#i wanted to challenge myself by using only one brush

[petroplant]

When the worlds come to an end, Starchild

You cannot escape to the dark streams of the sea

[cloudinal]

long day

[fingertipsmp3]

I seriously am a colossal bitch when I’m sober, it’s completely unnecessary. I’m absolutely sick of myself and it’s only been two weeks.

[mismatched-sockss]

Follow my lead

» Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader » Word count: 5,8k (help, i got a little carried away..) » Warnings: 18+ only, MDNI, squint and you'll miss the plot, established relationship, reader hasn't been able to orgasm from masturbation alone, mentions of using sex toys to cum (f), guided masturbation, masturbation (f and m), praising / praise kink, dirty talk, unintentional edging (f), voyerism, multiple orgasms, some begging, a lot of check ins, unprotected p in v, creampie, i think this already counts as (soft)dom!Spencer, pet names (good girl for reader, baby, love) » A/N: and here we have my first entry for the bingo! it's my first time participating in a bigger challenge, i can't tell you all how excited i am about this whole thing. don't ask me what happend here, i was shocked when i checked the word count... also, this is the first time writing smut again after years, so bare with me please. hope you enjoy!

⚶ bingo masterlist | masterlist ⚶

“Never?”

“Never. I don't know, it just doesn't do it for me.”

“But you are- I mean, when”, Spencer mumbled, waving his hands around and pointing at you then him, back and forth a couple of times. “When we-”, he trailed off, his cheeks blushing as he got shy and a bit insecure.

“Oh? No”, you started but when his eyes slightly widened you realized it came out wrong. You stepped closer to him and took his hands in yours, softly squeezing them as you looked up at him with a reassuring smile. “Yes, it works when we are sleeping with each other. You do make me cum.” He huffed out a small laugh and blushed a bit more, but the insecurity that had bubbled up was leaving him again.

You pulled him in to you and placed his hands on your waist, then leaned against him and rested your chin against his chest, looking up at him. Shrugging, you wrapped your arms around his mid. “I just can't finish from only touching myself. Not without using toys that require batteries at least.”

Spencer softly squeezed your waist and started drawing circles with his thumbs. He slightly squinted his eyes and nodded his head a couple of times in thought; you could practically hear the gears turning as an idea formed in his mind. You raised your chin. “What?”

“Show me.”

“Huh? Show you? You mean, you...”, you trailed off. Now it was your turn to get shy, the heat rising up in your body, creeping higher until your face grew hot. “You want to watch me.. masturbate?”

Spencer nodded, one side of his lips turned up in a teasing half smile. “Yes. You said I make you cum, so there must be something I'm doing right.” Both of you chuckled at that. “You could show me how you touch yourself and I could talk you through it. If you'd like to try, I mean.”

Subconsciously you pressed you thighs together, which Spencer didn't miss. You licked over your bottom lip, then pulled it between your teeth as you thought about what he was saying. Spencer's eyes followed the motion as he was studying your face, studying your reaction to his proposition.

The thought alone made your heart beat faster and it ignited a raging fire in you. The thought of his eyes watching closely as you lie before him, legs spread and with your hands between your thighs. His voice and words guiding and aiding your pleasure, telling you what to do and how to do it...

Your breath hitched and you swallowed hard. He raised one of his hands to cup your cheek, his thumb softly brushed over the corner of your mouth. “Is that a yes?”, he asked, his voice low. Spencer already knew the answer just by watching your reaction, but wanted you to say it out loud. His other hand sneaked under your shirt, his fingertips caressing your skin on their way higher and higher until he stopped at your ribs.

If he would give you a second, just one second without him touching or teasing you in some way, you would be able to form a sentence and answer with more than a nod. As if he had read your mind, Spencer slightly pulled back, giving you space to breathe and without his hands on you.

And even though this was what you had wanted a few seconds ago so you could properly answer him, you immediately missed his touch and a whine escaped you. He just chuckled and raised an eyebrow, encouraging you to speak, still waiting for an answer.

“Okay. Yes”, you breathed out and nodded, “wanna do it.” A desperate plea still on your tongue, he cupped your cheeks and pressed his lips to yours.

You sighed against his mouth, your lips parting. Spencer deepened the kiss and both of you moaned when your tongues met. A shiver ran down your spine when you felt his hands slide down over your neck and collarbones, over your chest where he was careful not to touch your nipples through the fabric and down to your sides, where he pushed them back under the hem of your shirt, slowly making his way up..

The kiss only broke for a moment when he pulled your shirt over your head, his lips instantly reattaching to yours and his hands back on you, now able to roam freely over your skin without any restrictions. You slid your own hands over his chest and started to unbutton his dress shirt. You just undid the last button when you gasped and bunched up the material in your hands; Spencer slowly slid one of his hands under the hem of your panties and groaned against your lips when he felt how wet you were.

His finger slid through your folds, teasing at your entrance before he drew slow and gentle circles on your clit. When your breath hitched and you began to grind your hips against his hand, he stopped and pulled his hand out of your pants

“Nuh-uh, the deal was for you to make yourself cum; with your own hands”, he taunted, as if he hadn't started this himself just now. He lifted your chin and pressed a kiss to your lips. When he leaned back you tried to chase his lips, whining when he left you hanging and took a step back, shrugging the shirt off his shoulders as he did so. Then he took another step. And another. “Take the rest of your clothes off.”

The buckle of his belt rattled as Spencer opened it, your eyes followed his hands. You watched him pull it out of the loops and drop it to the floor next to him before he unbuttoned his pants – but kept them on – and sat down in the armchair. His eyes never left you, following each of your moves. You hooked your thumbs into the hem of your pants and underwear and pulled them down, letting them pool around your ankles.

“Sit down, spread your legs and put your hands on your knees.”

You stepped out of the pile of fabric and kicked them to the side, right onto the rest of your discarded clothes, then you did as he told you and sat down across from him on the sofa, slowly opening your legs.

Being naked in front of Spencer was one thing, but this? It was a totally new feeling for you; a different – a special – kind of vulnerability you had never experienced before, not with him, not with anybody.

You felt like your skin was on fire, inch after inch getting ignited as Spencer's eyes wandered over your naked body, lingering here and there for a moment; on your bottom lip when you licked over it and pulled it between your teeth, the swell of your breasts and your hardening nipples, down over your soft stomach to your glistening pussy, already wet from his teasing, and your hands loosely resting on your knees.

“Like that. Good girl.”

This wasn't the first time he called you a 'good girl', but today... Fuck... A shiver ran down your back and you were barely able to hold back a whimper, the ache in your core getting stronger and you felt yourself clench around nothing. God, you wanted to feel him deep inside you; tongue, fingers, cock. What ever you could get. What ever he would give you. Your hands shook in anticipation and you felt yourself getting wetter and needier.

Spencer's eyes darkened when he saw your intense reaction to the praise and his jaw went slack for a moment before he fixed his gaze back on your face, trying to gain back some composure. His hands held a tight grip on the armrests, his knuckles almost white, as if he had to physically hold himself back from just getting up and ravaging you right then and there.

You loved the effect you had on him, that just seeing you drove him crazy. It made you feel powerful.

He took a deep breath in through his nose and slowly breathed out, calming himself down. His grip on the armrests loosened then and he leaned back. “I want you to start by moving your hands over your thighs”, he instructed, his voice low and raspy. “Slowly.”

Without having to think about it you followed his words and let your hands glide over your soft skin with a gentle pressure; from your knees over the outsides of your thighs until you reached your hips, then you moved them up to slide them back down to your knees again.

“You can touch your inner thighs as well, but don't touch your pussy yet.”

You nodded and took a shaky breath. The insides of your thighs were more sensitive and you shuddered as you got closer and closer to your core and a soft moan escaped your lips. Even though Spencer told you not to, you wanted nothing more than to play with your clit or slide two of your fingers inside, thrusting them in and out.

And when he moved his hand to his bulge, palming himself as he watched you, you thought that maybe, he would let you do it. He didn't give you permission and you didn't ask, but you didn't stop moving your hands further up. But when your fingertips got too close to your folds, he clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

“Sorry”, you mumbled breathless and pulled your hands back. You slid them back down, closer to your knees, and grabbed your thighs.

“'s okay, baby.” Then Spencer chuckled. “And you can sit more comfortably if you want, by the way. You don't have to sit up with a straight back.”

You pouted with a smile on your lips as you looked beside you and grabbed a pillow to put it behind your back. “I knew that.” You leaned back, testing if the pillow was in a good position and when you where satisfied with the placement you scooted back some more and fully rested your body against it.

“Anything you feel like doing right now?”, Spencer asked. You opened your mouth, but before you could say anything he added with a smirk: “Except for touching your pussy.”

You grinned at him. “What about for you to fuck me?” But he just shook his head, chuckling.

“Patience, love.”

Well, it was still worth a try. You held back the disappointed and needy whine that wanted to come out and for a moment you tried to think about it, you really did. But you made the mistake to look down his torso and Spencer's hand was just too damn distracting. He was still palming himself over his pants, softly squeezing from time to time. And while he was waiting for your answer, he lazily stroked his thumb back and forth over his clothed shaft.

The words came out choked and barely audible when you finally forced yourself to answer, your fingers digging hard in to your flesh. “Don't know...”

“First thing that comes to mind.” His voice was lazed with amusement; Spencer was enjoying this so much and he knew exactly what he was doing to you right now. His tongue darted out to lick over his lip and the softly bit down in the tip.

After a deep breath you made yourself look at his face and softened the grip you had on your thighs. “Maybe... touch my breasts? My nipples?”

He smiled softly. “No wrong answers here.” With a tilt of his head he raised his chin as confirmation. “Go ahead. Keep your hands on your body.”

With a tender touch your moved your hands up your body, softly caressing your skin, up to your tits and cupped them with your hands.

“Gently massage them, play with your nipples.”

You gasped when you followed his instructions and rolled your hard nipples between your fingers, the sensation shooting waves of pleasure down to your core. With every flick and twist you grew needier. Impatient.

"Feels good?", he asked breathy, his voice shaking a bit when he moved his hand faster and with more pressure over his cock.

"Not as good as when you do it”, you whined.

Spencer chuckled again; his tone teasing. "Want me to touch you?"

You nodded your head eagerly, your back slightly arching into your hands. "Mh-hm, please."

"Wanna see you make yourself cum first, okay? You can do it. I'll touch you as much as you want after."

If you wouldn't get some kind of release soon, you would go insane, completely feral. Closing your legs to press your thighs together for some friction wasn't an option and with the way you were sitting you couldn't exactly try and rub yourself against the sofa. And maybe it was written on your face in big, bold letters, because Spencer – finally – gave you the go.

“Slide your hands down your stomach, move your fingertips over your lips and tease yourself for a moment – yes, good, like that. When you are ready, go ahead and touch your clit. Soft circles.”

The first stoke of your fingers over your clit felt like heaven and ecstasy flooded through your whole body. Your head fell back and you moaned loudly; it felt so good to finally be able to feel your fingers where you so desperately had wanted them that your body started to tremble. A string of mashed together words fell from your lips, you didn't even realize you were saying them. ”Thankyouthankyouthankyou-”

You melted back into the pillow, gasping and moaning as the pleasure became more and more; your other hand found its way back to your tits on its own, groping at the soft flesh and teasing your nipple as your fingers between your legs moved in slow, tight circles.

The sound of clothes rustling made you lift your head; Spencer lifted his hips to slip off his pants, letting them pool around his ankles. He adjusted his position and leaned back, his knees slightly falling apart and he wrapped his hand around his hard cock.

The sight made you whimper, the need to taste him and feel him overtaking your whole being. But you knew, even if you would ask – beg – him to fuck you, he wouldn't do it, not now; you hadn't cum yet. So you did the next best thing and pushed two of your fingers into your leaking cunt.

A breathy laugh fell from Spencer's lips as he watched you start to thrust your fingers into yourself as soon as you had seen him. His grip on his cock tightened and he started to pump his fist faster, not holding back his own moans. He so desperately wanted to bury himself in your tight walls and it took everything in him to hold back. “God, you look so perfect right now... So fucking pretty.”

The both of you worked each other up, the pleasure getting more intense with every stroke; hands moving, touching and teasing with more and more want and desperation.

But somehow it still wasn't enough. “Can I go faster?”, you whimpered, your voice wavering.

“Of course, baby. Go as fast or as slow as you want.”

The room filled with both of your moans and panting, and the sounds of skin hitting on skin – Spencer's fist hitting his pelvis and the palm of your hand slapping against your slick cunt – as you gradually picked up the pace until you were franticly fucking yourself with your fingers.

After a while you slowed down your pace again, trying to catch your breath. You felt the familiar knot form in your belly as you pumped your fingers in and out of your heat, your walls fluttering around them.

“Think I'm getting close...”, you breathed out, followed by a high-pitched gasp when your palm rubbed over your clit.

A groan formed in the back of Spencer's throat. “Touch your clit again; you can go slow or fast, in circles or not, however it feels right.”

You pulled your fingers out and swirled them over your clit, your fingertips effortlessly sliding over it. The muscles in your stomach tightened as your orgasm built up. You fought against the urge to thrust your hips up, trying to keep your focus on rubbing your clit. You didn't want to get distracted, this was the closest you had ever gotten yourself and if you had to concentrate on moving your hips as well as your hand and fingers, you wouldn't be able to keep up with both movements.

Your breathing got quicker and heat was rising up in your body. Just when you felt like you would burst – it stopped; instead of falling over the edge your body refused to go further, keeping you right on the ledge. As if it was taunting you, the sensation became weaker, not even leaving you on the edge any more.

It was always like this when you tried to finish without a toy; your managed to make yourself feel good and when you got close – which also felt like it took forever to even get there – your body refused to give you the release you had been chasing.

A whine left your lips, you were borderline sobbing, as you squeezed your eyes shut. The need to cum and the frustration that it wasn't working, together with the unintentionally edging had you close to tears. You slowed your movements, but kept going nonetheless. “I can't. Told you it doesn't work for me.”

“Don't fight it, you almost had it. Let your body take control and let it guide you.”

You nodded eagerly and met his eyes. “Okay, I- I'll try.” You tried to hold his gaze and after a deep breath you slowly pick up the pace again. Spencer matched your pace, the slow lazy strokes getting faster as he pumped his cock with the same speed your fingers were circling your clit. Your eyelids fluttered as your gaze flickered between his face – all flushed, desire burning in his eyes and slack-jawed, with his lips slightly parted – and his hand stroking his erection.

This time when your hips jolted, you let it happen and shifted your focus to what you were feeling instead of what you were doing. It took you a moment or two to fully let go and give into the pleasure, your movements faltering a couple of times until your mind cleared and your hips and fingers synced up to work together in a delicious, steady rhythm.

“That's it, baby. Just like that. You are doing so well.” Spencer's voice was low and his tone had gotten so gravelly, he was almost growling.

You leaned back, your moans getting louder again as heat spread under your skin until your whole body was on fire , the knot in your stomach began to tighten again. It got tighter and tighter until –

“Oh fuck”, you screamed out in between your moans as your legs began to shake, and when the coil in your lower belly snapped your thighs clamped shut. Your hand stilled and your fingers stopped working your clit; instead your hips kept jolting, thrusting up into your fingers and prolonged your orgasm on their own accord. Your back arched off the sofa and you slapped your other hand on the cushion next to you, tightly gripping it in your fist.

When your body finally calmed down you gasped for air and through the foggy haze clouding your mind you vaguely registered moaning and a string of words – probably an array of curses, maybe even some praise about how well you did, how pretty you looked when you came, good girl – but the blood rushing through your ears was too loud, making it hard to make out any words.

As your muscles relaxed more, your body got limb and let yourself slide along the back of the couch until you were lying down; pulling one leg onto the couch, the other still hanging down. The more oxygen you got, the more you came back to. The shaking in your legs had almost stopped, instead your shoulders started to shake as you began to giggle. “Holy shit.”

A low laugh made you turn your head to the side and open your eyes. Your were met with Spencer's face right next to yours, a proud smile on his lips as he took in your blissed out state. He had just knelt down next to you, his hand found its way to your forehead and brushed away a few sweaty strands. “See? Knew you could do it, 'm so proud of you, baby.” He moved his hand to cup your cheeks, then further down to curl it around the back of your neck.

Your smile grew bigger and you took a shaky breath to say something, but before you could Spencer pulled you closer and kissed you desperately; the need to be near you, touch you, feel you, overpowering him. You kissed him back just as feverishly and buried your hands in his hair. Spencer let his hand wander from your neck down to your breasts, his fingers leaving your skin burning up and begging for more. He cupped one of them, gently massaging it and started playing with your nipple, rolling it between his fingertips and pinching it with just the right amount of pressure that made you tremble and arch your back into him.

You whimpered and softly tugged on the strands at the back of his head. He groaned into your mouth in return and you felt him shift his position as he got up, pulling his knee up to hold him self up so he could lean over you. His touch and his lips, finally feeling his hands on your body, made you feel dizzy and reignited the ache in your core, your clit throbbing, desperately waiting for his attention.

The sudden feeling of his hand between your thighs made you jump a little, you broke the kiss and gasped which quickly turned into a high-pitched moan when he slipped one of his fingers in between your slick folds, only grazing your entrance as he collected some of your arousal. You were still sensitive from your orgasm, but the rush of him finally touching you was stronger and you started to move your hips.

He didn't make you wait long and so after a few tight circles over your clit, he slid his fingers down to your entrance and sank two of them into you, filling you up so much better than your own had done and reaching that spot deep inside you that you couldn't quite reach yourself.

The both of you quickly fell in an easy rhythm with each other and he had you a moaning and blabbering mess in a matter of seconds; it would almost be embarrassing if you would care about it. It blew your mind every time – every god damn day – how much power Spencer held over you, both body and mind. And if he would be anybody else, it might even scare you.

“You looked so beautiful, love, you have no idea”, Spencer breathlessly cooed against your delicate skin, kissing and softly nibbling along your neck and throat. “Could watch you play with yourself all day.”

You wouldn't be able to say anything to him even if you wanted, your mind getting blank and fuzzy; all what left your lips where breathy moans and pleas. A whiny gasp left your throat when he curled his fingers, pressing his fingertips against the very spot that made you see stars.

Spencer kissed his way to the sensitive spot under your ear and when he spoke again, whispering into your ear, his lips grazed it. “Can feel how close you are, it's okay, baby. Come for me.”

He asked and your body complied.

With his name on your lips, repeating it over and over like a prayer, your orgasm washed over you. Your eyes rolled back and when your whole body tensed up, you tried to hold on to something to anchor yourself. You blindly reached for his wrist and held it in a tight grip, your other hand curled around his arm, clawing at his biceps. Spencer kept the pace he was circling your clit with his thumb with and pumping his fingers into you as you clenched around them, trying to suck him in deeper.

Your walls were still fluttering around his fingers when you released his wrist from your grip and moved your hand to the back of his head, pulling him even closer to you. The vibrations of him chuckling against your pulse tickled your skin and you whined quietly when he slowly pulled his fingers out of your cunt, leaving you empty. He slightly leaned back and looked at you, a crooked smirk stretched on his lips. “Still want more, huh?”

“Please, baby, need you, please.” You keened, not at all caring how needy you sounded.

He shook his head at you, not to say no, but in a affectionate you are something else kind of way. “Think you got enough strength left to hold yourself up a little?”

“Yes, think so.” You swallowed and breathed deeply, nodding your head as you held his gaze. ”I will.”

“That's my good girl.” Spencer closed the small space between you and kissed you, swallowing the whiny sound you made, his lips lingering on yours for a moment, then he helped you to sit up. You watched him reach for the other pillows that had scattered around the couch and bunch them up, piling them against the back of the seats, right next to you. “C'mere.”

His hands found your hips and you let him guide you in to the position he had wanted you in, right against the pillows. He guided you to sit – kneel really – in front of the piled up pillows, chest facing them and gently pushed your upper body with a hand between your shoulder blades down. You lay against the pile, letting it support your body and after adjusting it a bit, you crossed your arms on top and placed your head down; you were practically hugging the whole thing.

He nudged your leg with his knee to spread your legs more so he could kneel behind you. With a sigh you relaxed your muscles and enjoyed Spencers hands roaming over your back. He planted a couple of kisses on your neck and shoulder, then placed his hand on the backrest behind you to hold himself up and craned his neck to catch your eyes. You shifted the position of your head slightly so you could look at him better.

“Are you comfortable?”

You smiled at him and hummed, nodding your head. Spencer returned the smile and leaned closer, to capture your lips in a kiss. It was supposed to be a quick one, just a small peck, but his front was now flush against your back and his dick had fit so perfectly between you, with his shaft splitting your folds and pressed against your entrance that he couldn't hold back any more.

So instead, he moved his hand from the sofa to the back of your head, holding you close as he slid his tongue into your mouth and deepened the kiss. You moaned into each others mouths, desperately rocking your hips against each other. He pressed himself against you as close as possible, leaving no space between your bodies, as if he wanted to make up for the time he hadn't touched you all evening.

All it took was for him to pull back just a bit more and his cock slipped right into you, bottoming out at once. “Shit”, you hissed at the sudden stretch, directly followed by crying out his name in pleasure when he pulled out just an inch or two and slowly thrust back in, even deeper.

His forehead fell to your shoulder and Spencer let out a long, deep moan. He placed his left hand back on the backrest – closer to your front this time so his arm was circling around you, more like he was holding you in a hug – and his other took a tight hold on your hip. For a long moment neither of you moved, just basking in the feeling of each other and trying to catch your breaths.

Every time you exhaled, a soft whimpering sigh left your lips. You pulled your left arm out from under your body and reached for his hand on the backrest, slotting your fingers between his. He moved his fingers slightly so he could gently squeeze yours.

Spencer was the first to move. You felt him lift his head and press his lips to your shoulder, before he repeated the same slow and deep thrust from before, not moving his body away even an inch from yours. He kept rolling his hips into you in a slow pace, pushing in deep and hard rather than fast.

Your whole body was pushed hard against the pillows in front of you every time he rocked into you, every thrust eliciting a low moan from you. You let your head fall back against him, leaning the side of your face against his. “Fuck, feel so good around me”, he groaned right by your ear, his warm breath hitting your skin.

He kept the slow and hard pace for a while, only moving faster when you pushed back against him, needing to feel more of him. You gasped with every quickening breath, the ache in your stomach was growing again. “'m close”, you breathed out, your hand tightening the hold on his.

With his nose he gently nudged your cheek. “You know what to do”, he said breathless.

You shook your head quickly, whining desperately. “No, no, no, nonono, please, need you to touch me. Please.”

“Aw, but you did so well earlier.” He planted a kiss to your jaw, then moved his lips to your ear and pulled your earlobe between his teeth, gently nibbling on it.

“Promised...Ah... Said 'yd touch me.. all I want...” You got quieter with every word, your voice high-pitched and shaky with need.

Spencer chuckled and leaned his forehead against your temple. “Mmh, I did, didn't I?” All you could do was nod, not trusting your voice any more. But there were no more words needed. He sneaked his free hand between you and the pillows to give you what you wanted, needed.

You hadn't expected to be this sensitive, but when his fingertips slid over your clit you jolted forward, crying out his name. “Fuck...” His chest rumbled with a deep laugh against your back and he pushed your body against the pile of pillows with his own to hold you in place. In sync with the quick flicks of his fingers, he picked up the pace he was thrusting into your pussy, his hips snapping against you faster and faster.

You tried to hold yourself up, leaning your forearms against the backrest, but your arms had gotten too weak so all you could do was hold onto it with your hands in a tight grip, taking what Spencer gave you; your head hung low and nothing more then moans left your lips.

When he felt you clench hard around him, Spencer groaned and leaned his temple against yours, his mouth near your ear. “Such a good girl, taking me so well”, he panted and increased the pressure on your clit; the praise did exactly what he had intended and it sent you over the edge, with a choked out cry your back arched against him and you came, your whole body shaking. He had been close before, but it took him by surprise when you pussy clenched so hard around him that you pulled him right with you, his dick twitching and he spilled himself into you.

Both of you collapsed against the back of the sofa, breathing hard, and you let out an uff when Spencer's weight got too much. “Sorry”, he said breathlessly and immediately pulled back; you hissed when he pulled out in the same move. He moved his arm around your torso and helped you holding yourself up. You tiredly grabbed pillow after pillow and just threw it blindly to the side to let them fall to the floor. The last one was a bit difficult to get out from under you, but after you got it out you moved it to the end of the couch.

You let your body fall into the cushions, ringing for air and with your eyes closed. Next to you, Spencer got up. You reached out to him, alarmed when you heard him stumble; he luckily had regained his balance before he fell over his own feet, but his knees were still a bit wobbly. “Are you okay?”, you asked, your lips stretching into a worried smile. He huffed out a laugh and took the hand you had reached out into his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Yeah, I'm good. Just wanted to get us some water.” He gave your fingers a gentle squeeze before he let go and bend down to get his boxer shorts to put them back on before he slowly walked into the kitchen. Not even a minute later he came back and handed you a glass of cold water, his own already half empty.

When you had finished your water he took your glasses and put them down on the coffee table. You lifted your arms and reached for him, beckoning for him to come back and lay down on the couch with you.

“Five minutes”, you said softly, a wide smile on your lips; you already knew Spencer was about to shoo you up and into the shower.

He huffed, but took your hand and joined you. You made him some space and rested your head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. You hummed content, nuzzling your face deeper into the crook of his neck, closing your eyes. After a short moment you mumbled: “Maybe ten minutes...”

Spencer just laughed and pulled you closer.

[vanessagillings]

I’m posting the ever-so-rare photo of myself alongside one of my characters based on my childhood because today is World Autism Acceptance Day, and I wanted to show my little corner of the internet who this particular autistic person is:  

I was officially diagnosed in February, at age 38 (I’m now 39). A lot of people thought I couldn’t be autistic.  Some people who know me in real life still don’t.  And until around 10 years ago, I didn’t think I could be either, because I was nothing like the stereotype media portrays. I was told that autistics lacked empathy (untrue), and never played make-believe (also often untrue) and only enjoyed STEM.  I was — and am — an empathetic artist -- and make believe?  I can spend days sketching finely bedecked bears brewing tea or carefully choosing the right words to weave tapestries of fiction — though perhaps my hyper focus was a bit of a red flag.  Even so, how could autism describe me?  I was a good student.  I got straight A's. I didn’t act out in class.  I can make eye contact…if I must.  And lots of girls hate having their hair brushed with an unholy passion, right?  Clearly I swim in sarcasm like a fish, so autism couldn't be why I was so anxious all the time, could it?

If someone had told me when I was younger what autism ACTUALLY is — instead of the nonsense I’d seen on screens — I would have seen myself in it.  I didn’t hear that autistics have sensory issues until I was in my mid-twenties, which is when I first began to really research autism symptoms, and I had almost all of them:  sensitivity to light, smells, fabrics, temperatures, textures, and certain touches, all of which make me feel anxious, I fidget (stim), I never know what the hell to do with my hands or where to look, I talk too little or too much, I have special interests, I have entire animated movies memorized shot-by-shot and can remember the first time and place I saw every movie I've ever seen but I often forget what I'm trying to say mid-sentence, I echo movies and tv shows (my husband and I have a whole repertoire of shared echolalias, making up about 20% of our conversations), I was in speech therapy as a kid, I have issues with dysnomia and verbal fluency, I toe-walk, I can't multitask to save my life, I like things just-so, I’m deeply introverted but not shy, I need to recover from all social interaction — even social interaction I enjoy — and I find stupid, every day things like grocery shopping, driving and making appointments overwhelming and intensely stressful, sometimes to the point where I struggle to speak.  It turns out, I am definitely autistic. My results weren't borderline. Not even close. And while these aren’t all of my challenges, and not everyone with these symptoms is autistic, it’s definitely something to look into if you present with all of these things at once. 

So why did it take me so long to get diagnosed? The same bias that exists in media threads through the medical community as well, and because I'm a woman who can discuss the weather while smiling on cue, few people thought I was worth looking into. Even after I was fairly certain I was autistic, receiving an official diagnosis in the US is unnecessarily difficult and expensive, and in my case, completely uncovered by my insurance.  It cost me over $4000, and I could only afford it because my husband makes more money than I do as a freelance illustrator — a job I fell into largely because it didn’t require in-person work; like many autists, I have been chronically underemployed and underpaid, in part due to physical illness in my twenties, which is a topic for another day.  But it shouldn’t be like this.  It shouldn’t be so hard for adults to receive diagnoses and it shouldn’t be so hard for people to see themselves in this condition to begin with due to misinformation and stereotypes. Like many issues in America, these barriers are even higher for marginalized groups with multiple intersectionalities. 

It’s commonly said that if you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person.  This is why it’s called a spectrum, not because there’s a linear progression of severity (someone who appears to have low support needs like myself might need more than it seems, and vice versa), but because every autistic person has their own strengths and weaknesses, challenges and experiences, opinions and needs.  No two people on the spectrum present in the same way.  And that’s a good thing!  No way of being autistic is inherently any better than any other, and even if someone on the spectrum struggles with things I don’t — or can do things I can’t — doesn’t make them more or less deserving of respect and human dignity.

But speaking solely for myself, the more I learn about autism, the happier I am to be autistic.  I struggle to find words and exert fine motor control, but my deep passion and fixation has made me good at art and storytelling anyway.  I find more joy watching dogs and studying leaf shapes on my walks than most people do in an entire day.  More often than not, the barriers I’ve faced weren’t due to my autism directly, but due to society being overly rigid about what it considers a valid way of existing.  My hope in writing this today is that maybe one person will realize that autism isn’t what they thought — and that being different is not the same as being less than. My hope with my fiction is to give autistic children mirrors with which to see themselves, and everyone else windows through which to see us as we actually are.

If you’re interested in learning more about autism or think you might be autistic, too, I recommend the Autism Self Advocacy Network  autisticadvocacy.org and the following books:

What I Mean When I Say I’m Autistic by Annie Kotowicz

We're Not Broken by Eric Garcia

Knowing Why edited by Elizabeth Bartmess

Unmasking Autism by Devon Price, PhD

Loud Hands edited by Julia Bascom

Neurotribes by Steve Silberman

(trigger warning: the last two contain quite a lot of upsetting material involving institutionalized child abuse, but I think it’s important for people to know how often autistic children were — and are — abused simply for being neurodivergent).

Thanks for reading 💛

[sluttywonwoo]

no nut november — lee know (winner)

pairing: lee minho x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, smut (18+ mdni), oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex

a/n: part of @gimmeurtmi's and i’s collab <3

word count: 4.3k

series masterlist

“God, that feels so good,” you whine.

Minho’s head pops up from between your legs and he grins, chin shiny with your arousal. “You close?”

“I was until you stopped,” you grumble.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says with a pout. 

You push his head lightly. “You’re not sorry.”

“You’re right, I’m not.”

You roll your eyes. “Just because you can’t cum doesn’t mean I can’t.”

“I thought we were in this together,” Minho whines. 

“You really want to deal with a girlfriend who hasn’t cum in a month?”

“Good point.”

With that, Minho gets back to work. He’s teasing you purposely, this time, dragging his tongue up and down your slit without staying in one place long enough to be effective.

“Minho.”

“Hm?”

“Please...”

“Please what?”

“Need more.”

“Use your words, baby- hey. Don’t squirm.”

He presses down on your hips to keep you still, basically wrestling you into place. You surrender to him but only because you know he’s stronger. Minho smacks your cunt twice, each time making you jolt slightly. 

“Let’s try this again. Use your words to ask for what you want.”

“Can I- can I have something inside? Like your fingers or your tongue?”

“What about my cock?”

“What about it?”

“You don’t want my cock inside of you?”

“Of course I do, I always do. I just... didn’t think that was on the table.”

“Why not?”

“Are you really going to make me say it?” you groan. 

“You don’t think I can control myself?” Minho accuses.

“No, actually, I don’t!”

He sits up, hand over his heart in mock offense. “You wound me.”

“You just get very... passionate when we have sex.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that once you start, you can’t stop.”

Minho narrows his eyes at you like you’re challenging him, even though that isn’t your intention at all. You don’t want him to lose on your account, but you can only resist your irresistible boyfriend offering you his dick on a silver platter for so long. 

“I can’t believe you think that little of me!”

“It’s not that you can’t last, Min- we both know you can. You just like to... finish something once you’ve started.”

“Is that supposed to be a pun?”

You grin. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”

He rolls his eyes at you. “You’re such a loser.”

“That you’re in love with.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re lucky that’s the case.”

“And here I was thinking you’re the lucky one.”

“Oh, I definitely am. Listening to your terrible jokes is a small price to pay for getting to be your person.”

You push his chest bashfully. “Don’t get all cheesy now.”

“Why not? Can’t take it?”

“No, actually. I can’t. If you keep pouring your heart out to me like that I’ll die on the spot and then you’ll go away for my murder. “

“Worst they could get me for is manslaughter,” Minho scoffs like he’s brushing off the possibility. 

“So comforting to hear when you have me pinned underneath you.”

He smirks. “Did you want to get fucked or not? I do have to work later tonight.”

You sigh, shrugging. If he was so insistent about it, you weren’t going to fight it anymore. You were only trying to do him a favor in the first place. His funeral and all that. 

“Give it to me.”

Minho’s smirk turns into a genuine grin and he rubs your thighs in excitement. “I know you wanted something inside but did you want me to make you cum before fucking you?” You shake your head no. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, just put it in.”

“So romantic.”

Despite the sarcasm in his voice, Minho scoots up so that his face is just inches above yours and kisses you deeply, getting you to moan so that he can slip his tongue into your mouth. He tastes like you, unsurprisingly, and like the strawberry jam you put on your toast in the mornings. 

“Spread your legs a bit more for me, baby,” he whispers. You do, and he praises you for it. “There you go.”

One of his hands comes down in between your legs to rub your clit as he eases himself inside of you. The fit is perfect, like always, but the stretch is obviously a little more intense than usual. 

“You alright?”

“Yeah, just give me a minute.”

While he waits, he just lies on top of you, ignoring your complaints when you tell him you can’t breathe. Then, you tap him on the back twice to let him know he can move so he does. 

Minho isn’t one to jump right into fucking the life out of you, preferring to start slow and build gradually build the pace, and today is no different. He’s even slower than he normally is, being extra considerate of your disposition. 

“You can go faster,” you urge him. “I promise I won’t break.”

You see him hesitate, almost like he wants to ask you if you’re sure, but he doesn’t. It’s something he’s been working on, trusting you to be honest about what you want in the bedroom, much like you’ve been working on telling him what you want in the bedroom. “Wrap your legs around my waist, baby.”

You moan as soon as you lock your ankles behind his back, the angle already pushing him deeper inside of you. 

“Oh fuck,” you gasp. 

“Atta girl. So good for me when you wanna be, huh?”

You nod, whimpering. 

He keeps his fingers on your clit as he fucks you, wanting to get you to the edge as fast as possible. You assume he’ll draw back, slow down and edge you just like he had when he was eating you out a few minutes ago, but he doesn’t.

“Fuck, I’m going to- I’m cumming!”

You sob as it hits you, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend’s neck and pulling him close. He makes a sound of surprise as he falls forward into you but easily accepts his fate and begins to kiss and nip at your neck.

Minho’s still fucking you even after you come down, even though your legs are trembling and tears are staining your cheeks. He seems entirely unaffected by the way your pussy’s clenching relentlessly around him. Meanwhile, you’re falling apart every time the head of his cock nudges your g-spot. Curse his dancer’s hips and performer’s stamina.  

“Think you can give me another one?” he asks. You can hear the smirk in his voice and it’s infuriating. 

You don’t get the chance to respond before you’re cumming again, whining his name and biting your fist so hard you think you’ve drawn blood. It isn’t unlike Minho to fuck you into a second orgasm right after the first, he loves overstimulating you almost as much as he loves edging you, but it always catches you off guard. 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he grunts.

“Yeah, I just c-came twice.”

“You’re always tight,” he says matter-of-factly. 

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”

You snort and roll your eyes while Minho kisses your nose. 

“One more?” he asks, rolling his hips experimentally. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you moan. “Yes, please. Please make me cum again.”

Minho tries to gently coax the third orgasm out of you, taking his time instead of fucking your brains out like he just had been. You can tell he’s getting close too. He’s trying not to show it but he has a tell that’s a dead giveaway every time. 

“So good for me, letting me do whatever I want to you,” he pants. “So fucking warm and tight and perfect. God, you can never get enough of this cock, can you? Just have to have it all the time.”

“Yes, always!” you agree even though you aren’t entirely sure he’s expecting an answer. 

“That’s my fucking girl.”

You cum unexpectedly, shocking both yourself and your boyfriend. It’s all Minho’s fault, really. He can’t say shit like that and expect you not to gush everywhere. 

He tries to make the most of it by thrusting deep as he fucks you through the orgasm. You clutch him to you, digging your nails into his back as your thighs tighten around his waist. 

The cries of his name and the pulsing of your cunt drive Minho right to the edge and he’s suddenly frantic, whimpering and grunting in your ear as he desperately begs you to say the things he needs to hear.

“Tell me you love me,” he whines. “Please, baby tell me you’re mine.”

“I love you! I love you, baby. I’m yours, I’m yours. ”

It hits him hard- body going tense, eyebrows knitting together, mouth falling open as he cums inside of you. He looks so pretty like that, it’s a view you’ll never get tired of. It’s almost enough to make you cum again. You can feel it, feel his cock throbbing as he fills you up. You hadn’t used condoms with Minho for a long time now, didn’t need to when you were taking twice the typical dose of birth control for your awful periods. And you had been dating for long enough that you could trust each other with something as intimate as this.

Minho gives you and himself a moment to recover before he’s pulling out and rolling off of you. He feels around for one of the washcloths you always kept on the nightstand and finds one, cleaning himself and your thighs off.

“I’ll wet go wet another one with warm water for the actual mess,” he assures you. “Don’t want to use a dry washcloth on that. Your PH balance is already fucked up enough after what we just did.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Can you not say stuff like that until at least twenty minutes after we fuck?”

“You don’t think it’s sexy that your boyfriend cares and is knowledgeable about vaginal health?”

“I do, but I don’t think I would classify the subject as bedroom talk.”

“Agree to disagree.”

It isn’t until you’ve both showered and are laying in bed together that you bring the bet back up. Minho still has about an hour before he needs to be at the JYPE building and he’s trying to spend as much of that time with you as humanly possible. 

“Min, the bet,” you sigh. 

“What about it?”

“You lost. You guys shook on it like... a few hours ago.”

Minho shrugs. “Oh well.”

You sit up, detaching yourself from him to give him a look. 

“What?” he asks. 

“You’re the most competitive person I know..”

He grins. “Thank you.”

“That wasn’t necessarily a compliment, but you’re welcome, I guess. I just mean you’re not even a little upset about being the first out?”

Another shrug. “Meh. You win some, you lose some.”

“Have you told them yet? What did they say?”

“I’m just gonna let them figure it out on their own,” he says. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like.”

You narrow your eyes at your boyfriend as it dawns on you. “You were never going to play, were you?” 

Minho smirks. “Oh, I’m playing. I’m just playing a different game.”

-

“I’m not lying to our friends!”

“It’s not lying! It’s just not telling them.”

“It’s called a lie of omission for a reason, Minho. Because it’s a lie. And what if they straight up ask me about it? What am I supposed to say then?”

“Just change the subject.” “Yeah, because that’ll work fine and not be suspicious at all.”

“Babe, please,” he pleads. 

“It seems mean!”

“It is mean,” he agrees. “But it’s funny.”

“What if they all hate you after this?”

“They contractually can’t hate me. They still have to be in a group with me for the next two years and if we renew then even longer. Besides, this is me getting back at them for volunteering me to MC for Music Core. I was sick the day the representative came around to the company and they all recommended me knowing I wouldn’t want to do it because they thought it would be funny. Next thing I know, I’m in the audition room and they’re telling me I have to wear stupid hats and do aegyo every Saturday-”

“I thought you liked the hats.”

“They’re okay sometimes,” he huffs, refusing to admit what you both know to be true. “But it’s the principle of the thing.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, Mr. Drama King. What do I get in return for participating in your little revenge plot?” 

“What do you want?”

“The rest of the SKZOOs.”

Minho purses his lips, holding back a scoff. The only SKZOO you owned was Leebit, obviously. You actually had a couple of Leebits around your apartment but Minho had jokingly banned you from getting any of the others because, in his words, he was supposed to be your favorite member. 

“Having the others doesn’t mean you’re not my favorite,” you’d argued. “Do you want Leebit to be lonely?”

“Leebit doesn’t need friends,” Minho had insisted. “He’s happier by himself.”

You weren’t convinced but you also didn’t feel like arguing with your very stubborn boyfriend on the subject. You were content with Leebit for the time being- until now, that was. 

“That’s really what you want?” Minho asks. 

“Mhm.”

He sighs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Fine. Deal.”

You grin triumphantly and kiss him on the cheek. “Pleasure doing business.”

“You’re a menace.”

“And that’s why you love me. We’re made for each other.”

-

Your plan was to simply avoid the members and their partners for the entire month. If you didn’t run into them, you wouldn’t have to lie to them. Easy peasy. Right?

“Jisung did what?” you gasp, standing dumbfounded in the middle of your bedroom as your boyfriend gets dressed. 

“Planned a surprise birthday party for me,” Minho repeats.

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s my best friend?”

“But... your birthday was last month. And how is it a surprise party if you already know about it?”

“You know he’s not good at keeping secrets. Or planning ahead.”

You sigh and put your hands on your hips as you watch Minho button his nice dress shirt. 

“Do I have to go?”

He pauses to look up at you. “What do you mean do you have to go? You don’t want to?”

“It’s not that,” you explain, “I’m just worried about someone bringing up your stupid bet and having to lie to them.”

“I’ll do most of the talking,” he assures you. “Just stick by my side.”

Thankfully, the party Jisung had planned was on the smaller side. Only Minho’s closest friends were in attendance which meant that you knew almost everyone there. Han had admittedly outdone himself with the setup, too. You couldn’t even recognize the JYPE ballroom with all of the decorations and lights strung up everywhere. You told him as much when you saw him. 

“If only the guy was actually surprised,” he grumbled to himself, “but thank you. I’m glad you like it.” 

The ‘sticking by Minho’s side’ method only worked when he was actually by your side. Midway through the party, he excuses himself to go talk to one of his friends, leaving you to fend for yourself until he returns. 

“Oh my god, I feel like it’s been forever!” a familiar voice echoes from behind you. 

You turn to see Hyunjin’s girlfriend holding her arms out to you for a hug, and quickly reciprocate, briefly wrapping your arms around her in greeting. 

“It’s been too long,” you agree. 

“Where have you been?” she asks. “The other girls have been asking for you.”

“Oh, you know,” you mumble, “work has really picked up lately so I’ve just been swamped.”

It’s not technically a lie, you have been swamped, but you’ve also been actively avoiding your friends at the same time. 

“Ugh, that sucks. It must be so stressful,” she sympathizes, then lowers her voice. “How have you been doing with... you know?”

Fuck. 

You take a deep breath and swallow the guilt that threatens to claw its way up your throat as you scramble to come up with a bullshit answer. “About as well as any of us, I figure.”

“Fucking tell me about it,” she groans. “I nearly killed Hyunjin when he told me about it. I still might.”

You laugh. “If he goes missing, I won’t say anything.”

Suddenly, Minho’s back by your side, his hand resting on the small of your back. He greets Hyunjin’s girlfriend warmly. She wishes Minho a happy birthday and then excuses herself to go find her own boyfriend. 

“What were you two talking about?”

“Who’s asking?” you ask in response. 

“The birthday boy.”

“He has no authority here, sorry.”

Minho’s jaw drops in faux shock. “You’re really not going to tell me?”

“She just asked me how I was holding up through all of this No Nut November bullshit,” you admit.

“Wait, she actually asked you about it?”

“Yes, she actually asked me about it. Girls talk about this stuff.”

He winces and rocks back on his heels. “Damn, I’m sorry, baby.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, just don’t fucking leave me again. What was so important you had to ditch me for in the first place?”

“I went to go say hey to that girl Jeongin likes,” Minho explains, nodding in her direction. 

You look over to where she was now sitting with Jeongin and nod in understanding. “That’s her?”

She was one of the guests you didn’t know super well. You had only seen her at a few group functions and she mostly kept to Jeongin and some of the other younger members. 

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“What did you say to her?”

“I just thought she might be interested to know that her crush on Innie is mutual.”

“What?”

“She likes Jeongin back.”

“No, I know she does.” One of the other girls had told you about Jeongin’s little crush and how the two were practically shooting heart eyes at the other all the time but were completely oblivious. You just hadn’t been able to put a face to the name until now. “How do you know that?”

“It wasn’t hard to figure out,” Minho mutters defensively. 

“But why would you try to meddle in their business? Shouldn’t you let them figure it out for themselves?”

“If I didn’t interfere they’d never act on their feelings,” he argues. 

“And why did you decide to ‘interfere’ now of all times?” you push. 

Minho smirks, knowing you’re on to him. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

You roll your eyes and shove him lightly. “Why are you trying to make him lose? You’re already out so why does it matter?”

“I’m just trying to keep it interesting!”

“You’re being an asshole, is what you’re doing!” 

“You’re hot when you’re mad.”

“Don’t change the subject!”

“What do you say we get out of here?” he suggests, completely ignoring what you’d just said. 

“You can’t leave your own birthday party early!”

“Says who?”

“It would be rude, Minho.”

“Fine, then let’s find a closet or something.”

“You really want to fuck like twenty feet away from everyone you’re up against for No Nut November?”

He shrugs. “Who doesn’t like a little challenge?”

-

Jeongin loses next, then Hyunjin. Changbin follows not long after, then Chan, then Felix. All the while, you continue to have sex with Minho. He comes over a lot more often, fucking you in every room of your apartment and then falling asleep in your bed just to go again in the morning. 

You can’t risk being at the dorms because neither of you are very good at keeping your hands off of each other, but you don’t want to raise suspicion by not being around so you drop by a couple of times throughout the month under the guise of bringing Minho dinner or picking him up for date night.

When the boys ask about you, Minho gives them the same excuse you’d told Hyunjin’s girlfriend about work. They don’t pry, thankfully, probably too intimidated by your boyfriend to invoke your name more than once every three to five business days. Minho could be a little possessive at times, even around the friends he’d known longer than he had known you, and that was working in your favor this month. 

The other six having lost meant that Seungmin was the only one left standing. Technically, he had already won. But he doesn’t know that. Only you and Minho know that. 

You expect Minho to tell him the good news as soon as Felix announces his failure, but he doesn’t.

“November isn’t over yet,” he points out.

“You’re just going to let Minnie suffer?”

“He’ll be fine.”

“He’s going to kill you.”

“Probably.”

-

Minho feels a little bad about having you lie on his behalf, but not bad enough to stop you from doing it. You’re just as much of a little jerk as he is, which is why he knew you’d agree in the first place. Sure, your moral compass is a bit more aligned than his, but that’s what makes you such a great pair. You’re there to reign him in when he goes too far, and he’s there to push your boundaries. 

“You’re having fun, aren’t you?” he asks when you come back from a girls brunch all giddy and breathless. 

You hadn’t even wanted to go in the first place to save yourself from lying to them all morning but Seungmin’s girlfriend had begged you to, seeing as you were the only two whose boyfriend’s hadn’t caved and therefore weren’t getting laid like the other girls were.

You didn’t want to leave her hanging like that, so you went. And now, you’re practically glowing with adrenaline as you recount the last two hours to Minho.

“I said that you won’t even touch me,” you exclaim, making Minho’s smile falter. “And that you’ve resorted to sleeping on the couch when you stay over so you don’t accidentally get too close to me in your sleep.”

He scoffs. “Did you have to make me sound like a total fucking loser?”

“Would you rather I have told the truth?”

“Okay, okay, you’re right. Thank you for doing that.”

You take a seat on Minho’s lap and hum happily. “You’re welcome.”

-

When the clock strikes midnight on December first, Minho’s surprised by the radio silence from Seungmin’s end. 

“Do you think he’s asleep?” he asks you. 

“Maybe he’s fucking his girlfriend into oblivion,” you suggest with a shrug. “I hope he is for her sake. Poor girl was desperate for dick.” 

Minho isn’t really sure how to respond to that so he doesn’t. He just hums in acknowledgment and turns the lamp by your bedside off so that your room is doused in darkness. You pat his thigh comfortingly under the blankets. 

“We’ll find out tomorrow, babe.”

“I guess we will.”

Seungmin doesn’t text the groupchat until the afternoon, hours after Chan’s texted asking who won. Minho shows you the texts and you read over his shoulder as the messages roll in. 

Kim Seungmin SKZ: lost an hour or two before midnight. congrats minho. 

Lee Felix SKZ: minho won??? Why am i not surprised at all lol

Hwang Hyunjin SKZ: I think we all saw this coming.

Hwang Hyunjin SKZ: pun intended.

Bang Chan SKZ: so where are you going to take your gf?

Minho: actually, you all should congratulate Seungmin.

Bang Chan SKZ: what?

Hannie: what? did you lose yesterday afternoon or something?

Seo Changbin SKZ: ???

Minho: I was the first to lose. 

The groupchat is silent for a single beat before it starts blowing up with messages from all of the members furiously cursing Minho out. He laughs as he scrolls through them. 

Bang Chan SKZ: all in favor of voting lee know out of the group?

Kim Seungmin SKZ: i think it’s unanimous.

Minho: Relax, Minnie. You won. You’re getting the trip. 

Kim Seungmin SKZ: RELAX? YOU’RE GOING TO TELL ME TO FUCKING RELAX??? I COULD HAVE BEEN FUCKING MY GIRLFRIEND THREE DAYS AGO AFTER FELIX LOST BUT NOOO YOU THINK YOU’RE SO FUNNY MAKING THE REST OF US LOOK LIKE IDIOTS

Yang Jeongin SKZ: i mean it is kind of funny

Hannie: you’re not mad innie?

Yang Jeongin SKZ: i was out second... or i guess technically third so i was never going to win anyway. minho got me a girlfriend out of this so i can’t really complain too much

Minho: Listen, I’m happy to be the sole contributor to Minnie’s vacation since I was the one to orchestrate all this. The rest of you can donate to that nonprofit we talked about at the beginning of the month. I’ll make a donation too obviously but don’t worry about the trip.

Kim Seungmin SKZ: I don’t want your pity money

Minho: it’s not pity money, it’s sorry for being an asshole money

Seo Changbin SKZ: if he doesn’t want it, i’ll take it

Kim Seungmin: don’t you fucking dare

Minho: anyway, if you guys are done bitching I’m going to go spend some time with my girlfriend now. I hope you’ve all learned your lesson.

Hwang Hyunjin SKZ: our lesson???

Lee Felix SKZ: wym?

Bang Chan SKZ: oh don’t tell us you’re still mad about that

Minho: not anymore. we’re even now.

Minho puts his phone down on the counter as soon as it starts to ring with a call from Seungmin. He swipes the decline icon and turns his attention to you. 

“Was it worth it?” you ask. 

He opens his mouth to answer but his phone rings again, cutting him off. It’s a call from Chan this time. He declines it and turns the phone off completely so that no one else can bother the two of you. 

He leans forward and kisses you hard, taking your bottom lip between his teeth as his hands settle on your ass. 

“Was it worth it?” he repeats, smirking. “I’d do it again in a fucking heartbeat.”

sorry again for the wait- as you all know i've been going through a lot lol

nnn tags: @doesthismeannothingtoyou @yellowroses-world @allyoops @thelostverse @karlitaburrito @lydataylorsversion @septemberkisses @caticorn61 @multifandomtrash-dree @cixrosie @mchslut @cutiequokka @fairygemss @multistancheck @lady---boner @stay-bi @compersian @raspbinniecreme @skzgallll @strawberriesandknives @laylasbunbunny @goddessofhiddenpleasures @brit97 @jonaticdragon @linobuns @vampcharxter @skizzel @sillyrabbit76 @sahazzy @kpfly @zerefdragn331 @wonuziex @sirleeknow @ashcapybara

[joelscruff]

forget my charms (dave york x f!reader) 18+

a/n finally watched equalizer 2 and he's been living in my mind rent free! i don't really know what this is tbh, it was kind of a challenge to myself to try and write a drabble because i'm notoriously bad at keeping fics short & sweet. so i'm not sure how i feel about the lack of real story here but we go anyway! enjoy & please be sure to read the warnings! summary: your new boss gives you a memorable first day. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: fingering, lap sitting, power imbalance, infidelity, unprotected p in v (doggy), creampie, finger sucking, dirty talk, praise kink, tie used as a gag word count: 1.5k

You only met him this morning. It had been brief, his office just one stop of many on your guided tour the first day of your new job. Your co-worker had tapped lightly on his door, opened it a crack and told him he should come meet the new hire. Your stomach had turned when you'd heard him sigh deeply on the other side - you were already feeling out of place, more than a little like a fish out of water, and the concept of disrupting the boss on the first day wasn't appealing in the slightest.

But he'd been gracious. He'd come to the door and opened it wider, stood beneath the arch with an appraising little smile on his lips as he looked at you. It had been memorable, the way he'd taken your hand in his large palm and squeezed, peering at you with something attentive in his eyes, almost... intrigued. Welcome, he'd told you, it's lovely to meet you.

And now, only hours later, his fingers are in your pussy.

Pumping slow and deep, rhythmic and filthy as you lounge in his lap with your legs wide and your head resting languidly against the heat of his neck. He's got your skirt pulled up, one big hand spread firm over your trembling belly while he fucks you with his middle and index. The flickering blue of his computer monitor is your only source of light, showering his office in a dim glow.

You whimper and his fingers still, lodged deep inside your heat. He hushes you softly, strokes your tummy with his thumb and leans back slightly in his chair.

"Shh, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice low and husky, "Don't want the night crew to know what we're doing in here, now do we?"

No, you certainly don't. Can't even imagine what the reaction would be were anyone from the office to know you're being fingered by the boss on your first day. You bite down on your lip and lean back into his lap, look down with hooded eyes as he slowly resumes the slow plunge of his fingers. They're so thick, coated in a clear gloss of your release that glows blue in the light. He places his thumb on your clit, applies pressure, and you let out another pathetic whimper.

"Ohh, poor thing," he admonishes gently, "You want something in your mouth to help you stay quiet?" his hand comes up to brush against your face, "Hm? You need something to suck on?"

Your brain feels empty but you nod anyway, eyelashes fluttering as he wastes no time in slipping the middle and index of his left hand past the wetness of your lips. You suck immediately, closing your eyes and feeling them roll behind your lids as he fucks two of your holes at once, just taking, using.

Is this why I'm here, you can't help but think to yourself, did I only get this job so he could play with me like some kind of doll?

You can't quite believe you're even in this situation. You'd stayed late in order to make a good impression, still had some things you needed to figure out at your desk anyway. Everyone else had slowly trickled out of the office, until you'd realized all that remained was you and Mr. York. He'd smiled at you through the open blinds of his office, leaning back in his chair with his legs wide and his arms stretched behind his head. He'd brought one down when your eyes had met, crooked his finger as if to say, Come here for a minute.

You'd gotten up from your desk and entered his office, anxiety building in the pit of your stomach. You'd hoped you weren't about to be reprimanded for something you thought would impress him.

But he didn't reprimand you. He didn't mention the fact that you were staying late, didn't ask about how the job was treating you, if there was anything you needed, no. Instead, he'd looked you up and down again with that assessing, calculative stare and murmured, "Can you come sit in my lap for a little while, sweetheart?"

You suppose you could've said no. Probably should have, actually. That would have been the most logical thing to do - slam the door and quit your job, maybe even sue for harassment. Anyone else probably would have. But you'd taken one look at his crotch, seen the noticeably thick shape that bulged against his thigh, and realized he'd been sitting there watching you for who knows how long. He'd gotten that hard just from looking, assessing.

Fuck it.

"There you go," he breathes softly now, peering at you with dark and imploring eyes as he fucks your mouth and pussy, "That's a good girl, honey, I know," his brow furrows when you whine around his fingers, "I know, baby. You're doing so good."

He rocks you in his lap like you belong there, and it's impossible not to feel the way his clothed cock throbs against your ass. You want to see it so badly, want to touch it, taste it - but he doesn't give you the opportunity. Instead, he circles his thumb against your clit until you're shaking in his arms, hands gripping anything you can reach - the chair, your knee, his wrist. Your orgasm rolls through you and his fingers muffle the sound of your whines, your gasps, until your bones feel like jelly and your heart has slowed. He stills his movements again and lazily pulls all four fingers out of you, watches you breathe deeply and fall back against him with goosebumps rising on your skin.

"Get up now, baby. Bend over the desk for me," he tells you in that low voice, "Show me your pussy."

You pull yourself out of his lap on extremely shaky legs but obey his orders, inching forward a little to position yourself against his desk. You can feel his eyes on you as you reach back and pull yourself apart for him, show him where his fingers have invaded and explored, opened you up and made you drool.

"Juicy little thing," you hear him murmur, and then his belt buckle is jangling and you know what comes next. Legs still trembling, you keep holding yourself open and push yourself further down onto the desk, skirt pulled high and panties still hanging off one of your ankles.

He's filling you up in no time at all, cock plunged deep to the hilt and so much bigger than you'd anticipated. His tip kisses a spot inside of you that you're not sure anyone's ever been able to reach, and against your own volition you moan, low and long, full of pleasure and desperation.

You hear him tsk somewhere above you, "You really can't stay quiet can you?" He says it softly but it's full of condescension, like it's starting to genuinely bother him. Before you can apologize he's reaching down for something, still bottomed out completely inside of you as his arms and hands seem to do something out of sight. A few seconds later his blue polka dotted tie appears in front of your face, and then he's carefully settling the soft material between your lips, pulling back and tying it meticulously behind your head. A makeshift gag.

"Gotta learn to be quiet when I fuck you, okay?" he breathes, raspy and dark as he slowly pulls his cock from your pussy, only to feed it back to you again just as slow, "You don't want us to get in trouble, do you?"

No, sir, you want to whisper, but you can't. All you can do is nod slightly and grip the desk when he starts to fuck you in earnest, thrusting deep and hard before pulling out and doing it all over again. Your thighs quiver and shake against the cool wood, and as you lay there and let him take, you spot something out of the corner of your eye.

A framed picture of a family - his family.

You avert your eyes, turning your head slightly to see where his left hand is gripping your shoulder as he fucks you - you spot the wedding ring immediately. Christ.

But you don't stop it. You don't push him away, you don't leave. Even though you probably should. Even though the logical part of your brain is screaming at you that what's happening really shouldn't be, especially now that you know he's a married man.

You just let him use you. You let him fuck and fill you until he's gripping your hair in his fist and his cock is spasming and pulsing inside of you. You let him release his entire load inside your pussy, bare and messy. And then you let him pull you into his chair, tug the tie from your mouth and situate you back in his lap, still impaled on his cock.

Neither of you speak for a solid minute. He catches his breath while you try not to look at the photograph, to forget its existence entirely.

"The last one quit the first day," you hear him mumble, voice edged with tiredness, "But you won't, will you?" He thrusts shallowly inside of you, holds you against his chest as his cum starts to leak out and dribble down the hefty shape of his balls. "You'll let me do this, huh?"

What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

[astraystayyh]

Invisible Thread- two.

This is the second and final part of Invisible Thread. Here is the link to part one.

pairing: minho x reader. pre-established relationship. reader has she/her pronouns.

genre: fluff and domesticity. angst. healing. characters trying to become better. humans being humans.

cw: parent death. grief. talk about death. allusion to sex but no smut. suggestive at one tiny part but it's for the plot.

summary: In which Minho rewrites your entire relationship with love.

word count: 17k

a.n: this is, i hope, a gentle reminder to always be kind to yourself, and to the people surrounding you. this one is pretty personal because i see myself a lot in yn, but it was also challenging since i wrote about things i have never experienced either. so i hope you'll enjoy reading, and that the second part will live up to your expectations. it took me a long time to write this but it's okay!! English isn't my first language and this was also a reminder to be patient with myself. thank you. i love you all. truly. feedback is highly appreciated, as always <3

(here is a Spotify playlist i made for this second part, you can listen to it while reading if you'd like :))

Love. How lucky yet cursed we are to ever experience it.

The fear attached to this singular emotion seems ridiculous. Because we aren't afraid of experiencing anger, sadness, or nervousness. They might overwhelm us, but we accept them, we recognize them as they are and then we cope with them. Whichever way we know best.

But when love comes knocking on our door, we stray away from it, we try to shape it into something else- much gentler on the soul, less devastating if it were ever not reciprocated.

So, we name it a crush, attachment, infatuation; anything but the cursed four-lettered word- anything but love. As though merely acknowledging it would morph it into a sharp-edged sword, eternally wedged within us, making our blood dribble away slowly and with it, our souls awash.

You are no exception. Love has terrified you for the better part of your life. There was a time when the word did slip easily from your mouth, back when you were a child and your view of the world was still naive, undisturbed by what you now know. You loved ice cream, you loved candy, you loved your teacher who braided your hair.

But then the once light word grew heavy on your tongue. Because love is what made you crave your mother's warmth, only to find coldness awaiting you. It is love that made you seek shelter elsewhere, in the fleeting opinions of the people surrounding you, hanging your entire worth on the words they uttered about you- ones they forgot within hours but you carried for years.

But this view of yours got dismantled, slowly, day by day. You’ve come to learn that it isn't love that had hurt you, it was rather the lack of it.

It cannot be love that wound when it is the emotion swimming in your eyes, whenever they rest on Minho. You didn't dare say it to him, to name the feeling out loud. You were petrified that if it was ever out in the open, then the love would materialize into something tangible, and the universe would snatch it away, as it has done before with everything you've ever wanted.

But although you didn't say it, you felt it, deep within each one of your atoms. It spilled from you like infinite ink, rewriting your entire relationship with love, dismissing every wrong notion you've once established about it.

Love cannot hurt because you love Minho, and you'd hurt yourself before ever hurting him.

But maybe none of you would have to hurt. Maybe for once, you'd both be okay. That's what you'd like to believe as Minho's shoulders brush against yours. You are sitting at your usual table at Limbo, a gray cat sprawled on top of your laps. Finals ended three weeks ago. Summer break is here, the one time you've been dreading since you came to college. Because everyone is going back to their homes, but you don't have one to head back to.

"What will you do this summer?" Minho suddenly asks, putting down his iced americano. You scratch the cat's ears beside you gently- Lilia you've decided to name her. "I don't really have plans."

"Would you like to go camping?"

"With you?"

"I mean, unless you have another secret boyfriend, then yes, with me."

"Shut up," you giggle, swatting his arm playfully. "I'd really like that," you smile softly at him, to which he nods. "Oh, and we still need to celebrate your win this term."

"Mm. Let's just call it a date this time," he grins, taking a spoonful of the salted caramel cheesecake and bringing it to your mouth. "I need to go visit my family for a few days, and then we can go," he adds.

Sudden guilt floods your being. He had a family he could go to. It was selfish for you to want him to stay, to strip him from this privilege you weren't granted with.

"I don't want you to cut your time short with them for me," you mumble, eyes fixated on Lilia soundly dozing off on his lap. It still astonished you how all animals seemed at ease in Minho's presence. As if they could sense his gentle soul, carefully hidden behind his sarcastic retorts, and cheeky smiles- one you were lucky enough to have been touched with.

"I'm not. I just really wanna go camping," he says nonchalantly, but his hand raises to squeeze your shoulder lightly.

"You should go with them."

"I have a two-person tent in mind, it won't fit the three of us. And I want to come back to you."

His words painted a sweet picture- of him returning home after a long journey, and you were that haven he sought to rest. The idea that he'd discover such solace in you when you struggled to find it within yourself, seemed unfathomable to you.

So, you bite your lower lip slightly, before squeezing his knee in gratitude. "Okay. I'll be waiting."

✹✹✹

Blue and orange flames surge higher under the wind. You watch, mesmerized as their light dances upon Minho's skin, painting him with glistening, golden hues. Every feature of his face is chiseled to perfection, as if a sculptor spent hours perfecting his face, down to the tiniest detail. He looked in his element here, setting up your tent and grilling the meat and now looking up at the sky, a chilled lemonade in his hand. You should go camping more often.

Minho places his empty can of cola on the ground, before tapping his lap. "Come here," he smiles and you oblige, rising from your chair and settling on his thighs. You tuck your knees to your chest, curling yourself entirely in his hold. His arms encircle your body, making sure you don't slip down. You close your eyes, as Minho gazes up at the night sky before you. You are comfortable and safe. It is that safety that you've craved for so long. To be held and not fear the threat of a knife behind your back.

It still surprised you, how you came to crave Minho's presence. But it went beyond just being near him; you felt as if you needed to touch him, as if verifying his existence, ensuring he wasn't an ephemeral specter slipping through your fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass. Yet, even more surprising was Minho's own yearning for you. His hands were always drawn to you, subtly grazing your face, resting on your palm, skimming your shoulders. Each tentative touch filled an echoing void within you, slowly diminishing it until all that remained were faint whispers of it.

Minho has cared for you, long before he understood you. He saw snippets and fragments of you, and he cared for the patched-up version he made up in his mind. And when you unlocked your heart for him, he only cherished it even more, silently molding his behavior so he wouldn't cross any of your boundaries.

He was hesitant at first, in holding your hands and kissing your lips. He still asks for permission, in that gentle voice of his, to touch you, in case you’re uncomfortable. Which you aren’t, because his hands on you are infused with care, fingertips dripping with unguarded attention and softness, for you.

You sigh contently, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck as his arms tighten around you. Comfortable and safe.

"What's your favorite word?" he suddenly inquires and you giggle slightly. He often asks you these random questions, as though he wished to understand you in the most ordinary of ways and to care for you in each.

"I think it's the word soft. Whoever thought of the word really nailed it. Nothing else could have depicted softness like this one."

"The word does sound really pillowy, and gentle."

"See, I really love gentle too! Why is the word gentle so gentle? Does that make sense?" Laughter tings your question as he grins, his nose brushing lightly against yours.

"It does. They both remind me of you, actually."

"Really?"

"Mm. You're still so soft and gentle, despite it all... If they ever tell me there is one kind person left on this earth, I'd come looking for you."

Sudden tears flood your eyes as a shaky exhale leaves your lips. It felt rewarding, in a sense, to have someone acknowledge the strength it takes to be kind, in a world that had dealt you nothing but harshness.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Anything."

"Sometimes..." you pause, racking your brain for the best way to word this. "Sometimes it scares me how much I've come to care for you. How you make opening up not sound as daunting as before."

You grab his hand into yours, fidgeting with his fingers. The familiarity of their touch helps you calm down. "I'm not saying you'll hurt me. I just... I can't help this tiny voice in the back of my mind telling me to be cautious. It's gotten quieter, but it's still there."

"That's just your past selves trying to protect you," he smiles softly at you, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. "When I told you I'll be here, for as long as you'll have me, I meant it. Doubts and all."

"But I don't want to be closed off anymore," you admit. "It's very lonely that way."

"I know it is, love. But it's what you knew best back then, hm? You shouldn't feel bad about it, you did what you had to do to protect yourself. I'm just here to protect you too now."

"You think I can no longer do it myself?" you tease, your hand threading through his silky hair.

"Of course, you still can. But two shields are better than one. Also, this is exactly why I work out."

"Will your muscles protect me from my mind?" you giggle and he nods proudly. "Have you seen these?" he flexes his arms, before snorting, a bit shyly, eyes squinting closed. He's saying nonsense to make you laugh, and it's warming your heart beyond belief.

"I think these should just stay wrapped around me," you grin, guiding his arms around your back once again.

"No complaints," he smiles, as you settle against his chest. He places a soft kiss on the top of your head and you close your eyes. Safe and comfortable- Minho.

✹✹✹

Summer has been kind to you. Or maybe it was you who has been kind to summer, your laughter filling its air until it could do nothing but mirror your happiness.

Summer tasted like love with Minho by your side. In clementines he peeled for you, feeding you each slice with a soft smile on his face. In spontaneous bike rides at six am, to chase sunrises you've never witnessed before him. In numerous books he bought so you’d read them to him, his head on your lap, a tranquil expression coloring his face. And although the months have all been sweet, there are two days that you remember particularly.

You don't mark up the time with dates, but rather with the new feelings Minho bestowed upon you- the first time you wanted someone to stay, and they did.  

"Baby?" Minho’s hand brushes against your shoulder and you startle, turning around to look at him. "Are you okay? You zoned out."

"I’m fine," the rehearsed lie slips from your mouth, long before you could think about it. A ping of guilt swarms your heart, you’ve promised yourself that you’d tell Minho about your true feelings, even if he couldn’t help you with them.

"Are you sure? You haven’t said a word since I came over..." He quickly glances at his watch, "Three hours ago."

"I’m sorry," you mumble, your thoughts swarming your head once again. You felt horrible for wasting his time. He had better things to do than sit with you in silence.

"I’m not asking you to apologize," he says cautiously as if he’s aware he’s threading along a dangerous line. You stay silent and he shuts his eyes closed, hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I just want you to be honest."

"I am."

"Are you, really?"

"What do you want from me?" you ask a bit breathlessly. You don’t know what you are saying, but you can sense your walls building up, higher than you could ever reach them.

"You’re clearly not fine and I-"

"I am trying, okay? I’m trying, please." You plead; you’re unsure for what exactly. For him to stop prodding, because you don’t have answers for him, not yet. Not when you haven’t understood it yourself.

"I'm going for a walk," he says, abruptly standing. You stay frozen in your place, as he quickly slips his shoes on, before leaving your apartment. You’re trying and it isn’t enough for him.

You don’t move from your place as time slowly trickles by. The seconds morph into minutes and suddenly it’s been an hour and a half since Minho left. There is a tantalizing fear making you stay put as if you ever dare to move a limb, then the stillness would be shattered and Minho wouldn’t come back.

It’s hard to reroute your brain entirely- old habits creep up on you swiftly, and suddenly you’re pulled back into the old you, woven into the web of horrible thoughts stitching all around you. Change feels sweet, with Minho, it feels like hope and the taste of a new beginning, but it is scary and different. And the familiarity of what you were before him calls your name from time to time. It was horrible and lonely, but there were no surprises in it. You knew what to expect at all times.

You could’ve told him that you weren’t feeling good, that you didn’t feel like talking and Minho would’ve understood. Because this isn’t the first time this happened, and it happens to him too sometimes. So, he understands, more than anyone you know. But instead, you lied and denied and Minho left. And you can’t blame it on anyone but yourself.

You grab your phone, its sudden light burning your eyes. You blink repeatedly, as you dial Minho’s number. It rings and it rings, then it goes to voicemail. You try again, through blurry vision. It doesn’t even ring this time- straight to voicemail.

Minho’s left. He’s had enough. You can’t blame him.

Three swift knocks resound loudly on your door. You don’t remember reaching the doorknob, your body’s moving on autopilot, but you pull it open. Minho. Your hold on the handle tightens until your knuckles turn white. You can’t look at him, you don’t want to see his face as he leaves you.

"Why are you crying?" he whispers, dainty fingers gently wiping away your tears.

"Don’t go. Not you too," you manage to utter, and you hear Minho suck in a deep breath, before pulling you tightly to his chest.

"What are you talking about?" he says, as he buries your head in the crook of his neck. The familiar scent of his cologne washes over you- you’ve memorized its earthy notes by heart now, easily recognizable between a thousand smells.

"You've been away for two hours and I called and you- you didn’t pick up. I thought you wouldn’t come back."

"My phone died while I was outside and I lost track of time, and- please don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry." He leans away, cupping your cheek delicately. "Im here, you see? Let’s go on a walk, hm?"

"You were just out," you mumble and he smiles at you. "I wanna go with you."

Minho takes off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. He leads you outside, still clad in the bunny slippers he randomly bought you a week ago. His hand is warm in yours. His hand wouldn’t be warm if he was leaving you.

You walk in silence to the park near your home, and Minho sits you down on an empty bench. Your tears are dried up by now, cheeks cold from the night breeze; and his hand is still in yours.

"Chan didn’t leave our dorm for three days." He starts, clearing his throat. "He’s overworking himself, doesn’t even eat the food I make him. And I tried to tell him to take a break today. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t convince him. He’s probably still working on his music right now," he chuckles, but there is no trace of humor in the sound. "And then I come to you and you’re not okay. And I want to help but suddenly I’m pressuring you. And you’re trying, so hard and you’re doing so well and I’m pressuring you instead of helping. And I failed at being there for you both. What good I am if I’m not there for the people I lo- care about?"

"Don’t say that, please. You are good enough. More than enough," you cup his cheek, pressing his forehead on yours. "You’re always here. Don’t ever doubt that. I’m sure Chan appreciates everything you do for him."

"And you?" he asks, tone coated in such raw vulnerability that it knocks the breath out of you. At that moment, Minho was a plain hill, devoid of hidden nooks and crannies- nowhere for him to guard his emotions from you.

"Do you remember that night, when I asked you how I can help you feel yellow?" you ask after a while, and he nods, repetitive blinks rythming his silence. "I used to think that happiness was yellow, that sudden joy that drowns out the world around you. And I wanted to always feel yellow, the highest of highs. But that could only lead to another low, another extreme. I’ve since learned that true happiness is feeling peace when you lay in bed at night…  And for your heart to beat soundly from contentment."

"I remember feeling this way only once, a long time ago. I woke up to see the sunrise, but I was a bit late to it, so I missed the orange and the pink," you chuckle slightly, as the distant memory floods you. "But I saw the blue, this really soft blue, and as I looked at it a strange sense of serenity washed over me. As if, as long as I looked at that pastel blue, I’d be alright. And now…" You smile softly, your thumb delicately grazing his cheek, Now, I can just look at you. You are my blue."

Minho’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as he looks at you, mouth slightly hung agape. You giggle quietly, before patting his head gently. "Thank you for staying," you whisper, and a sudden smile breaks out on Minho’s face. It’s so radiant- as if every star in this galaxy was ground to fine dust and then sprinkled into it. You can’t admire it for long since Minho crashes his mouth on top of yours, drawing you in for a kiss that leaves you breathless afterward.

"You know I had a really nice dream yesterday," he finally whispers against your lips, a newfound lightness in his voice. "I think this is the first time where my reality is much sweeter."

✹✹✹

The first time you felt loved, truly.

It’s a couple of days into August when Chan tells you that he has signed up with a producing agency- it’s a huge step for him, one he’s been rambling about each time you met him for the past few months. So now you’re over at his and Minho’s dorm, attempting to bake a congratulatory cake for Chan. It was Minho’s idea, one he mumbled into your ear nonchalantly, as if he didn’t wake up really early to scout all the ingredients you might need.

"Why is baking so much harder than cooking?" Minho whines, burying his head dramatically in the crook of your neck. You giggle, patting his back in faux sympathy.

"So, you're admitting you're not good at everything?" you tease and he straightens up instantly, brows furrowed as he looks at you.

"I didn't say I'm not good at it. I said it's harder than cooking," he drawls out and you hum in reply, a teasing "sure, sure" escaping your mouth.

"Do you know how to crack an egg with one hand? That's the cue that you're a great baker."

"Why would I when I have two hands?" you chuckle and he smiles cheekily, raising his eyebrows at you. "Well, I can do it."

"Fine," you huff, grabbing an egg onto your hand. "Teach me?" you smile sweetly and he grins satisfied, "Of course."

"Here, you just need to crack the egg gently into the side of the bowl. And then lodge your finger inside, slowly pulling the shell apart. Like this," he demonstrates and you nod in understanding.

"Your turn," he smiles and you follow his instructions, tongue poking against your cheek in utmost concentration.  

"Min look! I did it" You grin widely, turning around to show him the egg now dropped into the bowl.

"You did! I’m proud of you," he smiles, placing a tender kiss on your temple. You pause, the egg’s shell still tightly clutched in your hand. You didn’t drop it into the bowl, and someone’s proud of you for it.

 It’s late into the night, and your stomach is aching from laughing for hours on end. Your plates of cake are on the ground, with only crumbs left on top of it. Minho invited two of Chan’s closest friends over- Felix and Han, so now you’re all playing rounds of Uno, and the poor freckled boy is losing each time.

"This isn’t fair," Felix whines, before stealing a bite of the leftover cake on the table. "This is really good by the way," he compliments and you giggle, turning around to point at Minho, only to find him already looking at you, a soft smile on his face.

"It’s all him," you say, and Chan gets his face impossibly close to your boyfriend’s, a teasing smile on his face. "You love me so much."

"I don’t. Get back," Minho pushes his face away, but you can tell he’s lying, from the fond smile threatening to spill over his mouth.

"Sure," Chan sing-songs, before turning to look at you. You wink at him and he ruffles your hair affectionately, as he always does when he wants to tease you. "Thank you for the cake, yn."

"You’re welcome," you grin as an unfamiliar warmth spread through your chest. Is this how it feels to have a family? People you care for and who care about you in return?

Minho notices the sudden bittersweet expression etched on your face, so he grabs your pinky in his hand, squeezing it slightly. You turn your palm around, before blindly intertwining your fingers with his- something you’ve gotten much better at lately.

"We’ll get going," Han announces when it’s nearly midnight, as he and Felix both get up from the floor. "Sure you don’t want to come to the party?" Chan asks, eyes trained on you and Minho.

"Yeah, we’ll stay the night."

You stand up as well, following Chan to the door and stopping him before he leaves. "You don’t mind me staying the night, right? It’s your dorm too, so I should ask."

"Of course not. You can come over whenever, even if Minho isn’t here. You don’t ever have to ask me, okay?"

"Okay, thank you, Chan," you beam at him, relief coursing through you at his words.

Soon enough, the dorm is silent, and it’s only you and Minho once again. You go to clean up but Minho pulls you by your hand, ushering you toward his bedroom. "Let's leave it to tomorrow," he says, and his voice sounds like warm candle wax dripping down on you. You can’t say no.

You find that he’s already prepared a pair of pajamas for you, spread out nicely on the bed- his grey shirt and a pair of shorts he has apparently overgrown.

"You'll find a box there, under the sink, it’s for you," he announces, as you walk into the bathroom to change. It’s filled with anything you might ever need, tissues and makeup removal and pads and medicine, and your cherry shampoo.

"When did you prepare this?" you ask as you open the door wide for him. He peeks his head inside, eyes softening when they take a glimpse at your figure - wearing his shirt, in his bathroom.

"A month ago, or so. Just in case you ever needed to stay the night." He's so thoughtful, you're starting to believe that the word was molded after him. "Is it enough? do you need something else?" he asks tentatively and you shake your head, squeezing his hand lightly. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"Of course. let's brush our teeth?" he smiles and you nod, grabbing the blue toothbrush he bought for you. He squeezes some toothpaste into it, and your eyes meet in the mirror. You can feel a blush creep up your face, to match the tip of his ears turning pink. It felt innocent to blush at the mere act of brushing your teeth together- at the domesticity of it, and the future hopes that lay within it.  

Minho washes his face with his cleanser and you do the same. He suddenly hoists you up the bathroom counter, before standing between your legs. his arms cage your body, as his doe brown eyes look up at you. "Do my skincare for me," he pouts and you giggle, diligently taking the moisturizer and applying it to his face.

You take your time, massaging it into his skin, rubbing soothing circles on his cheeks and the tender skin under his eye. His eyes close at your touch, body leaning forward and pressing onto your legs. You grab his lip balm, applying it evenly to his puckered lips, and then you kiss him. Softly, tenderly, hands going up and down his arms. His own find your waist, encircling it, thumbs skimming your sides.

You lean away, a giddy smile on your face. "Thank you for the lip balm," you say, before kissing the tip of his nose.

Minho's room smells like clean laundry and vanilla, courtesy of the candle he lit up. You've been here before, but this is your first time sleeping on his bed. He goes in first, before beckoning you in. You lay down on his silky pillow, your hair fanning all around you. Some strands of it go into your mouth, and you giggle faintly as you pull them away.

"Here," he says, leaning over your body and opening the drawer next to you. He takes out a hair tie, and a faint memory dances around in your mind- you tying up his hair at the convenience store near Limbo.

"You kept it?" you question incredulously, voice coming out in a faint whisper.

"I did," he says simply as if it's ridiculous for you to expect otherwise. "Can I tie it up for you?" he asks and you nod.

His fingers gather your hair, making sure no strands of it are escaping. They're magical, relieving every tension you have in your body. You feel him twisting the tie around, securing your hair in a low ponytail.

"All done." his voice is quiet, and so is the kiss he presses onto your shoulder.

You both lay down, facing each other. It's silent but it no longer scares you. Not when your fingers are grazing Minho's palm, tentatively, the way one dips their toes into the water to test its temperature. Your hands are dancing around one another, not yet holding each other, as if engaged in a dance only your body understands. His eyes are locked on yours- a brown shade so mesmerizing you wish you could paint the entire universe with it.

His gaze is always soft when it comes to you, pupils slightly dilated, eyelashes fluttering with each blink. They're so quick you almost can't catch them, as if he unconsciously wants the time in which he looks at you to last longer.

Minho's hand reaches behind you, before pulling the slipping comforter over your body. He tucks it in your sides, and warmth surrounds you everywhere; from him mainly. He's been so attentive to you tonight- a silent care you only truly appreciate when you've experienced a lack of it. It's as if he's pouring years' worth of missed love back into your life, and in return all the love you've held within, never bestowed upon anyone else, has found its sole destination in the man by your side.

Your hand circles his once again, and you watch intently the way your fingers graze one another, delicately, as if skimming on the edge of holding one another. You give in first, intertwining your fingers with Minho’s and squeezing them gently. They fit his perfectly, this is where they're supposed to be.

"I don't know what you’re doing to me," he whispers, his eyes locking onto yours once more. There is a newfound emotion gleaming in his gaze- incredulity, at the depth of his feelings.

"What do you mean?" you question, nuzzling closer to him. Your head finds its rest on his arm and he responds instantly by patting your hair.

"I want to keep buying toothbrushes for you." His voice is hushed and yet it resounds loudly within your being, as if shouted from a sky-high rooftop.

You exhale softly, curling your hand around the back of his neck, and pulling him down gently to your face. You press your lips on top of his, and they move slowly, deliberately, like a painter's careful strokes. Each touch of his lips against yours is there to make you feel something- things that he can't bring himself to say, so he shows.

You finally break apart, dazed from the raw emotions barging into your heart. You then lift your head slightly, planting a tender kiss on his forehead. Minho closes his eyes, as your lips linger in there far longer than necessary. They remain closed even after you pull away, and it is the look on his face that pushes you over the edge. The serenity painted across his features, but particularly, the trust. As if you could mold him however you want and he'd be grateful you ever touched him to begin with.

"I love you," you confess so suddenly, and the words feel foreign yet familiar as they stumble out of your lips. You expect a shift in the universe, a disastrous change as you verbalize this sentiment that's long haunted you. And yet, all that happens is Minho's eyes shimmering as they look at you. And you realize that you aren’t scared he'd twist the words and stab you with them. You know he'd cherish them, even if he didn't feel the same.

"I love you," he says back, a radiant smile lighting up his face, coloring each of his features in unadulterated happiness. Hearing those three words from him made your heart leap in your chest. There is so much more of what you feel that you wish to express. You’ve told him, but you want to show, to press your body to his so the feeling would emit from your heart to his own.

Your hand trails across his chest, and you feel his muscles constrict under your touch. "Can I?" you ask, gazes flickering between his eyes and the hem of his shirt. It's always about permission to you both- permission to touch, to feel, to kiss and the answer is always yes. Yes, yes, yes.

"Please," he whispers, and you tug his shirt quickly over his head. You are a goner after that when his hands caress your skin like you're delicate porcelain. He’s hovering over you, the candle's shadow dancing across his body. Your fingers are tracing every inch of his skin graced by the flickering light, which meant your hands were everywhere, and every touch of yours was mirrored by him. Every kiss he returned ten times fold, every gasp he drank in hungrily, only eliciting a louder one in return.

"Tell me if you’d like to stop," he smiled tenderly down at you, his nose nuzzling against yours. You never felt the need to. And as the night marched forward, you gradually grasped what the poets meant by ‘making love’. You felt as if you were truly making love, as if your every move conjured love in its purest essence between the two of you. The ebb and flow of your bodies served as a spell, heightening your emotions into a raw fervor. It was love that orchestrated your moves, binding you both in a cacophony of sweet sounds, meant for you only to hear.

Minho's gaze remained fixed on yours, as he uncovered parts of you you've never dared to show anyone. It only cemented every feeling you harbored towards him. And the safety. The safety of being in his arms. To be as bare as one could possibly be, and yet to still feel blanketed by his soft eyes on you. 

✹✹✹

Dainty snowflakes coat the outside world in a pristine white blanket. It’s a mesmerizing view, one you’ve grown to be grateful for these past few weeks since it signaled the return of winter, and with it, Minho’s birthday.

It's hard to resent snow when it welcomes the existence of the person you’ve fallen in love with.

The outside might be cold but you wouldn't know, not when you are nestled close to Minho, his legs thrown over your lap. You stare fondly at his figure, too engrossed in eating the birthday cake you’ve prepared for him- a vibrant green frosting and a picture of his three cats printed on top, just like he requested some time ago. You lean in a bit, wiping away a trace of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth. He smiles at you tenderly, angling his head to press a soft kiss on your thumb pad.

There is a growing lump in Minho's throat, but it doesn't suffocate him, since it's formed by your love for him- you remembered what he said about the birthday cake. He was joking, obviously. But the fact that you brought his ridiculous wish to reality warmed him beyond belief.

You rummage a bit in your place, hands tucked under the pillows, and then you take out a purple envelope. "Open it," you say as you place it on top of his lap. Minho puts his plate down, straightening out in his place before looking at you, a curious smile on his face.

"More surprises?" he asks, referring to the gift you’ve already given him- a pair of t-shirts, all with cats and silly scriptures imprinted on them.

"Mm," you hum, as Minho finally opens the envelope. He pauses, as his eyes rack furiously over the content of the letter. "What's this?" he asks dumbfounded, trying to fully grasp the meaning of what he's reading.

"Because of constellations, people often think that stars always live together in a cluster. But oftentimes, they are alone. Or... if they're lucky enough, they get to roam the universe with a partner. They call them a binary star. Like you and me." Emotion simmers beneath your words, and you continue, your voice a gentle undercurrent.

"It's comforting to know that other versions of us are going through this world side by side too. To know that long after we're gone, there would still be two stars discovering the universe together, orbiting around one another. A token of the love we lived." You lift your gaze to meet his, to find him staring in awe at you. You take a mental picture of this moment, adding it to the collection of the ones you already captured of him.

"Our love may not be revolutionary, we're only two humans out of billions that have adored before us. But our love is grand to me. I try..." you bite your lip, reaching out for his hand- it will guide you as you try to speak. "I always try to find the words to describe how much you mean to me, to tell you how much you do to me. I used to always hold my hand out, in the hopes that someone would grab it. But no one did, so I curled it into a tight fist. And I thought it'd stay this way, for the rest of my life. Until you came, and you unclenched my fingers gently, one at a time, and then you grabbed it into yours." Tears are trailing out of your eyes now, but you show no effort to wipe them. Happy tears shouldn't be swept away.

"Thank you for existing, my Minho," you smile softly at him, and he nods, tears brimming in his waterline, cheeks flushed pink at your words. "Thank you for kissing my finger pads and reminding me that there is still softness in this world, all embodied in you." You cradle his cheeks tenderly in your hands, trying your best to let your love seep through your fingertips into his soul.

"I think you've carved yourself into me, carved your name into my heart. Your roots intertwined with mine, and thanks to you, I managed to crack through the hard earth and bloom again. Thank you for making me feel the warm sun again. I was so so cold before you." You whisper the last part, like a sinner's confession, eager for it to be carried away, forgotten.

Minho brings your body to his, as he buries his face in your chest. You can feel slight tremors shaking his body, and you place soft kisses on his shoulder blade- soothing, calming. You are safe in my love for you, they spell out.

"I can't believe you’ve named stars after us," he mumbles against you, and your fingers thread through his hair gently, flattening out stubborn strands of it. "It's nothing," you smile and he shakes his head vehemently. "It's not- it's not nothing to be loved by you. It's everything to me."

He leans away, bringing your head down to press his lips into yours. It tastes sweet from the cake and salty from his tears. It tastes like healing. You both kiss for mere seconds and yet it feels like an eternity to you. As if your mind stretches out time with Minho, knowing how valuable it becomes with him. He presses his lips onto yours one last time, before exhaling softly, melting completely in your hold.

"As long as you're with me, I don't ever need to look at the sky," he whispers. "There are enough stars in your eyes for me."

✹✹✹

It’s late December and the fragrant aroma of hot chocolate fills your apartment. You’re preparing two cups of the cozy drink in your kitchen, while Minho watches you fondly, leaning casually on the doorway.

"Are you just gonna stare at me?" you giggle, turning around to toss him a sly smile.

"Do you need my help making hot chocolate?" he raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, I wouldn't say no to a bit of emotional support."

"Ah, my bad," he playfully bows, walking over to you. Minho gently wraps his arms around your waist, leaning his chin on your shoulder. His bangs tickle the side of your face, akin to the brush of a butterfly’s wing, and a soothing sense of contentment washes over you as he holds you close.

Minho places a soft kiss on your shoulder blade, and the touch sends shivers along your spine. "This is for warming up the milk," he mumbles, adding another kiss to your neck, "and this for mixing in the hot chocolate powder," and a final one to your temple, "and this is for pouring it in cups."

"Why thank you," you giggle, turning around to hand him his cup. "Do you remember what episode we stopped at?"

"37," he replies instantly.

"I think you love this anime more than me," you pout jokingly. "I plead the fifth," he answers solemnly and you chuckle as you both make your way to the couch.

Merely one episode in and you can already tell that Minho is no longer focusing on the show. He’s absently swirling the drink in his hand, his gaze lost within his cup.

"What did the poor hot chocolate do to you?" you smile, a beacon of curiosity piercing through his daze. His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, turning around to look at you sheepishly. "Just zoned out."

"I noticed. What's on your mind?" you ask, lowering the volume of the TV to fully focus on him.

"There is an upcoming dance competition. It's at a regional scale and I'm just... wondering if I should participate."

"You should!" you fervently reply, "You're such a talented dancer. You deserve recognition for your hard work."

"I'll become very busy, though. It's already hard enough to manage this degree," he speaks softly as if he's not fully convinced of this excuse himself.

"I've never seen you as happy as you are when you're dancing. You'll handle it, and I'll be there for you too."

"I should do it, right?" he asks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You really should," you echo, your hand rubbing reassuringly across his arm.

"Okay. I will," he nods, and you beam at him, before pulling him in for a comforting hug.

"On second thought... Everyone will now see how talented my boyfriend is and they will fall in love with you," you playfully muse as you hold him close.

"But everyone's already in love with me," he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Mm, the heartthrob of campus."

"People throw themselves right and left at me, it's exhausting," he sighs, the giddy smile easily heard in his voice.

"Okay, now you're overdoing it," you giggle and he further buries his head in your neck, inhaling the scent of your perfume. "Don't worry," he mumbles quietly, "I'm only ever yours."

As weeks meld into months, your days become a whirlwind of preparation for the dance competition; where each participant is required to create a choreography from scratch, for a song of their choosing. You witness firsthand the immense effort Minho pours into this, just as he does with everything he undertakes. He spent hours upon hours in the university's dance studio, and you were often there with him. While he practiced, you sat in a corner, working on your laptop. He only paused to kiss the top of your head before diving back into his practice.

He chose a song you've never heard before, called Taste. It was mesmerizing to witness him become a vessel for the melody, like an instrument attuned perfectly to the emotions the song tried to convey. His body moved sensually, flowing like fluid water, perfectly controlled by him. Every beat in Taste was matched with a move of his, powerful enough to capture you, gentle enough not to overwhelm you, like the ebb and flow of the waves brushing against the shore.

The first two months slipped through the hourglass of time in a breeze. And although Minho grew busier, you still both managed to carve out time for quick dates. Strolls by the ocean and spontaneous trips to the cinema- outings that helped you recharge fully once again. But the third month coincided with your midterm exams, casting a heavier cloud over both of your lives.

Minho became overwhelmed, quickly, bearing the weight of his two worlds. He was smart, immensely so, he could handle his classes with ease, retaining knowledge faster than anyone you knew. But the day only had twenty-four hours in it, and he couldn't possibly do it all- finding time to practice, study and take care of himself. So, you tried to handle the last part, as best as you could anyways. Exam seasons always took a heavy toll on you- both physically and emotionally. It also didn't help that you went down with a strong flu for two weeks, making your energy levels plummet to zero.

It was only three days before the start of your exams when a soft knock resounded on your door. You opened it to find an exhausted Minho. He’s fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, beads of sweat glistening on his upper brow.

"I'm tired," he whispers, eyes looking absolutely devoid of emotion as they align with yours. You smile softly, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside, "I know."

You lead him to the bathroom and he follows silently. He's so compliant in your hands as if all the energy in his body was sucked out of him. "Bad day?" you ask, as you peel away his blue hoodie.

"Very." He says, voice barely above a whisper.

"It's okay. You're here now," you try to keep your voice just as quiet as you take off the rest of his clothes. You undress quickly as well, before pulling you both to the shower.

Minho rests his forehead on your back, as you check the water temperature. When it's warm enough to feel soothing on his skin, you pull him underneath the jet, and you both stand in there for a while. His head hung low, now buried in the crook of your neck; his breaths growing slower, more even.

"You did well, my Minho," you say, voice threatening to get lost in the sound of the water hitting the tiles, but Minho catches it. He tightens his hold on you in response.

Minho can feel you reaching over and grabbing something from the rack behind him. He recognizes the smell of your shampoo as you pour it in your hands, before lathering it gently on his hair. He almost starts crying right there and then, as your fingers skillfully massage his scalp. You are everywhere, pressed to his body and your hands in his hair, and your cherry scent that’s washing all over him. And the outside world suddenly seems so far away.

You rinse off the shampoo, before grabbing your conditioner and threading it through his hair, making sure that every strand is evenly covered. He shuts his eyes closed, as your hands move to his neck and start massaging it. He's so sore from all the dancing, tired from the studying he has to catch up on. But you’re making him feel okay now, as you unravel his nerves without uttering a word. How do you do it? He wants to ask; how do you always paint his world blue?

Your hands are trailing over his body now, not sensually, just easing the knots in his muscles. You're spreading body wash all over him, and his eyes are still closed, as he feels you place tender kisses on his soapy skin. ‘I love you', your voice reaches him like a faraway lullaby, 'you've been working so hard', 'I'm proud of you'; and your comforting words morph into hot tears lodged into his waterline, begging for an escape.

You finally turn the water off, before pulling him outside and wrapping a towel around his waist. He sits idly on the edge of the bed, as you quickly put on your clothes, before walking over to him. You help him wear his pajamas, the ones he's left in your apartment since he often stays the night. He can't move a limb, but you're doing it in his place- as if the life in you was blown into him, and he's only breathing thanks to you.

Once you’re both fully clothed, you sit behind Minho on the bed, legs on either side of his body. You grab a towel you warmed in advance and begin to gently dry his hair with it, patting each strand with care. As soon as you're done, Minho turns around, nestling his head against your stomach. You let him, hands rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"I already told you, but I'm very proud of you," you say, head lowered so he'd be able to hear you. "I'm so amazed by your strength and hard work. You inspire me a lot, Min. Just keep on going, and if you need a break, you can rest by my side, okay?" You place a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

"I love you," you add softly, and Minho tightens his hold on you. And then he crumbles. Completely.

He falls apart in your arms, painful sobs racking through his body. You panic, as the unfamiliar sounds knock your breath away. You've seen Minho cry before, single tears that managed to escape from his eyes, trailing on his cheeks. But you've never seen him so shattered, so consumed by his pain that he could no longer contain it. You’re caught in his storm, as uncharted waves of his hurt crash against your shores. Has he been hurting all along? Were you this oblivious to the pain brewing inside him?

Your body’s shaking as you press your chest to his back, your arms cocooning his curled-up figure. You try your best to shield him; you don't know from what exactly, but you know it has to go through you first to get to him again.

"I'm so- sorry you have to see me this way," he hiccups, his words digging their claws deeper into your chest.

"Don't say that, baby, please. It's okay, you can cry as much as you want. I'm here."

"I'm sorry," he repeats, voice quivering, and you can feel your heart slowly cracking, hurting in depths you haven't thought existed before.

"Minho, I don't- I don't only love you when you're happy. I love you when you're angry and frustrated and when you're sad. You deserve kindness and you deserve to be kind to yourself because you are still Minho. My Minho. No matter what emotion you're feeling."

"Please stay with me," he pleads softly, and you bite your lower lip, as traitorous tears escape your eyes and land on his shirt. "Where would I go, love? You're my home. I'm here."  

✹✹✹

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish. 

The thought that's been reverberating within your mind, echoing since the moment Minho crumbled in your embrace.

Selfish. 

Of course you are, since you remained oblivious to his own struggles as he slowly chipped away, until he shattered unexpectedly. Akin to a seemingly sturdy building, struck by a minor vibration and suddenly reduced to ruins.

Selfish. 

Each time you sought solace in him, you failed to realize that he was stripping away his layers to shelter you. You took and took from him, each time you called, each time he came over to brush away your tears. Your endless bad days didn't leave room for his struggles, unperceived amidst your turmoil.

Selfish and horrible. You weren't made to be loved. 

Minho is sleeping right next to you. He looks peaceful, endearing bunny-like teeth peeking through slightly parted lips. He's undisturbed, like a placid river, until someone selfishly decides to skip some stones in it- you. 

His chest rises and falls, erasing all remnants of his previous breakdown, like a scripture on sand washed away by the waves. You could almost forget it ever happened if it wasn't for the persistent echoes of his sobs. Raw pain had seeped through him, yet it could have been different. If you had asked more, he might have unraveled slowly. He would have talked and he would've never had to explode. 

Selfish and guilty. There's a bitter taste in your mouth. It doesn't go away when you hastily gulp down water.

You'll keep your problems to yourself. There is enough for him to bear already. By sharing your load, you aren't diminishing it, only adding more to his. 

You can't let your mother be right. Not about this. Not when it comes to Minho. You can't ruin his life too. 

✹✹✹

You are being distant. 

Minho notices it straight away when you stop coming over to his dorm. When you find excuses to not come to Limbo anymore, accounting it for the exams you're both taking. But he knows it's just excuses. You are straying away from him. Your light that shone on him every day suddenly turned into a distant lighthouse beam. 

And it's his fault. 

He's embarrassed by his outburst. How he broke down right in front of you. How he clung to your arms, counting on your words and touch to stitch him back together. How he wasn't enough for himself, but you were. 

Guilt floods his being, making you sadder when you're already dealing with so much. He recounts your tears dripping into his hair, as you hugged him tightly to your body. He made you cry; he shouldn't have broken down. That's why you're staying away. He can't blame you. 

He misses you. He saw you this morning and yet he misses you. Because you weren't there with him, you were somewhere else, in a faraway place in your mind. What if he can't reach you anymore? He wasn't sure what to do with himself without you. 

It's 11 pm, and he's knocking softly on your door. You open it and he smiles tightly. You smile back. 

He hovers around the entrance of your apartment, hands tightly clasped behind his back. You unclasp them, interlocking your fingers with his and leading him to your couch. You are warm, he missed you. You are here and he misses you. 

You both sit down, and you're looking at him curiously. His eyes fall to your lips, pillowy and rosy and he can't help pressing his mouth onto yours. It'll give him the courage to speak. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers against your lips and you lean away, confusion clearly written across your features. 

"For crying the other day," he clarifies. "I've made you uncomfortable and you feel like you have to be cautious around me, and I'm sorry, I won't do it again." 

"What are you saying? You didn't- you never..." you suck in a deep breath, inching closer to him.  "Minho, don't ever apologize for that. please. You should never apologize for being human."

"But you are being distant," he says in a small voice, avoiding your eyes. 

"Minho, I..." you bring your hand to his cheek, locking your gaze with his. "It's not what you think. I promise."

"Then what is it?"

You bite your lip, sighing loudly before speaking again. "You sobbed. And I had no idea you were hurting that much inside. I am so reclined on myself that I didn't notice. And I tried to distance myself so I'd sort my thoughts out. So, I could be there for you, fully. You're always here for me, and I feel... As if I failed you." 

It's now his turn to cup your cheek, his thumbs gently brushing against your skin. 

"I felt so loved by you that day. That's why I cried. because I've never felt that way before," he's quick to explain. "Yes, I was stressed and overwhelmed but it's not your fault. You were there for me when I needed you most. You didn't fail me; how could you think that?" 

"Because it should've never gotten that bad. If I had noticed before, then I would've helped you and it wouldn't have gotten that bad for you. You don't deserve to feel sad, not when you’re... You. Someone like you shouldn't feel sad." 

"Didn't you say we're humans? Isn't that what humans do? They fall down and they get up, I can't always be fine. It's not your fault." 

"Minho you don't understand... How much more of yourself can you give to me, without hurting yourself in return?" You're so sure of these words you're uttering, as if you've drilled them into your mind by now. You couldn't be more wrong. 

Minho blinks repeatedly, trying to gather the words in his mind properly. You weren't distancing yourself from him, because he had hurt you. But rather, so you wouldn't hurt him anymore. So, you'd be there for him more. A sudden relief floods his being. He isn't losing you. 

Minho can't help the chuckle that escapes his mouth. He shakes his head slightly as he brings you to his chest. You're so warm as you wrap your arms around his waist. He still misses you but you're here, you aren't going anywhere. 

"You memorized my coffee order. And my favorite pudding. You always bring me one when you come over. When you find a new flavor, I haven't tried, you always buy it for me. You look at me so excitedly when I try it. As if me finding a new favorite pudding brings your personal joy," he's talking softly, slowly, in the hopes that you'd understand what he means. 

"You love spicy food, but you always cook without it when I'm with you. Because I can't handle it as well as you. You put snacks and water in my bag when I have dance practice, and then you come to check on me, even when you're busy too. You bought me an umbrella, and you placed it near the entrance of my dorm, so I wouldn't forget it. You give me the opened chopsticks package first, and you blow on my food so it wouldn't burn my tongue. And you let me pick the movie, every time. You let me pick it," he places a soft kiss on your shoulder, tightening his hold on you. 

"You brush my hair away from my eyes when you think I'm asleep. And you make sure the blanket covers my body entirely, even if it means it doesn't cover you. I've never had that. Never had someone care for me this gently. Even when I'm not awake and I can't give them anything in return." 

He leans back, smiling softly at you. There is a new palpable emotion in the air- love, in its most unconditional form. It smells fragrant and sweet- like you and him. 

"I notice everything you do for me, every way in which you love me. You're here for me in more ways than you can ever imagine. And I love you. Please don't stray away from me. Promise me," he pouts slightly, nudging his pinky toward your face. You giggle in defeat, before wrapping your pinky with his. 

"Didn't you think pinky promises were silly?" 

"Nothing you like is silly."

"Not even that cheesy drama I watch?" 

"Okay. Maybe that one is. But it makes you laugh," he trails off. "If it makes you laugh then I like it too." 

"You'll talk to me more, right? About whatever's bothering you? When you're not feeling black yet?" 

"I will, I promise. You too, right?"

"Mm. I will too." 

"Good," he smiles, pecking your cheek softly. "I've missed you. And I don't mind feeling all the colors of the rainbow, as long as you're near me."

✹✹✹

The voices of your friends singing you happy birthday reaches you like the distant chirping of birds, fading away in the back of your mind with each passing second. You know that Mina is smiling at you, her head resting on Jeongin’s shoulders. And that Chan, Han and Felix are all clapping excitedly, their voices blending together in a somewhat harmonious melody. But you can’t seem to focus on any of it. Your eyes are set on Minho, who’s walking over to you, a vibrant pink cake in his hand. The surface of it is covered in candy- marshmallows and macaroons, and a dozen of lit candles. Their light flickers on Minho’s face, casting an ethereal glow on him.

And as your widened eyes meet his, he knows that it all just clicked in place for you.

Four months ago.

"What did you like to do, when you were younger?"

You stay quiet for a few moments, mulling over Minho’s question. The waves crash softly at your feet, the sound of them and Minho’s arms around you serving as a perfect cover to thread through your childhood once again.

"I had a bunny plushie. My aunt gave it to me one day when her daughter didn't want it anymore. She was going to throw it out, but I took care of it. We took care of each other, in a way. I used to stay alone at home a lot, and Caramelo would keep me company."

"Caramelo?" he giggles and you pinch his arm playfully. "I was six when I named it, sue me."

"Mm, and where is Caramelo now?"

"I left it in the house. I packed in such a hurry and it didn't fit in my suitcase. But I really wanted to bring it," you smile sadly and Minho can sense a shift in your tone, so he trails his hands across your arms gently, pulling you even closer to his chest.

"What else did you like?" he asks, placing a kiss under the shell of your ear.

"Playing in the playground, there was one really near home. I'd sneak out and go play in the swing, but there was no one to push me higher there," you chuckle slightly, burying yourself further in Minho's embrace. 

"Oh, but I met a girl there when I was eleven, Lydia, I think. She was our neighbor, and she invited me to my first ever birthday party. Her parents prepared this huge cake for her, it was all pink with so much candy on top. I kept dreaming about having a similar one for my birthday. We also painted each other's nails and put on facemasks, and then we watched a movie. It was really fun," you recall, a wave of nostalgia washing over you. You were really shy and didn't talk to the other girls present, staying away in a corner. But Lydia grabbed your hand and pulled you next to her. She didn't let go during the entire movie.

You hoped she was okay, wherever she might be now.

"And... my mom took me one day to a hill near our home. We sat on a bench there, overlooking the city's lights. We didn't talk but she braided my hair since it kept getting in my mouth. That's my favorite memory with her."

Your voice is carried away with the wind, drowned in the waves. You hoped that one day your childhood memories will come back to you, like the sea foam dissolving at your feet. Gentle, incapable of hurting you anymore. 

"You know what I really want now? A big cake for my birthday too," Minho suddenly whines and you giggle, turning around to look at him.

"Want me to bake it for you?" you tease and he nods, cradling your face between his cold hands. They warm up once they rest on your cheeks.

"Yes. I want the cats’ pictures printed on it, and..." he trails off, looking up at the sky. "I want it to be green.”

"Green?" you chuckle. "Isn't that a bit weird for a cake?"

"Are you questioning my vision?" he wiggles his brows at you, his hands coming to your sides.

"I am," you laugh, as he starts to tickle you, unwaveringly. You fall to the sand, and he's on top of you, hands roaming your body as loud laughter erupts from you.

Minho’s eyes soften as he gazes at your laughing figure, but he doesn't stop, not until you tap his arm multiple times, happy tears trailing from your eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Green is perfect, you are a genius!"

"Why thank you," he smiles, before leaning down and kissing your tears away. You shiver slightly, from the cold and the feel of his soft lips on your skin. He notices.

"Come on," he outstretches his hand and you grab it, standing up and dusting your pants. Minho squats slightly in front of you, and you giggle before climbing on top of his back.

"Don't you ever wonder who was the person who invented tickling? They were just sitting down and then they touched someone and they started laughing,” he suddenly muses.

"Right! And then they decided this was something they should keep on doing, and it stuck around for centuries."

"I think it's really cute. It says I love the sound of your laugh so much that I will sit there and tickle you just to hear it."

"And you just tickled me," you trail out. "I know," he mumbles, the tips of his ears suddenly turning pink.

"I like your laugh too, Minho."

"Just like?" He teases, in a futile attempt to diffuse his shyness. 

"I love it. I love it so much I could pay my entire life savings just to keep on hearing it again."

"Stop," he whines and you giggle, swinging your dangling feet in the air.

"Have you ever heard your laugh? No other melody can compare. At this point, musicians should just retire."

"You're insufferable," he finally laughs and you sigh, melting into his back.

"And you like me."

"And I love you."

Present time

The realization dawns on you like a floodgate- Minho is recreating your happiest childhood memories.

From the pink cake of your dreams. To the obnoxiously glittery nail polish he brought home three days ago, spontaneously, you foolishly assumed. He insisted on having a pampering night, where you both applied face masks to one another, bunny headbands tucking your hair out of your face. You giggled as he painted your nails with the utmost concentration, and then begged you to paint his in return. He didn't explain why he wanted pink nails suddenly, you should've known. 

You should've known when he suddenly knocked on your door at midnight, taking your sleepy figure to the playground near your apartment. "Why are you here so late?" you questioned, rubbing your eyes tiredly. 

"We are sneaking out," he whispered in your ear, and you didn't question his flawed logic- who were you sneaking out from exactly? But all was forgotten as he pushed you in the swing, fueled by your growing high-pitched giggles. "Higher?" he shouted and you laughed loudly, the sound of it echoing around the park. "Yes, higher!" Until you felt as if you were close enough to touching the stars. 

You should've known. 

Minho places the cake on the table, his warm hand finding your lower back. He rubs it soothingly, as you mouth a heartfelt "thank you" to him, hot tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. You couldn't speak, afraid of bursting into sobs in front of all your friends. He understands what you're referring to.

It's far later into the night when your friends finally leave Minho's dorm. You've all cleaned up the place, soft music emitting from the speakers. You didn't need songs to fill the silence, the conversations flowing easily between you all.

You gather all the gifts you've received and take them to Minho's room- a pair of shoes you've been raving about from Mina and Jeongin, and new headphones from Chan, Han, and Felix, since your old ones stopped working not too long ago.

"You're okay?" Minho asks, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head.

"Better than ever," you beam at him, cupping Minho's neck and meeting his lips in a tender kiss. 

"I'm still not done," he smiles secretly, brushing his lips against yours once more, before pulling away. You watch, curious as he heads towards his closet and takes something out of it. Your eyes grow wide as they settle on the gift in his hands. You can feel your lip quivering as you walk hastily over to him. 

"Is this...?" you ask incredulously and he nods, a happy smile on his face. "Your Caramelo."

"How... When?" you stammer, as happy tears blur your vision, "How did you do it?"

"I have my ways," he smiles assuredly at you. "Do you like it? I'm sorry if I overstepped by bringing it to you," he adds softly, a hint of vulnerability in his words.

"No, Minho, this is the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. I can't believe it- I... I don't even know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he smiles, his hand rubbing your arm affectionately. "I figured this plushie should be in a loving home, with you. It helped you back then and now you're strong enough to help it in return."

There are overwhelming emotions that we can't quite express with words- like sorrow, sadness, or in your case, happiness. That's why touch was invented, you believe. As you pull Minho for a bone-crushing hug, Caramelo snug between your chests, you hope that he can feel everything you failed to express through words. That your soul will speak to him in a way your mouth couldn’t. 

"When you told me there is a friend of yours, who lived in my town. There was no friend, right?" you mumble into his neck.

"No, I just wanted to know your address," he whispers, arms tightening around your waist.

"Did you meet my mom?"

"Yes. She's the one who gave it to me."

"Did she tell you anything... about me?" you ask cautiously.

Minho remembers snippets of his conversation with your mother- the indifference she showed towards you, as if it wasn't her daughter, her flesh and blood that she discarded away so easily. 

"Nothing of importance. I promise you."

"Thank you," you whisper, voice caught up in your throat, bound by the ropes of your overflowing emotions. "Thank you for healing me."

Sleep didn’t come easily to you that night, and as Minho snored quietly next to you, you untangled your limbs from his, before heading to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. 

You find that the lights are already on and that Chan is working on his laptop, eyebrows furrowed as he gazed at his screen.

"Hey," you greet softly, careful not to startle him. 

"Our birthday girl," Chan grins and you chuckle quietly, before settling next to him on the couch. 

"What are you working on?" you question, taking in the different settings displayed on his screen.

"Just a new song," he shrugs sheepishly, "I'm almost done with it." 

"That's nice," you mumble, tucking your knees into your chest. 

"I suppose Minho already gave you your gift," Chan speaks softly and you startle, turning around to look at him. 

"He didn't tell me what it is, don't worry. But I assume he pretended as if it was no big deal, that he got it." 

You nod silently, fearing that speaking would stop Chan from talking. 

"I told him that he should just walk up to your house, present himself, and then ask your mom if he can take some of your stuff for you. But he said it’s too risky, and there is a chance she might say no. So, you know what he did?" Chan chuckles softly, and you feel the breath slowly escape your chest. "He spent weeks researching all the moving companies that work in your town. And then he bought us uniforms that looked like one of theirs. With the name tags and all. We rented a truck and we drove there, so we’d pretend as if we were moving the rest of your belongings. Your mom didn't question it thankfully, and I've never seen Minho as relieved as when he climbed back into the truck."

An overwhelming need to cry threatens to consume you, and you bite your lip harshly to stop it from taking over. Not in front of Chan.

"For him to go these lengths for you, means that he loves you a lot. But also, that he feels really loved by you. So, thank you, for loving Minho. I'm very happy you guys are together now." Chan smiles softly at you, before getting up and ruffling your hair slightly. 

You quickly go back to Minho's room, before bringing his body tightly to yours. And as soon as you touch him, he mumbles your name in his sleep before throwing an arm over your waist.

"Thank you for loving me. I love you so much too," you whisper into his back, as your tears dampen his shirt. You wished that the words would reach him in his dreams, making them sweeter for him.

You didn't make a wish that day, as you blew the candles, foolishly believing that everything you've ever wanted was already around you. But you should've.

Maybe that would've stopped the anguish to come.

✹✹✹

There is a bad feeling nudged into the space between your ribs. You rub a soothing palm across your chest, in the hopes that it will calm your spiking anxiety. But you only feel your heart growing more erratic in your chest, and the sound of it only makes you panic ten times fold.

You’ve just woken up. You can hear the water running in the shower. Minho has stayed over since you both studied late into the night. You listen intently, a small breath of relief escaping your mouth when the water turns off. He’s okay.

You drag a hand tiredly across your face, before shaking your head left and right. You’ll have a good day, you’ll open the blinds and the golden sun will stream through your windows, and you’ll feel okay.

You don’t.

The dread lingers in your being throughout the day, making the simple act of walking weigh heavily on your bones. You try to distract yourself, by focusing on your classes and listening to Mina’s rants about her latest date with Jeongin. But to no prevail. So, you surrender to that feeling, today’s a bad day, but tomorrow doesn’t have to be. You’ll make sure of it.

It’s five pm when you finally walk up the stairs of your apartment. Minho went to grab you both something to eat since you’ll be studying again tonight. You wish he’d come home quickly, so you wouldn’t attach your anxiety to him. As long as you see him, then he’s okay.

You open the door, pausing by the front entrance. Something in you tells you to flee, to turn back, and never set foot inside. You don’t listen to it. If you paid attention to everything your mind tells you then you’d never truly live.

You quickly change out of your clothes, before turning on the TV. You mindlessly scroll through the show suggestions, and settle on one you haven’t seen before. You turn up the volume, making sure that the voices of the characters would drown the ones in your mind.

But then, your phone rings. It vibrates from the coffee table, the name of your aunt illuminating your screen. She calls you from time to time, but why is she doing it today? You don’t want to answer, not when there is a bulge in your throat suffocating you.

You watch numbly as the phone call seizes. You breathe out a shaky exhale. You’ll call her tomorrow.

The phone rings again.

You bite your lip harshly, hands shaking as you bring the device to your ear. You’re overreacting, you tell yourself. Nothing’s wrong. Minho will be home soon.

"What’s going on?" you ask immediately, the question slipping out of your mouth before you even thought about it.

Your aunt sighs softly, and then her voice floods your being. It sounds hoarse like she’s been crying. "Look, I…" another sigh, and you imagine her fidgeting with the hem of her dress. She always wore dresses. All seasons mingled. With pretty flowers sewed into them and sometimes even-

"Your mother died in a car accident."

Silence. You can't hear anything after those words are uttered. You know that your TV is still playing in the background and that your aunt is still talking on the phone. But it's completely silent. For five seconds. Where the world stills, as if to allow you a brief moment to process what you just heard.

Your mom. Gone.

But then, sounds crash upon you like a relentless wave. The shatter of the characters in the background, the ticking of your clock, the dull buzz of the refrigerator. And your aunt, she's still talking, telling you about the funeral and when it will be held and you can't believe what you are hearing.

It's all too overwhelming, everything surrounding you is too much to bear so you simply hang up.

You put your phone down on the table. And then you turn it off. That's one sound dealt with.

You turn the TV off and dismantle the clock from your wall so it wouldn't tick anymore. You then unplug your refrigerator. Has its buzzing always been this loud? You wonder. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Now it’s silent. It's what you crave.

Minho will come home soon. You should make him something to eat. You think to yourself. A fruit salad. It's warm outside and the fruits are refreshing.

So, you grab a knife from your drawer, and then you start peeling an orange. Then an apple. It's rugged, and half the fruit is wasted with the peel. You've never really known how to peel the skin properly. So, you put the knife down. The blade is slightly red, you notice. There is blood oozing from your finger. You cut yourself. But it doesn't hurt, so you leave it be.

Light floods your apartment, a stark contrast to the shadows within you. But you want it to be dark, and silent. You already took care of that last part. So, you pull down all the blinds and turn off the lights one by one. Now it's pitch black. Now it's quiet.

You sit on the floor, running your hand across the tiles. You count them, one, two, three. When is Minho coming home?

The floor is cold underneath you, the sensation heightened since your every other sense is muffled. You can't see, you can't hear, but you can still touch. You wished you couldn't anymore. The smallest sensation overstimulates you.

The front door unlocks, but you don't hear someone coming in. You imagine Minho standing by the door, looking around in the dark. It's okay, he'll find you. He always does.

"Honey?" he calls out and you reply from the living room, "I’m here."

You don't have to yell, it's quiet enough for your voice to be carried around your home with ease.

Minho has his flashlight on, you notice. He's looking for you and he finally spots you on the ground. You move a strand of your hair behind your ear, and you feel something warm smear across your cheek. You forgot about your cut- a reminder of the pain lurking beneath the surface, waiting patiently to consume you.

"Baby?" His tone is soft and careful, and you can see the worry brewing in his brown eyes. Why was he worried? You're okay. Nothing happened.

"I made you a fruit salad. It's in the kitchen. Can you please turn off the light?"

"Okay." His voice is calm, and you don't mind him talking. You could bear it. He was different after all, to you.

He’s pulled into the abyss with you, as he sits down next to your rigid figure. His hand rests on top of your pinkie, but you recoil from it. Not because you hate it, but his hand is warm and the floor beneath you is cold. That's a contrasting sensation. You don't want that. You just want a stillness, to feel like a straight line. Straight lines are always sure of themselves, of where they're going. You were tired of feeling like a bent one at the hands of the universe.

"What happened, baby?"

"Nothing."

"Okay. What did you do when I left, hm?"

"Nothing much. I was watching this new show, I think you’ll like it. And then my aunt called. She told me my mom died in a car accident. And then I went to the kitchen and I cut up some fruits. But I didn't know how to peel them. Can you believe it?" you giggle, your voice suddenly high-pitched. "I mean who- who doesn’t know how to peel the skin of an apple? Isn't that such a basic skill?" You're laughing now, you don't know what's funny, but you're laughing.

"And I cut my finger, but I didn't feel anything, Minho. I don't- I don't feel anything," you're still giggling, hot tears trailing down your cheeks rapidly. "My mother died and I don't feel anything. Why- why can't I feel anything? Minho, I can't- I can't-" You're hyperventilating, words straining to come out of your mouth. The breath is knocked out of you and white spots cloud your vision, like the stars that dance around Minho’s eyes. They seem kind enough so you don't fight them. You want to welcome them in the hopes that they'd take this unbearable weight off of you.

"Yn, yn, breathe for me, baby. Listen to my voice," Minho calls out and it's as if you're pulled in two opposing directions. He sounds scared, so you try to do as he says. You don’t want him to worry about you.

"You're doing so well, breathe with me, okay? Breathe in... Breathe out... Perfect, let's do it again," he instructs and you try your best to follow suit. You can feel yourself shaking, your hands moving as if they have a mind of their own. You are cold, too cold, and you can't help but wonder if it's how your mother is feeling right now too.

The thought seems to drive you over the edge and you let out a guttural sob. It racks from within you, reverberating from the depths of your splitting soul. It's a pain unlike any you've ever felt. You try to find something to compare it to, a sensation you imagine must hurt the same. But you can't find any. You can't find a metaphor to make the pain more bearable.  

So instead, you let out a heart-wrenching scream, slicing through the silence you tried desperately to maintain. Your throat aches from the strain on your vocal cords but you pay it no mind, not when there is a pain bursting open every seam of yours, undoing every thread you so carefully stitched back into your soul.   

Amidst your pitch-black apartment, you see yourself quivering in the corner, head buried in your hands. And then it’s thirteen years old you sitting there, the one who wished for something so horrible to happen on the birthday she spent alone, yet again. Your wish came true, you want to tell her. You tried to take it back, but it came true.

Minho gathers you in his arms, and you clung to him. You know he's trying to wrap you up the best he can, his arms around your back and his legs pressed on you. He's trying his best to stop you from falling apart. From breaking beyond the point of no return. And you think to yourself that you've passed it. You've passed it and he's clinging helplessly into your remains now.

✹✹✹

The funeral went by in a blur, its details elusive in your memory. At times it felt like a fever dream, a mirage conjured by your mind. And sometimes you tried to believe it, to lull yourself into a comfortable thought. Where you don't talk with your mom and she doesn't know how you are doing, but she's still alive. On the other side of the country. She's still breathing.

But this fleeting comfort is quickly shattered. The thought barely lingers, like a whisper in the wind, never staying long enough for you to finally draw in a full breath. Because the grief clings onto your skin, and you carry it with you everywhere, like a stench that won’t quite leave you. You wonder if other people can smell it on you too.

Minho hasn't left your side, once. He's always next to you. His hands are resting on your back or brushing your cheek tenderly. They are always near. And you hold them tightly. You practically memorized the lines etched on his palm. It's all you stared at during the funeral.

It felt wrong and unjust to be somewhere where everybody knew your mother, except for you. You felt as if you were left out, robbed of happy memories to mourn as well. So, you remained silent, gaze fixed intently on Minho's palm. And he didn't mind; he never does when it comes to you.

He's gentle with you, he's always been, but he's particularly gentle with you these weeks. The countless times he's cared for you blur together- his soapy hands skimming your body, massaging the shampoo into your hair when your limbs felt too heavy to move; the meals he cooked for you, making sure that each bite was cool enough before feeding it to you. How he always told you he was proud of you, at random times throughout your days. ‘What for?’ you wanted to scream, ‘I'm barely alive as it is’. "For breathing," he'd add as if he heard the thoughts swirling in your mind. "For being here. For waking up today." 

He did your laundry and he folded your clothes. Sometimes he even picked your outfits and dressed you in the morning. Leaving pecks all over your face after each worn clothing. You wanted to smile, to tell him how much you loved him. How his love felt like a sun ray peeking through the cell hole of a prisoner. But you couldn't speak. So, you hoped he knew.

He unburdened you of all these mundane tasks, so you'd focus on other ones. Like attending classes and taking notes and writing essays. Because as much as you wished for it, the world did not pause for your sorrow. In the grand tapestry of existence, where did you stand exactly? You were nothing but a mere speck of light. Your emotions, as profound as they were to you, did not hold the power to halt the world's march, to compel universal mourning.

But Minho made your world stop, just like he promised, almost a year and a half ago. When you finally found your voice, he'd listen to you talk, your head on his lap, his fingers weaving through your hair gently.

"I feel like I’m mourning two people. The person I knew and the person she could have been," you told him one night and he hummed, listening intently to you.

"The what-ifs are killing me Minho. It feels like I’m suffocating each time I think of what could have been. She left so suddenly. But she should've stayed. Maybe our relationship would've gotten better."

"Maybe… or maybe not, you can never truly know. And it’s not your job to find the answers to the questions she left behind. Maybe she didn’t even have them herself."

You appreciated how his hand never left yours, as you journeyed through seas of uncharted emotions. The anger- that came with her leaving so abruptly, leaving you behind with a heavy baggage to dissect. The sadness- from losing the woman who will always be part of you. Because we don't kill our hopeful past selves, we simply bury them and they remain just under the surface of our souls, a testament to everything we've been through.

The nostalgia- that creeps in from time to time, conjuring rose-tinted memories in your head. Maybe her voice was softer here. She did ask about your day one time. Wasn't that her sitting on the benches in your musical play? But it wasn't, it was just your brain trying to soften the harshness of losing her.

It is how our minds cope with grief, your therapist says. Minho convinced you to go see one. Because love doesn't mend everything. And he needed you to be okay again, for yourself.

He's always waiting for you after your sessions end. With coffee and a fresh pastry. You didn't eat them at first, because they tasted bland and you'd rather not waste them. But one time you bit into the strawberry muffin and it tasted sweet and citrusy. And you smiled at Minho.

He stared at you in awe that day, and then he kissed you softly, pressing his pillowy lips against yours. His eyes mirrored galaxies, tears tracing constellations down his cheeks. "You look so pretty when you smile," he whispered tenderly and you felt emotion bubbling within you, stuck in your throat. But you didn’t want to cry. So, you only smiled more brightly at his words, and you kept his compliment stored safely within you, right beside every sweet gesture of his since that day.

Minho didn’t have the answers to all your questions. He didn’t always know what to say to make it feel right. But he stayed there, he tried his best, to heal parts of you that you never knew could be bruised.

You tried one day, to go through the day normally. You woke up, opened the blinds, and then you made Minho breakfast. You ate lunch with Mina, making some jokes here and there. And when you saw Chan in the line of the coffee shop, you went up to him to talk.

And then you got home and showered, put on makeup, and waited for Minho to come to you. As soon as he opened the door, you were on him, hands busy unbuttoning his shirt, your lips pressed wildly on top of his. You missed him, missed the way he made you forget as he touched you, everywhere. As he showed you how much he loved you.

"I want you, please," you whispered, your lips grazing the shell of his ear, your hands roaming across his chest. Your tone was begging and Minho could feel the urgency in it, so he nodded, he could never say no to you. He watched as you guided him to the couch, as you straddled his lap. You kissed his neck and he tilted it back to give you more of an opening. His hands were on your thighs, cautious. Your lips on him felt heavenly but he couldn’t allow himself to get lost in the pleasure, he had to keep an eye on you.

You were urgent, with the way you sucked the tender skin above his collarbones, how you grinded your hips into his. As if you were on borrowed time and you had to make him reach his high as fast as possible.

"Tell me you’re mine," you muttered, between the kisses you imprinted onto his chest. He could see the lipstick stains you left behind as if you needed to mark him up for everyone to see.

"I'm yours," he says, his hand smoothing the top of your hair. He could sense that something was wrong now, because your eyes were glazed over, and your kisses were getting sloppy, as if your mind was somewhere else. So, he grabs your hips to pause you. "I'm yours, angel. You hear me?"

"Tell me you won’t leave, tell me you’re staying," you take his hands away from your sides, clasping them in a tight hold. You capture his lips in a desperate kiss, and Minho can feel the tears streaming down your face. "Tell me you’ll stay, please, I can’t- can’t lose you too."

"Hey, hey, love. It’s okay, calm down," Minho easily frees his hand from your grasp, bringing you closer to his chest. It’s all it takes for you to start sobbing. "Who said anything about losing me? I’m still here, I won’t ever leave you," he shushes, his voice sounding like honey to your ears. It manages to muffle the sound of your erratic heartbeat.

"I'm so so tired Minho, so tired," you sob, burying your head in his chest. You felt as if there was pain igniting the end of each of your nerves. You couldn't run away from it because the pain became you. "I try to be strong, but I can't. It hurts to wake up and- and to try to go on as if nothing happened. The thoughts in my head don't ever stop and I can't- I can't do this anymore. Please make it stop. Make it stop hurting," you press your palm onto your chest, a useless attempt to soothe the burn within.

 Why did it feel as if in your attempts to put out the fire raging within you, you only ended up fueling it even more?

"I would- I would if I could but I can't do that, I wish I could-" his tone is desperate, raw pain dripping from it.

"What if I'm not strong enough to do it myself?" you cut him off, finally asking the question that's been haunting you. "What if I can't fill this hole within me and it keeps on growing until it swallows me whole?"

Minho tightens his hold on you, rocking you gently in place, trying to lull your heart to sleep, so it'd stop hurting, even for a moment, even for a second. You know it's selfish to expect him to have all the answers, but he's all you have. He's the only voice you can bear listening to.

"I can't promise you that you'll ever fill the void left by her absence. It will keep on bleeding and throbbing, begging for a temporary patch-up. But one day it'll stop, it can't bleed forever. And around that hole flowers will bloom, like a sanctuary, watered by your overflowing love. Because it is your love that's hurting you, not your anger. Do not kill your heart to stop feeling, please. It will do that on its own, it won't hurt more than it can bear."

"It will take time. And if you run out of your time, I'll give you mine too. You aren't alone in this, we are a binary star, right?" he smiles softly and you nod slightly against his chest. "I read that to the invisible eye, they look like a singular star. I hope that to the universe we'd look like one person too, so they'd pass some of your pain to me."

✹✹✹

It’s been a few months since your mother died. You didn’t like the term passing away, because it entails that it was gentle, in passing, as if you were expecting it. But her death was sudden and it made your entire world flip upside down.

"Would you like to talk to her?" Minho suggested one night, his knuckles brushing against your cheek softly.

"Will you come with me?" you ask quietly.

"Of course. If you want me to, that is."

"I can try."

Minho drove you to the graveyard the following weekend. It felt weird to see her name etched on the grave, a reminder that this was all real and not a figment of your imagination. 

"I'm not a daughter anymore." You speak after a while, tone coated in sadness, and acceptance. "But I think I’ve never truly been one, since you were never a mother to me."

"Is it weird, that I miss you? I don't even know what I miss exactly since you were never there. But I miss you. I miss having a mother. And I'm sorry, that you were so angry at the world you couldn't find it in you to love me." You pause, blindly reaching out to hold Minho's hand. He grabs it instantly. "But I won't carry your anger anymore. I don't want to be mad at you, for leaving so suddenly. I want to be happy. I deserve to be happy. And I hope that you are too, wherever you are now."

You turn around, a small smile gracing your lips, and Minho wastes no time in wrapping you in his arms, your cheek resting against his shoulder. He's proud of you, the emotion shines clear as day in his eyes. 

"I wanna take you somewhere," he tells you and you nod, wrapping your arm securely around his waist.

The drive is short and you recognize the place fairly easily. It's the hill you told him about a long time ago, the one that held your happiest memory with your mother.

You both sit on the bench, your head finding solace on his shoulder. The view unfolding in front of you is still as breathtaking, and with each passing moment, the tightness in your chest seems to ease. Memories of your mother and this serene spot intertwine like delicate vines, bringing you a bittersweet sense of comfort. Because mourning someone isn't straightforward, not when humans are this complex, never strictly good or bad.

"Cold?" Minho asks and you shake your head no. "You're a human heater."

"Only near you," he smirks and you giggle slightly.

"I remember your hands used to be so cold."

"So, I could find an excuse to hold yours."

"Are you flirting with me?" you chuckle and he nods, a proud smile on his face. "Is it working?"

"I haven't run away yet, so I suppose it is." There is a newfound lightness in your voice, one you’ve been achingly missing for the past months.

"Come here," he taps his lap with his hands and you promptly lay your head on it.

"Look at the sky," he instructs and you do as he says, squinting your eyes. "What am I supposed to see?" you giggle, but then you feel it, the faintest snowflake falling on your nose tip.

"Go away, I don't want to watch the first snow with you," you tilt your head towards Minho, who's watching you, a soft smile on his face.

You giggle at the distant memory, when you both left Limbo, two years ago. The first time Minho rewrote your memories.

"As if I could ever love you, that'd just be signing a death warrant," you repeat your words from that night, a knowing smile on your face.

"How's that death warrant going?"

"Horrible, so so horrible," you say as you intertwine his hand with yours, squeezing it lightly.

"Mm. I suppose we can't be the exception to the superstition."

"How unfortunate," you smile as he leans down to press a kiss on your forehead, before looking back at the sky again.

He looks perfect from your view. You can clearly see the mole on his nose, the pucker of his rosy lips, and his long eyelashes framing his eyes. You are overcome by a feeling of love for the man beside you, and you stand up from your place to pull him in for a deep kiss.

"What was that for?" he smiles once you lean away, his fingers gently grazing your lips.

"Thank you, for today and for every day since I've met you."

"Of course, my love. You took a big step today, what color are you feeling right now?"

"Whatever color loving you is."

✹✹✹

Hills covered in verdant hues, rows of flowers bursting with vibrant colors, stretching before your eyes. The birds are chirping somewhere near, intermingling with the faint melody of the wind brushing against your skin.

"Here," Minho comes from behind, placing his knit jacket on top of your shoulders. Its warmth seeps through you, and you lean your back against his chest, melting into his embrace. His arms encircle your chest, resting comfortably on top of your heart as if guarding it from harm.

You feel your breathing slow down as you both look out the window. You are somewhere far from the city and its buzzing lights, a small white cottage surrounded by nature, where only you and Minho exist.

Minho nuzzles his chin on your shoulder, placing a chaste kiss under your ear. A light giggle escapes your mouth, as goosebumps rise upon your skin. Your body still reacts as sweetly to Minho, proofs of his love imprinted all over you. His touch is familiar to you but still as soothing, never losing its effect on you. You believe it never will, even when you're both withering down; his touch will still be the only thing making you bloom.

"This is nice," he whispers, sighing softly and you nod against him, raising your hand to settle on top of his. His fingers instinctively find your wedding ring, playing with it as they've done for the past two years.

"It's always nice with you," you say and he smiles softly, squeezing your hand lightly. You remember how it felt when he held it for the first time. How he hasn't let go since. It was only ever his to hold.

"We did well, don't you think? For our first time being alive."

His words make a gentle warmth stir within you. It is your first life, and you're lucky enough to spend it with him.

"We did," you turn around, to find him already looking down at your figure, a fond smile on his face. "To think we probably wouldn't be together if it wasn't for our law classes."

"No," he shakes his head, hands gently cupping your cheeks. "I would've found you. On a random evening when you'd stumble onto Limbo. In the supermarket where you'd buy your cherry shampoo. In the park you used to play in as a kid. I would've found you."

You've once read that when humans are about to pass away, a film of their happiest memories plays in front of their eyes. You know that many years down the road when you're on the brink of going away, you'll remember this moment clearly in your head. You'll remember the cicadas chirping far away, and the zesty smell of the lemon muffins you made earlier today. You'll remember the cold breeze ruffling your hair, and Minho’s warm hands on you. And you'll sigh contently, from having lived a life filled with love.

"My soul is dipped in yours. It will always find you too."

[snifferish]

Never in my life did I think that re-tweeting resources for SA, and supporting victims would be considered problematic or performative.

I should not have to bare this, but I'm going to tell just one of my stories, because I need you to understand where I'm coming from. TW // Sexual Harassment

--

When I was 15, I had my wisdom teeth removed. I wanted to avoid using the pain medication they prescribed. I struggle a lot with sensory issues, medications and substances made it worse.

However, my surgery was for impacted teeth, and only two days in one of my stitches fell out. I was in so much pain, and couldn't eat solids w/ out pain for up to three weeks.

So, a week into my recovery, one of my friends invites me to their house. They were having our friend group over, it was just a little bonfire get together kinda thing. I took my pain meds a few hours prior, and only half a dose, but I was out of it to some degree, and somehow still in pain.

I was sitting on a lawn chair outside, when one of my close friends came over and asked to sit on my lap. Honestly, I said yes at first, because this was my childhood friend, someone I trusted, and I thought our relationship was incredibly platonic. Then he started to shift/grind about in my lap, and I started to feel things of theirs I did not want to. They made a noise that deeply unsettled me, and I told him to get off, they didn't. It was only when I told them that he accidently triggered the emergency call shortcut on my phone (it was in the pocket of the lawn chair, yes they were moving that much and I was moving trying to push him off) that he finally got up.

I was bewildered, and a bit confused, and also embarrassed that my phone nearly called 911. I claimed I wasn't feeling well, and went home early.

That was the first time someone touched me in a remotely sexual way, but I didn't dare to label it until I talked to my therapist. It made me dwell on a lot of experiences with this person as well. How obsessed they were with being taller than me, how often they'd grab me and force me to see if they were stronger than me. At the time, I was in a friend group of predominately non-men, and they were all friends with this person.

However, when I told them about this, when I expressed the discomfort it brought me. I was brushed off. "He's just like that!" oh "He probably didn't mean it" etc.

I didn't feel comfortable in the same room as this person. My friends would continue to invite them to hang outs. One of my other friends told everyone about what happened without my permission. I started having breakdowns in my classes with him. I had panic attacks all the time. I felt as if I had to continue this façade of being nice to him, or else I would lose my friends of years and years.

I was happy when covid started, because for the first time I had breathing room, but by then so much of my trust was dismantled.

Due to my friends association with this person, and the fact that not being their friend excluded me. I eventually got over it, and told myself I'd grown past it.

Three months ago, this same person admitted to me they hold extreme grudges against me, that they projected their "mommy issues" on to me, and quite literally said the words, "Yeah yeah, you're a woman who's outspoken and challenged me and that bothers me yeah yeah." in regards to that. They said it with sarcasm, like it was something they knew, and their mother was reminding them for the 12th time.

--

I bring this all up, not to make you feel guilty, but to discuss the harm of not supporting victims, not listening to them. It puts them in a position of isolation, and in a position to potentially be hurt again.

So yeah, I'm gonna be a little upset when people say I'm being "performative" about supporting victims of sexual harassment and SA. I'm not doing this because it benefits me, in fact it's caused a lot of backlash, horrible dms, and very triggering memories.

I'm doing it because I was once not heard, and i've sat with Caiti behind the scenes for months watching her lose passion for something she loved (content creation).

I didn't do this because I'm secretly sniveling behind the scenes tapping my fingers praying on peoples downfall. I'm not a Disney villain dude lmfao.

Honestly, this narrative that is being pushed, that people are doing it "because it benefits them" is quite ironic, considering most of the people talked about within the last 72 hours were under Wilbur's weird ass apology doing just that.

I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. I hate how people are okay with this narrative, the misogynist undertones of it. I've seen people admit that they didn't like me or my friends the entire time, while simultaneously "calling us out" about this, so I ask you,

Are you calling us? Because it benefits your motives? Your feelings?

[klausysworld]

This request might be too much and I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. So pls ignore if it does.

My idea is Klaus x human reader. Klaus and her become close and form a friendship. She’s dating someone for 4 years now and it starts to get abusive (mentally/physically or both). She finally confides and confesses to Klaus after he notices something is off. He basically helps her get out of it when one day said boyfriend follows her into the mikaleson house and tries to get reader out of there aggressively. The mikaelson’s hear the commotion and Klaus does something.

Flash forward to Klaus and reader in an established relationship, though reader is scared to be intimate as she’s still struggling from last relationship. One day Klaus and reader are getting into it and Klaus pulls her by her ankles to bring her towards him and it triggers her fight or flight (as Klaus doesn’t know last bf used to do that when hurting reader) and so instantly she hits him in self defence and then profusely apologizes. But Klaus is just understanding and holds her and tells her he loves her and if all he gets is holding her. Then he can live with that. The way it ends can be however you want.

Just been going through some things and needed to feel and I absolutely love your style of writing.

Again pls ignore if this makes you uncomfortable, that’s not my intent! Thank you!

(Triggering content, please don't read this if it might trigger you and know that both myself and so many people are there for you to talk to)

Her protector

Klaus had been concerned for a few weeks now.

Y/n was a sweet human, she was kind even to the Mikaelsons and had become close friends Rebekah after helping her choose a necklace for a party she was hosting. Rebekah proceeded to insist that Y/n come and that she would love to make some friends here in New Orleans.

If Rebekah was honest, she was surprised when Y/n actually showed up, with a vampire boyfriend no less. Either way she showed the girl around and they got talking, drinking and dancing. Y/n's boyfriend had seemed sweet, loving and on top of that he was friends with Marcel, one of his few day-walkers.

At that point everything was still okay. Mostly.

Until Klaus had come over and attempted to flirt with Y/n. Her soft cheeks had started to turn pink when a man, a vampire, slung his arm over her shoulders from behind her and gave Klaus a threatening glare. Rebekah let out a tipsy giggle and smacked Klaus's arm

"Leave her alone Nik, she's taken and my friend" she grinned but Klaus only stared back at the other guy. Y/n glanced between the two for a second and Bex rolled her eyes. "Come on Y/n, let them gaze at one another" she laughed, grabbing her hand and pulling her away.

Klaus didn't like that anybody thought they could challenge him, he didn't care if the girl was married if he wanted to flirt with her then he would. There was no harm done but the man before him was acting as though he had slaughtered his family.

However Marcel had seen the two in a silent stare down and threw his arms over both of them "My two best guys" he grinned "Lets go get a drink"

And so somehow Klaus found himself some-what drunk and laughing with this man, it was only the next morning when after he woke did he realise the way the guy spoke about his lover was a little off. He talked like he owned her, like she was a toy.

Klaus brushed it off though, it's not like he hadn't done similar things. Besides it's not like her knew her.

Until he did. And she was so lovely that it confused him.

Often Rebekah would have her over, painting each others nails, one of those time Klaus had stumbled in covered in cuts and scrapes. Rebekah offered a tut and a shake of her head but Y/n was already at his side, her hand on his arm while she asked if he was okay.

"He's fine, it's his own fault anyway. Always starting fights" she mumbled while watching her new friend help her brother sit down. She asked Rebekah to go get him some blood which she reluctantly did, handing it to Y/n and watching in interest as she lifted it to his lips. Klaus's eyes watched her with interest as his lips wrapped around the top and he began to gulp down the red substance. She checked his wounds were healing as he drained the bag of every last drop.

She had offered to help him clean up but he shook his head and told her to enjoy her day with his sister.

After that she was always nice to him, making him a drink if she was already getting one, bringing him back to eat when her and Bex had been at a cafe or something. She would tell him his hair looked nice or that she liked certain colours on him. One way or another she always made him smile.

Y/n knew that Klaus was lonely, often sad or grumpy. She had seen it and been told it so she made an effort to brighten his days. Rebekah always said it was nice seeing her brother a little happier and she was glad that them being originals didn't put Y/n off.

Their friendship grew strong and so did Klaus and Y/n's. Until one day when Y/n's boyfriend had seen her fixing Klaus's hair, using her fingers to curl the top pieces. He didn't say anything to her then but once she came home accusations were thrown at her. She was called a cheater and a slut, desperate for attention and fucking stupid if she thought either of the Mikaelsons thought of her as anything more than a toy.

She slept on the couch, crying her eyes out and cancelling her plans with Rebekah for the next day.

She tried to spend less time with her but Bex only got upset and ended up at Y/n's house instead. Y/n thought that he wouldn't get mad if it was just Bekah and no Klaus. So she and Rebekah went to hers more often than not and the few times she went back to the abattoir she would try avoid Klaus.

She was always polite of course, smiled at him and said hello but she didn't get too close if she didn't feel that she had to. Nor did she say anything about how he looked, even when he wore her favourite henley and grew his curls a little longer.

The only times she gave him some extra attention was when he was physically injured. She couldn't help herself. She couldn't let him struggle alone and in pain. So she would be there with a warm, wet cloth wiping away any blood while she held him a blood-bag to his mouth.

"Have I upset you recently sweetheart?" he asked quietly as she cleaned the stains off his neck

"No?" she whispered and he lowered her head to look up at her and catch her eyes

"Then why won't you look at me?" he questioned and she shrugged, looking into his eyes

"I am" she stated and he hummed

"You haven't been very nice to me lately, love" he told her and she nibbled her lip nervously

"I didn't mean to upset you" she murmured but he just stared at her for a moment

"I haven't seen you around much" he muttered

"I've been at home more, Bekah comes to me instead" she mumbled, and he nodded, leaving the conversation at that.

But he didn't know that when she got home her boyfriend had her by the hair, telling her that he had seen her talking with Klaus. Seen her caressing his face and going into his room. She tried to explain that he was hurt and that she was helping him but he couldn't care less.

"Bet you were fucking helping him" he seethed "Bet he gets all pent up after starting wars. Needs to get his frustration out hm?" he laughed cruelly and she shook her head

"No, no- I would never! You know I would never-" she cried but he refused to believe her.

"You were always such a whore, can't go ten fucking minutes without begging for it" he growled, dragging her to their room. She was useless at fighting back, he was a vampire and significantly bigger than her. So when she was thrown onto the bed and grabbed tightly by the ankles, she couldn't kick at him without him snapping her legs.

She hid away after that night, telling Rebekah that she was sick and didn't want to see anyone for a few days.

But once a week had passed and her boyfriend was still angry at her no matter what she did, she knew she needed to get out and see someone or she would go mad.

Rebekah and her had gone to a coffee shop, Y/n wanted to be somewhere public and without the risk of Klaus or her boyfriend showing up.

Rebekah could tell something was wrong though, Y/n was never that quiet or skittish. She was walking a little funny and did't eat much at all. And at any mention of Klaus, Y/n shut down the conversation in seconds. It made Bex think that her brother had hurt her or scared her so when they both returned home, she began to accuse Klaus, questioning and demanding.

It only made both Mikaelsons to become worried. They didn't realise how their whispering about Y/n caught her so called lovers attention and made him go back to her furious.

He always seemed to be flooded with anger recently. He hadn't ever been so horrid for so long in the past. Accusing her of cheating was something that always had happened, his jealousy had always been an issue but never this bad. Maybe it was because he knew that Klaus wouldn’t back down if he wanted her. Maybe it was because of whatever drunken conversation the two had on the first night they met.

Either way there was no excuse.

All there was, was fear and pain. And she knew that she needed to get out. The only people who could save her from a psychotic vampire was an even worse one.

So she climbed out her own bathroom window and ran, caught a cab and then climbed in through one of the Mikaelson's windows. It was late, dark but it was the best time for her to escape. What wasn't helpful was the amount of night-walkers that were downstairs. Most of which, were close with her boyfriend so she was screwed.

However, whether it was luck or fate, Rebekah and Marcel came down the stairs, arguing which made the others scatter off. It gave her the opportunity she needed.

She darted up the stairs, as quietly as she could and to Klaus's room. Trying to open the door but it was locked making her knock quietly "Klaus?" she whispered desperately "Klaus please" she begged, her eyes leaking with tears. She banged her fist agains the wood of the door making her wince from how her wrists had been held just hours before.

A tired grunt sounded from the other side before the door was ripped open, a very annoyed hybrid on the other side though his demeanour dropped when he felt a body latch onto his, arms around his mid-section and face in his chest.

He looked down, his eyes fully open now. "Y/n?" he mumbled, his hand cupping the back of her head.

"Please help" she whispered and he gently scooped her up, flicking the lamp on and putting her in his bed. She was in. sweatpants and one of her boyfriends shirts so he assumed she must've been in bed before she came. He quickly grabbed some sleep pants to cover himself up as he was in only his boxers.

He then sat beside her, letting her pull herself closer to her with a soft cry leaving her lips. He held her close in his lap and shushed her gently "What's happened?" he asked gently but she shook her head.

It was only another minute before Rebekah was at the door, she had heard the crying and recognised it as Y/n. Her face dropped and she came rushing in. She got onto the bed as well and stroked her hair "Y/n..." she breathed, holding her hand. Klaus and her exchanged a look as they listened to her try and hiccup her tears away.

"Sweetheart it's alright" he whispered, rubbing her back under the shirt before he noticed her face scrunch in pain and he frowned. "She's hurt" he mumbled and Rebekah quickly sat up straight, lifting her top slightly despite her protests to see the bite marks in her flesh.

"Christ" Bekah gasped and Klaus's expression darkened. He lifted her up to straddle his lap sp he could have a better look at her but she began to cry out hysterically at the position and he quickly lay her back down, guilt and worry consuming him when she crawled to Rebekah instead. Bex wrapped her arms around her and whispered quietly for only Y/n to hear. "Who did this?" she uttered, her fingers gently running through her soft hair. "Was it..." she trailed, but the look on Y/n's face was enough.

"I didn't know where else to go- he knows so many people" she sobbed and Rebekah nodded

"He won't touch you now" She whispered, looking to Klaus who was halfway out the door to find Marcel. "Nik's gonna take care of it all okay?"

"What's he gonna do?"

"You don't need to know that honey" she murmured softly.

They waited for a little while, Y/n stayed in Rebekah's arms and started telling her everything that had happened. By the time she was finished they were both crying and wrapped up in Klaus's duvet

"The worst part is that...I do think that I have feelings for Klaus" she whispered "he was right-"

"It wouldn't matter if you were actually sleeping with another man, under no circumstances does he have the right to lay a hand on you. You're not any of those things he called you, you're an angel" Rebekah told her, stroking her hair gently. Bekah glanced up to see Klaus stood in the doorway, eyes soft as he made his way back over.

He had heard Y/n admit to her feelings but knew that now was not the time to tell her he reciprocated them, he knew she would need time. So instead he just came back to his bed and shifted in beside her so she was between him and Rebekah.

"He ran as soon as he saw me but I promise I'll find him and I'll kill him" he whispered, gently brushing his hand over her back. "It'll be okay, just close your eyes sweetheart, I'll protect you" he promised, sharing a look with Rebekah as they all laid down and he flicked the lamp off.

After that night, Y/n slept in Klaus's bed every night. He kept her close to him during the days too, pressed to his chest with his arm around her. She was much quieter after everything, he could sense her embarrassment but he didn’t understand it. It wasn't her fault this had happened to her. He tried to talk to her about it but she wouldn't look him in the eye and he was only making her uncomfortable so he tried not to bring it up. Instead things seemed to go back to somewhat normal, they complimented each other and had their usual conversations which were mostly about random things to keep their minds off any supernatural drama.

Klaus hadn't been going out much recently which meant she didn't have to clean him up but sometimes when they lay in bed to go sleep she would trace his face.

Everything appeared to be going well for a little while before Y/n's boyfriend showed up out of the blue. It was one of those unfortunate times that Klaus was out.

He sped behind Y/n while she was in the kitchen, slapping his hand over her mouth to silence her screaming as he lifted and dragged her toward the exit. Growling in her ear and called her a filthy whore, saying she would never escape him.

What he didn't know was that one of the other vampires saw him and were under direct orders to call Klaus if he was spotted.

Klaus came rushing in, his teeth straight in the man’s neck causing him to drop Y/n to the floor and cry out in agony as the werewolf venom too quick affect.

Klaus had Y/n in his arms within a second, vamp-speeding them to his their room. Her face was held against the crook of his neck, encouraging her to breath in his scent and calm her breathing.

“He’s gone” klaus whispers “He’ll be dead by tomorrow” he told her gently “And a werewolf bite is a slow and painful death for a vampire” he reminded. “He deserves to suffer” he muttered and she nodded slowly.

“I hate him” she uttered.

“I know you do sweetheart” he mumbled as he pressed soft kisses to the side of her head.

Everything was a little better after his body was found. She felt safe in the house without the risk of him grabbing her. She was able to sit with Klaus and Rebekah without the worry of someone watching her.

But it didn’t stop the night terrors. She would wake up screaming thinking that he had come back to life and had taken her, tortured her. Instead, however, she would find Klaus. Out of breath with a healing bruise on his face from where she hand fought back in her sleep. The apologies would start tumbling amongst her sobs but he would just pull her close and kiss her better. Promising it didn’t hurt and that he understood.

Often he would go into her mind, with her permission, and give her better things to think about. Give her peace.

That helped her a lot, between Klaus’s affection and Rebekah’s constant company, she began to feel happy.

She and Bekah went shopping a lot, went out for lunch again or just sat in Bex’s room talking and giggling. They both felt as though they had gained a sister of sorts. Rebekah was so glad to have Y/n and to be able to help her, she also really hoped that Y/n and Klaus would get married so that they were sister-in-laws.

Rebekah was their biggest supporter, always telling Y/n that Klaus wouldn’t ever hurt her and that he already loved her so she didn’t have to worry about the rejection. But Y/n was still nervous, she wasn’t sure if she was ready for another relationship.

But eventually, months down the line, kisses on the head became kisses on the lips. Their hugs became cuddle sessions and instead of eating in the same room they cooked together and ate together. Klaus planned extravagant dates while Y/n arranged much simpler but just as intimate ones. Klaus would beg Y/n to let him paint her and she begrudge dress up for him and pose.

The only issue in Y/n’s mind was that she didn’t feel comfortable enough when Klaus would touch her more sexually. As soon as the gentle touches became more frustrated, more needy, she couldn’t handle it.

But over time she got a little better, heavy make-out sessions became more and more common and part of her thought that maybe sex was on the table until something triggered her.

Klaus had his hands all over her, his tongue in her mouth as she moaned softly. Her hands were curled into his soft curls as she tugged gently. His hands slid up her top and her back arched slightly. Everything was going well, her legs were round his waist and soft little pleas left her lips for him to give her more.

He pulled away slowly, his nose just brushing hers as he sat up. He smiled down at her as she followed suit and sat up with him, her legs dropping down.

“You ready sweetheart?” He whispered and she nodded, his smile widened and he took ahold of her ankles. Just as he went to pull her closer, a panicked cry left her and her foot kicked him in the chest, hard.

His hands let go of her and he held his chest in confusion before looking up and seeing the fear in her face. His expression softened and he raised his hands in surrender “Y/n, love, it’s just me” he told her gently. “It’s okay” he whispered, cautiously he shifted closer.

“I’m sorry” she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears “I’m so sorry” she repeated, pulling her knees to her chest.

Gently he brought his hands out and picked her up, pulling her onto his lap “it’s okay, it was my fault” he mumbled, kissing her lips gently

“It’s not your fault- it’s mine, I’m broken” she cried but she shook her head.

“It’s his fault” he whispered and she let out a soft sob. “He hurt you, but you’ve never been broken. You’re just still hurting”

She sniffled and nuzzled close “I just…I wish could-“

“I know…I know but we can wait. We can wait for as long as you need” he murmured softly.

“But…what if I can’t…like ever?” She whispers but still he smiled

“Then I’ll just hold you and kiss you and take you to dinner like usual. I believe I owe you a bouquet of flowers, no?” He hummed and she wiped her eyes with a sniff

“You do?”

“I do, come on, we’ll go pick a bunch” he held her close and lifted her as he stood, carrying her down the stairs listening to her little laugh as she pressed her face to his chest. She knew not many men would be as loving and understanding as he was, she knew Klaus wouldn’t hurt her nor would he ever leave her.

[strangespector]

Breathless

Summary: A bad habit that has consequences

Words: 1046

The flashing lights of paparazzi cameras illuminated the night, capturing Jenna Ortega in a moment that would soon be plastered all over social media. The young actress, beloved by millions, was caught with a cigarette in hand, the smoke curling up into the night sky. The pictures went viral almost instantly, eliciting reactions from fans, critics, and, most notably, her family. Jenna's mother was especially vocal about her disapproval, a sentiment echoed by the rest of her family. They knew Jenna had started smoking on set, a habit picked up in the chaotic world of Hollywood, but seeing it publicly displayed ignited a firestorm of concern and frustration.

Despite their pleas, Jenna continued smoking, a habit that became a part of her daily routine. She would often light up at home, the scent of tobacco lingering in the air. I, on the other hand, had never touched a cigarette in my life. The smoke bothered me at first, the acrid scent clinging to the furniture, my clothes, and even my hair. But I loved Jenna. She was my world, and though I disliked her smoking, I endured it because I knew how much stress she was under. I figured it was her way of coping, a temporary crutch in the high-pressure world she navigated every day.

Years passed, and Jenna's star only continued to rise. She became a household name, and with every new role, her fanbase grew. But alongside her success, her smoking habit persisted. By now, it had become second nature to her, a part of her routine as much as brushing her teeth or making coffee in the morning. I often found myself coughing, my chest tightening uncomfortably whenever the smoke hung too thick in the air. There were days when I felt short of breath, but I chalked it up to a cold or allergies. The thought that something could be seriously wrong never crossed my mind.

It wasn’t until I started losing weight rapidly, my energy levels plummeting, that I decided to see a doctor. The cough that had lingered for months turned into something more sinister, a persistent ache that gnawed at my insides. After a series of tests and a tense waiting period, the diagnosis came: lung cancer, stage three. The words hung in the air like a death sentence. The doctor explained that the cause was likely secondhand smoke, a byproduct of living with a smoker for so many years.

When I told Jenna, she was devastated. The color drained from her face as she realized the implications of what the doctor had said. This wasn't just any illness—this was a direct consequence of her habit. A habit she had nurtured and indulged, not realizing the price I would eventually pay. She cried for days, apologizing over and over, but I reassured her that I didn’t blame her. After all, it had been my choice to stay, my choice to love her despite her flaws. But deep down, I knew she carried the weight of this guilt, a burden she would never fully shake off.

The chemotherapy was brutal. Each session left me weaker than the last, my body battered and bruised by the relentless assault of drugs meant to kill the cancer. Jenna was by my side through it all, her eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep and constant worry. She quit smoking immediately, the sight of a cigarette now repulsive to her. She did everything she could to make me comfortable, but the cancer had spread too far, too fast. The doctors were honest with us—it was only a matter of time.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, I grew weaker. My once-strong body was now frail, a shadow of the person I used to be. Breathing became difficult, each inhale a struggle, each exhale a sigh of resignation. I knew my time was running out, and I accepted it with a calmness I hadn’t expected. I had lived a good life, a happy life, despite the challenges. And Jenna, for all her faults, had made me happier than I ever thought possible.

When the end was near, I made one final request: I wanted to go home. The hospital was cold, sterile, a place where people went to fight for their lives. But I wasn’t fighting anymore. I just wanted to be in a place that felt familiar, surrounded by the memories of a life well-lived. Jenna arranged everything, bringing me home and setting up a bed in the living room where the sunlight streamed in through the windows.

The last few days were a blur of pain and medication. I could feel myself slipping away, my consciousness fading in and out like a weak radio signal. But Jenna was always there, holding my hand, her presence a steady anchor in the storm of my fading life. I remember the last time I opened my eyes, her face blurry but unmistakable, framed by the soft afternoon light. She was crying, her tears falling silently onto our clasped hands.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry for everything."

I mustered what little strength I had left and smiled at her, a weak but genuine smile. "I forgive you," I said, my voice barely a breath. "You gave me a happy life, Jenna. That's all that matters."

And in that moment, as I looked into her tear-filled eyes, I felt a deep sense of peace. I had no regrets, no anger, only love for the woman who had been my everything. I closed my eyes, holding onto that final image of her, my heart full even as my body failed. And then, with one last breath, I let go, slipping away into the quiet darkness, leaving Jenna with the memories of our life together and the lesson learned from a habit that had cost us both so dearly.

Jenna would go on to live her life, forever changed by the experience. She would tell our story to others, a cautionary tale of love, loss, and the heavy price of a moment’s indulgence. And though I was gone, I knew she would carry me with her, in her heart, every step of the way.

[rafeshoeeee]

footballer!rafe x cheerleader!reader

The new girl

I knew joining a new cheer team would be tough, but i didn't think i would be welcomed by all the girls so quickly. Everyone was so lovely to me and i surprisingly fit in very well.

As my first game with the new team approached, i was extremely nervous.

I was the new girl and i had to make a good first impression.

I waited patiently on the side of the pitch, getting ready to start cheering. I held my sparkly pom poms in my hands. I had a good feeling. I felt so confident in my uniform, the royal blue color complimenting my skin tone very well.

I took in my surroundings whilst i awaited on the blow of the whistle. This all felt so surreal. My dream was coming true. All the fans sat on the bleachers cheering and singing and it made me feel ecstatic. Despite the nerves cursing through my veins, i brushed it aside and didn't let my smile falter.

Once i heard the whistle soar through my ears i knew it was time, i followed the rest of the girls onto the field and stood in the starting position.

The music blasted causing all the fans to cheer, adrenaline cursed through me giving me a boost. i executed the routine flawlessly and i felt very pleased with myself.

I jogged off the field before all the boys could take over the pitch. I took my seat with the rest of the girls and watched as the game began.

i hadn't met any of the footballers yet unlike all the other girls. Although i had been told a few things about a couple of them. Chloe, my closest friend on the team , told me to stay away from all of the boys. Apparently it would cause problems and is unprofessional. I respected that and didn't want to start off on a bad note. I was never one for breaking the rules and usually did as i was told.

Until i saw him.

I was unaware of his name but i felt drawn to him. The way he dominated on the field and wasn't afraid to get up in the other players faces did something to me.

I tapped Chloe on the shoulder and she turned towards me with a light smile on her face, "who is that?" i asked her, pointing my finger at the boy.

Chloe's eyeline followed my finger and her face dropped almost instantly, "that's Rafe Cameron, captain of the team and a total asshole. Trust me babe, he's bad news"

Her answer only intrigued me more. I wanted to know as much about him as i possibly could.

I quickly glanced back at Rafe and saw him stood there wiping a hand across his forehead.

God.

I didn't think such a small gesture could turn me on so much.

"he looks harmless to me" i boldly stated, waiting for the reaction i would get from her.

She lightly laughed, taken back from my bluntness, "Listen, i get it okay. He's hot, like insanely hot. Trust me, i know that, everyone knows that. But he has a terrible reputation with girls, he's never had a serious relationship ever" she told me, speaking in a calm tone.

I knew she was just being a good friend and didn't want me to get my heart broken but i just couldn't help myself.

He's literally perfect. His white football shirt hugged his bicep muscles perfectly, making them prominent despite the distance between us. He was extremely tall, like 6'2 tall. And he has the cutest face ever.

"well, i don't see the harm in trying" i told her, a smile forming on my lips.

She shook her head but smiled with me, "you know i'll support you, but i'm just giving you advice that you should take on board"

"i appreciate you looking out for me Chlo, but i love a challenge and i won't stop until i get what i want" i told her, leaning my chin against my hand to watch the game closely.

Chloe chuckled at my eagerness to watch Rafe play, "careful babe, your drooling" she teased, bursting out in immediate laughter.

"Oh shut up" i told her giggling, lightly shoving her knee.

The first half of the game had ended so quickly and the boys started walking off the pitch. The score remained 0-0 and both teams looked defeated.

My eyes didn't leave Rafe, i watched him walk towards our teams area and sat down at the front bench. His elbows rested on his knees and he chugged a bottle of water down, his adam's apple bobbing up and down.

I was pulled out of my gaze when Chloe started nudging me.

"what's up?" I asked her, a puzzled look making its way onto my face but slight concern lacing my voice.

"jesus y/n, coach Sarah has been calling for you" she told me, looking in her direction.

Coach Sarah was smiling at me brightly and gushing me to come down. I smiled back at her and stood up from where i was sat.

I looked at Chloe with wide eyes as i walked past her.

"you'll be fine!" she yelled slightly so i could hear her.

Once i made my way down the small flight of stairs and walked over to Sarah, she embraced me in a huge hug which i accepted straight away. I was taken back by this sudden affection from her but i was assuming that this was a good thing.

Once she pulled away, she placed her hands firmly on both my shoulders, "i'm so proud of you! you looked amazing out there!" she told me, slightly shaking my shoulders, making me laugh.

The biggest smile formed on my face, this is exactly what i wanted to hear. It felt amazing and apparently i looked amazing.

"thank you so much, i couldn't of done it without you and all the girls" i told her, my bright smile not leaving my face.

She slowly took her hands off my shoulders and wrapped her arm around me. She started talking about how the rest of the game will work if they're still drawing by the full time.

I was partly listening to what she was saying, but i was in such close proximity to Rafe, i couldn't focus.

"y/n?" she called my name with a questioning tone.

i quickly looked back at her, hoping she wouldn't notice that i hadn't been paying attention to everything she was saying.

I tried to keep an innocent look on my face but i could tell that she knew i wasn't paying attention to her due to the smile that crept on my face.

She looked over my shoulder and realized who had captured my attention. "would you like me to introduce you?" she asked, whispering in my ear.

I was quite stunned by her question, thinking i would get a lecture about being unprofessional and unsportsmanlike. It could've been a trap so i decided to play it safe.

"no, no, it's fine, i'm sure i'll get the opportunity to talk to him in the future. Plus, i don't want to distract him from this important game" i told her, slightly shaking my head to hide my lies.

She laughed at my response and i was unsure of how to act, "oh honey, you're allowed to talk to any boy you want, you just can't be intimate with one another."

i laughed at her honesty but i wasn't ready to talk to Rafe just yet, "honestly it's fi-" but before i could finish my sentence, she was gushing Rafe to come over.

He walked towards us, looking quite confused by why the cheerleading coach wanted to talk to him.

I didn't hide my stare. As he got closer, i took in all his facial features. His piercing blue eyes, his freshly buzzed hair and lips that looked extremely soft. Even though he had been running around the field for nearly an hour, i could still smell his musky cologne on his skin as he was approaching.

He stood by my side but didn't look in my direction, "everything alright?" he questioned Sarah, intensely staring at her.

If he looked at me that intensely i'd probably melt i thought to myself.

Sarah glanced at me and then glanced back at Rafe, "well, this is y/n, it's her first game today and i'm just introducing her to everyone" she told him.

I was thankful she didn't embarrass me in-front of him.

I kept my eyes on Rafe and watched him advert his gaze from coach Sarah to me. Our eyes locked instantly, his ocean eyes piercing into my green ones. He maintained eye contact for a decent amount of time before his eyes raked down my body, stopping at my cleavage.

The uniform definitely made my boobs a lot more prominent than usual and i expected the stares from gross men, but i didn't mind Rafe staring one bit.

It took him a minute before he reached his hand out in-front of him, offering a hand shake. I glanced down at his hand then back up at him before meeting my hand with his.

My hand felt tiny compared his, his hand shake was firm and his grip was quite tight. He wore a gold ring on his middle finger, and the cold metal took me by surprise. His hand was surprisingly soft and was very warm, holding his hand felt natural.

"nice to meet you y/n" he said softly, his husky voice making my stomach flutter.

A small smile appeared on my lips before i released my hand from his grip, "yeah, you too Rafe" i told him, maintain his strong eye contact. My legs felt weak but i used everything in me to keep myself upright.

He looked behind him to see his coach stood waiting for him, "uh sorry i gotta go, games about to start, but i'll talk to you after?" he asked, an inkling of hope sparkling in his eyes.

"yeah of course, good luck out there" i told him, before he jogged off.

He winked at me before his attention was taken by his coach, who looked like he was being harsh on him.

I was assuming, due to the team not winning, it's Rafe's responsibility to bring some life into the game and score the winning goal.

Coach Sarah smiled at me, "see that wasn't so bad was it?"

i playfully rolled my eyes at her comment, "yeah yeah"

she told me to go and sit back with Chloe before the game started so i didn't get caught up in the crowd of all the fans.

I quickly ran up the stairs towards and took my seat next to Chloe. I could feel her staring but i was waiting for her to ask.

"soooooooo, tell me everything" she screeched, an eager look spread across her face.

i smiled at her and turned my full attention to telling her every single detail.

The game had already began by the time i had finished blabbering on about Rafe.

"- and he wants me to talk to him after the game" i told her, waiting for her reaction.

Her jaw dropped and she looked so pleased for me, "oh my god! you lucky girl! I'm surprised coach Sarah let you even talk to him" she told me.

I raised my eyebrows at her comment, "no i know, i was so shocked. she didn't even seem bothered. She just made it very clear we aren't allowed to be intimate with each other"

"she must really like you, even she knows what Rafe can be like sometimes" she said, raising her eyebrows back at me.

I just smiled at her, wanting to focus on the game.

My eyes searched the crowd for number 9, Rafe's number. i knew this from the constant staring from earlier and the conversation i just had with him.

The ball was attached to his feet, he dribbled past all three defenders and booted the ball into the back of the net and the crowd roared. I jumped from my seat, cheering for him just like everyone else.

He celebrated with his team members on the pitch but i noticed his eyes searching the crowd.

Who the hell was he looking for? i thought.

I felt envy rush through me until i realized he was staring in my direction, but i was almost certain it wasn't at me. i looked down at my feet so i didn't embarrass myself.

Chloe was shaking my shoulder due to her excitement, "he's totally staring at you babe"

i scoffed, "oh please, no he's not" i looked up from my feet and his gaze was strong, just like it was earlier, only not so close up.

"he totally is" she told me again.

I smirked at him, hoping he could see. i felt victorious when a smile crept onto his face.

He went back to the game, there wasn't much time left now and we were still in the lead. We were only winning by one goal, so every minute counted. The boys had to make sure they didn't let the ball go anywhere near their net. And they didn't.

The final whistle blew and it was over. Rafe cheered with his teammates and coach.

Once the crowd had started piling off the pitch, leaving the stadium almost empty. Coach Sarah announced "right girls, let's get going. We have a busy day tomorrow so make sure you get plenty of rest. I just wanted to congratulate y/n one more time for her outstanding performance today!" All the girls cheered after her announcement and a smile appeared on my face.

Me and Chloe were one of the last ones left at the stadium, she was slightly ahead of me, but i wasn't far behind.

I was about to exit the stadium, but a hand gripped my wrist and spun me around to face them.

I can't say i wasn't pleased to see Rafe's face again, he looked clean and fresh. i assumed he had showered not long ago as he hair looked slightly damp.

He smirked down at me and stared at me intensely again, "so, y/n right?" he asked.

i felt myself getting shy and i broke our eye contact due to my nerves, but his hand gripped my chin to look up at him again.

"don't get shy on me now doll, don't think i haven't noticed you staring" he said boldly, his hand moving from my chin to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

The small gesture made me more nervous, but i knew what i wanted and i had to get it, "well, can you blame me? you're gorgeous" i told him, with a smirk on my lips.

He was leaning closer to me and his hands found my waist, pulling me into him. Our bodies collided and i could feel his muscles through his black t-shirt. I wrapped my arms around his neck, matching his energy.

He raised his eyebrows at my comment, " oh really?" he said, his fingers drawing small shapes on my my exposed lower back.

i nodded, too focused on his fingers tracing shapes on my shapes.

His moved his lips towards my ear and whispered, "well, i think you look perfect doll"

I felt my cheeks turn a slight reddish color at his compliment. I've never been more turned on, he knew exactly what he was doing and did it extremely well.

His hands eagerly stroked my curves, and his lips found my neck. It didn't surprise me at Rafe's boldness, i knew he would be a confident boy.

He groaned, overwhelmed by the feelings he was experiencing. "shit baby, your gonna get me into trouble" hr groaned, cupping my cheek and pulling our faces together.

Our lips were like magnets, drawn to each other. I'd never felt so much passion in one kiss before, his tongue slowly slithered its way into my mouth and it quickly took dominance.

We both pulled back, gasping for air, our foreheads pressed against each others but his hand still remained on my face.

I slowly pulled away but he was quick to pull me back in and lure me into another kiss. This one was more eager, like we were both hungry to taste each other again, to feel each other's lips move in perfect sync.

"y/n!" I heard Chloe yell in the distance.

Me and Rafe jumped apart, but of my red lipstick had transferred onto Rafe's lips, so i assumed my lipstick was smudged all around my mouth.

I rubbed my thumb against Rafe's lips, in attempt to get rid of the red residue. He curled his lips into a smile, clearly finding my gesture amusing.

"its not funny Rafe" i firmly told him, trying my best to cover up our previous actions.

He couldn't help but stifle a laugh at your short temper, "you just look cute when you're stressed." he told me.

I looked up at him with a small smile before putting my focus back on the red lipstick on his face.

I did the best i could to hide the evidence but it wasn't great. There was a slight red tinge around his mouth and slightly on his bottom lip.

Chloe ran up to me from the other side of the pitch, once she reached us she was very out of breath.

She looked like she was about to start lecturing me but held it in once she realized Rafe's presence.

She widened her eyes at me and i just smirked at her.

"what the hell is going on?" she questioned.

Me and Rafe quickly glanced at each other before both of us looking back at Chloe and shrugging.

She chuckled and lightly rolled her eyes, "whatever. y/n, let's go, everyone's waiting" she told me, grabbing hold of my arm and beginning to drag me.

I felt bad for keeping the whole team waiting, but this moment with Rafe was definitely worth it.

i turned my head around to face him, "bye Rafe!" i called out to him.

He looked quite disappointed at the loss of my presence. I released myself from Chloe's grip and ran over to him, my hands finding his face and our lips connecting. He pecked my lips a couple of times before pulling his phone out his pocket.

"i need to see you again doll, when are you free?" he asked before handing me his phone with the number keypad already on display.

i quickly typed in my number and saved my contact in his phone and naming myself y/n, before handing it back to him.

"i'm free tomorrow after 4, i have practice until 4, but i can be ready by 5" i told him, tucking my hair behind my ear.

he pecked my lips one more time, "see you then doll"

[a-lexia11]

Out of love

Leah Williamson x reader

Warning:angst,break up, no happy ending

Word count: Around 3k

Summary: Leah has been acting distant lately, and you decide to confront her to understand why she's behaving that way.

I always believed that love was a fortress, something strong and invincible, capable of withstanding any storm.

And for the past five years, Leah and I were proof of that—at least, I thought we were. We’d built a life together, shared dreams, challenges, and victories on and off the pitch.

Arsenal was more than just our club; it was our home. Football brought us together, and love kept us close—or so I thought.

The first signs that something was wrong were so subtle I almost missed them. Leah began coming home later and later, her explanations brief and detached.

At first, I brushed it off, telling myself she was just tired or stressed. Our schedules were demanding, and we both had a lot on our plates.

But as days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, her late nights became the norm, and her excuses became more half-hearted. When I asked if everything was okay, she’d nod or shrug, barely making eye contact.

The first time she slept on the couch instead of beside me, it caught me off guard. I lay in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, wondering what I had done wrong.

She’d mumbled something about needing space, but it felt like more than that. The bed felt too big, too cold without her.

Every night that followed, she found new reasons not to be by my side. The distance between us, both physical and emotional, grew wider with each passing day.

The idea of Leah cheating crossed my mind, but it felt almost inconceivable. It’s Leah we’re talking about—someone I’ve always seen as honest and dependable. I found it hard to believe she could be unfaithful.

Why would she betray me in that way? The thought seemed so out of character, yet the signs of her growing distance and emotional withdrawal made me question everything.

I missed her laugh, the way she used to tease me about my messy hair or how I couldn’t cook to save my life.

I missed our quiet moments together, when we’d sit on the couch, legs tangled, talking about everything and nothing.

Now, those moments were replaced by silence—heavy, suffocating silence. It was like living with a ghost of the person she used to be.

I tried to be patient, thinking maybe she just needed time, but every day felt like another piece of her slipping away. Our date nights, once a cherished routine, disappeared entirely.

She was always too busy, too tired, too something. And when she did have time, it wasn’t for me.

The loneliness became unbearable. I cried every night, silently, not wanting to wake her—or maybe hoping she would wake up and comfort me like she used to.

But she never did. It was as if she couldn’t hear me anymore, couldn’t see how much I was hurting.

Training and matches became my only escape, but even that was tainted by her absence.

Leah was always there, physically, but it felt like she was a million miles away. I watched her on the field, admired her skill, her focus, but when the game ended, she was gone again, lost in her own world.

Then came the team nights, gatherings that used to be filled with laughter and camaraderie.

Now, they were a painful reminder of how far apart we had drifted. Leah would sit across the room, chatting and laughing with our teammates, completely ignoring me. It wasn’t just that she didn’t talk to me—she didn’t even look at me.

Our friends and teammates noticed the tension, the awkwardness that hung in the air, but no one said anything. Maybe they were waiting for us to work it out, just like I was. But deep down, I knew something was broken, and I didn’t know how to fix it.

The final blow came on a night that should have been a celebration. We had won a tough match, and the team had gathered at a local pub to unwind.

I leaned against the bar, absentmindedly swirling my drink as my gaze lingered on Leah from across the room. She was with another woman, someone she had just met at the pub.

The two of them were deep in conversation, their heads close together, her eyes sparkling with laughter. I watched as Leah's hand brushed against the woman’s arm, a playful touch, the kind of casual intimacy that used to be reserved for me.

My chest tightened at the sight—the way she leaned in, hanging on every word, her smile wide and genuine. It was everything I hadn't seen from her in months, and it felt like a knife twisting in my gut.

This sight twisted something inside me, a painful reminder that whatever was wrong, it wasn’t going away on its own.

I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t keep pretending that everything was okay when it was so far from it. The pain, the confusion, the constant ache in my chest—it was all too much. I needed answers.

I needed to know why Leah was pushing me away, why she was treating me like a stranger.

That night, when we got home, I knew I had to confront her. I couldn’t keep living in this limbo, waiting for her to come back to me when she clearly wasn’t going to.

As we entered our flat, Leah headed straight for the couch, grabbing her phone and settling in as if nothing was wrong. But everything was wrong, and I couldn’t keep pretending it wasn’t.

“Leah,” I said quietly, standing in the middle of the living room, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to stay calm. “We need to talk.”

She didn’t look up from her phone, just muttered, “Can it wait? I’m really tired.”

“No, it can’t wait,” I insisted, my voice firmer this time. “I can’t do this anymore.”

She finally looked up, her expression annoyed. “Do what?”

“This.” I gestured between us, feeling the tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. “Us. You’re distant, Leah. You don’t talk to me anymore, you don’t even look at me. You ignore me like I’m not here, and it hurts. It hurts so much. I need to know why. I need to know what I did wrong.”

For a long moment, Leah just stared at me, her face a mask of indifference. I could see something flickering behind her eyes—guilt, maybe? Regret? But she quickly looked away, sighing heavily as if this conversation was just another burden she didn’t want to carry.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Y/N,” she finally said, her voice flat.

“Then why?” My voice broke, and I hated how small I sounded, how desperate. “Why are you doing this? Why are you pushing me away?”

Leah stayed silent.

“Are you cheating on me?” I finally asked, my voice trembling as I locked eyes with her. Leah’s reaction was immediate and stark—her eyes widened in shock, as though I had just posed the most ridiculous question imaginable.

She looked at me with a mixture of disbelief and hurt, as if the very notion was absurd. “Of course not,” she said firmly, her gaze steady and earnest as she tried to reassure me.

“I would never cheat on you.” Her voice was calm, but the intensity in her eyes seemed to plead with me to believe her, to trust that she was speaking the truth.

“Well, back at the pub, it seemed like you had no problem flirting with that woman,” I said, my tone accusing and hurt.

Leah’s eyes widened with surprise, and she quickly defended herself. “I wasn’t flirting with her; I was just being friendly,” she insisted, her voice steady but with a hint of frustration.

“Friendly?” I shot back, my voice rising in disbelief. “It looked like you were just seconds away from making out with her. How can you expect me to believe you weren’t flirting?” I continued, unable to hide the pain and anger in my voice.

Leah’s face hardened as she met my gaze, her expression resolute. “Y/N, I told you before—I would never cheat on you. I may have my faults, but infidelity is not one of them.” Her voice was firm and unwavering, but the tension in the air was thick with unresolved emotion.

"Then why? If not cheating? Why are you doing this to me?" I asked, my voice quivering with a mix of confusion and hurt. "I don’t understand why you’re treating me like this. I’ve tried so hard to be patient and understanding. I don’t deserve to be treated this way." My words faltered as the pain in my chest tightened, the betrayal cutting deep.

Leah rubbed her temples, avoiding my gaze. “I don’t know how to say this.”

“Just say it,” I whispered, my heart pounding in my chest. “Please.”

She hesitated, her jaw tightening as if she was bracing herself for something painful.

When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, but the words cut through me like a knife.

“I fell out of love with you, Y/N.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in. When they did, it felt like the ground had been ripped out from under me.

My breath caught in my throat, and I stumbled back, clutching the edge of the couch to steady myself. “What?”

“I didn’t want to admit it,” she continued, her eyes still fixed on the floor. “Not to myself, not to you. But it’s the truth. I don’t feel the same way anymore. I’ve been trying to avoid this, trying to make you break up with me so I wouldn’t have to say it. But I can’t keep lying to you. I can’t keep pretending.”

I stared at her, disbelief and hurt battling for dominance. “So, all of this? The ignoring me, the coldness, the distance… It was because you wanted me to end it?”

She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes for the first time. “I was a coward, Y/N. I didn’t want to be the one to break your heart, so I thought… I thought if I made things bad enough, you’d leave. But you didn’t, and I just kept making it worse. I’m so sorry.”

Her apology hung in the air between us, but it didn’t make the pain any less. If anything, it made it worse.

All this time, I had been blaming myself, wondering what I had done wrong, when the truth was that Leah had already given up on us. She had already stopped loving me.

I couldn’t stop the sob that escaped me. “How could you do this to me, Leah? How could you just… stop loving me?”

“I don’t know,” she cried, her own tears spilling over now. “I wish I had an answer. I wish I could change it, but I can’t. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I never wanted to hurt you like this. I never wanted it to end this way.”

“But it’s ending, isn’t it?” I whispered, my voice trembling with the weight of the truth. “This is the end.”

She didn’t say anything, just nodded, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

The sight of her crying, the woman I had loved for so long, the woman who had been my everything—it broke something inside of me.

I wanted to reach out, to hold her, to tell her that we could fix this, but I knew it was too late. There was nothing left to fix. The love we once had was gone, and there was no bringing it back.

I stood there for a moment, numb, before turning on my heel and heading to our bedroom—no, not our bedroom anymore. Just a room.

A room full of memories that I couldn’t bear to face right now. I grabbed a suitcase from the closet and began packing my things, my hands trembling as I folded clothes and placed them inside.

Each item I packed felt like another piece of my heart being ripped away, but I forced myself to keep going.

Leah stood in the doorway, watching me, tears streaming down her face. She didn’t try to stop me, didn’t say a word. Maybe she knew, just as I did, that there was nothing left to say.

When I finished packing, I zipped up the suitcase and took a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

My eyes burned with unshed tears, but I refused to let them fall. Not yet. I couldn’t break down. Not here. Not in front of her.

She doesn’t deserve to witness my tears or my vulnerability. She’s the one who inflicted this pain on me, who chose to string me along and hurt me for months on end.

She ignored me, distanced herself, and let me suffer because she was too selfish and cowardly to have the decency to break up with me outright. I refuse to let her see me fall apart in front of her.

I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and walked away toward the front door. Leah stood aside, not saying a word, just watching me with those tear-filled eyes that once held so much love.

Now, they were filled with something else—regret, guilt, maybe even relief. I didn’t know, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

As I reached the door, I paused, my hand hovering over the doorknob. There was so much I wanted to say—questions I wanted to ask, more accusations I wanted to throw at her—but I couldn’t find the words.

What good would it do, anyway? It wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t bring back the Leah I used to know, the Leah who loved me.

Instead, I just stood there, trying to summon the strength to leave. My heart was screaming at me to turn around, to fight for her, to fight for us. But my mind knew better. There was no fight left. The battle had been lost long before this moment.

Finally, Leah broke the silence. Her voice was soft, barely more than a whisper. “Y/N… I’m sorry. For everything. I never wanted it to end like this.”

I swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in my throat. “Then why did you let it? Why didn’t you just talk to me, Leah? Why did you let us fall apart?”

She wiped at her tears, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Because I was scared. Scared of losing you, scared of hurting you… and scared of facing the truth. I thought if I ignored it, if I pushed you away, maybe it would be easier. But it wasn’t. It was just… cowardice. And now I’ve hurt you even more.”

I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “Yeah, well… mission accomplished, we’re over”

I saw her flinch at my words, and for a moment, I felt a pang of guilt. But the hurt in my chest was too overwhelming to care. I had given her everything—my love, my trust, my heart—and she had thrown it all away.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, Leah,” I said, my voice strained. “I really do”

Her tears fell harder now, and she wrapped her arms around herself as if trying to hold herself together. “I…I’m so sorry”

I nodded, though it felt meaningless. Her apologies couldn’t fix what was broken. They couldn’t take away the pain that was tearing me apart.

Without another word, I turned the doorknob and stepped outside. The cool night air hit me, chilling me to the bone. I didn’t look back as I pulled the door shut behind me. I couldn’t. If I did, I knew I’d fall apart.

As I walked down the street, suitcase dragging behind me, the weight of everything that had just happened crashed down on me.

The tears I had been holding back finally broke free, and I stumbled to a stop, my chest heaving with sobs.

I pressed a hand to my mouth, trying to stifle the sounds, but it was no use. The pain was too much, too raw.

How did we end up here? How did five years of love, of shared dreams and laughter, dissolve into this? I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I didn’t know how to move forward, how to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart.

For what felt like hours, I stood there on the empty street, crying until there were no tears left. The world felt silent and cold, a reflection of the emptiness inside me.

The person I had loved more than anything in the world had just let me walk away, and I had no idea how to process that.

Eventually, I managed to compose myself enough to keep walking. I didn’t know where I was going—maybe to a hotel, maybe to a friend’s place. Anywhere but here. Anywhere that wasn’t filled with memories of Leah.

As I walked, my mind kept replaying the past few months, trying to find the moment where everything went wrong.

But there was no single moment. It was a slow, painful unraveling, one that I had tried so hard to ignore, to fix, but had failed.

I reached a park, deserted at this late hour, and collapsed onto a bench. My suitcase sat beside me, a stark reminder that I no longer had a home to go back to. Not really.

The night was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. I tilted my head back, staring up at the sky. The stars were out, bright and clear, indifferent to the heartbreak unfolding beneath them. I wondered if Leah was crying, too, or if she had finally found the peace she had been searching for.

The thought stung—both the idea of her hurting and the possibility that she might feel relieved.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone and I found myself opening the photo gallery, scrolling through the images of Leah and me. There we were, smiling and happy—on vacations, after matches, during quiet moments at home.

Each photo felt like a cruel reminder of what I had lost. How could everything that felt so real, so solid, just fade away like this?

I lingered on one photo in particular—a candid shot that my sister had taken of us at a team party last year.

We were both laughing, our arms wrapped around each other, eyes bright with happiness. I could almost hear her laugh, feel her warmth beside me.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

I stared at the photo until my vision blurred with tears again. I knew I needed to delete it, to delete all of them, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

The sound of footsteps on the path made me look up. It was an older couple, walking hand in hand, their heads bent close together as they whispered to each other.

I watched them pass by, a pang of longing twisting in my chest. Would I ever have that again? Would I ever find someone who loved me the way Leah once did?

For a moment, I considered going back. Maybe we could talk, really talk this time. Maybe there was a way to fix things, to rebuild what had been broken. But deep down, I knew it was hopeless. Leah had made her choice. She had let me go long before tonight.

I sat there in the park for a long time, lost in my thoughts, until the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon.

The realization hit me then—this was the first day of my life without Leah in it. The first day of starting over.

It felt impossible, like a weight too heavy to bear. But I knew I had to. I had to find a way to move forward, even if I didn’t know how.

With a deep breath, I stood up, grabbing my suitcase and heading down the path. One step at a time, I told myself. One step at a time.

And maybe, just maybe, one day the pain would fade. One day, I would be able to look back at what we had and remember it fondly, without the ache in my chest.

But for now, all I could do was keep walking, keep moving, and hope that the road ahead would lead me to a place where I could heal.

Because even though Leah had fallen out of love with me, I had to find a way to love myself enough to move on.

FIN

[pocket-watcher]

I slowly opened the door. My roommates had been acting weird the past few days, but I’d shrugged it off.

There, leaning against his desk on one side of the room was Carter. Sitting on Carter’s bed, one of the few places there were to sit in the room, was Myles.

“Uh… you needed me?” I looked up at Carter. His usually playful demeanour was slightly off. I looked at Myles to see if he had any clue what was going on but he seemed like his usual smiley self.

“Yes… what do you know about hypnosis?” Carter asked.

My face felt hot, and so, I bluffed.

“Not much. I think I saw it in some TV shows?” I felt my voice go higher than normal.

His eyes lit up in challenge.

“Do you believe in it?” He asked again. Myles seemed confused too.

“Not really, I mean. It’s kinda sci-fi, right?” I laughed it off - pushing down any thoughts of he knows he knows oh god he knows-

“Maybe. What about you, Myles? Do you believe in hypnosis?” Carter had a mischievous look in his eyes.

Myles brushed it off. “Nah, of course not. It’s like flying or telekinesis or something.”

Carter locked eyes with me.

“Wanna see a cool trick?” He asked, raising his fingers to snap.

“No!” I heard my own voice ring out.

There wasn’t any fear or attempt to stop this from Myles. Just confusion. From me, however?

I’d just given myself away.

Carter snapped and Myles’ head dropped instantly, rolling back and forth before settling in the centre of his chest.

Carter grinned wickedly.

“What did you do?!” I gasped, running over to him. “Myles? Can you hear me?”

No response.

“What did I do?” Carter asked, still not moving from where he was leaning. I kept one eye on him as I shook Myles, getting more desperate. “Why, the same thing I’m about to do to you.”

The statement echoed inside my head. Fear. Dread. Excitement.

I slowly turned to look at Carter.

“Myles, stand.” Carter ordered.

Myles’ eyes opened, half-lidded, mouth agape. He stood and I backed away from him.

“Good boy.” Carter praised.

I started to panic. Shit. Do I run for the door? Both of them are faster than me. Stronger than me too, probably. Why the fuck didn’t I run more or go to the gym or-

Myles mindlessly lunged for me. I scrambled to get away but faltered as the only direction of escape was right towards Carter.

He was waiting there. Watching. Smiling. As if it was all going exactly to plan.

Myles grabbed both of my arms. I’d backed into him in fear, recoiling from Carter at the last second. I struggled but, just as I’d thought, I couldn’t break free.

For the first time during this ordeal Carter stood up and approached us. I looked away, getting a full look at Myles’ blank face looking straight ahead, no matter how much I pleaded with him to just listen to me.

“I understand.” Carter cooed. “You don’t want to submit to me straight away. You like the chase. The struggle. But I know you want to give in to me…”

I looked at him defiantly. The wrong decision. Maybe if I’d thought more about it I’d have realised that was exactly what he wanted.

Carter’s eyes were deep, swirling, drawing me in.

I’d always found him attractive, but now? Now it was like I was losing myself in his eyes. My thoughts slowed. My heartbeat quickened.

I felt my head begin to bow. I tried to look away. Really, I did. But Myles’ hand grabbed my chin and forced my eyes forward once more.

Carter looked at me proudly, as if he’d ensnared his pray. He looked hungry. Cocking his head from side to side and eyes shining as I mirrored his movements.

I felt a smile slowly form on my lips. I was drowning, sinking into his eyes. At some point Myles let go of my arms and began massaging my shoulders. Deeper, deeper. He must’ve known my legs were too weak to run.

It was all so meticulously planned, like a checklist.

Lure me in? Check.

Use Myles to stop me from leaving? Check.

Send me deeper? Check.

Make me lose focus? Check.

Staring into those gorgeous eyes? Check.

As simple and as easy as 1.. 2.. 3…

“You’re doing great. Both of you. Oh the fun we’re going to have with two of you now…”

[goldsbitch]

Right? p8

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

epilogue - Lando's POV

summary: Y/N is a photographer for McLaren F1 team. Hard working, goal oriented professional who would never put her career in jeopardy for some stupid crush, right?

Challenge me. Make me question my past actions. Hold me on the edge, while we risk it all.

Watch me watch you walk around the paddock, as if there wasn't a bright red love bite underneath your turtleneck. One that only I know about and plan on refreshing. Knowing you have to cover those up makes me ecstatic, because I have seen you smile like a teenager while doing so.

We're our little secret, for now. It will come out eventually and we'll enter a new chapter. But for today, let me have our classified, not so modest photoshoots. Let me sneak around just to give you a little peck on the cheek. Walk just a little close to me so that our hands brush, ever so "accidentally".

The way how you're so good at passing me by, as if you hadn't woken up next to me. Like I have no idea about your birthmark little too low on your lower back. The one I'd touched in a way colleagues should not.

And I know you're having to fight smiling a little too obviously during our team meetings. Because I have to admit, sometimes I have to hide my smirk behind a coffee cup or a cough. I wonder if people noticed that you don't take official photos of me anymore.

I'm good at running around with a camera, but I think I was born to be your muse. To let you capture me in the way only lovers can. Energy and desire creeping through every frame. I trust you deeply that you won't sell my secrets - and I know you have to trust me too. Allow me to play an all-or-nothing game, while being ultimately raw with you.

I sometimes can't help my mouth from smiling at random times throughout the day, just knowing that we managed to play this game so effortlessly. Once I got you on board, it turned out you're quite good at this. I guess it's making you irresistible even more.

I think hiding it from everyone is working in our favor. Once the fan hurricane hits when the reveal day comes, we will have already spent many days of freedom. It won't be a va banque taken with a stranger. A companion, lover, muse and the capturer. I should not be looking forward to causing a scandal, right? But I do. Turns out I am bad at stopping myself when it comes to you.

I've already sunk so deep, so much at your mercy, I am unable to untangle myself. Please, promise you mean it when you said "I love you" so shyly the other night. It took me some time to admit that I do. But with you being so slick and smart, you must have already known. You're someone who does not like to be brave about this. You wouldn't have said it if deep down you were not sure about my response. And that's ok. You're the smart one, I'm the brave one. A perfect combination.

One day, you'll have to take a big risk with me. When you've finally moved on from McLaren photos and get yourself in fashion photography as you always wanted anyway. You'll have to get out of your shell and I am so here for it. But for now, we have our little secret life to enjoy.

There will come a day when we'll replace the thrill of a private affair with a strive for something serious. If it had been only my decision, I would have already shouted to the world that you are mine. Make your love bites visible and trackable to me. One day, we won't have to worry about hotel room walls being too thin. But I want you ready for the price that comes with my public company.

I'll drive us fast, maybe even recklessly, and you'll make sure we have something to remember it by.

_______________________

@i-wish-this-was-me @lqvesoph @ophcelia @noneofyourfbusinessworld @formulaal @chezmardybum @amberpanda99 @4-mula1

Short, but a proper goodbye to my first story. Thank you all for the support! Love you all.

[randomyuu]

the way it follows you home, the stories i never told

My guy Vox once again graced us with lovely Goyuu fanfics, and the way it follows you home, the stories i never told, made me go FERAL.

Time travel? Two Gojou Satorus? Double affection for our sunshine Yuuji? Yuuji sandwich? What feels like possible continuation of (you'll whisper, serpent tongue) what you fear you have become???

FUCK.

I need to stop indulging my imagination too much. I should’ve been content with writing long-ass comments but noooooo, my brain goes “you gotta draw it”. DAMMIT VOX, YOU AND YOUR DELICIOUS WRITINGS HHHHHH

So… usually I should’ve picked a favourite scene that is within my drawing capability, but I just… love all three chapters??? So I made a questionable time investment? I can’t stop??? Help???

This is probably the most ambitious fanart project I’ve ever done so far. Fair enough, considering I might combust if I keep these welled-up emotions inside from reading Vox’s Goyuu fics. Fuck.

Fic info:

Title: the way it follows you home, the stories i never told

Author: @voxofthevoid

Pairing: YuuGoGo. Future!Yuuji, Future!Gojou, Teen!Gojou

(idk why I laugh writing YuuGoGo. I’m beyond help)

Currently, it is 3 chapters out of 8. And it’s gonna be NSFW chapter 4 onwards, so don’t forget to read the tags first, folks!

The drawings are under Read More, because I have lots of thoughts surrounding each chapter and drawings. It’ll be hella long if I didn’t hide it here. It was a mess down there. A combination of hours before, during, and after I read said fic. I’d say good luck finding the art among the sea of jumbled words but… you’ll find them easily. Don’t worry about it haha

SPOILERS FOR ALL 3 CHAPTERS! I highly recommend reading those first before diving into these drawings!

Also for the comics, read from right to left please!

From here on, I will be referring to the Future!Gojou as Gojou and the teenage one as Satoru.

Overall, drawing all these is fun! Really fun! This project pushed me quite hard, forcing me to test my limit (because I rarely draw this much back to back). Since this is a combination of drawings and comics, the coloring style will not be consistent. In a way, I want to try some brushes I never get to use, as well as try out my new graphic tablet. Drawing these got me giggling because I was finally able to let loose during line art. It's much easier to do so, and sometimes I just get to reread the fic and giggle to myself for the nth time.

CHAPTER 1:

Whooo. Whooooooooo—

Ok, ok, the premise is just that good. It intrigued me, fascinated me, and I just… oomph. I cannot refuse a Time Travel Yuuji Sandwich. Sign me up.

Honestly, there are two scenes that are just… a bit too clear in my mind when reading this chapter. That would be the one I drew above, and the other is when Yaga called Gojou to come outside of the class. I love, loooove how Vox wrote Satoru’s POV. And when Yuuji fucking giggles?

I lost it.

Can you imagine, drawing Yuuji grins, with shiny stuff, maybe some sunlight, just purely happy and indulging Gojou?

Help me, for I am drowning in my love and adoration for Yuuji.

Page 2 is an experiment on using harsh black as shading (kind of?). I really enjoyed colouring Yuuji, and drawing those buffalo skulls! I wish I can grasp the concept of contrast a bit better tho :v

CHAPTER 2:

This is probably the only chapter where I picture still images instead of comic panels. A bit like those cool chapter covers in mangas. The one I really, really want to draw is the scene with Satoru on the table. Can’t pass the opportunity to highlight Satoru being a brat, albeit a really cool brat.

Cool idea drawing always proves to be a challenge, because of course my artistic skill just so happens to be below the requirement. Thank you, Sketchfab, for the chair and desk’s perspective otherwise I’m screwed lmao

The second scene that I want to draw the most is this:

Gojou is one step away from climbing Yuuji. Also, I have a bit of a problem picturing a man pouting that makes him look crazy instead, so please have Gojou pouting adorably instead. Because, as Yuuji said (with love), Gojou is (also) a brat.

This is possibly my favorite art in this project, after Yuuji's in Chapter 1 page 2. It's clean because I don't have to draw background, and I was having a fun time drawing Yuuji. And Gojou's squishy cheek as well.

Oh, actually, there is a “manga” scene in this chapter. It’s when Yuuji said, “I love Satoru.”

I just—

AAAAAHHHHH YUUJIIIIIII YOU AND VOX ARE GONNA BE THE DEATH OF ME. That secure relationship between Yuuji and Gojou? Satoru’s description of how Yuuji’s smile could blot out the sun??? Not me screaming 💀 I also see bits of hints of possible co-dependency, though I could be reading those wrong, but either way I’m good. Secure and possessive relationships are fun to consume hhhhhh

But yeah. There are too many wholesome Yuuji smiles in this fic, and I… I am not confident enough to draw genuine happiness. It’s too much for me ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

For this chapter, another reason why I chose these two scenes is just because I want to try and draw cover-worthy pictures of Yuuji and Satoru, and Yuuji and Gojou (cough)

CHAPTER 3:

We start the chapter with Nanamin. Ah, Nanamin. I forgot what his teen self looked like and was surprised to see his design again lmao

I want to draw Yuuji and Nanami scene because… I just want to, I guess. I have never drawn him before (Yaga as well) so that's an interesting challenge. I got two ideas on how I want to draw it. One is a bit painting-esque, and the other one is like another chapter cover. In the end, I chose the cover one because I want to emphasise the difference between teen!Nanami and the Nanami from Yuuji’s original timeline, and how the watch feels like a connection between the same (yet not) person. It’s a bittersweet feeling? In a way?

I’m not really good at explaining my intention ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

I love Yuuji’s answer to Nanami's question.

AND FINALLY.

A Yuuji SandwichTM scene.

And oh B O I do I love it. Have I told you I like every chapter? I probably have. But this one? Satoru’s curiosity, Yuuji’s on-brand self-deprecation, and Gojou come strolling down to show more of Yuuji to his mini-self. I want to draw this whole scene, from Gojou finding them, feeding Yuuji snacks, bitch-slapping Satoru into the backroom, to Yuuji growling. Them trying to hide a boner from Yuuji’s growl got me cackling so hard I LOVE IT 😭

I love it all. Please love Yuuji in my stead, Satoru and Satonyan :3

Oh! Also! 40-finger Yuuji sounds really, really cool! I’ll be happy with whatever Vox will give us in future chapters, but 40-finger Yuuji… possible scene with this timeline’s Sukuna… my god. The action! The drama! The bloodshed! One can only hope.

However, as much as I love that whole scene, it’s still too much for me :”) I’m still not yet confident in delivering the humour and action. Also my already-long drawing plan had my brain groaning in protest so I can’t push my luck :'D

When Gojou said "He looks sweet, but he's a bit of a beast", I kept picturing Yuuji staring innocently, but there was an edge to his look. As if the moment Satoru looks away, he will pounce. But in the end I just stick with innocent-looking Yuuji because I accidentally drew his eyes that way and I want to keep it in lol

Since Satoru points out how soft and cuddly Yuuji is, I also want to draw soft Yuuji :v

And the last one… is the last scene. For some reason, I read that both Gojou and Satoru share Yuuji’s lap and was having a frustrating yet fun time figuring out how it’s… physically possible, without having their butts on the ground because they both are not small at all. As I lined the art, I reread it again and… perhaps I read it wrong? Satoru is beside Yuuji, and not on his lap? So yeah, this one might be the least accurate, but hey, at least you can view it as a crack drawing or something :v

AAAANNNDDD I HAVE EXCEEDED TODAY’S BRAIN CAPACITY OF FORMING WORDS

Have I told you I love this fic?

…I probably have.

Have an amazing week (❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ*