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suntoru · 7 months

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❝ I'VE LOVED YOU BEFORE, I'M SURE OF IT!❞

— SYNOPSIS: eons ago, the king of curses lost his lover. you're gone, you have been for years, so why is it that you're standing right before him?

— WARNINGS: reincarnation, death of servant, your death mentioned, blood, swearing, angst, fluff, ooc sukuna?, he's downbad, 3k words

— AUTHOR’S NOTE: HELP MY FIRST TIME WRITING FOR SUKUNA IF U LIKE IT PLS LMK AND REBLOG!!

a face so familiar that in a sea of people, he'd recognize it instantly. he could paint a perfect picture from memory alone; how could he ever forget you? the only person he's ever grown accustomed to loving with every fiber of his being. the only person who's ever made the very king of curses feel weak. so then, why... why are you here once more?

impossible. it couldn't, shouldn't be you. he watched you slip away, felt your last breath against his skin, cradled you in his arms as your life ebbed away, the haunting reminder of the day he lost you. so why, against all reason, are you standing before him?

he can't deny the reality that it's truly you standing there, amidst the blossoms, with those delicate features that outshine even the brightest stars in the sky. the very essence of innocence radiates from your being, reflected in the purity of your gaze as you remain unaware of his presence, lost in the simple joy of picking dainty flowers from his meticulously tended garden. it's a scene so achingly familiar, yet impossibly surreal, as if plucked from a distant memory and brought vividly to life before his eyes.

his naive little lamb, blissfully unaware of the danger that lurks just beyond the edges of his meticulously guarded property. anyone could sneak up on you at this very moment, and you'd remain oblivious, lost in the gentle warmth of the sunlight as you hum a soft melody to yourself. do you not realize the trespass you commit with every step, the audacity of encroaching upon his domain?

for if you were anyone else, the ground beneath your feet would surely be stained crimson, a stark reminder of the consequences of such brazen intrusion. he scrutinizes your every movement, his gaze lingering on each delicate gesture as if committing them to memory. it's the first time in what feels like an eternity that he's experienced a semblance of peace.

sukuna, the embodiment of strength and power, finds himself perplexed by the profound comfort your presence brings him. he detests his own vulnerability, despises the notion of being beholden to anyone or anything. and yet, in the quiet moments spent observing you, he can't help but entertain the fleeting desire to hold you once more like the days he once treasured with you.

the fleeting moment of vulnerability dissipates in an instant as one of his ignorant servants, a mere fool in sukuna's eyes, rudely intrudes upon his garden sanctuary. with careless disregard, they trample over the delicate cecilias, the very flowers you were delicately picking.

"m-my lord, my humblest apologies," they stammer, their voice trembling with fear. "i don't know how an intruder got in, but i promise to dispose-" before they can finish their sentence, their head is swiftly separated from their body, the soft thud of impact echoing in the garden as it rolls to the ground. red oozes out, staining the grass crimson red as he stares at the body indifferently. tch. incompetence is met with swift and merciless retribution. how weak, how utterly weak. not only had that feeble intruder disrupted his tranquility, but they had also brought undue attention to his secluded sanctuary.

his gaze sharply turns towards you, contemplating whether you had noticed the disturbance, only to find your eyes innocently peering back at him. a surge of something unfamiliar courses through him as he meets your gaze. there you stand, so delicate and unassuming, clutching those flowers, studying him with a curiosity that unsettles and intrigues him in equal measure.

would you scream? run for the hills? yet, there's an underlying fearlessness about you, a quality he's always admired. part of him yearns for the recognition in your eyes, the acknowledgment of his presence, a desire for you to step closer, to nestle into his embrace and play with his hair, as if it were an annoyance he secretly craved, so long as it was from you.

"…would you like a flower?" you beam up at him, your smile radiant enough to rival the sun itself. holding it out to him, your eyes sparkle with genuine delight as you offer the delicate blossom. "it matches your hair. pretty." for a moment, he hesitates, towering over you with his imposing figure. yet, you show no fear, not of his unusual features nor his intimidating presence, not in this life and not in your past one either. with tentative movements, his rough, calloused hands brush against yours, accepting your gift.

he observes with a quiet fascination as your smile widens even further, a sight that warms a part of him he thought long dormant. almost instinctively, he restrains the urge to brush back a stray strand of your hair, watching instead as you take care of it yourself, a soft frown forming on your face as it catches in your lip gloss.

"it's funny," you begin, a playful lilt to your voice as you gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "everything here seems so familiar. tell me, have we ever met before? i feel like i know you from somewhere," you muse, studying his features with a curious intensity. there's a certainty in your tone, a sense of recognition that stirs something deep within him.

"no. that's stupid," he gruffly replies, brushing off your inquiry with a dismissive tone, though he can't ignore the flicker of amusement in your eyes. "ah, you're right. that would be impossible, wouldn't it? perhaps it was just déjà vu," you concede, your smile widening ever so slightly, there's a sincerity in your gaze that leaves him unsettled. he hates the way his heart stirs each time you do that, that... that thing with your face, he's seen it a thousand times before, that stupid smug smile. it's been a millennium since he's last seen it, and he finds himself silently admitting that he's missed it more than he cares to admit.

the one who shattered his harem, the one he believed he had lost forever. over the years of your absence, he had convinced himself that it was foolish to love a mortal. loving you was a mistake, he told himself. there was no void in his heart because of you; it was there to satiate his hunger for bloodlust.

yet, the mere sight of you right now, skin kissed by the sunlight shattered those self-imposed barriers, your voice carrying on about the flowers you held. peonies, daisies, lilies, roses—all growing in a small, vibrant garden. they were your favorites, adorning the white fence so beautifully. although he'd rather be caught dead then admit it out loud, it was dedicated to you, a silent tribute that reminded him of your presence.

in moments of turmoil, he found solace here, secretly seeking refuge amidst the blossoms, gazing up at the stars as if searching for your familiar constellations. what were they again? he had almost forgotten, and somehow, that notion was more unsettling than any sorcerer he had ever faced.

"oh, i almost forgot to ask, what was your name?" you giggle, looking up at him with an air of innocence. do you really talk to random strangers like that? you still are such an airhead. it seems you have no survival skills, but perhaps that's why he's always been so protective of you. "i am the king of curses, sukuna," he states, glaring down at you. it irks him, slightly, that even his name has been wiped from your memory. you really, don't remember, do you?

"sukuna... i'm calling you 'kuna from now on, 'kay?" you beam, and he lets out a weary sigh. how unoriginal. you used to call him that too, but anything else sounds quite strange coming from your lips.

"why are you here?" he grumbles, the question weighing heavy on his mind, not just in this moment, but echoing through the centuries. he wants to know why you've returned, why you've chosen now to reappear in his life after so many years have passed by. are you taunting his only weakness? how infuriating. you remember his old nickname, the flowers you once adorned his head with, but not him. is this some sort of game to you?

"i don't know," you answer simply, adjusting the crinkles in your dress. as the sun begins its slow descent, casting a warm, golden hue over the valley, you find yourself standing there, amidst the beauty of the landscape. "i just happened to stumble upon here," you murmur softly, your gaze fixed on the horizon, where the sky meets the earth in a breathtaking display of colors. the grass sways gently in the breeze, whispering secrets of days gone by, while memories of laughter and joy linger in the air like a bittersweet melody. his nose crinkles. what do you mean you don't know?

"what are you doing?" he hears your voice, sweet and soft like a distant echo from the past, a time when things were simpler, when you were by his side, filling his days with light and laughter. it's been hard without you, he realizes, a pang of longing tugging at his heart as he watches you standing there, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun.

he wants to reach out to you, to tell you how much he's missed you, how much he's longed for your presence all these years. but instead, he remains silent, a silent observer of the moment, as the memories of days gone by wash over him like gentle waves, leaving behind an ache in his heart.

"you're trespassing," he grumbles, his voice carrying a weight that extends far beyond the boundaries of his garden. it's a warning, a silent one for you to stay away, to spare him the agony of reliving the memories that threaten to consume him. but even as he speaks the words, he knows deep down that it's not just his garden you're trespassing into— it's his heart, too.

sukuna does not wish to love you, loving you hurts, it makes him what he hates the most, it makes him weak. once, long ago, he was foolish to love you. he never uttered those words aloud, but the way his gaze softened in your presence spoke volumes. you were the only one who managed to carve a place for yourself in his heart, a place he thought was forever closed off to the world.

he doesn't want to care about you. to him, you should be nothing more than a passing nuisance, easily disposed of if it serves his purpose. yet, as he gazes upon your innocent face, memories long buried begin to resurface, tugging at the frayed edges of his carefully constructed facade.

sukuna despises what you evoke within him, a vulnerability he thought he'd long since buried beneath layers of ruthlessness. as the sun caresses your features with its gentle warmth, he can't help but feel a pang of longing deep within his chest. it's a sensation he's tried to suppress, to bury beneath the weight of his power and dominance. after all, he's the feared king of curses, not some lovesick fool. but even he can't deny the allure of your presence, the way you effortlessly weave your way into the recesses of his darkened heart.

in the depths of his being, sukuna knows he shouldn't miss you. he shouldn't yearn for the days when your laughter echoed through the corridors of his mind. yet, despite his best efforts to cast you aside, a part of him remains tethered to you, unable to sever the invisible threads that bind him to your memory.

your love, once radiant as the sun, pierced through the darkness shrouding his heart, illuminating corners he never knew existed. it was pure, untainted, a beacon of hope in his desolate existence. even in his darkest moments, he couldn't bear to extinguish your light, for fear of losing himself entirely. but then, like a flickering flame snuffed out by a sudden gust of wind, you were gone.

the memory of holding you close as you slipped away, your warmth fading into cold nothingness, still haunts him to this day. yet amidst the pain, there was a promise— a whispered vow that one day, you'd find each other again. and somehow, against all odds, you did. but fate had robbed you of the memories that once bound you together.

he watches you now, your smile as bright as ever, oblivious to the love you once shared. it's a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that you'll never remember the depth of your connection, the intensity of the love that once burned between you. forgotten memories of your presence flood his mind, stirring emotions he thought long buried.

he should be able to snuff out your existence without a second thought, should revel in the sight of your blood staining the verdant valley, your cries piercing the tranquil air. but as you stand before him, oblivious to the darkness lurking within him, he finds himself paralyzed by indecision.

his soul screams at him to act, to rid himself of this weakness once and for all. but his heart, that traitorous organ, refuses to comply. how can you, with your pure heart and untainted spirit, still evoke such conflicting emotions within him?

sukuna prides himself on his selfishness, on his willingness to betray and manipulate to achieve his desires. and yet, in your presence, he finds himself questioning whether his desire to hold you close once more is too selfish, whether his darkness would tarnish your purity.

and a part of him wonders if you'd fall in love with him again, wonders how you did the first time. would your hands feel the same, tracing the contours of his face with that delicate touch? would your lips still taste as sweet, brushing against his with that familiar tenderness?

"'kuna?" you murmur softly, looking up at him to see if he's paying attention. and for a fleeting moment, he's transported back to a memory he holds dear, etched into the deepest recesses of his heart.

"'kuna?" you had called out one day, perched elegantly on his lap, nestled against him as if you belonged there. his hand, protective yet tender, rested on the small of your back, ensuring you remained secure in his embrace. your legs were tucked into his, absentmindedly toying with some strands of his hair. "hm?" he responded, his gaze half-heartedly softening as he met your doe-like eyes, a hint of amusement dancing within their depths.

"do you think in every universe, we're together?" you inquire, your voice tinged with a hopeful innocence that tugs at his heartstrings. he let out a scoff, a familiar gesture masking the warmth that blooms within him, his fingers instinctively threading through your hair as you playfully swat them away. you're so naive and innocent, believing in such stupid things.

"that's absurd," he retorted, though the corner of his lips quirked upward in a ghost of a smile, unable to deny the affection that lingers between you. love, he once believed, was a fleeting illusion, a mirage in the desert of existence. he scoffed at the notion of eternal love, dismissing it as a fanciful delusion born of naive optimism. how could love endure when humanity was plagued by sin, disloyalty, and obstinance? it seemed absurd to place faith in something so fragile, so easily shattered by the harsh realities of life.

"hey..." you pouted, your bottom lip jutting out in a playful display of mock indignation, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "well, i believe we are," you declare, a stubborn determination coloring your words as you stick out your tongue in defiance.

"such a meanie," you'd muttered under your breath, though your protest is laced with affection as he pulled you closer, enveloping you in the warmth of his embrace. and he's snapped out of his thoughts once more when he hears your voice cut through his memories.

"ah, i'm sorry," the present you sheepishly mumbles, catching yourself mid-ramble and rubbing the back of your head with an embarrassed smile. "i'm boring you, aren't i? it's getting late; i should be going."

with a resigned sigh, you glance up at sukuna, feeling a flush of embarrassment color your cheeks. you hadn't meant to prattle on to a stranger, especially one who felt so oddly familiar and comforting, like a warm, fluffy blanket on a chilly evening. as you start to move away, ready to bid your unexpected companion farewell, one of sukuna's arms shoots out, gripping your wrist firmly and halting your departure.

despite everything, you're still here, standing before him, a familiar presence that refuses to fade into oblivion, and he finds himself unwilling to sever the crimson thread of fate that you once fervently believed bound you together. he's unsettled of the idea of allowing himself to love you again, yet, at this moment, his greatest fear is not in loving you, but rather in the prospect of forgetting you altogether.

confusion flickers across your features as you look up at him, but he refuses to meet your gaze, his expression unreadable. the soft hues of the pink sunset cast a gentle glow over you both, and in that moment, you could swear you see a faint flush tingeing sukuna's cheeks.

he still considers you foolish for believing in an everlasting love. and yet, as he looks into your eyes, he doesn't believe an eternity with you would be too bad. in fact, he wouldn't mind it at all. he mutters gruffly, though his voice betrays a hint of annoyance, and yet, inexplicably, your heart leaps at the invitation.

"speak."

and with that stupidly charming grin on your face, you do.

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iuchamjohta · 24 days

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From dream to reality ft YooA

Words 5860

Tags: Threesome, double penetration, double blowjob, hard fuck, carry sex.

See end for notes.

You sat at the corner of WM Entertainment’s practice, heart heavy, and minds full. The room, which used to be full of energy, now felt cramped and overwhelming. Mirrors lined the walls, reflecting the fatigue and stress that filled the space. As you caught your breath, you watched your fellow trainees go through their routine.

Your recent evaluation had not gone well. Your performance, despite weeks of arduous preparation, had left the evaluators unimpressed. Their words still echoed in my mind: “If you fail again, you will be asked to leave as a trainee. There will be no more chances.”

The weight of those words was crushing. Every moment felt heavy, laden with the crushing disappointment of having fallen short. Your heart, which had once soared with the hope of debuting on stage and stepping into the limelight, now felt like it was sinking into a pit of despair. The dream that had initially seemed so attainable now felt cruelly out of reach. The idea of never achieving your goal—and never having another chance to be with YooA—was unbearable.

YooA. Her name was like a melody that had played in your heart since the beginning. Ever since you saw her on stage for the first time, it had drawn you to WM Entertainment. She was the reason you had pushed yourself so hard, the reason you had endured countless hours of practice. She was the brightest star to you in WM Entertainment. Her performances were mesmerizing, and her presence seemed to bring a sense of warmth that was impossible to ignore. It was her that gave you inspiration and had driven you to join the company in the first place, to pursue a dream that had initially felt so distant. She was your light. To be near her, to even dream of winning her favor, had initially seemed like an impossible fantasy, but now, even that dream seemed to be slipping through my fingers.

Your heart raced not just from the physical exertion but from the looming weight of the upcoming evaluation—the one that would determine your future with WM Entertainment. With your head hung low, you walked down the dimly lit corridor. You could hear the soft murmur of voices coming from the staff lounge as you dragged your feet across. To your surprise when you looked up, you noticed YooA, the girl you had admired from far, was chatting animatedly with a few other trainees. Her laughter was light, her presence radiant, and seeing her like this only served to deepen my sense of hopelessness. You knew you had to muster every bit of courage you had left.

With nothing left to lose, you took a deep breath and approached her, your heart pounding furiously in your chest. You felt a flush of embarrassment and nervousness as you stammered, “YooA, can I talk to you for a moment?”

Her eyes lit up with curiosity and kindness. “Of course! What’s on your mind?”

“I just wanted to let you know that I’ve been working really hard,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the quiver you felt. “I know this might sound strange, but I really admire you, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to go out with me sometime.”

YooA’s eyes widened slightly, a playful smirk curling on her lips as she looked me over. “Oh, I’m flattered,” she said, her smile gentle yet teasing. “But considering your recent evaluations, I think it’s best to focus on improving first. I’m afraid I can’t say yes to that right now” A wave of embarrassment and disappointment washed over you. You felt a flush of heat rise to my cheeks as you were further crushed. “Oh, I understand. I just thought I’d ask.”

YooA saw your visible disappointment. Her expression softened, and she leaned in slightly, her voice taking on a gentler tone. “However, if you do manage to debut, if you really make it. I’d be more than happy to reconsider. I’m rooting for you, you know. Prove me wrong, and we’ll see what happens” Her words were like a spark igniting a dormant flame. Though you were stung by the rejection, the promise she held out was enough to rekindle your hope. You nodded, trying to mask the surge of renewed determination. “Thank you, YooA. I won’t let you down.”

That night, you made a promise to yourself. You would work harder than you ever had before. Driven not only by the fear of failure but by the hope of proving yourself worthy of both the debut and YooA’s promise.

Every day before dawn, you would begin your routine with rigorous vocal exercises that tested the limits of your stamina. You spent hours perfecting your technique, refining your pitch, and strengthening your range. In the afternoons, you immersed yourself in dance practice. You would replay choreography videos over and over, trying to mimic every move with precision. Your muscles ached, but you pressed on, nonetheless. You recorded your practice sessions to scrutinize your performance, adjusting to ensure every move was flawless. You practiced until your body felt like it was made of lead, until you could barely lift my limbs, but you kept going, driven by the knowledge that every improvement brought you one step closer to your goal. You were determined to impress YooA.

The nights were spent studying. You poured over videos other idols, analyzing their performances and their stage presence. You copied their gestures, their expressions, their movements. You took notes, practiced your expressions in the mirror, and worked on your charisma.

Social interactions became rare. Your friends and family grew worried about your isolation, but you were resolute. You were determined to make every sacrifice count, to transform every ounce of doubt into strength. Your days blended into one long routine of training, but you welcomed the monotony because it meant you were closer to your goal. The other trainees watched you with a mixture of curiosity and sympathy. Some offered words of encouragement, while others expressed doubt. You ignored the haters and used their skepticism as motivation. You sought feedback from mentors and took every criticism to heart, viewing each as an opportunity to improve.

As the weeks passed, your dedication began to pay off. Your stamina increased, your voice became more powerful, and your dance moves more precise. You could feel the difference in your performances. You grew more confident, and the hope of debuting became a tangible reality. Finally, the day of the next evaluation arrived. You stood backstage, heart racing with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. Your mind was clear, your body ready. You had given everything you had, and now it was time to show what you could do. The moment your name was called, you stepped onto the stage, feeling the weight of your hopes and fears pressing down on you. You gave it everything you had. Every move, every note was performed with a blend of desperation and determination. The judges watched closely; their expressions unreadable. As you finished your routine, you felt a mix of relief and uncertainty. You had done your best, but the outcome was now out of your hands. The wait for the results was agonizing. You paced the hallways, replaying every moment of your performance in your mind. When your name was finally called. You walked in and noticed the shift in the judges’ expressions, from stern to impressed. “Congratulations,” one of them said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “You’ve made significant progress. We believe you’re ready for the next step.”

You could not believe what you have heard. After months of intense training and grueling evaluations, you’ve finally achieved your dream: your debut is set! The hard work, sweat, and perseverance have all come to fruition, and you’re on the brink of a major career milestone. Bursting with excitement, you ran out of the room and scrolling through the contact list, you found YooA name from the number she had given you after making her promise to you. Nervously, you fumbled around with the keyboard before successfully typing in a few words.

After receiving YooA’s enthusiastic reply, your heart felt like it was bursting with joy. You could hardly contain your excitement as you read her message again and again. The thought of finally spending time with her, celebrating your debut, and sharing this special moment was exhilarating. You hurriedly made plans for tomorrow, trying to decide what to wear and how to make the day as perfect as possible. Every detail seemed to matter, from picking out an outfit that would make a good impression to planning how you would express your gratitude for her support. As evening fell and you prepared for bed, sleep seemed elusive. Your mind raced with thoughts of the upcoming day, replaying the highlights of your debut and imagining the joy of being with YooA. The anticipation made it almost impossible to settle down, but you forced yourself to rest, knowing that tomorrow was a big day.

The next day you came to the dance room YooA had mentioned, curious as to why she had called you to there as the meeting point for your date. As you opened the door, YooA was already there. She wears a sleek dress that hugs her curves, and her full lips are glossed, making them look even more mouthwatering than you remembered. You walked in, captivated by her presence. “YooA, noona, you look incredible,” you said, your voice gave away your admiration that you had for her “Why did you choose this room for today?”

YooA turned to you, her eyes glinting with confidence. “Thank you. I needed a special place for something important,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of mischief. “I have to test something first before we get any further.” You raised an eyebrow, feeling a surge of curiosity. “What do you need to test?” YooA took a step closer, her gaze intense yet inviting. “I want to see if we can connect on a more intimate level and if you can satisfy my needs,” she said candidly. “It’s important to me that we’re on the same wavelength before we move forward.” Your heart raced as you processed her words. You understood the gravity of the situation and appreciated her directness. Of the million other possible outcomes, this was not one that you had expected for your first date. Before you could fully process everything that was happening. YooA closed the distance between you, her lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. The softness of her lips was mesmerizing—one of the most tender and enchanting experiences you’d ever had. Each touch was a delicate promise, a dance of intimacy that left you breathless. You continued, backing her against the wall before crushing your lips against hers again. Her lips tasted indelibly sweet, and you groan as her tongue tangles with yours. Her hands roam over your body, igniting the fire burning within you. The kiss deepened, growing more passionate but just as you both were losing yourself in the moment, the door to the dance room swings open. Frozen in place, you watch as another man steps into the room. He's younger, with curvy hair and a lean frame, and he wears a similar look of surprise on his face. You recognise him from yesterday’s evaluation and remembered that he too had passed the final round of evaluation and was set to debut. His name was Jin-Woo if you had remembered correctly. Was, he going to be your future band member? That you do not know. You were more curious as to why he was here at the dance room too.

“Noona, who… is this?” you asked sounding puzzled. Yooa pulled away from you, her cheeks flushed. “Well… Let’s just say I made a promise to him too, that I will consider him if he succeeds too.” She explained. The realization hit you like a wave. The romantic promise you had felt so deeply connected to was part of a larger plan, a test of sorts that extended beyond your own moment with her. “Actually, I only promised that I would consider both of you and this is your final evaluation, to see which one of you can satisfy me the most”. You glance at Jin-Woo, jealousy and curiosity warring within you. YooA seemed to have noticed your hesitation and disappointment. She gives you a wicked grin. "Don’t worry, I am sure I can take on you both" she says, her voice low and enticing. "Let me show you." “Fuck it” you said, you were not going to miss out on this opportunity with your dream girl offering herself in front of you just cause another guy joins in. If anything, you were confident with your body and believed you would come up on top. You stepped forward, determination fueling your desire. The other man follows suit, and YooA positions herself on a nearby couch, patting the space beside her. "Let's see what you've been hiding, boys," she coos, and her fingers trail down the neckline of her dress, exposing her generous cleavage. You waste no time, shedding your clothes and stepping out of your pants, your cock springing free. YooA's eyes widen at the sight of your thickness, and she licks her lips in anticipation. The other man joins you, his length slightly shorter, but impressive as well, and YooA's breath quickens. "My, my," she says, "Looks like I'm in for a treat."

You both join her on the couch, your cocks twitching with anticipation. YooA takes a moment to admire you both, her gaze burning with desire. Then, with a sultry smile, she leans forward and takes you both into her hands. Her touch is electric, her palms soft and her grip firm. She strokes you slowly at first, her fingers tightening around your shafts. You groan, your head falling back as pleasure sparks through you. YooA's touch is expert, her palms sliding up and down, teasing the sensitive tips. "Mmm, you both feel so good," she purrs, and you can feel her warm breath on your skin. Then, with a swift movement, she leans down and takes you into her mouth. Your cock disappears between her full lips, and you gasp as her wet heat surrounds you. She sucks slowly, her tongue swirling and her lips gliding over your length. It's the best blowjob you've ever experienced, and you struggle to hold back your orgasm as she works her magic. She had the best dick sucking lips in your opinion. YooA hums in satisfaction, vibrating around you, and you bite your lip to stop from crying out. She takes her time, sucking and licking, exploring every inch of you with her mouth. Her hands roam over your thighs, squeezing and caressing, encouraging you to thrust gently into her mouth. As you thrust into that hole made by her mouth, her tongue and lips working in harmony, suction just perfect. Every time your thrust meets her face, she slurps, the sounds so dirty and sexy. You can see why she took you both on at the same time. You cannot imagine how anyone can last for a few minutes if she focused on just one man. YooA releases you from her mouth with a wet pop, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "Tasty," she murmurs, before turning her attention to the other man, devouring him with equal enthusiasm. Your eyes drift to the other man, and you see him thrown back in pleasure, his hands clenching and unclenching as YooA swirls her tongue around his tip. She takes him deep, her throat constricting around him, and he gasps, his hips jerking involuntarily. You stroke yourself as you watch, unable to tear your eyes away from the erotic display. YooA bobs her head down unto Jin-woo, her lips stretched around his thickness, while her hand started pumping the base of your cock. She sucks and licks, her tongue never ceasing its skillful dance. She started alternating between both of you, switching after a few bobs on both of your shafts. You can't take your eyes off her as she deep throats you both with ease, her lips wrapping tightly around your girth, her eyes fluttering closed in pleasure. She moans as she works, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure through you.

Jin-Woo is the first to lose his battle, grunting as he fills YooA's mouth with his release. YooA hums in satisfaction, swallowing around him, milking him dry with her lips and tongue. You were not far behind, when she takes your cock in again you thrust your hips, burying yourself in her mouth and you explode. YooA takes every drop, sucking and licking until you're spent, then releases you with a satisfied smile. You both collapse on the couch, breathless and sated, while YooA sits back, a self-satisfied smile on her face. She runs her tongue over her lips, tasting the remaining cum on her lips. "That was incredible," you both manage to say in union, still reeling from the intensity of your release. YooA laughs, a husky sound that sends a thrill through you. “Now let’s see which one of you can satisfy me better”.

Jin-Woo didn’t waste any time. He immediately positioned himself between YooA's thighs and started eating her out. “Someone’s eager” YooA chuckled. Jin-woo continued to feast on YooA’s pussy, lapping away eagerly, desperate to please YooA. You watched as Jin-Woo licked and sucked on her clit, his tongue dancing over her sensitive bud. YooA moaned softly, her hands running through his hair, encouraging him. You stroked your thick cock, feeling it pulse with anticipation. You knew you could do better than this guy. YooA needed something harder, something wilder but you were going to patiently wait for your turn before giving her what she wants. Jin-woo then stood up, his cock rock hard and ready for her. Positioning YooA with her back on the dance floor, he rubbed his cock up and down her slit, wetting his tip before entering her slowly. Their eyes locked as he filled her up and YooA wrapped her legs around him. "Fuck me, Jin-Woo," YooA moaned, her nails digging into his back. "Yes, Noona” Jin-woo responded, thrusting himself into YooA. Jin-woo moved his hips at a slow pace. It appears he was relatively new to this and wanted to take things slow. He slowly built up a rhythm, grasping her thighs, pulling her towards him as he thurst, forcing his cock even deeper inside her. However, YooA seemed to have gotten inpatient and wanted to control of the pace. Flipping Jin-woo unto his back this time, YooA straddled Jin-woo, positioning his cock in front of her pussy and in one fell swoop, sank herself down, swallowing his entire length. “Oh my God, Noona, this feels so good” Jin-woo grunted. YooA continued riding him vigorously, lifting her hips before lowering it down quickly again causing Jin-Woo eyes to roll back slightly and let out a moan. The sight of YooA ass bouncing with each thrust and her tits flailing was too much for you to handle. Getting impatient, you went behind YooA and lifted her off Jin-Woo’s shaft, causing her to pout from a temporary emptiness.

“My turn now” Positioning her on fours, you lined your cock, before driving it deep inside her with a swift, powerful thrust. YooA lets out another moan a mixture of surprise and pleasure. This was a very different treatment as compared to Jin-Woo. Grabbing her shoulder, you begin to set a fierce pace. You fuck her with long, hard strokes, your cock plunging deep into her wetness. "Oh fuck, yes!" YooA cries out, her head tipping back. "Harder, Y/N Give it to me harder!" Her words spur you on, and you began to pull her towards you with every thrust, forcing your cock even deeper inside her. You feel her pussy clench around you as she became increasingly wet. The sound of your passionate fucking soon filled the dance room. Then grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling her head back, you slammed harder into her. You feel her walls stretch to accommodate your thickness, and the sight of your cock disappearing into her sends a jolt of arousal through you. You continued to fuck her with abandon, your balls slapping against her clit with each forceful thrust. "You like that, don't you?" you grunt, pulling her hair slightly to expose her neck. "You like it when I take control and give you what you need." "Yes!" she pants, her eyes wild with lust. "I want you to fuck me senseless. Make me cum around your big cock." Her dirty words send a bolt of desire through you. Looking around the dance room, an idea crossed your head. You grabbed YooA by the waist and lifted her effortlessly, positioning her in a standing doggy-style pose. Using the sofa now as leverage, you continued to thrust into YooA with force. Her juices were already flowing, coating your cock with her sweet nectar. You slid your hand between her thighs, rubbing her clit in circular motions, never slowing his relentless thrusts. YooA's breath quickened, her moans filling the room. "Fuck, yes... harder, YN," she pleaded.

Obliging her request, you quickened his pace, pounding into her with forceful strokes. Using your hand, you lifted one of her legs, giving you an even deeper angle to plow her hungry pussy. YooA's nails dug into the sofa, leaving marks on the surface as she struggled to maintain her balance amidst the barrage of pleasure. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, you executed your original plan of placing her in this standing doggy position. You led YooA towards the full-length mirror at the other end of the dance room, the whole time your shaft was still buried deep inside her. Grabbing her hair, you lifted her head and forced her to look at her reflection. YooA watched herself getting fucked, her chest heaving with each sharp intake of breath. She saw her dishevelled hair, her flushed face, and the way her body moved in perfect harmony with yours. "Look at yourself, YooA," You growled. "Look at what a fucking mess you are. Can't control yourself, can you? promising two trainees this, because you want us to fill you up. You're nothing but a slut for cock." YooA's eyes shut with arousal, relishing the filthy words. Seeing everything that transpired through the mirror served to turn both of you even more. You reached around, grasping YooA's throat with one hand while still mercilessly hammering into her. He squeezed gently, applying just enough pressure to heighten her arousal without restricting her breath. "Take it, YooA," you grunted. "Take my cock like the good little slut you are." Then from the corner of your eye, you see Jin-Woo approaching, while stroking his cock. It seems he too have gotten incredibly aroused and impatient after seeing the scene before him. Without needing instructions, he moved in front of YooA, offering his length to her waiting mouth. She opened eagerly, taking him in, sucking and twirling it with her tongue while you relentlessly fucked her from behind. Jin-woo started to thrust into her mouth, his balls slapping against her chin. YooA gagged slightly, but her skilled tongue and lips showed her expertise, making it clear she loved it. You got a little annoyed that the view of the mirror was now blocked, but you could imagine YooA's expression—her eyes rolling back in pleasure—and you knew she was getting closer to the edge from. You knew from feeling her pussy clenching around your cock, milking you for all your worth. You leaned forward, whispering into her ears “Cum for us, Noona. Let me feel that tight pussy clench around my cock." That was all it took. YooA's body stiffened, and she cried out around the cock in her mouth as she reached her climax. Her pussy walls contracted, pulsating wildly around your embedded shaft. As YooA's orgasm washed over her , Jin-woo also reached his limit, his hips bucking wildly as he filled YooA's mouth with his load, his eyes screwed shut in ecstasy. You watched, feeling YooA's pussy pulsate around you, and it pushed you over the edge. Gripping YooA's hips tightly , you unleashed your own orgasm, flooding her with your hot cum. All of you remained in this position for a moment, catching your breath, before YooA turned her head, her lips glistening with cum, and flashed you a seductive smile. "Now that," she purred, "was an impressive performance." “But we are not done yet, there’s one more hole you both have not filled.”

Stirred by her words, and the opportunity to fuck her ass, you and Jin-woo’s cock slowly began to come to life again. Even if both of you were spent, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity you would not want to miss out even if you must force out one more orgasm. You took a step forward, placing yourself directly behind YooA. "Are you ready for this, Noona?" you asked, your voice hoarse with anticipation. She nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement and a hint of nervousness. "I want you to fuck me. Both of you. At the same time." You smiled, feeling your dick twitch with excitement. This was a fantasy come true. You reached out and grabbed her hips, pulling her towards you. She gasped as the head of your cock teased her tight asshole. With both hands, Jin-Woo reached between her legs lifting her up as you guided yourself to her entrance. "I'm going to stretch you out so good. You're going to feel so full and satisfied." You whispered. As Jin-woo lowered YooA down unto you, you slowly pushed your cock into her ass and she let out a loud moan, her body tensing momentarily before relaxing and allowing you to enter her. You felt the tight ring of her asshole surround your cock, and you couldn't help but groan at the sensation. "Fuck, that's tight," you muttered. "So fucking perfect."

Once she had taken your full length, you reached underneath to hold her thighs, supporting her weight and spreading them for Jin-Woo to enter. Jin-woo grabbed YooA’s hips and positioned himself at her pussy entrance. With a swift thrust, he slid into her, filling her completely. YooA cried out, overwhelmed by the sensation of being filled in both holes. She felt stretched and satisfied in a way she had never experienced before. "Oh my God," she breathed. "It feels so good." You started to move in sync, slowly at first, finding a steady rhythm. Then, you withdrew your cock almost entirely out of her ass before slamming back into her, feeling her tight hole clench around you. Jinwoo matched your pace, his hips slamming against YooA's, his cock sliding in and out of her pussy. The three of you formed a perfect symphony of carnal pleasure, your bodies moving as one. YooA's breasts bounced with each thrust, her nipples hardening as the pleasure built inside her. You reached around and squeezed her tits, pinching her nipples gently, causing her to cry out and buck her hips back against you. "That's it, Noona" you encouraged. "Take it all. You're doing so fucking well. You love getting fucked in both holes like a slut you are" Your words sent a shockwave of desire through her body, and she could feel her orgasm building. "Yes," she moaned. "I'm a slut. Please, make me cum. Fuck me harder." You obliged, grasping her hips tightly and slamming into her with full force. Jinwoo did the same, their balls slapping against her sensitive skin with each powerful thrust. The room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, mixed with the three of your lustful moans and profanities. YooA's pussy clenched around Jinwoo's cock as she cried out in pleasure. "I'm cumming! Oh God, I can't hold it anymore." Her ass tightened around your cock as she came, her body shaking and shuddering with intense pleasure. The feeling of her orgasm sent you over the edge, and you could feel your own release building. However, both of you were exhausted from this position of carrying and thrusting, eventually you and Jin-Woo’s thighs gave way, slumping unto the dance practice room floor with your cocks leaving her holes in the process.

“Don’t stop, fill me up” YooA moaned.

Jin-Woo smiles, and you can see the hunger in his eyes as well. This time you wanted YooA to ride you. Jin-Woo pulls out of YooA, and she got the message and turned to straddle you, taking your cock in her hands and positioning it at her entrance. She sinks down onto you, letting out a sigh of satisfaction as she fills herself with your length once again. Her eyes flutter closed as she begins to ride you, her hips moving in slow, sensual circles. But it's not long before she picks up the pace, her breath coming in short gasps as she rides him harder. Her pussy clenches around your cock with each ride, and you can feel her tightness squeezing him.

"Oh, fuck, YooA, you feel so good around my cock," you groaned, your hands grasping her hips as she rides you.

Moving your hands higher, you reached forward and begin to play with her tits, your fingers rubbing circles around the sensitive bud before giving them a firm squeeze. YooA lets out a sharp cry, her body tensing as a pleasure shock through her.

"Yes, Y/N, right there," she pants. " Harder. Fuck my pussy”

You obliged, your hips snapping up to meet her downward thrusts. The sound of their flesh slapping together fills the room, along with YooA's moans and cries of pleasure.

"That's it, fuck me like that," she cries. "I need all of you inside me."

Your cock is buried balls-deep inside her, and you began to thrust up roughly, your hips slamming into hers. YooA throws her head back, her long hair falling over her shoulders as she cries out. Jin-woo sees the lust and hunger on her face, and he knows she wants more. He positioned himself behind her again, his cock lined up with her tight hole. He pushes slowly, feeling the resistance, and then YooA relaxes, taking him in. Oh, fuck, that's it," she moans, as she continues to ride you, her body sandwiched between two hard cocks. Jin-Woo begins to thrust slowly, building up a rhythm as he fills her ass. It was his first anal experience, and he was doing his best not to cum too quickly. She was so tight and was squeezing the life out of him. Meanwhile, your hands continued to massage her breasts, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh as you watched Jin-Woo fuck her, slowing down your thrust to let Jin-Woo fit himself in.

"That's it, Jin-Woo, fuck her ass," you grunted. "She looks so damn hot like that."

YooA is lost in a haze of pleasure, her body being pleasured from both ends. She lets out a string of profanities as the two men fuck her, your cocks stretching her, filling her with pleasure. "Oh, God, I'm gonna cum," she cries. "Don't stop, keep fucking me!"

Jin-Woo feels her ass clench around him, and he knows she's on the edge. He reaches around and plays with her clit again, rubbing it in tight circles. "Cum for us, YooA," he says. "Let us feel it."

YooA screams as the orgasm rips through her, her body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure hits her. Jinwoo groans as he feels her pussy clench around him, and he can't hold on any longer. “I want it on my face this time” YooA declared sensing both of your impeding orgasm.

You and Jin-woo quickly pull out of her. You see a satisfied smile on her face. Her hair is wild, her makeup smudged, and her body glistening with a layer of sweat. She looks like a goddess who has just been thoroughly worshiped.

"Do it, I want to feel both of your cum on my face." she says, looking at the both of you

You and Jin-woo need no further encouragement. You stand in front of her, your cocks already beginning to stir as YooA gets down on her knees, her face expectant.

You stroked your cock, your eyes never leaving YooA's face. You can't wait to coat her pretty features especially those lips with his cum. Jin-woo is doing the same, his eyes glazed over with desire.

"That's it," Yooa says, her voice husky. "Stroke those cocks and cover me with your cum."

You feel the pleasure building as you watched Jinwoo stroke his cock, the head already glistening with pre-cum. You know it won't be long now. "I'm gonna cum soon," you groaned. "Me, too," Jinwoo adds.

"Then do it," YooA says, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. "Cover my face with your hot cum."

You couldn’t hold back any longer. With a sharp cry, you came, your load shooting out in thick ropes, landing on YooA's face. You see your cum coat her cheeks, her nose, and her lips, and you keep stroking to get every drop out.

Jin-Woo cums a second later, his cum mixing with yours on YooA's face. She closes her eyes, a look of pure pleasure on her face as she feels the warm liquid cover her.

"Oh, yes," she moans. "That's it. Cum for me." You and Jin-woo are utterly spent, your cocks beginning to soften. YooA reaches up and gently begins to rub the cum into her face, smearing it across her skin like a cream. She licks her lips, tasting the salty mixture, and then opens her mouth, sticking out her tongue to catch any last drops.

"Mmm, delicious," she purrs, her cum-coated face looking incredibly sexy. You and Jinwoo collapsed onto the floor; your bodies exhausted but satisfied. After lying on the floor for some time, you finally recovered and cleaned up all the mess that three of you have made. Grabbing some paper towels, you helped YooA cleaned her face as well. Taking this opportunity, YooA leaned into your ear and whispered, “You have passed my final evaluation with flying colours, I will contact you for a second date”. That day, after a magical afternoon with YooA, you returned to your cozy apartment, your heart still dancing with joy. Every detail of today replayed vividly in her mind. You knew that this day will be forever seared into your memory. The feel of YooA's body, the taste of her skin, and the sound of her cries of pleasure will fuel your fantasies for a long time to come. More than that, you are happy that you are given a chance to date the light of your life, the reason you have strived so hard for. Knowing your achievement, you drifted off to sleep with a big smile.

Thanks to the anon for the support to this piece! Hope you enjoy it. Feel free to send request ideas (refer to masterlist for details on which groups I accept) or commission a piece if you enjoy the writing.

#YooA Smut #kpop smut #oh my girl smut #yooa #oh my girl yooa

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alyrasturnz · 1 month

Note

pls write something ab matt having rly rly insane baby fever and so y/n does smth ab it

what i mean by that is she throws her birth control out and maybe she tells him that shes pregnant on his bday

BABY FEVER

❐ summary » matt's overwhelming desire to start a family becomes the central theme. his baby fever has been a constant, gentle pressure, a dream he's nurtured for what feels like forever.

❐ pairings » husband!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » pregnancy

❐ a/n && w/c » guys im lowkey slacking! • 1.72k

your fingers were delicately intertwined with matt's as you strolled down the sidewalk together, your head resting gently on his shoulder. his voice flowed like a soothing river, weaving through tales of dreams, aspirations, and the little wonders of life. the world around you seemed to blur, leaving only the warmth of his presence and the melody of his words.

but then he halted mid-sentence and came to an abrupt stop, his gaze shifting intently to his side. you lifted your head from his shoulder, confusion painting your features as you looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows, trying to decipher the sudden change in his demeanor.

"matt?" you murmur, your eyes darting around in search of the unseen. finally, your gaze follows his, and you discern what had captured his attention so profoundly.

toddler giggles echoed through the air, a symphony of youthful exuberance from the playground. they ran around with boundless energy, while matt stood there, silently observing them with a wistful smile.

you let out a soft chuckle, your laughter mingling with the gentle breeze, before continuing your walk. matt followed in your footsteps, his hand still entwined with yours, though he lingered slightly behind, as if lost in a moment of quiet reflection.

"matt, c’mon," you urged gently. his head remained turned towards the playground, where the toddlers' laughter and play held his attention captive.

he then looked at you and halted in his tracks once more, a pout forming on his lips. "but they’re so cute," he protested, his eyes pleading with a childlike innocence.

you giggled, a smile unfurling across your features as your thumb traced gentle circles over his knuckles, a tender gesture that spoke volumes without words.

"I know they are, but we have some errands to run!" you say, your tone a mix of understanding and urgency. matt lets out a groan, his shoulders slumping in reluctant acknowledgment.

"okay, fine," he says, drawing out the words with a hint of reluctance, as you continue to walk, the rhythm of your steps echoing in the quiet air.

»--•--«

"okay, so we just need eggs and—" you begin, abruptly stopping mid-sentence as you lower your list and glance around. "matt?" you call out, your voice tinged with confusion as you roll the shopping cart forward, scanning the aisles in search of him.

you then halt in your tracks, your gaze settling upon matt, who stands in the baby aisle, his attention captivated by the delicate array of baby clothes.

you stood and observed as he meticulously sorted through the baby clothes, a growing stack of tiny garments already cradled in his arms.

he turned his gaze and caught yours, a moment of silent understanding passing between you, before he immediately began walking towards you.

"baby, look!" he exclaimed with cheerful enthusiasm, his face illuminated by the brightest smile as he presented the tiny clothes to you. "these are absolutely adorable!"

you chuckled softly, shaking your head in mild amusement. "matt, we don't even have a baby yet," you reminded him gently, though a smile played on your lips, unable to resist his infectious enthusiasm.

he looked at you with wide, hopeful eyes filled with a childlike wonder. "but we could, right? i mean, just look at these!" he exclaimed, holding up a tiny onesie adorned with a playful pattern, his excitement practically tangible.

you sighed, a blend of amusement and affection washing over you. "okay, let's finish our shopping first," you said, taking his arm and gently guiding him back to the cart. "then we can discuss this baby fever you've got going on."

»--•--«

a month later..

you bit your lip, the weight of anticipation heavy as you anxiously awaited the result of the pregnancy test resting on the bathroom sink.

your eyes darted nervously toward your phone, your heart pounding with an intensity that seemed to echo in the silence.

matt has been consumed by an unrelenting baby fever for months on end now, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him.

your eyes then darted to the bin on the floor, where your birth control pills lay discarded, a silent testament to the choices you had made.

you didn't reveal to him that you had surreptitiously discarded your birth control pills, a secret kept close to your heart.

you have been experiencing signs and symptoms for the past two weeks, and to say you were petrified would be an understatement.

then, your phone alarm rang, abruptly shattering the trance that had momentarily enveloped you.

you exhaled a tremulous breath, your hand trembling as it reached for the pregnancy test, your gaze lifting with trepidation, dreading the revelation that awaited.

then, you cast your gaze downward, your eyes widening in astonishment as a gasp escaped your lips.

positive.

your eyes brimmed with tears of joy, your hand instinctively rising to cover your mouth in an attempt to stifle the overwhelming emotions.

"babe! you okay in there?" matt asked from the other side, his voice muffled yet filled with concern as he pressed his ear against the door, straining to catch any sound that might hint at your condition.

your eyes widened in astonishment, and with a swift motion, you wiped away your tears, hastily tucking the pregnancy test into your pocket in an attempt to conceal it.

he remained oblivious to the entirety of the situation, unaware of the unfolding events and the secrets they held.

you opened the door, revealing matt standing there with an empathetic expression etched across his face, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what lay hidden within.

“you’re still feeling unwell?” matt inquired, his voice laced with concern, as you responded with a solemn nod.

he frowned, drawing you into a tender embrace, his hand gently tracing soothing circles on your back.

“you should really get that checked out,” he said softly, his eyes narrowing with worry as he gently placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch both comforting and urging you to take care.

“yeah… i should,” you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper. you rested your chin on his shoulder, savoring the fleeting comfort before slowly extricating yourself from the embrace, your movements deliberate and lingering.

»--•--«

you had orchestrated this meticulously. it had been a few days since you discovered the news, and in that time, you had scoured every nook and cranny, searching high and low for the baby clothes matt had stumbled upon in the store.

they had just arrived today, a serendipitous timing that couldn't have been more perfect, as it coincided with his birthday.

you had meticulously wrapped it all up in a box—the baby clothes, the pregnancy test, everything. a delicate bow adorned the top, adding a touch of elegance to the carefully curated surprise.

you entered his room, where he sat ensconced in his chair, fingers dancing across the keyboard as he typed diligently in a google doc.

"you working?" you whisper softly, your voice barely a murmur that startled matt slightly, causing him to turn his gaze from the screen to look at you, curiosity and mild surprise etched on his face.

"yeah," he nodded. you closed the door behind you, and matt's eyes landed on the present in your hands. "that for me?" he asked, spinning his chair to face you, a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes.

"mhm," you hum, extending it towards him with a smile. "open it," you say, your voice brimming with joyful anticipation.

"you shouldn't have," matt chuckled, a soft laugh escaping his lips as a mixture of gratitude and amusement danced in his eyes.

"matttt!" you exclaim, extending the gift even further towards him, your voice filled with playful insistence and excitement.

"okay, okay," he says with a chuckle. matt took the box, curiosity lighting up his eyes. he carefully untied the bow and lifted the lid. his eyes widened in astonishment as he saw the tiny baby clothes nestled within, followed by the unmistakable sight of a positive pregnancy test.

"are you serious?" he whispered, his voice quivering with a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming emotion.

"i am," you replied, a warm smile spreading across your face, your eyes shimmering with the joy of the moment.

he looked up at you, tears brimming in his eyes, his voice trembling with confusion and wonder. "but i thought you were on birth control?"

you bit your lip, trying to contain your laughter. "i am. maybe it's fate," you said, a mischievous glint in your eye, fully aware that you'd discarded it because of his insatiable baby fever.

matt pulled you into his arms, his embrace warm and secure, holding you tight as if he never wanted to let go. "this is the best surprise ever," he murmured into your hair, his breath tickling your scalp.

he pulled back slightly, his hands gently cupping your face, and looked deep into your eyes with a mixture of awe and joy. "i can't believe it. we're going to be parents! i've longed for this moment for so long."

you smiled, feeling tears of joy welling up in your own eyes, the weight of the moment settling in your heart. "i know, matt. i know," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion, each word carrying the depth of your shared dreams and hopes.

he kissed you gently, his lips lingering with tenderness before pulling you back into his embrace, enveloping you in warmth and security. "i promise, i'm going to be the best dad," he vowed, his voice filled with earnest determination. "i'll take care of you both."

you rested your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his love envelop you like a comforting blanket. "i have no doubt about that," you whispered softly, your voice barely audible yet filled with unwavering confidence and trust.

matt chuckled softly, his breath warm against your ear as he held you close. "i can't wait to start this journey with you," he murmured, his voice tinged with excitement and gratitude. "thank you for making my dream come true. you've given me a gift beyond words."

you closed your eyes, savoring the moment as it etched itself into your memory. "it's our dream, matt," you murmured, your voice filled with a quiet reverence. "and it's just the beginning.”

taglist — @imwetforyourmom @meatballzerz69 @pinkishpearls @bandanamatt @thedangerousalleyway @muchloveforhacker @frozenpeanutbutterr @jetaimevous @everleiqh @conspiracy-ash @ifwdominicfike @blahbel668 @slutforsturnioloss @realuvrrr @sturnobsessedwh0re @cerismo @zainabthescientist @sarosfilms

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amourane · 4 months

Text

blooming love

pairing: kim mingyu x fairy!reader

genre: fluff

w/c: 1.5k

summary: in which mingyu follows you around like a hopeless puppy in love, hoping that he'll work up the courage to talk to you one day.

warnings: reader does fall into a river

a/n: i'm in my magical era <3

Spring was Mingyu’s favourite time of the year. He adored the sweet aroma of flowers, the bright colours of the blossoms that would paint the landscape. There was something so magical about the season. Earth would awake from its peaceful slumber and burst into life. The lilac chrysanthemums and golden daffodils, blush pink tulips and violet bluebells. The playful chirping of birds, the buzzing of bees, and the rustling of leaves created a symphony of sounds.

Mingyu loved to wander through the fields and gardens, breathing in the fresh, fragrant air and soaking up the vibrant colours. He loved to lay in the grass and stare up into the cotton like clouds as they floated by. The sun would beam down basking him in comforting warmth.

Yet the thing Mingyu loved most about Spring was you.

His beautiful fairy.

Spring was the time that you shine your brightest. Your wings glittered in the sunlight, delicate and translucent, glittering with every colour of the rainbow. Sparkle and dust would be left with every magnificent beat as you flew and fluttered like a butterfly. Your skin glowed as if you had been blessed by moonlight and Mingyu could never forget the tinkling laugh that would grace his ears. It would echo through his mind constantly reminding him of you and your everlasting beauty.

Mingyu loved to watch as you chatted excitedly to the newborn animals and as you swept your hand through the small streams of water. He had always admired you from afar, staring as you eagerly helped others. He loved everything about you and though the two of you had never spoken he could feel himself falling more every day.

He just never knew that you felt the same.

You had always known you were being followed by the human boy. You could always sense his presence near you, alway there quietly. There were a few times that he would step on a twig accidentally and you would hear the squeak of surprise from behind you as he hurriedly hid behind the tree.

The two of you had never spoken before and though you knew of the human that trailed after you, you never made the move to call him out of his hiding spot.

Over time you had caught glimpses of him. Dark wavy hair, big innocent eyes. He was cute, undeniably so. All your life you had been surrounded by beauty yet when your eyes lay on him you felt your world explode in new colour. The beauty you once knew was long forgotten and you found yourself away from the fairy realm more often than usual. Even if he didn’t speak, his mere presence was enough to light a fire in your heart.

Every week or so you would emerge and tend to nature, sing sweet melodies and engage in conversation with the animals and critters. All of this while you felt his eyes gazing at you. You could never work up the courage to ask the mysterious human for his name. Something stopped you every time you would try to approach him and you often found yourself too scared to confront him.

So you were content as it was. At least you tried to tell yourself so.

It was on one afternoon that you had simply been sitting on the grass near the river. You watched as the sunlight glimmered against the ripples of water as the fish swam past. The flowers against the banks of the water swayed gently to the breeze. You dipped your hand into the water feeling the coolness touch your skin. The fairy realm had always been beautiful but the mystery and intrigue of human’s had always tempted you.

You sighed as you got ready to head back to your home. You dusted your hands against your dress, fluttering your wings at the motion. Suddenly, you felt a tug on your foot and everything tumbled into your view. You shrieked as you felt yourself fall and you tried desperately to react but it was no use. You felt your body plunge into the water and you squeezed your eyes shut, terrified of what was to come. Your wings felt heavy on your back and it was no use trying to use them when they were soaked. You reached out, arms desperately clawing at the surface of the water yet you found yourself sinking deeper and deeper.

Water invaded your senses and you felt your movements slow. A splash erupted through the river, and though your eyes were closed, you felt a strong arm circle around your waist. You felt yourself get pulled into someone’s grasp and you urged yourself to open your eyes.

There he was. Your human.

He was even prettier up close. You gasped in shock at the sight. The man’s eyes widened in panic and you belatedly realised why as you felt the air leave your lungs at your stupid action. Before you can react his lips were on yours. You freeze. Even underwater his lips felt soft and plush. As lovely as the gesture was you couldn’t reciprocate as you felt your eyes flutter shut and the last breaths of air leave your body.

Mingyu was in absolute shambles. He hadn’t meant to just kiss you out of the blue, he really didn’t! It was just as soon as he saw the bubbles leave your mouth and he realised that you were lacking oxygen he thought of the only thing he could do. Give you some of his own. It wasn’t a very wise decision but then again Kim Mingyu wasn’t known for making many wise decisions.

He had heaved your limp body out of the river frantically trying to get you to wake up. You felt cold and your wings lay heavy on your back. Even unconscious you looked mesmerising.

The second he had witnessed you tripping and falling into the river he had rushed out to help you, diving into the water with no hesitation. He saw the splashes as your fingertips grazed the surface of the water, a desperate cry for help. Saving you was the only thing on his mind at that moment in time.

“Stupid, stupid stupid.” Mingyu’s head was in his hands as he cursed himself yet again. “Why would you do that Kim Mingyu? You’ve really gone insane now. Oh no, what if she doesn’t wake up? Have I killed a fairy?”

“Mingyu. That’s a pretty name.” Your voice was croaky but nonetheless it caused the man’s head to whip around to your frail frame. His eyes widened as he watched as you lifted yourself off the ground he had laid you on. “I thought it was about time I learnt the name of the human who had been following me around.”

The smile you gave Mingyu made his heart swell and pound out of his chest. He felt his heartbeat pulse and each contraction made his blood spur with excitement. Your gaze felt like an enchantment and he couldn’t help but be enraptured at your stare.

“I-I’m so sorry!” He felt himself turn red as the words left his mouth. “I swear I only wanted to provide you with some air, I would never kiss someone without consent!”

He held his hands up as if to surrender to you and you giggled at his action. Your wings were still wet yet they still had the iridescent glimmer that was simply just so magical.

“It’s okay, I understand. Thank you so much for saving me. There’s no need to apologise, I appreciate the thought, it was very sweet.” Mingyu watched as your cheeks flushed as well and you cleared your throat. “I quite enjoyed the kiss.”

“W-Wha…sorry - I’m sorry - did you just say that you…enjoyed it?”

“Yes.” You gripped your hands in your lap, nervousness suddenly overwhelming you. “I know you’ve been watching me for a while and I know I can’t complain because I didn’t approach you either but I was just waiting for you to come up to me. I’ve grown quite fond of you, you see, I guess that could be seen as weird because we’ve never actually ever spoken.”

“You’ve grown fond…of me?” Mingyu spluttered, unable to string a sentence when you nodded your head in agreement. The gorgeous fairy that he was so in love with was interested in him. Oh how lucky he was.

“I hope that now we can actually meet each other and speak. I’ve been dying to get to know you.”

Your smile felt as if heaven itself had opened its grand doors for Mingyu. He felt himself blush bright red at your words. He opened his mouth to respond but he was irrevocably tongue-tied in front of you. Your eyes twinkled and Mingyu felt his heart race as he tried to muster up the courage to say what he’s been wanting to say since the first day he met you.

“I’ve been dying to get to know you as well.”

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mingtinys · 4 months

Text

lost for words

pairing : lee jihoon x gn!reader

fluff , drabble , ultimate simp jihoon

warnings : none

word count : 0.6 k

requested ? no

a/n : this is what i imagine it would sound like if woozi wrote his own "shall i compare thee to a summers day"

Jihoon is nothing short of talented. A maestro amongst artists and a musical prodigy to his peers.

He can pluck strings until they sing and make his fingertips fly across piano keys in a way that makes them melt together into a symphony. He can breathe life into a school child's recorder that could charm a brewing storm and he can fit together words like a jigsaw to reveal a lyrical masterpiece worthy of the Louvre. Trust, Jihoon has no qualms over his musical competence.

But how is it that he struggles to find any combination of words suitable to the occasion? Why now does his brain falter when it thinks of ways to encompass just how much he loves you? Not a dictionary in the world would be adequate enough to measure that of which he feels.

Because what he feels for you could not possibly be contained to ink on paper, you're much too special for something as archaic as that. Everything about you is so breathtaking. An enigma he's simply been blessed to experience in this lifetime. Jihoon could carve your likeness into crystal under the moonlight and it wouldn't be nearly as mesmerizing as the real thing.

Jihoon believes you outshine even the brightest stars against a jet-black sky. He'd choose the ones in your eyes to stare at for hours over the Milky Way in a heartbeat. Your voice sings a sweeter melody than Apollo's harp on a warm summer day. One he wishes he could capture and play on a loop for all of eternity. If all of history's greatest composers put their minds to one piece, still, they could not conduct a symphony worthy of your essence.

And, oh, how you call his name has him hearing bells. You light a fire inside him like flint dragged across steel— like a bow across strings. Your hand fits into his palm like the bout of a violin and he can't get enough of the harmony you bring to his life. Just your presence alone grounds him in ways he never knew possible.

When he kisses your lips, Jihoon can taste a song so decedent it leaves him full for days. Soft and delicate touches that crescendo into passion personified pluck at the strings of his heart in the late hours. The feeling of his arms around your waist as you sleep provides an indomitable security. Your even breaths fan against his collarbone like a lullaby, easing him to sleep. Then, when he wakes, you're still there, greeting him like a songbird.

You are his muse, his life, and everything more.

Jihoon understands now why so many of history's greatest ballads are written for lovers. Because the human language is a fickle thing. Always changing, never quite perfect, unsatisfactory in the eyes of man. Music lives on for centuries beyond their composers. It is, by all definitions of the word, immortal. There will always be someone to enjoy its tune and pass it down for years to come.

A song is but a time capsule of the memories that brought it to life. And Jihoon is not a man selfish enough to deny future generations of your beauty. He would write a song a day if it meant cementing your memory in history.

If only he could find the words.

"Are you ready?" Seungcheol's deep voice pierces through the thin silence.

"Not at all." Jihoon inhales as deeply as he can in his suit that feels one away thread from being too tight, then exhales slowly. The parchment with his vows crinkles and folds at the bend between his fingers.

The words in his palm are no soliloquy, but his heart bled them with every ounce of love he could muster through shaky hands. And the gold band on his finger is a gentle reminder he has a lifetime to spend writing ballads in your honor. There are only two words he needs to worry about right now.

I do.

533 notes · View notes

starryriize · 6 months

Note

could i request producer!taesan who has been in his studio 24/7 and you miss him so much so you decide to surprise him by visiting his studio and he’s so stressed that he needs to let his frustrations out on you so you two get freaky in his studio and he’s really soft!dòm because he just missed you so much????

pretty melody | taesan

╰┈ ⋆｡˚ 🪼 pairing: producer!taesan and gf!reader

╰┈ ⋆｡˚ 🪼 genre/word count: fluffy smut! 953 words!

╰┈ ⋆｡˚ 🪼 author’s notes: nonnie, you’re so smart🤭 i’m not sure if this is even that good and i’m sorry that this late :(( i’m so bad at endings … semi-proofread!

🫧laur's taglist: @cherrycolaberry @leehanascent

minors dni!

smut under the cut!

Taesan couldn’t remember a time when he was this stuck on trying to find the perfect melody. It’d been hours since he sat down in his studio to compose a new song that had popped into his head just this morning. It was now reaching 2am of the next day and the ideas have came to a standstill. He loved the idea, lyrics, genre- everything. Well, everything but the bridge. Staring blankly at the screen, he sighed softly, running his hands through his hair.

The quiet knocks on the studio door snapped him out of his concentration. Taking a sip of his water, he mumbled quietly, “Come in.” You peeked in, holding a takeout bag and drinks to go with the food. “You and I both know that the cure to everything is food,” you declare, a playful smile on your lips.

Hesitantly, you ask, “I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?” He shakes his head, already shutting his laptop to focus fully on you. In fact, he wondered why he didn’t take you with him to his studio sessions before. You were a walking muse with eyes that sparkled like the brightest stars in the sky and a smile that rivaled the sunshine itself. Getting up, he took a seat on the small sofa next to you, reaching for your hand. Letting his head fall forward into the crook of your neck, he whispers against your skin, “You’re really pretty, did you know?” You let out a giggle, finding your boyfriend’s sweet words slightly cliché. “You’ve told me, yes.”

Pulling his head up, his eyes catch yours before he mumbles, “Can I try something with you?” The question itself is innocent enough but there was something about his eyes that made you think it wasn’t so innocent. You know the room is soundproof and he’s fucked you before, but never in his studio. Something about this had you pressing your legs together in pure desire. As he turned around, he smirked at you, gesturing for you to sit on his lap in his producer chair. Quickly pulling you down into his lap, he captures your lips in a gentle yet desperate kiss.

Your kisses escalated as his tongue molded against yours. Breathless sighs escaped your mouth, your mind becoming foggy and getting drunk on the taste of strawberries on his lips. Reaching next to you, he pressed the small button that signaled the mic was now recording.

“Don’t hide your pretty sounds now, love.”

—

There was something about how pretty you looked as he fucked you faster, how your moans sounded beautiful. Maybe it was the fact that he was recording it all. All he knew was that he would make sure to fill you up like you deserve to be.

Grabbing your hips, he pulls you downward, causing his dick to hit your sweet spot. God, you were so perfect- in every way. But he especially missed how tight your pussy was- the way you gripped and clenched around him had him inwardly groaning, trying not to cum immediately.

“Ah,” he sighs, “I missed you so much.” It was sweet words but a sharp contrast to the slow yet steady thrusts of his hips upward. You were so far gone. Sighing happily, you whisper, “I missed you too.” Not wanting Taesan to do all the work, you roll your hips, causing him to gasp at your sudden boldness. The only girl in the world who could make him lose his mind and be perfectly okay with it. His hands were warm against your exposed waist, gently pulling you down in tandem with each thrust. You looked so beautiful like this. Taesan found himself lost in his thoughts, completely enamored by the sight of you on his lap, in his studio.

Something about the entire situation made him snap. Sneaking his arms beneath your legs, he got up, gesturing for you to jump so he could carry you. With your legs now wrapped around his waist and your arms around his neck, he carried you to the soundboard, placing you down. All the buttons and switches were going off, but neither of you cared about it. Before you could say anything, Taesan cuts you off with a deep kiss. “Mmmph-“ you can barely get out words without him devouring your mouth in desperation.

Too distracted by his kisses, you fail to notice him inserting his dick back into you. The tip of his cock hits your cervix as he buries himself to the hilt. As if mimicking his slow pace from earlier, he pulls out to only the tip and then slams his dick back in causing your eyes to widen. “It feels so…..” Your words are lost as you try to explain- only able to gasp and sigh breathlessly. “Shh. I know. Just be a good girl and let me please you.”

Those words made you smile, knowing that he was telling the truth. He would give the world if you asked and he wouldn’t hesitate to make you feel like the prettiest girl- at any moment. You were an angel come down from heaven, his angel.

“You’re gonna be the most perfect mother.” Your eyes flutter at his words, delirious on the thought of him filling you up with his cum. Making you his, practically marking you on the inside. It had you babbling, muttering a “y-yes please” through broken whines. He’d abandoned his previous rhythm, wanting only to see your face contort in ecstasy. With every one of your moans, he seemed to increase his speed, only slowing down to tease you. Your food was long forgotten and Taesan finally found what was missing from his song: your sinful moans.

#laur’s thoughts 🧚🏼‍♀️#pretend this is good 😭#bnd imagines #boynextdoor imagines #bnd x reader #taesan smut #boynextdoor smut #boynextdoor x reader #taesan x reader

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astraystayyh · 9 months

Text

Echoes of love

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

Chapter ii. to remember

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

pairing : minho x reader. (3racha cameo)

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

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

word count : 11k words.

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

chapter i. skz quotes series masterlist.

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

Day 33.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, just in time.”

Two weeks ago.

Day 17.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knows you better than you know yourself.

“Don’t blame yourself, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I miss you, Minho.”

“I know, I miss you too.”

Day 19.

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

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

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

“So?”

“A situation may have happened.”

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

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

“I do.”

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

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

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

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

“Pudding.”

“Pudding?”

“For you.”

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really? They’re really ugly.”

“It's my birthday gift, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day 22.

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

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

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

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

“I can try.”

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

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

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

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

“Can you help me get the sea back?”

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you drive safely?”

“Of course. I promise you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he asks, confused.

“I can feel you looking,” you clarify.

“How so?”

“My right cheek is tingling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You did.”

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day 26.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, this is your home.”

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, I-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are you, Yn?”

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

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

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

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

Perhaps the sun rays were by your side all along.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“N-nothing,” you stammer.

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he loves you.

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

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

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

Day 30.

Minho is sick.

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

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

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

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

“I think so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bedside drawer,” he breathes out.

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

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

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

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

“It's okay, I'll just sleep.”

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

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

“Yn… are you worried about me?”

“I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I take off your shirt?”

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

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

“Because I don't mind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why is that?”

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

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

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

“Anything.”

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

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

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

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

“Did I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do you want him?

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

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

Yes. Yes, you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yours.”

Day 31.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He prayed you’d call his too soon.

….

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

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

What does one kiss mean?

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

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

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

“Pardon?”

“I said you seem preoccupied.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

“I actually have a question for you!”

“Ask away.”

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

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

“That's the point of a date.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh wow.

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

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

“Hey, yn!”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, um, yeah, I still live there.”

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

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

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

“I will.”

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

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

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

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

“Really? They were so cute though.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It looked like you found your answer after all.

Day 33.

“Did I keep you waiting?”

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

“How are you, today?”

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

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

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

“What's your name?”

“Yn.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you totally forgot about it?”

“I did. It hurt him a lot.”

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

“But how does that make you feel?”

“Me?”

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

“I feel guilty for forgetting such a relationship.”

“Why is that?”

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

“And you don't love him now?”

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

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

“Describe him to me in one sentence.”

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

“Do you have a retort for everything?”

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

“Yn, he brought you back to life.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh and Changbin?”

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Minho?”

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

“What? Where to?”

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

“Minho... what-what are you saying?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you. Please don't go.”

“Swear it, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Only me?” he questions, tone fragile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day 1.

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

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

“Why would they be?”

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

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

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