks you look like an idiot as you drag him to where there’s a few piles of snow, but he’ll be mute with amusement as you actually start to build one together. He travels the distance of where you are to his dorm twice just to grab a carrot and buttons for eyes as you scour around to look for a few sticks as arms. It’ll be worth it when you jump back in amazement at the snowman you had built.

To be frank, Minho thinks it looks a bit scuffed. His arm is about to fall off, and his head is way too small in proportion to his body, but he watches with an unconscious grin on his face as you excitedly take photos of the snowman. 

When your face starts to flush red, Minho ushers you back inside his dorm. “Let’s get back inside. It’s time for you to go into the oven.” 

You laugh.

“Thanks for coming out with me.” 

He clears his throat at the sudden sincerity. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” 

You jump back when his hand makes contact with your bare skin. It’s his silent revenge for you dragging him out into the cold he dislikes so much. “Your hand is so cold! Get it away from me!”

“Ah, I must be passing away soon. My temperature keeps dropping.”

“Can you stop saying stuff like that!”

Minho laughs at the way you throw the gloves you had worn at him, a cute string of chuckles with his habitual ‘ah’ right after. He catches it with ease, setting them aside on the table in case you feel another sudden spur to go outside. 

He makes you hot chocolate a few minutes later. Another begrudging yes upon your sudden request. Leebit keeps you company as he cooks up something for dinner. 

eleven.

Winter settles heavily, and you’re handed the hot chocolate you were promised. You eat dinner over quiet conversations, new year's resolutions spilled after small sips of the wine Minho had opened. Though, around an hour before the calendar restarts, his voice falls mute in your ears. You just nod at the right times, smile when he does, and focus on the way the words fall out of his mouth.

This is the most relaxed you’ve ever felt. 

You suppose you should feel guilty for your inability to listen to him, but there is something enchanting about the way Minho laughs. You didn’t know it looked as beautiful as this, starting from his throat before bubbling out in a boyish chuckle. You would’ve never noticed otherwise.

The moment only unmutes itself when he pinches your arm. 

“Ow!” You yelp, drawing your hand back. “What was that for?”

“You weren’t listening to me anymore.” He whines, setting his empty wine glass down.

“I’m sorry, I’ll listen now. I swear”. You laugh, staring down at the space between your thighs before looking up at your best friend. He’s wearing a pout, but you can tell there’s a small smile threatening to pull at his lips. 

“Was just talking about how we should ruin children’s dreams by telling everyone Santa Claus isn’t real.”

It’s such a Minho thing to say, and you can only laugh at the boy fondly as he pushes himself to his feet. You’re about to ask where he’s going when he tells you to wait a second, disappearing into his room with a purpose in his eye. Though, when he comes back, he says nothing as he resumes his place next to you.

“Close your eyes.” He finally says. 

“Why?” 

“Just close them.” 

“The last time you let someone close their eyes, you had violently shoved tissues down their mouth.” You accuse, recalling the time when Hyunjin had fallen victim to your best friend’s antics. A smile ghosts on his face at the memory. He truly is a psychopath. 

“I don’t have any tissues on me, so close your eyes before I shut them myself.”

“Jesus, alright, I’m closing them. How have you gotten away with this behavior for years? You should be locked up somewhere.” You joke, finally shutting your eyes. 

“Give me your hand.”

“Minho, I swear to God, if you put a bug on my ha—”

“Give it to me.” He interrupts you, taking your hand. You feel a weight being pressed down on your hand. It’s light, and it feels a little scattered. 

“Alright, open your eyes.” 

You feel yourself freeze momentarily, staring at the bracelet on your hand. You had expected him to pull some sort of gag, to put a fake plastic bug on your hand, not a bracelet that looked identical to the one you had broken almost a month ago. It leaves you speechless, looking up at him but he instantly breaks eye contact. 

Minho is looking down at his feet, scuffing it around his floor. His lips are parted like he wants to say something, but it looks a little hesitant. Pondering even. And he does intend to say something, but of the thousands of words he has learned from the day he was born up until this moment, he doesn’t think he can find the right words to say to you.

He still tries.

“I know that Christmas is over, but it took me a really long time to find the exact one you had broken.” He settles on something teasing. It’s what he knows best. “I know, I know, I’m the greatest best friend in the world.”

You look down at the bracelet that he quietly wraps around your wrist. You can only blink, frozen in your spot. He’s wordless as he encases it, and it’s only now you see that something’s different about him. There’s a small butterfly charm sitting at the center, beautiful and dainty. Your heart squeezes.

“The butterfly…” You start.

“Is to regain it. No boy has power to take away the things you find beautiful. I hope… in this way, it can be yours again.” He finishes for you.

You’re sure the nudge in your heart is easily seen in your expression. His name falls from your mouth, looking down at the bracelet before back at him. He looks so beautiful. His smile is too pretty, hair too soft. It’s hard not to look at him. It’s even harder when he does things like this, little by little making your heart feel whole again. He introduces you to a warmth you’ve never known. 

“What’s with that face? Don’t get emotional. I’m not saying this to move you.”

His response makes you laugh when he says it because it’s just so him, but even his words contradict with the way he’s holding back his smile.

10…9…8…

There’s silence right after your laughter subdues and you hear nothing but your muted breathing.

“I’m really happy I’m spending New Years with you this year.” 

He makes you feel like flying that it feels like you need to hold onto him to keep you grounded. With bated breath, you lean forward and wrap your arms around him. It’s hard to express how grateful you are for him, so you hope that your thoughts get closer to his heart if you hug him like this. 

Minho jumps back in surprise, hand gingerly resting against your hip for a split second before wrapping his arms fully around your waist and pulling you closer to him. His fingers dig into your skin gently in a warm embrace. 

7…6…5…

Minho’s gesture is still taking root in your heart, everything he’s done for you from the moment you met, and all the things he continues to do. It’s all still processing in your head when something registers in your head. Blood rushes to your ears at the realization. This can’t be right. 

A million thoughts rush through your head. Maybe it began with a few brushes of contact, so fleeting that if you blink, you’ll miss it—a hand on your back, a shoulder brushing against yours, thighs pressed together. Maybe it was in your stomach, the butterflies fluttering around that you had thought you’d imagined. Maybe it was in your heart, in its constant thrumming and the unidentifiable nudge you felt once in a while.

4…3…2…

You look up at your best friend, taking a good look at the small smile on his face. When he catches you staring, his mouth morphs into a smirk, but it doesn’t look as teasing as it usually does. His features are softened. You think it might be in how gentle his eyes look, gaze so soft. 

There’s a look on his face when he looks at you, and you only realize it now—the look he reserves for his cats, and his stupid pudding. There is no better feeling than having the hope of reciprocation.

1…

“Happy New Year, loser.” He mumbles, and the way he’s smiling down at you right now could mute all the fireworks decorating the sky. 

Oh no. 

You’re falling in love again. 

twelve.

Spring arrives overnight, like an unexpected guest. With each budding flower and unfurling petals and the chirps of birds early in the morning, you’re only reminded that things do get better. Spring’s sudden flurry signifies the coming of change in a sweet promise of healing. The barren branches of winter snow now adorn young flowers

You do nothing about your feelings for three months, allowing them to cement themselves deeply into your heart until you’re sure of how you feel. But you’re unsure if you can keep it in anymore, not when the petals of cherry blossoms float around Minho who’s walking next to you, like he always does. 

It feels different, like there has always been a premonition of love sitting on your chest until it was the right moment. Like the young flowers growing from the barren branches of the winter snow, you feel your heart adorn a feeling that is blossoming.

It’s quiet, save from your footsteps and the rustling of petals around you. His eyes glisten with a certain warmth that no one can replicate, and it’s something you’ve grown familiar with. A confession is brewing in your throat, and you try to make it look like your mind isn’t reeling. You fail to consider the way Minho knows you like the back of his hand, watching you closely as your brows furrow purposefully. 

“Something on your mind?”

The prospect of confessing to your best friend is scary, almost uncharted territory. The realization that you’ve fallen in love once again is even scarier. Your first love had left you with a kind of sadness that took some time to recover from, but being with Minho had made you believe in everything again, at a time when you thought your whole world had crashed down on you, at a time when you thought you’d never feel this way again. 

He makes you happy, so screw everything else. Screw that fear. There is nothing else to do, but—

“I think I like you. No, I think I…” You blurt out, stabbing the silence.

The word is sitting on your throat, but it’s much harder to say out loud. Minho’s eyes widen, caught off guard by your words. He feels the need to reassure you, can see the way you’re bruising yourself over being unable to say it.

“Hey, you don’t have to say it right now.” 

“But I do. And I… I need— I need to know how you feel… about me.” Your voice grows significantly quieter. You try to maintain eye contact, but it’s a little difficult when he’s looking at you like that. Doe eyes and soft lips parted. 

He meets your eyes, as if searching for something. He looks so entirely Minho that it has your heart tumbling.

“I love you.”

“I… What?” Your heart fills with hope.

“I love you.” He says so easily, as if they had been words sitting in his mouth for a very long time. You look into his eyes, searching for any sign that would indicate any teasing, but you don’t find anything. You only find a type of genuineness and softness unique to him, when he’s stripping himself vulnerable in his truth. 

“Do you really mean that?” Your breath is shallow, staring at him straight in the eye. You step closer to where he’s standing.

“I do.” Minho’s face visibly relaxes. “Ever since you visited my house for the first time and met Soonie, Doongie, and Dori.”

You remember that day as if it was yesterday. He’d been so excited to finally let you meet his cats, bag slung over his back as he tugged you towards his door. He’d stopped and stared when you crouched down to his cats’ heights, pulling out a few treats you had bought for them when Minho had told you you’d be meeting them. You thought nothing of it, nothing of the way his eyes flicker from you to his pets, lips curved into a small smile and eyes softening significantly. And then you realize that had been years ago. He had been in love with you for years.

“But that was… that was way before. That was…” You stutter over your own words, unable to believe that he had been harboring these emotions for such a long time, far longer than you could fathom.

“And I have loved you every single day after. Even when you wore those god awful bright red parts almost everyday.” He says, taking your hands in his. You snort at the memory. 

“Minho, stop joking around.” 

“Me? Joking around? I would never.” He brings your hands to his lips and presses a sweet kiss to your knuckles. “I’ve loved you, and I’ve loved past those pants, and your snot when you cry, and when you were puking over your toilet after drinking for the first time, and the crumbs you leave on my couch when you eat your chips.”

A soft laugh escapes you, and you jut your lips out in recollection of every single memory. He mirrors your laughter, eyes forming crescents. He’s been so good at hiding how you make him feel, but maybe if you looked close enough, you would’ve seen it. 

“Now you’re just embarrassing me.” 

“Hmm, but I love you.” 

You crack a smile, even though it feels like you’re about to cry from the way your heart is aching from the overwhelmingness of Minho’s softness. It doesn’t take long before the tears start to form, laughter cracking in a stubborn way when a bubble forms in your throat. 

“What are you doing? Are you crying?” He teases, letting go of your hands so he can hold your face in his hands, so he can see you better. There’s no need to answer him when it’s painfully obvious by the way he swipes at the tears on the corner of your eyes. 

“I’m not!” You sniffle, letting your hands rest atop of his that’s still cupping your face. “Stop looking at me. This is so embarrassing.” 

“Even more embarrassing than when you cried over milk when we were doing groceries?” He murmurs, thumb stroking up and down your cheeks and lips brushing over your face that it makes your heart contract.

“Okay, we don’t have to bring that back.” You pout, trying to will the tears away from your eyes. You fail, but it does make Minho laugh. “Why didn’t… If you loved me for so long, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

“Because you were hurting. And I’ll always be your best friend before someone who’s been in love with you.” His words take root in your heart, injecting itself as he leans in even closer. Now you feel all soft and putty in his hands. 

“Do you really mean all this?” You’re having a hard time believing that any of this could be true. Your voice falters as you speak, staring into his eyes but all he was fixated on was your lips. 

“Mhm. I love you. Get used to it because I’m never saying this again.” His eyes light up, and it squeezes your heart. Then, his eyes flutter closed and he pulls you gently to his lips, finally closing the distance and allowing himself to fall into you freely, in the open. It’s slow and sweet, and it almost makes you tumble that you have to hold onto his shoulders to keep yourself standing.

He kisses you like he wants you to feel the love he’s kept locked up just for you, and you think you imagine the whimper that falls from his lips against yours. Minho keeps his hands on your cheeks, unable to touch you anywhere else, unable to act out on how in love he is with you. So, he keeps kissing you, and kissing you until he can cement every detail into his head. 

When you break away from the kiss, he doesn’t fight back the giddy smile on his face, he doesn’t mask the softness he’d bared himself in front of you. Minho only rests his forehead against yours, leaning down to press a few kisses to your face. 

You’ve never been this happy, never felt more love than in this moment. Second loves don’t get as much credit for the way they’re able to rebuild a heart you thought would be shattered for a long time. They don’t get enough recognition for the way they teach you that maybe your first love hadn’t been your first love after all. That maybe everything was meant to happen to lead you down a single winding path towards Minho’s heart. Maybe this has always been your predetermined destination.

In a few months, summer will come again, and you’ll be ready to move past the seasons with Minho, the way it was always meant to be. 

note. u have made it to the end !!! let me know what you think :’) i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i did writing it 

[samodivaa]

Words don’t trigger him, emotions do

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Anger, resentment and especially, jealousy—those emotions were all he knew while you both spent decades at Hydra.

Warnings- angst, jealously, mental struggles, smut, possessive sex, love bites

Words- 3400

⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄

And his love has its own dark morality when rivalry enters in, when another man dares to flirt with you and Bucky shall show well what he shows best.

“Hello, snowflake" he says "Hope I'm...interrupting”

There is an intonation so bitter and so imperative that the man who you are talking with shallows hard. The words which are set in the air—in themselves they are simple and sweet. But his jealousy, protectiveness are a living thing. Shifting, changing, growing.

"Do you know the man?" he asks politely, blue eyes burning with violence.

There is a natural comorbidity between possessiveness and jealousy, between the desire to fuck and the desire to kill.

„Yeah, I do,“ you reply and Bucky feels alone in the moment your eyes break contact—and in a fever, among the walls of the bar, he looks around too, a thickening twilight peeps out in his mind.

"Who is he?" he asks in a pleasant but cold voice, now clearly less friendly than before.

„It doesn’t matter“ you smile softly, that sentence is a uttered curse to Bucky’s ears. Immediately, his guard is up.

Bucky is silent for a moment, suffocated by the situation, ringing in his ears, and the heart—it will bust.

The simplicity of your answer spreads as frost, closing off the light of his eyes. His mind starts racing once again, a nameless emotion has nested in Bucky – who is that guy?

Bucky sits on your left side before he leans on the counter next to you, with his metal hand and puts his right one on his tight, closer to his gun strapped there.

You know him, you know that behavior— this yearning to protect, tearing at his insides like hunger and thirst. It is not love. Love is warm and soft, like a bed of leaves. But this is dark, like the shade under a poisonous shrub, and it is hungry. So hungry.

You know its' name—Winter.

You're stuck with him. Not for a few decades, not for centuries. You're tied to him forever. That's why you are good at putting out his flame before it grows—the frame he still carries from the past.

Jealousy isn't a pleasant quality, apart from its inconvenience there's even something touching about it—his starless nights eyes—his face, as if it has been a dial cut in impassive stone, the dwindling of life.

You are equipped to handle what he has, both past and present—package deal of both. In other words, you have been assigned a load you can handle.

“Bucky-”

“Let's go home, it’s getting late” he interrupts, in a soft, vicious voice.

“Give me ten minutes”

He feels like a thread has come between you when he hears your answer, tugging, tugging at his heart—so hard, it hurts him.

You glare at each other. He closes his eyes, because there is a petulant woundedness with which he stares back at you.

Neither of you say a word until Bucky moves, leaning back against the counter, and folding his arms over his chest. It takes all his concentration, to keep from ripping out this man’s throat. But Bucky shoves the familiar fury down, to the place where he stifles Winter's power.

“Okay”

He says as he looks over to the man, and wants him to say something mean so he would have an excuse to shoot him. Bucky is something dark and beautiful, in conflict with what he shows to the world and what he truly feels inside, it is hard to control it.

A worry deep in you stir, but you ignore it for now, pushing it down as best you can with the distraction of music and whiskey.

You fully turn to the man and all Bucky wants is your full attention. He wants your gaze to stay fixed on him, only him. He wants to stare into those beautiful eyes for as long as he lives.

Every avalanche begins with the movement of a single snowflake, and you are this Snowflake tonight.

When the ten minute mark hits you hear a quiet screeching sound—he has carved a small heart on the counter with his index metal finger—you can’t believe how jealousy has him gagging, his blue eyes are clouded before he lowers his gaze to the floor.

Snow is super soft, bottomless and amazingly light, yet supportive—until you take a wrong turn and feel every crystal reacting within your soul, suffocating you. Bucky has lost himself in the emotional storm: it takes so little this time, to put fuel in his cynical heart.

“Bucky…” you whisper and your eyes meet, his actual humanity can’t seem to triumph over the rage and jealousy this time, something you hardly imagine in your wildest dreams.

And this is the secret you both share—the kind you don't dare to let out—Words don't trigger him, but emotions do. You can’t leave them unnoticed, unattended and unsolved.

“Let's head home”

Your language has been lost for so long at Hydra. But not the gestures. It is almost comforting, this mutual acceptance of understanding each other without the need for words.

He maintains his silence, but he slowly gets up—he doesn’t look back, he knows you are following him closely. Of course you do, but you think about what has just happened

While you were looking into his eyes, there were fragments of his inner struggle that were deeply repressed—he always tries to repress the past. It’s hard to distinguish if they were buried inside because dealing with them was such dirty work, or if he was ashamed to voice them.

The truth is that he would rather dig his own heart out, with a knife, than admit it. A while ago he let you know that it's hard to control certain emotions—but he didn’t want to throw his intimacy in front of you, especially when he cares.

But nothing stays secret forever

You are trying to heal too, but, finally, there are things which he is afraid to divulge even to himself—he needs you, he needs your reassurance, he feels like someone will snatch you from his hands, damn his split personalities and untrustworthy habits from the past, but he can’t help it, it scares him.

You are both unearthed by deception, torture, brainwashing, whose essence was shrouded by Hydra—your own father naming the Winter Soldier program after his own daughter, you, stringing you with Bucky together—the yearning theme of your life.

After you escaped Hydra, you went your separate ways until he came back to you, searching for someone who understands him.

That was a year ago.

The more he thinks about it, the more he wants you, the more my desire rises and swells—

“Bucky” He shakes his head in exasperation, not stopping as he climbs the stairs to your shared apartment, aiming for the door, but he can’t stay with you, not when he is not fully himself “Bucky, stop, talk to me”

You have known him for so long, you can see the pride through his words, the truth through his silence, and the anger through his smile.

Always.

“Soldat“  he turns to you, perusing your body as he comes to stand in front of you, his abysses as deep as those of love, finally meet yours.

That realization takes about a nanosecond to register in Bucky’s brain before the real important information comes to the forefront—you’ve noticed.

He lowers his head toward you, so you could feel his breath warm against your skin, your mouths only inches apart

“Why did you call me that?”

He has no answer nor idea, just a never-ending list of questions, he is searching for a loophole that increasingly feels like a noose—he denies it, he tries to—you are not entitled to exposing him like that.

How hollow is it for him to have no secrets left—Bucky's love gives, and Soldat's lust takes.

His gaze, improper, is the most sensual thing he can have done at this moment, and it jolts your heart into a strange rhythm as you speak

“Tell me, how can I help?” You put your hands on his chest, your eyes still locked and an unwelcome sensation pierces you.

“You already know” he says thoughtfully as his cool gaze devours you “snezinka” (snowflake) and his lusty grin when he says that, it's sinful—and pleasurable.

“There is nothing to worry about. Do whatever you want to make yourself feel better” All you want to do is make him feel better, to drown his worries in your embrace.

Both shame and worry drown themselves in the dark eyes that stare back at him.

You.

Only you.

Bucky dreads this power you have over him.

Everything you say is exceedingly obvious, and undoubtedly true, but he feels that something more obscure, more frightening lurks in the back of your mind.

You don’t halt the hands he lays on your waist when he pushes you, backing you into the door.

⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄

1968–1969, Zhao Jianmin Spy Case

„That is going to be mass murder, send them together.“

This mission is a long, never-ending massacre, it never ends.

He is lost in your eyes, it’s eating him alive.

Corpses fill the floor, the sight of gore is peaceful in your corrupted existence. He becomes obsessed in this moment of solitude with you, he has the need to touch you and you respond with a kiss, blood all over your face.

Your wretched fate is shared, your need for touch also.

Winter’s lust betrays him as he pushes you against the wall, feasting on your lips and neck, his hands running up and down your back.

“Relax, Winter” you giggle as you gently press your fingers into his shoulders, forcing him to break the kiss as he looms over you- waiting with a predatory grin.

„I need you, Samodiva“ he slurs, eyebrows furrowed as he glances up at you. His trembling fingers touch the strings in vain, wanting to find the right notes from the fading memory, Soldat wants his soul to vibrate again; with lust, with love.

He knows you feel his arousal, your closeness causing him to grow hard, inhaling sharply, enjoying the sensations you are eliciting in him.

“I need you, too” you finally answer without faltering.

This is all Soldat needs to hear - his tongue flicking lightly over your neck once again, tracing the skin slowly, eliciting a moan from your lips, bodies acting on instinct.

A soft squeak escapes your puffy lips, the tension building up in your body too fast, too soon. Winter puts his hands around your waist, your pants already unbuckled, surrendered to him.

He wastes no time, there's no time left… his hands suddenly drop to his own pants, popping the button open and then pulling down the zipper.

The feeling of your insides drains all of his self power to not come on the first trust, he moves at an excruciating slowly pace, fucking you into the bloodstained walls, there is a glimpse of human nature when you fill the room with moans.

„I am yours,“ he whispers, his words sending a series of chills through her.

This is about him, not you, this is what he needs.

⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄

“1968, do you remember?“ he groans as he brushes his mouth against your cheek. The plea in his tone floods your veins with a whole different form of power “Just say no, snezinka-”

“This is exactly what I want“ you counter. As you arch your back, pressing the tips of your breasts against his chest, closing your eyes at the whisper of a kiss, at the hunger that ravages inside you.

He leans down more, his mouth only inches from yours. “Fuck,” the barely leashes growl of his voice rumbles up through his chest, and every nerve ending in your body flares to life.

Bucky loves seeing you pinned to the door—his control balancing precariously on the point of a knife. He tightens his hands holding you even closer, until your chest is pressed against his own, you can feel his hard cock pressing between your bodies.

All he needs is one push.

And you are about to shamelessly shove.

“Come on, I can take it” you tilt your head up to his and draw his bottom lip between yours, sucking before gently nipping him with your teeth. 

“Yeah, yeah, okay” He speaks against your throat and finishes one languorous stroke up the column of your neck.

It breaches something within him, and he gives in.

Finally, mouths collides, and the kiss is hot and hard—it invades his body, abolishing any constraints and bringing to life the desire for you. It grounds him firmly in the moment and drags his body in it, too—Bucky wants to be the only thing touching you, the only thing that touches you ever again. He is kissing the shell of your ear, nipping at it gently and then soothing the nips with soft kisses.

Rage. Lust. Jealousy. Past. Preset. Every day is a reminder of how nothing stays the same, every day an exercise in variability, resilience, understating and trust.

You love the seasons, but, you must admit—at the risk of offending the others—Winter is your very favorite one. What a beautiful madness, to explore the darkness in his old self and find joy in the unearthing of such a wicked past.

He craves you, he kisses you again.

When your mouth touches his, it is like a blade glancing off metal—the darkness inside him briefly lights up with violence and rage before the emptiness comes flooding in like a black lake—you see it in his eyes.

“Let’s get inside '' he hears your whisper and he reaches up to stroke your cheek with the backs of his fingers. He might be lust-intoxicated, but he always cares.

Tonight, you have successfully deflected his attention from the gloomy thoughts and the contemplation of his past—his lust rushes, but his love makes him wait.

His love lasted for decades—will last for a lifetime.

Awash with trepidation, you two manage to get into the apartment, but the moment you lock the door—your back is against the wall again.

All those desires Bucky has felt in passing have culminated, growing deeper, hungrier, darker—he can do whatever he wants with you.

That through alone causes trouble below his belt.

He pulls his shirt over his head, the sight of his sculpted muscles, crisscrossed with countless scars. They have the strange power to remind you both that the past is real.

Bucky’s hands languidly roam the curves and valleys of your body as his kisses became sensual, slow and deep. There is such a luster in his eyes that you have to look away, but when you look back at him, his gaze hasn’t moved, still focused on your face.

Then he shifts his mouth to your neck for a hard love-bite that makes you cry out— the need to possess you, to claim you, he never did that before.

But even though you feel his erection stir as you press your hips against his, he doesn't attempt to resume the lovemaking in full, he catches you around your slender waist again and brings you close to whisper teasingly in your ear

“Ты - моя, слышишь?”

You begin to feel a familiar wetness form between your legs.

“Bucky,” you call out, impatient with desire.

But that exact position triggers so much delight, of the heated memory—he has all the time in the world, not as the last time.

He kisses you like he has forgotten how your mouth tastes—with a curious childish delight, kisses like wants to take you dancing.

As you pull apart, you remove your own shirt and his teeth scraping down the skin of your neck, his hands sliding around back to remove your bra, tossing it aside.

His right hand makes its way up, passing over a mark left by a bullet—your cheeks heat, and your breath hitches, but you can’t look away, you follow his hand with your eyes.

“I was not there when you got shot” he says as his fingertip skims the top of your breasts “When was that?” he uses the vibranium arm to lift one of the long locks of your hair to his lips and inhales the scent.

“It doesn’t matter”

And maybe you are right, but it stands as a reminder yet again of how you too escaped death's touch before. It was almost...normal for you back then.

Bucky takes a breast into his mouth to suck at it vigorously as you shiver in his grasp, the metal hand sides down to your waist to keep you against the wall.

You let out a small moan as you feel his hardness tighten and press even more insistently against you.

You worm your hands between your bodies, opening his jeans, freeing his length from the confines of his boxer-briefs, then reaching in to caress it and he burying his face in your neck to stifle his groan.

Bucky shudders when when you take him in your hand, stroking him painfully slowly. He allows it for several moments before hiking up the skirt of your dress to quickly tear your damp underwear.

He rubs a hand down your leg, fingers curling behind your knee and pulls it to his hip.

You instinctively jump, he catches you, abandoning his attempts of fingering you in favor of grabbing your hips, and you moan as you wrap your legs around his waist.

He loves you.

He loves you because nature wills it as it did for decades.

Because you are already long united by the past.

The bare flesh on every part of you always belonged to him, the scent emitting from your skin is his—he loves you, but he doesn't dare tell you that.

You have become Bucky’s favorite hiding place over the past year, the place he put every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, you keep him safe.

You have possessed him—and you never knew it.

He has been dependent on exactly how close he can have you next to him, how long he can get to stay at your apartment—making various excuses every time until you suggested to him to move in with you two months ago.

“Bucky,”

you tighten your legs around his waist, urging him to continue, running your hands over his shoulders.

Your voice pulls him out of what was ravaging in his mind, all those thoughts, but then he kisses as he roughly inserted his cock with no warning, you let out a surprised gasp as his forehead falls to your shoulder, bracing his hands on your hips and pressing you against the wall more firmly when he bottoms out, moaning shamelessly at the feeling of your body against him.

You are made for him, made for fucking.

“I love biting you, I need it” his voice is brittle, not saying anything else.

You stare like he is something you can’t comprehend, something unexpected – willingly admitting.

Your fingers thread gently through his hair and you can’t help, but hang your jaw in bewilderment at the sight before—he is falling apart from the need to claim you, to reach the white-hot ecstasy. 

You have never seen him like that.

He bites his way along your jaw to the base of your throat. His mouth is hard and punishing, lathering your skin with marks—ferocity burns in his gaze promising something primal—thrusting into you wildly, trying to elongate your pleasure for as long as possible, but suddenly he is choking on moans as waves of climatic bliss are sent throughout his body.

This is about him, not you, this is what he needs.

This night you learn about his jealousy, it has you starving to learn more about this side of him. A new hunger that you know you will satisfy only with time.

His steel blue eyes hide a nearly irresistible urge to claim you—it’s hard for Bucky to control it when the incurable desolation of Winter exaggerates in displaying old emotions.

[fleuraimer]

Overstimulation blurb pls

I love how Harry is so obsessed with her pussy so he keeps on making her cum / squirt but still not getting satisfied despite how overwhelming and teary eyed she got after 5-6 times she orgasms

sorry for the wait bestie 😭 i hope you like it!! 🩷

wc: 665

cw: smut, minors dni, 17+, overstimulation play, baldrry (he's so hot idc idc idc), and more. not proofread.

Harry has been sucking Y/N’s clit for almost two hours now. The only reason she’s consciously aware of that fact is because of his phone, bright blue light illuminating their bedroom ceiling, blurry numbers scribing one hour and fifty-two fucking minutes. His favorite torture device—a sage bullet vibrator that should be criminal for having so many settings—sits, unused, beside her shaky form.

He set a stopwatch. For what reason, she does not know. She honestly doesn’t have the ability to, though. It’s actually kind of hilarious to expect anything from her expect incoherent huffs and puffs, and garbled curses.

But Harry just loves to laugh.

“C’mon, Sweetheart, talk to me; tell Daddy how it feels.” His palms press down on the backs of her thighs, keeping her spread for him—he’s made her smear her messy pussy open for him too, though, for extra measure—her poor clit exposed to every sensation. The AC turning on makes her twitch, let alone Harry’s own hot breath.

“S’g—ood, Daddy,” she gasps, her eyes as puffy and red as her sensitive cunt. “Feels—” She mewls through the rest of her sentence, his tongue back on her button, laving over it, petting softly with the very tip.

It tickles a part of Y/N’s belly that sets the rest of her body on fire. How something so faint, so delicate, can be so utterly disgusting at the same time makes her head spin, in the best way.

Her head falls back on the mattress with a subtle bounce, her chest arching away for the sheets when his lips wrap teasingly her clit, toes wiggling as her feet flail, precious cries involuntarily slipping from her pouty lips.

“H,” she soughs, her hands abandoning post and finding the back of his head, nails scratching through the soft peach fuzz from the nape of his neck to the top of his head. Her head lolls around until her eyes find Harry’s once more, his cheeky, practically delighted smile felt before his slick mouth and pearly teeth (and sinful tongue) register through her vision.

Her brows draw to the center of her forehead as he flattens his tongue against the whole of her, the slippery tip dipping into her weepy opening before working back up to swirl over her swollen button until he feels her twitch, then starting all over again.

He repeats the action enough times for Y/N to lose count, her hearing staticky, vision blurry, thoughts nonexistent. It would explain why she doesn’t notice Harry’s hand falling from the back of her thigh, explain why when he starts fucking his tongue into her neglected hole, she whines at the loss of contact to her clit, fumbling to pull back on the hood with one hand as the other remains petting over his soft, clipped hair, as if to say Don’t forget about your pretty button, Daddy.

Though, forgotten is the last thing her poor overused clit is. It’s probably at the forefront of Harry’s mind, as a matter of fact, if the sudden touch of silicone to her pretty button is anything to go off of. Not to mention, the resounding buzz that quite literally rocks through her entire system.

Her soft cries are no longer soft. They’re loud and whiny, some guttural, but most sad little uh uh uh’s that get slurred through babbled curses. She doesn’t think of how pathetic she might look to Harry right now, she can’t (a fact that she’s wildly grateful for). All she can fucking think about is his tongue stuffed in her drippy pussy and the toy pressed directly on her clit.

She whimpers when he starts moving the vibrator from side to side, pointlessly smearing her arousal and his spit into her throbbing cunt. It fucking hurts.

“Stop with the crocodile tears, Princess,” Harry mumbles into her, scowling at the sight of her wet cheeks. “Cut it out before Daddy gives y’somethin’ to really cry ‘bout.”

He just had all the jokes today, didn’t he?

[stevebabey]

part one. the same cw applies as part one (cw: past sexual coercion is implied) thank u for any & all kind comments <3 hopin to deliver on the angsty hurt/comfort front >:/

“I’m sorry.”

It’s not exactly how he planned to start his whole apology speech but it’s as good a start as any. Steve is glad he says it. Eddie’s entire character softens just a bit hearing it, his shoulders relaxing to sit a little lower, like maybe, he was afraid Steve had come by to argue some more.

For a moment, they stare at each other until Eddie seems to realise he’s blocking the entrance. He jolts just a bit and side steps, beckoning Steve to come inside.

Good start. Steve steps forward and the subsequent rustle from behind his back reminds him of what’s in his hands. He pulls them out from their hiding spot and offers them out with only a marginally awkward cough. “Uh, first, these are for you.”

In his hands are blue hydrangeas, 3 of them, and the bag containing a mixtape and a multitude of Eddie’s favourite candies.

Eddie’s reaction isn’t… quite the usual. He doesn’t swoon or snap up the gifts out of Steve’s hands like Tilly and other girlfriends had. He doesn’t smile either, just eyes then silently. Steve feels a roll of worry tangle up his stomach.

After a moment, Eddie takes them. Steve follows him, taking the trailer stairs two at a time to keep watch on what Eddie will do. It’s a surprise then to watch them get placed to the side, flowers and gift bag dumped down on the Munson’s cluttered dining table. Eddie doesn’t even attempt a peek into the bag, which, well, for Eddie says a lot.

Moving his gaze from their discarded state to Eddie, Steve finds himself pinned down by Eddie’s waiting stare, his arms crossed tight over his chest. He’s waiting for Steve to speak. Right, it’s time to face the music.

Steve chances a quick glance down at the smudged bullet points on his palm. It suddenly feels too wooden for what Steve really wants to say, too constructed, too much what he thought Eddie wanted to hear.

And besides, Eddie hadn’t reacted as expected in the first instance, the forgotten gifts put to the side. Steve shoves his hand deep in his pocket and goes instead with exactly what he’s feeling.

“Okay, um. Look, I didn’t mean what I said. I- I know that was, I— my parents came home that night.”

None of it is coming out right, stammers on every word. Steve curses himself under his breath and wills himself to continue. Knows if it was Eddie apologising it would be poetic and sweet, all the right words in all the right order.

“I’m not— It’s not an excuse,” Steve shakes his head, tries to string together one single coherent fucking sentence. “I’m sorry. Sorry that I didn’t pick you up. And- and I’m sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean it. Really, it’s- I don’t think that of you. I’m sorry if I made you think I did.”

Eddie nods, though his clenched jaw gives away he’s not entirely peachy just yet.

“Robin told me about your parents being home. And yeah, it wasn’t cool what you said.” He agrees and Steve’s stomach turns. “But I wasn’t exactly fair either, getting all up in your face about it, so I’m sorry for that.”

Steve blinks, surprised; an apology was the last thing he’d expected to come out of Eddie’s mouth.

“I’m still a bit hurt,” Eddie admits, arms folding across his chest in a defensive motion. Steve hates how he seems to be curling in on himself, so obviously hating to admit aloud that Steve’s words had cut so deep. “But y’know, I know now that you were wound up from your parents being home. So, you’re, like, forgiven I guess.”

...Huh, okay. Usually, forgiveness comes after the grovelling, Steve thinks. Not as easily granted as Eddie is seemingly giving him now.

“Okay, uh,” Steve says warily, not quite sure where to go from here. Eddie isn’t really moving, still standing a bit tense. Waiting for Steve to break the ice.

Steve’s eyes dart to the dining table — the resting hydrangeas and abandoned candy. Steve tries to put two and two together, sure, so sure he’s missing something. It’s never this easy.

Eddie hadn’t acknowledged the flowers, hadn’t wanted the gifts. Steve may be forgiven but he still hasn’t shown Eddie how sorry he is.

Steve steps closer and sinks to his knees.

Eddie’s eyes widen in an instant and he takes half a step back, his hands raising up. It doesn’t feel good to watch Eddie put distance between them. Something curls up in Steve’s stomach.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks. His voice is a bit scratchy and he clears his throat, not moving closer but not moving further away.

Fine. He wants Steve to spell it out. Steve wishes Eddie would just let him apologise in the way he knows — he was hoping Eddie wouldn’t make him drag out his apologies like his father did. But Eddie did love his theatrics so it’s not all that surprising.

“I’m… still apologising?” It’s not meant to come out as a question but half way through the sentence, Steve clocks Eddie’s body language. It’s giving very different vibes than expected. Steve’s confused.

The confusion only hikes up when anger flares in Eddie’s eyes, his jaw tightening just a bit. “You’re—? This isn’t gonna make what you said hurt any less, Steve. Is that what the…”

Eddie trails off, his own gaze tracking over to the dining table. He seems even more ticked off then, fixing his gaze back on to Steve.

“Are you trying to— Did you think you buying me stuff and sucking my dick is some completely fucked way to fast-track an apology?”

Steve feels his own eyes widen, each word twisting his confusion up so tightly it hurts in his chest. Eddie sounds angry.

“No,” Steve insists weakly, because he knows that’s what Eddie wants to hear. Even if that sort of is what he was expecting. He shakes his head, tries to get a read on Eddie’s body language beyond his annoyance. What does he want? “No, I just…”

Eddie’s anger seems to wane a little, seeing the confusion shudder across Steve’s features. Steve suddenly feels incredibly stupid being on his knees— but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to say. Maybe Eddie doesn’t want him in this way right now.

“I was,” Steve starts, clearing his throat and willing away his flushed cheeks. “I’m proving it to you.” His voice is a little stronger now, more sure. “I want to prove that I’m sorry.”

Eddie stares at him for a long moment and just when Steve thinks he’ll concede and reach for his belt, he surprises Steve and sinks to his knees too. He sits atop his boots, now face to face with his boyfriend, and reaches out gingerly to place a hand on Steve’s knee.

Steve eyes it for a moment. Is this the come on?

“Steve,” Eddie says gently. It reminds Steve of the tone one might have with an easily spooked animal, all comforting and soothing. “Do you even… want this? To have sex right now?”

It’s a strange question, Steve thinks. He frowns. This blowjob isn’t about him. “I think I’m confused,” He admits, forcing a chuckle to make it a little more casual. Then repeats the sentiment from earlier again. “I want to apologise.”

Eddie nods, harsh enough a curl untucks itself from behind his ear. “Yeah, sweetheart, you already did that. You apologised and I forgave you.”

Eddie doesn’t mention that all these extra things, the gifts and flowers, made him question the genuineness in Steve’s apology at first. Something tells him to dig a little deeper. Steve isn’t smarmy or cocky, he’s not sure that’ll be forgiven, he’s… confused.

But Steve nods. He’s following Eddie’s words so far. Something glitters inside him that he’s already back to sweetheart so soon. He hesitantly lays his own hand atop of Eddie’s, resting them both on his knee. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even know what to say. 

“So, I guess what I’m asking is… what is this?” Eddie waves his hand over Steve’s kneeled form.

The way he says it is still so concerned, which is so far from the usual eagerness Steve has come to know from him normally in these types of situations. Suddenly, knowing Eddie’s definitely not in the mood makes the whole thing a lot more embarrassing now.

“Christ, I wish I had known you wouldn’t want that now,” Steve forces another laugh, quiet, as he ducks his head down. Eddie doesn’t join in, just waits patiently.

“I was— y’know,” Steve waves a hand, gesturing to nothing. “Proving I was sorry. Making it up to you. Guess sex was the wrong idea there, sorry.”

He grimaces a bit, squeezes Eddie’s hand. Steve wonders how he’ll end up making it up to Eddie, if not this way. It’s always been this way.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just stares at Steve with a perturbed expression on his face. If Steve had to guess, he’d say he almost— almost looks a bit sad.

“Stevie,” Eddie says, nudging closer. Both their knees are touching now. “You already apologised. I forgave you.”

He’s repeating things Steve already knows, so Steve nods. Then repeats the thing he’s heard a hundred times over, “Yeah, I know and now I need to prove how sorry I am.”

Eddie’s face crumples a bit, the frown line between his brows deepening. He seems to have hit some understanding, shuffling even closer to Steve. Any annoyance from a minute ago has leaked out of his body. He’s all comfort now, every soft part that Steve adores so much.

“No, you don’t.” Eddie says simply, words strong and sure. “I know that you’re sorry. You said so. That’s proof enough for me, sweetheart.”

Oh. That’s all there is to it, apparently.

Steve’s acutely aware that the emotion streaking through his chest is relief — relief that he doesn’t have to jump through hoops to gain anything back. Doesn’t have to open his mouth or spread his legs just to earn back his partners affections for a heat of the moment mistake.

He said he was sorry and Eddie forgave him. That’s it. That’s all it took. Like an ill-weighted scale, all the relief slides down into a strange hot shame. Oh god, he’s just come in and then— and Eddie hadn’t even— and Steve had thought—

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry, that must’ve—“ Steve reels back, the embarrassment from earlier rearing up inside him close to pure mortification. He pulls his hand from Eddie’s grip, all of it suddenly wrong, so so wrong. “I’m sorry, that was so weird of me to offer—“

“Hey, hey, hey, no.” Eddie’s cutting in before Steve gets very far, firmly planting both hands onto Steve’s shoulders to keep him from receding any further. “Don’t apologise for that. That’s… Steve, will you look at me please?”

Nope, a small voice inside him answer, with a quiver. Looking at the trailer floor is so much easier than what Eddie’s asking.

There’s been many times where Steve has felt a bit dumb but this? This feels like a special kind of stupid. The word throbs in his chest painfully as he wonders how he’d got so turned around. He wants to apologise again.

“Stevie?” Eddie says his name again, a soft coo. One of the hands on Steve’s shoulders shifts, hesitating for a moment, before gingerly cradling his jaw. Steve lets Eddie tilt his face up, reluctantly dragging his gaze up to his boyfriend’s face.

Eddie is all sweetness, eyes soft and smile encouraging. It’s his tenderness that makes Steve exhale, a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding and he can’t help the way he sags just a bit and leans into Eddie’s hold.

Eddie gives a quiet hum. “No more apologies, okay?”

Steve nods, the motion a bit slow. It sort of feels as though it’s a little harder to move against gravity, like the air is thick molasses. He’s tired. Why is he so tired? He wonders if it’s the mountainous relief that’s still trickling out his body.

“We- we’ll need to talk about that later,” Eddie nods along to his words, voice all tender. The way he says it lets Steve know it’s not a bad thing. “But for now I think I’d just rather hold you. Can I do that?”

How backwards. Steve had come here to apologise, to make it up to Eddie, and now he’s the one being comforted. And yet, his nod comes much easier this time. It’s probably a bit too eager but Steve’s just about drowned in his embarrassment tonight so what’s some more?

Eddie’s hands move and grip Steve’s hands in his lap, giving a comforting squeeze— then waits, doesn’t move until Steve gives another squeeze back.

Then Eddie’s rising, standing up and pulling Steve up with him. It’s quiet, Steve hiding the tiny shake in his hands by squeezing Eddie’s hand so tight he won’t notice — til Eddie’s knees crack, terribly loud in the silence, and he whispers a loud, “Ow, fuck.”

Steve can’t help it, he laughs, the sound bursting out of him. Fuck, his boyfriend is an old man sometimes.

Then Eddie laughs too, that glorious sound that Steve could bottle and get drunk on and then they’re both laughing — and Eddie is tugging Steve into his bedroom, both of them collapsing into the creaky bed. The springs whine under their weight but it goes unheard.

Eddie does his best to bundle Steve in his arms, accidentally sticking his elbow into Steve’s side but it doesn’t even matter. Eddie cuddles are a fuckin’ delicacy as far Steve’s concerned— when he’s happy with the way he’s wrapped himself around Steve, full Koala style, he squeeezes.

It forces a pathetic sounding wheeze out from Steve, quickly spiralling into another laugh because who has ever loved him this way? This well? Between the threads of relief that pluck on his heartstrings is white hot love.

Steve already knows what’s coming next, what is always the second step in Eddie cuddles. Instead of hiding his face away into Eddie’s chest, like he’s done a thousand times before, he sticks his face out. Chin jutted out, face exposed, and ready for kisses.

Eddie doesn’t deny him. It’s a wet smush of quick kisses, on his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids — Eddie lets out little ‘mwahs’ as he goes, in a sickly sweet voice that Steve adores.

Faintly, inside his chest Steve’s heart sighs. Because no apology, no forgiveness, has ever been like this, this simple, this easy. Equal comfort — like Eddie was aware Steve had been suffering on the other end of the silent treatment, at regretting his own words.

Steve silently hopes it’ll always be this way, even though another part deeper down knows it’ll be. That arguments with Eddie might involve childish silent treatment, tongues poked out and boots stamped — but that apologies would never be a test. Never more than an honest admittance of regret in the form of words.

In the way Eddie presses a particularly slimy kiss against his cheek, hard enough it makes Steve’s cheek squish, he thinks he might not have to worry much at all.

tags: @disorganisedbee @estrellami-1 @moonshadows-13 @qubert18 @fxndom-hoe @nelotegreitic @justforthedead89 @avacrebs @yikes-a-bee @just-a-tiny-void @stevesbipanic @penny-lane-bitch @clarakeanen @weeennussy